Viral Airwaves

by Claudie Arseneault

  “Building card castles, actually,” Joshua corrected before adding with a confident wink. “You should always keep me on your team, Seraph.”

  “Well, I’m not going back until I’ve helped you rebuild what I destroyed.”

  He strode to Joshua and crouched near him. For a moment, no one else moved. Vermen stared at the Regarian, a strange tightness in his throat. He wasn’t going to sit for hours building something with Holt. No way. He stayed away for the first minutes but as the castle took shape once more and Vermen’s boredom increased, he gave in and joined the ridiculous endeavor. Every now and then his gaze trailed back to the White Renegade and always, he found pale blue eyes staring back from behind his glasses.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Henry faced the catacombs’ entrance and wished he could return to the Lenz Balloon.

  They’d landed in a thick forest five hours out of Reverence and hid the aircraft in the bushes to the best of their ability. The fake greenery seemed obvious as he walked away. Unmistakable. Of course someone had to hike by it first, which would involve serious bad luck. Perhaps that’s why he was so fearful. Chance had never favoured him.

  They needed to enter the city, though, and Andeal’s way in provided plenty of other things to worry about. He wanted to creep through the catacombs.

  Reverence hugged a large mountainside and its rocky ground had never offered a lot of cemetery space. When the Threstle Plague spread through the city, the few lots available vanished and a new solution had to be found—something to keep the rotting corpses from piling in the streets and infecting others. Thousands were buried in the mountain’s bowels, thrown into common pits and sealed. Tunnels still existed, with openings both in the city and around the mountain. As Henry stared into their chosen entrance, he wondered if there was a single cave network the rebels had not heard about.

  Henry swallowed hard. He didn’t want to leave the sun’s fading warmth to thread through the rotting corpses of the Threstle Plague’s victims. He turned to Andeal with a pleading look.

  “Perhaps we could paint your skin?”

  “No. We’ve had this discussion. We’ll be fine. Seraphin used the entrance before.”

  Andeal raised his mechanical torchlight and spun the crank until a white beam lit their way. All of Henry’s willpower went into the first step and he almost never took the second. Cool underground air and darkness enclosed them as they advanced. Soon they relied on the torchlight to see.

  The first hundreds meter consisted of a natural cave. After months spent in smooth round tunnels, this mountain’s tall ovoid-shaped passages disturbed Henry. He stretched his hands but couldn’t reach the ceiling, yet the way was so narrow he couldn’t walk besides Andeal. Disturbing as they might be, the egg tunnels remained better than catacombs. Henry started to hope he’d escape the dreadful sights as they progressed deeper inside—until the beam of light stopped upon a rotten wooden door. The handle creaked as Andeal turned it. He pushed and the wood grated on the floor, stirring a cloud of dust. When it settled enough for the beam to pierce through, Henry gasped.

  Hundreds of skull lined the wall and the shifting light created angry glares into the empty sockets. Henry huddled closer to Andeal as they crept forward. He covered his mouth with his shirt, afraid to catch the Threstle Plague despite his vaccine. The skeletons’ accusing gazes followed their every step. He tried not to breathe too loud, not to slap his soles on the stones. The catacombs reeked of decomposition and blackened bits of flesh sometimes hung to the bones. Death imposed its silence here. Henry’s gaze trailed on the ground but bones littered the way forward. He could not escape the dead.

  The Plague had devoured their lives.

  Henry reached for his vest’s pocket and the tiny disc within. Galen Clarin had killed those buried under Reverence—thousands of nameless souls sacrificed in a bid for power. These bodies had been piled into the recesses without regards for their dignity or religion. The pandemic had turned most into hysterics. Nothing had mattered but the need to contain the plague.

  The Clarin twins had counted on it. Henry forced himself to look at the skulls and ribcages. These were the people who had paid for the twins’ ambitions. He traced a clean jaw with his finger. Had this been a man or a woman? How many siblings had they left behind? Did they also rest here, somewhere in the piles of unidentified bones? When his mother had died, Kinsi and Tia had helped Henry bury her. None of these people had received a proper funeral.

