Rise: Populations Crumble, Book 2 by Gandy, A. (animal farm read .TXT) 📗

the tires, but I still get a few scratches along my chilled arms when things spring back up. We ride one behind the other until we reach the ATV trail to the guard shack. Atlas waits for Patrick to pull us up to his right.

“Stay low and be ready to cut the engine on my signal.” His tone is sharp and to the point. With that, he pulls back in front of us, and we continue down the ATV trail at a moderate clip. After another five minutes or so, Atlas veers off the path and into the scrubby underbrush.

We continue on this circuitous route at a slower pace, and I think that I can just see a clearing in the distance that we seem to be skirting around. That must be the guard shack. Eventually we make it through the forest and see another trail, this one too narrow for us to ride side by side. Atlas stops and signals for Patrick to kill the engine, and they both climb off.

“Stay here, and stay low. If we tell you to take off, you take off. Don’t look back, don’t ask questions. Clear?” Atlas orders, and Nell and I both nod. Patrick shoulders his rifle before he and Atlas cross to the trail ahead. They disappear from sight, and the sounds of the forest envelop us. Nell and I exchange nervous glances, but we don’t dare speak.

What feels like an eternity later, the soft snap of twigs alerts us to the men’s return. A sigh of relief escapes me as I see Patrick’s dark wavy hair appear, followed closely by Atlas’s blond buzz cut.

They quickly climb back on in front of us. “We’re clear. The guard shack looks deserted; this is our chance,” Patrick says quietly before kicking the ATV back to life. This time, Atlas surges forward and the roar of the engine cuts through the forest like a knife.

We make a hard left onto the narrow trail, and within a few minutes we enter another clearing. There is some kind of screen across the entire top of the clearing, which makes it unnaturally darker than it should be without any tree cover.  In the middle of the open ground sits a good-sized windowless white building. There are no signs or other markers to indicate its purpose, just a door with a square pad above the handle.

We all hurriedly dismount, and head straight to the door.

“It looks like it requires a keycard.” Nell points to the pad above the knob.

“I should be able to get us in.” Patrick slides in close to the door, and whips a nondescript white card from his pocket. “Glitch took my old guard card and wiped it and loaded it with every access code he could find. If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to try to break it down.”

“What if this isn’t the right place?” I ask, worried.

“It would be just perfect if we break down the door to a glorified broom closet.” Nell’s voice drips with sarcasm.

The pad lights up with a green outline and an innocuous chirp, followed by the click of the lock releasing.

“Glitch, my man!” Patrick quietly exalts.

Atlas steps back to the front, and pushes the door open. He peers around the door in silence, but pushes it open onto a bare, sterile white hallway. The overhead lights are harsh to my eyes compared to the dim screened exterior, and the sharp tang of disinfectant bites my nose.

We all pile into the hallway, and make our way down. I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it. It’s silent here, and appears empty. Halfway down, another hall splits off. Atlas stops, and gestures with two fingers down the side hall, and then the main hall. Patrick nods, and takes my hand. We split off down the side hall, while Atlas and Nell continue forward on silent feet.

A doorway is on the right. Patrick waves me past it, and gestures for me to wait. Rifle at the ready, he slips the doorway open and spins inside without making a sound. From my angle, it appears to be an office. I turn back to the hallway, keeping an eye out for anyone else that may be in here. Halfway down, I see what looks to be a large glass window set into the wall. Glancing over my shoulder to see Patrick rifling through papers on a desk in the empty office, I continue down the hall to check out the window.

I peer carefully around the edge, scared that there will be someone on the other side to spot our intrusion. What I see instead stops me in my tracks.

There are people in the room, but none that can sound an alarm. Instead it’s two rows of hospital beds, each with a woman strapped into it. They lie there so lifelessly, in white hospital gowns that at first, I think they’re dead. After a moment, the collective rise and fall of their chests registers and I suck in a relieved breath. I look past the window and see a door into the room. Crossing over to it, I shove my way in.

Thoughts of being spotted have left me, and all I can think about is finding out what is going on with these women. I cross to the first bed, and the pale woman in it is unnaturally still. She is completely unmoving, except the rise and fall of her chest. There’s a mask strapped to her face, and an IV in her arm.

I give her hand a gentle shake. “Can you hear me? Can you respond?”

Nothing, not even a flutter of eyelids. They’re sedated. Acidic bile starts to rise in my throat. I spin, and run to the bed across from hers, this one holding an olive-skinned woman with raven hair pooled under her head. I repeat my hand shaking routine, and touch her cheek softly, but still nothing. Making my way down the aisle, I spot a tablet attached to