The inside walls went straight up. They weren’t dirt—in some places they were tall timbers placed right next to each other, or stone, or cement, or huge pieces of some kind of metal that must have existed before the bombs. Somewhere in my frozen brain, I wondered how far they’d traveled to scavenge them, and how hard it was to stand them on end.
And then I wondered how long I’d stared at this tall wall that enclosed an entire city, because Brock’s voice was urgent. “Come on, Hope! We have to keep moving!” He grabbed me by one hand and Aaren by the other and led us down a street.
The houses stood close together in neat lines. The intersecting roads were straight, too, like the city was set up as a giant grid. Some houses were bigger than others, and they were different colors, but they all looked cozy. And I’d have bet they had nice soft beds in them. And warm food. If it weren’t for Brock pulling me, I’d have opened one of their doors and collapsed in front of one of their fires. He was probably looking for the guard barracks. I bet they had fires and warm food and soft beds there, too.
“There’s no one here,” Aaren said as we walked.
Sometimes we saw footprints, and the snow had been partly shoveled in some areas, but we didn’t see guards, and no one came out of their houses.
“They’re here,” Brock said. “The blizzard is just too thick. And the snow muffles sound. The people in their homes probably haven’t heard us over the crackling of their fires.”
I glanced at a bluish house. If I were in there, I wouldn’t open my shutters for anything. I’d just curl up next to the fire. I kissed Brenna’s cold forehead and whispered, “We’ll be warm soon.”
We walked past so many houses, I no longer cared if we made it to the guard barracks first. I just wanted to be by a fire. But Brock kept pulling us, so we kept following. Finally, we walked up to the door of a soft green house with a dark brown wooden door and dark brown shutters. Yellow light shone through the cracks. Firelight. My whole body tingled in anticipation of that fire. Brock let go of my hand and knocked on the door, and a girl about our age, with hair as dark as Brock’s, answered. When she saw us, her eyes lit up.
“Mom, Estie, Stephen, Max! It’s Brock! Brock is home!”
With my fuzzy brain, I couldn’t understand why the girl had said Brock was home. Brock lived in White Rock.
“Hey, Linet,” Brock said as he gave her a hug. Her dark hair fell in a braid halfway down her back. Brock told us to come into the house, while two dark-haired boys wearing pajamas ran into the room. One was about eight years old and one about ten, and they both looked like they’d been asleep. All of them had the same gemlike green eyes as Brock. I just stared as they hugged him.
“They’re his family?” I whispered to Aaren.
“Have to be,” he whispered back. “They look just like him.”
My attention was drawn to a clicking sound. A little girl with straight dark hair that barely touched her shoulders—probably the five-year-old sister Brock had talked about—hobbled into the room on little wooden crutches. The mom walked next to the girl until she saw Brock; then she ran to wrap her arms around him.
“Brock! My goodness, Brock.” Her voice was gruff, but somehow kind at the same time. She put her hands on his cheeks and then his shoulders. “You all look like death, being out in a storm like this!” She turned to her children. “Stephen, put more logs on the fire. Max, make some hot cider, please. Linet, put some soup on.”
“Brock, why—” When she looked back to us, her eyes fell on me and she gasped. She could hardly see Brenna, so she must have known there was a problem by our expressions.
“She has hypothermia,” Brock said. “It’s bad.”
She unbuttoned my coat, then took Brenna from my arms. “Poor baby,” she said. As she walked toward the fire, she felt Brenna’s forehead and pulled up her eyelids.
Aaren hovered near Brenna with his forehead crinkled and his voice hoarse. “Can you help her?”
“We’ll fix her up. Don’t you worry.” Brock’s mom laid a blanket in front of the fire, then placed Brenna on it. She was so sick, she didn’t even move at all. “Stephen, her clothes are wet. Get Estie’s warmest clothes. Quickly.”
Max came into the room with mugs of hot cider and gave us each one.
“Is there any hot water on the stove?” Brock’s mom asked.
Max nodded.
“Put it in a water skin, then put more water on to heat.”
