UnBound - Neal Shusterman Page 0,40

But she can’t worry about that now—her priority is survival.

She checks the readout. The temperature’s rising, and she’s headed down, not up. The map display says SURFACE ACCESS 6.3 MILES. Worse, the suit’s cooling system is starting to stutter, overloaded by the unrelenting heat. But that’s not her worst problem.

She’s being followed.

It’s there on the map: The red blip of a second heatsuit behind her, drawing steadily closer. Anissa tries to pick up the pace, the sweat beading on her brow, her hand throbbing incessantly. She keeps glancing backward as if to spot her pursuer, but of course he’s not visible—the rippling flames conceal him from view. Only the instruments on her heatsuit can detect him.

Until he speaks.

“Come back, Anissa,” says a voice in her earpiece. She remembers Dad telling her the suits could communicate over short distances using subsonic transceivers. But the real surprise is who’s talking.

“I can protect you,” says Heath Calderon.

“Leave me alone,” Anissa says through the heatsuit’s subsonics.

“I can’t let you kill yourself. This is suicide; it solves nothing. Come back with me. They won’t hurt you.”

“They just blew up half the town, moron! Why wouldn’t they hurt me?”

“Because I cut a deal. They take me, you go free.”

“Just like that.”

“Not just like that. I gave them everything—my notes, records, whatever survived the explosion. Enough so they’ll never be fooled again. Whatever threat I posed has been neutralized.”

Anissa hesitates. “And in return, I go free?”

“I had nothing else to bargain for. They won’t let me go. They only let me come down here because it’s near suicide. They don’t care if we burn up down here—but if I can bring you back, at least you’ll have a future.”

“Not much of one.” Anissa flinches. “My hand’s infected; it’s getting worse.”

“Cut it off,” he says. “They’ll replace it for you.”

Anissa stands stock-still, processing what she’s heard. She remembers Heath’s brother, who was sold to organ harvesters to save him, an act so revolting that it defined his life forever. What would make him betray everything he believes in, just to save a fleeing AWOL who he doesn’t even seem to like much?

“You’re afraid of me,” she says. “Afraid of what I may know.”

“You know nothing.”

“But you can’t be sure of that—because you’re not Heath.”

Anissa shuts off the transceiver, pushing herself harder than before, determined to escape despite her failing health. Her pursuer—the man impersonating Heath—seems to be getting closer, though it’s hard to be sure. The only thing she knows for certain is that he’s got a more advanced heatsuit that can, among other things, mimic voices.

Heath has been captured or more likely killed; she knows that. They must have swooped into the wreckage of Centralia and started capturing AWOLs, rounding up survivors like ducks in a pond. Until they realized that the mine had blown open, the heatsuit was missing, and someone had escaped, right out from under them, into the burning maze under Centralia. And they sent someone in after her—with orders to make sure that no one escapes.

The words “sepsis detected” seem to pulse with a life of their own, like an attention-grabbing headline. The outside temperature has dropped to a balmy 619.

She wants to break into a run, but the heatsuit isn’t built for that—she can only keep walking, at maximum speed, through this surreal landscape. If she slows or stops, he’ll catch her. If she succumbs to the spreading infection, making her dizzy and weak and sick, he may not even have to catch her. She can feel her strength draining away, the pathogens in her bloodstream spreading, her world turning gray at the edges.

“You can’t escape,” says a soft voice.

Not Heath’s voice, it’s coarser and lower pitched, because the man behind her isn’t pretending anymore—he’s become brutally candid.

“I turned you off,” Anissa says.

“I’m on an alternate frequency. We know you’re Anissa Pruitt. It’s time to stop running.”

“Why, what’s the alternative? Is there a reward for giving up?”

“A painless end,” he says. “A chance to live, divided.”

Gosh, thanks, Anissa thinks but says nothing. Her pursuer doesn’t wait for an answer and elaborates on his proposal.

“I know you’re hurt, Anissa. I know how badly you’re hurt, because our suits automatically share information. You’re in a lot of pain right now, but you don’t have to be. Give yourself up, and I’ll adjust your anesthetic feeds to end your pain. Then I’ll get you out of here. You’ll be taken to a harvest camp, and your organs will help others keep living. You’ll keep living,