Текст книги "The Earth Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-One

Adele

I awake to a shaking bed. Not hard, more like a buzz beneath me. “Your bed will wake you up.” Now I get what Lin meant.

When I roll over and put my feet down, the bed stops and the lights flash on. The moment I take my weight off the mattress, the wall shifts and the bed disappears. I blow a sharp breath through tight lips. This world is really starting to freak me out.

My white corpse-clothes are wrinkled and smelling far less fresh than they were when I stole them yesterday. I’ll have to check with Lin to see if she has some clean ones I might be able to borrow. She’s shorter than me, but it’ll have to do.

Or not. When I scan my wrist on the metal ration dispenser, two things happen: One, the metal door opens and out pops a white-yellow rectangle, steaming hot; and two, another part of the wall moves behind me, revealing several sets of white clothes and a narrow cubicle with a metal fixture at the top and a drain at the bottom. There’s a handle on the wall in the middle. Some kind of cleaning device.

And I don’t need to inspect the clothes to know: they’re all in my size.

Suddenly I realize the power of the chips in our wrists. Not power for us, but power for him. For Lecter. Control. We have to use them for everything, and therefore, he can track and control everything we do. He doesn’t need cameras set up to monitor us, because we tell him what we’re doing each and every time we scan our wrists.

I clench my fists and resist the desire to rip off my bandage and dig out the chip. I have to be like everyone else if I want to win this fight.

Sitting down at the table—which only has one chair, I guess guests are frowned upon—I eat the egg-like block in front of me. It tastes too salty but I force myself to swallow, washing it down with the single glass of water the liquid dispenser will allow me. Finished, I stare at the wall, which has gone from white to black in an instant, like someone turned off the lights. Only the lights are still on and the rest of the room is bright.

There’s a flash and numbers appear. 6:30. A voice drones from a speaker built somewhere into the ceiling. “You have fifteen minutes to read this morning’s announcement.” Another flash and the numbers disappear, replaced by an image.

My chest heaves and the eggs rise up in my throat. I cough, choke, look away. Try to breathe. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I return my eyes to the screen, breathing through my nose. Tears blurring my vision. Seeing only bodies. Not a few. Not hundreds. Thousands, scattered in the sand, spotted with blood. Men and women and kids. A lot of freaking kids, their bodies so much smaller.

A group of soldiers stand in front of the carnage, mugging and smiling and giving thumbs up signs for the camera.

It was murder. No, even that is too soft a word for what the Glassies have done. What Lecter ordered them to do. Genocide. It’s a word I learned in school. A word that captures the very essence of the hate and the fear and the mass killing the Glassy army is set on carrying out, has already carried out.

I raise a fist, intent on smashing it through the image, but then it falls limply to my side, defeated. It’s just a picture; I can’t hurt the soldiers by breaking my hand on the wall. But I can hurt them other ways, and I will.

The image vanishes, text appearing in its place:

Yesterday’s victory was decisive in the fight for the liberty of the good citizens of the New City. The savage Icers will never threaten us again. The army’s efforts now turn to the desert mongrels who have consistently avoided peace talks, using brute force as an alternative. President Lecter has stated publicly that he’s confident good will prevail. “Because of the sacrifices of our brave men and women, the Earth will once more become a civilized world, where our children can grow and prosper, where Godless savages exist no more,” Lecter said in a recent interview. A memorial service will be held to honor the courageous souls who perished in what has been coined as The Battle for the North.

I turn away. If there’s more, I don’t need to read it. They’re just words, lies, propaganda. In reality, all the savages in the world are gathered inside the very glass dome that has become my prison.

There’s a knock on the door. “One minute,” I say, hurriedly changing out of my disheveled clothes and into fresh ones, ignoring the cleaning I so desperately need.

When I throw open the door, Lin’s there. “Did you read the announcement?” she says. No greeting, just a question.

I don’t have to respond; the look on my face says enough. “You did,” she says. “Want to go throw rocks at the presidential building?”

I offer up a grim smile. “I want to do a whole lot more than that,” I say.

“Then let’s go. We’ve got a sicko to kill.”

We make our way out of the building, just two birds in a flock of many, each bird with white wings and silent beaks. Are they too defeated to even talk to each other? Doesn’t anyone have a comment about the announcement?

