by Brindi Quinn
I . . . missed him.
Now that woman had him, and Chloe, too.
The Markers and wilderness beasts weren’t the only ones on the prowl out here, it seemed. Quite possibly, there was a whole faction of people tasked with collecting those that didn’t abide by the game’s rules. It was curious that in a dying world, the Directors wasted such manpower. Then again, maybe overpopulation drove them to dispose of inhabitants any way they could. Better out here than in the crowded city, or something like that. Maybe the more curious thing was during an energy crisis, the leaders of humanity saw it fit to fuel Waystation Zelpha with pumping music and dancing lights.
There was much I didn’t understand about this world.
Crash’s ‘map’ was far different than mine. Apparently, his tracker synced with a clear pair of contacts he wore over his frost-colored eyes. These contacts allowed him to see far off indicators and beacons, so long as he input them into his tracker pen first. This he did, by using a thin pad he occasionally wore on his hand. After seeing him use it a few times, I came to understand that the pad was a small computer screen. Every so often he would order us to stop so that he could retrieve the pad from his belt, strap it to his hand, and then begin doodling symbols on it with the tip of his tracker. The pad would often light blue in response – though sometimes it would reject whatever he was inputting, by giving off an ugly beep and a flashing of red. When successful, Crash’s eyes glowed even brighter blue for a second before returning to normal.
It was the same technology that allowed him to see where I was whenever the tracker went off.
That device was definitely an advantage. If it ever found its way into the hands of a prag . . .
Most of my training had relied on the use of natural resources and intuition without the aid of technology. Evidently, the Western demons took on a different approach.
“Come on.”
This time when he was finished scanning the area, the mocking-mouthed boy retired his tracker and pad and motioned for me to follow him down the side of a vast hill. The elevation gave a stretching view of the area. Remnants of skyscrapers poked from the earth. Some were missing their tops. Others remained intact. I imagined what kind of resources were held within – the things one could craft if given some metal and binding.
In the days since starting the chase, it had become such habit for me to glance down at my hand, that I found myself doing it even now. Every time I caught a glance of the red glow of tracking, my heart jolted, though the feeling soon dissolved into disillusion: there was no threat coming, for the threat was already at my side.
As we descended the neck of the hill, Crash took ahold of my arm and pushed me ahead of him. “Stay in front.”
So that he could watch my back.
I was wrong.
“If the presidents scan the area, it needs to look like I’m pursuing you,” he explained, dull-toned. Heat flushed to my cheeks when I realized that the only reason I’d been outrunning him all morning was because he’d been letting me.
I took out my aggression on an unassuming rock, which went whizzing far into the distance at the force of my kick. I smiled to myself only a moment before–
“Feel better?”
It was as though my Marker’s voice was always whispering in my ear when I wanted it least. Not that I ever wanted it, really.
I ignored him and started trotting off towards the line of sunken skyscrapers.
We ran on that way for hours, always at that silhouette of skyscrapers, always prag before Marker. The closer we came, the more desiccated buildings began to scatter the area, until it got to the point where we were crawling through piles of rubble. My climbing gloves were getting their fair share of work. I was glad to have purchased them.
When the day was on its descent, we stopped to eat, painted in the amber glow of the sun as it reflected against the sea of fallen buildings. I ate from one of the nutrient packs as quickly as I could, so as not to let it hit my tongue. However great my efforts, a healthy splattering managed to find my taste buds, setting my mouth in repulsion.
“These never get any better,” I told myself, mid-cringe.
Crash was leaning against the remains of a structure, silently eating, when out of nowhere, he chucked something at me. Quick-reflexed, I caught it just before it hit my face, and threw him a scowl in return.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he sneered. “It’s unbecoming.”
My scowl deepened.
“Try putting that on there.” He nodded to the thing in my hand, which turned out to be a bottle filled with red liquid – poison, most likely.
“Hot sauce,” Crash said, and to prove it wasn’t poison, he took a mouthful of his own nutrient pack, which had already been doused in the stuff.
It wasn’t a good idea to eat something willfully given by an unholy one, and the last time I’d taken food from a stranger, I’d ended up incapacitated.
That said, it was all I could do to keep the sickly gruel down, and I needed the vitamins held within to fuel me with strength. I was no good to anybody, weak and undernourished, let alone to myself. At this point I was willing to try pretty much anything. Against my better judgment, I sprinkled a few drops of the red sauce into the opened portion of my food pack, before squeezing the slop onto my tongue.
Crash was right. It was extremely hot.
I fanned at my mouth to fan away the biting hotness, giving my Marker something new to smirk at. I glowered at him with silent bloodlust. Eventually, however, my tongue became used to the hotness and the flavor was a great improvement to the bitter slop. I finished the pack off, washed it down with water, and let out a deep breath.
Crash opened his palm, indicating that I should return the bottle. “What did I tell you?”
I wailed the bottle at him as aggressively as I could, angry that he’d been right. Nevertheless, he caught it with a single swipe of his hand, and in the aftermath, showed off a gut-wrenching smile.
