Wall of Fire: A Young Adult Dystopian Novel

by Melanie Tays

  But I still have a serious problem. I frown at my wrist. There’s the intercuff to contend with. I wonder what Jessamine expects me to do about that. Maybe she doesn’t care if I go home while wearing it and the Enforcers snatch me up within minutes and deliver me to the same fate as Ty. Maybe she even hopes I’ll be dumb enough to do just that.

  Fortunately, that’s not my only option.

  Quickly, I retrieve my old clothes from under the mattress. I wasn’t thinking about these when I made the bag, but by folding them carefully, I’m able to squeeze them inside and keep them mostly contained. That’s good, because if anyone stops me to examine the contents of the bag, what they’ll see is old clothes—too filthy for them to want to inspect closely—not stolen vials. I put the strap of the bag over my head and across my torso to keep it secure. I just hope I can reach Eason before he goes to the dining hall for dinner.

  Seconds later, I’m knocking on his door with trepidation, trying to decide exactly what I should say to him. Our last conversation didn’t end on the best note. Plus, I’m still planning on turning him in to Terrance if he insists on pursuing his plan, so that also puts a serious strain on things between us. Still, I have nowhere else to turn.

  When he opens the door, his face lights up in hope, which quickly shifts to hesitation as he takes in my expression and appearance—particularly the fraying, lumpy, makeshift bag I carry.

  He starts to ask something, but it’s my turn to hush him. I push past him into the room and wait for him to close the door. When I gesture to our intercuffs, it doesn’t take him long to understand what I’m asking. Within moments, they’re both lying lifeless on the bed.

  He reaches for me, and despite my better judgment, I don’t pull away. His palm against my cheek feels like how I imagine sunshine. I desperately wish he hadn’t said those things to me last night. In mere moments, the dreams I had carefully started to weave of a life with Eason evaporated into nothingness. No, worse than nothingness, because the void they once occupied will always be a deep, painful somethingness.

  “Emery, please come with me,” he says again. “You can trust me.”

  I notice how often he talks about trust, but there’s no way he can prove anything he’s said until it’s far too late if he’s wrong. How can he—a kid from the Smoke—know anything about the Council and the outside world?

  “Eason, I can’t help you. This is insanity! Please don’t do this.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I know his course is set. It’s too late to reverse, even if he wanted to. The trials that determine our fate are over. But even if he could, I know he wouldn’t undo what he has done. His gaze is sad and longing, but his demeanor is sure—no hint of fear or uncertainty.

  There is no changing the results of the trials now, but if I deny Terrance his demands, I can still ensure my own sentence to the Ash. That’s what Eason is asking—for me to willingly choose him and the Ash.

  “I can’t go with you,” I repeat.

  “Will you keep my secret?” he asks.

  I look away. How can I choose between Eason and the entire City? What he’s proposing is so horrific, I can hardly even imagine the consequences.

  When I don’t answer, he drops his hand and leans closer. “I trust you,” he whispers next to my ear, and brushes his lips across my cheek in a gentle kiss that makes my heart collapse in on itself. “What did you come here for?” he finally asks.

  Flustered and frustrated, I realize how much time I’ve already wasted. Quickly, I show Eason the map and explain my plan. “How long do I have before the Enforcers get suspicious about my intercuff?” I ask.

  “Not long,” he says. “Remember how quickly they came last night? Maybe another fifteen minutes, but probably less.”

  “Blazes! There’s no way,” I lament.

  “There might be,” he says, considering. “I could wear both of them.”

  “At the same time? Would that work?”

  “I can’t wear them at the same time. They only work on right wrists. I’ll have to trade them off every ten minutes or so, just to be safe.”

  I think of the intense stab of pain that comes when the intercuff attaches and activates. It doesn’t last long, but how many times will Eason have to endure it before I can return?

  “You would do that for me?”

  “I would do much more for you,” he says, and I have to look away from the intensity of his stare.

  When I exit his room, the hallway is empty. All the other contestants are at dinner, and I realize that hunger is something else that Eason is probably going to endure on my account tonight.

  Within minutes, I’m standing in the empty basement room and staring at the place where the tunnel entrance should be, but there are no cupboards as the map suggests, just the wooden planks of the wall. Unwilling to be deterred, I feel along until I find a board that’s uneven with the surrounding planks. I dig my nails into the groove between the boards, and with a groan, I manage to pry it loose.

  A black void is concealed behind the plank, and I immediately know I’ve found the right place. At some point, the cupboard must have been removed and boarded over to hide the tunnel entrance. With renewed energy and anticipation, I pull away the two boards below it, which come away easily now that the first has been removed.

  The tunnel is black, and I haven’t got anything to light my way. The incinerator burns just feet away, and I consider trying to construct some sort of torch to take with me. Managing a torch while I crawl along will be difficult, though, and what if something in the tunnel turns out to be flammable? Quickly, I rule out anything involving fire.

  I check the map again. Three tunnels branch off this main path. The one that I need is straight ahead. I can follow the tunnel blindly all the way to the Smoke merely by feel, being careful not to veer off the main line.

