Golden Dreg Boy, Book 1
Page 1
GOLDEN DREG BOY
THE SLUMS
D.K. DAILEY
Tillable Ground Dreams
Contents
GOLDEN DREG WORLD
Also by D.K. Dailey
GOLDEN DREG BOY
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Book Club Discussion Questions
Sneak Peak – The Underground
GOLDEN DREG WORLD
The Slums
Golden Dreg Boy
Book 1
Also by D.K. Dailey
Golden Dreg Boy©, The Slums is a six-book series set in the Golden Dreg World©. Listed in reading order:
Golden Dreg Boy©, Book 0: The Skate Park (Prequel)
Golden Dreg Boy©, Book 1: The Slums
Golden Dreg Boy©, Book 1.5, Under the Bridge (Prequel)
Golden Dreg Boy©, Book 2, The Underground
Golden Dreg Boy©, Book 3, The Hills
Golden Dreg Boy©, Book 4, The Premier
Golden Dreg Boy©, Divided is a combined volume of the prequels in the Golden Dreg Boy series. The Skate Park prequel does not have to be read before book one. But please do not read Under the Bridge before book one, it contains spoilers.
Come along as the Golden Dreg World© expands - look for additional series at online retailers and on the author’s website and sign up for The Dailey Dose Newsletter for the most updated details. Visit goldendregboy.com OR goldendregworld.com. Follow the author on Twitter & Pinterest as dk_dailey and on Instagram as dk_daileybooks.
GOLDEN DREG BOY
BOOK 1, The Slums
D.K. Dailey
Summary: In the ruins of San Francisco California, survivors of an epidemic that swept the nation have pooled inside the cities, restructuring life as we know it, pitting the rich Golden against the poor Dreg.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Text ©2020 by D.K. Dailey, Golden Dreg Boy© and Golden Dreg World© are trademarks of D.K. Dailey
Golden Dreg Boy© Logos: The Killion Group Inc.
Cover Design: Christian Bentulan
Developmental Editing: Razor Sharp Editing
Copy Editing: Razor Sharp Editing
Proofreader: Ladybug Author Services
Blurb copy: The Killion Group Inc.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in articles and reviews. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained from the publisher.
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ISBN 978-1-952190-00-1 (1st Edition, paperback)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available — Dailey, D.K., Golden Dreg Boy, Book 1 (Golden Dreg World): The Slums —1st edition. ISBNs 978-1-952190-02-5, 978-1-952190-03-2, 978-1-952190-04-9 (eBooks), ISBN 978-1-952190-05-6 (audiobook), ISBN 978-1-952190-06 (comic).
Created with Vellum
To my parents:
Who let me hear voices, see invisible people, and make stuff up, never curbing my imagination or confidence. They let me be me. Thank you for your foundation of greatness and for building our family a tribe. For making us feel like we were worthy and belong in this world when we are constantly told and treated otherwise. You are the best parents imaginable. Your love knows no boundaries.
Chapter One
A flash of gray seeps through the foliage deep in our forest. I blink, not positive what I’ve seen. It can’t be Noodle. He never wears Dreg gray. From the top of our skate park ramp, I stare into the trees but see nothing more.
I tear my eyes away from the greenery and throw my flutterboard toward the ground. The shiny metal board rises to my ankles, softly humming with renewable energy. Knees bent, I jump on and ease forward. Maintaining an inch of space between objects, my board floats over a metal-edged wooden grind box on the side of our makeshift ramp.
When I land awkwardly, a brown face peeks through the evergreens. A Dreg girl. And from where I stand, she looks plenty fine. It took us two years to build this—our outlet, our risk—solely for us and not for Dreg intruders. She shouldn’t be anywhere near the Golden-owned hill sectors. While no gates separate the rich from the poor, only the cuckoos and Dregs asking to be arrested or killed venture into our territory. Sometimes they enter sectors to break the law or harm us, but most times they’re just mischievous or desperate.
Clicks and animal noises whisper through my space. My ears perk up, and I listen for odd noises. Another blaze of gray rushes past in the distance. My heart beats faster. I’m not positive if it’s cuz I’m flutterboarding or cuz of the Dreg threat in my territory.
I touch my left wrist to activate my c-chip. “The time is six o’clock,” the electronic voice chirps. I run a hand through my blond hair and then place my gray newsboy hat back on, tilting it to the side. The last beam of dying sunlight filters through the trees. Darkness arrives late this time of year in Northern California, and more hot summer weather is right around the corner.