When we get on the street, I want to run, to sprint, to feel my muscles working, my blood flowing, as if maybe that would cleanse my mind of the image I saw on the screen, help to focus me. But we can’t. There are too many people. And it would look strange, anyway, draw attention when that’s the last thing I need. Just be like everyone else. Walk at a normal speed, silent, going about my business. Another fish in the school. Another zombie in the…what do you call a group of zombies? A pack? A herd? A gaggle? My slight chuckle draws a stern look from Lin. Is laughter not allowed? Will I be Tasered and hauled off to prison for laughing at my own, admittedly bad, internal joke?

We pass a building on our right that looks familiar. Large iron doors, guards standing next to them. The Presidential Offices. “We’re here,” Lin says, smiling back at me. Note to self: smiling allowed, laughing not. Check.

I crane my head back and let my gaze travel up the side of the magnificent building. It’s like a glass stalagmite, broad at the base and pointy at the top. Like a shard of glass.

She leads me past the doors and to the right, along another main street. Halfway down the block, we follow a man into a small, dark alley. I use the term “alley” loosely, because it’s nothing like the alleys in the Moon and Star Realms. It’s dark, yeah, but only because the buildings rise up so high above it, blocking the rising sun. But it’s not strewn with litter, doesn’t have any dirty, ale-drenched beggars shoving their hands in your face, doesn’t make me feel unclean just being in it. Instead, it’s spotless, a thinner version of the main road, just another thoroughfare for people going to work.

Lin slows and lets the man in front of us get ahead. “I can’t go with you all the way to the entrance—it will look…weird,” she says. The man stops at a door with another guard. “Just follow him, and act like you know what the hell you’re doing.”

I nod. “Thanks, Lin. Promise not to turn me in?” It’s a bad joke, but she laughs anyway.

“I’d go in there and strangle Lecter myself if I had any chance of getting past the dozen or so layers of security. Even for you it’ll be a longshot.”

“I have a history with longshots,” I say.

“Good luck, see you tonight.” And then she’s gone, off to her own job, and I’m alone again.

I take a deep breath and stride up to the door, which is already closing behind the other guy. The guard ignores me. What am I supposed to do? Of course, there’s a glass plate. Self-service. Why would I expect the guard to act like a gentleman and hold the door for me? I scan my wrist. A red light flashes and then…stays red. I swallow hard. I can tell the guard’s paying attention now.

“Damn cheap machines,” I say, like it happens all the time. I scan my wrist again. Red light tries to penetrate my shirt, the bandage, my skin…

Green. It turns green and the door clicks. The guard goes back to ignoring me as I open it, not letting out my held breath until I get inside.

Right away, I see the guy that entered first. His arms are extended outwards, his feet apart. Two men with black wands are waving them over every inch of his body, presumably checking for potential weapons. I’m glad I ditched my stolen semi-automatic rifles back at the morgue, I think wryly.

They finish with him and he walks into some kind of machine with another red light. It flashes green and a door on the other side opens, lets him through, and then closes.

The guards turn to me. One of them smiles, his white teeth shiny and totally unexpected. I frown and step forward, spread my legs, put my arms out at my sides, trying to mimic what I saw the guy do.

“Mm mm mm,” the smiley guy says, “I’ve never seen you before.”

I don’t respond, just watch them from the bottom of my eyes as they start with my feet, their black wands slipping over my shoes and around my ankles with deft, practiced movements.

“You new around here?” he asks, moving up my leg.

“First day,” I say, my voice monotone, my heart hammering.

“Hopefully not your last.” The other guard chuckles. Their wands slide up the inside parts of my thighs. “This might tickle a little,” the smiley guard warns. I freeze as his stick jabs into my crotch. I stare straight ahead. “Does that feel good?” he asks. “Because we might have to check again. Women like you are known to hide dangerous things in unlikely spots.”

My leg starts to quiver and I clench my muscles to stop from giving in to the instinct to knee him in the crotch and slam my forearm into his nose. That would be a quick way to put an end to my mission.

Their wands move on, over my hips, around my abdomen, and to my chest, where once again they linger. I open my eyes and stare right at the guy as he rubs his damn stick against my breasts, which, thankfully, are completely hidden beneath my high-collared white linen shirt.

And then it’s over. “See you tomorrow,” the guard says, unable to resist smacking my butt with his wand as I step forward into the machine. I’m quivering with rage, but I bite my lip and clench my jaw until the door opens in front of me.

I step through, wondering if all the guards are like those ones, whether the women of the city have to put up with that kind of treatment on a daily basis. If so, I give them credit for their restraint. I’d lose it within two days. Whichever guard was wanding me on the second day would undoubtedly have at least one less testicle when I was done with him.

