Burn this City: A Dystopian Novel

by Brenda Poppy

  A light burst above Burn’s head, making her jump. The others around her kept walking, ignoring the loud noise and sudden darkness. Burn composed herself and followed suit, stuffing her hands into her pockets and focusing on the road.

  After a few minutes she checked her tab and changed course, heading off the main walkway and through a maze of smaller streets and alleys. Instead of shops, the area was now covered with small houses and shared units, broken up every so often by a rickety bar or derelict food stall.

  Burn stopped around the corner from her target: a peeling green house with broken shutters. Once upon a time someone had tried to make it look nice, putting flowers out front and a small canopy over the door. But time had not been kind to it. The flowers had long since died, and the rusted awning beams barely managed to hold up the ripped cloth that fluttered in the breeze.

  Down here, the houses were almost on top of one another. (In fact, many of them actually were, stacked in precarious ways until they were touching the platform above.) That would make this harder – but still well within Burn’s capabilities.

  She glanced around to make sure she was alone before closing her eyes and letting down her guards. The onslaught was immediate. The sheer number of people talking at once made Burn’s head throb. She narrowed her concentration to the homes in front of her, directing particular attention to the sad green house.

  Her mind suitably focused, she opened her eyes. Next door to the green house, a man and a woman ate dinner while a child cried. Above them, an older lady sat talking to her cat.

  But the green house was silent. Burn pushed her mind further into the building, checking for any sounds of movement – like writing or typing or cooking. She heard none. All she could discern was a subtle creaking sound, like an old-fashioned swing swaying in the breeze.

  The house was empty. That would make things easier.

  Burn walked quietly to the door. She dug in her pocket, coming out with another one of Scar’s gadgets – a small blue tube that was useful for bypassing biometric security. Slipping it over her finger, she moved her hand to the scan pad and froze.

  Something wasn’t right. The door was already open – just a sliver, as if someone had tried to close it in a hurry and it hadn’t latched properly. A chill went up Auburn’s spine.

  She sent her senses out again but still heard nothing from inside. She told herself she was being paranoid. There was nothing in there.

  She pocketed the finger sensor, then eased the door open. The interior was cramped and dark and eerily quiet – except for the strange creaking.

  Burn gathered her courage and tiptoed further into the house, flinching when a board groaned under her feet. She could now tell that the noise she had detected was coming from behind a closed door at the end of the hall. She paused to arm herself with her taser pen before turning the handle and gently pushing the door open.

  She let out a terrified shriek before clasping both hands over her mouth. She had been wrong. Amblys was home after all. And, judging from his stiff body, which was hanging from one of the rafters, he was very, very dead.

  Chapter 5

  Auburn stood in shock, staring at the body. She couldn’t seem to move or even look away from the horrific sight.

  Amblys had clearly been dead for some time. Rigor mortis had set in and his limbs were rigid and gray, swaying eerily back and forth in the breeze from a nearby window. The creaking sounds accompanied the body’s movements, adding a chilling soundtrack to the scene.

  Burn tried to keep her eyes from glancing up, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. His eyes were open and cloudy, staring down at her in a terrified panic, and his mouth was parted in a silent scream.

  This hadn’t been suicide. This was murder. Burn was sure of it. The look on his face, paired with the obvious defensive abrasions on his arms, painted a gruesome picture. There wasn’t even a stool or chair around with which he could have hoisted himself up. They hadn’t even tried to make it look real. Of course, no one would question it when the Peace Force ruled this a suicide, unless they wanted to end up like Amblys.

  The breeze wafted in Burn’s direction, and the scent of death made her stomach lurch. She clasped her hand tighter to her mouth and willed her stomach to settle. Her mind reeled, trying and failing to process the sight.

  Amblys was dead. His information had led to a pointless raid and he’d paid the price. It was the Peace Force’s signature brand of justice, no doubt courtesy of General Illex Cross.

  Burn’s mind felt sluggish, but she knew that she had to tell the others. They were no doubt already on their way, but their presence would only complicate things further. She grabbed her tab from her pocket and, hands shaking, started to type.

  “Abort. Target terminated. Abort.”

  Her heart pounded in her ears and she tried to breathe, but the overpowering scent made her gag.

  And then she heard it: footsteps, headed her way. At least eight pairs. She had been so focused on Amblys that she’d completely blocked out all other stimuli. She immediately sharpened her hearing to focus on the surrounding area, her body prepared for flight.

  They were a few blocks away but rapidly closing in. They were clearly military, judging by the coordinated movements and the clacking of their hard-soled boots against the pavement.

  Shit, Burn thought. She must have tripped some sort of alarm. Or they’d been watching the building the entire time. Either way, she had to get out of there. Quickly. But she obviously couldn’t leave through the front, as that would put her right into their hands. She cast her eyes around frantically, looking for another way out.

  Then it struck her: the window. It was high on the opposite wall, but it was just large enough for someone of her size to squeeze through. And it was open. She had no idea where it led, but right now it was her only option.