When that mug of hot cider was pressed into my hands, my whole body celebrated the warmth. As I sipped it, the heat went all the way down my throat and into my stomach. I sipped some more, and wished that Brenna felt well enough to drink. I took off my coat and laid it in front of the fire so it would start to dry, then moved as close to the fire as I could without getting burned.
Within moments, Brock’s mom had changed Brenna into dry clothes, put the water skin with warm water on her chest, and wrapped the blanket around her. She was humming a lullaby into her ear while she cradled her in front of the fire as if Brenna were her own child.
Brock’s mom had the same straight dark hair as Brock and his siblings, pulled into a ponytail. The hair that had escaped the ponytail fell by her cheeks and made her green eyes even brighter. Tiny pieces of light blue string covered her shirt and pants, but they somehow belonged. Like the way my mom always had flour on her from making pastries.
As soon as he saw that his mom was taking care of Brenna, Brock’s focus went to Estie. Her crutches knocked on the floor as she moved as fast as she could to where Brock sat.
Brock hugged her, and she sat on his lap. “I missed you, Estie!” he said.
“I missed you, too. Are you back? Back for good?”
She was so sweet and her voice sounded so hopeful—and Brock’s face looked so sad as he shook his head no—it made me want to tell her, Yes! Brock is back and will never leave again! But instead, Brock changed the subject. “How long have you had these cool crutches?”
He glanced at his mom, and she gave him a sad smile. “About two months.”
Brock turned back to his sister. “Wow. Only two months, and already you’re an expert. You’ve always been my Speedy Estie.”
I’d tried to imagine what Brock’s family was like more times than I could count. Never did I picture any of this. I stared at Brock as he held Estie with a look on his face I hadn’t seen before. But the change wasn’t only in his face. His shoulders were square—like the weights that always pulled them down weren’t there.
Aaren’s focus went from Brenna to Estie every few seconds, like Estie was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. Then his eyes widened and he gasped. Brock looked at him, and Aaren said quietly, “My mom came to see Estie during the Planting Festival.”
Brock nodded.
“I—I’m sorry,” Aaren said. “I’ve heard my mom talk about her. I never knew it was your sister.”
Brock ignored Aaren and started playing a clapping game with Estie.
Aaren turned to me and whispered, “She has a tumor on her spine that’s growing. Eventually it will paralyze her if they can’t remove it.”
The clapping game continued, but after a moment, Brock looked at Aaren again. Aaren said in a voice so convincing I would have believed him if he said it was a hot, sunny day outside, “My mom will find a cure. I know she will.”
Brock stared at Aaren, then gave him a quick nod and turned his focus back to Estie.
Behind me, a couch and a couple of chairs formed a U shape around the fire, and a pedal-operated sewing machine and stand that must have been made before the bombs stood against one wall. A long table ran along the opposite wall, covered with yards of blue cotton fabric, the same kind my school shirts were made of. Several stacks of the fabric, cut and ready to be sewn, lay near the sewing machine. Piles of the shirts, finished except for the hem, sat on the couch next to a spool of thread and a pincushion.
I knew Browning made almost all our clothing, and that we traded food for it. It worked
for everyone, because food grew really well in White Rock, and Browning had those giant greenhouses to grow cotton in. I’d just never thought about the people who sewed the clothes. I hadn’t imagined a family sitting around the fire, each doing their part to help make what I wore. I definitely hadn’t pictured Brock’s family doing it. I looked at my own shirt and wondered if maybe it had once been cut pieces of fabric, sitting in a pile on the floor of Brock’s house, waiting to be sewn.
Linet stepped back into the room and sat on the couch. She picked up a blue shirt and the needle and thread from the pincushion and began to hem the bottom of it, as if it wasn’t natural to sit without sewing.
“Now, Brock,” his mom said as she removed the water skin from Brenna’s torso and gestured for Stephen to refill it with warmer water. “I know you didn’t come all the way here during a blizzard just to say hello. What happened?”
“Mom,” he said, “these are my friends Hope, Aaren, and Brenna.”
