Wall of Fire: A Young Adult Dystopian Novel

by Melanie Tays

  The door swings open. With my very last vestiges of strength, I crawl to Eason and wrap my arms around his torso, then drag him as I scoot my way through the door. His feet clear the threshold just as the entire landscape evaporates into thin air—and so does my awareness.

  Chapter 19

  Iawake in the Medical Center without a clue as to how much time has passed. Eason is lying feet away on the bed to my right, but we aren’t the only contestants who took a beating during the Gold Trial. Jasper is on the bed to my left, and Winter is sprawled on the next one over. A girl with shiny brunette hair who I can’t name occupies the farthest spot.

  Everyone but Eason is awake and sitting up.

  Doctor Hollen comes in, checks them over, and dismisses them one by one. As they leave, there are no traces of injury visible on any of them.

  Finally, he comes to me. “How are you feeling, Emery?” he asks, shining a light in my eyes.

  I tense and relax my muscles and find, with equal parts surprise and confusion, that I feel perfectly fine. “Good, actually. Nothing hurts. How long have I been out?”

  “Just about thirty minutes.”

  “Really?” I sit up and examine my body. My clothes are torn, especially the bottoms of my pant legs where the rats clawed and scratched and gnawed away at me, but there is no trace of a break anywhere on my skin. “How did you heal me so quickly?” I ask in amazement.

  The doctor chuckles. “There wasn’t much to heal other than a few scrapes and bruises, really. Most of what you experienced was just an illusion of sorts.”

  “What? No, I felt those little beasts biting me. And what about Eason? He was burned. Blood was pouring from his leg.” I look at him, but he appears to be perfectly fine and sleeping soundly. “He lost so much blood that he passed out. And what about the dart? He was out of his blazing mind the whole time.”

  Doctor Hollen nods. “It’s quite amazing—fascinating, really—how effectively your body responds to what your mind believes. It was the fog that you all passed through on entry that made you so susceptible to believe whatever was suggested,” he explains with the satisfaction of someone observing the workings of something beautiful and elegant.

  I suppose that to a doctor, the intricacies of how the mind exerts control over the body would be enthralling. To me, it’s just annoying and disorienting, but at least I’m safe now.

  “You are free to go back to your room,” he says, and then walks away.

  The moment he is out of the room, Eason stirs to life; I suspect he’s been awake for a while, just biding his time patiently until he could have a moment alone with me.

  “Emery,” he whispers.

  I rush to his side and lean over to hear him better.

  “Why am I here?” he asks.

  I brush several strands of his hair from his eyes and rest my hand against his cheek. “You were hit by a poisoned dart—or several, actually—during the Gold Trial. I had a really rough time getting you to safety, but we made it.”

  I’m not sure if he’s going to be upset at this news—the part about me getting him through the trial that he so thoroughly tried to fail—but he doesn’t seem bothered. “You shouldn’t have wasted your energy on me.”

  “I couldn’t just leave you,” I protest.

  He pulls himself to a seated position and shrugs. “It won’t matter anyway.”

  “Eason, we made it. We both made it through the door that led to safety. That’s what Keya said we had to do. We passed—both of us.”

  “Do you really think the Council won’t realize that it was entirely you, not me? It’s not about getting to a certain destination—it’s a test of how we respond under duress. I doubt I impressed the Council in that regard,” he says with satisfaction.

  I can’t really argue the point. The former Burn Master would know the measure of success far better than I.

  Irritated, I back away and flee from his presence. All of my effort achieved nothing. Eason is still a danger to The City, and I risked Whyle’s life in a pointless endeavor.

  Worst of all, this means that I still have little choice but to tell Terrance everything I know about Eason’s plans. The thought of betraying him is about as painful to me as the thought of shoving shards of glass under my nails, but I can’t see any other alternative.

  Alone in my room, I resolve to never again allow Eason Crandell to distract me and threaten my one true goal. Today is the fifth day since Whyle became ill. Liam said that the disease progresses over two weeks. I still have time, but not much. Finding a way to get the medicine to him is all that matters.

