The Girl

  ??

  In the dim glow of light from the early morning, mountains float by like clouds. It's all but quiet. Or would be, if it weren't for the girl's abysmal, husky breathing and damn backpack thumping against her spine with its weight. Slap. Shuffle. Slap. Each dusty step forward scarring the earth with her footprint.

  Gravelly stones tumble from their bedding as she jogs up an incline. Her calves stretch, her ankles flare. An hour or so has passed since she left, making this run compete with ones she had chasing him through forests of pine. Now she's running for a different reason, not in pursuit, but to keep her mind active. Busy.

  If she stopped now and lost focus on her burning lungs or aching muscles, the voices would return with every mistake pronounced. She would fall apart.

  There's no doubt in her mind. She would crumble.

  It happened when it shouldn't have. That feeling of freedom that comes only when a weight is lifted. But it was wrong. And for that, it still sits like ice in her stomach.

  It proves everything everyone has said.

  No one could want her, nor should they. Not after all she's done. Still, when her heart was in her throat, and the voices steered her toward an ending, the city of Zafran was the one place she thought to go. Because he was there.

  One person she could trust with her life.

  As long as he remained in the dark.

  The rocky path curves around a mountain until the terrain narrows to a valley, enclosed by large boulders and steep hills. And right in the center, a thick cloud of smog.

  Fucking perfect.

  Of course, she came this way.

  When she had cursed at life, and the voices told her she was better off dead, apparently the steel gods were listening.

  The fog is a translucent white, blurring most of the scenery and smelling of burnt trash as it coats her nostrils, lingering even when she holds her nose closed. She tries to fan it away. It doesn't work. It's as if the air itself is painted with poison.

  The mountains disappear in the white of the smog, and then everything, including the ground, is gone. The way forward has vanished. Now only this way and that remain. She can turn around. No... that wouldn't place her any closer to her destination; she just had to keep going.

  The girl sputters a cough. Once, twice. It prickles her brittle throat like needles. This isn't how her day was supposed to go. She did everything she could to make it right, and it fell apart anyway. She tried. She really did. But now, there was no one waiting. No one wanting. And it was her fault.

  She slows and reaches for her knife, navigating through the toxic cloud to cut a strip from the right side of her shirt to create a mask. The fabric barely reaches around her face and is too tight across her nose, but it would have to do. It pays to know the basics of survival... sometimes.

  The pollution grows darker as she walks. It must have settled in her chest, because it's getting harder to breathe by the second. Her airways are tight. Dry. She exhales loudly to clear her lungs, but it comes out raspy. Is that her? Freaking favored, sounds as if something were lodged in a propeller. She picks up the pace.

  Inhale—three steps. Exhale—two steps.

  With her steady rhythm, she throws herself into the greyish cloud, soon to be on the other side.

  She can do this...

  She coughs. It is a simple tickle of her throat, but it lifts her ribs and forces immediate extraction of nothing. She stops in her tracks. Bent over, a harsh cough is followed by a much more painful one. Windpipe inflamed, chest on fire. Her lungs were ready to shoot out of her mouth with enough force.

  It won't end.

  She could make it stop if she could just breathe. In. Out. --In. Out. Her breath is too short. The air, too thick.

  Letting her knees buckle, she falls forward, holding her hands out to catch her, but they scrape gravel when she lands. Her chest hits the ground. WHAM. Her backpack slams into her, sending shockwaves across her spine.

  Fuck. She bites back tears. Oxygen leaves her in a high-pitched, whiny moan. Why did she have to take the path through the mountains of all places? It was stupid. STUPID.

  The earth is warm beneath her, heat seeping through her skin. She stretches her arms and legs across the ground, shifting rubble that pokes her underneath her clothes. Damnit. The air is supposed to be better down here. It isn't.

  Concentrating on her inhale, she takes a deep breath. It stops short. Her head is so hot from tears and frustration that it's hard to tell what her throbbing headache is from. Maybe she'll try a trick she learned years ago. She tries to yawn. The yawn is real, but it didn't finish. It just... stops. She can't even be tired properly.

  She tears the mask off her face. Done. She gives up.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  What was the point in even trying? She could just let the smog take her.

  No one would know what happened to her.

  No one would care.

  Good riddance...

  Still, the thought of not being missed is... unbearable. He might be someone who would. She shouldn't need that.

  If she saw him, they could start over and be friends again. And if they were... maybe he could save her from herself.

  Breathe.

  She closes her eyes. Digging her fingers into the crusted soil, she plants them like roots. Inhaling, she imagines she is drawing oxygen from the earth through her fingers and up her arms into her lungs. Somehow it worked. It didn't make sense, but she caught a single full breath and allowed herself to rest.

  She lies motionless for what feels like hours, though it may have only been minutes, as her body rises and falls like the tide.

  What are you doing?

  An echo?

  What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?

  No... Not that voice. Not those words.

  She sits up quickly as her heart convulses, stomach lifting to her throat.

  She’s been still too long. Had to get to the city while she still could.

  Before it all came back.

  “Fan things? You mean wind turbines? I see ’em around some Vocate towns. Ain’t no way they work anymore, so those rich fuckholes prob’ly use em for decoration or showboatin’.”

  Alex always had a way with words. He knew just how to explain things back when she didn’t know what a bracelet meant. Wonder what he’d say now. Finally she's seen turbines outside of his stories and books, none of his Vocate towns in sight.

  Inhale—three… Exhale—two…

  If only the city had been there when the pollution cleared. But it wasn’t.

