by Lydia Kang
Suddenly, the tugging on my ankle goes slack. Through the water, I see Caliga, blurry. Unmoving. James continues to pull us down to a dark, black hole near the bottom of the water.
Caliga’s already passed out. I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable.
The pressure is intolerable. Inside my chest, the hunger for air is a living, dark thing. It claws without mercy, seeking air and failing. The water squeezes my eardrums and my body feels compressed, like a flower crushed beneath a shoe.
Just relax. Cy’s voice enters my head. Stop struggling. You’ll be okay.
My eyes open, expecting to see only darkness, but flashes of phosphorescent blue curl in waves around my body. Something solid and soft brushes my face and I capture it. It’s Caliga’s hand. She pulls me to her, eyes wide and alive, while electric blue and purple colors flash behind her in the undulating waves.
Her startled eyes say what I cannot.
We are still alive.
Caliga and I kick back to James to let him know we’re okay. He lets go and waves us forward, urging us to swim on our own. There is a current in here and it gently urges us forward.
Without his two dead weights, James swims around us easily, like the water creature that he is. Caliga and I push and pull at the water with our hands, kicking ungracefully. We go several minutes before we both stop, fatigued and more air-hungry. The skin patches can only do so much to deliver oxygen.
So we continue this way, swimming in the underground passageway in short bursts, resting while James hauls us forward slowly. My fatigue grows to the point where I can’t swim anymore and the cold of the water numbs my brain.
Finally, a dim light appears ahead and above us. James unhooks our weighted belts, and we surface like corks, gasping air as if we’ve just been born. We’re in a tiny cavern, lit only by the water’s surface bioluminescence, but the glow is weaker here. Cela is resting at the edge of the pool, along with Cy and Micah, who are panting hard too. Cy is utterly exhausted, resting his head on his hand.
“Oh . . . my . . . god,” I say between forceful gasps.
“Save your energy. The next one is longer,” Cela warns. “And we need to hurry. That pill you took is increasing the circulation to your skin, but it’s also cooling you down too fast. You’re not insulated like we are. You’ll have serious hypothermia if we don’t hustle.”
Cy and I only get a chance to touch hands before we put our weight belts on again and dive. The next stretch nearly kills us land people. The passageway takes a deep turn into the earth, and we go lower and lower. The bioluminescence incrementally disappears, and the claustrophobia of the dark and constricted tunnel nearly gives me a panic attack.
When we rest inside another tiny grotto with a ceiling covered in monstrous stalactites, Cela grins at us. Though we’re exhausted and bone tired, James manages a matching smirk.
“What’s so funny?” Micah asks.
Cela’s eyes are wide. “Don’t you feel it?”
My mind is a blank, but Cela enlightens us by raising her braceleted wrist and jiggling it.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore!” I exclaim.
“We are too far from Avida for them to affect us anymore,” she says. “Far enough away that they didn’t go off. So long as we stay away from the boundaries of Inky, they won’t explode.”
“But how will we get them off? Won’t they explode if we forcibly remove them?”
Cela and James look at each other. No one has an answer for that.
We prepare ourselves for the last swim of the journey. Hopefully it’s just another half hour of swimming, but the current has gotten stronger, which means we’ll be able to cover more distance with less effort. As we swim, the cold seeps into our bones, turning our legs and arms into cement limbs. After what feels like forever, we see a light in the distance and all start kicking and swimming, despite the need for oxygen that threatens to make our skulls explode.
The water churns around us, full of bubbles, grit, and tasting of dirt. My vision is obscured and I’m disoriented. Something pulls at my waist—James—and my weight belt is released. I let my buoyancy do its job, and warm air breaks over my face.
The light is blinding. I bob in the frothing water, rubbing the water out of my eyes. We’re in a glade, with skeletal pine trees and blighted maples that surround the wreckage of houses nearby. Something taps me on my shoulder, and I turn to see Cy, Micah, Cela, James, and Caliga all bobbing along next to me.
