Outside, rolling dark clouds swallowed the sunshine causing shadows to merge into a blanket of darkness across the land. The false twilight and scent of rain set her on guard. If only it were a regular thunderstorm.
Another loud crack shook the train. The echo rumbled through the metal floor and shot up her body. She bit the inside of her cheek as she gripped the stanchion and focused all her energy on staying upright. Her insides vibrated with such concentrated energy, it blurred her vision.
Blaze touched her shoulder, yelped, and yanked her hand back. “Sweet Mother! ”
She wanted to apologize, but pain locked her jaw.
“What can I do? WhatcanIdo?” Blaze whispered in her ear without touching her again.
Rena shook her head as the onslaught subsided. She searched for Trace and found him by the exit. The door to the control panel was missing, but she couldn’t get her eyes to focus long enough to see what he was doing with the wires inside.
Electricity arced through the sky like liquid silver. The five simultaneous streaks glittered with audible snaps each time one fragmented. It would’ve been a dazzling display, if they weren’t deadly. In the distance, ELFs intercepted the bolts. They glowed neon blue, green, then faded back to white.
The next spark painted half the sky silver. The sound of screaming roared through the train. Rena held her breath as jagged light splintered in the train’s direction. It had absorbers, but they were due for replacement next week by her Transportation Mechanics class. She grabbed Blaze’s hand and squeezed.
The electric bolt struck a tree. Instant flames. Blackened bark. Rena blew out a shaky breath as she watched tendrils of smoke snake up from the ground of nearby trees, two dozen or more. Then fire shot up from the bases. Leaves curled away from the heat, yet couldn’t escape the flames. The growing breeze caught the ashes and swept them into the sky like black snow. The smell of burnt bark mingled with a rain scent.
Rain that wouldn’t come.
She didn’t need to be an Aggie to mourn the loss of those trees. Another boom. Closer. Louder. The intensity made her draw a sharp breath. Silver light flashed. Another fracture lit toward the train with vengeance. It struck one of the cars in a deafening crack.
The whole train shook and so did Rena as she fought for control. Every clank of the couplers linking the train cars, every rattle of the windows, every clomp of the panicking people assaulted her. She whimpered, hands trembling so hard, she lost her hold on the pole. She crossed her arms over her chest and braced her shoulders. Her teeth chattered which drew the attention of people nearby, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t stop shaking.
Blaze reached for her, flinched upon contact, but didn’t pull back this time. With her eyes squeezed shut, she wrapped her arms tight around Rena. The touch lessened the pain, as if she was a ringing bell and Blaze the hand that calmed it, but she feared it cost her friend and pushed away. Her stomach sank at the sight of Blaze’s tear-stained cheeks.
The screech of metal echoed through the car as the exit doors opened. Against safety protocol, people spilled outside in a rush that took her and Blaze with them. She lost track of Trace in the confusion as they moved farther from the train. Two cars back, smoke billowed out of ruptured windows. Black plumes concealed the interior. People hacked and coughed as they crawled from the wreckage. Not even the growl of thunder was enough to drown out the chorus of screams from those still trapped as they burned to death. A sickly-sweet, smoky stench filled the air.
Rena covered her nose as she stumbled back and tripped over someone’s foot. The instant she hit the ground her anxiety and fear blasted into the earth. Blaze moved to help her up once again. When the reverberation wretched an awful sound from Rena’s mouth, Blaze stopped mid-motion.
Her friend shook her head. “Not an earthquake.”
Rena nodded.
Her friend crumbled next to her. “Not now. There’s nowhere…” Blaze frantically searched the surrounding. “There’s nowhere to—”
Pop! Everybody dropped to the ground. Flat on their back or stomach or whatever it took not to be the tallest thing in the open field. It wouldn’t protect them from the earthquake they didn’t know about.
More afraid of the storm, Rena pressed her back to the ground. Earthquake tremors trilled along her spine and twisted her stomach. She jumped up, then froze—like a beacon—as silver light came toward her. Blaze yanked her back down, and the electricity veered toward a burning tree instead.
