Extracted

ELEVEN

LEX

“This way, guys,” I whisper, stuffing the ancient map into my back pocket. I look up, taking inventory of the unfamiliar team. Gloves hadn’t just given the green light for the mission into Tesla. He seemed nearly giddy at the idea of breaking into the Tesla vault. We have leave to grab whatever tech we can get our hands on. He’s wanted to breach the compound for years, but never had a reason to risk it. I’ve given him all the reason he needs. The bribe turned out to be just the icing on the cake.

Nobel is here, of course. If Gloves lets us, and if the gods of manipulation grant us the ability to talk him into doing it, Nobel and I try to commission ourselves on most of the same missions.

“I’m glad you’re here, bro,” I say.

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Nobel responds.

I’m always glad to have the two security personnel from the Tower, Bruce and Slap Stick, with me also. I’m sure Sisson is here so she can report back to Claymore about the mission, but I don’t mind because she is very good at recon. The last in our party is Journey. I’m not sure how many missions she has been on, but she loves maps and is an expert navigator. Besides, she’s the one who figured out the location of the Institute by tracking a couple of Rifters back to it.

“I found the entrance to the old coal mine,” Sisson says, not even out of breath despite what must have been a long run through the cramped tunnel.

The mine obviously hasn’t been used in a very long time and now the bushes and trees have grown over the entrance, concealing it from everyone. The bushes grab at our clothing and equipment. The gears on my fake leg chew at the small twigs as I trudge through the thick undergrowth. The team follows my lead.

Once we get closer to the entrance, I feel cold cave air billowing out from the mouth of the mine. It’s moldy, damp, and smells like my hamper back at Wardenclyffe Tower. Sharp crystals poke out of the ground.

“Here you go,” Nobel says. He hands me a small flashlight.

“This is too easy,” Journey says, tucking a loose patch of her wiry red curls behind her goggles. “Why hasn’t anyone found this entrance before?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s been blocked off for years. And for another, who would be crazy enough to risk breaking into the Institute itself?” I chuckle and the team joins me. Good. We need to break up the tension somehow. “Plus, nobody else has had Slap Stick on their side.”

Slap Stick is the most noticeable of the group, partly because of his enormous height and partly because of the ominous belt of C-4 bricks slung across his body. I slap him on the shoulder not covered in explosives and he gives me a half-smile. “So Journey, you find the sweet spot, and then Slap Stick will blow a big old hole in it.”

“Yessir,” Slap Stick says, his Texan accent strong as he rubs his hands together. “I really can’t wait. I haven’t blown up anything for a week now. I’m having major withdrawal.”

Pressing a finger to my lips, I lead my team into the dark shaft. At some point, according to the map, it almost connects with a current steam tunnel. There are only a few scant feet of sandy ground separating the two. I know we’re getting close because I can hear the growl of electric turbines spinning in the chamber above us.

On my signal we stop and wait, pressed against the cool mine wall. Roots emerge out of the walls and ceiling like veins on an old lady’s arm. As we move deeper into the cave the growl fades to a hum, and then dies down completely until the only sound left is the light grinding sound of my prosthetic leg and the hiss as a wisp of smoke escapes it. I’m getting used to the sound, and it’s a small price to pay for not being bound to a wheelchair for the rest of my life.

“All right, here we go,” I say, motioning for them to spread out.

To their credit, not a single member of my team shows fear. In fact, they are oozing excitement, practically vibrating with nervous energy. They drop into place, working more like a well-oiled machine than a group of teenagers on a mission that could conceivably be their last. Each one is a cog in the machine that is the Hollows—all skilled, all prepared, and all full of reckless courage.

“This is so weird,” Journey whispers to me as she taps gently on the tunnel wall, looking, I assume, for a thin spot.

“Why?” Slap Stick asks, his hand twitching over a brick of explosives.

“I think this is the first time I’ve actually done a mission in the field,” she answers, pressing her ear to the wall and tapping again.

“Really?” I ask, immediately rethinking the wisdom of having her with us.

I look at her more closely. She might be fourteen, at most, and is still green around the gills. Mentally, I curse. The last thing I need is to get distracted trying to save a rookie.

“Relax, I do stuff like this all the time,” Sisson adds from across the room.

I want to say something—something profound and wise that will inspire my team—but nothing comes to mind.

Nobel runs ahead thirty yards and sets down a device that we call Miss Liberty. She has a face made out of gears and her torch is a small windmill. As the windmill turns with the slight cave breeze, the face gears click, indicating that she is functioning. These gears activate a small projector. The camera lens illuminates the floor with white light.

I approach the apparatus and hear Nobel talking to his machine.

“Good girl, that’s it, keep going,” he whispers.

The white light takes shape into the form of an arrow and points down the mine tunnel.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is our compass,” Nobel announces with great pride.