  She sprinted to the wall, swerving to avoid the body in her path. But the window was too high. She could just reach it with the tips of her fingers, but she would never be able to pull herself up. Her vision momentarily dimmed with panic but brightened again when her eyes alighted on a small wooden table near the bed.

  Burn rushed to grab it, narrowly missing Amblys’ swaying form on the way back. She placed it under the window and silently prayed that it would be strong enough to hold her weight.

  The footsteps were nearing the house now, and she had no time for another plan. If this didn’t work, she’d be cornered – and maybe even killed onsite. And Meera would pay, as well, once they realized that her house had only been a front for Burn to hide behind. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Burn hoisted herself onto the small table and grabbed the window ledge with both hands, pulling herself up. It was a tight fit, but she just managed to squeeze her body through. She tumbled ungracefully out of the window, twisting to land on her side instead of her head. Her shoulder jarred as it hit the pavement, but she scrambled to her feet and began to run.

  Her shoes hit the ground with loud slaps as she took corner after corner, winding her way through unfamiliar alleys. The footsteps behind her grew louder, following her every move. She risked a glance back and saw at least two black-clad forms trailing her.

  She put on a burst of speed and rounded a bend, gashing her shin on an exposed metal gutter as she changed direction in the narrow lane. She ignored the sudden hot surge of pain and kept moving, her breathing heavy.

  Burn moved up a level, then another, hoping to lose her shadows in the labyrinth of corridors. But luck was not on her side. They were relentless, like armor-clad hounds on the trail of their prey. And Burn was tiring fast, her side aching from the prolonged sprint and her leg beginning to throb in earnest. The grime of the city clung to her nose and throat, threatening to choke her as she drew in short, shallow gasps.

  She had to do something. She knew she couldn’t outrun them. What they lacked in stealth they more than made up for in endurance. Soon they’d overtake her – or they’d start shooting.

&nb
sp; Burn fumbled in her pocket, searching for anything that could help. Her taser pen wouldn’t do much good against so many assailants – especially ones that were so heavily armed. And her tab would be no help, as she had no time to stop and type out a message. Besides, she didn’t want to get anyone else mixed up in this. If she had to go down, she’d go down alone.

  Her fingers closed around the biometric bypass device, and she wrenched it out of her pocket. She’d only have one chance at this, she thought, so she’d have to do it right. Burn slipped the tube onto her finger, then made three consecutive turns so she was out of view of her pursuers. She hurriedly scanned the street, zoning in on a dark gray home with no lights on. If she was lucky, nobody would be home.

  Burn made a beeline for the door, swiftly sticking her finger in the scanner. The few seconds it took to override the system seemed like an eternity, but it finally accepted her print and she dashed inside, wrenching the door shut and locking it.

  She slid down until she was crouched beneath the handle, her breath coming out in short, uneven bursts. Her side was burning and the gash on her leg began to throb painfully, but she kept quiet and still, listening to the street for any hint of noise.

  A moment later, the officers careened around the corner. Burn held her breath as the footsteps neared the door, but the figures kept going, passing her hiding place and continuing on.

  She let out a small sigh of relief, but she didn’t dare move in case they realized they’d lost her and decided to backtrack. For the time being, however, she was safe. She gently removed her mask, sucking in the cool evening air, and pushed up her goggles so she could wipe the sweat from her face. Her legs started to protest the awkward position, yet she remained perched against the door, mentally tracking the footsteps as they receded into the night.

  Burn’s mind must have been so thoroughly consumed with the action taking place outside the house that she didn’t hear the stirrings within it – at least not until a deep voice emerged from the darkness.

  “Can I help you?” the man said evenly.

  Shocked at the nearness of the figure, Burn gasped – and promptly tumbled over.

  Chapter 6

  From her new vantage point on the ground, Burn could see that the man was tall and young, maybe a few years older than she was. By the looks of it, she had woken him up. He wore loose gray pants and a light shirt, clearly pajamas.

  He also held a bit of pipe, but kept it as his side, not threatening – merely warning. They stared at each other, neither daring to break the silence that had fallen.

  Burn’s heart raced, and tingles of shock still lingered in her system. She knew she had to get up, but for some reason she didn’t want to break eye contact with the stranger, fearing what would happen if she did.

  The man began to approach, but, as if sensing her unease, he moved slowly and purposefully, bending down and offering Burn his hand. After a series of mental calculations, factoring in several worst-case scenarios, Burn took it and he helped her to her feet. In all her scenarios, it was better to be standing.

  Hastily dropping his hand, Burn stepped back, attempting to put more space between them. She immediately regretted the movement. The pain in her leg burst to life, making her stumble. She glanced down to find that her pants had ripped open and she was bleeding freely onto the floor.

  The man’s gaze followed hers, but instead of demanding answers or throwing her out, he merely raised his thick dark eyebrows in question. Not sure how to get herself out of this new scrape, Burn stayed silent. After a beat, his deep voice rumbled to life again.

