Read Out of Exodia for Free Online Page A

She heard something thump against the
other side and assumed he barred it. She ignored his warning and
moved to the hinged edge of the door. She listened, heard nothing,
and ventured to put a shaky hand on the frame. There was a soft
vibration, like a cat’s purr. She reached for the knob, hesitated,
then stepped back and opened her belt sack. They hadn’t searched
her. She pulled out her oldest possession: an antique metal comb
with a long, narrow handle, wickedly sharp at the end. She tossed
it at the knob and sparks flew. The metal comb had saved her from a
nasty burn.
    She retrieved the comb, examined other
parts of the room, and found nothing that could help her. The light
in the ceiling drew her attention last. When she stood directly
beneath it she discovered that it was a wide tube lined with
curving reflective material, bringing surface light deep
underground. Now she understood why the Exodian government had not
exterminated these outlaws: spotter planes had never seen this
town.
    Her knees wobbled less and her heart
stopped racing. She drew in a thin breath and wondered how many
underground cities there might be in the ninety states. No, not
ninety. That lie had been exposed the year before last. Barrett had
told her.
    A stab of regret pierced her heart as
she remembered the time they sat on her porch steps and he showed
her proof that only twenty-five states still functioned. He had put
his arm around her and told her she was pretty, but she’d cut him
off and moved away. That was when he told her that Bram, he was
called Dalton then, was rumored to be living in a secret town.
Well, here was another secret town. Would Bram find her
here?
    She crumpled to the floor under the
light, rubbed her aching muscles, and tried to keep from crying.
When the light finally faded, she stretched out, and when sleep
wouldn’t come to her, Lydia gave in to the tears.
    * * *
    The clouds close over me.
My toe strikes an embedded rock. The force from the jolt catapults
me forward. My eyes adjust to the darkening way. I walk another
thousand yards silently repeating I will
not lose her, I will not lose her. I work
my way down a gradual incline and smell the unmistakable odor of
horse manure. I stop and listen. Far behind me my fellow rescuers
are less restless than I expected. Their muffled whispers kiss the
breeze, soft but audible to my special hearing. I can only hope
that their sounds remain unheard by Lydia’s abductors should they
be nearby. I silently dismantle the rod into its smaller sections
and tie all but one into my belt sacks.
    A whistle draws my eyes to
the northeast. I drop to the ground as fluidly as I can. I catch
sight of a sentry taking his position and flashing a quick signal
light to the left. He climbs a tree and settles in to watch for
intruders — to
watch for me. The second sentry flashes back, but stays on the
ground. All the better to catch me, or rather all the better for me
to catch him. I rise only inches to crawl forward on my forearms,
gripping that middle section of the rod, adjusting my path to stay
in the blind spots of both the watcher in the tree and the man on
the ground.
    I take my time. A tickle of
apprehension creeps up my mid-section and settles across my chest.
The muted sounds of the distant Reds readying themselves to come
after me are no longer subdued. I press myself into some taller
grasses and study the sentries. The one in the tree is alert,
cocking his head toward those suspicious sounds, but the one on the
ground has settled back against a tree, arms folded. An easy
choice: I angle my position to align my aim upward toward the alert
guard and set the rod’s countdown for sixty seconds. I begin my own
mental ticking as I creep closer to the lazy guard.
    There’s a flash, bang,
scream, and I know the vigilant lookout has breathed his last as I
leap onto the unsuspecting guard and perform the appalling twist,
wrench, breaking moves I’d learned when I was fifteen.