The Last Hope

by Krista Ritchie

  The walls rattle.

  We must be rocketing through space.

  Spending months in StarDust, in all those gravity simulators, has paid off for us. No motion sickness touches me or Court or Mykal, and the Saga 4 seem just as content.

  Stork is used to space flight as a C-Jay. I didn’t think he’d be the one to botch this trip.

  Soon, we must hit a patch of debris, as the dumpster quakes violently.

  “Hold on,” Court tells everyone.

  My arm bangs into Court’s arm. Mykal’s elbow digs into my side—and then the dumpster careens forward and back in a whiplash snap.

  Only my neck moves, my head slinging forward. The same happens to Stork, and in a perfect collision, our helmets crash together.

  Crack.

  Crunch.

  As my head slings back to the wall, I’m disoriented. Confused, panicked, concerned … terrified—tripled senses veering in several directions.

  “Franny!” Court’s voice pitches in my ear. Everyone is speaking. Yelling. I hear my name from five different people.

  Stork shakes the dizziness out of his head, his glass visor crunched in the corner but not broken.

  Why is a red light flashing inside my helmet? I focus …

  No.

  No.

  A slender fissure runs through my glass visor. It seems small, but it’s a gaping hole. The dumpster is sealed shut, but it can’t protect me from space. Who knows how much oxygen crept inside this bin before the lid shut?

  Holy hells … I’m going to die. I don’t want to die.

  I don’t want to die.

  Gods, I don’t want to die today.

  “Stay calm,” Court snaps at me, static softening his stabbing voice. “Take shallow breaths, Franny.”

  Zimmer lets go of his handle and is about to pull off his helmet—

  “No, no,” I almost shout, my eyes frantic.

  He could die. Today could be his deathday, and he’s not dying in this fykking dumpster.

  He’s not.

  He deserves a better death than that.

  Zimmer falters. “Today…” His voice breaks. “… death…” He must still see the warning and fear in my searing eyes because he grabs the handle. Backing up from me.

  “Conserve air,” Court cautions me. “Do … scream.” I think I must’ve missed the word not.

  Do not scream.

  I hold my breath, my pulse lodged in my throat.

  Mykal tries to breathe for me, but his strong inhales are only a sensation. It’s not real.

  Though it comforts me.

  Stork lets go of his support, unsticking his feet, and before the turbulence tosses him like a doll, he clutches my handle with me. Body pressing up against mine, he assesses the damage of my helmet up close.

  And then his hand rises to the buckle of his helmet.

  I shake my head. “You can’t wear my cracked helmet!” I’m not sure how much he can hear through the spotty signal.

  He holds up one finger.

  And then five fingers.

  And then makes a zero.

  One hundred and fifty.

  He will die at one hundred and fifty years. He’s saying he’ll survive this part, and since he acts more like a Fast-Tracker than an Influential, I know he cares little about injuries.

  I ease back, and his lip quirks before he unbuckles his helmet and pulls it off his head like he didn’t need one in the first place.

  “Hold…” Gem says.

  “… breath … hold,” Padgett tells me.

  “Don’t … bre…” Kinden instructs.

  I hold my breath and pop the buckles of my helmet. Using both hands to remove it.

  Stork pins me to the wall with his muscular body, and quickly, he situates his helmet on my head and locks it onto my suit.

  I breathe a lungful.

  Mykal and Court relax back, and Zimmer nods in thanks to the gods or Stork. I can’t tell which.

  Stork fits my cracked helmet on himself, and I try to catch my hot, ragged breath.

  He knocks lightly on my glass visor to grab my attention.

  I’m all anger and guilt.

  His face glows red from the emergency lights. “I…” His lips move, but I hear nothing else.

  “I can’t hear you!” I shout. “Save your breath!”

  He tries again. Yelling, “I can’t…” I see the shape of his words: I can’t die!

  “You can be injured!” I remind him, and after frustrating communication back and forth—where many of us tell him to stop talking—I understand his next response.

  Stork says, “Better me than you, dove.”

  I’m human. A vulnerable, fragile human, but he treats my life with more importance. I’m someone who can be kept safe.

