The Last Hope

by Krista Ritchie

  I kiss him to the bed. Not pushing him down—I’m gonna soften my roughness as I promised I’d try. So together, we climb onto the gold-stitched blanket, and I roll on top. Feeling his excitement match mine.

  Our lips swell from the force, and I comb his dark-brown hair out of his face. Court hooks his ankle with my calf. Tangled up in each other, I whisper in his ear, “You’ll be all right if I take the lead?”

  He’s more experienced than I, but Court makes me feel like all we do together is more right and never wrong.

  “Yes,” he murmurs against my neck. “I’d be more than fine with that.”

  I pat his cheek twice, and our hands go lower. We are heat. Melted ice and melted snow. He helps me where need be, and I don’t feel shy asking if he’s all right now and again. He confirms, and I go on with Grenpalish stride.

  Rocking against him. He clutches my shoulders, and the deep noise he makes bursts me alive. I breathe harder, soaking up how he’s living in this very second. This very moment. Overcome tears squeeze out of the corners of my eyes.

  Bliss shatters us and builds us whole. I hold him in my arms afterward. Hugged together like there is no better place than here. And now.

  I’m still with him in every thudding heartbeat.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Franny

  Gods, let this be it.

  We only have one orphanage left. One possibility. If the newborn isn’t here, we’re all out of hope.

  Stork, Zimmer, and I take the lead while the others wait outside Rovenview Orphanage. The wooden, algae-covered building is situated on the north end of Montbay. Five stories high, the orphanage is an eyesore, built right in between the gap of two pristine glass skyscrapers.

  We walk carefully along the swinging bridge over the still canals and reach the front door.

  Once inside, the air is stickier and orange flowers bloom off vines that snake up the walls. I’d think we were still outside if I didn’t spot the wooden administration desk and dizzying hallways right behind.

  I hear children’s laughter, screams, and the banging of doors opening and closing. The sound is different but familiar. I’ve never ached to return to my time in the Bartholo orphanage, but sweeping nostalgia suddenly overtakes me.

  “You wart!” someone shouts, and I spot the tail end of a thievery. A girl in braids screams as another child runs off with her satchel. “You’ll pay for that!”

  “Hush, Eleanor,” an older woman chastises. “Inside voices. If you want to scream, do it on the bridge.”

  The little girl bellows in protest, and the woman points a finger. “I will drag you by your ear—”

  Eleanor slams her little foot onto the woman’s toes and then dashes off as the woman yelps in pain. She’s about to race after the girl, but catches sight of us.

  Letting out a long sigh, she meanders to the desk. “I apologize for that. During this time of day, the younger ones tend to be more restless.”

  Zimmer leans a hip against the desk and sends me a wiseass smile.

  I assume he’s picturing me as that little girl, upset over a stolen satchel. Of course it’s happened, but I never stomped on anyone’s foot.

  Stork says, “It’s all righ—”

  The woman claps her hands, interrupting him. “Ah, a Fast-Tracker couple.” She shimmies her shoulders in excitement.

  At first, I’m unsure of who she’s referring to. Zimmer and Stork. Zimmer and me. Stork and me? All three of us?

  Heat shades my face, and I scowl. Zimmer is laughing underneath his breath, and Stork even grins. Am I the only one not humored by this?

  Her gaze finally dances from Zimmer to me and then back to Zimmer. “How nice, you both looking to adopt before you die? Such a sweet thing to do. We have Babes and Fast-Trackers who’d pair up nicely with you two, I think.”

  Zimmer’s grin reaches cheek-to-cheek, and he slings a lanky arm over my shoulders. “She’s always wanted a child.”

  That couldn’t be more false. I have never even thought about babies until this Myths book. I was meant to die at seventeen. Taking care of a child wasn’t in my future.

  But I play along with the charade. “It’s been a goal of ours to help raise a little one before we die.”

  The woman touches her hand to her chest, and then glances at Stork. “And are you here to adopt as well?”

  He motions to Zimmer. “I’m their friend.”

