by Carrie Ryan
My stomach tightens and acid eats up my throat as I realize just how dire the situation is. The main bridges to the mainland in the north are already drowning in Unconsecrated, panicked escapees folding under the onslaught. The water underneath churns with the dead, the bodies so numerous they can almost walk on top of one another before sinking.
“We have to find my sister,” I finally say, the thought of her kick-starting my mind away from the horror of what’s going on, giving me a goal—something to focus on so that I’m not pulled under in the tide of panic.
“How?” Catcher stands facing me. He looks as helpless as I feel.
“I don’t know.” I start jogging across the roof, dodging around old barren gardens thick with dead weeds. I vault a low wall onto the next building and thread my way toward the bridge at the end of the block.
“Where are you going?” Catcher shouts, following me across the spindly bridge, the boards under my feet almost rotten.
“Home,” I call over my shoulder as I race south. This corner of the City was practically abandoned even before the horde hit, and most everyone who tried to scrape out an existence here already left after the Rebellion, when it became pointless to pay such high rents to live in a city that no longer promised safety and order.
We cross past a few panicked families, their backs loaded with bags of supplies as they rush from roof to roof toward the docks to the southeast, the only hope of an escape. “What do we do?” they ask, their eyes wide and terrified, but I don’t know what to tell them and so I just keep running.
All they have to do is look around them to see how hopeless the situation is.
The building with my flat is an old high-rise. It used to occupy an entire block until half of it crumbled a few years ago, leaving me the only occupant after everyone else moved away. Trees already struggle up through the rubble pile, winter-burned vines twisting through rooms now exposed to the elements.
I race across the roof, skirting the edges of my garden as if it matters whether I trample the fragile buds. Once at the fire escape I make my way down to the fifth floor, not even pausing before I step through the window.
My mistake is in thinking that things would be the same as I left them only a few days ago. My mistake is in not checking to see if the flat is empty. In barging in without a weapon drawn.
For assuming that the panic of the horde would mean that people were consumed with tasks more important than breaking into places that are not their own.
I see the figure standing by the bed at the back of the long narrow room and my heart skips. I pause, and the sudden change in my momentum causes me to stumble, my balance thrown off.
His body is wrapped in shadows, the meager winter light from the window not penetrating deep enough to illuminate his features. He stands with all his weight on one leg, and his once-black shirt is now frayed and gray, the cuffs at his hands ragged. His fingers clutch into fists.
“Annah?” White clouds slip through the frozen air as he exhales my name.
I close my eyes. I will my heart to stop beating and my blood to stop pumping so that nothing can distract me from the full measure of the sound of him calling my name, his voice soft as his lips form around the sounds and syllables.
It can’t be true. It can’t be him. I know this deep inside, and I understand the realization that this person in my flat is really a stranger will be one of the most painful I’ll have to endure.
But for just this moment I want to believe. I want to imagine that even while the City falls apart outside, something can still be hopeful.
“Elias,” I breathe.
His eyes grow wide and mine fill with tears. In an instant, I see all the ways he’s changed over the past three years, every feature hazily familiar. Where his hair used to be long enough to tuck behind his ears, now it’s short, as if his head’s been shaved recently. Three faint remnants of scratches run down his cheek, so light I’d probably not have seen them if I weren’t staring at him, examining him so closely.
My heart quickens as the reality of the situation washes over me.
Elias. This is my Elias. He’s here, right in front of me. I stare at him, at the curve of muscle over bone that protrudes too far. The way his cheeks seem a little sharp, and barely visible lines furrow between his eyes. He’s at once the boy who left me behind and yet someone else entirely. Someone new and almost scary.
Suddenly I wonder what changes he sees in me—if I’m the girl he remembers or if I’ve changed as he has. My stomach feels fluttery at the way he stares at me, taking me in.
In all my dreams of him coming home again, this is how it happens—me and him alone in the flat. Safe together.
He’s just moving toward me when Catcher stumbles into the room, placing his hand on my back to avoid knocking into me. I know the instant he senses someone else in the flat because he steps forward and in front of me, his fingers reaching for my arm to push me toward the window and safety.
Elias halts, taken aback. “Catcher?” Confusion spreads across his features and Catcher stiffens.
And then before anything else happens, before I can touch Elias and pull him into a hug to make sure that it’s really him and he’s really here safe and alive, he grabs Catcher. “Where’s Gabry?” he demands, looking out the window past both of us as if expecting her to follow.
It’s like I don’t exist, hidden behind Catcher’s back. I step around him and watch as Elias grips Catcher’s shoulders hard. Catcher winces, the wound on his upper arm fresh under the bandage. He eases out of Elias’s grasp.
“Where is she?” Elias asks again, his voice taking on an edge of hysteria. I’m stunned by the look on his face, the barely controlled panic.
I move forward, place my hand on his arm. “I have to find her,” he says to Catcher as if I’m not even there. “I promised her I’d find her.”
The tension between them almost crackles. They’re squared off, facing each other, and I brace myself.
“The Recruiters have her,” I tell Elias.
