by Melanie Tays
“Thanks Nice-Vander,” I mutter, and I feel his chest vibrate in a silent chuckle. I relax into the warm cocoon of his arms, and immediately my consciousness starts to drift.
“Emery,” he whispers.
“Huh?”
“I really am sorry about the maze…and the dirt in your face…and the rocks in the Gold Trial.”
“You already apologized,” I murmur.
“I’m not surprised,” he says. “But I needed to say it again—trust me.”
The world fades away, and I take refuge in unconsciousness.
***
A low hum builds until it finally manages to claim my awareness and drag me unwillingly back to wakefulness. I suck in a deep breath, and my nose crinkles at the unfamiliar bitterness of the air. I open my eyes and find that the sun is low on the horizon, but warm on my cheeks. Vander is staring down at me, his arm still wrapped around me.
With a start, I pull away and sit up. It was nice of him to keep me from freezing last night, but in the morning light, it just feels weird being so close to him.
“You’re finally awake,” he says. “I was afraid I was going to lose my arm before you ever moved again.” He shakes his arm that has probably gone numb during the night, but he’s smiling.
“What’s that noise?” I ask, trying to make sense of the low rumble that permeates the morning air.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It started just after the sky became light.”
“Do you think it’s from The City?” I ask, hopeful. “They must have noticed that the sky projection has failed.”
We take off running out of the shelter of the trees. The City is there, just as it always has been, and we can see through the barrier, the same as last night. But before we can approach for a better view, the ground begins to tremble ever so slightly, and the humming shifts into a dull roar.
“What is that?” I say, voice raised to carry over the noise.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think we should stick around to find out.” He tugs at my hand, and we sprint back to the grove of trees.
When we’re a few yards in, I find a sturdy trunk with low branches and start to scurry up to a better vantage point. Vander is right behind me, and I have to say I’m impressed at how well he navigates the climb. I scale upward until the branches grow too thin to bear my weight. It gets me high enough to see out over most of the other trees, all the way back to the farm.
“Vander, we have a problem,” I say as the sound grows louder and the rhythmic thudding intensifies.
“What is it?” he asks from a few branches down.
Masses of people are marching toward us, moving like water cascading through the landscape. Roe marches at the front of the ranks, brandishing what looks to be a blaster.
“It looks like every person in the Ash is marching this way,” I report.
“What?” he says in disbelief.
“And they’ve got weapons,” I add. It’s not just Roe. Everyone I can see appears to be carrying something with deadly potential—knives, spears, rakes, bricks.
Vander climbs higher, and I shift out of the way as best I can so he can verify my claims for himself. “Do you think they’re looking for us?”
“What else could it be? We partially deactivate the Safe Dome, and now the entire population of the Ash is marching in ranks with weapons. Did you notice the bitter scent in the air this morning? I think that was a different kind of Mind Mist to elicit a more aggressive response.”
“They’re going to march right through here. We need to move,” Vander calls, scampering down.
I don’t argue, hitting the ground right behind him.
“We need to stay close enough to The City to transmit again at noon,” I say, checking my left pocket to ensure I still have the transmitter. “What time is it now?”
He checks his watch. “Only seven-thirty.”
I don’t know how long the transmitter’s range is, but it can’t be far. If we run, we’ll be abandoning The City—abandoning Whyle and Eason. But if we stay, we’re certain to be captured and stopped. Our only hope is to flee and find a way to return later.
We run in the opposite direction of The City and the onslaught. If it weren’t for the fact that we’re being pursued by Traeger Sterling’s minions, I might actually enjoy this jaunt through the forest. It feels good to really run again—to allow my muscles to move at the peak of their ability. But the thrum of hundreds of footfalls continues to press down on us.
If we manage to evade them, this is actually a good opportunity for us to see what lies beyond the farm and the forest. What does the world we’re attempting to expose The City to really hold?