  Her mouth forms a perfect O. “Right. Yes. I’ve seen this arrangement before. Friends coming in with couples.” She swings her gaze from Zimmer to me. “Which of you is dying soon?”

  Oh.

  She’s assuming Stork will be helping to raise the child after one of us dies.

  “That’d be me,” Zimmer says before I can. He flashes a brighter smile. “It’s been a good life, but a little baby will make it a great one.”

  His words feel like needles poking holes in my heart. I don’t understand this sudden ache. I wish it’d go away.

  Zimmer lets his arm fall from my shoulder, his fingers gliding down my forearm to my wrist until his palm is against my palm.

  What is he doing?

  He laces our fingers, and he squeezes my hand, as though to remind me, we’re pretending to couple.

  I try to relax, and I watch the woman type on the desk. Soon, a hologram springs up with faces of babies … children.

  My breath hitches.

  I wonder if my mom did this. Obviously, not with a hologram. Saltare-3 had large photo albums with each of our pictures tucked inside. Did she skim her fingers over my face? I was just a baby, but she chose me. Felt something then.

  My eyes speed along the faces, lost for words.

  Stork barely glances at the hologram. “We’re looking for a newborn,” he tells the woman. “A girl. She’d have arrived within the week.”

  “Let me see…” The woman peruses through the hologram quickly. It dizzies my head, and I’m already a ball of nerves. Zimmer runs his fingers through my hair gently, still playing up the part that we’re a couple.

  I try not to be a stiff board, and I hold on to his arm. Somewhat sinking into his waist.

  “Hmm…” She tilts her head. “No … we haven’t had a newborn in the past few weeks.” No, that can’t be. “Not unusual during this time of year. It’s Victory’s Sacred Eve. The gods favor death over birth. A lucky week, I’d say.” She gives Zimmer and me an apologetic smile. “But not so lucky for you. I do have some six-month-old Babes, if you’d care for a look.”

  Numbness infiltrates with disbelief. We have no other options …

  Stork clears his throat, his eyes reddening. “Can you check again?” he asks. “It’s a fykking newborn. Maybe she slipped through the cracks.”

  The woman shakes her head. “There are no cracks here. Rovenview Orphanage is the most prestigious in all of Montbay.”

  “Please,” I beg.

  She scrolls through the faces again.

  Three more times.

  “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes when she reaches the end of this list. “How about this young FT? She’s four years old and makes everyone in Rovenview double over laughing. Quite a comedian.”

  Stork turns around and runs a hand over his hair. I don’t have to be his lifeblood to know he’s distraught. Zimmer is as calm as ever, like maybe this doesn’t surprise him at all.

  I try my best not to look at the little girl’s photo. My heart has already fractured in two today, I don’t need it completely obliterated. “Our minds were set on a newborn,” I tell the woman. “We’ll wait. We have time.”

  She smiles. “Splendid.” A crash in the hallway pulls her attention, and she slips away, hollering at the children who scream shrilly.

  “This can’t be right,” Stork says. “There has to be a mistake.”

  “Or,” Zimmer says, shaking his hand out of mine, but he slings it back onto my shoulder. “This Myths book is wrong. It’s just a fykking fairy tale, Storky.”

  Stork isn’t in the
mood for Zimmer’s humor. He flashes a half-smile and makes a rude Fast-Tracker gesture that Zimmer taught him.

  “That’s just nippy,” Zimmer mutters.

  “Or,” I cut in. “We read the instructions wrong.”

  “We didn’t,” Stork says. His head is swinging so much that his hair frees itself from the tie. The string falls to the ground. Frustrated, he bends down to pick it up. “Think of something else. Anything else.” His words are soft and he remains squatting, gaze on the floor in thought.

  “I’m thinking … the answer isn’t down there,” Zimmer tells him.

  “That’s not helping,” I say.

  I’m surprised Stork hasn’t given up. Called it quits. But maybe he just can’t come to terms with the fact that this might be it. No other options for Earth but war. And with only two thousand humans left, the possibility of an entire race of people dying out is … inevitable.

  I shiver.