“So all we have to do is follow the arrow?” Bruce asks. My metal leg is nothing compared to the overhaul he got after an explosion on a subway a few years back. He was supposed to go in and grab a kid, a Rifter like us, whom Claymore had located. He got the kid, but neither of them came out completely intact. One arm is made of brass, and half his face is metal burned into skin. A large monocle covers one eye, and his ear is missing on that side. In its place is a tiny transmitter that allows him to hear by echolocation, like a bat.

“Well, sort of,” Nobel replies. “The arrow points to Tesla kinda like how a compass points north. So we need to pick the tunnels that head in that direction.”

“We’ve input all the data from my maps into her memory,” Journey adds proudly.

At every intersection and fork in the mine tunnel, Nobel sets up Miss Liberty. She keeps our bearings. Finally we find it—the sweet spot. Miss Liberty’s light shines on a section of wall that’s partially caved in.

Journey presses her ear against the rock and taps, then gives Slap Stick a thumbs up. We all run down the dirt tunnel a ways as he sets the charge. He’s whistling when he joins us. We crouch and cover our ears. Slap Stick’s whistle hits a high note that echoes through the chamber a second before the blast.

Everything is going smoothly. Too smoothly, I realize. We’re creeping silently through the old cargo tunnel. As we turn the next corner, the hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. Journey’s earlier words echo again in my head. Too easy.

“Guys, stop,” Sisson whispers harshly. “Did you hear that?”

As if by unspoken command, we all douse our lights. Bruce nods, and Sisson doesn’t hesitate. Her mini Steam Cannon crackles in the darkness as she pulls it from her thigh holster. Donning her night-vision goggles, she takes off down the tunnel to recon, able to navigate her way through the pitch darkness easily.

We hear the sound of her body hitting the ground, and then all hell breaks loose.

The darkness becomes a war zone. A blast of air blows past my face and I jerk to the side. Rapid puffs fill the tunnel. Then more familiar sounds—tiny metal legs running in our direction, and dirt crumbling from the walls around us.

“Lights!” I yell and the cavern around us illuminates as we reignite our lights.

My mind races. Forward or back? Do we push farther into Tesla or retreat now with my team mostly intact?

“Fall back.” I give the order even as Journey is running forward, into the line of fire. Journey is at Sisson’s side, pressing two fingers against her neck.

“She’s still alive,” Journey yells back into the chaos. “She got hit with a tranq dart.”

“Get her out of here,” I order. “Rift her back to Wardenclyffe!”

Journey complies, dragging Sisson past our line and back into the tunnel. Bruce shoves a Contra into Sisson’s mouth.

Journey pulls a Contra from a pocket on her shirt and swallows it quickly. The two girls vanish to safety.

“Take cover!” I order to the remaining team.

Bruce jumps behind a mound of rocks and packed dirt. Slap Stick kneels in the middle of the passageway and holds up a homemade pipe bomb, silently asking permission to light it. I nod as the first wave of Gear Heads crawls up the walls of the dirt cavern.

“Do it!” I yell.

“Good thing we packed the heavy artillery!” Bruce grins, tossing me a telescoping electric baton. I flick my wrist and it expands to four feet long. A small ball at the end crackles with electricity. I mouth, “Thanks,” just in time to hear Slap Stick cry out.

He slumps to the floor with the unlit explosive still in his hand. I don’t have time to think. I quickly slide to where he lies and press my index and middle finger against his neck. He still has a pulse.

TING, TING, TING, TING. I look down and see what has taken out two members of my team. Four red, feathered darts have hit my machine leg. I pick one up and roll it between my fingers. Gear Heads don’t fire darts, I realize, looking up. There are two small turrets mounted in the tunnel, and both are firing rapidly. Without thinking, I grab two bricks of C-4 off Slap Stick’s belt and throw them at the turrets. They hit with thick slaps and cover the barrels. That threat is taken care of, but the darts are only part of the problem. There’s something a lot bigger than Gear Heads blocking our way. I catch a glimpse of it as it slips behind the next corner.

“Nobel! Bruce!” I yell back to where the others are crouched. “Get over here! And bring Miss Liberty!”

They hurry down the tunnel wall and cross over to the intersection where I still kneel.

“Here, give me Miss Liberty,” I order. “And take this. Keep the Gear Heads off me.”

I hand over the prod and Nobel passes me the sculpture. He and Bruce step forward in the tunnel and continue chopping away at the onslaught of Gear Heads.

I break off the windmill, earning me a horrified gasp from Nobel.

“Oh man, why did you have to do that?”

“Because we’re low on weapons, three members of our team are down, and this mission is circling the toilet in a hurry.”

I take the small pipe and scramble over to where the darts fell after hitting my fake leg. I grab all four and crawl back to the intersection, stuffing one of the feathers into the hollow windmill post.