  I rifle under the bed where I stored my old shoes that conceal the vials of Curosene. My grasp is met with nothing but air, and fear seizes at my throat. I drop to the floor gasping and peer into the shadows, but there is not so much as a speck of dust, let alone shoes and life-saving medication. I feel as though the world has been ripped from beneath me, and I am plummeting into an endless abyss.

  Fighting for breath and combating the ensuing dizziness that overtakes me, I drag myself up to my feet and search the room. The recycle bin is empty. The closet conceals nothing but new, clean clothing. Petra hasn’t disturbed my old clothes under the mattress, but she also hasn’t added my shoes to the stash.

  Frantic and desperate, I consider my options. Perhaps I could fabricate an injury and return to the Medical Center to get more Curosene. But there’s no believable injury I could sustain here in my room, so it’s bound to be met with skepticism. Before I do anything rash or risky, I have to find Petra. Maybe she knows where the shoes are, and I can still get them back. The most important thing is to stay calm and not to raise suspicion.

  My heart and head are pounding. Even though I want nothing more than to race out and run through the hallways screaming Petra’s name until I find her, I restrain myself. First, I walk to the sink and run cool water, splashing it on my face to calm myself until the flush of my cheeks is mostly gone. Only then do I allow myself to leave the room.

  I try to walk calmly and appear casual, as though I’m just out for a stroll to stretch my legs and pass the time, but when no one is watching, my steps naturally migrate to a jog.

  I have to search through three hallways, pausing at each door to listen, before my efforts are rewarded.

  “Petra!” I exclaim just as she’s exiting one of the staff member’s rooms.

  She jumps and then laughs. “Emery, you scared me.”

  I grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “Did you take my old shoes from under my bed?”

  She goes rigid and stares back, eyes wide.

  “Petra, did you take my shoes?” I repeat, releasing my hold on her.

  It takes her a moment to recover from the shock. “You mean those filthy old shoes that were falling apart?”

  “Yes, those ones.”

  “I took them with the trash this morning.”

  “Where are they now?” I ask, resisting the urge to shake her again.

  Flustered, she begins to ramble. “Did you want them? I just thought you wanted the clothes. I couldn’t imagine what use you could have for those old, nasty shoes. I’m sorry. I just thought—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I cut her off, trying to stay focused on what matters. “Just where are they now? In the recycling?” Things to be recycled will be loaded on a truck—much like the one that brought me across the wall—to be taken to the appropriate processing centers in the Smoke. I’ve seen the truck lumber through the gates to the Burning Center the last three nights, so I know that it won’t come for a few more hours. I still have time to retrieve them.

  She shakes her head. “There’s not much of those shoes worth recycling. I sent them to be incinerated.”

  “When does that happen?” I demand.

  She checks the time on her intercuff. “They aren’t incredibly consistent about when it happens, but it could be any minute now.”

  “Where is the incinerator?”

  “I don’t understan
d what the problem is. The shoes you have now are so much nicer. I wouldn’t worry about them.”

  “Where is the incinerator?” This time, there’s no mistaking the unhinged quality to my voice.

  Clearly terrified, she rattles off directions.

  Without wasting time for so much as a “thank you,” I take off running.

  The incineration room is all the way on the far side of the building and one floor down, in the basement. When I reach the stretch of hallway that feeds into the dining hall, I encounter a dozen contestants and workers milling around. Even Keya is there, so I slow to what I hope is a casual saunter as I pass through the crowd.

  I’m only halfway to the next corner when suddenly Jessamine grabs my arm and shoves me into a small room that appears to be a storage closet.

  “Hi, Jessamine,” I say, trying to keep my voice light and airy despite my panic and frustration. “I was just on my way to do something. Can we talk later?” I don’t bother pointing out how weird it is that she just snatched me out of the hallway and dragged me into a small, dark room.

