Wall of Fire: A Young Adult Dystopian Novel

by Melanie Tays

  The driver doesn’t slow, so he either didn’t hear the clatter I made or assumed it was merely shifting cargo. Either way, I’m grateful.

  With a sigh of relief, I reach the ledge at the back. The window is still propped open slightly from the theft, and I quickly scurry into the cargo hold. It’s full of sacks that I recognize from the nutrition stations. When the contents of these bags are mixed with the right amount of water, you get the gray mush that makes up our diet. I’m not sure why they’re taking this back with them into the Flame, but I also don’t care. I consider moving all the way to the back of the piled sacks, but it’s a balance between not being discovered and being able to make a quick escape at the first opportunity. Carefully, I shift a few of the bags and manage to nestle down out of sight behind the second row.

  The wave of adrenaline that pulled me out of the window and into this truck begins to subside, but a new wave hits—this one brought on by the realization of what I’ve just done. Suddenly, I’m panicking, wondering if it’s too late to leap from the truck and abandon this reckless plan that’s almost certainly doomed to failure.

  But as soon as I think of climbing from my hiding place and escaping back into the safety of the Smoke, the truck begins to decelerate and I see the glow of the Wall of Fire dancing through the window above. I’ve lost my chance to turn back. My only hope now is to go forward—to get across unseen, find the medicine, and return.

  Chapter 4

  Soon we lurch to a full stop, and the driver greets someone.

  “Where’s Garrick?” the guard at the wall asks the driver.

  “We were robbed in the streets. He went after them with instructions for me to come straight here, no stops.”

  “Blazes, the Resistance is such a nuisance,” the man says. “I can’t imagine what they think they’re going to accomplish. If they want to go to the Ash, we should just have a release form. Anyone who wants out can just sign it and go to their death for all I care.”

  “The Council is too kind for that. Those people don’t have any idea what they’re really talking about.”

  I’ve never heard of a Resistance, or anyone wanting to go to the Ash. Those guys were probably just hungry and looking for a few extra meals. Or maybe they’ll trade it to someone like Kenna for light bulbs, or shoelaces, or something else as innocuous and hard to come by as that.

  “Has it started?” the driver asks.

  “In about ten minutes,” the man responds. “I’ll get you through quickly and you can still make it.”

  I don’t know or care what they’re talking about; I just like the part about getting through here quickly. That probably means no inspections.

  “Thanks. My son is going,” the driver explains.

  “Oh, Ty will do great, I’m sure. Bright kid,” the guard assures him.

  “Thanks. I think so, too. As a parent, though, it’s difficult to not be a little nervous.”

  The guard makes one last comment about his own kids, and then the truck begins to roll again. I can’t help noticing how smooth the ride is on this side of the wall; no pebbles and cracks for the wheels to contend with. The driver pulls the truck under a canopy and shuts off the engine. I hear him open his door, climb down, and slam it shut. He yells a final goodbye to the man who let us through the gate, and his footsteps fade away.

  Cautiously, I wriggle my way free of my hiding place and approach the window at the back of the vehicle. I can see the man that we just passed. He’s standing near an archway in the Wall of Fire. He does something on a control panel next to him, and the archway collapses into flames, sealing the conduit between the sectors. With his post secured, he walks away in the same direction that the driver just headed.

  I pause and listen, but hear nothing except some shouts and cheers in the distance. It feels too good to be true, but I’m almost positive that I’ve just been left here alone. I remind myself that it’s not like they know I’m here, so why wouldn’t they leave? I can’t count on any degree of luck holding, so I can’t waste this. I climb out, ready to go.

  I know nearly nothing about The City on this side of the wall, so from this point on, I’ll have to make up the plan as I go—not that I had a well-thought-out plan before. I take a moment to look around and get my bearings. The Wall of Fire burns like a beacon behind me, assuring me that this is still The City, but everything feels different—too perfect, too clean, too well held together. Even the air tastes wrong somehow.

  There are a dozen other courier vehicles parked in a row. I take a few minutes, peeking into each. Some of them have supplies brought from the Smoke, just like the vehicle I came in. I assume they’ll all be unloaded in the morning. Two of them are completely empty. It isn’t until the second-to-last one that I find what I was hoping for: it’s full of waste receptacles. There’s no doubt that this is headed to the Smoke in the morning, to be delivered to the various recycle centers. Once I get the medicine, I’ll make my way back here and hide out inside. There’s no reason for them to check the cargo carefully in the morning. Who would ever want to sneak out of the Flame? I’ll just wait until the driver unwittingly transports me home.

  I wish I had a map of the Flame, but they don’t exist back home because why would we ever need such a map? I’ll have to search until I find the Medical Center. I start to move back the way I just came, between the vehicles and the swaying flames of the wall. As I slowly creep along, I let my fingers reach out and touch the Wall of Fire. The flames lap at my hand and tickle. Of course, it’s not real fire. If it were, the air recycling system could never keep up with The City’s oxygen demands, with miles of fire wall continually gobbling it up. No, the wall is just a synthetic fire and an impenetrable barrier field, much like the dome that encapsulates The City.