“Friends?” A smile spread across Linet’s face. “You owe me a week’s worth of hemming.” She turned to us. “I made him a bet before he left. I said that within a week, his first friend would be a girl, because he’d miss me so much he couldn’t stand it,” she teased. “He said it would never happen.”
Since our faces were still red and frozen, it was hard to tell, but I think Brock blushed. “Aaren, Hope—I’d like you to meet my twin sister, Linet.”
“Um, hi,” I said. “I’m the first friend he made who’s a girl.”
Linet looked back and forth between us and grinned. Then her eyes got wide and she gasped. “You like her!” she said to Brock.
“What?” Brock and I practically yelled at the same time.
“You like her,” Linet said again. “I can tell by that look on your face!”
Brock’s face turned redder and redder, and by how hot mine felt, I imagined it looked pretty red, too. Brock’s mom saved us, though.
“Linet. Now’s not the time for teasing.” She gave me a look that apologized for Linet. “We need to hear what happened.”
Brock looked relieved at the change in subject. He explained to his mom what had happened with the bandits, how my dad said he was in charge and got shot, about the antibiotics, the deadline, our trip over the mountain, and that an outbreak of Shadel’s Sickness might be on its way.
The more the fire warmed me, the clearer my mind became. All I’d been able to focus on during our trip was getting to Browning. Now my thoughts overwhelmed me. I couldn’t sit for another second. “We have to go. Right now—we have to go tell the guard.” I grabbed my coat, which wasn’t nearly dried out enough yet, and put it on.
Brock and Aaren stood up, too, but Aaren seemed less sure of himself.
“Go,” Brock’s mom said. “Do what you have to do. The soup and a warm fire will be waiting for you when you get back.” She looked at Aaren. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of your sister.”
As we stepped through the doorway and into the blizzard, a gust of wind hit, and my body shivered violently. The ten minutes we’d spent in Brock’s house had taken the sting off the cold, but I still felt frozen to the middle of my bones. I hadn’t slept much last night; then we’d walked, hiked, run, or slid over and down the mountain for seventeen hours. I wanted to sleep in a warm bed, not freeze on my way to convince Stott to load everyone up and go to White Rock with us.
This was Stott’s first year as Captain of the Away Guard. The Away Guard was usually just single young men—once people had families, they weren’t interested in leaving them for months at a time. Even so, guards never got promoted to captain so young. It had only been two years since Stott graduated from Sixteens & Seventeens. For as long as I’d known him, people had done anything he asked. Probably because he was fiercely protective of everyone.
At the end of Brock’s road, we turned onto a street with houses almost exactly like the ones we’d just passed. I had a million questions to ask Brock about his family and his home, and even about whether Linet was right and he did like me, but I needed to think about what I’d say to the captain. I didn’t know how I’d be able to talk him into taking all of his men through the Bomb’s Breath, so instead I focused on figuring out the details of our trip. We’d left White Rock at five a.m., and we didn’t reach Browning until ten p.m. My cold brain worked through the math slowly. Mickelson had said the town had until sunset tomorrow, so we’d have to leave by midnight or sooner to make it back in time.
Hopelessness washed over me. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t turn around and make that same journey again in a little over an hour. Brock and Aaren looked as haggard as I felt. I wasn’t sure any of us could make it.
Brock led us through snow-covered streets to a long gray stone building he said was the barracks. The door was unlocked, so we walked inside. Bunk beds lined the walls on both sides, covered with quilts in a variety of colors. Round tables sat in the wide aisle down the middle.
Twenty guards, including Aaren’s brothers Cole and Travin, looked up from their spots around the tables, where they played Empty Basket with homemade dice. Their expressions quickly turned from indifference to recognition, then to alarm. Everyone got to their feet—several so fast, they knocked their chairs over. They weren’t stupid. They knew we wouldn’t have shown up in their building unless White Rock was in trouble.