  Zimmer raises his hands. “All I’m saying is that maybe whoever wrote that book just wanted us to go on a great big adventure. Maybe it was a die-hard FT wanting to provide others with some thrills.”

  Stork stands suddenly, hope glimmering in his blue eyes. “The author. That’s it. We find Sean Cavalletti. We ask him where the baby is.”

  Zimmer groans. “No, fyke. That’s not what I meant. I’m done with the scavenger hunt. It’s been fun but I don’t much like all the water and mold.” He motions to his nose. “It’s botching my sense of smell.”

  “It’s not about you, mate.” Stork walks toward the door.

  Zimmer snorts and looks to me. “How many times have you heard that phrase in your life?”

  “Too many,” I say.

  Stork falters a little as we step outside, apologies shadowing his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that, Zimmer.”

  “No, yeah. I get it.” He laughs bitterly. “Heya, I’m just here for the ride.”

  They argue on the steps of the orphanage, and I hold a hand above my eyes, shielding the sun. Across the canal, Mykal, Court, Kinden, and the Soarcastle sisters stand on the wide wooden pedestrian bridge. They’re not facing the orphanage like I’d thought they’d be. But I am glad to see Mykal holding on to Court, his arm slung up over his shoulders.

  At least something is going right. Them being coupled again—it’s a bright spot.

  I focus harder on their feelings and then I finally see what they’re all staring at. High above the main canal, a hologram is lit up. It broadcasts a news station to the whole city. The reporter’s lips move but no sound comes out.

  I’ve seen this before …

  I search around for one of the many bulletins, large metal structures that hover near the bridges. Gem theorizes that they’re held up by magnetism. Flyers and messages are pinned, and there’s a button on the side. I press it.

  The reporter’s voice suddenly sounds from the slender speaker along the frame of the bulletin. Zimmer and Stork quiet in an instant and turn their gaze to the hologram.

  The reporter stands near an oversized starcraft that’s grounded on a tarmac, stilted above rushing water.

  The Romulus.

  It’s here. On Saltare-1.

  My breathing quickens with a tripled sense of panic.

  Commander Theron cups his hands in front of him and stares at the screen—at us. “After five years in the stars, the Romulus has finally come home. For celebration on this Victory’s Sacred Eve, we’re proud to announce that the Andola admirals are dead.”

  People in the city cheer around us, but it’s not the type of joy that usually accompanies celebrating deathdays. These fists in the air and loud hollers feel more sinister, crueler.

  The reporter grins. “In other news, we’ve been given an exclusive video from a Fast-Tracker. Let’s go to the tape.”

  They cut to a shaky video, like someone was recording while moving.

  It’s fuzzy, but I recognize it immediately. Eight bodies step onto shimmery planks. The person in the front creates them from a handheld device. A human device.

  Someone spotted and recorded our trek from the garbage island to the mainwater.

  Fyke.

  I feel the pull of my neck, but it’s not mine. I glance over and see Court swinging his head quickly away from the video, looking for us. When his eyes land on mine, he waves me over to the main pedestrian bridge. He’s scared. Of being separated. Of being caught.

  Of prison.

  For him, it will be the third time.

  I’m rooted to the ground.

  The hologram pans back to Commander Theron, and he says, “Three humans and five bludraders are currently living in Montbay. Our processing team is working on retrieving clearer images of their faces. Reward for turning them in is set at one million bills for each of the humans. One thousand for each of the bludraders. Good luck.”

  I blink, dazed.

  We’re wanted criminals in a city filled to the brim with people. All who would gladly turn us over for one million bills.

  Dear Gods, please help us.

  “I can’t believe I’m only worth a thousand,” Zimmer says, trying to lighten the mood. “No, wait, yes, I can.” He frowns suddenly. “Franny.”

  Something pitches my ear. At first, I think it’s a dream.

  But then I hear it again. Cries.

  A baby’s wails.

  “Franny!” Court yells my name across the other side of the canal. He sees me turning away from them, edging back toward the orphanage. His panic is full-on seizing my insides. He walks toward the unstable, swinging bridge that separates him from me.

