Fragile Remedy

by Maria Ingrande Mora

  Sparks’s lips twisted into a small grin. “That’s a tall order.”

  “Try to get them to stay together. It’s gonna get ugly.”

  The crowd of onlookers below wasn’t scared—they were angry and hungry and likely to pluck every last trinket and scrap of clothes off the survivors. Nate couldn’t do anything about that.

  Sparks watched him for another moment, shaking her head. “You’re crazed,” she said. But it didn’t sound like an insult, and when she let him go, she began waving down the survivors from the train.

  Nate swung over to a set of thin rungs and climbed to the top of the car. Wind whipped smoke against him, and he ducked, coughing at the bitter, stinging taste of chemicals—and the unmistakable smell of charred meat.

  This was a terrible idea.

  The train car shook under his boots. He shuffled along the top, pitching back and forth to keep his balance. If he slipped and fell off, he’d be lucky to land on the tracks and not far below on the unforgiving concrete.

  “I’m Nate!” He shouted through the smoke to the other Tinkerer. “Think anyone else will come up?”

  “Reckon not. I’m Dres. That’s my daughter, Sandy. She tinkers fine, but I won’t let her too close to the fire.”

  Sandy picked her way ahead with nimble steps, two blonde braids bouncing against her back. She wasn’t much older than Pixel.

  “Maybe you should send her back down. No telling what’s gonna blow next,” Nate said.

  The man smiled a blackened, half-toothless grin. Sun-blisters covered his pale nose. “That’s what makes it fun.”

  Nate’s heart raced. The roof of the railcar rattled beneath his feet with the pounding blows of the people trying to get out. Nothing about this was fun.

  “Sandy!” Nate called. “You try the window back here, okay?”

  Dres met his eye and nodded, allowing his daughter to move past and work on the window farthest from the blazing fire a few cars ahead of them. Nate went to work on the emergency hatch jammed against the guardrail. No amount of force would pry it open. But if he could take the hinges apart, it would slide down and in, and the people inside would be able to climb out. He tried to ignore the screams and blistering heat, hands shaking despite the simple work. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

  Nate had heard plenty of rumors about the Breakers cooking explosives, but they’d never done anything like this.

  No one had ever interfered with the speeding trains that led from Gathos City over the Withers to the smaller residential islands on the far side. Once in a while, people tried to run along the rails over the sludge-channels, but the trains came too frequently. They crushed anyone foolish enough to make a run for it.

  What if Gathos City punished everyone in the Withers for this? They had the means. They could stop sending food rations over. They could cut off electricity and water.

  Focus.

  Nate spared a glance over his shoulder at the darkly dressed Gathos City commuters gathering in tight herds in the growing mob. Servants crept out into the crowd like ghosts in their gravel-colored robes and crouched beside people who writhed on the ground, burned and broken from the wreck. Nate exhaled heavily with a fleeting moment of relief. Servants took a vow to protect and care for anyone in need, whether they were old and dying or from Gathos City.

  He scanned until he spotted the yellow scarf in Sparks’s hair and Reed beside her, running his hands through his short hair with frantic jabs. When their eyes met, Nate looked away. The year before, he’d toppled off an electrical pole after getting distracted by Reed’s dazzling green eyes and the caged-bird flutters they caused in Nate’s chest. He couldn’t afford to slip now.

  The first hinge came apart with a quick pull, but the second was jammed. Nate took the pieces he’d already removed and fastened them back together to make a lever. He wasn’t strong—so he’d learned other ways to find strength. Bracing his boots against the hot metal, Nate threw his weight into it and loosened the stubborn bolt. It clanked to the ground, and the seal on the hatch popped open with a gasp of smoky air. Nate used his legs to pry it open all the way.

  “This way is safe!” Nate yelled. “You need to hurry.” He tucked the borrowed tools into his belt and grabbed on to the edge of the hatch to vault inside.

  For a moment, all he could do was stare at the white seats and gleaming walls. Piercing lights strobed, and a low, chiming alarm sounded over and over. The sweet, sharp smell of clean brought on a memory as clear as a windy day. His mother’s hand in his in the back seat of a car while his father drove, quiet and distant as ever.

