“Well, girlie? Didn’t your mom teach you any manners? Ladies don’t swear,” he says darkly.
“You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who considers me a lady,” I spit back at him. “Not that you’d be able to tell, I’m sure. Run across many classy gals in your line of work, do you?” The lackeys that flank his side exchange a wary look, but the man simply shakes his head and laughs.
“Looks like we got ourselves a live one, boys. A real firecracker.” He turns back toward me. “So tell me, what’s a pretty thing like you doing all the way out here?”
“Can’t a
lady
,” I stress the word, “just go out for a nice post-rain stroll in peace?”
“No.” His eyes darken.
“Well, sorry to disappoint then. All that rain gave me cabin fever. I needed some fresh air. Didn’t even realize how far I had wandered ‘til now.” I try my best to look sheepish.
He laughs again. “Why don’t I believe you?” he says, taking a step toward me.
“Trust issues?” I shrug, mirroring his movement to maintain the distance between us. The humor drains from his face.
“You’re a long way from home, little girl. Lady or not, you should know better than to push your luck with us.” He runs his gaze up and down my body and I force myself not to squirm. After a moment, he gestures for me to hand over the backpack.
“I’d be the one worried about luck if I were you.” I toss the pack in front of his feet. “I don’t think you have much of it going for you today. There’s nothing worthwhile in there.”
“Locke, check it out.” Without breaking his gaze, he motions to the man on his right, who picks up my bag and hastily unzips it.
“Couple pieces of scrap, canteen, flashlight…” Locke’s accent is stilted as he paws through the pockets. “It’s not much, boss.”
“Like I told you, nothing to brag about. Sorry you’ve wasted your time,” I say.
The boss strokes his chin slowly before answering. “Well, I wouldn’t say we’ve wasted anything yet. Am I right, boys?”
“Always are, Ryk,” the other lackey says with a guffaw.
My heartbeat picks up, and the warning bells that have been pealing in my head start to clang. I take another step backward. “So I’ll just be going then,” I say. “Feel free to keep the bag. You know, gesture of good will and all.”
“I don’t think so, firecracker.” Ryk bridges the space between us with one giant step, wrapping his fingers firmly around my upper arm. He pulls me into him, smashing my face against his sweaty chest. “You smell nice,” he growls into my hair.
Bile rises in my throat. Over Ryk’s shoulder, I toss a panicked glance at his companions. One is openly grinning; Locke, still holding my backpack, tries not to meet my eyes but fails. I silently plead with him, my eyes wide with fear, and to my utter shock he opens his mouth with a response.
“Don’t…” Locke says weakly. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to Ryk. Either way, it’s enough to make my captor turn toward him.
“The hell did you say?” he snarls.
The single second of distraction is all I need. With as much strength as I can muster, I bring my knee up swiftly and ram it into Ryk’s groin as hard as I can. A strangled, animalistic moan falls from his lips as he collapses. The grinning lackey lets out a single, booming laugh before smacking his hand to his mouth in horror.
I turn on the spot, wrenching myself out of Ryk’s grasp. Digging my heels into the ground, I sprint off in the opposite direction. His whimpers fade as I run, but I’m not fast enough to avoid hearing the crunch of fists hitting bone as both lackeys receive their respective punishments. I can’t help but wonder who committed the worse offense: the one who pitied me, or the one who laughed at the boss’s expense.
I race on, not daring to slow down or look behind me. For a minute, I think they might actually have let me go, but my hopes are dashed as my ears pick up the faint rhythm of heavy boots behind me.
There’s no way I’ll be able to circle around them to get home. My only option is to outrun them until… well, until one of us can’t run anymore.
I bolt out of the forest and aim for the closest structure within sight. About half a mile ahead, down a slight slope, sits an old outpost station. Squat and square, the battered building wears decades of graffiti. The early morning sun casts low shadows on the station, making it appear larger than it is. The blinking red lights that mark the quarantine line lie behind the building, three beams spaced six inches apart and suspended in midair, separating the outpost from the city ruins that begin just a few hundred feet beyond.