How I hated that smile.
We continued on through the fallen city, until finding an even stretch of ground. Someone or something had plowed aside the wreckage, and without bothering to consider what creature of mass had created the path, we took advantage of the openness, returning to a healthy running pace.
For the most part, the world was quiet, though as the evening settled, ugly birds with balded heads and short, shrill cries watched us from whatever vantage points they could. Crash had a severe disliking for the birds, and I noticed him eyeing them mistrustfully whenever they perched too close.
There weren’t many birds in Eastern City; the acid rain drove most creatures away, so to see so many out here . . .
“Are there birds in Western City?” I asked. It was impulsive. I didn’t want to speak to him, and I didn’t expect him to answer.
“There . . . aren’t.”
Surprised that he’d replied, and unable to stop my inquisitiveness, I went on: “Is the rain of your city toxic as well?”
“My city has no rain.”
He didn’t elaborate. Silence overtook us again, until being broken by the piercing cry of a particularly grotesque looking bird that appeared as thought its hind feathers had been ripped out by some wilderbeast. Crash glared at it foully, and afterwards asked something very peculiar of me: “Do you have a family?”
It was the last thing I expected him to ask.
“No,” I said, slowly and suspiciously. “I had a grandfather, but that was a long, long time ago.”
“Did he love you?”
I threw him a puzzled glance. I had been wrong before; this was the last thing I expected him to ask.
Because I was taking too long to answer, Crash’s tone turned demanding. “Did he love you?”
My curiosity overruled the urge to tell him off. “I suppose he did. He often spoke of me fondly.” I waited for his response.
Crash exhaled through his teeth. “I see.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. �
�I didn’t know if prags had families or if they were raised up like animals.”
A guttural sound rose up in my throat. I was about to let him have it, when I realized he hadn’t meant it as an insult. There was something naïve to the way he’d muttered it.
“Are your kind raised up like animals?” I asked.
“Of course not!” Crash threw me a look similar to the one he’d just shot the grotesque-looking bird.
Hypocrite.
Maybe realizing this himself, his expression reverted to its original level of flatness. “I had a brother,” he said.
That was a surprise. Siblings were incredibly rare; at least in my city.
“Are siblings common among the unhol–” I stopped myself, “–among your people?”
Crash knew what I’d been about to say, and he shot me a glance even more murderous than the last. “Siblings are not common,” he said.
He had had a brother. He did not have one. Did that mean his brother had fallen?
“Was he like you?” I asked.
Crash stared at me blankly.
“Was he a Marker?”
Crash nodded, though he appeared distracted.
“And did he win?”
Too abrupt, Crash stopped his sprint and turned to me sharply. “What do you consider winning?”
Though his brevity put me off, I held my ground. “I mean did he catch his mark?”
Crash shrugged and stared off into the melting sunset. “Who knows?”
And that was that.
The remainder of the evening passed quickly and uneventfully, save for the overhead passing of a miniature drone marked with the Director’s seal on the side. When Crash heard it buzzing in the distance, he ordered me to mock fight him, insistent that we needed to keep up the charade of chasing. I came at him a little more forcefully than was necessary and landed a satisfying hit on his jaw. He returned the favor, hitting me upside the face and drawing a small amount of blood.
I rubbed it away disgruntledly and watched the drone fly into the distance.
Was Crash right in thinking that if we didn’t act as Marker and marked one should, the drone would report us to the helmeted woman and her clan? And if so, how did he know? He’d been in the wasteland only a short while more than I, and yet, he seemed to know a great deal more.
. . .
When the moon began showing over the horizon, Crash stopped me. “Do you need to rest, Zillow Stone?” He looked me over with an even expression.
I needed to, yes – we had been on the move ever since leaving the silo – and judging by the circles forming behind his tattoos, Crash needed to, too. But neither of us trusted the other enough to sleep in their presence.
Crash exhaled, lifted his face to the sky, and chewed at his nail in thought. “We need to figure something out. We can’t go on like this much longer. And I’ll be damned if I let you slit my throat in the night.”
But I was already far ahead of him. I turned my attention to the nearest skyscraper. “I have an idea.”
. . .
An hour later, we were in a room with only one discernable exit. Situated between us was a heaping of chairs, desks and any other debris we could find – larger pieces strategically balanced atop smaller ones. This was a makeshift alert system, devised entirely by one, Zillow Stone. If the unholy one came for me, I would hear the falling of clutter first. The same went for him. Crash was on the side with the door, so he had no reason to fear me stealing away while he slept – plus, he was holding my backpack and weapon as collateral.
All in all, it was a shoddy plan, one out of which I certainly could have found a way, but it was enough to imbue us both with a false sense of security. For now, I would trust that my neck would remain unscathed through the night. It had been a very long time since I’d last slept, and truthfully, there was nothing in that moment that I wanted more.
Curled up over a pile of tattered fabric remnants, sleep hit me, quick and without mercy.
. . .
