by David Estes
“If it wasn’t so creepy, I’d thank you,” Trevor says, grinning. “At least you’ve got good taste.”
“Thanks—I think,” Roc says. “Now, can we ditch this popsicle stand?”
“What’s a popsic—” Tawni starts to say.
“I’ll explain another time,” Roc says. “Are you sure you’re okay, Trevor?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Let’s move,” Tristan says. “Make sure your weapons are out of sight.”
Once more, we retrace our steps to the front door. Keeping low, we peek out the windows, watching for potential witnesses to our crime. The beat of the music continues to thump from a few blocks away. A good sign. The crowds won’t have dispersed as long as there’s entertainment.
A gaggle of four or five young girls in tight dresses and high heels wobble past. Even through the glass I can hear them chattering away, all at the same time, not bothering to listen to what each other has to say. They’re speaking so fast it’s almost like a foreign language. One of them stumbles as her heel bites into a crack in the stone. She nearly falls, but manages to regain her balance and pull the heel out and resume walking like one of her legs is longer than the other.
“They look ridiculous,” I scoff. “Tawni, are you sure you don’t want to change shoes?”
“I’ll put them to shame,” Tawni says. “Besides, those heels are at least twice as high as mine.”
She’s right, but I still worry that when the time comes to run—which it inevitably will—we’ll be waiting for her to unclasp her shoes with bullets flying all around us. As I picture the scene in my head, it’s almost comedic.
The girls turn the corner, leaving the street deserted once again. “Game time,” Tristan says, pulling the door open.
We file into the street in a line, the same way we’re used to marching through the tunnels. I squint as the artificial sunlight peeks over the top of one of the buildings, blinding me. Tristan stops, chews on his lip, eyes the group. “We look way too stiff,” he says, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. “We’re just a group of sun dwellers out to have a good time. Sunglasses down.”
I obey, marveling as the tinted glasses filter out just enough of the light to be tolerable, without making it hard to see.
“Better,” Tristan says. “Now act looser, more relaxed. We’re not out looking for a fight—we’re looking to have fun. You know, eat, drink, and be merry.”
“Never heard of that before,” Trevor grumbles.
“Well, now you have. This is life or death, guys. The fate of the Tri-Realms may depend on your ability to act like sun dwellers.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, chief,” Trevor says.
“The Tri-Realms might be screwed,” Roc adds.
“Oh, come on. It’s just like dress-up when you were kids,” Tawni says, her eyes lighting up. “Didn’t you ever play dress-up?”
“Dress up?” Trevor says. “Is that like wearing dresses or something? I try to be open-minded, but even I’d draw the line at wearing a dress.”
“Grrr, you guys are so frustrating sometimes,” Tawni says. Then, looking to me for backup, she says, “Adele, you know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Elsey used to play dress-up. She’d pin blankets to look like a dress. She always said she was a princess waiting for her knight in shining armor. So maybe it does mean wearing a dress?” I say cautiously, fearing Tawni’s wrath.
“You all are hopeless,” she says. “All I mean is that we need to pretend, to be in character. Honestly, use your imaginations. We’ve got the clothes, but now we have to have the sun dweller mindset. I think that’s what Tristan means.”
“Exactly,” he says.
“I think I can do that,” Trevor says. “I’ll just act like an idiot.”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult for you,” Roc mumbles under his breath.
“Or you,” Trevor retorts.
“Guys, not the time,” Tristan says sternly. “We have to move on, find the train station.”
Trying to think like sun dwellers, we set off down the road in a staggered group, less stiff—as Tristan put it—than before. Tawni really gets into it, walking in her short, high-heeled steps, one arm around me, the other around Roc. Every once in a while she laughs, although nobody says anything funny. Tristan and I have our arms around each other, too.