Grateful that scavenging keeps me in relatively good shape, I run toward the front of the outpost as fast as I can. I crash into the front door, violently jiggling the handle. Locked. I curse aloud and run the perimeter to check the windows. Though the majority of them are broken, they’re too high up for me to climb through. I peek back around the front, only to see the raiders’ dark outlines closing the distance between us, one trailing behind the other two.
I slip around to the rear of the building and flatten my back against it, hiding in the long shadows. My lungs scream for air and I hastily comply, gulping it down as my adrenaline and fear pin me to the wall. The blinking boundary between the plague-infested District ruins and my post against the station wall stands about ten feet ahead. My chest heaves as I stare at the quarantine line. If I cross it, I risk contaminating myself with whatever strains of disease still linger in the ruins. But if the raiders get ahold of me…
“Jax, get the door!”
One of them tries to turn the locked handle, rattling it with increasing annoyance.
“She’s locked in, boss.”
Ryk swears. “I’m gonna break her in half.”
They think I’m inside.
Something clicks and buzzes, like the sound of an intercom, followed by some low muttering. I can’t make out what’s being said, but the situation becomes clear enough when I feel the wood shiver and hear the crash of the door being kicked in.
“There’s no one in here, Ryk.” The choked voice filters through the window directly above my head. I tense up as the sound of their heavy footsteps echoes from inside the outpost. A few moments of silent shuffling pass before a booming voice shouts loud expletives that jolt my body into movement. They’ve seen me. I launch myself forward just as a hand reaches out through the window above me. I feel a sharp jab of pain as the raider grabs at my ponytail, but he’s half a second too slow.
In five steps, I’ve crossed the quarantine line. I imagine that somewhere in the sky an alarm must be sounding, but I don’t care. Right now, taking my chances with the plague seems far preferable to whatever Ryk and his boys have planned for me.
There is unintelligible yelling at my back as I run toward the ruins, the dusty dirt of the valley floor giving way to crumbling pavement. The District is no longer simply a silhouette, a distant backdrop to life in Sixteen, the setting for stories of lives long since lost. In an instant, it has become real. I race past decaying brick houses—skinny but tall, and falling apart from the top down—that seem to beg,
Imagine what we used to be
.
The houses give way to tall, gray buildings that loom over me, forming the outline of the ruined city that I know. After about a hundred feet, I realize the raiders haven’t pursued me. I risk a glance back in their direction and slow to a stop. The trio hovers just behind the quarantine line, the red lights illuminating their forms. Ryk is hunched over, fury etched on his dark face. Jax is distracted, his fingers trying to stifle the outpouring of blood from his clearly broken nose. Locke simply stands there, clutching his side. The pain on his face, however, tells me that his wounds may not be so easily remedied.
Suddenly, all three of them turn their heads to the right. I follow their gaze just in time to see a huge black transport truck barreling toward the outpost, four other raiders perched in its long, rectangular wagon. From where I stand, I can just barely hear the hum of the truck’s electric engine. The vehicle screeches to a stop; one of the riders tosses something out to each of my pursuers, but I don’t stick around long enough to see what it is.
The wind whips past my ears as I race down the cracked city street, failing to blot out the sound of the truck as it gains on me. I run past the brick houses and charge into the shadows of the skyscrapers, turning blindly down a narrow alleyway. I leap over fallen rubble and piles of scrap metal, and emerge on a parallel street. Ancient-looking transport vehicles have been abandoned on the road like rusted monuments. Their round tops have been crushed by falling debris, the dyminium glass in their windows shattered. A few paces ahead, a tall black gate with a thick chain wrapped around it bars the entrance to a set of stairs that appear to go underground. Behind me, the truck speeds past the alley entrance in search of a clear path. Turning toward the sound, I see Ryk, Jax, and Locke have joined the other raiders in the transport’s cab. They have all donned gas masks, adding weight to my growing worries about contamination.
I tell myself that as long as I don’t touch anything, I will be fine. “No contact, no contamination,” I remind myself. I pull the sleeves of my jacket over my hands just in case.
One life-threatening issue at a time,
I remind myself.
Between the obstacles that block the path of their transport and the cover of the surrounding buildings, it’s now much easier to put distance between the raiders and me. The transport fades into silence and a thought occurs: This city is huge and their mobility is limited. If I could just get back to the Dead Woods while they’re stuck tracking me in here, I could make it home.