Another deep rumble moved through the ground, strong enough for others to feel it. A few people plopped down and covered their heads. Silver light spread above, raining down toward them. Rena crawled backward from the train, though she knew there was nowhere to hide. A jolt shot through the ground. People scattered as zigzags etched across the perfectly manicured field.
Then the electricity vanished. Rena didn’t understand it, but welcomed it nonetheless.
The sky cleared. Sunshine stretched across the field, brighter and more intense as the Burning approached. Still shaken, Rena rose. They hadn’t made it far from the school, and new trains arrived fast. As people boarded, landscapers set to work to erase any evidence of the destruction.
One train car lagged behind the others, most likely meant for the bodies trapped in the burning car and the poor souls trampled on the lawn. No one talked about them. The short duration of the storm, the location of the earthquake, the oddity that both happened at the same time—that’s what they whispered about. Not the victims. According to Conduct Code 12, or was it 21, everyone was supposed to carry on like people hadn’t perished. The Overlord would bear the burden of worrying about the victims and their families. Plus, there was a 200 unit fine for loitering.
Comforted by the sight of Trace, safe and helping an elderly woman stand, Rena adjusted her backpack. The image of an almost smiling face with the slogan ‘This train provided courtesy of Overlord Andrick’ beneath it decorated every train car. She headed toward the middle one, wanting nothing more than to go home and curl up under her covers. She’d have to go to work, instead. She’d be expected to make up the missed time, too. That or drop out to go work at the Underground, and from what she’d heard about that place, it definitely wasn’t an option.
Sweet Mother, she couldn’t wait to get out of Hollowcrest.
Chapter Nine
Tuesday, June 20
Early Evening
Rena watched Tomaso chase Zesiro with the pitchfork they were supposed to be using to turn the compost. At this rate, they’d be there until nightfall, not that she minded much. It was better than staring at the watermarks on the ceiling over her bed. Well, close. If the twins would disappear, it’d be perfect.
She held out her hand, palm facing up. “Give it.”
“But you said I got to be in charge of the pitchfork this time,” Tomaso complained.
“That was before you tried to spear Zes.” She reached for the tool.
Her brother stepped back. “Anata said we’re supposed to turn the compost.”
“And how is chasing Zes with a pitchfork equal to turning the compost?”
Tomaso stabbed the pile, still unwilling to cooperate.
“Listen, I’ll do it for you, if you’ll stop annoying me. Go play in the junkyard or something.”
Stacks of crushed cars created a maze, which her brothers found irresistible. No one bothered looting the junkyard anymore because cars were useless without fuel, and whatever salvageable parts they had were long ago claimed.
The boys looked at each other. Zesiro slapped Tomaso on the back of the head, said ‘tag’, jumped the cinder block wall, and dashed across the wide swathe of land separating her backyard from the maze. The slanted pitchfork stood forgotten in the pile. Rena remained in place for a moment, sensing their retreating footsteps before she unlatched the door on the second compost bin.
As much as she complained about it, Rena found turning the compost relaxing. True, she came from a long line of industrial wor
kers, and most of the people she knew were Dusties, yet she still felt pride in creating something organic. With a bunch of dead plants, grass clippings, food scraps, and sometimes water, her family was able to make compost, which Aggies paid premium price for. Plus, it made her feel closer to Nevan, even though, technically, he grew plants and she decomposed them.
Without her bodink brothers and their constant goofing, she managed to quickly finish. She was in the process of locking the bins when she felt foot vibrations coming from the direction of the house. They were too light for an adult, too heavy for a small child. She glanced over her shoulder. Trace. She waved, then angled away to learn the unique cadence of his walk, similar to the way people learn to associate a voice with a person they can’t see. Trace had a quiet, yet quick step, like he was on a mission, but he slowed as he neared.
She angled toward him. “Bring your GreenPad?”
