Burn this City: A Dystopian Novel

by Brenda Poppy

  Scar didn’t know where she was. She remembered belatedly that she hadn’t even told her sister all of what she’d learned. Burn could have kicked herself for her stupidity. But then she remembered Scar’s amazing spy gadgets, and a glimmer of hope fluttered to life inside her chest. It was promptly extinguished, however, when she realized that she’d been stripped of her necklace and earrings, and her bag was nowhere to be found.

  Burn slumped further into the chair, the eradicated hope leaving an even deeper despair within her. If only she’d had one thing – one solitary thing – from her bag, then she might be able to find a way out. What she wouldn’t give right now for an exploding mint or a set of lock-picking glasses!

  But no, that would have been too simple. The most Burn could hope for was that her bag had made it here with her and that Scar could somehow track it and find her. But what then? Scar couldn’t rescue her on her own. She could barely venture out of the house to buy food on her own.

  Scar would have to recruit others to help save her – and that would only lead to disaster. It wasn’t as if Burn had many people on her side right now. Hale assumed she was a traitor – and had convinced the Lunaria of it, as well. And Kaz thought she wanted nothing to do with him. Besides, he was one of the very people who had put her in this place.

  What if Kaz had been in on this plot all along? A brief flash of pain flickered through Burn as the thought crept into her mind. Had he purposely put her in a compromising situation so Cross would have an excuse to take her in? Had it been Cross’ idea all along, and Kaz was just his obedient lapdog?

  She didn’t want to believe it. Kaz had seemed so sweet, so sincere. Burn didn’t have that much experience with men, but she had at least believed that she could sense a liar in her midst. But what did she really know? Everywhere she had turned last night, Cross had been there, as if he had known where she was going to be and what she was going to do. It would have been so simple for Kaz to feed her whereabouts back to his superior. She could just about imagine him doing it, too, laughing at how easy it was to con her.

  Burn closed her eyes harder, forcing the images out of her head. Even if it were true, lingering on it now wouldn’t help. She needed a plan, not a broken heart.

  She opened her eyes again, willing herself to see past the small room, to pick up some trace of life beyond. Burn breathed deeply, choking on the polluted air. Something felt strange about this room, oppressive, like the whole world was on top of her, weighing her down.

  It was obvious she wasn’t in the Peace Station. Those cold gray walls and too-bright cells were familiar to her. This place was entirely different, almost foreign with its smell of dirt and its too-thick smog. Then the pieces clicked into place. She was underground. Or at least at the extreme bottom of Kasis, further down than she’d ever ventured before, even below the Corax End.

  But why would Cross have brought her here? The only people that lived down here were the poorest of the poor, the ones whom life passed by and the world forgot about. She’d heard stories that they didn’t even live in houses, but merely camped out in tents and shacks built of anything they could find. They lived on – and with – rats and mice and insects.

  Looking around, though, Burn could tell that she wasn’t in a shack. So what kind of person would take the time and money to build a house here, in the depths of the city, amongst the garbage and refuse?

  Think, Burn, she commanded herself. Her brain felt slow and foggy, a lingering effect of the nice little blow Cross had dealt to the back of her skull. She found her fingers instinctively traveling up to investigate the wound. They came away flaked with the rusty brown of dried blood. Well, at least she wasn’t still bleeding, she thought giddily.

  Focus. Concentrate. Where was she? Whose house had Cross brought her to? Then something Cross said came drifting back into Burn’s mind, and she tried to grasp at its fuzzy edges. Death would be too good for someone like you.

  No, that wasn’t it. That was almost it. But he’d said something else, something after that. Burn remembered that she’d found it odd, whatever he’d said, but she hadn’t had time to pick it apart, to parse it for deeper meanings.

  All of a sudden, a word appeared in her head, followed by another and another. Experiment. Test. Subject. Burn’s body went numb with the realization. She was going to be a test subject in one of Cross’ inhumane experiments. The panic returned with a passion.

  There was no one coming to rescue her. She was trapped. And it was up to her to get out of it. That was a sobering realization. The panic abated – or, more accurately, the panic was shadowed by something else. A determination. Or a steely resolve. She was not going to die here – or anywhere that Cross dictated. Her life was hers and hers alone.

  With that, she closed her eyes and opened up her mind to the world around her. If she was going to get out of this, she would have to use everything she had.

  It took longer than usual to tune in to the world outside, and when she did the sounds were muted and fuzzy. Burn concentrated harder, willing her mind further outside of itself, past the walls and the pain and her own addled state. She reminded herself of her daily exercises and breathed gently, trying to find clarity amidst the chaos.

  The first thing she picked up on was the noise from the street – or at least she assumed it was a street. Footsteps falling on dirt paths, coughing, people greeting each other in low, murmured voices. Everything seemed subdued, not just the sounds but also the people themselves. It was as if everything and everyone was struggling to get through – get through the haze, get through this place, get through the present and on to something, anything different.

  The limited sounds from the outside world made it difficult for Burn to form a complete picture of her surroundings. But she did come to the conclusion that the pollution was just as bad in the rest of the tier as it was in her little corner of it. That, paired with the sporadic coughing and choking she heard, reinforced her conclusion that she was somewhere deep in the bowels of Kasis.

