by Melanie Tays
I bang my fist against the invisible barrier, to no avail.
Who are the people in the airplane? Are they attacking us, or trying to free us? Whichever it is, it doesn’t appear that they have the power to do either. We can’t count on anyone’s help.
Whatever we do now, we’re on our own.
Exhausted and broken, I slump back to the ground and curl into a ball.
“No!” Vander screams, lobbing a giant rock at the impenetrable barrier.
He’s being so loud, but it doesn’t matter. There hasn’t been any sign of our pursuers from the farm in hours. Finally, he falls silent. I look up and see that he’s gone rigid like a stone—fists clenched, jaw set, and eyes closed. I wonder how long he’s going to stay like that. I consider saying something, but I don’t have any words that can help this. The well of my optimism has been utterly depleted.
“I’m going to find water,” he finally says, and he takes off before I can answer, disappearing out of sight.
I lie on the ground with my face in the dirt, shivering despite the heat of the day. I surrender to nothingness. I can’t bring myself to feel anything in this moment—not even despair.
One burst of frenzied laughter escapes my lips as I realize that we’re going to die here, slow and agonizing. We’ll probably starve to death, or die of dehydration. That’s if my wound doesn’t kill me first. And we can’t even count on the mind-controlled drones from the farm or desperate Roamers to find us and put a quick end to our misery.
I pull Eason’s note from my pocket and read his last words to me over and over. His voice in my head is the closest I’ll ever come to being with him again. I hope he can forgive me for failing him.
Chapter 17
Cold slithers through my open mouth and down my throat, threatening to choke me. I sit up, gasping and coughing, and then I can breathe again. The sky is dim and coated in thick, rolling clouds. My skin is being attacked by hundreds of tiny, cool pellets that don’t make any sense. They’re falling from the sky and coating everything I can see in a thin sheen. It takes too long for my sluggish mind to pull the word from the recesses of my memory—a word describing something I’ve never experienced before.
Rain.
I realize I’m not going to die, at least not yet. Exultant and laughing, I throw my head back and open my mouth so wide it pulls painfully at my parched lips. I drink in the delicious water as it falls, and I wonder if rain tastes different than normal water because I’ve never experienced anything this wonderful before.
Even though the rain is drenching me and everything I can see, not nearly enough finds its way into my open mouth to satisfy my thirst. I look for something—anything—I can use to gather the water. Sharp stabs of pain assault me as I try to move, but just a few feet away, I spot a wide, bowed piece of dried tree bark where rain is pooling. Carefully, I scoot to it and pour the contents into my mouth. Cool relief runs down my throat. I hold out the dish and wait for it to fill again.
It isn’t until I’ve satiated my thirst completely that the peculiarity of the situation dawns on me. If rain is falling from the sky, then the barrier field must be down. Otherwise, how could it reach us?
Propelled by adrenaline, I get to my feet. There’s a pool of bloody water left in my place. I can’t tell if my leg is bleeding again, or if the rain has merely washed the dried blood from my clothing. Either way, I hobble forward toward the mountain, anticipating that this time I’ll reach it. But the barrier field remains just as solid as before.
I scream and bang my palm once against the invisible force. Then I turn my head back to the sky as though it holds answers. The same storm that is my salvation also drenches the mountain in the distance. This is not occurring inside the Safe Dome. So how is the water getting through?
Slowly, a memory distills—Bretton talking about the barrier field. He said it can be made selectively permeable to certain things, or even specific people. That’s how the Council—or rather, Traeger Sterling—can expel people through the gateway to the Ash without risking exposure of The City to the dangers beyond, which the Safe Dome was specifically made to shield against.
This layer of the barrier field must be made to allow water through. That would ensure that crops can get watered and The City will have an adequate and renewable source of clean water nearby.
It also means it’s entirely possible that nobody on the farm is aware that they’re trapped in a bubble. Watching rain patter on an invisible ceiling would easily give it away. But if rain falls, and they never leave the farm, what’s to clue them in?
I suppose it’s bad that it takes me this long, but it finally occurs to me that something is wrong—something more than the fact that we are still captives in a prison that wants us dead. Vander is still nowhere in sight, even though hours must have passed since he left to find water.
“Vander,” I call out.
The sky answers with a bright flash of light that shoots across like blaster fire, followed seconds later by an ear-piercing clap of what I assume is thunder.
“Vander!”
Has something happened to him, or has he run off and left me?
There’s no point in trying to search for him right now. I won’t get far, soaking wet and on a bad leg. I don’t even know which way he went after he disappeared. Any footprints he might have left have surely been washed away by the rain. My only clue is the simple fact that he couldn’t have gone through the barrier field. That still leaves a lot of options.
I decide my best bet is to stay put and hope he comes back. Surely he wouldn’t abandon me out here in my injured state. He may not be the nicer of the Vander Hollen twins, but he’s not cruel, either. He just does whatever he thinks it will take to survive and to protect the people he cares about. I realize that the two of us are not so different in that regard.
When I awoke to the rain, I assumed that the dim sky meant evening, but the sky is actually growing brighter as the minutes pass. I must have slept through the entire night, which only makes it more disconcerting that Vander isn’t here.
