by Nick James
He approached the driver-side window carefully but quickly. The vehicle shuddered as the engine struggled in the heat.
The driver slid down the window and appraised him. He was an older man with an abundance of facial hair. Just looking at his bushy brown beard made Cassius sweat.
The man removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes as if he was staring at a mirage. “What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was gritty and loud.
“Thank god,” Cassius wheezed. “I’m stranded. I didn’t think I’d make it until-”
“Calm down.” The man held out a hand to silence him. “I can tell you’re stranded. Ain’t no reason to be all the way out here if you weren’t. Thing is, I’ve been through these parts hundreds of times and I’ve never seen someone out on their own between towns, especially a kid like you. Folks are talkin’ about some sort of train explosion down south. You’re not from the city, are you?”
Cassius took a second to concoct a convincing story, careful to conceal his ID socket-a dead giveaway.
A believable lie would require a certain level of emotion. Luckily, after hours alone in the desert Cassius was already panicked. He wouldn’t need to put on much of an act. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. My dad and I were traveling east and our car ran out of power a few miles down. My father… he didn’t… ” He paused, looking down at the ground. “The heat was too much. I’ve been out here ever since and you’re the first person I’ve seen.”
The driver drummed his fingers on the car door. “East, eh? I’ve got family out east. Fact, that’s where I’m headed now.” He sighed, staring at Cassius’s desperate face. “You got someone back there waiting for you?”
“My mother,” Cassius responded.
The man nodded, thinking it over for a moment. “You can hop in the back if you want, but keep quiet. I like my space while I’m driving.”
“That’s all right.” Cassius smiled, though east wasn’t the direction he needed to go. “There’s just one thing. I left my bag over by the bushes.” He pointed off to the side of the road, hoping that the driver wasn’t paying much attention. “It’s got water and rations and stuff. You know, what I could take from the car. It’s the only reason I’ve been able to keep going.”
The man frowned. “So go get it.”
“It’s heavy,” Cassius continued, slumping over to look as pathetic as possible. “If you could just help me drag it to the car, I’ll let you take what you want. The sun has made me so weak I can barely stand.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie, but he hoped he’d have enough energy left for one quick attack. All he needed was for the guy to get out of the car.
The man appraised him for a second before giving a great sigh and turning off the engine. He pushed open the driver-side door, shaking his head as he stepped onto the road, no doubt craving rations as much as Cassius was.
He was nearly a foot taller than Cassius, but fairly thin and clearly not expecting a fight. Cassius gritted his teeth. If he didn’t do this right the first time, it was over.
The man rubbed the back of his neck, scanning the landscape. “Now where’s this bag of yours?”
Cassius pointed off to the side of the road and the man stepped forward, turning his back to him.
As soon as he did, Cassius punched the Fringer right behind the ear, quickly and with enough force to send him slumping over sideways onto the ground. The guy struggled for a few seconds as he slid to the pavement, then stopped moving altogether.
Cassius toyed with the idea of taking the keys and leaving the man out in the open. Less trouble that way. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d already been responsible for so many deaths. The thought of one more, especially one so pointless, sickened him. He wasn’t the bad guy.
So he pried the keys from the man’s hand and walked to the back of the car, unlocking the trunk. With the energy he had left, he grabbed the guy’s ankles and pulled him along the road and up into the trunk. His muscles strained with the weight. As soon as he stuffed the last limp arm inside, he closed the hatch and made his way to the front.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, he realized he’d never had the chance to drive an actual automobile before. He couldn’t imagine it was very hard, especially in such a barren landscape.
He tried two keys before finding the right one. The engine buzzed to life and he discovered how to shift the vehicle into drive. Spinning the wheel, he made a sharp U-turn and barreled down the empty road, pushing the old junker to its limit.
36
The three of us stand before a cobbled-together, twenty-first century castle. At least that’s what it reminds me of. A high brick wall connects dozens of mismatched buildings, forming an almost impenetrable complex. Almost impenetrable. Half of the buildings look like they’re about to collapse onto the ground.
