Apocalyptic Fears II: Select Bestsellers: A Multi-Author Box Set

by Greg Dragon

  I couldn’t imagine leaving Dresden for anything, especially if we were married. Well, that wasn’t going to happen now. Jasper had taken Dresden from me, too.

  “Ametrine—”

  “Treena, Mom.”

  She paused. “Jasper gave you your name, you know.”

  “All the more reason to change it.”

  Lanah gave a wistful smile. “Treena, my mother always said I’d know whether a guy loved me by his willingness to sacrifice—that my well-being would come before his. The man you marry will give up what he wants most for you. That’s how you’ll know.”

  “Dresden is totally like that.”

  She bit her lip but nodded, her eyes flickering to the stone in my hand. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a thin piece of metallic string. She looped it easily through the stone, then latched it around my throat. We looked at each other for a long moment, then she pulled me in for a hug. I went rigid, and the embrace didn’t last long. When she pulled away, her face was sad. “Jasper always said there was a time to run and a time to fight, and the trick was knowing the difference. I couldn’t face it, Treena. I ran. But you’ve always been a fighter like your dad. Maybe that’s the message you’re supposed to take from this necklace. Just know that I support you, wherever you go from here.”

  She stood and kissed me on the forehead like I was five. I threw her an absent wave.

  After she left, I stared at the rock in the dim lamplight. It was a deep purple, nearly the same shade as NORA’s official color. Purple was really just half blue, half red, my teachers had said. Blue for the peace we now enjoyed, and red for the blood of those who had sacrificed their lives for our comfort. Was it a message from my dad that I should submit to NORA’s will? That I should wait for them to relocate me, slink into the shadows, and accept my fate?

  The thought made my stomach churn. If that was what he wanted, I’d do the opposite.

  I turned off the light but stayed awake in the darkness. A plan began to form in my mind, fuzzy at first, like the tendrils of fog that gathered in the early morning, and then firm and cold, like the strange purple rock my traitorous father had insisted that I receive. The rest of my life stretched before me in the thickness of night. I lay there, watching the hours click by on my techband, waiting for sleep to bestow the slightest bit of relief.

  It never came.

  6

  The bonfire consumed my dreams, and the nightmare came again. It was hazy at first, like watching a projection through smoke, but then came into focus, burned into my mind as if with a branding iron.

  I lay in bed on the verge of sleep, listening to my twin sisters’ heavy breathing. I was just drowsy enough that I didn’t hear the shouting at first. After a moment, there was a sharp crack as the door banged open.

  “Vance, wake up!”

  The panic in my mother’s voice shocked me fully awake. “What?”

  “They’re setting the cabins on fire. Everyone’s evacuating to the shelter. Go check on the other wing, then help your father!” She strode quickly to my sisters’ beds.

  Before I fully understood, I was running down the hall. My feet clapped all too loudly against the wood floor I’d helped lay one board at a time. Our entire settlement was wood. If there was really a fire . . .

  A faint smoke smell reached my senses, and horror forced my body into high speed. I reached the door and pounded on it. “Fire! Get to the shelter!” The voices on the other side told me that they were already awake. Two wings, all exiting safely.

  I leaped forward again, headed for the lookout platform. The air grew thicker and heavier with every step.

  All of our cabins were connected underground, but NORA didn’t know that. My father was a brilliant leader. Our people would be gathering in the shelter now, where food and water storage could keep them alive for months. But we hadn’t counted on fire. Cold and hunger, yes, but not fire. Such a stupid, naïve oversight.

  When I reached the loft, I could barely breathe. The smoke was so thick that I wondered if my dad was even alive, but then his figure emerged. He was nearly unrecognizable, his face black as if painted, and he held a wet piece of cloth over his nose and mouth. He handed me something—a plastic canister with a band, obviously some kind of breathing device. I slipped it on, and suddenly the air was easier to breathe, though painfully hot and dry.

  “Dad,” I croaked. “We can’t fight from here. We need to get to the shelter and make a stand!”