“You did it!” Tennie yells from across the expanse of the stream. His hair is still spiky damp and Élodie sits next to him, sodden and shivering. Ryba is still in the water, but she’s in an animated discussion with Tabitha, who’s peeling off her used skin and chucking the bits of goo in the water.
I exhale everything—my fear, my air-hunger, the despair that hung on me, heavier than the weighted belt now residing in the subterranean river. My icy hand is caught by Cy, who smiles triumphantly. It’s the most beautiful thing on earth. He lets go as Caliga bobs into my arms. Hot tears of relief start pouring down my face as she clings to me, weeping.
We are free.
CHAPTER 27
“I AM SO WRUNG OUT!” TENNIE COMPLAINS.
It’s the middle of the night. Chicago’s upper city looms on the horizon in the north, miles away and aglow with lights. We’ve been traveling for two days. Well, nights really, since we can only travel in the dark, when Élodie leads us quietly. Tennie’s been giving the kids who need hydrating a thorough drenching every half hour, but it’s exhausting him.
“Just a little while longer, Ten,” Cela coaxes. “C’mon. I’m getting crispy again. You don’t want a potato chip for a sister. Let’s go.”
Tennie sighs. We’re hidden behind a decrepit house in Ilmo, a few miles away from the border of Inky and Ilmo, which sports a ten-story, net-like plasma fence. Luckily, Chicago is due north if we follow the border. Otherwise, without a holo, we’d be lost. Cela, James, and Ryba surround Tennie. He concentrates hard, wrinkling his nose, and mist envelops them in a pale fog. Soon they’re all covered in a sheen of water and the water kids exhale with relief, buffing the water deeper into their skin.
Cela and Tennie chat as we resume our hike to Chicago. They talk every chance they can. They must have used those last few days in Avida to work through a lot of crap. It makes me miss Dyl and the others that much more, watching them.
“A few more hours,” I tell Cy. “Right on time. I wonder if they’ll all be waiting there.”
He holds my hand firmly in his. Since we left Avida behind, he barely lets go of me. Élodie leaves us alone, becoming more silent and withdrawn the closer we get to Chicago. Cy has tried to comfort her, assuming she’s stressed out about finding the safe house in Chicago. During the daytime when we sleep, tucked into hidden places on the edge of towns, I find her awake. Staring out in the darkness, seeing what I can’t.
I trip on a twisted root and almost drop my bag of belongings. Micah leans over to grab it.
“I can carry it, if you’re tired,” he offers.
“No thanks. I’m okay,” I say, clutching it to my chest.
Did you lose any more since yesterday? Cy asks in my head. I shake mine back, and hug the parcel closer to my chest.
I’ve grown more paranoid since we left Avida. The first night after our escape, I told everyone about the pocket watches, and how Endall is out there somewhere—my genetic brother, maybe with my longevity trait too. The next morning, I awoke to find one of my watches gone. I had carefully wrapped each one and put them in different places. One in Cy’s bag, one worn around my neck while I sleep (it’s still crazy jerky and weird, but oxygen deprivation is not a good alternative), and one in my bag. Cy calmed me down when he pointed out a tear in the bottom of my bag.
“It’s the rats. You kept your food in there. It was bound to happen,” he reasons. I inwardly kicked mysel
f for my stupidity, and agreed.
Until it happened again the next day. This time, it was Cy’s bag.
“But you didn’t have any food in your bag, and there’s no hole in it,” I notice. Cy and I share a glance of worry. I only have one watch left, which terrifies me.
Caliga and I talk when we can, but our discussions are always the same. Will Wilbert be in Chicago? How will we find him if he isn’t? We discuss Wingfield, and consider how we’ll get access to a holo so we can find out where it is. Micah tells us he knows it’s in Minwi, while Cela, Ryba, Tabitha, and James listen on, uninterested. Their destiny is far closer.
We reach the shores of Lake Michigan just before dawn, standing among the wild tangle of plants at the water’s edge. Stubborn, abandoned buildings still ring the shore, refusing to sink into the risen lake.
“You’re really going?” I ask Tabitha. Her fur has started to grown back, dark brown and bristly.