We break free of the trees and find ourselves in wide-open grassland. It’s easier to run here, but we’re also left completely exposed. Tall poles rise from the ground at odd intervals, and though I don’t know their purpose, I ignore them. They’re too thin and narrow to provide any kind of shelter. The minute the horde emerges from the trees, we’ll be in their line of sight. Rather than attempt to hide, we run harder. Distance is our only possible protector now.
Across this wide field lies another patch of forest—shelter. We just have to get there before we’re spotted. We’re halfway across the field when I glance at Vander to see how he’s holding up. His face is red and covered in a thick sheen of sweat. He’s panting hard and ragged. I know from past experience that, of the two of us, I am the superior runner.
“We just have to make it to the trees. Then we can rest,” I call, hoping to bolster him up.
He nods but doesn’t respond. That’s good because he needs to conserve his oxygen.
And that’s when I hear the first whistle and the whoosh of air as something small and fast whizzes by my ear, closely followed by another. I feel the wind they create and know it was a narrow miss. I drop to the ground, and Vander does the same.
Face pressed to the dirt, I can hear the whoosh and thud of more projectiles coming at faster and faster intervals.
“Are you hit?” I ask.
Vander shakes his head, gasping for air.
Once we’re both completely hidden in the tall grass, the assault slows but doesn’t cease altogether. I crawl forward, keeping as low to the ground as possible, and grasp one of the projectiles, examining it.
“It’s a dart,” I say, holding it up for Vander to inspect. “I saw these in the Gold Trial. Eason got shot with several. It made him completely lose his mind. We can’t get hit. I bet these are the same.”
“Who’s shooting them? How did they get ahead of us?”
I raise my head just enough for my eyes to clear the yellow grass and venture another glance. It’s then that I notice the small black box affixed to the top of each pole. It looks the same as the device I shot down in the Gold Trial to stop the assault on Eason. I drop back to the dirt just as another volley of darts flies my way.
“It’s an automated trap,” I say, pointing at the nearest little box.
I doubt we can make it all the way to the trees without taking some hits. It’s nothing short of a miracle that we haven’t been hit already. I watch the boxes nearest us, observing the angle of the attack. I have to roll a few times to prevent being struck, as does Vander. Then I have an idea.
“Follow me,” I say, and I take off slithering through the grass on toes and elbows.
Vander follows as I lead us to the nearest pole.
“Good idea,” he says. “We need to destroy it.”
He’s right, of course. We have to find a way to stop the assault before we’ll have any hope of getting out of here unscathed. But I wasn’t even thinking that far ahead, especially since I don’t have a blaster like I did in the Gold Trial. I was merely hoping that the firing angle of the devices would not allow darts to be shot directly below, and we could have at least a momentary reprieve.
I was right—the darts can’t reach us here as we cling to the pole. Gasping for air, we search for our next move. But before we can ev
en consider attempting to destroy the black box hanging above our heads, the first wave of people emerges from the trees. They wear mechanical, dead-eyed expressions as they march menacingly toward us.
Chapter 15
We’re trapped. If we run, we’re certain to be hit with poisoned darts. If there was any doubt as to the danger that the darts pose, it’s erased as we watch some of our pursuers sustain hits in the neck, the arms, the chest. They fall to the ground, and I lose sight of them below the tall yellow grass. The others press forward, stepping around them and moving forward undeterred. Every second that we hesitate brings the throng of people closer to us—their targets.
“You have the transmitter, and you’re the faster runner,” Vander calls. “I’ll distract them while you get out of here.”
I shake my head furiously. I’m more than a little surprised by his noble gesture, but I can’t let him do it. It’s not because I can’t let him be a martyr, but because his plan just won’t work.
“I’ll never outrun the darts, and there are too many people,” I protest. “Even if you distract some, others will just keep coming for me. There has to be another way.”
I scan the landscape, looking for anything that might help us—any way to flee this dire situation. But there’s no escape that I can see.