  I turn to go, but she positions herself so that she’s blocking the door, and I know there’s no getting by her without creating a big scene, which I would really like to avoid. I’ll just have to see what this is all about and try to resolve it quickly.

  Her features contort in a menacing scowl, made more ominous by the deep shadows of this dark room. I can’t help thinking that the worst side of Vander has rubbed off on her. “Why did you have to come here?” she demands, her face just inches from mine. “Do you understand what you’ve taken?”

  For a moment I think she knows about the shoes and the Curosene, and I don’t know what to say.

  “You could have lived your whole life just fine in the Smoke. But no, you had to come here and steal one of our lives away from us,” she goes on.

  “What?” I stammer, perplexed at the turn this conversation has taken.

  “We don’t get a choice, Emery. We have to come to the Burning. There are only so many assignments to go around. If you take a spot, then that means one of us is out!”

  I’ve never thought of the situation like that, but it makes sense.

  “I’m sorry. But Jessamine, you seem to have done fairly well. I’m sure you’ll make it,” I try to reassure her. She had one of the highest ranks on the Bronze Trial, after all.

  She laughs, and the sound is ghostly and frightening. “You think this is about me. You know nothing. You can’t even imagine what you’ve done. I hate you for coming here.”

  Her hand flies at my face. I would have caught it, or dodged it if the lighting were better, but in the dark I don’t see it coming soon enough. Her hand hits me hard against my cheek and it stings, but not worse than so many things I’ve already endured today.

  This conversation has momentarily distracted me from my real goal, but that slap was just what I needed to clear my head. I need to get out of here—now.

  I rack my brain for anything I can say to appease her enough to get her out of my way, and I settle for the truth. “Jessamine, I’m sorry! I promise, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I didn’t even actually want to join the Burning, believe it or not. Honestly, I would go home this instant if I could. But right now, you aren’t the only one without a choice.”

  Something in my words seems to mollify her. She considers, and then her posture relaxes. “Do you really mean that?” she asks. “You would go home, if you could?”

  “Yes,” I say, sincere despite the fact that it’s impossible.

  “I’m sorry I hit you,” she says, and opens the door.

  That’s all I need, and I take off running, no longer caring who’s watching. I can’t let anything else sidetrack me from getting to my destination. If those vials are tossed into the fire, it might as well be Whyle being thrown to the flames, because his life is equally forfeit in either case.

  The basement is a dank place with only one large room. When I enter, it’s deserted. It’s easy to find what I’m looking for. On the far wall is a hatch labeled incinerator, and next to it sits a bin.

  I leap to the bin. It’s nearly empty because almost everything in The City is recycled, so it’s easy to find my shoes and snatch them from danger.

  I’m relieved that I made it, but then I hear footsteps on the stairs. There’s nowhere to hide, and if anyone sees me carrying these shoes, there will be questions about why I would ever wish to save them. I do the first thing that pops into my head.

  Quickly, I slip off the good shoes that Eason gave me and put on these instead.

  Just as I finish, a woman reaches the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing down here?” she demands. “Contestants aren’t supposed to be in this part of the building.”

  “Oh, sorry. I’ll go.” I scoop up the shoes and move to step around her and escape to the stairs.

  “Hold on.” She puts out an arm to block me. “Why are you carrying shoes around with you? Are those yours?” She examines the shabby shoes I’m wearing and squints in disapproval. She’s not going to be satisfied without some kind of explanation.

  “Oh, it’s just that my good shoes got put in the trash to be incinerated by mistake, so I came to get them. Obviously it was these ones that were supposed to go,” I say, gesturing to my feet.

  “Was it that maid, Petra, that screwed up?” the woman demands, and I realize I might be getting Petra into trouble.

  “Oh, no,” I stammer. “Not Petra. It was my fault, really.” I’m not sure how to explain that, so I’m glad when she doesn’t ask more questions, but I’m still worried that I’ve accidentally created problems for Petra. I’m going to have to try and make that up to her later.