  The people inside rushed to the hatch, startling Nate out of his thoughts. He backed up against the window, grabbing on to the plush seats for balance. They clawed for a way out the narrow exit, fighting like street dogs. Ignoring the fray, Nate vaulted over the backs of the tall seats to make it to the other end of the car. He had more work to do. The steel door from this railcar to the next was locked.

  The handle was warm to the touch, but people stumbled and flailed in the smoke and heat behind the thick glass. They weren’t burned up yet.

  “I’m going to get this door open!” he shouted. He could rewire the lock, but it would take more time than the people in the smoky car had. The pressure hinges would have to do. But the cables holding them together were too thick for Nate to cut on his own.

  A handful of commuters hung back, allowing the rest to exit first. Nate whirled on them and coughed until his throat cleared. “I need another hand on this. Please. It’ll open the door!”

  “You’re one of the sick ones.” A tall man with white hair and dark-brown skin approached with halting steps. He wore a suit finer than any cloth Nate had ever seen and a narrow tie with an elaborate pattern gleaming with little bits of metallic thread.

  “No one here is sick anymore.” Nate struggled with the wire cutters. “And I don’t have time to talk.”

  The man pushed up beside him and pressed his full weight into the cutters. For a long moment, their efforts were futile. Then the cutters snapped shut, and the wire gave. Nate wound it out of the hinges.

  “Nothing’s happening,” the man said.

  “Give the door a good push. Hard, with your shoulder.”

  When the man pushed, it gave a little. Nate joined in, straining and digging his boots against the carpeted floor. The door gave way, falling into the car with a jarring thud, and they collapsed onto the floor with its momentum. The people inside stampeded toward the exit hatch.

  The white-haired man rolled toward Nate and cast an arm out, bracing him from the feet trampling them, but it was no use. Passengers billowed from the flaming car like the smoke that chased them. They stomped and climbed over Nate, sharp heels biting. When the thudding blows finally stopped, Nate touched a painful, hot spot at his hairline, and his fingers came away bloody.

  Nate scrubbed his hand against his pants, anger twisting his face into a grimace. Even after saving them, he meant nothing to the commuters of Gathos City.

  “I’m so sorry,” the man said, pushing up onto his hands and knees as gingerly as Nate did and looking as bad as Nate felt. Blood ran down his chin from a nasty split lip. “They’re afraid.”

  Smoke poured in from the other car. Nate’s anger dampened. They’d almost cooked to death in a metal prison. He’d walk over someone too, if it meant catching a breath of air after choking on poison.

  Nate wondered what he’d do for Remedy if he had to. “I know.”

  “My name is Ben. Thank you for doing that.”

  Ben helped Nate up, and they approached the hatch shakily. The last few passengers in the car worked together, offering the wounded help up through the hatch. One of them gave Nate a suspicious look.

  “This boy freed us.” Ben stepped between them and Nate. “Help him up.”

  One of Nate’s tools fell. He reached with numb f
ingers, but wasn’t able to grasp it before the men lifted him up and pushed him through the hatch, out into the open air. Nate spun, trying to gain his bearings. Dres put an arm around his back, and Sandy ducked under his arm.

  “I feared that might happen,” Dres muttered, wiping Nate’s forehead with a greasy rag.

  “It’s not that bad.” Nate drew in gulping breaths. He was crying a little, but mostly from the smoke.

  Gathos City passengers poured from the emergency exits of each car. At least they were smart enough to fear burning up more than they feared the Withers. They climbed down the ladders at each support beam like ants.

  Sandy made a face. “Your head is bleeding.”

  Dres reached down and helped Ben out of the hatch. Ben made a low, whistling sound. “It looks different . . . like this.”

  “When you’re not speeding by?” Nate glanced back through the hatch at his wrench on the floor in the railcar but didn’t have the energy to go back for it.

  “Yes,” Ben said absently. “There’s so much space.”