He held it up. “Your family has a compost?”
“For as long as I can remember.”
“I thought only growers did this kind of thing.” His thick hair curtained his face when he looked down and tapped a button to turn on the pad.
“I think we’re the only family around this neighborhood with one.”
“Does it pay well?”
“Only if you can find a trustworthy buyer.”
Trace chuckled. “That applies to pretty much everything.”
In what looked like a well-practiced move, he tilted his head and his hair fell behind his shoulders. The gray of his eyes was intriguing, but nowhere close to Nevan’s perfect mismatched hazel and blue eyes.
Trace sat on the cinder block wall. Remembering she was still grounded, Rena glanced over her shoulder at her house. If her dad peeked out the window, he’d be able to see him. “Mind scooting right about eight inches?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Why?”
“I’m not allowed to have visitors.”
He gestured to his house as he slid over. “But I live next door.”
“Won’t matter to my dad.” Certain the bin blocked him from her dad’s sight, she leaned against it. “I saw what you did on the train. With the doors,” she added.
His thumb glided over the clock in the corner of his GreenPad. “Wish I could’ve opened more of them sooner.”
Did he blame himself for the burned victims? “They teach that in Coding?”
“Not exactly. My parents are…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Were into electronics. Sometimes, they spent all night re-wiring old video gaming systems to make them compatible with modern technology.”
She wanted to ask what happened to them, but figured she already knew. Though there weren’t specific laws against the video game system thing, it could easily lead to illegal activities. What Trace did on the train, tampering with the Overlord’s property, was highly illegal. She doubted anyone would turn him in for saving their life.
“Well, I’m glad for it. A lot more people could’ve died.”
He nodded as he clicked on the ART folder. She moved closer for a better view of the screen. A multitude of images flashed across it as he searched for the ones he’d told her about on the CityRail.
“When did you see them?” she asked.
“The day we met. When I first meet a new person, I see lots of things. Since I moved in with my uncle, I’ve met tons of people. So, I’m not sure if these have anything to do with you.” He studied her face. “Well, except for one.”
Had he ‘seen’ her cave? “Are these things from the past?”
“I honestly don’t know. Sometimes I draw things that have already happened. Sometimes it’s stuff that will.”
She wondered how that applied to her necklace and what it meant for the safety of her time capsules. Could she trust Trace with that knowledge? If not, how could she stop a clairvoyant?
“How do you know if it’s past, present, or future?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t always witness the things I draw. Here’s the first one.” He angled the GreenPad toward her.
“Sweet Mother, Trace. You drew this?”
His cheeks turned a soft red, which he hid behind his hair. “I had a chance to add color this time.”
She dropped the pitchfork and lifted the GreenPad out of his hands for a closer look. “It looks real, like an image capture.”
Tiny white fungus dotted the ground. On the bottom right, a splotch of red topped one of them and the surrounding pebbles. Rena smoothed her finger over it. “Is this blood?”
He nodded. “Must be animal though, because the fungus beneath it doesn’t grow in permitted walking areas.”
It grew in Westrock, but she kept that to herself. “Curious.”
He clicked by a few more images—a light shining in a window, a worn shoe by an abandoned car, a stack of dirty dishes, and a fallen jacket.
“Wait ‘til you see this one. The flowers are beautiful.” He reached up and clicked to the next drawing. “Bet they smell sweet.”
The base of Rotting Tree filled the screen, and the realistic image conjured the sulfur stench. Rena fought not to touch her nose and instead focused on the flowers. A ray of moonlight illuminated a cluster, the blossoms almost translucent in the light. Did those flowers ever take a break from stinking up the place? Some kind of bug perched on a petal with its wings opened and ready for flight. Funny, she didn’t remember seeing bugs there, but then after her first unfortunate encounter and three days of smelling it, she kept her distance from the plants.
“You recognize that place. Don’t you?” he said.