  As she makes her way out of the milky haze, silhouettes of giant turbines grow out from the ground. Some sleep against the earth. Others stand tall, blades still spinning when the wind strikes them. Magnificent. Each one has a rope tied around its body. Evidence that someone tried to claim the steel long ago, but didn’t get very far. Alex would find it hilarious. She might too, if she hadn’t almost suffocated on the smog.

  Staggering and clumsy, her feet move on their own. She might as well be in a vessel that isn’t hers. The arms swing back and forth, fingers catching on her shirt, forgetting to straighten them. Legs, nearly collapsing. The burn deepens in her calves and thighs, makes every step an act of defiance.

  What was on her mind when she took off through the mountains? Sure, she saved face, and it made it more difficult to follow her, but for what?

  To survive this shitty day.

  Running. Choking. Trapped between metal monstrosities.

  Her breath mists the dense atmosphere. It warms her face and clouds her vision. The stubborn lump in her throat won’t go down when she clears it, like she swallowed something she wasn’t supposed to.

  The fallen towers are tall and tangled, forcing her to twist and turn in every direction but where she wants to go. Not sure where she is anymore. Every corner she turns, she encounters more metal.

  She’s walked so much the world distorts and whirls, spinning her in place. The scenery blends into the sky like finger paint. In the center of her twisting view, a small blue glow pulses over the horizon.

  There.

  The city.

  ?Clutching her swirling stomach, she walks toward the pulsing light. She could be drunk or senile, and still know the exact blue tinge of the town where he stayed. Where he existed.

  But he always let her in anyway… he would again, wouldn't he?

  He would…

  Can I help you?

  That was what he said before.

  But he’d recognize her this time. He had to.

  The light fades as she approaches a turbine tower ahead. The metallic beast looms over her presenting as an impenetrable wall, blocking her view of the light. Either side of it, clustered with pieces of towers and blades.

  Does it end? Finding a way around could take hours, and she might lose the light in the maze of turbines again.

  Maybe she could go over it. With enough speed, she could jump and catch it, then crawl up the curve. Faster than wandering blind.

  Thwap. The rope beneath the structure thrashes in the breeze, twisting in the sky like a ribbon.

  She pauses, watching it twirl. Hypnotized.

  What are you doing?

  The voice echoes in her mind, as distinct as ever.

  “Shut the fuck up!” She shouts, but the air mutes her voice just like the echo.

  Anchoring her feet into the ground, she takes off at full speed. Half-speed. With everything in her, she runs, the bag bruising her back. Clink. Clank.

  She gets a good leap, stomach rising through her chest, propelled through the air as the wind fights her.

  Smack.

  Her body hits steel with a loud clang, nearly knocking the wind out of her, and she spreads her fingers for a hold. It doesn’t matter. The curve angles away from her feet. She lifts her legs, searching for traction, and her shoes skid further under the tower. Shit. This was a stupid fucking idea.

  Her hands slip. They squeal, dragging down the sleek surface.

  Damnit! Why can’t she do anything right?

  Heart thudding against the steel, she presses her forehead to the cold surface. Fingers burn as she slips downward. She could let go. Surrender.

  The blue vanishes behind the turbine as she slides. That’s it. She’s going to fall.

  You’ve got this. It’s just one slip. Just keep holding on.

  His young voice breaks through her heartbeat.

  Taking a deep breath, she grips the tower firmly, forcing her fingers to curl and lock, nails scraping against the metal. Slowly, she lifts her weight above the sleek pillar. Her whole body shakes as she uses her arms to lever her feet along the steel. Please. Catch. Until they stop sliding.

  Just one slip... With a hold on the turbine, she pulls herself up, one arm at a time.

  Fall is known for its yellows, reds, and purples, and now wears the season as a glove. She crawls until she doesn’t slip anymore. Blood has colored her hands. It seeps out of the edges of her chipped nails, fingers burning as if she had lit them all on fire.

  Fucking brilliant.

  She stands to look over the scene in front of her, sticking a finger into her mouth to taste the warmth and iron on her tongue.

  Shit. She still has a ways to go.

  In front of her is a crater carved into the ground, one of humanity’s most impressive eyesores. A landfill. Stuffed with waste, metal and debris jutting out at odd angles. Anything valuable is long gone, picked through centuries ago, until only the skeletons remain.

  Beyond the mess of waste, the city.

  Zafran’s blue light shimmers in specks, bright as a beacon, lighting up the hill where buildings and wrecked houses keep Vocates safe from outside. A place she doesn’t belong.

  She’s too dirty, without a bracelet as a birthright. Uncivilized. Still, The Supremacy would do whatever it took to get their hands on her.

  Once she’s in, he'll get caught up in it again...The hiding. The lying. Changing his life to fit around protecting her, just as it always did. Careful with every step, just to keep her secret.

  But he’s not safe either. If anyone connects his involvement with her, he’ll be forced to be at The Supremacy's mercy as well. When that happens, people disappear.

  Why the fuck is she always doing this to him?

  The metal vibrates below her feet as she paces back and forth, breaths coming more shallow by the second. The rope curls and whips the turbine. Clang.

  Fuck.

  She’s already come so far.

  What if he doesn’t want to see her?

  What would he even say?

  Hey. I don't mind.

  What do you want?

  ...

  *** Character-specific extras included in post author's note*

  Meet Miles, a young and troubled rebel on a mission in the next one.

  Thank you for reading!

  July 16, 2249.

  It's been 1,444 days.

  ***Author's Note:

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