  A robed woman in the crowd beckoned him, and he made his way down the ladder to the ground below and took her hand. She led him away to the crush of robed Servants, and Nate squinted. Something about the curl of her fingers was familiar, but the blood in his eyes blurred his vision. When he wiped his face, Ben and the woman were gone.

  Nate hadn’t thanked Ben properly for trying to protect him in the train car. Crowds swarmed around the survivors from the city. They were swallowed up, part of the Withers now whether they liked it or not. Chest sore and head throbbing, Nate wondered if all he’d done was lead them to a different violent end.

  “Careful there,” Dres said, taking Nate by the elbow. “You’re wobbling.”

  Dres and Sandy helped Nate down the ladder. The moment Nate’s feet reached the ground, Reed’s arms wrapped around him like a vise.

  Reed was slick with sweat and cool to the touch, and his heart beat so hard it vibrated in his chest. Nate wrapped his arms around Reed in a clumsy hug, shaking too much to do anything but get close. “It’s okay,” he tried to say. It came out like a sob.

  Dres scruffed his big hand into Nate’s hair. He dropped the other onto Sandy’s shoulder, directing her into the crowd. Reed led Nate away from the railway, but Nate stumbled with each step, unwilling to let go of Reed and walk properly. If he let go, he was going to fall. His legs were finally catching on to the terror he’d ignored in the train.

  Twisted metal creaked, and the flames made a hungry rattling sound. The crowd was loud too, shouting at the survivors. Nate pressed his face against Reed’s arm to block it out. He’d helped them get free of the fire, but they weren’t much safer down here.

  Sparks took his hand and tugged him along.

  “I lost your wrench,” he told her hoarsely before darkness swamped his vision.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The thick sting of smoke and flaming gasolex burned in Nate’s nostrils. He opened his eyes and caught a bleary look at Reed and Sparks arguing a few steps away. Several blocks down the street behind them, the railway billowed fire and smoke. He turned his head slowly, fighting dizziness. A rough brick wall poked at his back through his thin shirt.

  “You shouldn’t have come out here!” Sparks was saying.

  “He could have burned up there.” Reed rubbed his palms against his short hair as he paced. “He could have died.”

  “And now we got seen helping those sludgestains out of the wreck because you stuck your neck out. To what? Watch him try to kill himself?” Sparks gestured toward the black smoke in the sky. “It’s not like you did anything.”

  “What if we hadn’t come? He’s out cold. Anyone could take him.”

  “Take him where? You’re not thinking straight, Reed.”

  “Look at him! Of course I’m not thinking straight!”

  “Hey,” Nate said after three aborted attempts to speak around the sticky soreness in his throat.

  They both turned. Sparks blew out a heaving breath.

  Reed balled his hands into fists, coiled up like he was about to snap in two.

  “I told you,” Sparks said, slapping Reed’s shoulder. “The smoke made him pass out. He’s fine.”

  “His head’s gashed open.” Reed scowled. “He’s not fine.”

  “I’m okay.” Nate mapped out the swollen, sticky spot with his fingers. His pulse throbbed through his head, hot beats of pain. “Ow.”

  “That was great, you know.” Sparks offered Nate her yellow scarf. “You got everyone out. I mean, not the ones in the first car—they’re charred up—but the rest.”

  “How are the people who got out?” Nate licked his dry lips. He took the scarf and pressed it to his head. His blood left a vivid red stain when he checked, but it wasn’t a lot. Head wounds always made a mess.

  Reed glanced at Sparks and gave a quick shake of his head.

  “What?” Nate asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Reed crouched, focusing on Nate. He drummed his fingers against his thighs. “Don’t think about that right now.”

  “I’m not a kid. Tell me.” Nate glanced at the smoke. “Did they kill everyone who made it out?”

  “They didn’t kill everyone,” Sparks said. “Just some of them. The rest ran off. A few went with the Breakers.”

  “The Breakers? They were really there?” Nate wiped grit out of his eye and stared at her. Everyone knew about the Breakers, but hardly anyone knew someone who ran with them. Knew what they looked like. They were shadowed, buzzing messages on tickers and the offer of work to anyone willing to run chem. Powerful people who sent Couriers out to carry their messages and the A-Vols to do their dirty work.

