The Last City Box Set

by Logan Keys

  My sudden laugh surprises me, but I cover my mouth and check that cross again.

  Nate flashes me a grin between his mustache and short beard. “He won’t mind. But if you’ve come to see a preacher, you’re a smidge too late. Preachin’ was my brother’s job. The Authority took him just last week.”

  I nod in sympathy. “And you stayed?”

  “I’ve no choice.” His gaze wanders over to Serena and back to me again.

  My whisper in reply seems so loud in here. “I didn’t know what else to do. She’s been so depressed.”

  “These are depressing times.”

  An older woman separates from the small group of Russians and catches my eye with a bright smile as she comes over. She and Nate hold some unspoken communication before she turns to face Serena with a softened gaze.

  “Mother,” he says, “will you take this one to the back with you? Might be better where it’s more private.”

  “Of course. Come along, dearie.” Her accent’s twice as strong as her son’s.

  With a cluck of her tongue, she takes Serena’s hand to guide her away.

  Nate stops me from following. “Let her speak with her for a moment alone, miss. We’ve seen a good many come in like this, and it does no good to have a crowd.”

  “How did you know?”

  His expression turns weary and he sits. “Most of the time we have young girls come in here, all pale and sickly afterwards. And they all have that same look, with their hands still wrapped around their middles.”

  “What will she say to her? Your mother, I mean.”

  “She’ll tell her that she can heal; that what’s lost in this way won’t always hurt so bad. She’ll open up to Mother more than to you or me; she has a way of handling these types of delicate things, you know. She has ‘the touch.’ Gets through to them.”

  Relief loosens my spine, and I sit, as well. We’d both felt so helpless, Manda and I. What could we possibly know about children lost?

  Nate asks, “I suppose you have questions, yourself?”

  “Me? Not really.”

  “Have you been raised in the faith?”

  “No. My father said everyone’s path is his alone. He learned this through watching my mother pass.”

  “Your father sounds very wise.”

  “He was. He believed in something, though, I think. In his own way. He used to say music was his religion, because it had life and its own spirit, that it was proof there is more to this world than just breathing. I think that’s where I stand, as well.”

  “That makes a lot of sense. But something else brought you here. I believe that, too.”

  “Maybe.” I smile back at his own smile. “I thought you said you weren’t a preacher?”

  He laughs.

  “What did you do before the flood?” I ask.

  “I’m a microbiologist. Mostly, my work was in the field. My brother, Collin, and I, we fought fiercely for years over what to believe. To think, those types of fights used to matter so much.… ”

  “And now?”

  “We found a common ground, built this place—”

  His expression is grim while in thought, and Serena returns, interrupting the rest of what Nate wanted to say. She has more color in her face than I’ve seen in a long time, and although she’s still quite sad, her steps aren’t as slow and filled with despair.

  She says she promised to visit again, and I tell her that we will.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Jeremy’s at my door, wearing that detestable guilty look.

  He reaches for my hand, and his fingers tighten around my wrist. “Come on.”

  He leads me back toward the wall on our side. We arrive at its base, and I’m shivering slightly from the very thought of how big and tall it is.

  Jeremy finds the part he was looking for and guides me into an elevator shaft. “We have about a half-hour,” he says. “This side of the wall is dead for a while.”

  We go inside, and he presses the button.

  It’s a slow ride to the top, and for some reason I don’t want to break the silence. I’m suddenly worried.

  With a hiss and a jerk, the elevator stops, and Jeremy rattles the doors open along the track.

  A strong wind immediately blows inside.

  I follow, carefully, even though it’s wide enough up here to build two houses side-by-side.

  The view takes my breath away. We’re in the clouds, grey and lifeless, but far below sits the old world.

  “It’s like a jungle down there,” I say.

  “Yeah,” says Jeremy. “It all grew back after we left it alone.”