“Yes. We’re headed for Canada. You guys should come with us. There’s a good chance we’ll get refugee status there.”
I shake my head and she doesn’t try to convince me or the others. She envelops me in a quick, fuzzy embrace. We all take turns receiving squishy, damp hugs from the others. One by one, they do a triumphant dive into the murky lake water, kicking up splashes as they wave good-bye.
“Will they be okay?” Cy asks Tabitha, watching them disappear beneath the cloudy water. “I thought the lake water wasn’t safe to swim in.”
“They’ll get sick for sure, but the water quality will get better the farther north we go,” she reassures us.
Tennie sidles up to Tabitha and smiles sadly. “We should go.”
“Tennie! I though you were coming with us,” I say, disappointed. I’m already homesick for our group, even if we’ve only been traveling a few days.
“Nope. Tab and I are going north too.” He points to the water kids dunking each other in the gentle lake waves. “We’ll follow them by the water’s edge. I want to stay with them. Cela’s my sister, after all.” He gives me a wet hug. “Good-bye, Zel.”
Tabitha swings the group’s heavy satchel onto her well-muscled back, grabs Tennie’s hand, and leads him into the tangled, boggy foliage along the shore line. One last, large wave from a joyous kicking foot in the water, and the water kids are gone too.
Now it’s only Micah, Cy, Blink, Caliga, and me. Chicago crowds the horizon ahead of us, buildings resting on enormous pilings ever since the lake rose seventy years ago. At the water level, the under-city is built upon a maze of decrepit, rotting boardwalks. Buildings are shabbily crafted of wood or scavenged plasticleer building materials. Some old warehouses still survive, their upper levels now the only available real estate.
The water just below us reeks with sheets of cobalt algae. Only the toughest, angriest animals skulk along the boards. We avoid the feral cats with huge, pointed ears, and brown rats big enough to fight back, and they avoid us.
Thankfully, Caliga memorized the address of the safe house when we were in the Deadlands.
“Four B and twenty.” Cy reads the quadrant directions posted on the twenty-foot-wide pilings. “Four B and thirty.”
“We’re almost there,” Caliga says.
It’s been twelve days since I left Carus. We made it on time. I can’t believe it.
We stay far away from other inhabitants peeking out from the doors of the shanties, who display open sores on their faces and fingertips. We’ve heard rumors of these people. Those who have chosen to live off the grid, because they needed to escape the law, or whose neurodrug habits dissolved their veil of normalcy.
“Here it is,” Caliga says quietly. She points ahead to a structure of metal and concrete, with the lower floors flooded by lake sludge. The windows have long since been boarded up. It looks decrepit on the outside, but that could easily be a ruse. A makeshift front door cut into the wall is unlocked.
“That’s weird,” Micah says. He enters first, looking around and poking his head back out where we wait expectantly.
“It’s empty, but there’s an opening to the upper floors. Seems like the whole building is empty. Are you sure this is the right place, Cal?”
Caliga nods, but frowns. “Should we go in?”
“Why would it be wide open like this?” Cy wonders aloud.
I remember how intense the security was at Carus and Aureus, even Avida. It doesn’t feel right. I wish I could smell something other than the toxic algae and the rotting rats floating under the decaying boardwalk.
“Let me go in,” Micah volunteers. “Wait out here.” Micah steps inside, dodges the soft spots of rust where water’s weakened the metal floor. We keep the door cracked and I peer into the dim room, listening to the scuffle of rats. Micah looks around and heads for a crude ladder attached to the far wall and a window-sized opening in the ceiling.
He climbs it slowly and pops his head through the aperture.
“Seems empty—oof—”
Micah’s feet suddenly dangle, as if he’s been grabbed from above. His feet disappear into the opening. We hear a scuffle and a muffled yell.
“Oh my god!” Caliga nearly shrieks. “What do we do?”
“Micah!” I yell, running for the ladder.
“Zel, no!” Cy calls out, running after me, but I’m too fast to catch. I scramble up the ladder and find Micah lying on the floor, with Hex on top of him. He’s got one hand on Micah’s neck and four fists ready to turn him into a mashed potato version of himself.
