Ash

by Shani Petroff

  I caught the next train east from the UV station and settled into a private compartment in the Purple car. It had been almost a year since I took a connector zone ride. Sure, I had jumped on the Purple line to get from NoPur, the northern border between the Purple and Crimson ring, or to SoPur, the southern border—but going from Purple to a bottom ring was a whole different animal. This was a real commute, not just a shuttle ride, and called for the proper amenities. Fortunately, the Purple car was well equipped. I ordered an energy fizz from the porter and gave him a generous tip to ensure my privacy. I then activated my tracker’s sound cloud. Immediately the background noises of the train were muted, and I was surrounded by a protective layer of Beethoven.

  We pulled away from the Center Lake, and my home beside it. Below the streets were lit brightly enough to imagine the sun was still overhead. The shining skyscrapers soaring up from both sides of the rail only added to the effect. I watched them go by in an aggravated stupor. It was incomprehensible that Link would think my mother was a non-believer. I’d get to the bottom of the restricted articles soon enough, and when I did, I’d march right back into the holding cells and explain. Maybe that would help him shed his disillusions.

  A few minutes later the buildings began to lose height as we sped past the eastern border of the Purple zone and into Crimson. I turned the geolocator on my wrist tracker off as we approached the East 2 stop, wondering if I would receive a fine. It was illegal to disable the locator feature, but Purples were generally given a pass, and I could afford the fine if it happened. It wouldn’t do for my father to find out where I was going tonight.

  The rail sliced directly through the bustling center of the Crimson zone, but tonight, the usually raucous bars and clubs were subdued, and the bright lights seemed somehow harsh instead of energized. Had the race turned out differently I’d be here now with Bas and the rest of our friends celebrating. Say what you would about Crimsons, but they definitely knew how to throw a good party.

  Another stop later we were in the Green zone. The buildings were closer to the ground in this ring—most not higher than ten stories—and I could see the moon now, round and bloated, resting on their tops. The area surrounding the rail was mostly residential, and the apartments were made from recycled plastic and solar roofs. They weren’t particularly pretty, but Greens hadn’t paid for energy since the ministry created the homes during the rebuilding. It was one of the many reasons post-Event zoning had been so efficient.

  The next stop, East 4, brought us to a residential section of the Yellow zone. There was no one on the streets, but I could see the lights on in some of the buildings we passed. The ministry planned to renovate this area soon, but for now, most of the architecture still relied on aluminum and solar panels. Link’s home was out there somewhere, but I’d never visited. One of the many issues in our relationship. Past relationship, I reminded myself. I shook my head, growing angry all over again. No one could make me lose my temper as quickly as Link Harris. He had a soft spot for the lower rings that could become downright absurd if his family was brought into it. I understood he came from a mixed ring home, but he was a Destiny Specialist. He, of all people, should have understood that certain individuals were destined for certain paths.

  I looked out the window as we approached the Brown zone, still fuming. The other thing about Link was that he could never be wrong. Today’s conversation was a perfect example. He’d brought my mother into it to prove a point, and once I had the truth I’d squash the discussion once and for all. I took a sip of my energy drink, then returned it to the windowsill ledge, noting how close we were to the East River. The Brown zone was the last on the main island of New City. It looked about the same as Yellow, though lower to the ground, and darker. The zone was mostly populated by minor Trigger destinies, the kind of destinies that weren’t great by themselves, but could cause something to happen. A ripple in a pond. I’d been trained to give the Browns some respect. Even the best Destiny Specialists could occasionally misdiagnose the importance of a Brown. It was a rare occurrence, but I’d seen the stories on the news. Like Argo Eta who was destined to pull a lever. During a maintenance call to the New City Blank Ward he witnessed ‘the uprising.’ The Blanks had overtaken the guards, demagnetized the gates, and were about to make it out, when Argo managed to pull the emergency security lever. The alarms were sounded and the force field reactivated. If it wasn’t for Argo, the Blanks would have headed straight for the UV and who knows what might have happened then. Despite his unfortunate death, he was made a post-mortem Purple, allowing him to die with the utmost dignity and respect. I let out a sigh. The exact opposite of Aldan.