  Most visible are the treetops, and off in the distance lies an old city. I can’t remember which one, and I really don’t care, because Jeremy is acting strange, which is making me nervous.

  I drag my gaze away from history, turn to face him. “What’s wrong?”

  He sighs, and the wind lifts his hair. Without looking at me, he quietly says, “Liza, we need to say goodbye.”

  “Why?”

  His shoulders slump, and he finally faces me, my hand still gripped inside his larger one. “You can’t get hurt. Not for me.”

  I pull free and cup his face. “The people are finally angry, and they have every right to be. I’m not as innocent or weak as you think, Jeremy. I can help.”

  He shakes his head, searching my face.

  “Jeremy, I want to. I need to.”

  “Why?”

  I cross my arms. “You don’t get to ask me that. You don’t know what it was like; you can only imagine.”

  He turns toward the edge again, and instantly I feel guilty. This boy has a past, too. A brutal one. In my hypocrisy, I’ve dismissed his pain. Still, how can he not see? The rebellion needs every person it can get.

  Jeremy withdraws and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. We’ve left off touching one another again. Something’s changed between us. “You think I don’t know that?” he says, and his eyebrows knit together. “You’re the strongest person I’ve met, Liza. And it’s not that you couldn’t handle what may come. You can. It’s just that … there are things I haven’t told you. If certain people knew who you were, or how important you were to me … ? This isn’t a request; I’ve known all along you wouldn’t listen. But it doesn’t matter....”

  “Then tell me―”

  “I’m leaving.”

  My stomach drops. So he’d brought me here, as a goodbye. What a strange place to tell me unless … he’s going out there.

  I glance down at the remnants of civilization. “You can’t just leave.” Panic’s starting to take hold of me. “We’re all in danger, whether we want to be or not. What are you going to do? Where will you go?”

  Jeremy leans forward until his forehead almost meets mine, stopping just before they touch. “You stay clear of the mess when it comes. At least promise me that.”

  He’s not going to tell me. It’s all a secret. And even with his face so near to mine, even with my heart skipping so many beats, my resolve firms. “I can’t do that. I can’t promise I won’t keep trying to help. I’m already too far in.”

  His teeth gleam in the darkness, and he shakes his head. “So stubborn. A patriot to the end.”

  Coldness pools in my spine. This is it. Doesn’t matter what I say. He’s leaving.

  We both look down at the world―the old one, still waiting for someone to come along. It’s been growing, healing without our abuse.

  “And what do you do it for,” I say, slow and sad, “if not for patriotism, Jeremy?”

  “For freedom,” he replies in all seriousness, realizing I won’t change my mind, either. “What else is there?”

  My jaw hardens as I spot a tiny little house that’s all but a shack. “Justice.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Tommy

  In her anger, Joelle’s run out on me. It’s almost daylight, and she’s upset enough to put herself in danger―in the sunlight.

  Every mi
nute wasted in one direction costs me two in another. Split right down the middle is exactly how I feel about now; I’m desperate to find her, not to mention furious and wanting to kill her when I do.

  In my mad rush through the regular barracks, I’ve drawn attention and almost transitioned twice during the search.

  Finally, outside, I spot a group of soldiers standing around Cory in a horseshoe-shape, all surrounding a single person on the ground.

  Joelle.

  Just like the fake reality back in the jungle, she’s there, ready to catch fire. She’s covering her face, writhing to avoid the rays as the sun swells beyond the lip of the earth, and Cory’s holding everyone back with his mind control.

  Joelle’s in his grasp, too. Stuck where he’s put her, to await the burning.

  Waco’s closest and fighting, barely moving inches in his attempt to help. His head turns from side to side like he’s stuck in molasses, and his drawl’s slower than usual. “You’d better hope you don’t run out of energy before the sun comes up, Cory. That little princess will suck you dry to your last capillary.”

  Joelle hisses in answer. She’s wrapped her hair around her throat and face to protect her eyes from the bright horizon.