  “I was just about to do the incinerating for the day,” the woman says. “Go ahead and take those old shoes off and I’ll take care of them for you.”

  Blazes! Why didn’t I see that coming?

  She watches as I slowly—so slowly—bend down and start fumbling with the ties, trying to stall. Eventually, she gets tired of waiting and walks past me to get started with her task. As soon as her eyes are off of me, I rip off the shoes and pull the vials from their hidden compartments.

  I hear her rustling in the bin behind me, but I move fast and keep my back to her to block her view. I’m only able to squish four of the vials in the new shoes, which are a bit tighter than my old ones. I shove the other two vials down my shirt.

  “Here you go,” I call as I toss the shoes across the room to her.

  “Oh, my!” she exclaims as she sees their dilapidated state. “How did you even walk in these things?”

  I don’t stick around for comments or conversation.

  Chapter 20

  When a knock sounds at my door an hour later, I expect it will by Terrance Enberg coming to collect on our deal. I’m ready for him. But before I can get to the door, a frayed, folded paper is slid underneath. I fling open the door to see who delivered it, but they’ve already fled.

  I shut the door again before I pick up the delivery and examine it. The paper is old, crinkled, and faded. I unfold it and study the hand-drawn lines in confusion. It takes several minutes of staring at it before I realize that it has to be a map of The City. There are lines leading from building to building throughout the Flame in the center, and from several of those buildings across the Wall of Fire and into the Smoke. Each line starts and ends with a short annotation such as “notch in basement wall,” or “center floor plank.” My hand flies to my mouth, and I gasp as the meaning dawns on me.

  The tunnels are real!

  I pace for a few minutes, trying to make sense of the situation.

  This could be some kind of trap, a test of sorts. But that doesn’t make much sense. All the tests of the Burning are carefully crafted and controlled in the four trials.

  The most logical explanation is that Jessamine gave this to me. Maybe her parents work in the tunnels, and she’s hoping that, armed with this information, I’ll make a run for it and leave my
spot in the Burning open. After our recent conversation, that seems like the most likely explanation.

  I’m tempted to do just that. I can smell the scent of my mother’s hair as she hugs me, feel the rough comfort of my old blanket as I snuggle into my bed at home. For just a moment, it feels like it could be mine again, and I ache for the familiar reassurance of it all.

  But it would be pointless. They would come for me soon enough. I couldn’t hide forever, and there would be no possibility for me to work. I would live like Kenna, though worse, because Kenna isn’t being hunted by Enforcers.

  My life is here now—if I pass the Burning. But the fact of my victory is not something I can take for granted when it’s still at the mercy of the Council’s whims, no matter how well I’ve performed. This may be my last night in The City. And that means that if I have an opportunity to get to Whyle before the Refinement tomorrow, I must take it. Then I’ll know that Whyle is safe from the gulf that threatens to swallow him, and then what happens to me at the Refinement doesn’t really matter.

  I inspect the map again. The tunnel entrance within the building is located through a cupboard in the basement. I know the incineration is done for the day, and the room didn’t look like it was used for much else, so there is a really good chance it’s deserted now.

  I take out the vials I’ve stowed under the mattress and turn them over in my hands. I need a way to carry them that doesn’t involve my shoes or underwear. After a few minutes of consideration, I pull the broken, jagged nail file that I used to hollow the heels of my old shoes from the back of the drawer. Then I go to the bed and pull back the blanket. Using the pointed end of the file, I rip a square of fabric from the smooth, white sheet. I’ve had so few fine things in my life that the feeling of destroying something so nice is actually sickening, but I do it anyway. Then I rip another, longer strip. Using the knots I learned during the time I was assigned to the crew that washes windows—where a good knot on your harness line is the difference between safety and a broken back—I turn the square into a pouch and use the long, thin strip to create a strap. Though it may not be beautifully crafted like the bags I’ve seen some of the other contestants occasionally carry, it should do the job.