At first the whole thing is awkward, but after we make it down the block, turn right, and make it another block without seeing anyone, I loosen up a little, start to enjoy being so close to Tristan. His usual warmth pulsates through me as we pretend-stagger along. I kiss him on the cheek, making it extra sloppy for effect and to get a laugh out of him. He returns the favor, wetting my cheek, just next to my lips. It’s funny, we’re pretending to be drunk, to be falling all over each other, having a good time—but we’re also not faking it. It feels amazing doing this with Tristan. We’re relaxed and carefree for the first time in our relationship, and I feel like I could do anything with him. If we weren’t on this freaking mission, I’d pull him away to a dark corner, and—
My frivolous thoughts are interrupted when a group of sun dwellers pass, going in the other direction. My heart races, my knees tighten, and I’m glad I’m wearing the sunglasses, because my eyes narrow under the weight of my frown.
“Stay in character,” Tristan whispers, slapping Trevor on the back and laughing merrily.
As we pass the locals, four girls and three guys who are dressed like girls, all of whom are strutting down the center like they own the road, one of the girls says, “Party’s this way, boys,” throwing Trevor a perfectly white smile on a perfectly fake face. A lock of bleached hair tumbles across her cheek.
“We gotta get some more booze,” Tristan replies, planting another kiss on my cheek and not missing a step.
“You can share ours,” the girl says, holding up a thick green bottle with gold lettering on the side.
“Maybe next time,” Tristan says.
“Your loss,” she calls over her shoulder, ushering her group forward.
When they’re out of earshot, I finally breathe again, as Trevor says, “Told you I look good in these new clothes. Did you see the way she looked at me?”
“We saw,” I say, “but I wouldn’t be too proud of it, she didn’t look too picky.”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Trevor retorts, leaving me huffing.
Block after block of exquisite apartments pass as we shuffle along, just a happy group of sun dwellers looking for action. Roc steers us down a road to the left, sending us diagonally through the city. Up ahead, a pile of what appears to be rubbish spills out of a gaping hole into a dark, gray building with massive steel roll-up doors on one side.
“I didn’t know sun dwellers were slobs, too,” I comment, catching a whiff of putrid rotting garbage as we approach. “What’s with all the garbage?”
“Now that’s interesting,” Tristan says.
“What is?” Tawni asks.
“Sun dwellers are typically very clean. That hole leads to giant Dumpsters that, when full, are shipped to the Star Realm for destruction in the lava flow.”
“But that’s a lot of garbage,” I say. “My subchapter wouldn’t create that much garbage in a month.”
“People are very wasteful here,” Roc says. “That’s probably a day’s worth.”
I cough, choking on breath. “A day! That’s ridiculous,” I say.
Roc shrugs. “It’s a different world up here. But still, whether it’s a day’s worth, or a month’s, it shouldn’t be piling up on the street—it should be shipped away.”
“It seems that’s not happening anymore,” I note.
“Seems not. Given the war, all inter-Realm shipping would be cancelled indefinitely. I guess there’s not a backup plan for managing the trash.”
“Funny,” I say. “Perhaps the Sun Realm is more dependent on the Lower Realms than anyone realizes.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Tristan says. I glance at the sh
ining steel doors on the building. “Trash, taxes, building supplies, gemstones, iron ore: it all comes from the Lower Realms. The Sun Realm wouldn’t exist without it.”
“Which is exactly why your father is moving so fast to knock us back into line,” I add, immediately thinking of my mom and sister. With the strength and resources of the Sun Realm, their hope of survival is minimal if we don’t succeed in our mission. Instead of fear rising, it’s determination that wells up, heating my chest. Failure is not an option—never was.
Before Tristan can respond, the raucous grinding of gears sounds to the right. A dark crack appears below the roll-up doors, growing thicker as the twin risers are pulled inside. Then: the rumble of an engine joins the cacophony of noise.
“Quick, away from the doors!” Tristan says. “Make like we’re just hanging out.”
We rush to the side of the opening, against the wall, sort of facing each other, as if we’re just having a conversation. In my peripheral vision a monstrous truck emerges from the garage like a troll from its cave. With a roar, the closed-bedded truck hangs a hard right and blows past us, sending a mixed rush of hot air, exhaust, and old garbage over us.