  “The men are lining up now, ready to strike. Are the women and children headed to the shelter?” His voice was crisp, hard. This wasn’t a father talking to his son but a commander barking orders.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I sent Rutner to drench the northeast building in water, but that won’t hold the fire long. We need to defeat the soldiers now, or evacuate and risk capture.”

  I glanced at the tree line, straining to see through the darkness and the heavy smoke. When my eyes adjusted to the black, I saw figures. Vehicles. They had us completely surrounded, and they stood around as if bored, like students with nothing to do after school. “Do they really think a fire will send us out with our hands up?”

  Dad just let his shoulders slump as if I’d voiced his biggest concern. “Seems strange to me too.”

  NORA soldiers had attacked twice before, but they’d seemed reluctant to kill anyone. We’d taken out two dozen of their soldiers, and all they’d gotten for their trouble was a few stunned settlers. Why they needed people so badly in that swollen mess of a country, I had no idea, but at least we knew they wanted us alive.

  “This seems like the perfect time for them to attack,” Dad said as if talking to himself. “They’ve permeated our defenses, and now they’re just standing there. What are they waiting for?”

  I gripped his arm. “What was that?”

  “I said—”

  “No, no. Listen.”

  He started to protest, but a low rumble began to fill the air. It didn’t come from the earth but from the sky. Dad went rigid. An expression of utter horror spread across his face, as if he’d just seen the reaper himself. His eyes fixed upon me, and for the first time in my life, I saw fear.

  My father was afraid.

  “What? Is it a bomber jet?” I glanced upward and caught a flash of light from above, then another. There were more than one, and they seemed to be circling us like ravens circling death.

  Dad just stared at the sky. I wanted to shake him, to force him to snap out of it and tell me what to do. He opened his mouth to speak but coughed instead. I reached up to tear the mask off my face and hand it to him.

  Dad just shook his head and swatted my hand away. “Bombers,” he managed.

  “But why would . . .” The answer slammed into my mind like a fist. “They don’t want to capture us anymore, do they?”

  The wood groaned beneath our feet. The fire had reached the top of the platform now, climbing and snapping like a hungry dragon with ferocious claws. We only had a few minutes before the fire drove us out or the building collapsed under us. I hoped Rutner was protecting Mom and the twins. Was he ordering them to evacuate, or had they hunkered down, determined to die rather than give themselves up?

  “The empress warned me this would happen” Dad said, his voice distant. “But I didn’t listen.”

  “You’ve been communicating with their leader?”

  “She tried to make a deal. I refused. I thought we were safe here, so far outside the borders. I thought if we defended ourselves, they’d see we weren’t worth it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  He turned to me and gripped my shoulders, and suddenly the commander was back. “Get them out. Take them to the hunting shelter in the forest. You’ll be attacked, but gather the men on the outside of the group. Hopefully a few of you can make it.”

  I stared at him, letting his words sink in. “What do you mean, you?”

  He dropped his hands. “Maybe I can draw their fire, distract the
m for a bit, so you can break through their line.” At the last word he broke into a fit of coughing and covered his mouth.

  “It’s too late for that!” My heat-singed voice sounded hoarse. “Dad, this building will burn down—if the air teams don’t blow it up first.”

  He coughed into his wet cloth, and his face constricted. “Then you’d better hurry.”

  I tore the mask off, barely feeling the wall of heat slam into my face. “No, Dad. You’re their leader. You’re the first person who should be getting out of here!”

  He shot me a stern look, an expression I knew well. “You have a lot to learn about leadership, son. It’s not about privilege but about sacrifice. You’re their leader now. If I can buy you a little more time, I have to try. Now go!”

  He moved more quickly than I’d ever seen. One second he was standing there, and the next he grabbed the breathing mask and slammed it onto my face. I twisted away, but his strong arms shoved me off the highest level. It wasn’t a hard fall, only about ten feet, but I landed on my back. I lay there, stunned.