He stares at me a moment as if he doesn’t understand and then shoves a hand in his hair and wraps the other behind his neck. Such a painfully familiar gesture that my chest burns. He paces back toward the shadows of the room.
I follow, hovering behind him. “It happened yesterday.” I look back at Catcher for confirmation. After being knocked out and spending so much time in the darkness of the tunnels, I’m still confused about how much time has passed.
“The day before,” Catcher corrects me.
“I was on the bridge and saw it happen. They were both coming into the City and the dogs smelled his infection. The Recruiters had him, but she distracted them long enough for him to get away and they took her.”
Elias faces the wall at the back of the flat, his forehead pressed against it. I’m just about to lay my fingers on his shoulder—anything to try to comfort him—when he lashes out, swinging at the wall so hard his fist crashes through it.
Jolted, I shout his name and reach for his hand. Blood already trickles over his knuckles and smears along the cracked plaster. I’ve never seen Elias violent before, not like that. I’ve seen him fight Unconsecrated and fight to protect me but never violence just for the sake of it.
Something cold tightens inside me as I realize how much a person can change in three years.
“Elias.” I say his name the way I would to a wounded animal, trying to soothe. He looks up at me, the pain in his eyes deep. “We’ll find her,” I tell him, because I don’t know what else to say to make it better.
He takes a step toward me and then I’m in his arms, his hands pulling me tightly to him as if we can erase the time and distance of the past. “I missed you, Annah,” he says, his voice muffled against my hair.
I tilt my face into the crook of his neck. He is everything familiar and yet I can tell how our bodies have changed and grown. How we don’t fit quite like we used to.
“I missed you so much,” he adds, and all I ca
n do is nod, because if I say anything my voice will crack and he’ll know I’m barely able to control the emotions building up in me.
Catcher clears his throat. He’s standing by the window looking out into the narrow alley between our building and the row over. “We should figure out what the next step is, because that Palisade wall won’t hold back the Mudo for long.”
I pull away from Elias, feeling suddenly out of place. The narrow room seems small and cramped with two large men in it. Elias looks around, his gaze lingering here and there, making me wonder what memories are playing out in his mind.
“So the Recruiters took Gabry when she crossed into the Neverlands?” he asks, and I nod.
“One of them said she’d be taken to the Sanctuary,” I add.
Elias kicks at the wall, growling with frustration.
“But aren’t you a Recruiter?” I ask him. “Can’t you just demand to see her?”
Elias takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t what I expected to happen. It’s just that if we go to the Sanctuary …” He pauses and looks at Catcher. “We’ll be trapped.”
I frown, confused. The Sanctuary is a smaller island out in the river, and because of its size and location it’s safer and easier to protect and defend. The Protectorate used to control it, and it’s where the most important people lived until the Rebellion, when the Recruiters infiltrated and took it over.
Only the most elite members of society have ever been allowed on that island, even now. “What do you mean, trapped?” I ask, the possibility of going someplace safe making my heart pound with hope. “Wouldn’t the Sanctuary be safer than the Dark City? We’d have a better chance there.”
Calmly and evenly, Elias says, “The only way we’d be able to get on that island is if we had something to trade.”
I look back and forth between Catcher and Elias. Something’s going on that I don’t understand; some sort of silent battle of wills.
“I have some tokens,” I start to say, “and I might have some other valuable stuff if I just—”
Elias shakes his head. “That’s not what they want.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell him, frustrated. “What else could they want?”
Elias just looks at Catcher and finally Catcher says, “Me. They want me.” He turns back to the window, placing his hands on the sill. His fingertips dig into the rotten wood.
Elias slumps to the bed, distractedly rubbing one of his legs as if it bothers him. Their silence is too much.
“Someone has to explain to me what’s going on here,” I demand.
Catcher doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything.
“How much do you know?” Elias asks.
“Nothing!” I snap back at him.
He sighs, stretching his neck in an attempt to relax the muscles. “Catcher’s very valuable,” he says. “The Recruiters desperately want him because he’s immune, which means he can go anywhere. Do anything. Get anything.”
I nod. “He told me about that.”
“Right. Well, they were chasing us—me; Catcher; Gabry; her mom, Mary; and her friend Harry—because they wanted Catcher. But it’s not just him they want because they can’t really control him. His whole value is in going out and getting supplies, but they need a reason for him to come back. So the way they’d control him is by imprisoning people he loves. It’s a guarantee that he’ll always return.”
I stare at Catcher’s back. His shoulders are hunched, his body curved over itself. Once again I realize how much of a burden his immunity really is.
“So you’re saying they’ll let us on the island and into the Sanctuary because of Catcher?” I ask quietly.
Elias doesn’t respond at first but then says, “Yes. Catcher’s our only way to get to Gabry.”
“But you’re a Recruiter,” I protest, because it can’t be true. “They have to let you into the Sanctuary.”
Elias shakes his head. “They don’t. I mean, they might if I bargain with them, but they don’t have to accept you. They won’t accept you unless …” He swallows, refuses to look me in the eye. “They’ll only let you on the island because you’re a woman and they’d want to take advantage of that. I wouldn’t let that happen to you.”
