Chapter 34
Sounds rang out, a cacophony of buzzes and clicks spreading through the tunnels, like they were coming alive.
Tristian’s eyes found mine, radiating excitement. “Let’s go.”
We crossed the threshold, his hand still intertwined with mine as lights flickered on, illuminating the room beyond. Chills skated over my skin at the sight before us.
“They’re real,” Tristian uttered in disbelief. I squeezed his hand as we walked toward Haven’s savior.
The room before us was filled, brimming with boxes and cases.
All labeled. Lights flickered to life farther down, revealing more tunnels and doors.
I couldn’t believe it. Tristian’s bag fell to the ground as he wrapped his arms around me.
Relief, poignant and intoxicating, seeped from him.
His lips pressed into my hair as he took a shuddering breath.
“You did it,” I told his chest, sounds still echoing off the stones.
“We did it,” Tristian corrected. I lifted my head and smiled, those green depths gutted as they traced the curve of my smile.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his lips pressing into my smile, my core throbbing for more—we now had time for more.
Damien’s voice filled the space, and I jumped, my heart slamming in my throat.
“Update 48, repeat update 48, and we’re back with the Mutiny Chronicles where the question we all want to know remains unanswered,” Damien began. Tristian released me, grabbing his bag. He ripped it open to pull out the radio.
“Seriously, Dame, I’m going to break that fucking radio,” Patrick bit out.
Damien continued unfazed. “Will our fellow mutineers ever resurface? Will someone turn up to take us all out, or will we take out one another as Mission Fail Right Now and Everyone’s Dead on the surface remains fucking mundane.
Nothing moves, including Eagle, who is perched like a stone, eyes on the horizon.
No distraction has worked in our unending attempts to break her concentration.
Maybe a full moon will appear. She moved! ”
“She didn’t,” came Levi’s dry drawl.
“Seriously, Dame, give me the radio,” Patrick demanded. There was movement in the background.
“McFumbles has grown increasingly moody; some are baffled by the cause, but in the face of certain death, I can confirm it’s—”
“I swear I will kill you myself,” Patrick growled.
“Ouch! Did you throw a pebble at my head?”
A laugh bubbled in my throat, a real one.
“We have decided to agree to disagree on the source of McFumbles’s poor mood. If only some sunshine would appear…Which brings us to Raven—”
“I thought the radios didn’t work,” I said, staring at Tristian, who grinned freely. It made him even more handsome. He looked his age for once, the smile giving way to youth.
“They didn’t. Only you got Ingrid’s call last time,” Tristian told me, bringing the radio up to his mouth.
“I figured you weren’t far enough into the Abyss to have your technology affected.
Maybe we activated something. Maybe that chip grants us access to the room but also the technology systems.” Tristian went to push the button, but Ingrid’s voice came over the radio.
“Medusa to above, can you hear me?” Ingrid called out.
“Ingrid, is that you? Are you all okay?” Damien asked.
“Yeah, Sunshine and I are good. We were trying to get out of the tunnels when a bunch of sounds started. Guys, the lights are on down here. There are lights. We don’t know what happened. We haven’t seen Phoenix and Hades since we split up.”
“Sunshine?” Damien asked, his voice breaking.
“Hi, Buddy”—Isla’s voice filled the radio—“I think you all should head this way.”
Tristian gripped my hand as he pushed the button. “Unit Seven, Hades here.”
The radio went quiet. My heart pounding against my chest, Tristian worked to swallow as he held down the button once more. “Mission Hope is a success.”
The silence was deafening as the gravity of what we had found came to life. The sacrifices and trials had a purpose. Haven wouldn’t perish. Humans stood a chance.
“Hayes.” Levi’s voice filled the radio, his voice strained in a way I had never heard. No other words came, like he couldn’t say more.
“We did it, Levi,” Tristian choked out. “Come here and see. Hurry.”
Tristian gave them all directions on how to get to us, relaying the traps above as we walked through the boxes.
The entire first room read Building Supplies, the boxes varying in size and shape.
We entered another large room; boxes upon boxes read Supplements.
Another area contained medications and medical gear.
I read the crates multiple times in another room, calling Tristian over.
“Yeah, it says Art,” Tristian confirmed.
“They saved art? Doesn’t that seem unnecessary for survival?” I asked as I pried open one of the countless boxes. The entire room was filled floor to ceiling.
“I don’t think so,” Tristian said, helping me remove the lid from the crate to reveal a painting of a distorted woman with two sides and a book. It was a Picasso.