  “Is someone there?” a man shouts, ripping me from my stupid and reckless reverie.

  I drop to the ground and roll under the nearest truck, fighting to keep my anxious breathing quiet and steady. I never should have let myself get distracted. There’s too much at stake. Footsteps are coming closer, and then they pause just a few feet away. Carefully, I slide on my belly, pulling myself forward across the smooth pavement by my elbows in a clumsy crawl.

  I make it to the next truck’s underside, tucking my feet out of sight just as the man bends down and peers into the space I occupied moments ago. I freeze and wait, terrified that if I move again, I’ll draw his attention for sure. All he has to do is turn his head slightly to the side and I’ll be caught.

  But his head doesn’t turn. He straightens, and soon his footsteps resume in a calm and rhythmic pattern. He must have decided he was just seeing shadows and that there was nothing to worry about after all.

  I sigh in relief and wait as he meanders around for a few more minutes before completing whatever business brought him here and departing. Several more minutes pass before enough of my fear and tension dissipate that I can finally make my muscles work again. I crawl out from under the truck, but stay low as I keep moving.

  When I reach the end of the last truck, I peer cautiously down the street, careful to stay in the shadows. A few people are out walking, but they all appear to be heading toward the city center where an enormous torch burns, visible all the way from here. That’s the direction all the noise is coming from, as though most of the Flame is gathering there for some reason. I can only assume that the Flame must not have the same curfew we do. Whatever the cause, it appears to be clearing the streets and working in my favor.

  A torch burns at every street corner, casting far too much light for safety. I press my back against the wall and take tentative steps. The ground feels wrong beneath my feet—too smooth and slick, not a single broken brick or speck of dirt in sight. When I reach the end of the building, I cautiously peer around the corner. It leads to an empty alley that’s dark from end to end. I turn the corner and run full out until I reach the other side.

  “Hurry,” a man calls.

  I duck back into the shadows and fre
eze as a man and two small children run past, clearly not wanting to be late for whatever is about to transpire.

  I breathe a sigh of relief and keep moving.

  I pass through several alleys that separate houses, but this is clearly the wrong area. The Medical Center won’t be located with the residences. It will be with the other service buildings, which I fear is right where all the people are now congregating. I might need to find a place to hide and wait until the commotion dies down.

  “Stop!” a voice exclaims behind me.

  I freeze and turn slowly, just in time to see a woman stick her head out a window and call to a boy about Whyle’s age down on the street.

  “Get back in here. This has nothing to do with us. You’re going to bed.”

  The boy whines a little and walks with shuffling, heavy steps back to the door. He pauses when he spots me, and I hold my breath as though that might make me less noticeable.

  “Get in this house right now,” the woman bellows even louder, all patience exhausted.

  The boy sticks his tongue out at me and races up the steps to the front door, disappearing inside. The woman closes the window with a thud, and I’m momentarily struck by how perfect the glass is—no cracks or dirt. I don’t dwell on it long, though. Now that the coast is clear, I turn and run, not waiting to see if the boy will mention the strange, ragged girl lurking in the street.

  I don’t stop running until I’ve made several turns and am well out of sight and reach if the boy reports me to his mother and she calls the Enforcers. Once I’m sure that I won’t be found easily, I stop to get my bearings and decide where to go next.

  I realize with trepidation that in my haste to escape, I fled right to the edge of the city center, where hundreds of people are now gathered in the open plaza.

  Onlookers cheer from the periphery, surrounding a group of teenagers who are all dressed in clothing more beautiful than I have ever laid eyes on, with hair styled and faces painted. I press my back against the wall of the nearest building and wait, but no one is looking my way.

  Cautiously, I peek out. It doesn’t take long to realize that all the important buildings are located in a circle, facing the torch at the center. Almost directly across from where I now crouch in the darkness lies a large white building with a sign above the entrance which confirms that this is the Medical Center. I’m so close.

  I imagine myself back home, clasping Whyle’s hand while the doctors administer the medicine that will restore him to perfect health, leaving no trace or suspicion that Emery Kennish ever crossed the Wall of Fire.

  The only problem is that there’s no way I can see to reach the Medical Center without stepping out into the open. I retreat into seclusion to consider my options.

  I could try to make my way around the outer rim of the circle, hiding between buildings, and hope to avoid being seen. But there are so many people. It doesn’t seem like a wise plan. Whatever this gathering is can’t go on all night. I decide that my best option is to hunker down and hide until the streets clear. I have hours before that vehicle will leave for morning deliveries. There’s no need to take unnecessary risks.

  I retreat farther into the darkness between the buildings. Around me, a few waste receptacles have been left out for the recyclers to pick up. Other than that, the entire area has been swept clean, and there’s nothing to offer any shelter. I crawl behind the receptacles and wrap my arms around my knees, pulling them tight to my chest, preparing for a long wait.

  But it isn’t long before the sounds of the crowd shift. I can’t see what’s happening, but people are moving now. I don’t dare attempt a glance. I just stay hidden and pray that no one comes this way. But my fears are unnecessary; the crowd begins a procession through the streets, away from where I hide.