“What’s going on?” Stott demanded as he walked into the main area from his office at the back. All sound in the building died as Stott’s eyes met ours and his face paled. The look was confirmation enough for the men. The room became as chaotic as snowflakes blowing in every direction. A low buzz of whispers filled the space as the men scrambled to their packs and supply closets. Cole and Travin stood frozen, like they couldn’t decide whether to rush to their own packs or to their brother.
Stott motioned us to his office, where he sat behind a wooden desk. “Have a seat.”
His eyes bored into us as he scratched at the stubble on his chin. “I’m guessing your parents didn’t exactly give you permission to come here.”
I glanced at Aaren. “Not exactly.”
He nodded once. “Bandits?”
“Yes.”
“Bandits in the winter in White Rock.” Stott shook his head and spoke with a tight voice. “While we sat here, our services barely needed beyond making sure people have enough firewood. How bad is it?”
We took turns telling all that had happened. Stott stayed quiet the whole time.
“So,” I said, “to make it over the mountain and to the community center in time, we have to leave soon.”
Stott leaned back in his chair. “I’m not taking my men over the mountain.”
Heat rose all through my body, especially in my face. “How can you say that? They’ve threatened to kill people if we don’t give them all our Ameiphus! And then they’ll probably take the Ameiphus anyway! My dad will die. Mr. Hudson will die. Melina too.”
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t help,” Stott said. “Just that I won’t take my men over the mountain. Every single one of them is brave, Hope. They’re ready to walk out that door right now and put their lives on the line to save White Rock. But you know as well as I do that there isn’t a man in there who’d go anywhere near the Bomb’s Breath, whether they knew you three could go through it or not. How’d the bandits get in?”
“There’s a hole in the mine floor that leads to the river,” Aaren said.
Stott nodded. “Then we’ll go around the outside of the crater to the west side and enter through the same cave.” He looked at each of us. “But none of you look able to make the trip. I recommend you stay behind, recover, and travel back home when it’s over.”
We stood up and protested loudly.
He stared at us for a long while, probably thinking about our parents’ reactions to finding out we were gone and, knowing Stott, how much he’d hate being left behind if he were us. Eventually he let out a huge exhale. “Okay. I’ll get you back. But once we reach White Rock,
you will stay far from City Circle until the problem is resolved.”
“Stott?” Aaren said quietly. “Brenna came, too. She’s back with Mrs. Sances, recovering from hypothermia.”
Stott’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth. “We’ll put her on a horse. That’s the best I can do.” He stood up. “I need to ready my men. We leave at four a.m.”
I’d be able to sleep soon, in a warm bed, and we’d still get to White Rock in time. Four hours of sleep didn’t seem like much, but since I hadn’t expected I’d get any, it sounded like heaven.
As soon as the barracks doors shut behind us and I was no longer worried about how to convince the guard to join us, I blurted to Brock, “Why are you living in White Rock if your family’s here?”
Brock kept his head down, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he looked at me and laughed. “I can’t believe you waited so long to ask! I thought you would as soon as we got to my house.”
I laughed, too, and gave him a playful shove. “Just tell us.”
“My dad grew up in White Rock. He was my grandpa’s only child. After he finished Sixteens and Seventeens, my dad joined White Rock’s guard. He was promoted to Captain of the Away Guard just before his third winter. He was the first one to make captain as young as Stott did,” Brock said with pride. “During his first winter as captain, he met my mom. He stayed in Browning, they got married, and he joined Browning’s guard.”
I thought back to the hermit we’d guessed was Brock’s dad. Now that I’d actually met Brock’s family, it seemed so silly.
“My dad said he’d give his life for this town.” Brock was silent for a few minutes and looked up at the falling snow as we walked. When he spoke again, it was a whisper. “And he did. He was shot by bandits when Estie was a baby. Lots attacked at once. My dad and two other guards died, but they saved Browning.”
So we both had fathers willing to die for their town. We both had fathers who were shot by bandits. The difference was, mine was still alive. Yes, I’d snuck out to save all the people of White Rock, but a big part of me did it to save my dad. I hadn’t asked Brock to come, but I still felt pangs of guilt that he was helping to save my dad when there was no way to save his.
Sky Jumpers Series, Book 1 Page 13