  His life isn’t less important than mine because he can’t die.

  The dumpster rumbles again.

  This is fun.

  I inhale sharply. So fun.

  Stork smiles at me, not moving back yet.

  My lip so badly wants to rise.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Mykal

  I choke on the thick, muggy air and toss my helmet aside with the rest of the garbage heap. Behind me, the others crawl from the trash bin on all fours, unstable, like creatures leaving a cave for the first time.

  My eyes burn from the sun, brighter than I’m used to. Cupping a hand above my gnarly brows, I examine the new landscape.

  First impression: it’s the strangest sight I’ve ever seen.

  Water surrounds us. Endless blue-green with tops of white foam. I turn around and every which way, I’m met with the same colors. Waves crash hard like they’re thundering snowstorms from the skies. The small pond we practiced in is nothing in comparison to this.

  We’re all silent for a moment.

  Taking it in.

  Even Kinden, Zimmer, and the Soarcastle sisters are hushed by the vastness of a warm ocean.

  Court is the first to break the quiet. Sliding to my side, he says, “We have to make it over there.” He points toward more water. But then I squint, and I can sorta see a faint outline of skyscraping buildings. Taller than the ones back in Bartholo and Yamafort. Some seem to even disappear into the clouds.

  My gaze rotates to him, and I can’t help but stare. Not only did Court pierce his brow, but a strand of his brown hair is dyed gray. It suits him well. Matches his eyes.

  Even pretending to be a Fast-Tracker, he’s beautiful. He fits in.

  Better than I.

  The tips of my blond locks are fire-red and don’t look nearly as good. I have no tattoos, but I did agree to a small silver stud in my ear.

  “What?” Court asks, catching me gawking.

  I dislike, very much, being uncoupled from him. But those words don’t do us any good on the crest of this mission. So I just shrug, and his own riled sentiments crash into me and he bears down on his teeth.

  “Toss your jumpsuits under the trash,” Stork says, and I turn to the task at hand.

  Everyone sheds their outer layer like a skin. Underneath the jumpsuits, we wear ripped shorts and frayed shirts. Not as graceful, I step out of the jumpsuit only having on a pair of torn jeans and a shirt that looks like it’s been clawed by a mountain lion.

  Apparently all the fabric rips and tears is the silly fashion style of Saltare-1. Strings on my shirt fly about in the wind, and I yank them off in frustration.

  Franny kicks her jumpsuit underneath a heap of crushed cans.

  “This is the hard part,” Gem says, narrowing her eyes out at the ocean. Her periwinkle hair blows in a gust.

  My stomach twists in knots, and I realize it’s not me at all. Franny bounces on her heels, and looks to the water with complete dread. She still can’t swim.

  But we’ll be doing fine.

  I have to believe that for them both.

  “Remember what we practiced,” Stork says as he pushes to the front of our group, near the edge of the island. He holds a handheld device
that’s shaped like a gun. The first time I saw it during training, I thought we were being outfitted with Saltare weapons.

  Turns out the damned thing isn’t even a weapon.

  Or a Saltare device.

  Franny bounds to my side. “There are oceanic crocodiles in the waters,” she whispers to me. “I read about them.” She swallows hard as her nerves mount.

  “Shoulda done what I did.” I nudge her shoulder. “No reading. No worrying about whatever’s deep in these oceans.”

  “At least you can swim.”

  “You’re gonna be fine, little love.” I tap her head for good measure, and her spirits fight to rise.

  “I can do this,” she mutters under her breath.

  Court and Stork stand side by side and they whisper for a second before Court appraises the rest of us with a quick sweep. “We’ve done this a hundred times,” he reminds all of us. His eyes stop on Franny. “You don’t need to know how to swim, Franny. Because you’re not going to fall in.”

  Confidence blazes his words, and I feel it in my bones. She must too because she nods strongly in acceptance.

  Court motions to Stork. “Let’s go.”

