by Brindi Quinn
At least I had the Director’s call to warn when the rains were moving in. His voice would sound over the megaphones, giving the five-minute warning to take cover. I needed to escape the city before that happened. The rains beyond were safe.
Threat out there was of a different kind.
The alleys were tight. At the narrowest parts, my elbows scuffed and scraped against the rough metal casing the buildings. I ignored it, even as my arms turned raw. I was preoccupied with watching the green mark on my hand, waiting for it to turn red. The moment it turned red, he’d take pursuit. Even now, he was probably standing at the entrance to the University towers, holding that pen, waiting for it, too, to change color. Once that happened, he’d have tracking on me for an hour, one harrowing hour, and then I’d be given time to rest before the next light of tracking.
I wouldn’t use that time to rest, though. I’d use it to move farther and farther away from my Marker.
At the end of the alley, I turned down another, wider than the last. This way was snug, but at least I was avoiding the crowds and any potential delays. At least I was remaining out of sight. Even once the tracker activated, the unholy one wouldn’t know which level of the city I was on. It was best to stay concealed. That was my only hope if I wanted to make it out of the city without being spotted–
“Ladies and gents, this is your Director speaking. Be advised that you have five minutes until the rains come. Take cover, my darlings. And have a cozy life here in Eastern City.”
Crackling, the speakers of the city resounded with the Director’s warning. Soon to follow was the anxious flurry of residents gathering their children and belongings as they rushed to take cover, huddling under the awnings or slipping into any buildings that yet had space to spare. It was like this every time the Director’s warning sounded. Panic responded to the call. There were some that didn’t even venture outside anymore, for fear of being caught in the rain.
As for me, I let out a frustrated sound only I could hear, “Tch!” and rethought my exit strategy.
Damn. Now, there was no way I could stay on this path. Like everyone else, I had to take cover. As soon as I found a clearing, I popped out and crossed over Century Avenue where the wealthy lofts lay. I made a sprint over the open street before getting lost again in the network of underground garages where the wealthy people kept their zippers. Sleek, shiny and slender, the automotives were the only way of getting anywhere in the city, aside from walking. If I had a zipper now, I’d move through the air, over the ground, and around the buildings at top speed, beating the rains altogether. But that was fanciful thinking, the kind Karán would look at with disapproval. No sane person would lend a zipper to a marked one like me. I was alone in this escape. It was up to my feet to propel me.
The underground garages were already becoming flooded with people. Women continued the conversations they’d been having outside, toting their wares from the market or their documents from work. Men joked with one another and admired the zippers positioned on platforms overhead. It was a ruse to keep the children at ease, or maybe it was to keep themselves at ease. Acting normal masked the sense of urgency in the air.
I shuffled through them the best I could, but they were slowing me down. At least the dastardly rain came in small doses. In a few minutes, I’d be free to continue on outside.
As the first sounds of raindrops began to beat against the ceiling, an unexpected sense of relief came over me. If I was stuck inside, it meant that he was too. Even if the tracker activated, the unholy one wouldn’t be able to come for me, not yet. With that in mind, I slowed down on the opposite side of the garage. It wouldn’t do any good to move deeper underground because I’d also be moving deeper into the city, so I settled next to a gaggle of middle-aged men near one of the entrances. There, I doubled over and at last let myself pant. I was fast, maybe even the fastest, and so far, adrenaline had carried me, but now, I was forced to stop and rest for the first time.
My lungs heaved in deep gasping breaths.
Get control, I told myself. Take control of your lungs.
I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing – in and out, in and out. It wasn’t all that hard to do. I’d practiced breathing exercises and panic scenarios in the past. In and out. In and out. Slow, deep breaths were key. When I’d gained composure again, I opened my eyes and straightened, but something had changed. One of the nearby middle-aged men was muttering to another of the men, and both were staring at me.
No, they were staring at my hand.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the red illumination even before I turned to look. Immediately, my pulse quickened.
It was done. The tracker had triggered, and the moment the rain stopped, that boy, with hair of fire and eyes of ice, would come for me.
Chapter 4: Rats in the Warehouse
The world stunk like rain, and the air was thick with cool moisture, as I bolted through the city, avoiding puddles, and grateful for the specially crafted boots that protected my feet from the groundwater.
For one hour he’d know exactly where I was. The key was to confuse him. I knew the city, and even with a map, he didn’t, not really. In the warehouse district, there was a long row of machine sheds, behind which, there was a slender passage that butted up alongside the walls of the city. But the entrances to the passage were few and well concealed. I would follow that route to one of the unmarked exits and out into the wilderness; and even if the unholy one were somehow able to catch up to me, he’d be caught up at the sheds, unable to reach me.
I rushed on, through the gray streets, past the implanted screens blaring perky announcements from the Director until, after another twenty minutes of fleeing, I came to the place where the warehouses started.
The third shed from the corner of Bulloin Boulevard had a loose panel in the back, a place where the aluminum was rusted and then boarded over. That was where I would slip in. After that, I’d be safe.