  I stared at the man who had raised me, the man who had taught me how to fight without weapons and to lead using only words, and an angry sob tore from my throat.

  “Keep them safe, Vance,” he shouted through the haze, and then my father turned back to his vigil on the platform. He pulled out his long-range rifle and glanced back at the darkened sky. Two more aircraft had joined the group, and they seemed to be gathering into some kind of formation.

  With a growl, I bolted for the shelter. The only way to save Dad was to obey, quickly. Only when we broke through the enemy’s lines would he follow. It would take every weapon we had, and we’d probably lose half the settlement—but if we attacked all at once, it was possible.

  Together we’d have a fighting chance.

  Keep them safe . . .

  7

  The first rays of morning light shone through the window. The traffic was just beginning to flow on the street below; I heard talking and the shifting of gears as people rode past. It was Rating Day for regular citizens, but it was also Assignment Day for graduates. Today we found out what our Ratings truly meant.

  Which was why my plan had to begin immediately.

  I dressed in my new purple uniform, straightening the stiff shoulder seams in the mirror and trying not to look at the glowing red number on my forehead. If my plan worked, it would be fixed before my assignment came. Hopefully.

  With a quick jog downstairs, I gulped down my pill and asked to borrow my mom’s makeup. I only used it on special occasions. She stared at me, a strange look on her face. “Where are you going so early?”

  “To meet Dresden,” I lied. “He wants to talk. I won’t be too long.” If she knew the real reason, she’d never let me go. I swallowed hard. Dresden hadn’t tried to contact me. A part of me was withering inside, the darkness of rejection spreading through my wounded heart. But there was still hope. If my plan worked, it could change everything. We still had a chance.

  “All right.” Doubt shone in her eyes. “Good luck. Call me if you need me.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  The late-spring heat was already stifling when I swung onto my bike. It was a grim omen of the type of summer to come—more water restrictions and more greenery regulations. Lanah wasn’t going to be happy. She loved her flower garden too much. She gave her allotted five plants some of her personal drinking water every day. I thought it was a little ridiculous, but she just said she missed the feel of real leaves. Whatever that meant.

  It was fifteen minutes of hard riding before the Block came into view. It was a simple cube-shaped office building that housed most of the government officials in Olympus. My stepdad was summoned here on occasion for his job in Integration. I could only assume that the Rating Office was here as well.

  After a few minutes I located a nearby bike rack and took a deep breath, smoothing my uniform. I wore no ornamentation, unlike the men and women who ascended the staircase and entered the building. They had bands of varying thicknesses and colors on their arms, and an older gentleman actually had multiple stars beneath his collar and a silver stripe across his chest. I squinted to see his face. The tribune himself, the empress’s personal assistant, here in Olympus. I’d never seen him in person before.

  I hesitated. What I was about to do was risky enough, but the tribune was here, of all people. It could just as easily go bad as good, and I couldn’t afford to backslide any further. I watched the tribune disappear through the doors, surrounded by an entourage of guards and assistants. I could wait outside for a few hours, maybe, until he left.

  No. I’ve spent my entire life doing what I’ve been told. It didn’t work out. Now it’s time to try the opposite.

  The crowd was dissipating. I forced myself to take one step, then another. The doors loomed closer. At the last second I swooped my hair across my forehead, glad for the frizziness for the first time in my life, and strode inside.

  No one noticed me at first. There were a dozen different hallways, but the entire crowd of people turned left when they reached the main hallway, all headed in the same direction like a school of identical fish. I felt odd stepping out of the crowd and into the massive center room.

  This wasn’t my first visit. I’d been here once before as a child on a field trip. But the enormity and the grandeur of the room still took my breath away. A large dome in the center full of stained-glass pictures rose high overhead. The sun colored the glass so majestically that its rays shone down like pink spotlights. Glittery spots of dust made their way slowly down to the hard marble floor.

  “Can I help you?” a voice asked.