The rain begins to slow, and I lay on my back with my mouth open, drinking in as much as I can before it stops. I don’t move until the clouds have completed their offering. Rested and hydrated, I feel slightly better, but my earlier blood loss still leaves my stomach woozy and my mind sluggish.
I need to examine my leg more closely. While Vander is gone and I have privacy—and nothing else to do to keep from going crazy—I decide now is the best opportunity I’m going to get.
I can’t remember ever wearing soaking-wet clothing before, and it turns out that removing them is more difficult than I would have imagined. With difficulty, I wriggle free of my pants, wincing as the fabric pulls away from the torn flesh beneath, and I’m left sitting in the mud wearing nothing but my underwear from the waist down.
I use the bottom edge of my semi-clean shirt to carefully wipe the gash so I can get a better sense of how bad it really is. Once all the dried blood is cleared away, I can see that the wound is only a couple inches long—one neat line. It’s not bleeding now, and I don’t want to upset it and get it going again. But from the way that knife stuck, forcing me to pull it from my leg, I know the wound must be deep.
The skin around the wound is pink and painful to the slightest touch. I debate what to do now. It doesn’t need a tight binding anymore since the bleeding has stopped, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea to leave it completely unprotected, either. I try to slip my pants back on, figuring they’ll be better protection than most things, but in their sodden and my weakened state, it proves an impossible feat.
Instead, I tell myself that air will be good for the wound. Then I slump against a large rock to rest and wait for Vander. This isn’t exactly how I want him to find me, but at this point, I’m too beat down for embarrassment. I just want him to come back, and to know that he’s safe. And that I’m not alone out here.
I wring what water I can from my pants. As I twist them, I fee
l the bulge of the broken transmitter and realize it’s still in my pocket. I can’t imagine that the rain is helping it any, but maybe it can’t hurt it anymore, either. But then I remember Eason’s note, which is also tucked in a pocket. Carefully, I reach in and pull out the drenched paper. It’s soaked through, and the ink has bled, coloring the whole sodden mass in a hue of marbled gray. It’s completely ruined and irretrievable. I want to curse the rain that just moments ago I praised. When so much has already been taken from me, is it really too much to allow me this one last consolation?
I make myself as comfortable as I can and settle down to rest awhile. Just that little exertion exhausts me. I cradle what’s left of Eason’s words in my hands—protecting the last remnant that I have connecting me to him. I let my eyes close, telling myself I’ll just rest for a few minutes, wondering if there’s any point in waking again.
***
The pitter-patter of tiny feet across my bare legs jolts me back to wakefulness. I flail my limbs and sit up, swatting at whatever has come for me, but there’s nothing there. Perhaps it was just a figment of my imagination. But then I see gray fur scurrying behind a nearby rock.
“Rat,” I hiss.
At least the little beast didn’t stop to gnaw at me. It’s not like the wretched monsters from the Gold Trial.
The clouds have faded to tiny wisps of white, and the sun is high in the sky. The afternoon heat clings to me like a blanket. The land is beginning to dry—all except the dips where the water pools.
But Vander still hasn’t returned.
I inspect my wound again and grimace. Thick yellow pus oozes from the laceration. Using a large wet leaf, I gently dab away the nasty layer of thick goo. Underneath, the cut itself doesn’t look too bad. It’s the taut red skin surrounding the cut that twists my stomach into fretful knots. Infection is already setting in.
I doubt there’s anything I can really do to help the situation, but doing nothing feels completely intolerable, so I drag myself to my feet. At least my leg supports me more easily today without the tight binding cutting off circulation, but every movement throbs. I ignore the pain and limp around until I locate a puddle of water in the crevice of a rock. It doesn’t look too dirty. I put a few drops to my tongue, and it tastes so good I can’t keep myself from gulping down several handfuls of the cool liquid.
I sit on the rock, pulling my bare leg up on the cold, rough surface. Then I wait a few minutes. When the water doesn’t seem to be upsetting my stomach, I decide it’s safe to go ahead and pour it over the wound as well—though I have no idea if that’s really a good test of its purity. The cold water felt a lot better running down my throat than it does covering my thigh. I douse the area of concern several times in hopes of keeping it clean and letting it heal, and maybe the cold will help the swelling.
I let the sun dry my skin for a few minutes, and then I make another attempt at getting dressed. With my skin mostly dry and the heavy fabric of my pants wet but not sopping, I manage to work them back on. They don’t feel quite right, but at least I’m covered.
Rather than helping me warm up, replacing the rest of my wet clothing has the effect of sapping away what little heat my body has generated. I need a fire if I’m going to make it through the day, let alone another night. The light will have the added benefit of helping Vander find me.
I search the nearby area for any wood that has dried enough to burn. Everything I lay my hands on feels like it’s saturated with water, but the farther I move from the barrier, the drier things get. Once I reach the edge of the forest, I start finding twigs and branches that are pretty dry, having been shielded from the rain by the tree canopy above. I gather all the dry wood I can carry and take it back to the open area where I spent the night. If—no, when—Vander comes back, I want him to be able to find me.