I double back, my body aching. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve run this far, let alone this fast. The heat is stifling, and sweat has already bled through my shirt to my jacket. I round a corner and find myself back on the street with the gated stairwell. I’ve almost reached the alley when I stop short.
“There you are, firecracker,” Ryk says as he steps out of the shadows. His voice is garbled through his mask, but the malice in it still rings clear. Without giving him time for another word, I turn and take off in the opposite direction, only to be forced to a stop by two new raiders as they step into the road.
Trapped.
The alley is out of reach behind Ryk, thirty feet away, and the next cross street lies just behind the new raiders. The long buildings on either side of me leave no gaps, other than the black gate to the right.
“City people are so predictable,” says one of the raiders, balancing a long metal staff on his shoulders. “The first sign of freedom and they head for home.”
The other raider’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. “This one’s going to be a lot of fun, I can tell.”
I take a step backwards as the two of them watch me hungrily. Then, simultaneously, they move toward me and I know that Ryk has motioned them forward.
I pivot to ensure Ryk can’t grab me from behind, and continue to edge backwards, my back to the gate. My head whips from left to right as the threats on either side of me close in. All three raiders move slowly, building up my panic, savoring my fear. I take one final step backwards and feel the cool metals bars of the gate through the material of my jacket. The padlock hooked into the chain digs into my hip.
This is it.
I close my eyes for half of a second and take a deep breath.
Contact.
Gripping the sleeves of my jacket over my fists, I spin around and stick my boots through the bars of the gate, hoisting myself up. I hear the raiders’ pace quicken as they realize what I’m doing, but I have the advantage of the past three years spent climbing over walls. I hold my breath as I quickly scale up and over the top of the gate.
I drop down on the other side, unable to suppress the victorious smile that breaks out on my face. It is short-lived, however, as I’m suddenly yanked backward. I hit the gate, hard, the back of my head slamming into the metal bars.
“Enough.” I hear Ryk’s growl over the ringing in my ears. His hand tightens around the fistful of my jacket he’s grabbed; he thrusts his other arm through the bars, and pins me across my neck. “I got you now, little girl. Fun’s over.”
He is so strong. I struggle against his crushing hold, barely able to unzip my jacket with what little arm movement I have. My movements cause the sleeve of his coat to ride up, and a gap of skin appears at his wrist.
“You’re right,” I gasp, “it is.” I turn my head and bite down on his wrist as hard as I can; I taste blood on my tongue as Ryk cries out. He loosens his hold, giving me just enough room to wiggle out of my jacket, which is still gripped tightly in his other hand. I flee in the only direction I can: down.
I bound down the stairs two at a time, holding my arms to my chest as I descend into darkness. I feel vulnerable without my jacket, but I don’t have time to be concerned about my clothing situation. If I become contaminated, sure, there’s a chance I could die. If Ryk catches me at this point, though, I’m sure I will be begging for death.
I hear the protest of metal wrenching against metal as the raiders break through the gate behind me. I hit the bottom of the stairwell with a thud, and the sudden lack of a next stair throws me off balance. I am a long way down. I reach out instinctively and blindly grab hold of a railing I wasn’t aware was there, steadying myself before following it forward in the pitch black.
So much for not touching anything.
Faint beams of light come from behind me as the raiders’ flashlights search ahead of them. By the sound of it, they aren’t running, but they’re still gaining on me. I try to speed up, using the dim light to avoid the debris on the ground, but my legs are weak. My adrenaline seems to be running out; I don’t know how much further I can go.
The railing runs out abruptly and I catch myself before plunging headfirst into a pit that has appeared in front of me. The wavering light from the flashlights is too dim to see how wide it is or how deep it goes, but I’ve run out of pavement. Sucking in a nervous breath, I sit down on the edge of the platform and dangle my legs over the edge. I flip around and slowly lower myself down, breathing through my teeth as my still-raw palms press against the rough pavement, prepared to hang off the side until I find the bottom. My careful descent turns out to be unnecessary; my feet hit something firm before the platform has even passed my chest.