Bobby leads us across a wide, empty street. “After the electricity shut off, folks that stayed behind started gathering at the old university. Easier to power than the whole city.”
We approach the nearest building. Avery runs her fingers across a cracked pillar propping up a wide portico. “Do you have a generator?”
“Nah.” He darts up a wide staircase. “Those things bit the dust ages ago. Uni Power comes from the wind field at the north end of town. Kept us going longer than I’ve been alive.”
“Wait,” I follow him onto a concrete landing beside the doorway. “You power this whole city with a bunch of turbines?”
“Just Uni.” He yanks open the heavy door. “The blades aren’t strong enough for the whole town. It’s no worry, though. We don’t have none of those fancy gizmos like the rest of you. Just the basics. Temperature control. Light. They used to call Lenbrg the windy city of the west. Turbines were here way before the bombings.”
We slip inside, shutting away the heat. Clean, cool air swirls around me. I take a deep breath, easing my scratchy throat. Temperature control: gotta love it.
Staircases border the tight rectangular entryway on both sides. The lights are switched off, leaving the room dim and shadowy. Beams of sunlight stream through patched-up windows above us.
Bobby heads to a nearby bench and climbs on top, standing to read an old-fashioned manual clock hung high on the wall. After pausing for a moment in thought, he slips down and takes a seat. “Community lunch in twenty. Barkley’ll be there before taking off for the mountains.”
Avery nods. “And that Fringe gang?”
“Aw, don’t worry about them. They’ll be long gone. Just antsy, that’s all.” He drums his heels against the bench. “Comin’ up on the anniversary of the Chosens. Everybody’s antsy.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, trying to look casual. “Why’s that?”
Bobby shrugs. “People here don’t care much. But down in YakTown? I hear they wanna send a message. Big Fringe revolt or something.” He sighs. “They won’t get it together, though. Too unorganized.” He wipes the sweat from his brow. “There’re tons of criminals down there, you know? Ever since the government started chucking ’em outside the Net. Sometimes they come up to Uni. That’s why we’ve built the wall.” He stands and motions for us to follow him through the building. We make it three steps before a man’s voice stops us.
“Bobby Henderson,” the voice bellows from somewhere above us like an angry spirit. I spin around, searching the room. A man steps out from the shadows and clomps down the staircase on the left.
When he reaches the bottom I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s not some mass intimidating soldier or Fringe gang leader. In fact, the guy looks a lot like Bobby-tank top, dark trousers. He’s much older. Cleaner, too. A roughed-up bowler hat sits on top of his curly hair. He glares at Bobby. “What in god’s name have you been up to this morning?”
“Nothing, Pops.” Bobby tiptoes back to join us.
The guy’s eyebrows raise. “That’s not what Horatio said. A crossbow, Bobby? Really?”
He shrugs. “Just something I found. Those g
uys are bad news.”
“Damn right they are. That’s why I handle them, not you. I’ve told you a million times not to travel to the south side alone.” He pauses, as if noticing us for the first time. “Who’re they?”
Bobby twitches and glances over at us.
Realizing he’s not going to get an answer, the man faces us, arms crossed. “Who are you? You ain’t Fringe, that’s for sure.”
“They’re Shippers,” Bobby replies. “I rescued ’em.”
The man’s eyes narrow as he looks us up and down. “Since when do Shippers need rescuing?”
Avery steps forward, hands clasped behind her back. “We’re just passing through, sir.”
He frowns. “Is this about Pearls? Because there hasn’t been a landing near Lenbrg since last July so don’t start thinkin’-”
“It’s not about Pearls,” she says.
I move forward and stand beside her. “This is… uh… a mass nice place you’ve got here.”
The guy shoots me a look like I’ve just attempted the worst joke in the history of the world. “Bobby, over here. I need to have a word with you.”
Bobby slumps over to the staircase. The second he’s close enough, his dad grabs him by the back of his tank top and spins him around, speaking in an annoyed murmur.