  I’m focused on the structure ahead. A bridged alleyway snakes in beside the orphanage and the building on the right. I wonder if it goes behind the buildings too. This whole place is like a maze.

  The alley is narrow, but large enough to squeeze through, and it wouldn’t make sense not to build the orphanage flush against the other building if there wasn’t something in back.

  Faint cries pitch again.

  “Do you hear that?” I ask Stork. I don’t wait for him to answer. The cries sound for a third time, and maybe I’m going mad, but with the news of being a wanted criminal, there’s no time to waste.

  I run.

  My feet carry me, and I hold in my breath to squeeze between the buildings. It narrows before widening up into a bigger alleyway. I stumble over a rotted floorboard, and five stories below, water glides along the canal. Fyke, I prefer the Saltare-3 alleyways that were on the ground.

  I take three more steps and then my leg goes barreling through the bridge. A plank breaks off and crashes into the canal below. Someone grabs me around the waist before I face-plant and break my leg in two.

  “Careful, dove.” Stork breathes along my neck, his chest rising and falling heavily against my back.

  The cries grow louder.

  He looks up at the same time I do. “You hear that too,” I say.

  “Yes.” Hope fills his voice like a thousand balloons lifting straight into the air.

  Zimmer appears beside us after squeezing through the narrowed part of the alley. He raises his brows at me, my leg halfway through the bridgeboard. “Already breaking things, Franny?”

  “I hate this place,” I mumble.

  “You and me, both.” He bends down and braces me underneath my other arm. With Stork, they both swiftly but gently pull my leg out of the hole. Freed and together, we race toward the sound.

  Rounding a corner, I see her.

  Swaddled tightly in a blanket. And in the arms of a Fast-Tracker. A teal uniform matches the blue swirling tattoos that cover his arms. I squint to read his name tag on his breast. THE PREMIERE HOTEL. RIKTOR.

  The baby screams shrilly as if he’s hurting her, but he’s doing nothing more than holding her in his arms. Suddenly, he pulls out a small pouch that looks like it was tucked inside her blanket.

  “Is she yours?” Stork asks as we stop near the FT.

  He meets our gaze. “Found her right there.” He nods
to the ground beside the wall. “Just looking to see if she has anything of value on her.” He smiles and shakes the pouch.

  “Thief,” I growl.

  He frowns and pockets the pouch. “Heya, it’s mine. I found it first.” He looks between us, fear flitting in his eyes like he thinks we might steal it from him. Three to one. The odds are in our favor. But then, as a diversion—he drops the baby and runs.

  Zimmer is the fastest. He dives for her, and catches the baby in his outstretched arms. She cries harder and louder, and since we’re currently wanted by all of Saltare-1, roping attention onto us is the last thing we need.

  But I can’t think about that right now.

  We have a newborn, and this might seem like our saving grace, but we can’t be certain she’s the same baby from the book.

  Zimmer cradles her, and she continues to wail. “She’s not happy,” he says.

  I turn to Stork, who’s approaching the baby like she’s a small bomb. “She wasn’t in the orphanage like you said.” I’m haunted by that fact.

  “She was outside the orphanage,” Stork refutes. “That’s close enough.”

  Zimmer and I share a look.

  Is it?

  Stork pulls back the blanket, revealing a pale baby with bright green tufts of hair atop her head. Short, but green. “A Fast-Tracker dyed her hair,” I say. “She’s an FT’s child. A Saltarian.” She’s not of a different species. And more importantly, this baby could have parents in the city who just set her down for a minute.

  “You’re jumping to conclusions, dove.”

  “Her eyebrows are brown,” I counter angrily.

  “The book said she’s of a new species,” Stork says. “She was probably born with green hair.”

  Zimmer shakes his head. “This is bizarre.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts. “Okay, let’s say she is of a different species,” I say, testing that theory. “How did she end up on Saltare-1? Why is she just sitting behind the orphanage in an alleyway? That means she has parents somewhere. People who brought her here.”

  I agreed to take an orphan. Not a child with parents. It makes a difference to me. I imagine what it’d be like for someone to rip me from my mom’s arms in the cold Bartholo snow. I can’t do that.