  No one would give it to them. No one could.

  No one except him.

  A peaceful resolve overcame him, washing his fears away, erasing his doubts. The catacombs no longer scared him, as though these dead souls had given him their blessing. As his gaze drifted from one skull to another, his father’s words came back to him, written in bloodied letters on a rag.

  This cannot be silenced.

  He was right. Henry didn’t know how yet, but he intended to start an unstoppable signal.

  * * *

  The tunnels’ exit offered a splendid view of Reverence’s layout. The capital’s streets snaked between the rooftops and down the mountain, dark lines amid the soft green glow of the roof solar panels. Black lightless smears on the landscape indicated buildings devoid of electricity. Half the houses near them were little more than shacks in disrepair and gave no radiance but the dark spots became rarer as the city progressed away from the catacombs and toward the outer rim, where rich skyscrapers lined up into an almost perfect half-circle. Henry’s breath caught in his throat as he tried to imagine all the people crammed into such a tight space. Reverence must be thousands of times bigger than Ferrea.

  Andeal didn’t pause at the sight. He clicked his torchlight off and took the stairway down the deserted ledge they stood upon. Henry hurried after him, breathless. His feet hurt from the day’s long walk but he didn’t protest. He knew his friend wouldn’t rest until they’d reached their contact.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Andeal motioned him forward.

  “Go ahead. I’ll shadow you.”

  The tightness in his voice convinced Henry to accept the lead. He traveled through the asphalted streets and Andeal followed, alert for strangers who might take note of their presence. In the catacombs he’d felt watched by ghosts, but here he’d swear the living waited for a chance to call union troops on them. The green glow that bathed the streets gave Andeal’s skin a sickening hue. Anyone who more than glanced at him would realise his partial Burgian ancestry wasn’t the source of his darker skin.

  They couldn’t linger, but it’d help if they knew their way around the city. None of the roads described a straight line or fit a pattern. They wound down the mountain like ski slopes, criss-crossing each other, and soon Henry could not tell north from south, let alone find a specific neighborhood in this maze of possibilities. Left or right? Should they go through that park or move forward? Continue downward or climb back to the unlit alleys?

  As Henry began to despair, his friend pointed at a disused bus stop. The glass display on the side exhibited an enlarged map of their area, with a smaller version of the whole city. They traced the lines on the plan, searching for their streets. Henry’s heart sped. If they took too long, somebody would notice them for sure.

  “There! Sparkler Street.”

  It turned out to be a main avenue, further west of their position. Andeal smiled and his shoulders eased. In a quarter hour they would be safe.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “Time to test her loyalty.”

  Henry agreed and started off once more. This would be his second interaction with a rebel outside of Mount Kairn. He wondered what had happened to Stern’s cousin. Would their presence here bring the same fate to Reverence’s contact? What if Seraphin was wrong and she turned them away? Or worse, sold them out? He pushed the questions away and tried to summon the resolve he’d felt in the catacombs. Thousands had died from the Threstle Plague, including his mother. He owed it to them to take such risks. Knocking on a s
tranger’s door was just the first of many dangerous steps.

  * * *

  Andeal’s already speedy heartbeat quickened even more as he spotted their destination, a three-story house squeezed between two bulkier buildings. Time had washed away all color from the brick facade and smoothened its lines. The long windows created dark voids in the front—all except one on the second floor, with a tiny light on. Their contact was still awake. She’d also pepped up her house’s appearance by painting the front door a bright green which caught the rooftops’ glow and seemed to multiply it. Standing in front of it gave Andeal the impression somebody shone a spotlight on him.

  He touched his cheek and shrunk away. Whoever this contact was, she was in for a big surprise. How could Seraphin be so certain of her loyalty? People said many things, but when danger came…

  Henry knocked three times, then wiped his hands on his pants. Andeal sucked his breath in. His stomach churned. This was worse than welcoming newbies at the headquarters. Perhaps even worse than waiting on Henry’s doorstep. He wished Maniel was by his side. He felt alone. Vulnerable.

