Текст книги "The Sun Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“I’m not sure I can do that,” I laugh.

* * *

An hour later we’ve made good progress. I’ve torn strips from a dark training tunic to bandage my scraped shoulder. Roc found a chest of ice to apply to his bruised tush. Trevor’s still out, and we had the unfortunate experience of undressing him, pulling a brand new black Rizzo tunic—very stylish and modern—over his head, and getting him into a matching pair of what are known as “chairman’s pants,” high-waisted and straight-cut all the way to the brown Montgomery boots we found in his size. The pants were the trickiest, and required Roc and me to both take a leg, while we cringed, desperately avoiding touching anywhere near anything we wouldn’t want touched ourselves.

Once finished with Trevor, we split up and decked ourselves out. Roc found a whiter-than-white ribbed tank-tunic that contrasts nicely with his brown skin, thick bright orange marching pants (sun dwellers tend to like parades), and fake leather white moccasins, which are all the rage right now. I was able to complement my light blue nylon tunic with a navy blue leather jacket, complete with turquoise buttons and arm studs. My pants are blue camouflage, which has just come back after a decade of being out of style. Due to my well-known appearance, I decide to continue wearing a hat, but replace the woman’s hat Adele nicked for me with a silver fedora with blue trim that casts a decent shadow across the upper part of my face when worn sufficiently low over my eyes. Unwilling to stoop to the level of moccasins, I find a pair of rugged brown boots that are only in fashion because they have a decent-sized heel that I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. But they definitely beat the thin-soled slippers that Roc’s wearing.

Finished with the men’s section, we leave Trevor to his comfy pile of dresses—“Sleep well, Sleeping Beauty,” Roc says before we go, drawing a strange look from me. “You know, like the story your mother told us when we were little?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“You’re hopeless. She must have told it to us a dozen times. It was about a princess who is cursed and falls asleep for eternity or until her one true love kisses her.”

“Are you going to be the one to kiss him and wake him up?” I say, smirking.

Roc ignores me and heads for the women’s department to find the girls.

We find them in the changing rooms behind thinly curtained cubicles. A pile of discarded clothes is growing in the center of the waiting area.

“This stuff is crazy,” Adele says, hidden save for a dark shadow of her profile.

“I kind of like some of it,” Tawni admits.

“Any luck?” I say.

“I think I’m all set,” Tawni says, pushing her curtain aside with a flourish.

“Oh. My…” Roc says.

“Is it okay? I had no clue with the makeup and hairstyle, so I just tried to copy some of the sun dweller models from the fashion magazines they had lying around.”

Tawni’s got on a long, no-sleeved silvery blue dress that rises all the way to her neck. It’s tight at the top and hugs her hips, leaving nothing of her figure to imagination, before flaring out at the bottom. Blue and silver crystals sparkle wildly even in the dim security lighting. Her long, white hair is up in a bun on the top of her head, held together by blue and silver butterfly pins. Several turquoise-inlaid rings adorn her slender white fingers, while dark blue heels add an extra three inches to her already above-average height. Her face shimmers with some kind of luminescent makeup, accenting her ultra-feminine features.

Roc’s making weird gasping noises next to me.

“I think he likes it,” I say. “But is it practical? Can you even walk in it?”

“She can walk in it,” Roc says hopefully. “Can’t you?”

“I’ve been practicing,” Tawni says. “It’s not so hard once you get the hang of it. I just take small steps and place every foot carefully.”

“Yeah, it’s easy,” Adele says sarcastically from the change rooms. “I’d break my neck in those things.”

“What if we have to run?” I say.

“I’ll just kick them off,” Tawni says matter-of-factly.

I hate to delay longer to find something else for her to wear, plus she seems perfectly happy in her new outfit…

“Okay. We’ll go with it.”

“Yay!” Tawni says, looking genuinely happy. It’s almost like she’s forgotten that we’re here on a mission to kill the President. But if that helps her feel comfortable, it’s fine by me. We’ll all need to blend in for the next day or so.

Tawni walks carefully over to Roc, rubs a hand gently on the shoulder of his new shirt. “My, my, aren’t you gentlemen dashing.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks,” Roc says, his face turning a darker shade of brown.

“Almost done in there, Adele?” I ask.

“Umm…”

“Do you need any help?” I say, grinning.

“You wish,” she retorts. “I think I’ve got it. There. Finished.” There’s a zip, and then a deep breath. “Yeah. I think these will work just fine.”

Unlike Tawni’s, her curtain moves slowly across the top, revealing the new Adele inch by inch. I don’t gasp like Roc, but I do stare, my mouth falling open slightly. I think my tongue even hangs out, like a happy dog.