  I creep up behind Cory, hoping he won’t notice me until I break his neck.

  But before I can grab him, he flips around, and instantly my change begins. The monster’s been waiting for any slip of control, and before Cory can invade my mind, my body starts to stretch. A sound that’s more it than me erupts from my mouth.

  But the monster can’t finish, because the world slows its spinning. Everything winds down. Air feels sucked out like a vacuum, muting sound. I can’t move, but my brain provides a name in explanation: Simon.

  If you can call anyone our creator, Simon’s it. The Underground’s one scientist to undergo the rays himself, only he took it one step further. I’m told he died many times in the process, trying to become the perfect Special. His marks are burned off, proof that he’s a failure like the rest of us. Rumor has it they need two to start a new race: like an Adam and Eve who will be a game changer for our planet.

  Now, Simon’s slowed time itself until my heartbeats have become long seconds apart. It’s unnerving, and the first I’ve ever fully felt his Special. He’s impervious to it, though, and his long trench coat flaps in the breeze. He watches us like he did that night Joelle and I fought in Gothenburg. That’s Simon. Always watching.

  This time, I see something else in the shadow beneath his fedora.

  Disappointment.

  When I move my eyes down to Joelle, I find an empty space. Cory’s disappeared, too, along with everyone else.

  When time restarts, it’s just me and Simon.

  I jerk backwards from where he’s appeared a foot away from me.

  “Thomas,” he says, “are you ready?”

  “Sir?”

  He tilts his head like someone who’s long since lost his humanity from ages spent in the otherness outside of time. “You will have to lead them. Do you believe that you can?”

  I frown as doubt fills me.

  “Do you believe in this war against the Authority?” he asks.

  I hesitate, and like magic, a girl appears from behind Simon. Her eyes are unfocused, blind. She’s tiny, dressed in a white smock stark against brown skin; barely ten years old, if I had to guess. She approaches and lays a hand on my arm.

  Then, I’m seeing nothing … before seeing everything all at once; visions like a movie reel, so fast, it’s impossible to keep up. People herded like cattle, heads shaved: Cancer. Camps, prisons, citizens in agony, suspended, hopeless, and crammed into uniforms with black helmets: Guards. Streets filled with blood: Anarchy in Anthem.

  They’ve rounded up crying girls who hold their protruding stomachs. Too many mouths to feed; another child without a license.

  A doctor approaches one, while she screams as they hold her down.

  So … much … blood. And all of it rising in a massive wave.

  With a yell, I break away from the oracle, tripping over my feet and falling backwards.

  I’m alone.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  My things are packed. Joelle’s fine. Unharmed, that is. “Fine” is not how she is otherwise. “Fine” is as far away from my Jo-Jo as anything could possibly be. Nothing I can do about this part of our life. We always knew it would come to this.

  “You’ve changed,” she says.

  Two words that wound me fatally. I hadn’t realized the last of me was still thriving, even here, and I was content in our little pocket. Now, our pretend house has been tainted, and I want to blame Cory, but Joelle hadn’t said he was the one who’d changed. It was me. And she’s right.

  This isn’t the first time that’s happened. Before, I’d changed purely because everything I’d wanted as a kid left me, like mist, overnight. My entire idea of what could have been was robbed from me. Dreams to play football. Dreams to leave Brookhaven. Of college, of girls, of being a somebody, anybody, even a lesser version of myself would have sufficed. Instead, I was left with this new me, someone I can’t trust, whom I don’t even know.

  Joelle needs me.

  And soon I won’t be there for her.

  “You remember what you said when we left Brookhaven, Tommy?”

  Daisy’s here again. I squeeze my eyes shut, though I still sense her there beside me.

  I give in and open them to find her watching me with humor.

  “No,” I say, “I really don’t.”

  “You said, ‘Daisy, home isn’t just a place. It’s not even just people. It’s where you want to be when all is said and done.’”