  As we neared East 5, I once again pinged Sol. This was the last stop before the overpass, and I still hadn’t heard back from him. I pressed my lips together and considered getting off the train and turning around. But I didn’t. I needed to find out about my mother, I reminded myself, and this was the quickest way. The train came to a stop, and an overhead sign flashed that we’d reached a transfer to the agricultural or AnaKurtz sector. There were transfers involved to get there? When I gave my speech, I was driven to AnaKurtz. I couldn’t imagine taking this commute every day. How time consuming.

  As the rail zipped over the water we seemed to float in the darkness. I looked back toward the island we’d left, my reflection superimposed over the twinkling buildings. It was beautiful from the distance, like a steep, glittering mountainside, rising quickly from the banks of the Brown zone to the crests of the gleaming skyscrapers of the Purple. I focused back on my own reflection. I fluffed my hair a bit and looked at my face with satisfaction. My cheekbones were still perfectly defined, my lips still red. Nora’s work would remain intact for another three days if I chose to leave it on. The marvels of modern science, I thought.

  We soon crossed the water and entered the Slate zone. I knew this area was enormous, though I’d only visited once before. The factory lights in AnaKurtz gleamed in the distance. Beyond that were farms, though you couldn’t see them at this time of night. A memory came to me unbidden. I’d been seven when we’d gone to an orchard in the north on a class trip. We’d picked apples. I’d always been competitive and had quickly gathered the largest quantity. I reported my success to my father that night, begging him to take me back the next day. But instead of congratulating me, he threw the fruit in the trash. He told me the area was no place for a Purple, and I couldn’t go back. There’d been a new teacher when I’d returned to school the next day. In retrospect, I understood, if somewhat reluctantly. The sector wasn’t a play zone, it was where work was done. Taking a group of Purple children so far out of their ring, especially without a proper chaperone and explanation, just wasn’t appropriate. I looked down at my wrist, triple checking that my geolocator was disabled. I was no longer a child, and I didn’t need my father to treat me like one if he found out about my trip.

  It would be three minutes until I’d arrive at the Ash stop. I took down my sound cloud and enabled the atlas feature of my tracker, making sure to keep my placement hidden. I then opened my hand and projected a tiny holographic map onto my palm. I set my purple dot to begin at the Ash train station, then forwarded through the directions that would lead me to Sol’s doorstep. It would take eight minutes from door to door. Easy enough. Though walking in four-inch heels would never do. I adjusted my heels down to the ground level mark. I hated being this short, but I hated sore feet even more. The porter was nowhere to be seen as I exited my compartment, and I whisked out the sliding doors of the train, the holographic map now flattened into a bird’s eye view. I opened my palm again, checking the directions. Straight onto Park Street, right onto Downing Way, left on Ashton, right on Avenue D.

  The Ash platform was deserted as I walked out. A holograph of a much younger Dr. Og smiled as I approached. “Welcome to the Ash ring, one of the most important, hard working areas in our system today. As you know, all rings are vital to the success of our world, and all people are vital to…”
The holograph cut out for a second, then began the loop again. ‘Vital to the rings,’ I filled in. It was one of Og’s most famous quotes. I made my way down the stairs and onto the street. Though street, I thought, was being charitable.

  I wrinkled my nose and lifted my dress from the dirt covering the cracked and broken concrete underfoot. A steady breeze blew from the west, from the river. I shuddered involuntarily, looking down at the ground more closely. The tragedy of the Event had been drilled into us at Spectrum. The surrounding area that had existed before New City formed had lost nine million people alone, and the majority of the bodies had been transported by underground subway—now known as the Tombs—to Sinderlock Island for cremation. Due to some trick of the coastal wind coming up the river, the residue from the fires skipped over most of Slate, instead dusting the Ash ring. Quiet, Madden, I told myself in annoyance. The dirt on the ground was just dirt, not the ashes of my ancestors.

