“Let me go!” I yelled again.
But he was a silent, unresponsive machine. He backed into the vault of dreamers and slammed up against the light switches, which turned on. My fears jumped from mining to murder. He crossed to the operating room and set me down, holding me by my tied wrists. I could not believe how strong he was. He opened the door. I screamed again and tried to bite at him, but he twisted me around again and shoved me into the operating room. I fell against the wall and turned as he slammed the door.
Panting, I heard a key click in the lock. A key, not some swipe pass. Through the glass of the door, I saw him wipe a hand across his forehead. He looked at me grimly and then turned away.
I regained my balance in a wide stance. “You can’t leave me here!” I yelled.
I spit out a strand of hair that caught in my lips.
I charged my shoulder against the door. It shuddered but didn’t yield. On the other side of the glass, Berg strode across the vault and out of sight.
“My friends know where I am!” I yelled. “They’ll come looking for me!”
The lights went out.
My heart slammed. I could see a faint glimmer of light from the direction of the doorway, and then that vanished, too. The blackness was complete. I screamed again, but only silence answered me.
I was scared. Beyond scared. I had to get out. I squinted in every direction, still seeing nothing but black. I put my back to the door and felt along with my tied hands for the handle. It turned, but didn’t open. I braced my shoulder against the door and focused, twisting my wrists, straining and pulling against the binding. It was made of some smooth, narrow cloth that was cutting off my circulation. I used the door handle to wedge into one side of the binding, and I winced in pain as I extricated my right hand. I quickly untied my left hand, too, and shuddered with relief for that much freedom. I felt the length of the binding. A tie. It was Berg’s tie.
I tapped my pockets. I still had my phone. I pulled it out swiftly and greedily tapped it on. No signal. Of course not. But it had light. I lowered the brightness to the lowest setting and checked my battery life: 45%.
He couldn’t keep me here long. He wouldn’t. I aimed the glow of my phone up toward the ceiling and discovered a camera in the corner. Hope flared in my heart.
“Hello?” I asked. “Is someone watching me?”
No answer came.
My belly compressed in a great, silent kneading. It was longer and deeper than any false contraction I’d had before, and I leaned over, bracing my hands on my knees. I willed myself to breathe through the pressure. Unreal, I thought. When the contraction eased away, I staggered back against the wall, my heart racing.
This could not be labor! It was too soon. I wasn’t due for four more weeks. Even if I was in labor, it would take hours, and Berg could not possibly keep me here for long. That’s what I told myself, but in fact, I was terrified. I couldn’t have a baby down here alone in the dark! I wouldn’t know what to do! I would die!
I lifted my phone again. It was down to 44%. At this rate, it would be dead in a couple of hours.
I looked up at the camera. “Berg!” I yelled. “I’m going to have my baby! Get me out of here!”
The camera did not reply. I was mad now. And stupid. I hadn’t told any of my friends where I was going, so no one would know where to look for me. I checked around carefully for anything hard and heavy I could use to break the glass in the door, but I found nothing. I tried jamming the glass with my elbow and kicking it, but it wouldn’t shatter.
Don’t panic, I told myself. Do not cry. Think.
I had no idea when my next contraction would come. Maybe that first one was just brought on by stress. Maybe if I kept calm, I wouldn’t have any more. My legs were still dry, which meant my water hadn’t broken. I was okay.
Except I wasn’t. I was alone in the dark in the operating room of the vault of dreamers, and nobody but Berg knew where I was. And I was maybe having my baby. I let out a desperate, gulping laugh and slid down the wall to the floor.
32
ROSIE
CAMPFIRE BOY
THE NIGHT IS HALF GONE before Burnham calls again.
“Okay,” he says. “I think I can get us into Berg’s computer if you can put in your peg. Do you need me to dismantle the swipe locks in the dean’s tower?”
I think back to my last trip to the sixth floor. The staircase opened directly into the big room, and I think the elevator did, too. “No,” I say.
“Are you sure about this, Rosie? Linus Pitts called and left me a message. He’s looking for you.”
“Did he say where he is?” I ask.
“No, but he sounded worried.”
I chew on my lip, frowning. Then I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going in.”
“Then call me right when you reach Berg’s computer. You have the peg?”
I glance to see it beside my flashlight and other supplies.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m heading there now. Give me about half an hour. I’ll call you soon.”
I don’t tell him that I expect to get caught.
Returning to town, I drive slowly past Linus’s house. Only one lamp is still on in the living room, and I can’t see any action through the windows. I park farther down, near the water tower, and walk the last couple of blocks to the dairy barn. Up on the hill, at Forge, the penthouse apartment is a bright row of windows at the top of the dean’s tower. The rest of the campus is dark and sleepy, illuminated only by streetlamps that make lace of the leafless trees. Deep in my jacket pocket, I carry the syringes I prepared, four of them, one from each vial I stole from Ian, each with its own white cap.
Outside the dairy barn, I pause, noting one car in the lot. I hear the sturdy clanking of the cows even before I enter, and then the penetrating scent of animal bodies fills my nostrils. At the far end of the barn, a farmer is dumping grain into a chute, and I duck low.
Stealthy, keeping an eye toward the farmer, I creep along the far wall past the noses and munching noises of a dozen cows. It’s startling how huge the animals are with their heavy heads. The barn is a long L, with the cows in the long rectangle, and the milk pipes above. I’m searching for a door that matches Thea’s description when I discover an open shaft elevator, large enough to accommodate cargo. Or sleep shells. Beside it is a narrow staircase. When the farmer moves out of sight, I dash for the stairs and sneak down.
Directly opposite the shaft elevator is a large wooden door, just as Thea described. It’s unbolted, and a bit of wood props the door open a crack. I stop, puzzled. Someone has been here recently. They might still be inside. A shiver of fear runs over my skin, and instinct warns me this is a mistake.