  The lights downstairs were flipped on. Endless seconds passed. Someone rushed down the stairs inside. Andeal’s throat tightened as the door swung open.

  He squinted against the glare as light spilled in the street and made out the dark shape of a tall woman. Henry froze. Why didn’t he say anything? Greet her, apologize for the hour. Something.

  She spoke first.

  “Good evening, mister stranger.”

  Andeal’s heart leapt. That voice. The familiar bouncy playfulness and welcoming warmth that used to greet him whenever he came home from class. How long had it been since he last heard it? Eight years? Suddenly Seraphin’s faith in their contact made perfect sense.

  “Hi. Hey. I’m Henry, I—”

  Andeal pushed his friend aside to get a better view. There was no mistaking the dark green hair cascading down her shoulders or the slightly prominent teeth in her wide grin. Treysh might be wearing pajama pants and a flouncy blouse instead of her usual flashy attire but here she was, miles away from Altaer and the university where they’d lived together. How? His mind refused to believe what his eyes told him.

  “Treysh?”

  His voice broke as he pronounced her name. What if his blue skin repulsed her? They’d shared a flat before his capture, when he was still somewhat a fat, chubby pale brown nerd. The long hours he’d spent holding her head above the toilet while she purged her excess of alcohol did not ensure Treysh would welcome him.

  “Andeal!” She closed the distance between them in a single stride and drew him into a tight embrace. She touched his skin without the slightest hesitation. A soft warmth spread through his stomach and though his heart beat hard, it was no longer from stress. She didn’t care.

  “You haven’t changed at all!” she declared as they pulled apart.

  A choked laugh escaped from his lips. “You did. You look more mature.”

  “Don’t be fooled, it’s all smokes.” She made a dramatic gesture with a poof sound. “Come inside. You two look exhausted!”

  Andeal hadn’t felt so alive since they’d launched out of Mount Kairn and he followed with pleasure. Henry fell behind, muttering something about dinner. The poor man must be dying for a real meal.

  On a peg inside hung Treysh’s favourite outfit: a long trench coat dyed in a deep red and a large-brimmed hat of the same color, with a new fluffy white feather. Years had worn the leather and paled the rich color, but it’d still stand out of any crowd. His old friend had always loved to clash with her surroundings. Next to her, his blue skin might even look normal.

  She led them into a cozy living room, no bigger than Andeal’s cavern chambers. A low sofa occupied most of the space and faced a fire hearth. Large bookshelves covered the walls, filled with adventure novels. He recognized some titles from their time together and the familiarity put him at ease. Elements of the decor here—the books, the large fireworks poster on the wall, the finger puppets of famous chemists—had been part of his home years ago, when the world seemed normal and safe. Sitting in the middle of them, Andeal allowed himself to relax.

  Treysh grabbed a chair in the dining room and dragged it over. She spun it around and sat in reverse, her forearms set on the chair’s back. That, too, brought old memories back.

  “How’s Maniel?”

  Treysh’s question brought him back to the brutal reality. He met his friend’s brown gaze, surprised.

  “How do you know about her?”

  “Oh, come on, Andeal! Don’t you think I’ve kept tabs on you all these years?” She had her mischievous grin—exactly like when she’d stolen chemicals from her school’s lab or came back with ninety-percent-pure ethanol for drinks. “Been working with Seraphin and taking news for some time now.”

  “He never told me about you.” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his tone. Why had his friend not told him? Then he realised that if Treysh knew, if Seraphin had tracked down friends from his old life, he might have done the same with his family. “Do my parents know? About me. About…”

  His voice trailed but he lifted his hands and stared at the bluish skin. Inside his palms it was paler, almost its original slightly-tanned skin. How horrified they would be.