“Hex!” I scream out in joy.
Hex turns his head. He’s got huge shadows under his eyes and he’s far leaner than when he’d left Carus. His clothes are dirty and he looks exhausted, but his eyes have got that crinkly look he gets when he’s about to break into a sunrise of a grin.
“Zel! Holy crap! Wait, are you with . . .”
“We’re with Micah,” Cy announces, his head sticking up through the opening. He looks at Micah, still being choked by Hex’s hand. “Geez, Hex. Good thing I didn’t come through here first.”
“Cyrad!”
“Let Micah go, he’s okay,” I say.
“How do you know?”
“He’s not shocking you, is he?”
Hex stands up from where he was sitting squarely on Micah’s stomach.
“Thanks,” Micah wheezes.
Hex points a single finger at him and yells, “Shut up.” He turns to me. “What the hell’s been going on?”
“It’s a long, long story.” I run straight to Hex and body-slam him with a hug. He squeezes me with all four arms so hard that my eyeballs bulge a little, but I don’t care. He smells like sweat and dirt and a faint tang of worry. “Where’s Ana and Vera?”
“Vera’s on the roof, ready to unleash her green hell on anyone I can’t handle,” he says, letting go to give Cy a power hug too.
“What about Ana?” Cy asks.
“She’s okay. She’s with Marka and Dyl.” His dark brown eyes light with excitement. “Guys. We’ve been waiting for you. We’ve got a new home. We’re going to be safe.”
“What? Where?” Cy and I yelp at the same time.
“Wingfield.”
The word hovers in the air, but I’m not overwhelmed with happiness like I should be. Wingfield is a bucket of questions and worries, and there haven’t been enough answers to appease me. When Élodie climbs through the opening, Hex’s eyes widen.
He sidles next to me. “Long story, huh, Zel?”
“You have no idea,” I say.
Right then, Vera swings through the sole window at the end of the room from a fire escape. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pants, and her face and hands are covered in smeared makeup. In some spots, it’s rubbed away and her green skin peeks through.
“Zelia, my little Quahog sis!” she yells, before screaming, “Oh my god, Cy!” Bu
t Vera stops her headlong rush toward us when she sees Micah and Élodie. “What . . . what are they doing here?” she asks coldly.
I suck in a deep breath. “Oh boy. Where should I start?”
• • •
MICAH, ÉLODIE, AND CALIGA STAY DOWNSTAIRS, EATING a dinner of very stale, stolen Avida food. Upstairs, Cy and I catch up with Vera and Hex, explaining how we found each other and survived the craziness of Avida. They stare at us like we’re making all of it up.
“So Blink—that wench that attacked you in Aureus—is okay?”
“Uh . . . yeah.” I nod.
“You have got to be kidding me. And we can trust Micah? I mean, of all the people . . . if you and Cy trust him now, then I guess we will, but . . . man. Really?”
Cy and I exchange uneasy glances. “I think I trust him,” I say. I’m still reeling from the last-minute alliance-switch head-games he played on us.
Hex lowers his voice to a whisper. “He says he wants to make it up to Dyl and Ana. But how do you know he’s only here to stick with the winning team?”
“I don’t know if we’ll ever know, unless he turns on us.” It’s the truth, as far as I’m concerned.
“Well, that Élodie girl seems nice enough,” Vera comments. “Quiet, though.”
“It’s ’cause she’s Canadian,” Hex says, reaching for Vera’s uneaten homemade travel bar.
She slaps his hand. “Stop stealing my food! And being Canadian doesn’t make you quiet.”
“She doesn’t speak English, right?” he says, and Vera smacks his head this time. “Ow? What?”
“Canadians speak English! What is wrong with you?”
“Actually, French is her first language.” I smirk, waiting for their reaction. Hex immediately points all four index fingers at me and glares at Vera in his defense. I stifle my laughter as he and Vera escalate their fight over Hex’s horrible grade-school understanding of North American culture.