  With that theory confirmed, she turned her attention to the inside of the building. Burn stood up, carefully this time, and made her way to the far wall on which stood a large wooden door. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against its rough surface, willing herself to hear beyond it into the rest of the building.

  Her first impression was silence, heavy and oppressive, like the house itself had been scared into muting all that took place within its walls. But the more she listened, the more Burn heard hints of life. Pots and pans clanked lightly somewhere above and to the left, which she took to be the kitchen, while someone strode gently down a carpeted hall even higher above her.

  As she stood there, her head to the door, Burn could almost make out the outlines of the house itself. It was tall, at least three stories, and wide, with a couple of rooms stretching out across from her. It was shallow, though, with more dwellings crammed against its back and sides, enhancing the feeling of claustrophobia.

  Burn turned around and slid down the door, her body already tired from the mild exertion. She landed on the hard floor and sat there, knees to chest, continuing to explore the house with her senses.

  There was someone else in the place, someone on the topmost floor whose limited movements made them difficult to track. She cocked her head, straining to hear more. Scribbling. Tapping. Intermittent pacing. Someone in an office, perhaps? Maybe the person who was holding her hostage in this place, one of Cross’ minions? Or maybe Cross himself, pacing in his secret lair while deciding what to do with her? Without the benefit of dialogue, it was difficult to say for sure.

  A sudden coughing fit broke Burn out of her contemplation. In the quiet space, with so little noise to compete with it, the sounds of her cough bounced off the furniture and walls, coming back to her in staggered echoes. Compared to the oppressive silence of her surroundings, the sounds were jarring. She covered her mouth with her elbow in an attempt to suppress the noise. There was no need to draw attention to hersel
f.

  Above her, a chime rang suddenly, sending small, tinny waves of sound floating through the house. Someone was at the door. The figure in the upstairs room rallied, brought to attention by the noise. They made their way down the stairs to what Burn supposed was the front door, opening it to allow entrance.

  “Ah, it’s you,” came a high male voice. Not Cross, then. “Come in, come in,” the man drawled with lofty superiority.

  “Any issues?” asked the newcomer, nearly whispering. Even in a whisper, though, Burn knew that voice, knew its malice and cruelty. Cross. So this wasn’t his house, after all, but he was clearly involved in whatever was going to become of her.

  Burn instinctively dashed to the other side of the room, putting as much space between her and the villains as possible, since it was only a matter of time before they came for her. She resumed her search for a weapon while paying close attention to the conversation above her, praying for something – anything – she could use to aid her in her escape.

  “No, nothing,” the higher voice answered happily, sounding more like a faithful lapdog than an equal. “Not a sound, in fact. Hope she’s still alive down there. But if not, well, it’s not a great loss.”

  “She better be alive,” Cross growled menacingly. “I have plans for her.” The way he said it made a shiver of pure terror crawl down Burn’s spine. She clutched at herself tightly to keep from shaking.

  You’re brave, she told herself as the footsteps began to draw closer. You’re resourceful. This isn’t the end. She repeated those three phrases again and again, willing herself to accept them.

  Cross and his lackey descended a set of stairs, pausing down the hall from her cell.

  “I don’t get it,” said the high-voiced man questioningly. “I mean, she’s not like the others. She’s…just a girl. Why her?”

  Cross chuckled quietly. “You underestimate her, which is your first mistake. There’s more to her than you think. I’d bet you that she’s just like the rest of them – a freak. I don’t know what it is yet, but she’s hiding something. Don’t worry, she’ll make an excellent guinea pig.”

  So Cross did suspect that she had an ability after all – but he didn’t know what it was. That worked in her favor, Burn thought as she mentally cataloged Cross’ words, saving them to dissect later. If there was a later.

  The pair started to move again, rapidly approaching her location. A beep sounded as the biometric lock disengaged and the door to her room swung open, revealing the towering figure of Cross. He was flanked by a rotund little man who barely fit in the doorway, his girth blocking out most of the light from the hall.

  Burn made no move toward them, choosing instead to remain still and motionless in the corner. Cross strode further into the room, stopping a few feet away from where she stood. They eyed each other slowly, each taking stock of the other.

  “Well, well, she’s not dead after all,” Cross said to the squat man, his eyes never leaving her. “We were afraid your little blow to the head was too much for you.” He addressed her directly now, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain. “Delicate constitutions and all that. But I’m glad to see you’re doing so well. This wouldn’t have been half as much fun without you.”

  Burn kept her mouth shut, biting the inside of her lip to keep from spitting out a sarcastic retort – or just plain spitting at him. Both were viable options. Cross reveled in her silence, taking her lack of response as submission. He came closer, towering over Burn, and her thoughts flashed back to the events of the night before.

  “We could have been friends, you know. Even allies. You could have gone far had you joined us. But, no, you had to join them and their petty little cause. Oh, yes, I know all about your little Lunaria. So powerless, so futile. They’re never going to accomplish anything, poor creatures.”