  “Sorry, no.” She leaned back with an apologetic smile. “We thought about it, but Seraphin thinks the Union might spy on your parents in case you return.”

  Bitter bile welled in his stomach. Every year when his birthday came, he thought about seeking his parents out. Altaer was miles away, on the eastern shores of Regaria, and he never had the courage to cross the country. Not alone, with his blue skin. He’d tried to convince Maniel to follow, once. She’d had a girlfriend in Altaer—a fairly serious relationship—and she might want to send word to her family. But they both agreed that if they were caught, they would be dragged straight to Galen’s labs. Nothing was worth that risk.

  “All right. Not yet. Once this is all over, though…”

  Andeal ran a hand through his short hair and took a deep breath. How long would that take? The rebels were scattered or destroyed. How were they supposed to bring it to an end and give him back his life? Treysh put her hand on his knee.

  “You never told me how Maniel was,” she said.

  “Because I don’t know.” Every word pained him. “We were separated when they attacked Mount Kairn.”

  “So it’s just the two of you?”

  “And the balloon,” added Henry.

  “Wow.” She leaned forward and a fire burned in her eyes. Andeal recognized the passion their old tricks prompted but time had added a layer of seriousness to it. She knew this was no freshman joke. “Will you tell me what happened? Since the first bombs fell a week ago, the National Radio has been spilling out ridiculous lies three times a day. Can you believe they recorded that dreadful announcer and just replay the same text over and over?”

  “I can.” Henry turned as red as Treysh’s trench coat and wrung his hands together. “It’s just…I used to listen to it all the time. They always put news on repeat.”

  She glanced at her clock—a hexagon with lines jutting out of each corner, probably meant to be a benzene molecule. How typical. Like everything else about her, Treysh’s obsession with chemistry exceeded normal boundaries.

  “It’ll be on soon if you want to hear it,” she said.

  “Yeah, I’d love that,” Andeal said. “But do you have something to eat? We didn’t have much on the road.”

  Henry’s pleading eyes told Andeal he’d been holding the question back since forever. Treysh jumped to her feet.

  “Of course! I make a terrible host. Let me start that radio and I’ll fix you a late dinner while you listen. I sure don’t need to hear it all over again!”

  Treysh flipped the radio on. Her receiver had a smooth wooden arc and flowery motif etched around the speakers. Although the pattern was delicate and lovely, it clashed with Treysh’s science decor and eccentric
tastes.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “A boring ex.”

  Treysh grinned and scurried to the kitchens before Andeal could press her with questions. The announcer’s dragging voice filled the room, words flowing out with a metronome’s regularity.

  “As thousands of citizens mourn the destruction of Mount Kairn’s top, the Union soldiers continue to search for the White Renegade’s rebels, who have claimed this attack on one of the nation’s most powerful icons. Traces of the chemical substances used to produce the bombs were found and the authorities fear there might be more to come. We recommend that all citizens stay on high alert and report suspicious activities as quickly as possible.”

  Andeal’s fingers clenched on his pants. The Union had snuck in during night and ruined his home and life, and now they blamed the rebels for it. Such a simple lie, but why would anyone doubt it? This week’s newspaper probably told the same story.

  “Was it always like this?” Henry asked. “It all sounded so real, but…”

  “Almost always,” Andeal said. “The Clarin family built their empire on communications. They own the newspapers and the National Radio.”

  Henry’s expression turned into a mix of guilt and frustration. He must be reviewing all the big news he’d heard, questioning it. There were few other sources of information available and the world seemed to shift once you learned not to trust the radio. The radio’s neutrality—reinforced by its announcers’ drone voice—was taken for granted. Like the belief policemen would always protect the innocent. Then you were arrested, imprisoned, and snuck into a lab to be tested on, without warning or explanation, and all you could do was follow, thinking every step of the way that it had to be a dream, because these things did not happen in the real world. The handcuffs, the gruff officer, the unidentified van, the long interrogations—all scenes from a bad action flick. It had to be fake.