I tug at Avery’s sleeve and whisper. “Maybe we should leave.”
“Just wait.”
After a minute of hushed conversation, Bobby and his father turn back to face us.
“I’m sorry if my son has given you any ideas,” the man says. “Things come outta his mouth before he thinks them through, don’t they boy?”
Bobby nods, his father’s hand gripping his right shoulder.
“I’m not without heart,” he continues, “and I can’t forget how your type have helped us in the past. They’ll be serving lunch over at the canteen. Grab a meal if you’d like, but after that I’m gonna have to ask you folks to leave. It’s nothing personal. We just can’t afford to get involved with things.”
“I think you’re misunderstanding,” Avery interjects.
“No, I think I understand perfectly,” he counters. “You’re heading to Seattle. Sounds like Tribunal business to me.”
“It’s not,” I reply. “It’s… personal.”
He crosses his arms. “From the looks of your clothing, you’ve been banged up already. Tribunal or not, you’re illegal. We’ve got enough problems with the Unified Party as is, folks comin’ in and accusing us of Pearl trading. If they find out we helped you, they’ll make me disappear for good. Just the way it is. I’m sorry.”
Bobby rolls his eyes.
His father doesn’t notice. His grip on his son’s shoulder loosens. “Why don’t you take ’em to the cafeteria, Bobby? Point them out west when they’ve finished eating. Don’t follow.” He glances at us, his expression softening. “We’re peaceful folks, here. It’s not in my nature to turn people away, but I’ve gotta think of my town. That train crash last night didn’t help things.” He sighs. “I need to go work on a letter to send back with Horatio. Straight to lunch, Bobby. Please.” He pushes past us and starts up the steps. Halfway up he pauses and looks over his shoulder. “Nice to meet you both.”
We nod in response. Then he’s gone.
Bobby slinks over, motioning down the hallway. “Sorry about that. He’s grumpy, that’s all.”
I shrug. “Hey, I’m just happy he’s not trying to kill me.”
Bobby grimaces. “Give him time, man.” He starts off down the hallway toward a glass door. “Follow me.”
As soon as he pulls open the door, a wall of smothering heat smacks into us. We walk down the steps onto a gravel pathway. Mounds of dirt and crispy grass surround us on all sides. As we cut across the expansive courtyard, Bobby talks about the city. How it used to be called Ellensburg before vandals started stealing the letters from the town sign. How Lenbrg, like a few Northern Fringe Towns, had avoided the inevitable gang control and lawlessness of the Fringes to become a haven for people trying to make a decent life outside of the Chosens.
We continue along a footbridge stretching over a dying stream-nothing but a pathetic trickle left. A group of linen-clad Fringers tends to a garden on the far side of a brown field. I can’t imagine what they could possibly be growing. I’m surprised they’re trying at all.
“Straight up through here.” Bobby leads us under a balcony and into an enormous, two-story complex. I relish the temperature-controlled air as we step inside. A slew of people bustle around the expansive, partially-lit cafeteria just below the entryway. The sign at the edge of town said that there were more than 700 residents in Lenbrg. I think they’re all in this room.
We head down a ramp and file into line with hundreds of hungry Fringers. I shove my hands in my pockets again, keeping my head low. The smell of grilled vegetables and chicken streams out from the kitchen about twenty people away from us. This line can’t move quickly enough.
“Do all you Shippers wear fancy clothes like that?” Bobby touches the wilting, ragged collar of my shirt. The thing’s half-unbuttoned and spattered with dirt. Hardly fancy.
“It was a special day at our school,” Avery answers. “We’re not normally in suits.”
Bobby drums his restless fingers on his hip. “You go to school?”
She nods. “Of a sort.”
I glance around at the people in line in front of us. They stare back, not even trying to conceal their nosiness. All of a sudden, my heart races at the thought that maybe these people aren’t flaunt with us being here after all. Maybe it’s all a plot to fry us up for dinner or something. I don’t wanna be a burger.