  He licked his lips before continuing, and Burn shuddered in disgust. “I guess it runs in the blood, though, this rebellious attitude, this distaste for authority. I mean, your father was the same, just as much of a dirty, spineless rat. But I took care of him. And now I’m going to take care of you.”

  “What did you do to him?” Burn whispered between clenched teeth, straining against her instincts in an attempt to stay still.

  He laughed that evil little laugh, his eyes twinkling in the darkness. “I threw him in the Pit. I dragged him there with my own two hands and dropped him in. You should have heard him beg. So pathetic. Oh, but the way he screamed as he fell – it was such a satisfying sound. A traitor getting what he deserved.”

  Burn couldn’t hold back the fire any longer. “You’re a sadist, a sad little man who has to resort to violence because he has no real idea how to lead. You deserve to rot in hell along with everyone else on your fucking Peace Force.”

  Before she could prepare herself, Cross backhanded her across the face, sending her head flying back. As she tried to regain her balance, Cross grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up in front of his.

  “You’re worthless. Remember that,” he said as his eyes scanned every inch of her face. “No one will miss you when you’re gone. You’re just a pitiful little girl who tried to play with fire and got burned. You’re out of your depth, and it will be my pleasure to make sure you pay.”

  With that, he threw her toward the door. Burn landed hard on her knees, hearing them thud grotesquely against the cold stone floor. “Take this garbage out of my sight. Put her in something more suitable, then dose her and send her out. The sooner she’s gone, the better.”

  Still reeling from her fall, Burn flinched when two warm hands grasped her arm and pulled, yanking her roughly to her feet. Once she was standing again, the hands let go of her, and the fat little man clamped a smooth metal collar around her neck.

  Burn’s hands instinctively reached up to the collar to pull it away from her neck, but she was stopped by a small tsk-ing sound from her rotund jailer.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You see, this little beauty is a marvel of modern technology. If you try to remove it, it explodes – along with your head.” He sounded so gleeful, as if he wanted her to try to escape just so he could watch the aftermath.

  “I’m the only one who can get it off,” he continued, smiling. “And that won’t be happening until we have you right where we want you.”

  He turned on his heel, sprightly in his excitement, and grabbed a chain that Burn hadn’t noticed before. He attached the chain to her collar and pulled, propelling her along the hall behind him. He almost skipped up the stairs, Burn following in his wake and Cross bringing up the rear.

  It was difficult to see where she was going, but the chain attached to her neck tugged her along in the right direction. Both Cross and her captor wore goggles, allowing them to see through the fog, but apparently sight wasn’t something they wanted to grant her.

  Burn almost tripped when they reached another staircase but steadied herself on the banister. The heavy man tugged harder on her leash, pulling her up the stairs and onto the landing. Once they were on the same level, he turned, leading her into another small room at the end of the hall. He stopped at the doorway, and Burn felt a prod from behind her as Cross pushed her into the room.

  “Be a good little girl and get changed,” said the fat man, indicating a pair of rags on top of a rickety wooden table. “And if you don’t, we’ll do it for you.” With that, he shut the door in her face.

  Chapter 18

  Burn took stock of her new surroundings. Like the last room, this one was dim and hazy, making it difficult for her to discern everything around her. But she could tell that this space was less cluttered than the last, with a small table in the middle on which sat her new “clothes.”

  Clothes was a generous term for them. Burn picked them up and considered them for a moment, running her hands over the rough pants and battered shirt. She briefly contemplated not following their orders but dismissed the idea just as rapidly. Pants – even ones as torn and stained as these – were easier to
move in than a ballgown. Or easier to run away in, at least.

  She changed hastily, slightly afraid that the men would come bursting back in. But as she listened outside, she heard them travel down the hall and into a room on the other side of the building, shutting a door behind them. Burn grabbed the shoes that had been placed next to the rags and crammed her feet into them, wincing as her battered toes curled to fit into the too-small space.

  Burn balled up the dress and placed it on the table where her “new” clothes had sat. She felt a pang of guilt for the state of it, ripped in places and covered in blood and dirt in others. It had been such a beautiful gown, and now it was forever ruined, irreparable. She dreaded explaining the outfit’s demise to Symphandra – but quickly realized that that was the least of her worries. What was a ruined dress compared to almost certain death at the hands of a tyrant?

  Burn glanced down at herself, considering her new look. The shirt was more of a sack, hanging loosely against her small frame, and the pants were much the same. Altogether the clothes had the distinct effect of making her appear homeless and possibly deranged. That was probably exactly the look they were going for. The smell was powerful, as well, reminding her of some combination of onions and singed hair. She wondered briefly who had worn the garments before her – and what had happened to them – but ultimately decided that she didn’t want to know.

  As she tested her range of motion in the new attire, Burn kept tabs on the room across the hall, listening for any hint of conversation. It was quiet at first as the men poured one another a drink, settling themselves in chairs in what seemed to be the office. But they couldn’t ignore their business dealings for long.

  “Are we almost ready?” the large man asked Cross, sounding impatient with him. “I thought we were done with our tests. Then you bring me another one!”