  I jumped. It was an older lady, silver roots peeking through her bleached blonde hair. She eyed my forehead with suspicion. I stood straighter, ready to plead my case.

  The woman simply pointed overhead. “Visitors always stop and stare at the dome,” she said. “Easy to tell who should be here and who shouldn’t.”

  “I’ve come to see my Rater,” I said quickly.

  “Ah,” she said knowingly. “Come to file a complaint?”

  So this was a common occurrence. A surge of courage welled up inside me. “Yes.”

  “Do you know your Rater’s name?”

  The woman was small, but her voice was sharp. She had probably worked here for decades, asking the same questions of dozens of grumpy graduates like me. “I know his initials. RMR.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Roulon. I should’ve guessed. I’ll take you to his office, but I doubt he’s there today. You can leave your complaint with his assistant.” Her legs carried her quickly away, and I had to jog to catch up.

  “What happens if I file a complaint?” I asked.

  “He looks at your data again. If he thinks there’s a discrepancy, he fixes it.”

  “But if not?”

  The woman turned a sharp corner, and I nearly ran into a soldier in a gray uniform in my effort to follow. I mumbled an apology, but he just stalked away. My guide didn’t look behind her as she spoke. “Then your Rating stands.”

  “That’s it?”

  She finally turned, her movement making me pull up hard. “NORA doesn’t make mistakes. Get that through your head while you’re young.” With a quick yank, the woman opened a heavy metal door and held it for me. “Good luck.”

  To my surprise, the blond boy at the desk was only slightly older than me. Or maybe his freckles—a red mass of dots giving his face an orange hue—just made him look young. His eyebrows were reddish, which I guessed was his real hair color. The guy was bent over his work, arms moving frantically, knocking things over in his haste to tidy up.

  A glass door behind him read “Rater Roulon.” A framed photograph hung beneath the name, depicting a round-faced man with dimples. So this was the man who’d held my future in his hands, then tossed it into the wastebasket like a bag of old parts. I stood on the tips of my toes to see through the glass, but the room was empty. Mr. Roulon wasn’t there.


  The assistant finally looked up and rolled his eyes. “Of course. Today, of all days. Can you come back tomorrow?”

  “No,” I said, straightening. “I need to—”

  “File a complaint, yeah. I’m sure you do. Hold on a minute.”

  With a final sweep of his arm, he wiped all the objects off his desk into a drawer. Then he punched something into the screen and grabbed my wrist, scanning the techband into the system. “Your name is . . . Ametrine Dowell.”

  “Treena,” I corrected, feeling my determination drain away. This wasn’t going to work. I needed someone above the Rater to look at my case. My Rating needed to be fixed before my assignment was issued, or I’d be shipped off without options. Why had the Rater chosen today to be gone?

  “And your Rating score is—Oh.” I pulled my hair aside to show him, and his eyes widened even more. Then I saw it—a small, nearly imperceptible downward turn of his mouth. Disgust.

  “My scores are nearly perfect in every area,” I said, forcing down a shiver. His reaction was understandable, but still. “My Rating is a mistake.”

  He turned to the screen again, his face suddenly closed and distant. “Even perfect scores wouldn’t guarantee anything. They don’t include the Rater’s overall impression points or the interview score.”

  “Then look at my impression points and my interview score. I know you can’t tell me what I got, but just peek at them really quick.”

  He sighed loudly, muttering something about a “high-profile job,” and his fingers flew across the glass screen. Then he squinted, a puzzled expression on his face. “Your impression score is fine. Your interview score too, actually. One of the highest scores I’ve seen.”

  My heart skipped a beat. So there was a chance that this really was just a mistake, after all. He gave me a long look, and I simply shrugged.

  He cleared his throat. “As a Rater’s assistant, I can’t change anything. The only thing I can do is make a note of your complaint. And, honestly,” he said, leaning forward, “I’ve been here two years and seen hundreds of complaints. The Rater never overturns a Rating once he’s signed it.”