In times like these, my dad’s criticizing words pound through my mind. “Your propensity to save Dregs will get you in trouble.” Yet feeling bad for the less fortunate is innate. He has no reason to worry. The cops are more interested in keeping Dregs in line. They arrest Dregs for leisurely socializing with us or sentence Dregs to death if they try to impersonate or raise their social status to Golden. Only two exceptions offer me a chance to speak to her. But what business or serious purposes do we share?
The Dreg girl might be hurt. That’s a serious reason.
My head says forget about her, but my heart thumps harder with the need to go to her. I’m torn. Eventually, my heart wins. Blame it on my need for taking risks.
I fly out of the skate park, drawing closer to her in the forest. “Hey, do you need help? Hello?” My voice echoes off the trees.
She doesn’t answer, treading through the dirt on foot.
I knit around the trees, following her trail. By the time I look ba
ck, the skate park tucked deep in the forest has disappeared. I stutter in the air. I shouldn’t be following her. I shouldn’t care about Dregs.
In my world, there’s no in-between. Either you have or you have not. And those who have shouldn’t care about those who have not. Still, my heart thumps faster. Who is this girl who climbed the forbidden hills and entered my world, breaking the law and all sense of reason?
A wrecked, empty bubble leans on its side near a tree. She must’ve lost control of the vehicle. Packages of food litter the inside and outside. What is she doing on the Golden side of town? In a bubble full of food? By herself?
A branch clips behind me. I spin and freeze. The Dreg girl stands, staring. Dirt smears her clothes and face, and her curly purple bob is a crimson-speckled tumbleweed of leaves. She could use my help. But tension tightens her square jaw, so I’m not positive she’d accept assistance. Her turned-up nose and pouty lips give her stern appearance. Bet she’s pretty under the grime. My attraction is immediate. That has never happened with a Dreg.
Kade! Focus! Blinking helps me concentrate on her eyes. Her eyes scream mind-your-own-business, and she’s right. Spending more time on my studies to prepare to follow in my dad’s footsteps should be my number-one goal, not feeling bad for the less fortunate. Logic joins my brain again. I shouldn’t be sympathetic, but my words betray me. “Hey, do you need help? Hello?”
Her eyes zoom around, and then she makes a disgusted face. “Why are you dressed like one of us?”
A Dreg has never commented on my clothes. I fidget with the edge of my tight-fitting gray shirt, feeling stupid. But I am wearing gray, the color they claimed. Cops could care less what I wear—though Dad doesn’t like gray. I’m not worried. My c-chip verifies I’m Golden.
She stares a little too hard, like I’m an alien. “You’re different up close.”
“Do I know you?” Highly unlikely, but the way she’s staring gives me pause. Could I, in fact, know her and not have paid attention before because she’s Dreg? Possible. But she’s beautiful. No, gorgeous.
“No. But I know you,” she says under her breath, arched eyebrows jumping on her forehead.
I shake my head. “You…you know me?”
She searches the forest again, looking behind and around. The eerie familiarity of her bright brown eyes grips my heart. “How do you know me? I’m not positive—”
“You need to come with me.”
I scrutinize the wound on top of her head. She’s one of the cuckoos. Dial the cops! No, that would reveal our skate park, and then I’d be in trouble. “You’re not making sense. Is your head okay?” I gaze around too, now paranoid. “Who were you running from?”
A noise booms behind me, and I twist around. A bubble vehicle careens toward us at an alarming speed. My reflexes are shot, so I idle on my flutterboard. I stare at the bubble and then at her. Shucky! I need to move before the thing crashes into me!
Lunging forward, she tackles me to the ground. We fall, landing a few feet away as the bubble blows past us. My board shuts off nearby. On top of me, her eyes move me to stare.
She saved my life. A Dreg girl saved my life.
My heart zooms in my chest, pulse quickening, all the while my eyes refuse to leave her face.
“What the zard is your problem? Why didn’t you move?” she bites out.
Correction: a hostile Dreg girl saved my life.
I hold her against me as if my life depends on it. My mouth is too dry, and my throat has collapsed. I pick a few leaves from her hair.
She slams her hands against my chest, pushing away. “Stupid, spoiled rich boy. Think you can have everything.”
I let her go and gasp for air. What made her mad? Did we meet before and I insulted or ignored her? Or is it the most likely reason: she’s a Dreg who hates Goldens. And I should hate her too.
But I don’t.