  I decide to go ahead and change into my Smoke clothes now, so I can keep these ones clean. I pick up the bag again and prepare to let the earthy blackness engulf me. Then I realize that I can’t close the passage behind me. If anyone comes down here while I’m gone, my escape will be discovered. There’s nothing I can do about that now, though, so I accept it as a necessary risk and plunge ahead.

  Chapter 21

  The tunnel is low and narrow; I can only move through it on hands and knees. I’ve never thought of myself as claustrophobic, but the longer I crawl along in the dark, the more the space seems to contract around me. I start to feel like I’ll never reach the end, that I’ve gone too far to return, and that I’ll suffocate and die below The City in this tunnel tonight.

  Since my eyes can’t see anything in the pitch dark, my mind is free to envision whatever it likes, and I start to see Whyle, healthy and vibrant again, playing in the streets with the other kids. He’s a strong, smart kid. I could find a way to tell him where my books are. If he studies them, he has a real chance of passing the Burning himself when he’s older. It’s not nearly as scary as everyone always makes it out to be. I imagine embracing him again and eating real food with him—though that might be a thing of the past now, even in the Flame. No matter. Whatever we do, I just want to see him again.

  But that would leave my parents all alone. I’m not sure Whyle could do that to them. My parents have a tough shell, but they’re fragile underneath. Whyle notices things like that about people. Instead of distancing himself from the things that can hurt, he burrows through into the mushy center and tries to buoy you up where you’re weakest. He’ll know that they need him, and that I can get along on my own. He’ll choose to stay; I’m sure of it. And that means that tonight might very well be the last time I see any of my family—the only three people on the planet I’ve ever needed.

  I have no idea how much time passes from the moment I enter the musty tunnel until I finally reach the end. I feel damp dirt in all directions, except where I just came from. Carefully, I stand in the darkness and bump my head on wood.

  “Ouch,” I complain, rubbing the back of my head.


  I start to panic, fearing that I’ve come all this way only to find the other end completely impassable. I put my arms up and shove as hard as I can. Finally, the board dislodges. Gentle night light floods in, and I am free. With the aid of light, I find a rope hanging in one corner that I can use to pull myself up.

  Cautiously, I emerge above ground. The scent of chalk dust laced with mold assaults me, and I know I’m in the school building, just as the map promised. I replace the floor board and take special note of its location—tenth from the wall—so I can find it later.

  It’s only been a few days since I was in this building listening to droning lectures on topics much less interesting than the things in my books, but it feels like a different lifetime. It’s crazy to think of all those days I spent here without any clue that a tunnel to the Flame ran just below my feet.

  The school building is empty, and has been for hours. School ends each day at lunchtime so all the students can attend to their afternoon work assignments. We’re rotated often, just like the adults. My most recent assignment was helping the construction and repair crews, but in the past I’ve cared for the kids too young to be given work assignments, worked at all three recycling centers, served at a nutrition station, cleaned windows, and stocked shelves at the market.

  No one stays in one position for too long. It helps keep things interesting. It also means that we’ve seen and worked with just about everyone in the Smoke at some point. We all know each other, but just a little.

  Still, if I’m seen, I’m likely to be recognized. I peek out the warped window. Most people will be at one of the nutrition stations eating their dinner now, but a few people meander through the streets. It won’t be curfew for another couple hours, and I need to return as quickly as possible. If Eason switches the intercuffs every ten minutes, he must have already done it at least twice. I cringe at the thought.

  I race around to the back of the building, where fewer people pass by. I dig my fingers in the dirt and spread the grime on my face to obscure my appearance. My muscles are begging to run, but that will draw too much attention. I make my way out into the street and walk just a beat faster than the other pedestrians, knees trembling.

  I turn and duck my head down as I pass an Enforcer. My pulse pounds in my head, but he walks right past, paying me no more attention than the dirt streaking my face. Soon, I am at the Medical Center. I slink around to the back where no one is watching and consider what to do. I can’t very well traipse inside and inject Whyle with Curosene in front of everyone. And I can’t just leave the medicine for the doctors to find. It would raise some serious questions, and I don’t trust that it would actually get to Whyle in the end.

  I have enough medicine with me for everyone who was sick when I left. I just have to figure out how to ensure that it gets to them without anyone knowing it came from me.

  There’s a high window in the alleyway that overlooks the patient ward where I last saw Whyle. I pile up a couple crates and climb up to look in and assess the situation.

  What I see is so shocking that I lose my balance and tumble to the stones below. My cheek is scratched and my elbow bleeding, but I ignore the sting and scramble back up for another look.

  Every bed that’s visible from this vantage point is occupied. I find Whyle; he looks awful, but he’s still there, which means that he’s still alive, and that’s what matters. I wonder why only Dad sits with him. Unwillingly, I search the faces of the other patients, hoping against hope that I will not find Mom among them. But then my gaze alights on her worn and shrouded form huddled in the far corner, and I relax.