“Whew! That stinks like the Star Realm,” Trevor says. “I thought you said the garbage service would be shut down.”
“It should be,” Tristan says. “There’s no way that truck’s headed below.” He motions to the ground.
We stare at the ground in silence, each puzzling over the mystery.
“It could be going to subchapter four,” Roc says.
“Why four?” I ask.
“There’s an incinerator there. It’s mostly used for easily disposed of waste that doesn’t require the lava flow, but they’re desperate, so maybe they’ll try to destroy whatever they can there.”
“Good call, Roc. That’s the only place they could be taking it,” Tristan says.
“Doesn’t matter,” Trevor says. “All we care about is reaching subchapter one. Where’s the train?”
“Dammit,” Roc says, as if just remembering something. “It’s the Sun Festival. Even trains won’t be running today.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, dreading having to hike another dozen or more miles through an intra-Realm tunnel which is probably full of sun dweller soldiers looking for revenge for their fallen comrades.
“Pretty sure,” he says.
“Why not?” Tawni asks. “Wouldn’t people want to be able to get to the best parties?”
Roc’s expression is thoughtful. “You’d think so. But there’s a lot of pride in one’s subchapter up here. There are buses to transport people within the city, but no intra-Realm travel is permitted on Festival Day.
“We have to check anyway,” Tristan says. “Do you remember how much further?”
“Maybe six blocks.”
“Move out.”
We walk faster this time, presumably because we all want to know whether our plans have indeed been foiled by a silly holiday in the middle of a war. Even Tawni picks up the pace, performing admirably in her heels. Two more clusters of sun dwellers pass us, but both are too busy laughing and carrying on that they don’t say a word to us, which is fine by me.
When we reach the train station, the truth stares us in the face:
Linked metal chains seal the doors.
Chapter FourteenTristan
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have remembered. Everything was going so well I got complacent, assumed we’d be able to just coast into my hometown on a golden train. Not today.
“We can hide out somewhere,” Roc suggests. “Wait until morning and then hop the early train while all the sun dwellers are sleeping off the festival.”
On the face of it, it seems like a good suggestion. We seem to be relatively safe here in our disguises, and soon no one will be in any condition to identify us. We haven’t seen a single Enforcer, as most of them have probably been sent to join the army. Deep in the Sun Realm, it’s unlikely that any of them are stationed here. However, there’s one problem:
“The Moon Realm might be defeated by morning,” Adele says. “If not already.”
The truth of her words ring in all our ears. Although the world seems like a happy, peaceful place in subchapter eight, in reality it’s a war-ravaged battleground. I know my father will be pushing hard to finish the siege quickly, perhaps desiring to make a victory announcement the day after the biggest celebration of the year.
“I agree. We can’t wait. We have to get there no later than tonight,” I say. “Any other suggestions?”
Silence.
“How far is the walk?” Trevor asks.
I cringe, dreading the thought of running all the way to subchapter one; for running is the only way we’d make it by the end of the day on foot. “Far,” I say.
Roc cranes his neck and stares at the cavern roof high above. “I think there’s a twenty-eight-mile-long tunnel that would get us to subchapter four. At least then we’d be in the right cluster. Then we could just take the Nailin Tunnel to the capital. That’s only a little over a mile.”
“So twenty-nine miles, not including the time and distance to get to the right tunnel. Even at a manic pace it will take us at least three hours,” I say, “and we’ll be in no position to fight anyone when we arrive.”
“Subchapter four…” Adele murmurs, almost to herself. Then, turning to Roc, she says, “Isn’t that where you said the garbage trucks might be headed?”
“Yeah, so?” Roc says.
I know where she’s going with this. “No, absolutely not,” I say. “It’s too dangerous.”
“No more dangerous than everything we’ve had to do this entire mission, and a hell of a lot less dangerous than what we still have to do,” she says hotly, giving me a look.