For a long while, I didn’t dream. My slumber was heavy and dark. It was only after I woke to some far-off noise that I settled back into dreamful sleep.
Chapter 12: Dreamscaped
I found myself in a valley, surrounded by deep, deep grass that came up to my face. Wind swayed it all around me so that I couldn’t make out any person or thing. I only knew I was in a valley because I’d been there before, and the wind tasted and smelled the same.
“Welcome back, Zillow Stone.”
A hand reached from the void, took my wrist, and drew me through the grass. I let it take me, and as we moved forward, the grass began to shrink, shorter and shorter with each stride. When it was below my chin, I looked up and found the sun. This sun was much kinder than the one I knew. Its touch was soft. It settled over everything in a warm glow.
This is what it meant to be basked.
As the grassline continued to lower, I saw that the hand pulling me was attached to an arm that was attached to a lanky, boyish body.
It was Kipper.
“Have you seen Theo?” I asked.
He ignored me, and then he was gone, and the hand pulling my wrist was my own.
It started to rain, but it wasn’t ordinary rain. It wasn’t wet. It didn’t saturate. It glittered. I caught a handful of it.
“It’s from that whale, I guess.”
“I told you, kitten, it’s a blimp.”
Now Crash was the one pulling my wrist.
“A blimp,” I said. “That’s right.” Glittering rain continued to fall over us. It landed on my shoulders. Crash shook it from his hair and a splattering of glitter hit me in the face.
“If you will come with me, I’ll tell you a secret, Zillow Stone.”
I wasn’t about to let him pull me around.
But he didn’t wait for an answer.
Suddenly, we were at the edge of the grass, looking over the valley’s glimmering lake. A floating ship, boarded by women in bright fluttering dresses and bonnets, was hovering over the water. This time, the whale wasn’t in sight, but I suspected it wasn’t far, for the cheers of the crowds dotting the landscape imbued the air, as glitter continued to fall.
“I’ve been wondering about something for a while now,” Crash said, voice collected.
With that, he reached forward and grabbed the air, like it was a painting. The air complied, becoming palpable matter within his fist. He pulled on the image, and the whole thing crumpled as though he were ripping off a sheet.
All sound died abruptly.
For behind the sheet was a world much more akin to the one I knew.
The valley was dead, the lake dried, and the airship rooted in the sand. There was no color. It had long since fled that world. There was neither crowd nor clamor.
“I’ve been wondering something for a while now,” Crash said again, this time a whisper.
“What’s that?”
Suddenly, he was in my ear and the world was quickly darkening. “I think these dreams are planted.”
My skin pricked up all over.
I woke up wet with sweat as the clattering of movement alerted me that someone was disturbing the makeshift wall.
“Zillow Stone.” Crash’s voice was muffled through the mess. Soon, however, he’d pushed aside enough wreckage to be clearly heard. His eyes glinted in the dark. His mouth sat dull. “How do you feel?”
Uneasy, but rested.
That dream was more disturbing than any of the others, and in its aftermath, my skin continued to prick.
“How long were we out?” I asked, attempting to deflect.
“You slept longer than I did. I was out scouting. It is the middle of the night.”
I imagined the demon watching my glowing silhouette through his contact while I slept. Vulnerability was an infuriating thing to wake to.
“Eat something.” He tossed me my pack. “Tomorrow is a big day.”
I didn’t know why it should be any bigger than any other day. Reveling in my i
gnorance, Crash’s mouth twisted at the corner. “Tomorrow, Zillow Stone, you are going to help me infiltrate Paradise.”
Chapter 13: Mankind is a Tragedy
Paradise, the actual Paradise, the prag bastion with trees, fields, endless water, and with a wall to keep out Markers – why should Crash want to go there?
Whatever his reason, it would be of great benefit for me to follow him. The following night, the prolonged tracking gambit would run out. Whether or not we reached Paradise by then, at least I would be better off than I was now: I would be near my fellow prey. I might even reconnect with Jozy, Peck, and Alaranda.
And if the chance arose to take on Crash before then, so be it.
With the sun yet resting, we made our way to Paradise. How he knew its location was a mystery. It was extremely likely that we were heading somewhere else entirely, and that Crash was merely using the thought of Paradise as bait for me to follow. Either way, I told myself to take in my surroundings, watch the hills for any threats, and be on the ready to attack.
For an hour or more, things kept on as they’d been. The massive city shifted around us from skyscrapers to squat shops to mountains of rubble that appeared to have been intentionally stacked. This city was so vast. I wondered about its fall. There had been many great cites, and most had fallen, until all that remained were us . . . and them. The ruins had a story, though there was nothing left to tell what it was.
Unless . . .
Very suddenly, something occurred to me.
“Is this Central City?!”
Crash looked at me like I was daft. “Of course it is.”
I’d been so distracted by the game, my Marker, and the thought of Paradise, that I hadn’t given much thought to where we were. All this time, the ruins we climbed, they were a piece of history. The University priests who had spent so many hours teaching me that history would be ashamed by my ignorance.
“This was the first of the nine,” I said to myself.