That’s when the pseudo-army begins to break in half, right down the middle. Some kind of commotion is causing them to jump aside and topple over. Someone is riding a horse and pushing right through the crowd in an effort to be first to reach us. The rider wears a dark coat with a hood shrouding their face, but the wide shoulders appear to be a man’s. We stare in horror as the horse and rider gallop toward us at an alarming speed. When he’s right upon us, he calls out, and the voice is one I recognize.
“Get on!” Bretton calls.
Vander and I don’t hesitate to leap from our crouch and mount the animal as it pauses just long enough to pick up two additional riders. I’m not exactly comfortable, sandwiched between Bretton and Vander, but I don’t care. I hold on to Bretton for dear life, and allow Vander to do the same to me.
I gasp as a dart hits Bretton right in the arm, but it bounces off his thick jacket. He must have come prepared, knowing what he would be up against. He acts as a shield from the darts, and soon we’ve cleared the field and are free of their threat.
Just inside this new patch of forest, the horse begins to slow, but the marching mass behind us does not. The steady tromping continues to press down on us.
“Is the horse okay?” I ask, realizing that it must have taken multiple darts to get us through the fray. Other than being stationary, the horse seems fine from here. “We should keep going!” I call. Once we’re at a safe distance, we can stop and check for dart wounds, but not here.
Bretton doesn’t answer, and suddenly I’m afraid he hasn’t come to save us after all. Maybe he knows I have the transmitter and plans to take it and leave us to the angry mob. Hesitantly, I loosen my grip on him, and that’s when he topples from the horse into an awkward heap on the ground.
“Bretton!” I yell. Stunned, I leap down to his side. I roll him to his back and pull the hood from his face. His eyes are rolling as though they’re adrift on a troubled current. “What’s wrong?” I yell, frantic.
I look to Vander. He has dismounted and holds the reins to the horse to keep it from wandering off. Vander stares at Bretton, wide-eyed, just as confused and alarmed as me.
“Leg,” Bretton groans.
I search his extremities and find a single dart that has breached a thread-worn patch near his knee. I yank it out, but I know it’s already too late.
His breathing hitches as he says, “You should have...trusted me.” There’s no anger, just a deep sorrow in his eyes. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt, rallying his strength. “You have to save…The City. There is nothing Traeger won’t do now…now that he knows. You have to…to…run. They’re coming!”
“Vander, the antidote!” I yell, desperate and running out of time.
Vander pulls the small canister from his pocket and tosses it to me.
I catch it with a single hand and administer a dose of the mist right into Bretton’s face. He inhales deeply, and smiles, hopeful. For a moment I think it has worked—snatched him from the grasp of this new vise trying to take hold. But then the smile melts from his face as the muscles slacken unnaturally. His head bobs as he fights to hold it up. And then his skull smacks to the ground as he loses consciousness. He’s still breathing, but only in ragged gasps.
Then Vander is at my side. “I pulled five darts from the horse, but the poison doesn’t seem to affect him. It must be specific to humans.” He pulls me to my feet, away from Bretton. “We have to go!” he shouts.
“We can’t just leave him,” I protest, considering how we can get Bretton's limp body up on the horse with us.
Before I can make a single move, the fastest of our angry, dead-eyed pursuers comes into sight in the distance, and a sharp pain ricochets through me, beginning in my left leg and bouncing up and down my spine. I look down, stunned to find a silver-handled knife lodged in my upper thigh. For the moment, we are out of the reach of the mob, but not beyond their ability to throw.
I pull the knife out, knowing that such a move is risky. If the knife has passed through an artery, I could very well bleed to death. But I can’t just leave it there while I flee. I let the blade drop to the ground and press both hands to the wound.
Vander scoops me up in his arms and sets me on the horse. I hold out my hand to him, and he climbs up behind me. Frantically, he slaps a hand against the horse’s back. “Go!” he yells.
The horse takes off, narrowly escaping the mob and quickly gaining speed as he expertly maneuvers through the trees. Maybe he’s responding to Vander’s commands, or maybe he’s just spooked by the mass of people looming down on us, lobbing weapons, and calling out threats.