On the other side of the door there’s a hallway, curving away to the left. The other employee is already gone, which doesn’t surprise me considering how long my “security check” took.

Breathing deeply to push down my anger, I stride along the hall, which doesn’t go far, just around a bend and into a large room with half a dozen people moving around, carrying towels and bottles of blue fluid, pushing mop buckets, all turning their heads to watch a plump woman with a clipboard, who’s giving them orders. I stand in the doorway to listen.

“Benson—outer atrium,” she barks.

“On it,” a woman with a blond ponytail says.

“Holly—lower meeting rooms.”

“Yep,” says the guy with the mop bucket, the one who entered just in front of me.

“Bridges—bathrooms.”

A guy with a shaved head cringes, but says, “Yes, Boss.”

“Sanders—you’re coming with me to do the upper suites.”

Silence. The woman looks up from her papers. Frowns. “Are you Sanders?” she says to me. Everyone turns to look my way.

Sanders? Who the hell is Sanders? “I—” Sanders, you moron! As in the last name you invented not a day earlier. “Yes, that’s me. Tawni Sanders reporting for duty.” My voice sounds high and ridiculous and way too freaking eager. It doesn’t impress the woman.

She rolls her eyes, mutters, “I don’t know why they even sent you; I didn’t order any new workers...”

I look at the floor, trying to look pitiful, hoping she won’t send me back to…wherever they send unneeded workers.

After a few seconds of silence that seem to stretch into eternity, she sighs and says, “Well, you’re here, so we might as well put you to work. We use last names only. When I say your name next time, do yourself a favor and respond immediately. I don’t like waiting.”

“Yes, ma—”

“And don’t speak until I’m done.” She looks down at a watch. “You’re right on time. Tomorrow, be five minutes early. The normal rules don’t apply in this building. President Lecter expects more.”

I wait a few seconds to be sure she’s finished. “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