  “Why don’t you take a seat. Then, maybe we can discuss why you’re here. In my house. Bleeding.” He indicated a chair in the kitchen, next to a small table. He still held the pipe, but his grip was promisingly loose. Burn limped over, shuffling sideways so as not to lose sight of him.

  He turned around, rooting in a cabinet before producing a rag and bowl, the latter of which he filled with water. She had expected him to hand the items to her, but instead he knelt down at her side and rolled up her tattered pants. Dipping the rag into the cool water, he began to dab at the tear in her leg.

  Burn flinched – both from the pain and the unexpected contact. Her instinct was to pull back, but the man held tightly to her leg, continuing his administrations.

  Burn knew she needed a story, something believable that explained why – and how – she had burst into his home and why she was out of breath and bleeding. She discarded a few implausible stories before settling on one that might work. She prayed he was the sympathetic sort. Or at least very, very stupid. The last thing she needed tonight was to get turned in to the Peace Force for trespassing.

  “I was out shopping,” Burn started explaining, a slight wobble to her voice that wasn’t completely feigned. “My sister is rebuilding her tab and needed a new part. I was told I could get a cheap one in the Saffron Quarter.”

  There was a hint of truth to that, as Scar was always in the process of taking apart and updating her tab. She hoped that dropping the name of the nearby market sector – known for its mix of food stalls and secondhand vendors – would lend more credibility to her tale.

  The man looked up, silently urging Burn to continue.

  “Well, I eventually found the part, but by then it was already dark. I started making my way home, but I got a little turned around. I bet I was an easy target,” Burn looked away as if remembering the awful scene.

  “These two men cornered me. I thought they wanted my bag so I gave it to them, but they wouldn’t back off. I guess that wasn’t what they wanted after all.” A little damsel in distress element couldn’t hurt, especially if this guy had a savior complex, which seemed likely given his behavior.

  “I ran. I managed to slip past them, but they started chasing me.” A little more truth mixed in with the giant lies. “I’m not sure how long I ran for, but I couldn’t shake them. And to make everything worse, I gashed my leg on a piece of old metal. That’s when I started trying doors, but everything was locked. Except yours.” Burn raised her gaze to his, making her eyes as wide and innocent as possible.

  “I don’t know why your door was open. But it saved me,” Burn finished. She hoped she hadn’t gone too far. She still held his gaze, mentally willing him to accept the lies. Because both of them knew that the door had been locked.

  After a beat, he broke eye contact and returned to cleaning up her leg. He wasn’t reaching for the pipe, which he’d placed on the counter beside him, so that was a good sign. But if he wanted, he could easily overpower her even without the pipe.

  She braced herself for questions, debate, contradiction, but when he finally spoke, he said, “This cut is deep, but it should heal. Stay here.” With that, he got up and left the room.

  Burn briefly considered making a break for it. But, with the pain in her leg, she knew she wouldn’t get far. The adrenaline had faded, taking with it the pain relief she’d felt while fleeing. So she remained seated, putting her life in the stranger’s hands.

  He returned a minute later, carrying a handful of bandages. He set them down on the table and produced a small white tube, which he opened and began applying to Burn’s leg. She winced as the salve came in contact with the cut, creating a sharp, stinging pain.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” Burn couldn’t help it. People didn’t just help other people for no reason. They always had a motive.

  He hesitated, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “It was the way you looked when you burst in here. Like the devil was on your tail.” He chuckled. Burn didn’t see what was so amusing.

  He continued, “I couldn’t throw you back out there. It would have been like throwing a puppy to the wolves.”

  Oh great, Burn thought. He considered her to be a helpless puppy. She checked herself before making a snide comeback. People protected puppies, she reminded herself. Better to be a puppy than a prisoner in police custody.

  “I don’t know who was out there
,” the man went on, “but I’m glad I could help.”

  So he didn’t believe her story. But he was helping her anyway. Burn opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, trying to find the right words.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed to say.

  “Kaz. My name is Kaz.” He unwound some of the bandages and began wrapping them around her leg.

  It was nice to put a name to the stranger, although she still felt wary about his motives. She wasn’t about to return the courtesy and tell him her name. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  Burn pulled her leg back, out of Kaz’s gentle grip. “My…sister will be worried,” she said, looking into her lap. “I should be getting home.”

  “Let me walk you back,” he said, picking himself up off the floor. “It’s clearly not safe out there. Just give me a second to change.” He gestured to his pajamas.

  Burn considered it for a moment. She knew she needed to get back, but she couldn’t exactly have him walk her to Meera’s front door. Damn his chivalry. All of this would be much simpler if she could tase him and leave. She briefly considered that, as well.

  “No, no,” Burn stammered. “I’ll be fine. As long as those men are gone, I don’t think I’ll have any more trouble.”

  “Besides,” she added, “you should get back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.” It was a little strange that he’d been asleep so early, but then again many of the factory hands in Kasis started work at dawn. Although he didn’t quite look like the factory worker type.

  Kaz looked at her dubiously but didn’t protest. She got up, dusting herself off, and began hobbling to the door. Her leg still ached, although the pain had subsided a bit thanks to his first aid.