Bobby catches me looking and shoves my shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. Just gawkers. I’ve brought people in before.” He turns and waves at the onlookers, who respond by questioning and criticizing him with unblinking stares. Thankfully, that’s all they do.
The queue shuffles forward. I try to change the subject. “So where do you guys get all this food?”
Bobby grabs a plastic tray from the nearest countertop. “Got a small farm up at north campus where the football field used to be, but loads of it’s scavenged from deserted towns. You should see our collection. Boxes and cans up to the ceiling.” He passes trays to Avery and me. “Every once in a while we get Skyship food. Pearl trades, Tribunal food banks… stuff like that.”
I crane my neck to see into the dining area. Rows of lengthy cafeteria-style tables stretch down the wide, carpeted room. The place is half full already, and mass loud. A whole bucket-load of eyes laser onto my face. I dart back behind a stack of dishes. I guess if a newbie showed up at the Academy we’d all be staring too, but that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable.
We pass under an old ratty American flag hanging from a banister that runs along the ceiling. No Skyship flag. No Unified Party emblems, either.
“Hope you don’t mind using your fingers,” Bobby says as we near the serving counters. “We don’t bring the silverware out too much.”
I look down at the line of plates filled with vegetables and hunks of chicken. Right now I’d lick the plate like a dog if it came to that.
“Not much to choose from,” Bobby whispers as a lady spoons food onto his plate. “Hope you like potatoes.”
Once we’re served, we make our way down a second ramp and into the dining area. I keep my attention fixed on the food on my plate, trying to ignore the rows of people staring up at us. Bobby drags us all the way to the end of the room, heading for two older men who sit alone in the corner. They’re deep in conversation, but Bobby squeezes in close anyway.
“George,” he taps the shoulder of the nearest guy, motioning for us to sit next to him. “Yo George, what’s up?”
The man stops mid-sentence and glares at him. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Yeah, sure.” Bobby grabs a piece of chicken and tears into it. “I got cargo for you.”
Avery and I exchange looks. Cargo?
Ge
orge removes his glasses, rubs his eyes, and glances at us. “Ain’t never seen you kids around here before.”
I meet his wizened eyes. The guy’s got to be pushing fifty, with a receding hairline to prove it. There’s a curiosity in his expression that’s a little off-putting, like he wants to stuff us and prop us up in his room for display.
“Skyshippers.” Bobby’s voice quiets to a whisper. “Pops didn’t like me bringing them in, but what are you gonna do, right?”
George pushes his empty plate to the man sitting across the table from him. “Go see if they’ve got more of them potatoes, Jim.”
Jim nods, standing up and leaving the table. George leans forward. “ Again, Henderson? Thought you’d have learned your lesson from last time.”
Avery grabs a carrot from her plate. “Last time?”
Bobby sighs. “I met these kids from the Chosens. You know, runaways. Big deal.”
George scoffs. “Big deal? They were wanted by the government. You nearly brought the Unified Party right to our doorstep, boy.”
Bobby shakes his head. “It was the right thing to do. It’s not like they hurt anyone. Stupid government laws. Went outside of their work orders. They just wanted a place to hide.”
“What happened to them?” I ask.
“Government threatened to take out the town,” George mutters. “We turned ’em in. Had to.”
Bobby swallows a large chunk of chicken. “Still feel guilty about that, don’t ya Barkley?”
“We do what we have to so they’ll leave us in peace,” he grunts, “something you don’t seem to understand, Bobby. Draggin’ in strays like this.”
“They ain’t Unified Party,” he counters. “They’re just trying to get to Seattle. Told ’em you could help. Maybe.”
He frowns. “Is that right? Now what would two sky kids want to go to Seattle for? I thought the idea was to leave the Surface for good.”
“It’s not Skyship business,” Avery replies, “or government. We’re on a personal mission.”
He chuckles. “Personal mission? Personal suicide mission, maybe. The Colony don’t like strangers crossing the mountains, especially strangers from above. Shoulda snuck in down south, or out west over the peninsula. Don’t you have shuttles?”