“It’s awful, isn’t it? I knew I should have had Tawni do the makeup,” Adele says, placing a hand on the curtain as if she wants to thrust it back over herself.

“No—no, that’s definitely not the word for it,” I sputter, still shocked at the transformation. “I was thinking more like amazing, or incredible. Adele, you look…”

“Hot!” Roc exclaims, earning him a slap on the arm from Tawni. “I mean, you look very nice, Adele,” he corrects.

Adele’s face reddens. “I look what?” she asks me, one hand on her hip.

I drink her in with my eyes. She’s wearing tight, black pants that, when combined with her form-fitting emerald-green leather silver-studded tunic, show off her gorgeous, hour-glass figure in a tough, rugged kind of way. The pants are tucked into high, black boots with a wide, modest heel that even I could walk on. She has on a half-dozen gleaming steel rings that match the studs on her shirt. Her long black hair is braided down the back and wrapped with silver, shimmering ties. Although she doesn’t need it, her eyelashes are lengthened and thickened with dark mascara, giving her green eyes a definite feline look. Her lips have just a touch of pink, leaving them glossy and intoxicating.

She tucks her emerald pendant into her tunic, and I realize the outfit is an outward expression of the jewel that hangs from her necklace. A memory of her father.

“Hellooo,” Adele says. “Am I that hideous that you don’t even have a word to describe it?”

“N—no,” I stutter, trying to gain my composure. “Roc got it right the first time. You look hot,” I say, nodding vehemently.

A flush heats up Adele’s face once more. “I look ridiculous,” she says, looking down at her getup.

“Again, not the word I would choose,” I say. Changing the angle of the subject, I ask, “Can you move okay? I mean, if you had to fight or run or whatever, could you?”

Before I know it’s coming, her shiny boot flashes upward, stopping less than an inch from my face, making me flinch. She holds the kick for a second, and then returns her foot to the floor, a half-step in front of her other one. Her arms are in a boxer’s stance, her fists knotted.

“I guess you can fight,” I say breathlessly.

“I guess so,” she smirks.

Chapter Thirteen

Adele

I’m happy with my new clothes. Although they’re not really me—too tight and revealing—at least I can fight in them. And hopefully they’ll help me fit into this crazy world.

Honestly, at first I was somewhat mesmerized by the artificial sun, the beautiful people, the interesting clothing, but now I’m just sickened by it. Not necessarily because it’s not cool, or fun, but because they don’t share it. While the star dwellers live in squalor and filth and darkness, and the moon dwellers are impoverished, hungry, and hopeless, the sun dwellers enjoy the high life, basking in their beautiful sunlight, surrounded by elegant buildings, pristine city streets, and everything money can buy. I always knew the Sun Realm was privileged, but I never knew how much.

As we pass one last time through the racks of vibrant and well-made clothes, I wonder whether people are just born a certain way and that’s it, or whether they can be changed. The sun dwellers are born in this place where clothes are used for fashion, rather than utility. It’s all they’ve ever known, it’s all they’ve ever seen. So is that it? Is it really their fault that they don’t see the reality of the inequality at play in the world? Are they a product of their inherent natures, or their environment? Or is it a mixture of both?

I think of myself. Although I’ve never been mean-spirited, I’m clearly a result of my parents’ upbringing, but I’ve also been changed significantly from my experiences. I guess it all comes down to how one reacts to the things they see, the things that happen to them. Like I can take everything I’ve been through—my father’s and Cole’s death, my sister’s maiming, mine and my parents’ imprisonment, the people I’ve killed—and wallow in self-pity, hate myself for not being strong enough, give up on everything…or I can rise above it, seek the good in the Tri-Realms, fight for those I’ve lost and those I still have. I can be better. It’s up to me. It’s a choice that only I can make.

The sun dwellers have a choice: to be blind and ignorant and uninterested in the stark difference in living conditions between the Upper and Lower Realms, or see this travesty for what it is—evil and hate. No, these people do not get a free pass just because they’ve never known any other life. If they took one minute away from their own skewed self-images, greed, and slothfulness, they would see what I can see as clear as the spray of water from an underground waterfall: they’re not human anymore. No, not even close. They’re robots, programmed only to care about themselves and enjoying their own lives, not the pitiful lives of those born beneath them.

I’m done with my rambling thoughts; it’s time for action. I’m not perfect, nor do I pretend to be. I’ve killed. I’ve said and done things I’m not proud of. But I’m better than these people. If these robots refuse to see the truth, we’ll show it to them—the hard way if we have to.