  “Three of them, anyway. You should have seen them. Dressed fine as can be.” Sparks pretended to adjust the collar of her shirt and threw her shoulders back.

  “How do you know it wasn’t people from the wreck?” He looked at Reed.

  “I wasn’t watching all that.” Reed rubbed the back of his head. “I was watching you.”

  The air felt thinner for a moment.

  “I’m telling you, I saw,” Sparks said. “They didn’t come from the wreck. They had fancy stun guns and handed out food and medicine to the crowd. Asked the ones from the wreck if they had GEMs with them. They didn’t seem that bad. And they said they did it for us. For all of us.”

  “They’re terrorists.” Nate thrust the bloody scarf at her, wondering if she’d forgotten the part where his head had almost been kicked clean off, thanks to what they’d done. “They just killed loads of people!”

  “I didn’t say I was signing up to blow up trains with them. They didn’t need to do that.” Sparks quieted as if she expected one of those fine-dressed people to be right behind her. “Just saying they had nice clothes. And maybe they were only trying to help us.”

  Reed shook his head, frowning. “I don’t like it. They were too bold today. Going after the city trains. Walking around in the sun like they didn’t care who saw them. Sparks said the A-Vols didn’t go near them, like they were scared to.”

  “And trappers?” Nate asked. It wasn’t like trappers to be out in the daytime, but the explosion would have shaken just about anyone out onto the street.

  “I don’t know. It was so crowded.”

  Nate recognized the frustration that tightened the skin around Reed’s eyes. Just because they didn’t see trappers didn’t mean trappers didn’t see them.

  He hated that hollow sensation of not knowing, especially when not knowing could mean somebody getting hurt. Reed was the same—always trying to stay one step ahead of anything that could harm his gang. And he couldn’t stay ahead if the unknown darkened the path and tripped him up.

  Blowing out a noisy breath, Reed crouched in front of Nate. His skin gleamed, the freckles on his nose bright as flecks of polished met
al.

  Nate ducked his head. “Sorry I made you come out here.”

  “You didn’t make me do anything.” Reed brushed Nate’s hair behind his ears and stayed close—closer than he needed to be. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay, Reed.”

  Reed’s expression went pinched. “Are you?”

  A wave of sharp sadness gripped Nate. No matter what he did, Reed was still going to try to pry secrets out of him. They could never have a moment of just being close. “My head hurts, but I guess that’s nothing new.”

  “You look pretty bad.” Reed stroked Nate’s jaw with his thumb and tilted his face up to study the cut at his hairline.

  Nate didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he pressed them against the dirty pavement. “Do you remember when the water main broke and we all went to see?”

  That day, Reed had stripped down to his tattered boxers in the spray. Drops of water caught the sunlight, casting rainbows that shimmered in the air, and everyone laughed and played like little children. Nate hung back, and Reed dragged him into the spray in his clothes, soaking Nate until the water glued his shirt to his back. Reed drew him close and spun him into a whirling dance. Nate pulled back—scared—ducking out of the water and away from how bad he wanted Reed.

  He wanted him just the same now, even smoke-stained and ripe with the scent of fear.

  “I remember.” Reed walked his fingers along Nate’s temple, carefully feeling for bumps. “Why?”

  If Nate could climb up onto a burning train, he could show Reed what he really wanted. At least once, anyway.

  Even if it was selfish.

  “No reason.” He took Reed by the back of the neck and pulled him closer. Reed tilted his head, as if expecting a whisper at his ear, so when Nate leaned in, the kiss pressed against the side of Reed’s mouth.

  Sparks let out a low laugh. She probably thought Nate was delirious from the smoke and the trampling.

  Maybe I am.

  Reed’s lips parted with a surprised sound, and Nate fumbled for an angle that made it feel like a real kiss. He scrabbled closer, his fingers catching in Reed’s loose shirt, and bumped Reed’s mouth with his tongue. Reed pushed him away.