The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2) by Ramona Finn (no david read aloud .txt) 📕

has their reasons,” whispered Ben. “You, me, Reyland, Nina. We’ve all got someone we’re fighting for. Maybe she’s doing it for Ona.” He moved back into formation, and we jogged along the wall.

“Projector H,” said Jasper. “Through the maintenance shaft.”

I ignored him and kept running. Projector G loomed above us, its access hatch shut tight. It was thick, solid steel, secured by hinges fat as rolling pins. Even I couldn’t hope to wrench it loose. If Projector H was the same, if Nina hadn’t come through—

I pushed the thought down as deep as it would go. We’d come this far. The hatch would be unlocked because it had to be unlocked. Because Nina had taken a bolt for us, and she wouldn’t fail us now. Because Lock was waiting, and he couldn’t hold on forever.

“This is us,” said Ben.

I held my breath, watching Starkey. He stepped up to the hatch and took the wheel in both hands. He pushed and grunted, shoulders bunching. For one sinking moment, I was sure nothing would happen—the wheel would stick; the lock would hold—then metal ground on metal, and the hatch creaked open. Starkey went first, lowering himself down the shaft. The rest of us followed, clumsy boots feeling for the ladder in the dark. We climbed down and down, into the clamor of the Dirt.

Pale light greeted us at the bottom, coming up through the catwalk. Ben pushed back his mask, and I read bewilderment on his face as he took in the scene.

“This is it? You guys live here?”

I shook my head. “Not here, exactly. This is an industrial sector.”

“Quiet.” Starkey jerked Ben back from the railing, his ruined lip drawn into a sneer. He pointed across the catwalk, where a sensor light glowed red. “That’s a camera, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I nodded tightly. “And there’s another one by the stairs.”

Starkey cursed under his breath. “Those weren’t in the schematics.”

“They’re new,” I said. “They started installing them a few weeks ago. I thought you—”

“Damn.” Starkey rounded on me. “You’re from here. You tell me. Is there some other way round?”

“Maybe. Let me think.” I peered over the railing. I hadn’t been here before, so close to the projectors. I closed my eyes and listened, picking up foot-traffic below us, the swing shift headed home. Beyond that, I heard water, and the roar of the factory. “We’re south of the refinery,” I said. “We need to get down to the reservoir, then up over the bridge, all without being seen.

“Down there?” Ben frowned. “There’s people down there. Dozens of them.”

“I know.” I glanced past the catwalk, where a MAINTENANCE sign hung askew. “You guys wait here,” I said. “I won’t be long.”

Starkey scowled, but he raised no objection. He stood aside to let me by, and I trudged toward the camera. Just some Dirtbag on the job. Head down, back bent. Six hours through my shift and ready to drop. I willed the camera to buy what I was selling, my weary stoop, my downtrodden shamble.

Halfway, now.

No siren sounded as I left the camera behind. It swung to track my progress, tiny gears whirring. I slapped the MAINTENANCE sign as I passed, like I’d seen the real teams do—a quick smack for luck, on their way to Sky Station. Just me, just some crew-goon. Nothing to see.

I sloped off down a dim hall, wide-spaced fluorescents fizzing in the gloom. Somewhere here, there’d be a changeroom, a place with showers and lockers, just like by Sky Station. Someplace workers could go to slip into their overalls, to wash and mask up before they headed Outside. Somewhere—somewhere—

There.

I caught a whiff of chlorine and followed my nose, left round the corner, second door on the right. I grabbed a laundry sack off the wall and raided the lockers, snatching up filthy overalls and mucky Dirt boots. I grabbed masks and gloves and threw them in on top. My skin crawled unpleasantly as I donned my own disguise, sweat-stiff cloth in my armpits, loose threads at my wrists. I covered my hair with a mask and slung my bag over my shoulder. A sudden thought struck me, and I took the rest of the laundry bags and draped them over my arm.

The camera eyed me nosily as I retraced my steps. I ignored it, head down, and shuffled out of range.

“What’s all this?” Starkey gestured at my baggage.

“Overalls. Boots. Put them on.” I dumped our disguises at his feet and held up my laundry bags. “Put your packs in these. Maintenance doesn’t carry packs. And leave your tanks by the ladder. You wouldn’t bring those downstairs.”

Jasper looked doubtful. “Will this be enough? Even dressed to fit in, the people who live here will still know we’re strangers.”

“Maybe. Probably not.” I looked down at the reservoir, at the crowds along the banks. “There’s a hundred thousand Dirtbags, maybe more. They’ll know they don’t know you, but that’s not saying much.” I lowered my mask over my face. “I’ll be the biggest risk. Everyone knows who I am.”

“Walk behind me, then,” said Starkey. “Let my scars distract them. They won’t know you’re there.” He pulled on his overalls and zipped them up to his chin. Behind him, Ben did the same. Jasper fumbled with his boots, trembling so badly he couldn’t tie the laces. I did them up for him, and it was time to go.

Starkey took the lead down the long staircase. I went behind him, head bowed. Ben followed, then Jasper, with our guards bringing up the rear.

“Walk like you’re tired,” I whispered, as the street sounds rose to greet us. “Don’t hurry.”

Starkey slowed down, and we filed across the square. A few heads turned our way, but I saw no hint of interest, no spark of recognition. Their eyes passed over us, through us, like we weren’t there at all. We angled north through the slums, joining the swing shift procession. Prium’s new screens hung everywhere, propped in shop windows and bolted to walls. Workers slowed as