Or so I was banking on.
But when I came to the entrance of the red, rain-worn shed, I had no choice but to let out a,
“Damn.” Again, I swore, “Damn.”
The shed’s massive, rolling doors, which had always been open, were now chained shut.
I ran to them and shook at the chains, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think that any burst of strength would allow me to dismantle them. I needed to find another way in. Because there wasn’t time for frustration, I swallowed my third ‘damn,’ and studied the face of the building. All of the warehouses where flush against one another, leaving no crevice between. That was also what I’d been counting on to form a protective wall between my Marker and me. If I was going to break in, it had to be through the front . . . or through the walls of one the adjacent buildings. There was another entrance to the passage, much farther into the district, but I couldn’t risk staying exposed for that long. I had to find a way in, and fast.
The shed to the left was open and flooded with workers. I sidled in, right hand inconspicuously in my pocket.
Help wouldn’t be given to a marked one, but . . .
“Excuse me, Sir?”
One of the workers was older than the rest, with wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, showing off a good-natured spirit. He was loading metal strips into a cart. “Yes?” he said, turning.
“I’m here from the University on a research project.”
He looked me up and down until his grayed eyes settled on the backpack over my shoulder.
I went on, “I was hoping to get into warehouse three because I’m supposed to take pictures of the exhaust vents for my escapism class, but it looks like it’s all closed up for some reason.”
The man wiped the back of his hand over his sweaty brow. “Rats,” he said.
“Rats?”
“A whole bunch of ‘em. Found ‘em when we did our last inventory. Place was smoked a few days ago. No one’s supposed to enter till we’re given the all-clear from HC.”
HC, that was Hassle Control.
“What if I just tuck in for a moment?” I asked. “Hold my breath, take a few snapshots? The smoke should be settled by now.”
The man shook his head.
I was beginning to feel the influence of panic again. How much time had I wasted already?
“I know it isn’t your problem, but is there anything you can do for me?” I asked, more desperate this time. “They didn’t say a word about this when they gave me the assignment, and they’re very strict on their deadlines–”
“Sorry, girl. ‘Fraid I can’t help you.”
With that, the man returned to his work. I scanned the rest of the room. On one of the workbenches, there was clipboard. Checking first to make sure no one was watching, I slipped the thing under my arm, turned on toe, and hustled out of the warehouse.
A new plan was forming in my mind.
This time, I darted to the shed on the right. This one was also busy and bustling with workers, but it wasn’t as crowded as the first. I scanned the room before landing on a woman much cleaner than the rest. She was in charge. I knew it by the clean cut of her fingernails.
A dirtied man in goggles was operating a large machine at the side of the shed.
“Excuse me, Sir?”
He looked up from his work but continued to press the buttons on the screen in his hand. I continued,
“Could you please tell me, that woman over there, is she Ms. . . .”
“Ms. Northman,” the man completed. “Ms. Helena Northman.”
I nodded politely. “Thank you. That’s what I thought,” I lied.
Now that I knew her name, I was ready. I fought away the creeping knowledge that I was wasting far too much time here. I also fought away the image of my Marker’s piercing blue gaze as, right hand hidden in my pocket, I held the clipboard in my left and briskly approached the clean woman. Her hair was slicked into a neat bun high at the top of her head.
“Helena Northman?” I made eye contact with her before pretending to study the clipboard.
She put her hand to her hip. “I am she.”
“I’m here on assignment from HC. It’s about the extermination in warehouse three,” I lied.
“Oh?”
“I’m supposed to go in and see if it’s safe to give the all-clear.”
The woman tipped her head. “You’re still at the University, aren’t you? Why would they send a student to investigate?”
I told my breath to be steady. I needed to sound genuine for this to work. “I volunteered. I’m turning twenty tomorrow, so I figured . . .”
The woman’s jaw went tight.
“I’m really slow,” I lied, eyes downcast.
The woman’s jaw went even tighter. “I understand,” she said. “And if you don’t come out?”
“Chain the door behind me. They’ll send another student in a week.”
The woman nodded. “I’ll grab the key.”
The lie worked because things like that weren’t unheard of. Until we passed through our twentieth year, we were disposable. Our city was overpopulated as it was, especially after the loss of livable space in Tenth District last year. Energy shortage . . . fire . . . at times it seemed like Eastern City was cursed.
Maybe it was.
Apprehensively fidgeting, I wondered how much gain I’d lost and how close the unholy one was to me now. I tried not to let it show. Be strong, I urged myself. You won’t let him catch you.
But only after the clean woman undid the lock on warehouse three did I begin to believe it once more.
The chain fell from the door with a clash!
The woman swallowed once, before turning her back to me. She was sentimental, more so than most of the adults in the city.