“Grab those things and follow me,” she says, exiting through a door at the back of the room. I look down to find a pile of stuff, way more than I can possibly carry on my own. I sigh. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long day.

~~~

Thankfully, the guy I followed in has a heart and helps me load up a cart with all the cleaning supplies. He also shows me the way to the elevators. Of course, my boss is already gone. I shouldn’t have expected her to wait for me.

“Go to Level 50,” he says. “You’ll find her there.”

“Thanks,” I say, pushing my cart onto the elevator. I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of a special elevator to be used by building workers only, as it’s exceptionally large and could easily fit four carts. Scanning the numbered buttons, I mutter, “Level 50, 50, 50…”

I find the right one and almost press it as the doors are closing. But then I stop myself. The numbers go all the way up to 55. If Lecter is in this building, surely he’ll be all the way at the top.

I jam my thumb into the button marked 55. It lights up blue.

What am I doing? I’m being reckless. But this could be my only opportunity to get a close look at Lecter, maybe even kill him right here and now, and it’s not like the war is going to wait for me to slowly gain the trust of my employer. And I’ve got a card to play, one I can only play once.

The elevator whirs to life and climbs, climbs, climbs, shuddering every now and then. The doors open and I half expect Lecter to be sitting in front of me, his silvery hair set atop his fake smile. No, it’s just a lobby, with stark white walls like everywhere else in this city.

The door begins to close automatically and I block it with a hand, peek out to the right. There is a set of glass doors with a desk behind them. A woman is rummaging through a cabinet, momentarily distracted. Two guards are on either side of her, but they’re looking away too, talking to her. One says something lewd about how she should wear shorter skirts to work. The other just laughs. Do I have time to slip through the doors and past her? There’s no way I’ll make it with my cart.

I glance to the left to find a single door. Will my cart fit through? This is my one shot, I remind myself. Grabbing the handle, I pull the cart over the bumpy transitional bits from the elevator to the lobby floor, cringing when a few cleaning bottles rattle against each other. The lady is oblivious as she tries to find whatever she’s looking for, and the soldiers only have eyes for her backside.

Heading to the left, I pray the door’s unlocked. I turn the handle, feeling the satisfying give as the door opens. Pull my cart through…

Crap!

The sides of the cart slide along the sides of the frame and then stop. It’s wedged. Past it, the woman pulls something from the cabinet, scans it, and then starts to turn…

I wrench the cart sharply, trying to force it through the doorway. It makes a nasty scraping sound, but then it’s through, rattling ten times worse than before as it follows me into a hallway. The door closes behind me. Did the woman or soldiers see it? Did they hear it? I’m not sticking around to find out.

Heart thudding like a bass drum, sweat trickling down my back, I push the cart hard down the hall, just under jogging speed. Turn a corner and—

–bright light blinds me, seeming to go straight into my eyes, into my brain, and

–even as I slam my eyelids closed I can see the fiery red of the sun through them.

Funny little spots dance amongst the red. It’s like I’m emerging from a life spent underground all over again. What was that? I wonder, even as I’m thinking, Gotta find a place to hide, in case that woman…

Ever so slowly, bit by bit, I open my eyes, shielding them with a cupped hand. A wall of glass stands before me, angling sharply, creating the building’s pointed top. The panes face the rising sun, letting in an extraordinary amount of light. And above me and around me and everywhere, is the Dome, impossibly enormous and almost glowing as the morning sunlight pours through it.

Beneath that, spreading out in every direction, is the city, the buildings’ dwarfed by the larger presidential offices. It’s a spectacular sight, and yet…there’s not a splash of color anywhere, and I might as well be back in the gray oblivion of the Moon Realm.

I tear my gaze away and turn back to my cart and I’m about to move on, when I hear a voice. “Failure is not an option!” it roars, muffled as it cuts through glass and wood to reach my ears. And although the voice is different, angry, not in the least bit constrained like how I heard it before, I know without a doubt who the voice belongs to:

Lecter.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Siena

Grunt’s stumbling every few steps by the time night falls on the desert. I almost want to go over and let him lean on me, but I don’t wanna disrespect his manhood. And if I’m being honest, I don’t really want his sweaty, hairy arms touching me. A good night’s sleep will do him some real good.

Unfortunately, that ain’t happening, ’cause if we wanna make the wide loop ’round fire country and back to the Glass City, we’ll hafta march well into the night.

As the day has trudged on, there’s been less and less talking. Even I shut up eventually, stamping out the urge to drink half my water skin with each step. I’m still holding Circ’s hand, but Feve’s moved up ahead to walk with Wilde and Skye.

Long after the sky turns completely black and littered with starlight, we stop to rest. Half the group, including Grunt, just drop where they stand, falling asleep without eating or drinking anything. Grunt must be awfully tired, ’cause it ain’t like him to miss a meal, even one as unappetizing as dried ’zard and raw prickler.

Me and Circ lean up against each other, the sand warm and rough beneath our bare legs. Chew slowly, drink slowly, listen to each other’s heartbeats. Forget ’bout why we’re here and where we’re going and who we’re fighting. Just exist, as one, like so many times ’fore.

A familiar voice shatters the silence, one I haven’t heard in a long time. A voice from the past, tossed through two sets of bars, comforting in the dark. “We’re almost there,” he says.

I turn to see Raja, still as skinny as a tentpole, like me, but with slightly more meat on his bones’n the last time I saw him. Raja, who shared his secret with me. Raja, my wrongly imprisoned neighbor the two times my father sent me to Confinement. He’s holding a torch and grinning widely.

“You—you look better,” I say.

“Thanks,” he says. “Hey, Circ.”

“Raj,” Circ says, passing him the water skin. Raja takes it and presses it to his lips.

He hands the skin back. “Fightin’ the good fight, eh?” he says.

“Searin’ right,” I say.

“You know, we ain’t that far from…you know,” he says.

“Where?” I say. Somewhere north…ice country? No, not that far yet, but close. Confinement. We ain’t that far from Confinement.

Raja must see it click in my eyes, ’cause he says, “Wanna go see our old stomping grounds?”

No, I think. But I wouldn’t mind going to see good ol’ Perry. I should be sleeping already. “Yeah,” I say. “Be back soon.” Circ gives me a look but doesn’t try to stop me.

Me and Raja weave through the sleeping bodies, out into the dark of the desert, his torch freezing ’zards and burrow mice in their tracks ’fore they scamper outta our way.

“Wooloo, isn’t it?” Raja says.

“What?”

“How things change so quick, like they’s strapped on a bolt of lightning, or the wind, or the back of a Killer.”

“Yeah,” I say, blinking back the reminder of what happened to the Icers. “But everything stays the same too.”

“How so?” Raja asks, holding his torch up to see my face.

“We’re still friends, ain’t we?”

“Guess yer right,” he says, and we stop to let a brambleweed tumble past.

“Can I ask you something, Raj?” I say when we get moving again.

“Me sayin’ no’s never stopped you ’fore.”

I laugh. Ain’t that the truth. “We’ve both been in a hopeless place ’fore. Like hopeless hopeless, where we thought the world could end and we mightn’t even care or notice. But we pulled through, didn’t we?”

“Is that the question?”

“No,” I say, thinking of Skye. “I’m just asking whether we got lucky. I was never the strongest person ’fore, but then I found something inside me I didn’t even know I had. And I got through it. You did too. Do you think everyone’s the same like that? The strong ones, the weak ones, the in-betweens. Or will some of ’em stay stuck down in that hole, seeking out revenge and death?” What I don’t ask is: Will Skye stay stuck down in that hole? If Lecter dies, will she be satisfied? Or will she be angry all the time, boiling from the inside out, like a ’zard egg in bubbling water?

Raja chews his orange-and-red flickering lip. “I s’pose it comes down to whether the person wants to climb outta that hole.”

His words hit me so hard I almost stop walking. ’Cause holy ’zard skins! He’s exactly right. I never realized it, but that’s the truth, ain’t it? After I’d thought Circ’d died, I loathed being so miserable all the time. I coulda stayed that way, coulda plunked down in that hole of despair and chewed on durt and earthworms and all kinds of nasty stuff, but I stood up, my legs skinny and shaky and barely holding up my body...

But still…

I was standing, and that makes all the difference.

“Raja, you’re searin’ smarter’n you look,” I say.

“Uh, thanks. Was that s’posed to be a compliment?” he says. “’Cause it was the worst one I ever heard.”

We both laugh at that, only stopping when we see it, dark and spindly and almost like the skinless bones of giant long-dead monsters, picked clean by carrion and sharp-toothed animals.

The empty cages of Confinement rise up against the dark sky.

Home, sweet home.