On the way out we pass a rotating display of tinted glasses. I remember seeing many of the partiers wearing similar glasses as we crowd-surfed past them.

“It’s bright out there,” Tristan says. “These will come in handy, both to protect our eyes and our identities.”

“What are they?” Tawni asks, picking up a pair of thick, blue ones and holding them up to her eyes.

“Sunglasses,” Roc says. “We use them to make our vision darker, due to the brightness of the sun.”

“Artificial sun,” I correct, snatching a pair of black ones from the rack. I put them on, watching how my vision dims into near-blackness. “I can’t even see with these on.”

“That’s because the lighting in here is dim already. Wait until we get outside,” Tristan advises.

I shrug and tilt the sunglasses onto the top of my head, the way Tristan and Roc are wearing their own pairs.

Tristan is just about to open the store’s front door, when Roc says, “What about Sleeping Beauty?”

“Huh?” I say, frowning.

“He means Trevor,” Tristan explains. “He was still sleeping off his head injury when we left him.”

“We could just leave him there,” Roc suggests. “He’d probably be safer.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tristan says, “Yeah, until the Sun Festival ends, at which time the stores will open, he’ll be found, arrested for theft and breaking and entering. Then when they determine he’s a star dweller invading the Sun Realm during a time of war they’ll connect him to the soldiers we killed or injured in the shipping tunnel, and he’ll be put to death. He’d be safe, all right.”

Roc shrugs. “Well, if you put it that way, maybe we should bring him along. But I don’t want to have to lug him around everywhere.”

As we march back through the store, I avoid looking at any of the stuff that just makes me angry. We reach a corner that’s filled with piled up clothing, almost like a bed.

“Crap,” Tristan says.

“Where?” Roc says, checking his shoes. “Hey, where’s Trevor?”

“You mean you lost him?” I ask incredulously.

“Uh, no, of course not,” Tristan says. “We just misplaced him.”

“Is there a difference?” Tawni asks.

“Not really,” Roc says. “It just sounds better saying it that way.”

Ducking back into one of the aisles, Tristan says, “He can’t have gone far—I’m sure we’ll find him around here somewhere. Trevor!”

We follow his lead, branching out into the store like a human net, each of us calling our lost friend’s name. I reach the end of the men’s section and, with nowhere else to go, proceed into the women’s section. Considering the extent of Trevor’s head injury, it’s entirely possible he’s trying on women’s undergarments at this very moment.

Sure enough, when I approach the women’s change rooms, someone’s talking. I can tell right away that it’s Trevor.

“…lookin’ good, my friend,” he says. “Sick shirt, awesome pants, nice shoes…”

“Trevor?” I say softly, not wanting to scare our concussed friend away.

“In here!” he calls.

When I peek around the corner, I find him standing in front of the mirror, posing, flexing his muscles and grinning at himself. “What do you think?” he asks, turning to show off his new clothes.

“They’re okay,” I say, downplaying the fact that he actually does look pretty good in his new digs. He’s not a bad-looking guy. Nor is he a bad guy—he can just be a bit trying sometimes.

“Okay? They’re awesome!”

“I found him!” I yell to the others. And then to Trevor: “Are you okay?”

“Never felt better,” he says. “Other than the hammer smashing against my head every second, I’m perfectly fine,” he laughs. “How’d we get here anyway?”

“You mean you don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember a thing after falling from the crowd, feeling my head crack the stone, and then making a smartass comment about how hard my head is,” he says.

“That’s probably a good thing,” Tristan says, walking in. “You weren’t really yourself.”

“I don’t know,” Roc says, entering next, chuckling to himself, “I think he was exactly himself.”

“I don’t know what you goobers are talking about, but what I want to know is how I got out of my old clothes and into these?”

I hadn’t thought of that. There’s only one way…

“You dressed him?” I say, glancing between Roc and Tristan, who are looking down, scuffing their feet against the floor.

“Aww, how sweet is it how the guys take care of each other,” Tawni says, arriving last.

“Uh, yeah, sweet,” Roc says. “I washed my hands three times afterwards.”

“You owe us, dude,” is all that Tristan says.

“If it wasn’t so creepy, I’d thank you,” Trevor says, grinning. “At least you’ve got good taste.”

“Thanks—I think,” Roc says. “Now, can we ditch this popsicle stand?”

“What’s a popsic—” Tawni starts to say.

“I’ll explain another time,” Roc says. “Are you sure you’re okay, Trevor?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Let’s move,” Tristan says. “Make sure your weapons are out of sight.”

