Edge of Extinction. Laura Martin

Чтение книги онлайн.

      I dashed out of the Guardian Wing. Two minutes later I rounded the last corner and ploughed full force into a body. My feet went out from under me and I landed hard on my butt. I gazed up into the disapproving eyes of General Ron Kennedy.

      “Late again?” he asked, pulling out his port to make a quick notation. “That makes the fourth time in three weeks.” He glanced down at his port and then raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Maybe a full week of work detail will make you be more punctual.”

      I just stood up silently and brushed myself off. The six other people standing behind Kennedy wore overalls that matched mine and were studiously ignoring me, although I saw one woman smirk. Most of the time, I was proud of being a member of North Compound. Even though I was held at arm’s length by almost everyone, it didn’t change the fact that we were survivors – the scrappiest and toughest of the human race. But at times like this, I wished there was somewhere else I could be. My mind flashed to the few minutes I’d spent topside just that morning: the way the sun had felt on my skin, the smell of earth and pine in the air. A traitorous part of me wondered what it would be like to leave the grey compound tunnels behind. But I shook off the thought. Life topside might seem wonderful, but I knew all too well that it was deadly. I wiped a hand across my face and discovered I’d got a bloody nose from the impact.

      “Don’t get blood on your overalls,” Kennedy snapped. “Or you’ll have work detail for the rest of the month.”

      “Yes, sir,” I said. As he turned and walked up the tunnel, it took everything in me not to make a face at him. Instead, I followed as he led us towards our work assignment for that evening. During the day, all the adults in North Compound reported to their various day tasks – tending the farming plots, fortifying the tunnels, cleaning the public areas, or teaching. In the evenings, those who had the misfortune of earning work detail reported for duty.

      Work detail could be assigned for anything – being late, not putting enough effort into your job, offending a government official, being found with contraband in your apartment, not taking care of the compound resources. It usually lasted around three hours and was led by one of the compound’s marines. The job could be something simple, like searching one of your fellow citizen’s quarters, or something harder, like moving rock or chiselling out a new bench for public use. Everything was done for the common good. It was one of the things that Shawn and I both valued about compound life. It could be brutally hard, but everything was done to ensure that the human race survived another day.

      For the last two weeks, my work detail had been rock removal. There had been a tunnel collapse in the southern corner of the compound and all of the fallen rock needed to be carried up the tunnels to a removal site. I usually didn’t mind work detail. It gave me time to think, to use my muscles, and I liked the feeling of accomplishment that came from a job well done. But I knew that with General Kennedy overseeing us this particular detail would be anything but enjoyable.

      I grabbed one of the wheelbarrows leaning against the wall and made my way over to the mound of rock and rubble blocking the tunnel. Luckily, this one had been empty when it collapsed. Without the ceiling above, I was able to look up through three levels of tunnels. It was an eerie sight. This tunnel had been one of the newest additions to North Compound, built to create a shortcut from the business section to the residential tunnels. Unfortunately, many of the engineering skills for constructing tunnels like this had been lost over the years. Grabbing a rock the size of my fist, I threw it into my wheelbarrow. It rang hollowly against the metal, sending echoes up and down the tunnel. Mine was the first one filled, and I turned it around, careful not to bump into anyone, and began the arduous task of pushing it back up the tunnel.

      “Hold it,” General Kennedy said, coming over to inspect the contents of my wheelbarrow. “That’s only half full. Fill it the rest of the way before you head up to the drop site.”

      I thought about telling him that if I filled it any more it would be too heavy to push. But I knew a hopeless case when I saw one. So instead, I rolled it back around and headed down to retrieve more rocks. I felt his eyes on me as I worked. General Kennedy had been the one who led the search of our apartment on the night my dad disappeared. I was the daughter of a traitor, and he wasn’t going to let me forget it.

      When I returned to my room two hours later, my muscles burned and my hands were covered in blisters. I was about to flop down on my bed when I noticed that it wasn’t made. A prickle of unease raced up my spine as I looked around my room. My school uniform was no longer in a pile by the foot of my bed but rather shoved haphazardly into the corner. My dresser drawers stood open, their contents spilling out. Thankfully my light was still screwed tightly into the ceiling. Sighing in relief, I sank down on to my bed. I’d been searched, again. Just then the lights blinked out and the lock on my door clicked.

      “Well,” I grumbled. “That’s just perfect.” I spent the next half hour struggling to put my things back where they belonged. Compound searches were done randomly, but I got the feeling my room was searched more often than most. No one trusted the offspring of a traitor. I finally climbed into bed, too exhausted to even change out of my work overalls, and fell asleep almost instantly.

      When I woke up the next morning, I stared at the ceiling of my room, trying to ignore the fact that every movement sent pain radiating down my arms and legs. I stood up and unscrewed my light. I pulled out my journal and plunked back down on my bed. It was time to finish updating my information on Deinonychus.

      The journal had been a gift from my dad for my seventh birthday, three days before he had disappeared. I’d woken up that morning to the sound of him singing. He had this big booming voice that always seemed at odds with his tall, slim build. That morning, it had been a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ in French. I’d СКАЧАТЬ