“Now we have a leg up,” I say, holding up my makeshift weapon and tossing the unusable body aside.

I see the creature turn and face us. It’s carrying a syringe full of clear liquid. It’s only sort of a person. It’s wearing a long white lab coat and a mask of brass and leather. Bits of thin, brown hair poke out around the edges of the mask, which looks not unlike Bruce’s. As a matter of fact, I have to glance over at him to see if he knows the strange creature. The stunned look on his face suggests he doesn’t. I leap forward, blowing on the small hollow rod. THUP…I load another…THUP…reload… THUP. Finally, I load the last dart and wait. A hiss of steam escapes the clockwork gears in the center of its chest and the creature crumples to the ground.

“Wow, nice shot,” Bruce says as he steps forward, kicking the creature with the toe of his boot.

“What is it?” I ask.

He shrugs.

Just then the room shimmers and Journey reappears. “I left Sisson back at Wardenclyffe. Figured you might still need me. So, what now?”

As we wait for Slap Stick to wake up, I try to fix Miss Liberty. Not my best work—we’ll have to manually crank it, but hey, believe it or not, it actually works. I hand it to Nobel, hoping his payback won’t be as bad now. Bruce hunches over Slap Stick, who is beginning to stir. He then comes to, wildly swinging his fists. Bruce has to dodge a few punches to keep from getting slugged.

“What happened?” Slap Stick asks, bringing one hand to his head. Once Bruce helps him sit up, Slap Stick retrieves a piece of unused blast cord from the floor, wipes it off on his pant leg, and inserts it into the corner of his mouth. He begins to chew on it like it’s a straw.

“You got tranqed,” Journey says.

“Am I permanently damaged?” Slap Stick says.

“No, I don’t think so,” I say, clearing away the last of the dead Gear Heads from our path. “You’ll probably be woozy for a while, but we still have to get into Tesla.”

Nobel cranks on Miss Liberty and the arrow shows us which way we need to go at the intersection.

“What do we do about that thing?” Journey asks, pointing to the fallen creature.

Bruce kicks Tesla’s Frankenstein again, in the fleshy part. The creature doesn’t move.

“Leave it,” I decide. “We have to hurry now. If those things know we’re here, someone else might, too.”

We navigate as quickly as possible, relying mostly on Journey’s memory of the map rather than Miss Liberty. It’s risky, but it saves us some time.

“Here it is!” Journey says finally.

We’ve arrived at a rusted metal grate. I kick it and it practically disintegrates. We duck through the opening. I know we’re inside Tesla now. The walls are smooth metal, polished like steel. There are red floodlights overhead and doors that open up on either side of the long corridor.

“Which door is it?” I ask. They all look the same. Each has a small keypad at eye level on the right, but there are no markings.

“Third door on the left, according to the maps,” Journey answers with total confidence.

Slap Stick doesn’t hesitate. He jogs over and places small bits of C-4 around the corners of the door. As he works, the blast cord wags back and forth in his mouth.

“Ready?” he asks, jogging back to us as we all crouch down once more. I give him the signal and the blast echoes through the chamber. After a few heartbeats, the door falls in with a thud.

We file inside, leaving Bruce to guard the door. As the dust settles, the room becomes clearer. The walls are a warm copper color with elaborate designs carved into the metal. Some are just swirls of shapes, but some, I realize, are numbers and signs. Formulas.

“Alchemy,” Nobel explains looking at the designs. “An archaic combination of magic and science.”

Shelves of dark wood form lines down the middle of the room. It’s like a library, only with less books and more tech. In the far corner is an old-fashioned elevator. Even though it’s tarnished with large flecks and streaks of green, it’s still very elegant. It sits there as a majestic symbol of what once was. Nobel immediately moves to check the functionality of the old machine. The gears haven’t turned forever and the elevator probably hasn’t delivered anything to Tesla for over a century.

“It’s not here,” Journey says, her voice small and confused.

“What do you mean?” I demand.

“It’s wrong. I think we are in the wrong place.”

Bruce looks in, rolling his eyes. “This is the vault. Look at all this tech. Grab what you can and let’s get out of here.”

I look at the objects on the shelves. They’re pieces, not complete machines.

“No, she’s right. This is like a parts room or something.”

Trying not to let my frustration show, I set Miss Liberty on the ground and give her a crank. Her beam of light bounces off the ceiling above us.

We all look upward. She has clearly answered our question. We have to go up.

“Then it’s a good thing I got this old elevator working.” Nobel smirks and hits a button with his elbow, making the ancient machine grind to life. Tesla must know we’re here by now. All we can do now is get what we came for before his troops arrive.

We heave the doors open, and crowd into the rickety elevator. The old brass cage is going to deliver something to Tesla one last time.