  I feel the seconds and minutes ticking by and know that I can’t just stay here, but I also can’t go inside with so many people around. Maybe if I wait until the middle of the night. But I can’t do that to Eason. I have to get back as soon as possible for both our sakes.

  I observe the people inside for another minute before I know what to do. It’s risky, but it’s the best I’ve got. I wait until all but one of the doctors has moved on to the next room, and only a few assistants bustle around the patients.

  At the right moment, I leap from my perch and toss three pebbles at the door. Then I wait with bated breath. But it doesn’t take long, and the door opens. I see the shaggy brunette hair I was hoping for, and I exhale.

  “Liam! It’s me, Emery,” I call as he steps out into the alleyway, looking around for the source of the noise. I’m so relieved to see him that I almost hug him—almost.

  “Emery,” he repeats in disbelief, squinting to focus on me. “They said you joined the Burning, even after you told me that you wouldn’t.”

  I ignore his implied questions. “Liam, listen to me. I don’t have much time. I have Curosene. I thought it would be enough for everyone, but so many more people are sick now. I only have six vials.”

  “How?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know. Liam, you can’t tell anyone about it, not the doctors, not anyone. And you can’t say that you’ve seen me. Just please make sure that Whyle gets it. You can give the rest to whoever you choose, but please make sure that my brother gets it.”

  He watches in confusion as I dump out the contents of the ragged bag I carry and shove six small vials into his hands. He stares at them as though he’s never seen such things before. Maybe it’s just something he never expected to see again.

  “Liam,” I whisper, hoping to break him from his trance, “give it to them. I have to go now.”

  “But you don’t understand,” he says, his voice like a ghost. “This won’t save them.”

  “I know it’s not enough,” I say. “I’m sorry. It’s all I could get, and I didn’t know that there were so many—”

  “No,” he cuts me off, more forceful now. “I told you that Curosene healed Mina’s dad, but he’s sick again.”

  “What?” I gasp in horror.

  “It made him better for about two weeks, but he’s just as bad as all the rest of them now.”

  All the hope and purpose that has driven me through these last few days—days that I never dreamed I could survive—is seeping away into a bleak void.

  “How many are sick?” I ask, even though I don’t really want to know the answer.

  “Thirteen so far, but more every day. One died yesterday, two today.”

  “So it’s spreading. Why haven’t you quarantined these people?” I demand, surprised at the lack of common sense. Did the doctors learn nothing from the Withers outbreak that nearly wiped out humanity and drove us into the Safe Domes to begin with?

  “Not spreading,” he clarifies. “It’s not contagious from person to person. That much was clear from the beginning.”

  “If you don’t know what’s causing it, how can you be certain it isn’t contagious?”

  “That’s the worst part—we do know the cause now,” Liam confesses, grave. “There is something in the food that affects only the people with certain genetic markers.”

  “The food,” I repeat in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

  “There’s no doubt. It’s the meal rations that are doing it. We informed the Council two days ago and requested an immediate alteration to the formula, but the Council hasn’t acted or even responded.”

  Two days ago!

  That means that the Council knew this before they introduced the same food to the Flame. This isn’t an accident, and it isn’t going to stop.

  It’s spreading—and the Council is the carrier.

  “If the food was changed, would the people get better?” I ask.

  “The ones who can still eat, probably. And more wouldn’t keep getting sick, that’s for sure. But once they’re like them”—he gestures toward the unconscious patients on the beds inside—“nothing but Curosene will help, and only for a while.”

  “Treatment which the Council is also refusing to provide,” I say.

  “It’s like they want these people to die.” Liam whispers the unspeakable, and his face betrays his fear as he say
s it.

  “What’s different about these people that makes them a genetic target?” I ask, searching for meaning and clues to a solution.

  “It’s an obscure recessive gene. We have no idea what it does,” he says, regretful. “All of the testing has been done…unofficially, so it’s taking some time.”

  I wonder who figured this out, and how they managed it. Where could resources like that come from in the Smoke?

  Liam grips my arm, his expression serious. “Emery, you have to swear you won’t say anything to anyone about this.”

  “You aren’t telling people that the food they’re eating could kill them?” I ask. “Isn’t that wrong?”

  But even before he says it, I recognize the truth.

  “What good would that do when there’s nothing else to eat?” he asks in despair. “The people would panic, and things would get worse in every possible way.”

  I know he’s right, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I came here to save Whyle from the brink of death, and I’m not leaving here without accomplishing that mission, no matter what the circumstances. All the rest of it doesn’t matter until I know that Whyle is okay, if only for a short time.

  “Liam, I won’t say anything about this, I promise. There would be way too many questions that would get me in trouble if I did. But I risked everything for this medicine. Please give it to Whyle and buy him some more time,” I beg, shoving the vials toward him. “You can do whatever you think is best with the other five vials. Just promise me he’ll get it right away.”

  “I promise,” he says, pocketing the medicine.

  “And never tell anyone I was here.”

  “Not even your family?”

  “Not even my family,” I say, though it hurts to utter the words. If I can’t tell them myself someday, then it’s better—safer for all of us—if they don’t know.