“Oh.” I stare down at the floor, understanding. A layer of dust coats the scarred wooden boards. I was never very good at keeping the place clean. It makes the room feel abandoned.
The sound of the Dark City raging filters through the open window along with the smell of smoke. We’re running out of time to figure out what to do next. I think about my sister alone at the Sanctuary with no one to protect her—not only from the dead but from the living as well.
“There has to be something we can do,” I murmur. I feel so useless, my mind spinning but finding no solutions.
Catcher lets out a long breath. “Let’s go,” he says. He steps onto the fire escape, his feet on the rusted metal a loud rattle in the quiet room. “Let’s make the trade.”
I wait for Elias to protest but instead he slumps in relief, pressing his hands to his face. Frowning, I stare at him as I hear Catcher climbing to the roof. A part of me wants to comfort Elias but he’s not the one who just agreed to hand himself over as bait to the Recruiters.
I turn and chase after Catcher, still trying to figure out a way to work everything out and failing. Around us the City continues to fall apart: billowing smoke clouds hovering over the Neverlands, alarm bells blaring. The crowds pushing at the docks to the east have swelled and we can hear the shouting from here.
Catcher stands surveying it all. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to do this, but I know that would be a lie. We both need my sister safe, and handing him over is the only way. And so I ask him, “Are you okay?” even though it’s a stupid question.
He shrugs. “It’s like I said before. We do what it takes to survive.” He sounds so emotionless that it makes the air around us feel that much colder.
“We can try to figure out another way,” I offer.
He turns to face me, his expression resigned. “There’s no other option, Annah. They have Gabry and they have safety from the horde. The only way we can all survive is if I trade myself to them.”
I take a step toward him. “Maybe you should worry about yourself more than us.”
He looks at me for a moment, his eyes tracing along my scars. I raise my chin, refusing to glance away.
“Maybe I am,” he says.
His words make me shiver, but before I can ask what he means there’s a tremendous crash and a chorus of wails behind us. I spin around and see a massive section of the Palisade wall only a few blocks away crumbling, debris from its collapse spiraling up to the sky and tangling with the broiling smoke from the fires.
And then they come, stumbling from the cloud of dust and dirt: Unconsecrated. At first it’s just a few, but then there are more and more, struggling across the rubble and flooding into the streets. Slow but steady they flow like blood from a seeping wound.
Some are short and some are tall. Some men and others women. Some wear clothes from olden times and some are naked, their bodies striped with wounds. But all moan with gaping black mouths. All claw at the air, reaching and needing. Some of them shuffle on broken limbs, arms gnawed away, with stringy gray tendons swinging with each step.
There are more than I could ever count and I know this is just the beginning. Soon the entire City will fall to them. I stare and wonder how we’ve survived as long as we have against such an inevitable destruction.
Elias scrambles onto the roof. “We have to go,” he says, a little breathless. “Now.”
I nod, unable to take my eyes from the sight of so many Unconsecrated only a few blocks away.
“This way.” Elias grabs my hand and tugs me toward a rickety bridge spanning the alley to the next building. Through grimy windows I see families shoving clothes and belongings into bags and reaching for weapons.
I struggle to remember the names of the terr
ified faces, of the little girl screaming as she clutches a ragged doll and her brother sharpening blades while their parents race to pack. These people are my neighbors—faces I see almost every day and yet never talk to. It seems too easy to leave them behind, which feels wrong and unsettling.
But I’m not sure I can save myself, much less anyone else.
The Dark City explodes around us as we run, news of the horde fording the river spreading everywhere. I hear screaming mixed with the shrill sirens alerting residents of the breach. Everywhere is panic, no one knowing what to do or where to go.
The bridges are chaos, people shoving one another as they flee the dead. I watch people tumble off roofs and scream for help as the Unconsecrated slowly fill the streets. They claw at windows and brick walls and moan and snatch at everything around them.
Elias runs in front of me, a strange, awkward, limping stagger, and Catcher follows behind as we scamper along the tops of crumbling buildings. Families climb fire escapes, joining us in a flow of refugees streaming toward the docks on the southeast side of the island. It becomes more difficult to keep track of Elias and Catcher and not to get lost in the crush of panic.
Long lines begin to crowd at the bridges, which are too narrow and fragile to take that many people at a time. The bridges were constructed long ago out of whatever material could be scavenged and are for people to travel back and forth between the roofs of buildings, to avoid the potentially dangerous streets. They weren’t made for this. Some snap and fall apart, spilling people to the ground, stories below, where hungry dead attack them, tearing at their limbs as they scream and fight. Any survivors may as well be dead. It will only take one bite to turn them Unconsecrated.
It’s hard to avoid looking, impossible not to watch the struggle taking place so many flights beneath us. I try to focus on Elias’s back and the feel of Catcher and his heat behind me, but the sounds and the smell are too much—the metal taste in my mouth and the screaming of the living.
Someone pushes up against me, knocking me down, and someone else steps on my hand, the weight grinding my knuckles. I scream and lash out. A third person reaches for me and at first I think he’s trying to help me up but then he wrestles for my machete, trying to pry it from my belt.
