by Amy Braun
When the Wanderers were destroyed in The Storm, Sawyer became the last of the line. He salvaged and commandeered his father’s ship, rebuilt a small crew, and inherited all of his father’s enemies. The marauders were our best resources for help, but every single one of them wanted to shed Sawyer’s blood to repay what his family had done to them. He’d become a scapegoat for mistakes he didn’t make and actions he’d never been responsible for.
“The Southside is rioting, and the farmers are putting up a fight,” Sawyer informed. “Some of them are even demanding money for crops.”
I frowned. Survivors that spent over a decade in the underground tunnels were continuing to struggle for new beginnings on the surface. With the marauders steadily establishing dominance over the city, there was little they could offer besides labor. Farmers monopolizing crops was a sign they were being controlled by the pirates, or fearing they would be soon. For all we knew right now, the farmers could be trying to establish the same fierce consortium the Electricians had.
“We should head back,” Riley said. “The rest of the Rattails will be back any minute, and they’re not going to be happy with this mess.”
Glancing at all the broken furniture, toppled tables, dented walls, and blood drops on the hardwood floor, I had to agree. For once, Sawyer didn’t disagree with Riley. We shuffled through the fallen bodies, picking up weapons and bits of coin from their belts. Gemma was the biggest hoarder, taking anything that had even the slightest gleam to it. I didn’t exactly approve, but looting was what pirates did best. And Gemma was obsessed with shiny things.
Sawyer walked stiffly past me. There were some bruises darkening his sun-browned skin, but he didn’t seem too injured. Though I didn’t like the way he cradled his ribs.
“Are sure you’re all right?” I asked, following him closely.
“I’d be better if you stopped chasing after us on missions,” he grumbled.
I scowled at him. “I’m trying to help you–”
“You’re making me worry,” he snapped harshly. “If any of the marauders find out who you are, you think they’ll let you walk away unscathed?” He nodded aggressively at Riley’s back. “Or him? His job is to protect you while we get information, not be your personal set of fists every time you run off to play warrior.”
We had just passed through the front doors of the tavern when I grabbed Sawyer’s elbow and yanked him to a stop. He whirled on me, freezing me in place with burning gold eyes. Around us, the latest snow of winter began to fall lazily over our heads. The night was cold–my green work shirt, black waist belt, cargo pants, work boots, and short trench coat did little to stop the biting wind–but I was almost boiling with anger.
“This is about Davin, isn’t it?” I shot. “You’re worried he’ll come back.”
“Leave it alone, Firecracker,” he warned, using the nickname I loathed as an attempt to ward me off.
It didn’t work as he hoped.
“Sawyer, you don’t need to worry about him. If serving the Vesper was so important to Davin, wouldn’t he have attacked already?”
“We don’t know his plan, and that’s what we need to be afraid of. The other Clans don’t know he’s alive. As long as he can keep that secret, the marauders will keep coming for me. I could scream that he’s alive until I’m blue in the face, and it won’t matter because they will never believe me. They’ll remember that the Dauntless crashed and supposedly burned, then laugh in my face before they kill me.” Sawyer must have seen something in my eyes, because he suddenly looked down. When he spoke again, his voice was on the edge of control. “I’m trying to sort out my priorities. Keep my crew alive, find your parents’ ship so we can close the Breach, and watch out for my brother. But you’re at the center of it all, risking your life when you’re the one I need most.”
My hand wavered on his elbow. He couldn’t mean it the way I thought he did. Sawyer made it clear months ago that he didn’t care about me the way I cared about him. I was trying to make peace with it, painful as it was. But then he said things like this, and that peace began to shatter.
I took a careful step closer to him. “Sawyer–”
He pulled his arm back, away from my hand. “We can make a stop at Davy’s. He’ll get us some food. At least our deal with him still stands.”
Sawyer turned on his heel and walked after Gemma and Nash. I continued to watch him, my heart in my throat. Sawyer was infuriating and difficult, the definition of stubborn and confusing, but the walls around him were beginning to break. He was struggling and wouldn’t let anyone help him. The weight of his family name was crushing him.
I understood, better than he thought. I was scorned, considered a failure because my parents had failed to close the Breach in time, allowing the Hellions to come through and destroy the lives of everyone in Westraven and the country of Aon beyond. Those few that did survive were forced from the comforts of their old lives, living a sickly existence in the bowels of the city, scavenging whatever they could and obeying violent warlords that held onto their pathetic thrones with an iron grip.
My hand went around my throat, touching the silver chain around my neck and stopping when my fingers brushed the black steel skeleton key. I rotated it between my fingers, looking at the shining, simple item with four blocky teeth. It had been ten years since my mother gave it to me in a moment of desperation, before she sent me away with my sister and left us to fight the Hellions. I never saw her again.
You’re a strong, smart, brave girl, Claire. You have mine and your father’s talents. One day you’ll use that key, and you’ll save us all.