  Within minutes, the noise is distant and muffled. I crawl out and tiptoe to the end of the building to look. The plaza that was packed with people just minutes before is now completely deserted.

  It seems too good to be true, but I don’t hesitate. I dart out and run hard and fast toward the Medical Center. I slam into the outer wall of the building to arrest my momentum. A move like that could do serious structural damage to a building in the Smoke, but the wall holds fast here.

  I crouch down and stay near the wall as I move around to the side, relieved as the shadows swallow me once again. At the first window I come to, I risk a glance inside to reveal a fully lit patient ward with at least three doctors walking around, tending to the sick.

  I drop back down before anyone notices me, and I amble, hunched to stay below the window line, until I reach the back of the building.

  I round the corner, and my heart leaps at the sight awaiting me. Stacked near the back door, waiting to be brought in, is a delivery of supplies. I don’t even have to hope or guess at what’s inside—they’re all labeled. They contain bandages and a dozen different medicines, but none of that matters to me. Tears of relief well up in my eyes as they land on the only word that holds any meaning for me in this moment. Curosene is clearly written on the third box down.

  Focused on my goal, I take one enthusiastic step forward.

  “Stop right there and turn around,” an authoritative voice calls out from behind.

  Chapter 5

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to dart forward and grab for the box of medicine, not to try and make a desperate escape. But when I slowly turn, the blaster pointed at my chest confirms that an escape attempt would be counterproductive, to say the least.

  “What are you doing here?” the Enforcer demands.

  “I… I got lost,” I stammer weakly, not sure how that’s supposed to explain anything, but it’s the only explanation I can think of that doesn’t actually admit to anything.

  He shines a light in my direction to get a better look at me. As he appraises my worn clothing and generally un-Flame-like appearance, his eyes squint as though something doesn’t add up. Then his gaze lingers on my right wrist, which is suspiciously naked—no Flame ID band.

  There’s nothing I can say to help the situation. All I can do is stand still like a statue and wait to discover my fate while my heart pummels the inside of my chest like a fist trying to break through. He approaches and pats my pockets, looking for something. Fortunately, they’re empty—except for my ID card, which he removes and examines.

  Suddenly, his eyes widen, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “Blazes,” he mutters, and he doesn’t look one bit happy. He lowers the blaster and comes toward me, grabbing me roughly by the arm. “I swear, only a Smoker could get lost. We made it so simple. Come on.” He leads me on foot down the street in the direction the procession traveled moments ago.

  I’m more than a little confused. Where does he think I was going when I got lost? I search my mind for what possible rationale he could have come up with to explain my presence here tonight, but come up blank. I can only devote a corner of my attention to puzzling it out. My thoughts are still pulled back behind us to the Medical Center. The medicine calls to me from just yards away, beckoning me, taunting me. But there’s nothing I can do about it now, as each step takes us father away. At least there’s no doubt now that the medicine is here. I just have to find another opportunity to get at it.

  We travel a few blocks through empty streets, and then we reach the crowd’s new gathering place. They have congregated near the Wall of Fire around a three-story building surrounded by a menacing razor-wire fence. My heart sinks, but only a little. I’m not really surprised that the Enforcer is leading me to the Justice Building to await some kind of trial for crossing illegally. I can’t say I’m looking forward to whatever punishment will be doled out. I haven’t committed the unforgivable crime of murder, so I’ll ultimately be sent home after punishment. I just hope they decide quickly and administer the lashes, or whatever it’ll be, before Whyle’s time runs out.

  I console myself with the thought that, now that I know how to get across the wall and where I need to go, I’ll be smar
ter next time.

  What doesn’t make sense is the presence of everyone else. Why would they all have gathered here tonight as though it’s some kind of special event?

  The Enforcer pushes our way through the onlookers, who readily step aside for him. A guard stands at the gate up ahead; he has just admitted a girl about my own age. He calls something aloud, but it’s muffled by the din of the onlookers, and I can’t make out what he says.

  A confused and surprised exclamation ripples through the masses as I’m brought to the gate. My tattered and filthy clothing alone make it clear that I’m from the wrong side of the wall.

  The spool of my nerves winds tighter with every step. Whatever awaits me inside will be meant to teach me to never repeat my offense, and probably to deter others as well. I know that I can endure pain, though, if I have to. It’s something else, beyond the anticipated pain, that has my insides vying for an opportunity to come out. I can’t put a finger on what, but something just feels so wrong about this situation.

  The Enforcer holds out my ID card that he removed from me earlier and hands it to the guard. The sneering guard holds the card by one corner, as though being from the Smoke is contagious. He scans the card, and the gate opens.

  My captor pushes me through. It’s not until I’ve passed the razor-wire fence that the golden archway in the nearby Wall of Fire comes into view, and I scream in terror.

  “No!” I turn and lunge for the gate that has snapped shut behind me. The only place to take hold is cutting wire, but I don’t care. I clasp the gate and rattle it as hard as I can, trying to shove my way back through and shredding my skin in the process.

  “This is a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here,” I plead.

  My escort brings his blaster up and points it at my chest.

  Over my screams and protests, the guard announces to the crowd, “Emery Kennish, contestant number twenty-seven of the Burning.”