“Am I missing something?” Tawni asks, to no one in particular.
“She wants to ride in the garbage trucks,” I explain.
“I don’t want to. But it may be our only choice. You said it yourself—getting there on foot will be long and tiring.”
“But a garbage truck?” I say.
“Suck it up, sun boy,” Trevor says, “I’ve waded through some pretty nasty sh—”
“Fine. If everyone agrees, I’ll do it,” I say flatly, hoping someone else will disagree.
“What if there aren’t any more trucks today?” Roc asks.
“Did you see the amount of garbage piling up outside the chute?” Adele says. “They have no choice—they have to take it somewhere.”
“But we’ll destroy our new clothes,” Tawni says, looking down at her expensive dress, a look of horror on her face.
“I forgot about that,” Trevor says, brushing a bit of gray dust off his black Rizzo tunic. “Maybe there’s another way.”
“Now who should suck it up?” I say mockingly.
“I retract my previous insult,” Trevor says seriously.
Adele looks at us like we’re crazy. “We can just steal more stuff in subchapter four if we have to.” It seems she’s got an answer for everything.
“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with all this stealing,” Tawni says, reverting to her role as the moral conscience of the group.
“You are the one who picked the lock,” Roc points out.
Tawni blushes, her sparkly makeup looking even shinier over the red of her cheeks. “Okay,” she says. “I’m in.”
This time I lead the way through the streets, easily remembering the zigzagging path back to the garbage chute. As we near the chute, it’s clear that the shipping door is still open, either because more trucks have recently come through or because more are about to come through. I’m hoping it’s the latter.
Creeping along the building’s wall, I risk a glance around the corner, into the garage. Two men wearing thick black gloves are hauling bags of trash from a conveyer belt to a truck, tossing them into the back one by one. The truck bed is already half full.
“There’s one about to leave,” I whisper back to the others.
> “That’s our ride,” Adele says, her green eyes fierce and sharp, even more so because of the black makeup.
“Move when I do, as close behind me as possible,” I say. “Tawni, you’d better carry your shoes.”
She nods and begins unclasping them, her hands deftly slipping them off. “Ready,” she says a moment later.
I sneak another peek into the garage. The truck is nearly full now, and the men are engaged in a conversation near the cab door, which is open. Their backs are to us.
Without checking that the others are paying attention, I steal into the garage, tiptoeing to prevent an errant footstep from betraying our presence. I hear nothing behind me, which either means they’re not following me or they’re being equally careful with their footing. My heart is pounding; if one of the guys turns, there’s nowhere to hide. But they don’t turn, and I manage to safely reach the still-open cargo hold, indulging in a quick glance back.
The others are right on top of me, their faces white and focused. I turn back to the truck, clamber inside, and screw up my face when the rotten stench of garbage hits my nostrils. Trying to breathe out of only my mouth, I reach back and help Tawni inside. Adele, Trevor, and Roc pull themselves up unassisted. We’re all in, but we’re far from safe. One of the guys will be back any minute to shut the gate.
“We’ve got to get behind the garbage,” Roc hisses.
Fun.
Luckily, the trash is in big canvas bags, but it still makes for an unsteady and constantly shifting climb to the top of the pile. A few of the bags have rips and tears in them, spilling some of their contents onto the heap. Half-eaten food, like rotten apples, mystery meat, and spoiled unidentifiable gelatinous ooze, squishes under my treads, making me glad I have thick-soled shoes, unlike Roc. Tawni’s the worst off, forced to plow through the muck in her bare feet. The price of fashion, I think wryly.
Just as I reach the top of the heap, the front door of the truck slams. I look back, ushering Tawni, Adele, Roc, and Trevor past me and behind the mountainous pile. The engine rumbles to life. Just before following, I glance back once more to find one of the guys hooking around the back of the truck. Without thinking, I dive down the smelly hill, tumbling head over heels, knocking into someone, bouncing off, and then knocking into another someone.