The last words she ever said to me. Words that to this day, I had no hope of understanding. I sighed and placed the key back under my shirt. Snowflakes melted on my face. I raised my head and looked at the clouds slowly drifting through the sky. There was nothing ominous about them. If anything, they looked almost casual as they floated by, leaving powdery white debris behind.
As beautiful as the snow was, I only felt the cold. It sank through my skin and chilled me to the marrow of my bones. Somewhere beyond those clouds was a tear in the sky. An entrance to another dimension where monsters lurked in the dark. Monsters that wanted something from me.
Despite what I said to Sawyer, I didn’t think we’d seen the last of the Hellions. And when they returned, I wasn’t sure we would be able to withstand their fury.
Chapter 2
The gentle snowfall became a full-fledged storm after we left the tavern. It became too dangerous for us to make our rendezvous with Davy, our local food supplier. We had to hope that he would be willing to find another day to restock us. Sawyer, Gemma, and Nash fought off other marauders and thieves attacking Davy in exchange for food, water, and fabrics. But with winter coming, Davy insisted he would hunker down for the snowy months. We would be lucky if we got half of what Sawyer originally bargained for.
Using our stolen Hellion skiff, we careened through the whipping snow toward the ports of Westraven. Before The Storm, Westraven was the pinnacle of trade, ships coming from all edges of Aon to barter and exchange good and services. That all stopped when the Hellions invaded and set up blockades around Westraven, making it impossible for survivors to escape. Those walls were currently being demolished by engineers and angry survivors determined to leave the city while they had a chance, a few brave souls adapting our idea and stealing any fallen Hellion skiffs they came across. No one really knew where they would go, or if there was still anywhere to go.
A few of the new explorers left for days, coming back with grim faces and saying they found nothing. Rumors started to form about the other cities being obliterated after The Storm hit Westraven. Ten years of destruction would leave none alive, and the Behemoth had remained over Westraven as a warning. No one knew for sure, and our crew wouldn’t leave. I didn’t know who was taking the greater risk–those who wanted to carve out a new life for themselves past the barricade, or us for staying behind in a dead city.
; My indecision and curiosity dissipated when I spotted the rounded air hangar sitting in the middle of a hundred yard tarmac.
Despite being the only reliable station in the city, few survivors ventured by the remnants of the ports. Demolished from countless Hellion attacks and considered cursed, the Wanderers decided to make their home and berth there. Inside the air hangar behind the port’s lonely tower, sat the Dauntless Wanderer, the ship that had been at the heart of so many nightmares over a decade ago.
It always amused me to think that the ship I used to fear was now my home, and the safest place I could be.
Sawyer lowered the skiff to the ground about fifteen feet from the door, right where the concrete turned into sheets of metal plating. Sawyer let the engine idle and I stood up. I grabbed a pair of thick gloves from a compartment near the mast, pushing aside the billow of the pitch black sails tied to the metal post. Once I slipped the gloves on, I hopped out of the small, roughly constructed ship. I was always glad to be off the stolen, scorched vessel, even though I knew the dried blood had been cleaned away and the horrible spear figurehead was removed. Every time I looked at the bolted patches of metal, all I could think about was the Hellions leaping from it to grab anyone their onyx claws could reach, or using the spear to skewer victims and carry them to an even more agonizing death.
But like the Dauntless becoming a new home, I had to admit the skiff was useful. It was fast, tough, and made any other Clans think twice about crossing us. The memories of the skiffs and the creatures that owned them were still too fresh in our minds.
Returning my attention to the tarmac, I pulled a custom-made torch from my belt. I pulled it apart slowly, listening to the familiar gears click together as the glass tube emitted a warm yellow light. I walked five careful steps, then knelt down, took out a length of thin rope with a wide fisherman’s hook at the end, and looked for the tripwire.
It was so well hidden I could barely see it myself, but if I couldn’t, neither would our enemies. Tucked in the two-inch crevice between the cracked tarmac and metal plates was a black wire. Being exceedingly cautious, I slipped the hook into the crevice and searched for a much larger wire. It took a few tries, but this route was safer than using a magnet. My Pitfall detected any large vibration that passed over it, and proceeded to send a massive electric charge through the metal plating, effectively frying everything on the plates. The trap’s charge wouldn’t hit the air hangar, so we would be safe. I made damn sure of that, since the charge I used was a fraction of the power from my Volt, the device I used to help bring the Behemoth to the ground. The device that killed dozens of Hellions–and nearly the entire Wanderer crew–in the process. Since that day, I’d been toying with the power of electrical charges. Now that Garnet Dayton’s substations were up for grabs, I was able to take his electron-cells and charge more than one device. It made for impressive designs and constantly powered equipment, as well as effective traps.