Rena started to shake her head, but when she looked into Trace’s eyes, it trapped the lie inside her. “It’s on the other side of Hollowcrest. A peaceful place.”
“I’d like to see it someday.”
“We can probably arrange that.”
He eased the pad out of her hand, tapped the screen, and held it to his chest. “This last one was kind of difficult for me.”
“Difficult as in complicated?”
He shook his head and handed the pad to her.
It was like looking in a mirror, a reflected close up of her face. A self-inflicted bite mark marred her bottom lip. Tears glistened on her cheeks. Unmistakable sorrow drew her eyebrows low and close. Yet, anger burned in her puffy, downcast eyes.
The pain was so raw, her heart clenched, and tears blurred her sight. She brushed her fingers along the edge of the GreenPad. Her mind struggled to place the image. Was that how she looked when she found out her mom had died? Or was this a portrait of some future grief?
“I wish I knew.”
“Huh?” She looked away from the drawing and found comfort in Trace’s gray gaze. What a girl wouldn’t give to have such thick eyelashes.
“You asked whether this had anything to do with your mom’s death or if you needed to brace yourself for another tragedy.”
“I did?”
“I tried to see more, even though that’s not how things work. Kept coming up blank.”
Rena sensed footsteps from the junkyard. She wiped her eyes and stood.
“My brothers can’t catch me with you. They should be coming back anytime now.”
“I thought you might want more time with your portrait. See if you can figure out if you remember it already happening.” Before he stood, he tapped a few buttons. The GreenPad went black. “I found some scrap paper and recreated it.”
Even in black and white, those eyes were haunting. “If I can find some more scrap, do you think you’d copy the one with the flower clusters, too?”
“Sure. Sure. And Rena, if this hasn’t happened yet…” His gaze fell as if he were mustering the courage to speak his mind. “Please remember, I’m next door. If you need to talk or whatever.”
“Will do.”
Trace strolled between their houses and rounded the corner moments before the twins came into sight. Zesiro aimed a homemade weapon at Tomaso who charged toward Rena. She picked up the pitchfork to put it away. When T
omaso altered his path to match hers, she knew exactly what was going on. She raised her hands and backed away toward the house.
“No. No, no, no. I am not home base.”
They didn’t stop.
She turned and dashed for the house as if it would protect her. Seconds later, Tomaso tackled her. The back door rattled with the impact. Rena elbowed him in the chest and shoved him away. Rubbing her arm, she threw a look at Zesiro that stopped him in his tracks. Hands up, he dropped his weapon.
“You boys better hope my arm stops hurting by tomorrow or there will be retribution.”
“What! Anata said you can’t break any more of our toys.”
“It’s not my fault you left your androg outside all night and someone stole it.”
“You don’t even know—” Tomaso started.
“—where we hid it.” Zesiro finished.
Rena flung open the door. “You boys underestimate me.”
“I’m telling.” Tomaso raced passed her.
“Telling what? I haven’t done anything.” Yet. She slammed the door and headed for her room. Perched on her bed, she un-crumpled the five inch square drawing. Trace probably got the highest possible marks on the fine motor skills test. He’d be a perfect fit for gauge assembling, yet somehow, he’d ended up in coding. Maybe his skill had developed after Affinity Assessment.
She wondered how much time he’d invested working on her drawing. There were many details she’d missed on his GreenPad screen, like the sunlight reflecting on the teardrop, the thin coat of dust on her braids, and the scar on her earlobe. Coldness settled in her stomach at the sight of it. Knowing she’d find smooth skin, she reached for her ear anyway.
“Rena,” Anata called out. “Rena, can you come here?”
“In a minute.” Rena rolled the paper and started to stick it under her pillow then decided to stuff it in the bottom of her backpack and lock it in the trunk where she kept things she didn’t want prying eyes or pilfering hands to roam.
“Rena?”
Ugh! “Coming.” She looped the key around her neck along with the birch leaf pendant. On the way to find out what Anata wanted this time, Rena kept wondering what fate awaited her.
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