“If they saved art, what else do you think they kept? Art won’t save anyone in Haven,” I admitted, even if the painting was lovely. A doorway to the world before the war.
“No, but it might give people hope in what’s to come,” Tristian told me, taking my hand. “My mom used to say art was essential for human life. Let’s keep looking.”
Tristian pulled me out of the room. “Did Kumar know the mission was named Hope?” I asked.
“He did. He asked me questions when he stitched up my shoulder. I think he was trying to keep me distracted from the pain. I thought it was all over, so I told him about the mission.”
We entered another room farther down. It was dark, colder than the others. There were oblong-shaped pods in three neat rows. The question I had wanted to ask died in my throat as I stared at the strange pods all perfectly in line.
“What do you think they are?” I asked.
“One way to find out,” Tristian said, releasing my hand as he approached the first one, running his hands over it. “Sasha, come here,” Tristian called to me as he rubbed the outside of it. “Help me get the dust off. There are words here. T-A-B-I—hang on, there’s more.”
I approached the metal container, helping him, rubbing along the thinner area, a glass panel coming into view. I rubbed harder. The chip Kumar had given me fell from my neckline, hitting the pod.
“What do you think this means?” Tristian asked.
I didn’t look his way as steam, or maybe it was smoke, started swirling beneath the glass. I peered in, trying to find the source.
“Tactical Artificial Biotech Intelligence Tracking Human Algorithm.”
I had no idea what that meant. The first letter of every word capitalized.
TABITHA.
“Must be important if they kept it,” I muttered.
“Yeah, how do you think it opens?”
“Tristian, Sasha,” voices called out. We both pulled away from the pod. Tristian grabbed my hand and headed toward the door.
“We’ll come back; let’s go,” Tristian told me before calling out to the others. “This way.”
I walked away from the pods, following the sounds of Unit Seven.
“I can’t fucking believe it,” Damien hollered, his smile wide, his hand in Isla’s, whose sunshine filled the tunnels as she practically skipped beside him.
“There’s so much,” Patrick commented, staring around; Rumi stood a ways away, looking over the equipment, lightly touching it like it might not be real.
Footsteps hurried toward us. I only caught a glimpse of tears streaking down Levi’s face, Tristian’s discarded sweater clutched in his left hand. I released Tristian’s hand just in time for Levi to hurtle into him.
I joined the others. As Tristian and Levi held each other, words coming from both meant only for them, for two Angels who had never given up.
I approached Ingrid, who clutched her bandanna to her chest, taking everything in, as Damien and Isla began darting into the rooms like children, shouting the things they found. “There’s medical stuff in here.”
They ran into another room. “They kept art, well, they kept ugly art,” Damien called out as they raced across the main room and into the other room Tristian and I hadn’t been in.
“Holy shit,” Damien called out, a rustle of movement and a squeal of disbelief coming from Isla.
Patrick smiled at the sound. Rumi approached him, and he held out an arm, pulling her in. He bent down, whispering something to her. Rumi’s wide eyes closed, and she shook her head before hugging him.
“Hope is real,” Ingrid finally uttered next to me, her knuckles white against the scrap of fabric, flowers and stars embroidered on it. I knew that piece of clothing. I had seen warm brown hands stitching little embellishments on it in the closet.
“It’s real,” I said, eyes only for the fraying fabric remains of Ingrid’s old partner.
“I wish Lily could see this. She always believed—”
“That’s Lily’s shirt, the one she always embroidered,” I said quietly.
“She gave it to me right before she died.” A sob broke her words. “She told me to keep it close. I think she wanted to make sure she was here with us when this happened. Thank you, Sasha. For saving Bretta. For this, I was wrong about you, I—” Ingrid shook her head, unable to finish.
“Unit Seven,” Tristian called out, finally breaking from his brother.
My unit shuffled around me as Tristian and Levi approached us. Levi shook his head, wrapping his arm around me as he leaned in. “You tried like hell. I’m so proud of you. Would have been cool if you two waited to celebrate.”
I whipped my head toward him. He barked a laugh.
Rumi came up, her arm wrapped around Patrick, his face relaxed.
Ingrid joined on my right, wiping away her tears.
Damien and Isla sprinted toward us, their faces bright. They were covered in jewels. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls, and rubies adorned their bodies. Necklaces, bracelets, and rings. “They saved a shit ton of jewels.” Damien grinned.