~~~

While Raja picks his way over to his old cage—he says he wants to see what it’s like to look in from the outside, rather’n t’other way ’round—I head along the backs of the wooden shells, remembering the first time my father sent me to this place. How Bart looked me up and down, made a rude comment. Everything came full circle when he tried to force himself on me and my mother killed the baggard.

Am I past Bart’s old cell already? Am I past mine? I’m squinting in the dark trying to see my own hand in front of my face. Raja’s torch is somewhere on an angle to the right. I’ve gotta be close.

“Oww!” I run smack into something thick and rough and spiny as all scorch.

No. It can’t be. Not again.

But it is. And it’s happened again.

I’ve run smack into Perry the Prickler.

Nice of you to pay me a visit, Siena, he says, looking more black’n his usual gray-green in the dark. But I wouldn’t recommend going straight for the hug next time.

“Siena!” Raja shouts. “You alright?”

“Fine. Just fine,” I mutter, feeling wet tears of blood in the dozen or so holes Perry opened up in my arms and stomach.

“Did you move since the last time I saw you?” I ask Perry. I coulda sworn he was more to the left, not so close to the cages.

Do you see any legs? he says.

“Shut up, Perry,” I say, for old times’ sake.

Do you see a mouth? he replies, ’cause his wit’s always been just a hair quicker’n mine.

“It’s night,” I say. “I can’t see a searin’ thing, but you’re talking enough for the both of us, ain’t you?”

I’m glad you’re here, Perry says unexpectedly. It gets awfully lonely out here in the desert.

“Don’t I know it,” I say. “But I’m glad to be here too.

Does that mean I get another hug?

I groan, my skin still stinging from the last one. “Hey, Perry?” I say.

Yeah.

“I saw this tall, skinny prickler with bright red flowers back a-ways. She asked ’bout you.”

You’re lying.

“No, really, she’d heard all ’bout you. How you’re so good at standing really still, not moving the slightest bit, even when the wind’s blowing something fierce.”

Now you’re just being silly.

“She was really impressed. Said she might stop by sometime.”

Hey, Siena. You gonna try any daring escapes while you’re here?

“Changing the subject won’t work, Perry. We’re talking ’bout you and the smokiest prickler I ever laid eyes on.”

“Siena, did you say somethin’?” Raja asks, peering through the bars of his old cage.”

“Naw,” I say. “What’re you doing in there?”

“Seeing what it’s like now that I don’t hafta stay in here.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’s it like?” I ask.

“Amazing,” he says.

“C’mon,” I say. “Let’s go get some sleep. We got a long day ahead of us.”

I turn to go, but over my shoulder I say, “Take care of yourself, Perry. If I survive this war I’ll pop by every now and again.”

I’d like that, Perry says. And Siena?

I turn back. “Yeah?”