Once more, we retrace our steps to the front door. Keeping low, we peek out the windows, watching for potential witnesses to our crime. The beat of the music continues to thump from a few blocks away. A good sign. The crowds won’t have dispersed as long as there’s entertainment.

A gaggle of four or five young girls in tight dresses and high heels wobble past. Even through the glass I can hear them chattering away, all at the same time, not bothering to listen to what each other has to say. They’re speaking so fast it’s almost like a foreign language. One of them stumbles as her heel bites into a crack in the stone. She nearly falls, but manages to regain her balance and pull the heel out and resume walking like one of her legs is longer than the other.

“They look ridiculous,” I scoff. “Tawni, are you sure you don’t want to change shoes?”

“I’ll put them to shame,” Tawni says. “Besides, those heels are at least twice as high as mine.”

She’s right, but I still worry that when the time comes to run—which it inevitably will—we’ll be waiting for her to unclasp her shoes with bullets flying all around us. As I picture the scene in my head, it’s almost comedic.

The girls turn the corner, leaving the street deserted once again. “Game time,” Tristan says, pulling the door open.

We file into the street in a line, the same way we’re used to marching through the tunnels. I squint as the artificial sunlight peeks over the top of one of the buildings, blinding me. Tristan stops, chews on his lip, eyes the group. “We look way too stiff,” he says, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. “We’re just a group of sun dwellers out to have a good time. Sunglasses down.”

I obey, marveling as the tinted glasses filter out just enough of the light to be tolerable, without making it hard to see.

“Better,” Tristan says. “Now act looser, more relaxed. We’re not out looking for a fight—we’re looking to have fun. You know, eat, drink, and be merry.”

“Never heard of that before,” Trevor grumbles.

“Well, now you have. This is life or death, guys. The fate of the Tri-Realms may depend on your ability to act like sun dwellers.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, chief,” Trevor says.

“The Tri-Realms might be screwed,” Roc adds.

“Oh, come on. It’s just like dress-up when you were kids,” Tawni says, her eyes lighting up. “Didn’t you ever play dress-up?”

“Dress up?” Trevor says. “Is that like wearing dresses or something? I try to be open-minded, but even I’d draw the line at wearing a dress.”

“Grrr, you guys are so frustrating sometimes,” Tawni says. Then, looking to me for backup, she says, “Adele, you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“Elsey used to play dress-up. She’d pin blankets to look like a dress. She always said she was a princess waiting for her knight in shining armor. So maybe it does mean wearing a dress?” I say cautiously, fearing Tawni’s wrath.

“You all are hopeless,” she says. “All I mean is that we need to pretend, to be in character. Honestly, use your imaginations. We’ve got the clothes, but now we have to have the sun dweller mindset. I think that’s what Tristan means.”

“Exactly,” he says.

“I think I can do that,” Trevor says. “I’ll just act like an idiot.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult for you,” Roc mumbles under his breath.

“Or you,” Trevor retorts.

“Guys, not the time,” Tristan says sternly. “We have to move on, find the train station.”

Trying to think like sun dwellers, we set off down the road in a staggered group, less stiff—as Tristan put it—than before. Tawni really gets into it, walking in her short, high-heeled steps, one arm around me, the other around Roc. Every once in a while she laughs, although nobody says anything funny. Tristan and I have our arms around each other, too.

At first the whole thing is awkward, but after we make it down the block, turn right, and make it another block without seeing anyone, I loosen up a little, start to enjoy being so close to Tristan. His usual warmth pulsates through me as we pretend-stagger along. I kiss him on the cheek, making it extra sloppy for effect and to get a laugh out of him. He returns the favor, wetting my cheek, just next to my lips. It’s funny, we’re pretending to be drunk, to be falling all over each other, having a good time—but we’re also not faking it. It feels amazing doing this with Tristan. We’re relaxed and carefree for the first time in our relationship, and I feel like I could do anything with him. If we weren’t on this freaking mission, I’d pull him away to a dark corner, and—

My frivolous thoughts are interrupted when a group of sun dwellers pass, going in the other direction. My heart races, my knees tighten, and I’m glad I’m wearing the sunglasses, because my eyes narrow under the weight of my frown.

“Stay in character,” Tristan whispers, slapping Trevor on the back and laughing merrily.

As we pass the locals, four girls and three guys who are dressed like girls, all of whom are strutting down the center like they own the road, one of the girls says, “Party’s this way, boys,” throwing Trevor a perfectly white smile on a perfectly fake face. A lock of bleached hair tumbles across her cheek.

“We gotta get some more booze,” Tristan replies, planting another kiss on my cheek and not missing a step.

“You can share ours,” the girl says, holding up a thick green bottle with gold lettering on the side.