  The thin pools cast by overhead streetlights did little to ward off the darkness, and I walked down Park Street with care, doing my best not to trip over the broken pavement. The buildings to either side of me were made from the same dismal gray concrete as the street, and they all appeared to have been constructed from a two-story, rectangular mold. The business signs in front were their only distinguishing features. Despite the hour—only 8:37—most lights were off and doors and windows barred. There were few people on the streets, and all turned to stare as I walked by. I felt my heartbeat beginning to increase, and I realized for the first time that this might have been a bad idea. My purple dress was a burst of color through the gray and although its cut had been perfect for the championship, I now felt like a moving target. I held my head up and did my best to appear indifferent. It was one of the earliest lessons I’d learned. People only reacted when you gave them something to react to.

  I felt a buzz in my palm, indicating it was time to turn right. I could barely make out the “D” and “WN” and final “G” of Downing Way. The rest of the sign had faded, or fallen off out of disrepair. I’d known the Ash ring was poor, but really, clear signage was the cornerstone of civilization. When I joined the ministry, I’d see that the streets were clearly marked.

  I turned and paused. It appeared the streetlights were unique to Park Street. In front of me was only moonlit darkness. And more endless concrete buildings. Everything in this zone was made of hard angles. I sniffed the air. Hard angles, and pockets of bad smells, one of which I was now standing in. The rot of garbage filled the air and I hazarded a glance at my palm, instinctually not wanting anyone to see my map. I considered calling Sol’s house, but something stopped me. I didn’t want anyone to know how lost I was beginning to feel. Show no weakness. That was another early lesson. And anyway, I was so close there was really little point. A left turn at Ashton, and a right onto Avenue D and I would be there. Still, I looked back over my shoulder. In a place like this, I could almost believe that Revenants existed.

  The stories always had them emerging from the Tombs to steal from New City. Now that I was surrounded by the shadows of the Ash zone, it didn’t seem so farfetched. Of course, everyone knew that Revenants were just old wives tales told to keep children in line. Even the name was ridiculous. The definition of Revenants was animated corpses that returned from the grave to terrorize the living.

  But there was a kernel of truth to the tale, like all myths, I supposed. The Tombs had received their name following the Event, when the old underground subway had been used to carry the dead away. Afterward, the Tombs had been sealed to keep us safe from any toxins that might have remained there from the decomposition and rot. Anything beyond that was just a silly story.

  Still, thoughts of the walking dead were enough to spook me, and I made my way even more carefully, walking as quickly as I dared. Across the street I noticed a lump on a bench and I stared at it, trying to imagine what it might be. I stifled a scream as it moved. Someone was sleeping there. I swallowed, hurrying even faster. The Ash zone was poor, I reminded myself. And no one would hurt me. I was a Purple. Except, what if Aldan’s death had stirred something up? The thought bloomed in my mind, and I considered my options as I slid through the darkness. It was a short walk back to the train. But I was so close to Sol’s house.

  My palm buzzed as if responding, and I turned left, crossing the street to put more distance between myself and the sleeping Ash. I walked through the gloom, taking comfort in the occasional dim light within the buildings surrounding me. These looked exactly the same as the storefronts, but were missing the business signs. Residences, I assumed.

  There was a man on the sidewalk ahead of me, and I stopped myself from crossing to the other side. I’d just passed what I assumed was Avenue C, and in half a block I’d be turning to the right. I couldn’t cross to one side and then back again. I marched on, raising my head even higher. The man stopped as I approached, staring at me. I chided myself. I really should have changed out of my dress. What was I thinking coming out here in a gown? I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I realized for the first time that no one knew where I was. Bastin thought I was at work. My father thought I was with Bastin. And my geolocator was off.

  Keep moving, I urged myself. I kept my eyes carefully forward, noting how tall the man in front of me was. He was a giant. At least a head taller than Bastin. I wanted to scream. As I walked past his eyes followed me. I took a full five steps past before I remembered to exhale.

  I ignored the need to look over my shoulder. And I ignored the voice shrieking in my head to run. While it was extremely rare, there had been cases of Ashes striking out against the upper rings. Two years ago, Edium Grale, a member of the PAE, vanished in the Ash Zone. The only thing that was ever found of him was his wrist tracker and the sleeve of his purple shirt. Link had known him. Edium had been a senior at Spectrum when Link was a sophomore.