The hook finally slid underneath the cable. I drew it up slowly, glad that I’d hooked it near the timer. It was a cylinder connector with a stopwatch set to tick aimlessly at midnight. I put the torch aside and took a screwdriver with a slim head from my belt. I opened the back of the stopwatch and turned it off. Once everyone was in the hangar, all I had to do was flip the breaker switch by the door to reset the trap.
Satisfied that I wouldn’t electrocute myself or my crew, I closed the back of the watch, lowered the cable into the crevice, gathered my things, and hurried back to the skiff.
“We clear?” Sawyer asked when I’d climbed on.
I smirked at him. “As if you ever doubted me.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Apparently his bad mood had gotten worse. I sighed and took my seat next to Gemma. Sawyer pitched the skiff into motion and drove across the metal plating to the hangar. He drew to a stop again, and this time it was Nash and Riley who jumped out. They jogged to the door, grabbed the thick chains on either side, and used their muscles to draw it up. As soon as there was enough space, Sawyer drifted the skiff into the main bay area.
Nash and Riley hurried to shut the hangar door, though Sawyer insisted we hadn’t been followed. By the time Sawyer parked the skiff Gemma and I were about to exit with him, Nash and Riley were back at our sides. Sawyer jumped off without help, but Gemma practically threw herself onto Nash. He grunted from the sudden impact of her embrace, but never let her fall. They laughed and he hugged her tight. Riley was waiting for me on the floor, a gentle smile on his face and his hands open to ease me down. He lowered me onto the floor, but kept my hand in his.
“Your hands are freezing,” he said, pulling me closer. His hands slid up my arms. “Your whole body’s cold.” He started rubbing my biceps gently.
“I’m all right,” I told him as his touch sent warm shivers through me.
Not taking my answer at face value, Riley shrugged out of his coat and swept it over my shoulders. I was about to protest, until the warm material settled over me. I recognized his breezy, refreshing scent, and relaxed almost instantly. Riley smiled, watching my face with beautiful blue eyes.
“What about you?” I blurted out. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”
“I’ll get a blanket,” he assured me. “Besides, Abby would never forgive me if you got sick.”
The mention of my sister’s name took me away from thoughts of Riley.
“I should go see if she’s feeling better.” I walked for the Dauntless Wanderer, Riley matching me step for step.
“I’m sure Moira took good care of her,” he said. I nodded absently, thinking about the woman from my old colony, a nurse who offered to join Sawyer’s crew after the Behemoth was burned from the sky. She had been the only one willing to come onto the Dauntless with us. The other survivors chose to either run and find loved ones or new homes, unwilling to join a marauder crew that could get them killed. I didn’t blame them, but I remembered the way Sawyer’s shoulders had slumped when only one woman stepped forward.
“I might be able to help,” he explained, taking me out of my thoughts so I could I look at him. “Her sickness might be a lingering effect of what happened to her.”
In the three months since her capture and torture on the Behemoth, I thought Abby would get better. I expected the nightmares to continue, though she would physically improve.
I hadn’t expected her to get worse.
Riley and I approached the Dauntless Wanderer, where Abby and I slept so her screams wouldn’t wake the others who slept in the cavernous hangar. It was a three-masted barque built of taupe iron. Heavy bolts welded the siding together, nearly hiding the patchy bits of scrap metal used in its repair. New black sails adorned each mast and almost all of the canons had been refurbished. The gold script reading Dauntless Wanderer had been repainted. The vessel actually looked like a ship now, rather than a blocky piece of junk metal.
While Gemma, Nash, and even Sawyer admitted the Dauntless was becoming stronger and better than she ever had been, our captain was hesitant to bring the ship out into the broken world. Gemma argued for taking the Dauntless out of the ports, saying it was time to let others know we could fly. It wasn’t the first time we’d tested the ship in the air, but we only risked on cloudy nights. Sawyer argued back with his usual stubbornness– saying that as soon as the Dauntless was seen, it would be the target for every marauder Clan on the ground. Not only that, but it would attract the attention of any Hellion that passed through the Breach. Older marauders would recognize the Dauntless immediately, and stop at nothing to take it for themselves. Sawyer would die before he gave his ship up for anything.
So I found ways to improve it. I made a self-powering generator to create a more efficient engine that wouldn’t die on us if we took a flight that was longer than expected. Fog lights were built on the bow of the ship to see through thick clouds. New, electrically charging guns would cut down on reloading time if–or when–we encountered any dangers.
A small smile crossed my face as
I remembered the feel of the wind pushing long strands of blonde hair from my face, the sight of fluffy clouds as they parted for us, the smell and taste of cool, fresh air, untouched by ten years worth of airships and their polluting fumes.
I grabbed the netting dangling from the starboard side of the ship and began to climb. Riley moved up beside me, grinning mischievously. I smiled back at him, signaling that I was game. Almost a second later, we sprang into motion. We raced to the top, scaling the nets as fast as we could. By the time we pulled ourselves onto the deck of the ship, we were laughing and out of breath.