We shuffle to our feet at the same time. I brush off my clothes and don’t make eye contact. More flashes of gray appear through the green forest. People tumble out of another bubble, disoriented. Why were they going so damn fast? Shouts and whistles permeate what is supposed to be my sanctuary. When stupid Dregs don’t stay in their designated or common areas, they risk exposing the skate park. We seriously need a gate. The hills don’t always separate us like they’re supposed to.
A Dreg guy with gecko-blue hair yells at the girl. “Where’s your bubble?”
“Malfunctioned over there,” she shouts over her shoulder. Her hazel gaze flickers from her wrecked vehicle to me. “Take the food from it, Cress. We can’t leave it.”
The blue-haired guy’s face sparks familiarity. Cress. That’s his name. Now, what’s hers?
“Get as much as you can.” He orders the two guys with him. A platinum-blond Asian teen and a brown-haired guy. Cress looks back at the girl and me. “We don’t have time for him.”
“Why are you guys here?” My body stiffens once more with the idea that she—no, they—could very well hurt me.
My question goes ignored. The guys sprint to the broken bubble, clear out a few food boxes, and then load them into their vehicle.
The blue-haired guy was at a market protest I got caught up in once and he was in a sector while I was stealing wood and aluminum for the skate park. That’s why he looks familiar. He’s the only Dreg I’ve seen with such a striking shade of hair color.
The brown-haired guy starts their vehicle. The slight electric hum beckons the girl. She stumbles toward it as if I want to harm her. My hands fly into the air in a peaceful gesture.
The distinct buzzing of cop bubbles fills the air. “They’re coming,” Cress calls. “Let’s dart before it’s too late.”
“But he’s right here. We could—”
“We go now!”
“You’re welcome, rich boy,” she grunts before taking off.
She climbs into the bubble through a missing door, allowing a clear view into the vehicle. Grabbing my board from the ground and maintaining eye contact, I hop on, which calms me. My “thank you” is taken by the trees. She’ll never hear me.
Their bubble zooms off toward downtown. I hate to see her go, but she shouldn’t have been here, and I can’t be caught socializing with Dregs. An aching erupts inside my chest while I guide my board back into the skate park. If life were different, if generations of hate and segregation didn’t divide us, I could know that girl.
I hurry to the side of the ramp and kneel so I can’t be seen but can look out into the forest. If the cops come, I’ll see them. Detecting the skate park is a possibility—but an unlikely one—since they’ve never messed with me before. They’re after criminals, which is much more important than an unauthorized skate park.
As I wait, the darkening night settles on me. Then a burst of rapid gunfire makes the hairs on my arms and neck stand up. Cops don’t use guns if they can help it.
Flickers of light swim at the edge of my vision. In the distance, a cop bubble zooms through the forest. Enraptured by the cracks of gunfire, I can’t stop looking at the trees until the sounds fade. My heartbeat slows and, with a shiver, my world returns to normal. The encounter with the girl will never leave my mind, and wondering about her will be the death of me. They came for a reason, I’m convinced. Cress said, “We don’t have time for him.”
What did that mean?
Were they going to kidnap or hurt me?
But he’s right here…Had they been looking for me?
Did they escape from the cops? And finally, will I ever see the Dreg girl again?
Performing flutterboard tricks always frees my mind, and wondering about her becomes a nonissue. Flipping the board while fluttering over the railing is too easy, so I switch to harder tricks, variations of aerial moves I’ve perfected over the years. Full midair, top-of-the-ramp rotations are my favorites. The thrill of almost hurting myself exhilarates me and beats the boredom of being Golden.
But so does meeting that Dreg girl.
After a while, Noodle crash
es through the trees on his flutterboard, yelling as he clears the bushes outside the park. “Kade, when did you learn those sick aerials?”
Noodle’s impressed by everything I do. I try not to hold it against him. He brings the wafting smell of pine with him. I smile, loving the lemony-tree smell. I’m genuinely happy to see my bestbud. “It’s about height, grip, and speed, and it does help to practice, you doink.” I stick out my tongue. “Gross, do you seriously have a melt on your face?”
“Oh shucky, I forgot about it.” Whipping off the blue gel mask hugging his nose and mouth like a bandage, he stuffs it into the pocket of his sleek sweatpants.
We always gripe about the germaphobes that wear masks in public. We say we’re too lush to walk around with melts advertising we’re scared of sickness. But we should be since it wiped out over half the world after the worldquake.
Noodle greets my fist with his own and then jumps off his board. It hovers for a second before he bends and tucks it under his armpit. “Just cuz you’re lucky doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t ever get sick. I mean even Dregs get sick but you—no.”