never would have guessed that when Dr. Carlyle handed over his directions, he was leading us to an underground headquarters for the dead, the missing, and the highly deranged. It’s all too much to process.
“Rosie,” Cap finally says, “why don’t you give our new guests a tour?”
*
Rosie takes up her role with a sense of authority too big for her small body. I look back at the adults in the room—the captain, Gabe, Sticks, and Non—conferring near the door in hushed tones. As curious as I am to see the operation they have here, I don’t want a tour nearly as much as I want to stay behind and ask my questions. But Luka puts his warm hand on the small of my back and ushers me after our Arabian-looking tour guide.
“This is the common area,” she says. “It’s where most of the students hang out after classes and training and stuff.”
“Wait— most of the students? How many people are here?” And they go to school?
“There’s sixteen of us altogether. Anyone under age goes to class in the morning.” Rosie rolls her eyes, as if she’d rather do anything but go to class, and heads down the dank corridor from where Claire came. It smells like must and cement.
“What kind of classes?”
“All the regular stuff—English, Math, Current Events. Non’s obsessed with history. Timelines make her giddy. Sticks, on the other hand, is a big fan of independent research projects.” Rosie scrunches her nose. “All I care about is The Gifting.”
There. Those words again. It sounds so strange to hear them roll so easily off this stranger of a girl’s tongue. I want to ask about The Gifting. I’m still not sure what it even means, but I don’t know how or where to start. And I don’t want to sound dumb. I look at Luka. I can tell by the stiff set of his shoulders and the quick movement of his eyes that he doesn’t care much about Rosie’s commentary. Unlike me, he seems unconvinced that we have reached the safety of base. “How long have you guys been down here?”
“A while.” Rosie stops in front of the first opened door. The room is filled with several laptops, a large supercomputer of sorts, a police scanner, and a host of other gadgets—all wired and blinking with life. “This is the computer lab. Everything is password protected. Anybody who wants to use a computer has to go through Link first. He’s the unofficial tech-head of the hub. He can hack into anything.”
“What does he hack into?”
“Lots of stuff.” Rosie continues down the hall, stopping at two school-like rooms as we go. There are no individual desks, but a few longer tables with old chairs and makeshift chalkboards. Maps and a globe. A collection of outdated books. There are, of course, no windows, seeing as we are so far underground.
“Do you ever get to go outside?” I ask.
“ I do.”
“Only you?”
“Me and Bass. We’re the hubs’ official runners.”
“What’s a runner?”
“We get to go out into the world. Gather supplies and deliver messages. We always go alone, so we don’t draw attention to ourselves.”
“You mean you wander around the streets of Detroit by yourself?” Surely the captain realizes how much danger he’s putting Rosie in by sending her out into the city without the protection of a stronger, older adult. It makes me question his judgment.
“There are advantages to being small. And I’m tougher than I look.” She flashes an impish grin, then leads us into a smaller room filled with books—shelves and shelves of them, their spines worn and faded. I spot some of my favorites. They are like a bowlful of buttery mashed potatoes, the best kind of comfort food. The next room is filled with weight machines and several treadmills. Across the hall, there’s a mat room that smells like Clorox and sweaty feet. It reminds me of the dojo Mom and I went to in Thornsdale. One door down, Rosie shows us a room that is locked. Luka and I peer through the window. Except for a few chairs
“Rosie,” Cap finally says, “why don’t you give our new guests a tour?”
*
Rosie takes up her role with a sense of authority too big for her small body. I look back at the adults in the room—the captain, Gabe, Sticks, and Non—conferring near the door in hushed tones. As curious as I am to see the operation they have here, I don’t want a tour nearly as much as I want to stay behind and ask my questions. But Luka puts his warm hand on the small of my back and ushers me after our Arabian-looking tour guide.
“This is the common area,” she says. “It’s where most of the students hang out after classes and training and stuff.”
“Wait— most of the students? How many people are here?” And they go to school?
“There’s sixteen of us altogether. Anyone under age goes to class in the morning.” Rosie rolls her eyes, as if she’d rather do anything but go to class, and heads down the dank corridor from where Claire came. It smells like must and cement.
“What kind of classes?”
“All the regular stuff—English, Math, Current Events. Non’s obsessed with history. Timelines make her giddy. Sticks, on the other hand, is a big fan of independent research projects.” Rosie scrunches her nose. “All I care about is The Gifting.”
There. Those words again. It sounds so strange to hear them roll so easily off this stranger of a girl’s tongue. I want to ask about The Gifting. I’m still not sure what it even means, but I don’t know how or where to start. And I don’t want to sound dumb. I look at Luka. I can tell by the stiff set of his shoulders and the quick movement of his eyes that he doesn’t care much about Rosie’s commentary. Unlike me, he seems unconvinced that we have reached the safety of base. “How long have you guys been down here?”
“A while.” Rosie stops in front of the first opened door. The room is filled with several laptops, a large supercomputer of sorts, a police scanner, and a host of other gadgets—all wired and blinking with life. “This is the computer lab. Everything is password protected. Anybody who wants to use a computer has to go through Link first. He’s the unofficial tech-head of the hub. He can hack into anything.”
“What does he hack into?”
“Lots of stuff.” Rosie continues down the hall, stopping at two school-like rooms as we go. There are no individual desks, but a few longer tables with old chairs and makeshift chalkboards. Maps and a globe. A collection of outdated books. There are, of course, no windows, seeing as we are so far underground.
“Do you ever get to go outside?” I ask.
“ I do.”
“Only you?”
“Me and Bass. We’re the hubs’ official runners.”
“What’s a runner?”
“We get to go out into the world. Gather supplies and deliver messages. We always go alone, so we don’t draw attention to ourselves.”
“You mean you wander around the streets of Detroit by yourself?” Surely the captain realizes how much danger he’s putting Rosie in by sending her out into the city without the protection of a stronger, older adult. It makes me question his judgment.
“There are advantages to being small. And I’m tougher than I look.” She flashes an impish grin, then leads us into a smaller room filled with books—shelves and shelves of them, their spines worn and faded. I spot some of my favorites. They are like a bowlful of buttery mashed potatoes, the best kind of comfort food. The next room is filled with weight machines and several treadmills. Across the hall, there’s a mat room that smells like Clorox and sweaty feet. It reminds me of the dojo Mom and I went to in Thornsdale. One door down, Rosie shows us a room that is locked. Luka and I peer through the window. Except for a few chairs
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