“Maybe next time,” Tristan says.

“Your loss,” she calls over her shoulder, ushering her group forward.

When they’re out of earshot, I finally breathe again, as Trevor says, “Told you I look good in these new clothes. Did you see the way she looked at me?”

“We saw,” I say, “but I wouldn’t be too proud of it, she didn’t look too picky.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Trevor retorts, leaving me huffing.

Block after block of exquisite apartments pass as we shuffle along, just a happy group of sun dwellers looking for action. Roc steers us down a road to the left, sending us diagonally through the city. Up ahead, a pile of what appears to be rubbish spills out of a gaping hole into a dark, gray building with massive steel roll-up doors on one side.

“I didn’t know sun dwellers were slobs, too,” I comment, catching a whiff of putrid rotting garbage as we approach. “What’s with all the garbage?”

“Now that’s interesting,” Tristan says.

“What is?” Tawni asks.

“Sun dwellers are typically very clean. That hole leads to giant Dumpsters that, when full, are shipped to the Star Realm for destruction in the lava flow.”

“But that’s a lot of garbage,” I say. “My subchapter wouldn’t create that much garbage in a month.”

“People are very wasteful here,” Roc says. “That’s probably a day’s worth.”

I cough, choking on breath. “A day! That’s ridiculous,” I say.

Roc shrugs. “It’s a different world up here. But still, whether it’s a day’s worth, or a month’s, it shouldn’t be piling up on the street—it should be shipped away.”

“It seems that’s not happening anymore,” I note.

“Seems not. Given the war, all inter-Realm shipping would be cancelled indefinitely. I guess there’s not a backup plan for managing the trash.”

“Funny,” I say. “Perhaps the Sun Realm is more dependent on the Lower Realms than anyone realizes.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tristan says. I glance at the shining steel doors on the building. “Trash, taxes, building supplies, gemstones, iron ore: it all comes from the Lower Realms. The Sun Realm wouldn’t exist without it.”

“Which is exactly why your father is moving so fast to knock us back into line,” I add, immediately thinking of my mom and sister. With the strength and resources of the Sun Realm, their hope of survival is minimal if we don’t succeed in our mission. Instead of fear rising, it’s determination that wells up, heating my chest. Failure is not an option—never was.

Before Tristan can respond, the raucous grinding of gears sounds to the right. A dark crack appears below the roll-up doors, growing thicker as the twin risers are pulled inside. Then: the rumble of an engine joins the cacophony of noise.

“Quick, away from the doors!” Tristan says. “Make like we’re just hanging out.”

We rush to the side of the opening, against the wall, sort of facing each other, as if we’re just having a conversation. In my peripheral vision a monstrous truck emerges from the garage like a troll from its cave. With a roar, the closed-bedded truck hangs a hard right and blows past us, sending a mixed rush of hot air, exhaust, and old garbage over us.

“Whew! That stinks like the Star Realm,” Trevor says. “I thought you said the garbage service would be shut down.”

“It should be,” Tristan says. “There’s no way that truck’s headed below.” He motions to the ground.

We stare at the ground in silence, each puzzling over the mystery.

“It could be going to subchapter four,” Roc says.

“Why four?” I ask.

“There’s an incinerator there. It’s mostly used for easily disposed of waste that doesn’t require the lava flow, but they’re desperate, so maybe they’ll try to destroy whatever they can there.”

“Good call, Roc. That’s the only place they could be taking it,” Tristan says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Trevor says. “All we care about is reaching subchapter one. Where’s the train?”

“Dammit,” Roc says, as if just remembering something. “It’s the Sun Festival. Even trains won’t be running today.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, dreading having to hike another dozen or more miles through an intra-Realm tunnel which is probably full of sun dweller soldiers looking for revenge for their fallen comrades.

“Pretty sure,” he says.

“Why not?” Tawni asks. “Wouldn’t people want to be able to get to the best parties?”

Roc’s expression is thoughtful. “You’d think so. But there’s a lot of pride in one’s subchapter up here. There are buses to transport people within the city, but no intra-Realm travel is permitted on Festival Day.

“We have to check anyway,” Tristan says. “Do you remember how much further?”

“Maybe six blocks.”

“Move out.”

We walk faster this time, presumably because we all want to know whether our plans have indeed been foiled by a silly holiday in the middle of a war. Even Tawni picks up the pace, performing admirably in her heels. Two more clusters of sun dwellers pass us, but both are too busy laughing and carrying on that they don’t say a word to us, which is fine by me.

When we reach the train station, the truth stares us in the face:

Linked metal chains seal the doors.