I don’t have matches or a lighter, but I can’t let that stop me.
I remember reading in the pre-Withers history book I used to keep hidden under my bed that people used to be explorers of new lands. They would travel into new territories without any idea what they might find when they got there, or what dangers may lurk in their path. It sounded exciting, almost romantic, when I read it from the safety of my own bedroom. Now I think I have a better idea of what that was like, and it’s anything but romantic.
The book said that people used to make fire by rubbing two sticks together until the friction caused them to combust into flames. That doesn’t sound so hard, and if they could do it, surely I can. I make a small pile of twigs, then take two thick sticks and start rubbing.
Furiously, I work them back and forth, back and forth. I try to think of anything except the way the muscles of my arms soon begin burning in protest to the exertion. I grope for a pleasant memory, something to soothe me. I replay Eason’s smiles, the sound of his voice whispered in my ear, and the feel of his lips on mine the last time we kissed. I wonder if he’s still alive. And I’m not sure if the pain that seizes my body emanates from my fatigued muscles or my weary heart.
I work the sticks together as briskly as I can muster until my hands and arms feel like they’re made of rubber, but my efforts aren’t rewarded with so much as a puff of smoke. I pause to rest for just a moment, but suddenly I’m on high alert.
The sound of footsteps—clearly more than one set—are drawing near.
Chapter 18
On reflex, I jump to my feet and turn to the approaching sound. My leg vehemently protests the sudden movement, but I ignore the stabbing pain. I retain one of the sticks, brandishing it like a sword, though I doubt it will do me much good if I’m about to face an attack.
The source of the sound is blocked by a large boulder, and I wait, anxious. When someone finally steps into view, I almost burst into tears. “Vander,” I yell, dropping the stick.
He appears tired and disheveled, his shirt torn, but otherwise unscathed. Again, I forget to be careful as I begin to run to him. He meets me halfway and saves me from nearly toppling to the ground. I wrap my arms around him and cling to him, so relieved that he’s actually come back.
“Easy there,” he says, gently shoving me away.
My exuberance must be making him feel awkward. And honestly, now that the initial relief and surprise is wearing off, it’s having the same effect on me. I let him go, and that’s when I notice he’s not alone, and I understand the extra footsteps I heard.
“You found the horse,” I exclaim, patting the horse’s black-and-white mane. He nestles into my touch and gives a contented nicker. That’s the first bit of good fortune we’ve had in a while. “Where have you been?” I demand. “You’ve been gone for a whole day.”
“I couldn’t just wait here and do nothing,” he says. That’s a feeling I can relate to. “I decided to walk the perimeter and see if there was any break in the barrier field. I thought maybe there would be a gateway. Fortunately, I found the horse wandering around not long after I left, and that made the trip significantly shorter. If I’d had to go all the way on foot, it would have taken days.”
“So, what did you find?” I ask, eager for another bit of good news.
He frowns and shakes his head. “No sign of a gateway. Though on the far side, I did find some of the berries Kamella gave us.”
“Really!”
He holds out a small pouch fashioned from a piece of his shirt—which explains the tear. I’m so hungry I don’t even think twice before grabbing the offering and shoving a handful into my mouth. I remember they tasted good that first day, but I’m swallowing them down so fast now that they could taste like dirt for all I’d know or care.
“Not too fast,” says Vander. “It’ll take hours to get more of those, and I didn’t see anything else that I’m sure is safe to eat.”
I slow down and actually chew. After I’ve had a few more, I’m finally able to convince myself that it’s best to save some for later rather than gobble them all up right now. I fold the last dozen berries back in the piece of fabric and find a safe little
nook on a nearby rock to keep them.
“What were you doing?” Vander asks, eyeing the mass of twigs I’ve piled together.
“I was trying to get a fire started, but I don’t have a lighter, and rubbing sticks together is a lot harder than the stories make it sound.”
“Hold this,” he tells me, handing me the horse’s reins. I clutch them extra tight to ensure we won’t lose him again.
Vander picks up two carefully selected stones and a handful of dried leaves. Then he crouches by the pile of twigs, tucks the leaves in around them, and starts hitting the two stones together. Each time they connect, they spark. Finally, a spark ignites some of the leaves. They start to smoke, and he blows on them gently. With each puff of air, a tiny flame starts to build. Eventually, the flames spread to the twigs. He carefully adds larger sticks, and they catch fire, too.
“How did you learn to do that?” I ask in amazement.
“The day you were in crazy land, Kamella showed me how they start their nightly fire,” he explains, referring to the day I was under the influence of the Mind Mist.
I don’t want to lose the horse again, so I hobble over to the nearest tree, coaxing him along with me. I make a good, sturdy knot that’s sure to hold. Then I join Vander by the fire. It feels so good to be warm that I’m tempted to reach out and touch the fire, but I’m not that delirious, yet.
“So, I don’t want to be rude or anything,” Vander says, “but why is everything wet?” He looks at me as though I’m somehow responsible for all the patches of water still dotting the open landscape.
“It rained last night,” I tell him. “Didn’t you get rain?”
He shakes his head. “I started seeing puddles of water this morning, though. The horse is really good at finding water, actually.”