Take care of yourself, too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

“Sure,” I say, even though that pretty much eliminates doing anything ’cept standing and poking holes in clumsy people. I walk away from Perry for what might be the last time.

~~~

The sun goddess is shooting a hole through my head.

We’ve been walking for hours and it’s like the sun and the clouds are in league with the Glassies, dead set on stopping our march. The sun goddess seems bigger and more fiery’n ever ’fore, and the clouds, well, they’re scarcer’n a burrow mouse under the shadow of a vulture. It’s a ’spiracy, I tell you.

As per my promise to Veeva, I’m watching Grunt like a hawk, just waiting for him to keel over, to eat the sand with his dried lips. But he doesn’t, just keeps trudging on, back bent. Maybe he’s got more mettle’n I ever gave him credit for.

I tried to talk to Skye earlier, but she’s like a rock-person now, all sharp edges and stone-faced, determined to crush anything and everything in her path. I hafta believe she wants to get outta the hole of anger and sadness she’s digging. Like Raja said, she hasta want it. The only person she seems willing to talk to is Wilde, and though it hurts a little, I understand it, too. Wilde’s a hard one to ignore. Her calm presence comforts us all.

Wilde said a few words ’fore we departed this morning. She talked ’bout how we’re doing this for a lot of weaker people depending on us back in New Wildetown. How we hafta be strong for ’em. Right away I thought of Jade. Not that she’s weak, ’cause she ain’t, but ’cause she’s only barely old enough to be a Youngling, and ’cause her childhood’s been snatched away from her once and I won’t let it happen again. She deserves something good in her life. We all do.

Feve is doing what he does best: giving us courage. He roams ’round the edges of the group, watching for anyone lagging or tiring. When he spots someone, he says a few words to ’em and they buck up right quick. Having a steel-boned warrior like him by your side gives you confidence.

And Circ is Circ. My rock, my best friend. Other’n when my father threatened my life and forced him to fake his own death, Circ’s been there for me, as consistent and never-changing as a mountain.

I hold his hand as we walk, sometimes in silence, sometimes with me going on and on like a chatterbox. And he always laughs at my jokes, even the bad ones, not ’cause he’s just being nice, but ’cause he thinks they’re funny. We’re cut from the same mold, he and I, only his came out strong and graceful and beautiful, and mine came out, well, like me. Perfect in an imperfect kinda way.

The wind picks up as we reach the edge of ice country, blowing a slight chill down from the mountains. I enjoy watching the many of us who haven’t seen trees ’fore, as they ogle the stalwart defenders of the border. I remember the first time I saw ’em, the first time I felt the crunch of their dry, fallen leaves beneath my feet, touched their rough skin. It’s like yesterday and like forever ago.

A thousand thousand footsteps and the day is gone, the sun goddess mercifully dipping below a thick wall of yellow clouds building along the western horizon, behind us as we head dead east. And just as she starts throwing purples and oranges and pinks into the sky overhead, we turn south, toward the Glass City.

Will they see us coming? Will they expect us to sneak in the back? Was Tristan right?

I hafta believe this is our only choice. We all hafta, or we’re as good as dead already.

Purples and pinks turn to navy blue as the second day since Tristan and Roc and Tawni left comes to an end.

In three days’ time, we attack the Glass City.

Time’s moving too fast, leaving me feeling breathless all of a sudden.

We march on, Circ and my footsteps in sync without even trying.

We’re at the head of the column, just behind Skye and Wilde, who’re still leading the march. And as I’m looking out in front of us, watching the rise and the fall of the dunes as the desert breathes, I see something that ain’t right, ain’t natural.

The sky is full of what at first look like black clouds…but no, they’re moving too fast, much too fast, and diving at the earth and fighting with each other, and croaking and cawing and carrying on. And beneath the clouds-that-ain’t-clouds…

“Circ…” I say, my voice fading away like the last light from the dying sun.

He sees it, too, ’cause he grips my hand harder.

And then I know what I’m seeing, what ain’t right, what’ll never be right, and I know Skye knows what we’re seeing too, ’cause she stops, dead in her tracks. Wilde steps in front of her, trying her best to block my sister’s vision.

We’re not nearly as far east as I thought we were, ’cause I see ’em like the images burnt forever in my mind. Only they’re not images, they’re real, setting in front of us like a nightmare.

Carts and packs of supplies and hundreds and hundreds of bodies.

An army of vultures and crows fighting over the spoils, feeding, feeding, cawing and screaming at each other…

We’ve come to where the Icers were slaughtered by the Glassies.