Chosen Cities. Without the Skyships we wouldn’t have to look over our shoulders all the time, afraid of some crazy war. I mean, the Polar Cities run all right without Pearls.”
“That’s because the Polar Cities are up in the arctic. It’s not 500 freaking degrees.” I pause. “You fed her information, Avery. Information that could hurt us.”
“I know.” She nods. “I was stupid, and scared. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” She grabs my shoulder. “But that’s over now. I’m not going to let her ruin your life, too.”
We cross the next street. I notice dull splashes of color in the distance, once-bright signs for fast food restaurants. “Hey,” I point in their direction, “do you think that’s the-”
A dust-caked, fire-engine red car interrupts me, racing across the next intersection and out of sight behind a cluster of buildings. Avery and I freeze.
After a moment of shock-addled silence, she smiles. “They’ve got a generator.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yeah, I do. How else would they get electricity for the car after all this time? It’s not like they’re leeching from a Chosen.”
“If they had a generator, why would they be using it to power some stupid car?”
“I don’t know.” She grabs my hand. “But maybe that means they have food. And maybe even a way to Seattle.”
We hustle, nearly running through the street now. As we pass the intersection into the fast food restaurant graveyard, I get this weird feeling that we’re being watched from every boarded-up window. A billboard to our right reads len b rg: Pop 786, though it’s clear that some of the letters have been knocked out. Lenbrg, I guess. Across the street sits an old gas station with actual pumps, shut down and boarded up before the switch to electric three decades ago.
We keep up a frenzied pace, so much so that we don’t hear the footsteps behind us until it’s too late. I pull back on Avery’s hand, spinning her around.
There are four of them, each one bigger than us, wearing navy blue bandanas over their dark, shaved heads. I’m not sure if the color’s supposed to mean anything, but they’d be intimidating with or without them. They’re stockier than most Fringers, with muscles the size of grapefruits.
“Hey!” The one in the front steps forward, loose white T-shirt rippling in the wind. “Not so fast, there. Ain’t never seen you around.” His words echo along the empty road.
Avery and I huddle close together. These guys are twice as big as the ones back in Syracuse. For the first time, I actually wish Eva was down here with us.
Avery steps forward, trying to be diplomatic. “Is this your town?”
“Hell no.” The guy chuckles, slapping hands with his friend. “We’re from down south, beautiful. And you ain’t from around here either.”
“No we ain’t,” she counters. “We’re wanderers. Just looking for water.”
The guy smiles, advancing on us. “Well, come over here and I’ll give you a little something.”
“Avery,” I whisper, “we should run.”
“Too many of ’em,” she whispers back. “I can handle this.”
“What would possibly give you that idea?”
“Shh!” She steps in front of me, crossing her arms.
“Aw, don’t be scared,” the Fringe leader coaxes. “We ain’t gonna hurt you. Just come over here a second.”
Avery scowls. “In your dreams, maybe.”
I grab her arm, pulling her back. The last thing she needs to do right now is antagonize them.
She digs her heels into the ground, staying put.
The guy grins, rubbing his hands together. “We got a feisty one here, don’t we? I like feisty.”
Then, his grin turns to a frown as he notices something behind us.
“Stand back, Horatio!” A voice rings through the street. I spin around to see a gangly figure wearing a sweat-stained gray tank top and baggy jeans. The kid looks no older than me.
He stares down a crossbow too heavy for his stringy arms. A silver arrow glints in the sunlight, pointed in our direction. I can’t see beyond his circular goggles, but his mouth curls up in a confident smile at odds with his less- than-threatening build.
“Back up,” he yells. “They’re mine!”
34
On one side of us, four burly Fringers. On the other, one nasty-looking crossbow. An hour of peace, that’s all I ask for.
Horatio and his buddies laugh, wiping the sweat from their brows. “What the hell’s that supposed to be, Henderson?”
“Antique,” the kid replies, “but these arrows are still mighty sharp. What do you want?”
“We’re here to talk to your pops,” Horatio responds. “Business proposition.”
“Yeah? Don’t think he’ll like that.”
The Fringers continue to advance, slower but no less menacing. “Don’t think we care,” Horatio grins. “You looking for a fight, Henderson?”
The boy steps back, curving around us until he has a lock on the gang. “Head over to Uni. Now. Or I put a shish-kabob right through each one of you.”
Horatio chuckles, hands in the air.
“I said now!”
Horatio nudges his friend, whispering something to him before focusing back on the boy. “One of these days when you’re not looking, I’m gonna smear your head all over the pavement.”
The boy grins. “I’m a biter. You get near my face and you’ll lose an ear.”
Horatio shakes his head, amused, and motions for the gang to follow him into the town. With one final nod in our direction, they skirt down the street and out of sight. The boy keeps the crossbow pointed at us, jaw clenched with one hand on the trigger. Then, satisfied that the other Fringers are really gone, he drops it to his side.
“Yo.” He holds out his hand like we’re actually gonna go over and shake it. It’s filthy, like the rest of him. A tuft of dark hair sticks out from underneath a backward baseball cap. His dampened clothing is riddled with holes. “Buncha chickens back there,” he mutters, pointing down the street. “Thing doesn’t even shoot right.”
We stare at him for at least five seconds, utterly silent.
He pulls back his hand. “Guess we’re not gonna be shakin’. What’s the matter? You ain’t city folk, are you?”
“No,” I stammer. “We’re… uh… wanderers.” It comes out more like a question than a statement.
The kid flashes an are-you-stupid grin, which quickly develops into a full-bellied laugh. “Wanderers? Not out here you ain’t. Closest town’s thirty miles away. That wanderer crap may fly in the East, but not here. Unless you’ve got a secret camel hump behind you.” He crosses his arms. “So where you really from? Survivors of the train wreck?”
Avery nods.
With lightning-fast reflexes, the kid raises the crossbow again, ready to shoot.
“No, wait!” She holds out her hand. “We’re Skyship.”
His head tilts, but he keeps the weapon pointed forward. “Prove it.”
Avery rolls her eyes. “You said that crossbow doesn’t work.”
“Works all right.”
She sighs, stepping toward him.
“Avery!” I pull on her arm to stop her. She ignores me and grabs the front of the bow, yanking it from the kid’s grip and tossing it behind her. It crashes on the pavement, much to the kid’s dismay.
She glares at him. “Why would anybody from a Chosen come running all the way out here?”
“City Salesmen.” The kid rubs his gloved hand, annoyed. “Couple of ’em wandered in two weeks ago, trying to