  My throat tightens. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Daisy reaches forward and touches me—really touches me—her cold, grey hand resting on my forehead. “And you said, ‘All ain’t said and done, Daisy.’”

  “I thought you said I made you up to get good advice.”

  “Shh, handsome. It all ain’t said and done.”

  “But—” When next I look, there’s no one there, just the empty barracks again. “You forget,” I say now to thin air, “that I’m the reason you’re dead.”

  “Time to go, Hatter.”

  Snapping out of my memories, I turn to find Sergeant Nolan staring at me strangely.

  “You ready, hero?”

  I nod and shoulder my pack.

  He walks up, a strange gleam in his eye. “Seems you made quite an impression on Simon.” Nolan holds out his hand with the Sergeant’s rank in his palm.

  I frown as he lifts it and pins it to my jacket.

  Quickly, I snap to a salute, but Nolan shakes his head. “No, Sergeant Hatter. On your way. You’ll not miss me when you go, but you’ll at least know you’ve earned my respect.”

  With a half-smile, I pass by him and walk straight out of the last place I’ve called home. Other than Joelle, I’ll miss nothing in Gothenburg. Here, I’m a stranger in a stranger’s land.

  Liza

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Doesn’t take long to feel the part of my heart that’s missing. Jeremy Writer’s gone, and he’s taken a piece of me with him.

  A week passes, and it’s hard to tell who’s become more of a wraith: me or Serena. We barely eat, hardly speak, and my piano’s gathering dust.

  To me, everything’s like ash here in Ash City.

  It’s fully understood now, that name.

  Tonight, I’ve tried to cry myself to sleep, but there’s no end to this long day, to myself, and the wondering. It’s clear why he’s doing this, why he thinks he is. Yet I’ve never felt so alone in all my life. Worse, even, than at Bodega.

  With Journee locked up, the twins are my only companions, and both of them are grieving like widows over their men and the loss of a child. And with me doing the same, it’s as if someone has sucked the life out of us, like they’ve scooped out our spirits. All of this talk about Anthem giving up hope, and we’re no different.

&nb
sp; The Authority’s won.

  Only when I’ve given up on sleep for the night does my gaze land on the box of my parents’ last items. I’ve never even opened it. I’ve been too much of a coward to look at them.

  I approach on tiptoe, as if I’m afraid it knows I’m coming and will somehow try to run. It takes a sharp knife to cut through a seal that makes an air-tight pop. Beneath that is a metal box with a latch. The items inside clink around while my shaky fingers find the clasp.

  Silly thought, but this stale air wafting out was closest to my father before the box was sealed. Closing my eyes, I lift the lid ever so slowly.

  After three counts, I open them again. Inside sits a single letter, small and fragile, next to its only companion: my music box. With the top open, the tiny dancer waits, poised and ready. I lift her from her prison with pure amazement at seeing her again and set her down onto the table.

  Then stare at her until she blurs.

  My knuckle brushes the winder before I leave it be, unwound.

  On the envelope, my father’s gorgeous handwriting catches my eye. A solitary word: Liza. His marks are so precise, as if done by surgeon’s hands, and the feel of them returns in a rush—his hugs, his hand holding onto mine; gentle, yet firm enough to send a message: I am here.

  Finally, I find my backbone to open the letter …

  Liza,

  My darling daughter …

  Then, I set it to the side, unread.

  My nerve leaves in a rush. Pacing doesn’t help; just makes it worse. The dancer stares at me, too, daring me to wind her.

  Letter tucked inside my jacket, I sneak out despite the hour and find my way back to the church, which is locked for the evening.

  I knock a couple of times, but no answer.

  Frustration grips me and, with a muffled yell, I pull on the handle with everything that’s in me. Dots fill my vision, the door groans and gives, peeling from its hinges.

  The hunk of metal twice my height pops off to knock me in the head before toppling me over with a near-crushing force. My energy waned now, I’m pinned beneath it.