“If I’m not out in three minutes, lock the door,” I instructed. Then, I hoisted my backpack and entered the abandoned shed. Immediately, I pulled the collar of my shirt up over my face. I didn’t expect that fumes would linger after several days, but just in case . . . I held my breath and made a dash for the back of the room, where hung the loose piece of aluminum. I kicked the boards holding it in place and then shot through the rusted opening beyond, scraping my side along the way. It wasn’t worth stopping to feel the pang. Once within the slim passage between the warehouse and city wall, I began to dash.
I’d make up for lost time. I’d run until my legs gave out.
After traveling for several minutes, I came to a small opening in the city wall, but I passed it. I was getting near enough now to the end of the hour for me to rethink my strategy. I’d wait until the mark turned green before backtracking and heading through the opening. That way, my Marker wouldn’t know where I’d left the city from.
Now that I had a little time to spare, I allowed myself to consider the fact that this was all actually happening. I was about to leave Eastern City for the first time in my life, and there was a good chance I’d never return. No, I would return. I’d already decided to beat the unholy one at his game. I was fast. I knew I was. I was smart, too. You’re smart and fast and strong, Zillow Stone, I told myself, while concentrating on the rhythm of my steps.
Yes, I was all of those things and I would never let him catch me.
Veins thudding, heart racing, side aching, I watched the mark on my hand with intensity, awaiting the moment the color would change, and when at last it did, giving off saving green light, I spun around and began sprinting for the opening I’d previously passed. At the unofficial exit, I stopped for one last deep inhale before wiping the sweat from my forehead, bowing through the hole, and pressing out into the wilds.
Now the chase could truly begin.
Chapter 5: Prags
For the first time, I saw what lay beyond the limits of Eastern City. No, that was a lie. I’d seen it before through recorded images presented in class and on televised programs shown on the screens of the city.
Stretching, brown, decimated, with pitfalls and risen dunes – that was what made up the world beyond Eastern City.
Moreover, it was said that terrible beasts roamed the land, mixtures of metal and flesh, remnants of long ago wars, in which animals were melded with machines in an attempt to instill instinct and hunger into weapons. An aid once for humanity was now a great threat, confining people within the restraints of the city, but even the beasts I would face.
I was ready.
I didn’t know how long the tracker would stay off this time, so my first order of business was to find a waypoint. I’d been told that there were safehouses in the wilds where marked ones could rest and gain supplies, but such areas were only accessible after accumulating a set amount of points. No one at the University knew how points were awarded, though some speculated that it was based on distance maintained between runner and threat. Had I gained any, I wondered, for my safe escape from the city? There was no way of knowing until reaching one of the havens and scanning the implant on my hand.
I knew one thing for sure: I had to reach a waypoint before reaching exhaustion.
I fled over the brittle ground, away from the city which looked so contained from far away. The towers of my University stretched high into the air, topped each with a great crescent moon. To the north, gleaming skyscrapers reached even higher, their tips lost in the murky clouds over the city. So many buildings were crammed within those decaying walls. The entire thing stuck out of the barren earth unnaturally, as though it had been set there.
I looked to the stretch of wilderness before me, which was painted drab, and was grateful that the rains out here weren’t toxic like the rains of Eastern City. If they were, I’d be finished. There wasn’t anywhere to take cover, not for a long, long way out.
That Marker had crossed this wasteland once already to find me?
“If that’s true, he must be exhausted,” I said aloud to myself. My voice sounded eerily alone in the wide-open space. Meanwhile, I felt eerily small in the wide-open world. But there was a small comfort in my words. Maybe the unholy one wasn’t in hot pursuit of me at all. Mayb
e he was resting.
Not that I had the liberty of actually believing something like that.
In the far distance I saw the remains of a structure. It was an obvious choice, one that my Marker would surely guess, but I needed to stay hidden. If my Marker came upon me in this openness, I’d lose any chance of surprise. I made that structure my goal, glancing every now and then at the green mark on my hand.
I was a levelheaded person, mostly. I doubted myself occasionally, but all in all, I tried to react to the world with accountability, rather than as a victim. For that reason, it was hard to see myself as prey.
But that was what I was, his prey. He who held an icy gaze was my hunter.
In addition to being levelheaded, I found myself quite plain. I wasn’t quirky as Pon was, or charming as Cadence was, or bashful as Laurelia was, nor was I reprimanding as Karán was. I was strong, yes, and focused; and in the evenings when the other girls read adventure tales and did each other’s hair, I would think and listen to the scorching rain.
“Hmph. Maybe the chase suits someone like me best.”
Again, my voice was hauntingly alone, so I resolved not to speak anymore until reaching the fallen structure in the distance.
The sky was fogged over, and the sandy earth beneath my feet kicked up with each step. I moved from sprint to jog to walk, and then again to jog, stopping only to drink from the canteen in my bag. The more sips I took, the more a new realization struck me. Not only did I have to find a safehouse before reaching exhaustion, I also had to find one before reaching dehydration.
I ran in silence through the barren landscape – a dead world, devoid of movement and life – and felt at least partially relieved. It was better to be alone in this desolation than to be chased by one of the great beasts of the wilds. The pursuit of one beast was enough.
