Judgement: The Undergrounders Series Book Three (A Young Adult Post-apocalyptic Science Fiction Thriller) by Norma Hinkens Page B
Authors: Norma Hinkens
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the Research Sektor and find Viktor," I say.
The Ghost grins around at us. "Now that I got shares on that galactic luxury liner, I'm in on the powwows."
V iktor looks up , startled when we walk in. "You made it."
"You didn't know we were here?" I raise my brows.
"The cameras are still down," Sven reminds me.
I frown. "Get someone on them right away. The security system has to be in working order by day's end. It's the first thing the Sweepers would restore. We need to start thinking like them if we're going to pull this off."
I turn my attention back to Viktor. "Is Jerome down in Terminus?"
"No." Viktor flicks a finger over his mole. "He's ... sick. He must have picked up something from the deviations. Their immune systems were compromised by their stay in the city. They were never successfully enhanced so they're susceptible to everything."
I suck in a silent breath. "Where is he?"
Viktor blinks around at us.
I flinch when The Ghost suddenly slams his forearm to Viktor's windpipe. "Tell her," he growls, "before I squeeze it out of you."
"Medical Sektor," Viktor wheezes out. "He ... needed fluids."
"I was there a few minutes ago," Sven says. "I didn't see him."
"He's in Sektor Sieben. We're keeping him isolated." Viktor drops his gaze, squeezing his hands in front of him. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead.
My stomach churns with dread. Whatever Jerome has, it has nothing to do with the deviations and everything to do with what Viktor's been hiding from us. I turn to The Ghost. "Stay here and don't let Viktor out of your sight until we get back."
Trout and I race through the gleaming tunnels after Sven. I'm not sure what Viktor's up to, but I only hope we manage to reach Jerome before it's too late. He must have found out whatever it is that Viktor's been trying to hide from us.
Sven punches the entry code into the keypad outside Sektor Sieben. The doors swing wide and we walk through the entry door. A scientist in a hazard suit and mask jumps up from behind a desk. "You can't come in here. We have a deviation in quarantine."
"Where is he?" I say, glancing around.
The cubicles are lying open, empty of their macabre participants, except for one. I race over and peer through the viewing monitor into the room. Dread fills my lungs like glue.
Jerome lies motionless on a gurney, eyes sealed shut, a single drip line in his arm. For a moment, I think he's dead. Then his chest rises and falls. My knees almost buckle beneath me with relief. "He's breathing," I whisper.
Sven pushes open the door. The scientist follows us inside, flustered and still protesting, but reluctant to confront Sven.
"Jerome! Can you hear me?" I shake his arm gently, but he doesn't respond.
Sven checks the bag of fluid and mutters something under his breath.
"What's wrong?" Trout asks.
"Bag's punctured," Sven replies. "They're not just giving him fluids. Someone's drugging him."
The scientist stares wide-eyed at the bag. "That's not possible."
"Who else has been in here?" I ask.
"No one. Just me and Viktor Kozlov."
Sven and I trade glances.
"Get the needle out of his arm!" I order the scientist.
She throws an uneasy glance Sven's way, then bends over and deftly disconnects the drip line.
"You must have something here to counteract the drug with," Sven says to her.
She gives a worried nod and retrieves a syringe and a vial from a shelf at the back of the room. Seconds stretch into eternity as we watch her turn the vial upside down, pull back the plunger and fill the syringe.
I step out of her way and grit my teeth as she sticks the needle into a vein in his arm.
Seconds later, Jerome lets out a gasp. His eye snaps open and fastens on me. His lips move, but nothing comes out.
I lean over him. "It's okay, Jerome. Take it easy."
"Viktor." He enunciates the name slowly like his tongue is thick and clumsy, finding its bearings again.
"What about him?" Sven says.
Jerome takes a long, rasping breath. "He didn't ... intercept
The Ghost grins around at us. "Now that I got shares on that galactic luxury liner, I'm in on the powwows."
V iktor looks up , startled when we walk in. "You made it."
"You didn't know we were here?" I raise my brows.
"The cameras are still down," Sven reminds me.
I frown. "Get someone on them right away. The security system has to be in working order by day's end. It's the first thing the Sweepers would restore. We need to start thinking like them if we're going to pull this off."
I turn my attention back to Viktor. "Is Jerome down in Terminus?"
"No." Viktor flicks a finger over his mole. "He's ... sick. He must have picked up something from the deviations. Their immune systems were compromised by their stay in the city. They were never successfully enhanced so they're susceptible to everything."
I suck in a silent breath. "Where is he?"
Viktor blinks around at us.
I flinch when The Ghost suddenly slams his forearm to Viktor's windpipe. "Tell her," he growls, "before I squeeze it out of you."
"Medical Sektor," Viktor wheezes out. "He ... needed fluids."
"I was there a few minutes ago," Sven says. "I didn't see him."
"He's in Sektor Sieben. We're keeping him isolated." Viktor drops his gaze, squeezing his hands in front of him. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead.
My stomach churns with dread. Whatever Jerome has, it has nothing to do with the deviations and everything to do with what Viktor's been hiding from us. I turn to The Ghost. "Stay here and don't let Viktor out of your sight until we get back."
Trout and I race through the gleaming tunnels after Sven. I'm not sure what Viktor's up to, but I only hope we manage to reach Jerome before it's too late. He must have found out whatever it is that Viktor's been trying to hide from us.
Sven punches the entry code into the keypad outside Sektor Sieben. The doors swing wide and we walk through the entry door. A scientist in a hazard suit and mask jumps up from behind a desk. "You can't come in here. We have a deviation in quarantine."
"Where is he?" I say, glancing around.
The cubicles are lying open, empty of their macabre participants, except for one. I race over and peer through the viewing monitor into the room. Dread fills my lungs like glue.
Jerome lies motionless on a gurney, eyes sealed shut, a single drip line in his arm. For a moment, I think he's dead. Then his chest rises and falls. My knees almost buckle beneath me with relief. "He's breathing," I whisper.
Sven pushes open the door. The scientist follows us inside, flustered and still protesting, but reluctant to confront Sven.
"Jerome! Can you hear me?" I shake his arm gently, but he doesn't respond.
Sven checks the bag of fluid and mutters something under his breath.
"What's wrong?" Trout asks.
"Bag's punctured," Sven replies. "They're not just giving him fluids. Someone's drugging him."
The scientist stares wide-eyed at the bag. "That's not possible."
"Who else has been in here?" I ask.
"No one. Just me and Viktor Kozlov."
Sven and I trade glances.
"Get the needle out of his arm!" I order the scientist.
She throws an uneasy glance Sven's way, then bends over and deftly disconnects the drip line.
"You must have something here to counteract the drug with," Sven says to her.
She gives a worried nod and retrieves a syringe and a vial from a shelf at the back of the room. Seconds stretch into eternity as we watch her turn the vial upside down, pull back the plunger and fill the syringe.
I step out of her way and grit my teeth as she sticks the needle into a vein in his arm.
Seconds later, Jerome lets out a gasp. His eye snaps open and fastens on me. His lips move, but nothing comes out.
I lean over him. "It's okay, Jerome. Take it easy."
"Viktor." He enunciates the name slowly like his tongue is thick and clumsy, finding its bearings again.
"What about him?" Sven says.
Jerome takes a long, rasping breath. "He didn't ... intercept
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