  Stork holds the handheld device out to the water. He clicks the button, and just like in training, a small translucent platform—no bigger than a rung of a ladder—appears inches above the water. He said it was a “solid” hologram. One that could carry our weight. It shimmers in the sunlight and is only big enough for a single boot. Stork will keep clicking the device, creating plank after plank, to make a walkway above the ocean.

  Even bringing the human device here was a nasty risk, but according to Stork and Court, there was no other way to cross the wide ocean from the trash island to the mainland.

  So here we are.

  Crossing a whole damned ocean with nothing more than hologrammies.

  “Watch your step!” Stork yells over the growing waves.

  We’d been training for this part of the journey back in the Lucretzia’s pool, but there weren’t any waves. And I see now that a small pool is nothing compared to the vast, turbulent body of water before us.

  No need to think about that.

  I’ll be thinking about safely crossing and reaching solid ground. Once there, Stork will be pressing another button and the hologrammies should disappear.

  Out in front, Stork clicks the device and continues to create the shimmery planks. Each time he clicks one, he steps forward. Court goes next, and I fall in line behind him.

  In a single row, we walk.

  Franny is situated between me and Gem. Then Padgett, Zimmer, and Kinden bring up the rear. The journey is quiet as we all concentrate on stepping. Warm wind bathes me, heating my skin, and sweat starts to uncomfortably build.

  Court glances back, eyes pinging to me. It’s not the first time, and I’m fearing it won’t be the last. “Look where you’re going,” I say, worry cresting. “Or I’m going to push you off myself.” I’d never. But he understands the threat all right.

  Concern. Worry. It mounts like a thousand bricks between the three of us. I think we’re more distressed about the possibility of each other going in the waters than ourselves. Being in this damned single-file line and walking without being able to see eye to eye is unnerving is all.

  “Did you know that there are exactly one thousand steps from the island to the mainland?” Gem says, loud enough to be heard over the waves and the wind. “Nia and I did the calculations yesterday.”

  “We know now,” Kinden says like he wished he didn’t know and then he lets out a curse.

  I glance over my shoulder to see the rear of our line.

  Waves behind Kinden and Zimmer grow taller and angrier. They crash harder into the ocean, creating more white foam.

  “Heya! Move faster!” Zimmer shouts over the swells.

  We all pick up our pace, but the shimmery planks have grown slick from the water rushing over them. I concentrate, eyes focused on where I’m stepping, making sure I don’t accidentally lose traction.

  My pulse speeds, and something in my stomach dives like a rocket speeding straight into the ground.

  “GEM!” Padgett screams.

  I swerve around to see the youngest Soarcastle sister slipping forward, teetering, not able to catch her momentum. She knocks into Franny and the last thing I see before both girls plummet into the ocean is the look on Franny’s face. Wide eyes, opened mouth. And then she’s gone.

  Just like that.

  Water rushes around me like I’m the one under, but I hold onto my own panic. “FRANNY!” I scream, lungs set on fire. I’m about to jump in after them, but both girls suddenly bob up to the surface. Choking on water.

  “Thank the gods,” Kinden says in relief. Franny kicks and paddles with panicked breaths, not safe yet. Her fear stabs me left and right.

  Gem does a better job at swimming over.

  Padgett and I, the closest to both Gem and Franny, bend down and reach out for their hands.

  “Hurry,” Court calls out, watching the growing waves behind us.

  Stork starts to backtrack, creating new planks beside ours for a closer vantage. He stops next to me.

  Only a few feet away, Franny stretches out, trying to reach, but our fingertips barely brush. She swallows a mouthful of sea.

  I grimace, the water tasting salty and going down harsh. “Grab here,” I call out to Franny and extend my arm farther.

  We clasp hands, and then suddenly, both Gem and Franny are tugged down by an invisible force. Her palm is ripped out of mine.

  “FRANNY!” I holler.

  I can’t see them. I can’t see anything but white foam and restless waves. My ankle begins to sear. Overwhelming pain.

  Stars blink in my vision.

  “Padgett!” Kinden is yelling. She looks to him and he throws her something. The long stick—it’s a depowered electrowand. A Saltare weapon. As soon as it’s in her hands, she dives in a clean arc and vanishes into the deep, dark water.