  I pressed my lips together hard enough that I could feel the ridges of my teeth. I was being silly. There was nothing to be afraid of in the Ash ring. Link was wrong. There was no crime here. The Edium disappearance was an exception. It was like I told him. This ring was an important part of our society—it was perfectly safe and livable. Still, I breathed a sigh of relief as I turned onto Avenue D. I was almost at Sol’s. And that’s when I heard the footsteps behind me.

  My mind raced as I took off from my house. I had no idea where I was going, I just needed to get away from my mother. The city curfew would sound in a little while. It didn’t matter. There was no way I was going back home.

  I tried to clear my head as I ran down the deserted streets. I didn’t want to think about anything. Not Aldan. Not Link. Not my mother. Instead I focused on my feet hitting the ground, the wind rushing past me. Before I knew it I had run miles. I was back in the Purple Zone. Back to the Loop Arena. Back to where Aldan was shot.

  The arena was locked. I considered scaling the wall, but I knew I’d only get a couple of jabs from a stun stick and a fine for my troubles. The truth was I didn’t really want to go back in there anyway. The thought made me feel hollow. Besides the arena didn’t represent Aldan, not the way I wanted to remember him—smiling, happy, goofing around. I wanted to be someplace he loved.

  My feet knew where I was going before I did—Aldan’s loop practice area. It was a quick jog away, in a quiet patch of land located off of the park. Halfway there I noticed a pregnant Crimson woman kneeling on the ground.

  “Are you okay?” I asked as I rushed over.

  She looked at me like I was from another planet. “Of course. I’m making a wish.”

  I looked around and realized where I was. We were at the wishing tree at Center Park. It was the only tree left standing in New City Center after the riots and fires that followed the Event. More were grown and others transplanted in, and plenty of trees surrounded the trails, but the large oak was the only original in the park. People from every ring trekked to the tree to share their dreams. It wasn’t busy now, but during daytime hours you could find dozens o
f people tying their wishes to the branches, stuffing them in the trunk of the tree, burying them in the ground. The slips on the tree were pretty in their own way—if you ignored the fact that the whole concept was a sham. Most people who came here were expectant parents. Pregnant women and their husbands, hoping for ultra destinies for their kids. My family doesn’t believe in the tree. My mom says it’s a custom for fools. She says it gets people’s hopes up just to slash them down. In other words, she came here when she was pregnant with me.

  The pregnant lady was making a production of breathing in the air around the tree, probably hoping it would create some extra good karma.

  “Good luck,” I said.

  “I don’t need luck,” she said, “I have destiny.”

  I kept quiet. I wasn’t going to be the one to debate her dreams—not tonight. I nodded and walked until I passed the looming metal fence that surrounded the practice area outside of City Center. It was dark out, but the lights around the track were on. So was the one highlighting the sign at the main entrance. For the past twelve months the white backdrop read the same, “Practice track of future Loop Race Champion XXV Aldan Harris.” Underneath the words a holograph showed an almost life-sized Aldan coasting through the finish line during last year’s race. I used to love looking at the sign. The expression on my brother’s face was one of pure exhilaration, like nothing could touch him. Only now I couldn’t focus on the image, I could only see the giant words written on the backdrop in dark purple marker: DESTINY BREAKERS DESERVE TO DIE. It stopped me in my tracks. How could somebody do this? I walked toward the sign, emotion rising. I used the arm of my sleeve to scrub at the hateful words, but they wouldn’t come off.

  “Crilas,” I muttered. I couldn’t just leave it there, I’d come back tomorrow with cleaning supplies I promised myself.

  I headed over to the fence. No one was around and the quiet and emptiness came as a relief. The gate door wasn’t locked, but that didn’t surprise me—Aldan spent most of his time here, even getting special nighttime access to the track. He often stayed out practicing ‘til just before curfew, particularly during the weeks leading up to the championship. He was probably the last one to use the track, and he never bothered to lock anything. “If someone not authorized wants to give loop racing a try, let them,” he’d always say. Maybe I should have seen that as a clue to how he saw the system. I walked inside, the memory of Aldan giving me a slight chill. I lay down on the grass, in the shadow of one of the loops, and stared up at the steep inclines and crazy turns, remembering the way my brother flew through them, taking each loop with such skill.