For the first time, I realize that this is the black-and-white horse Cresta rode yesterday when we went out together, but I can’t remember its name. It’s not as gentle as Petal, and neither Vander nor I have much experience controlling a horse on the run. In fact, today must be Vander’s first time on a horse, ever. I try my best to repeat the riding instructions Cresta gave me, but Petal wasn’t galloping so recklessly, and none of it seems to do much good now. We jostle wildly, but manage, by sheer necessity and determination, to stay on the beast’s back. For the moment, that’s my only concern.
We leave the mob behind us and keep going. Only when the tromping sound of footsteps has finally faded to an almost imperceptible hum do we attempt to stop.
Vander pulls on the reins and yells, “Slow down,” over and over. But the horse takes a while to oblige. Maybe Vander’s commands are wrong, or maybe the horse is just too scared to care. But finally, the jostling stops and the horse’s feet hold still.
“Are you okay?” Vander asks, turning back to me. His hair is windblown and his expression wild.
I doubt that’s an experience either of us wishes to repeat, but we are alive. Beyond that, I try to assess myself, but the adrenaline pulsing through my veins has a numbing effect. I barely feel the gash on my leg. For a minute I wonder if I only imagined the knife protruding from my flesh, but when I see the deep red blood saturating the fabric of my pants and pouring down the side of my leg, I know that the wound is serious, even if I can’t feel it in my current state of shock.
Gently, Vander helps me off the horse and sets me carefully on the ground with my back resting against a tree. While he goes to tie the horse’s reins to the trunk, I assess my condition. I can bend my leg at the hip and knee, and I can wiggle all my toes—or at least I think I can, though I can’t see for sure with my shoe on. But the crimson blood spreading down my leg appears foreboding and cannot be ignored. Given the position of the wound on my upper thigh, there’s no way to get a look at it without removing my pants. But there’s no way I’m about to do that here in the middle of nowhere, with Vander watc
hing. I just need to get something tied around the wound to stop the bleeding, and I’ll be fine.
Gingerly, I get to my feet and am relieved to find that the leg bears weight. I hobble around to gather what I need—a thick handful of fluffy moss and a long, thin green vine. “Help me get this tied,” I say.
Vander comes to my aid. I hold the moss in place while Vander wraps the vine around my leg and cinches it in place. His knotwork turns out to be pathetic, and I can tell it’s going to wriggle loose almost immediately. Ultimately, we switch roles—he holds the makeshift bandage while I tie. He looks a little queasy doing it but doesn’t complain.
“Can you walk?” he asks.
I take a few hesitant steps that aren’t too shaky, so I attempt a full lap around a tree, keeping a hand on the trunk to steady myself. The shock of the injury is wearing off and the pain is setting in, but I can walk.
I pause and look around. Something seems off, and it has nothing to do with my injury. “Vander, isn’t this the tree you tied the horse to?”
His head whips up, and then from side to side, but the horse is gone.
“That’s all right,” I say, forcing myself to remain optimistic despite our dismal circumstances. Of course, I want to berate him for his worthless knot-tying skills, but blame won’t do any good right now. “Let’s just hunker down here until it’s time to send the next transmission,” I suggest. “I doubt they’ll pursue us this far out. What time is it, anyway?”
“Wow, it’s already ten,” he says. “We must have been riding for more than an hour. You’re right; they won’t catch up to us anytime soon.”
We sit down, though he manages it more gracefully than I do.
“What do you think happened to Bretton?” I ask. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about his lifeless body that we just abandoned.
“If they didn’t trample him, they’ll help him,” Vander says, a little too honest.
I let my head rest against the rough base of the nearest tree. A swirling sensation fills my head, and I’m not sure if it’s from the receding surge of adrenaline, dehydration, or if the blood soaking my clothes has taken a higher toll on me than I previously realized. My eyes keep trying to close, begging me to sleep, but I need to stay alert in case we need to run again.