  I make a move like I’m gonna step off the plank into the ocean. Find her. Grab her. Bring her back.

  “MYKAL!” Court cries out in panic. Stork is already grabbing me around the waist, stopping me.

  I struggle beneath him. “Let me go!” I scream through angry tears. Pain lances my back. My ankle. Water rushes into my lungs. I feel like I’m choking and dying on fear. Her fear. My fear.

  All three of us.

  She’s going to die down there and we’re just gonna let it happen?!

  “We can’t risk both of you drowning!” Stork yells. “You know what would happen to Court if you both died.”

  Tears burn my eyes. I can’t think of that future. I can only think of the possibility where I go into the waters and come out alive. Whatever’s clawing at her, I can fight it.

  “Trust Padgett,” Kinden tells me.

  “Mykal.” Court calls my name. His grim eyes sear into mine, saying, I can’t lose you too. I shake my head harder. I can’t live with myself doing nothing. Letting her go.

  Stork is the only one close enough to clutch onto me. His fingers dig into my neck like I’m a wolf pup. Court touches his chest. “The best thing we can do for her, Mykal,” he says, “is stay calm.”

  I relax suddenly.

  He’s right.

  If she’s feeling my hysteria, it’s not going to help her one bit. And if I’m underwater, that may even be worse for her.

  He’s right.

  I realize that this whole time, he’s been trying to be calm for her, and he’s doing a better job than I.

  I’m messing it all up. I go limp in Stork’s hold but I let out an uncontrollable sob.

  “Just breathe,” Court tells me, silent tears running down his cheeks.

  Zimmer shakes his head, eyes glazed on the water. “They should be up by now,” he says. “That’s it. I’m fykking going in.” He’s about to jump, nobody stopping him.

  But suddenly, three bodies breach the surface.

  They all
gasp for air.

  A pool of red blooms around Franny, Padgett, and Gem like it’s staining the ocean. Padgett supports both girls the best she can and kicks over to us. Franny grabs one plank and Gem grabs the other. With Stork’s and my help, they both manage to rise fully onto the solid holograms.

  Blood streams down the right side of Gem’s face. She groans in pain. Padgett’s usual cool exterior fissures. Her chin quivers and she holds her sister tightly to her chest.

  Franny winces, eyes stinging with tears, and I can feel the gnarly wound on her back. It blazes like a thousand hells. Blood soaks the fabric of her shirt and drips from her back to her legs to the plank she stands on.

  “Can you walk?” Court asks, sensing her wooziness.

  “I think so…” She teeters, unsteady on her feet. “Those crocodiles … they aren’t like the ones in the Saltare-3 museum.” She pants, out of breath, and then coughs up a bit of water.

  Gem holds a hand over her right eye and when she lifts it up, I see the mangled socket where her eyeball should be.

  Padgett hugs her tighter and says, almost breathless, “They were long-armed, and they used their claws.”

  The waves crash hard behind us.

  “We have to move,” Court says, caution shading his gaze, but I feel his relief. Tenfold. Just glad Franny’s alive. He can patch her back up later. “The waves are growing.”

  “She won’t be standing for long if she keeps bleeding,” I tell Court, and I’m about to suggest carrying her, but they both send me a look that says, you can’t, Mykal.

  Because I’d feel her wooziness, and if I trip, we both could end up in the ocean.

  “You can ride on my back,” Stork suddenly tells Franny. “I’ll carry you.”

  She nods without hesitation.

  No one wastes time arguing, and Stork’s eyes pin to her wounds in deeper concern. “Let’s get off this bloody ocean.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Franny

  Horrific screams pitch the night sky, and then muffle in a trembling moan.

  Gem. I hug my knees. Listening to her agony while Court cauterizes a deep gash where her eyeball used to be.

  Before reaching the city, we came upon a crumbling, abandoned structure. Roof destroyed, the ocean laps against the mossy stone walls, the flooring damp beneath us. I imagine this must’ve been a house once upon an era, and over centuries, the thunderous sea took the home, and the family left for the calm mainwater of Montbay.