New World Inferno: Book Three in a Young Adult Dystopian Series

by Jennifer Wilson

  While the three of us were greeted with expletives of shock and relief, Archer, Baxter and Arden melded into the gathering crowd seeking faces they had not yet seen. People embraced Mouse and Triven like the family they were, and while I received a few hearty handshakes and tentative pats, there was still a hesitation between the Subversive members and myself. Still, it was nice to be welcomed and even nicer to see the hint of fear in their eyes. Fear the stories of my legend had put there. Unlike the rebels, these people did not witness my torture, they didn’t see the broken girl temporarily caged inside, nor did they see a lost friend. These people saw the rogue, the girl that had survived these streets. If only I could see her with such clarity again too.

  As smiles faltered revealing desolation, reality set back in. It dawned on me that this was our lives now. The brief celebration was over and while we had survived, others had not and the fates of more still were unknown. This is what it would be like every time we reunited. The vicious cycle of war had begun. Until it ended, we would be doomed to relive this moment over and over, or until we were one of the missing faces.

  I stayed in my old hideout long enough to watch Mouse reunite with her once jovial friend. Maribel’s scrawny arms enveloped her friend instantly and while a smile forced the girl’s lips upwards it did not quite make it to her eyes. It was as if the light inside her had dimmed. Even the golden ringlets adorning the child’s head appeared to have lost some of their bounce. The girl’s voice alone seemed to have survived the tragedy of tonight’s events. Though it was quieter than I remembered. Everything about these people was quieter than I remembered. Still it didn’t take long for the questions to begin flooding the conversations. They wanted to know what happened, what it was like inside The Wall, what happened to Maddox and Bowen, how we had survived… This onslaught of questions never stopped.

  That’s when I left.

  I made an excuse of starting the first watch, but really I wanted to get away, to breathe my own air. To be able to think. It was wrong of me to leave Triven there alone to answer all of the questions, but if irritated, he showed no sign of it. Instead he handed me an extra rifle with the promise of coming up soon to relieve me. His mother glared at this, her bony claws digging into his arm, pulling his attention back to his people. When Triven turned away, her gaze fell away and she nodded curtly at my left shoe before turning her eyes back on her only son. The movement was so quick and fleeting, I might have been hallucinating. Stifling a snort, I had a feeling that was the closest thing I would ever get to a thank you from Arstid Halverson.

  THE MORNING BREEZE felt cold compared to the hot air of the overcrowded safe house. Chills feathered my spine, prickling down my arms, but it was nice. Despite the exhaustion creeping in, my mind was still churning, reeling over the past few months’ events. In one night we had gone from needing to achieve the impossible, to needing to achieve the impossible while babysitting the Subversive members. Less than a day back and already everything was going wrong.

  A masochistic part of me wanted to wallow, to relive everything that had gone awry, to drown in the dark memories shadowing my mind, but what good would that do? We needed a plan—we needed to look to the future. The people on this side of The Wall needed a leader and in some perverse twist of fate, it was supposed to be me.

  The sickly sun had risen low in the sky now, spreading its sallow color across the skeleton city. The city was always the quietest at this hour. We who prowled the night were hunkering down to make way for those who claimed the daylight. Plumes of some still burning fire clouded the atmosphere. I watched in fascination as they lazily twisted a path toward the sky, evaporating in the morning air.

  “Home sweet home.” I muttered. The burden crushing my chest lightened a little as I surveyed the broken buildings. Automatically, my attention drifted to the goliath wall separating the two worlds I had been claimed by. Both worlds were my past, present and future, and yet, both were lacking. They were fragments, sewn together in an attempt to make me whole. Both worlds had created me, both had destroyed me and both had given me hope. I wondered what was happening beyond that Wall. Was there even a war left to fight or were the rebels already dead?

  My fingertips grazed the rectangular shaped object that suddenly felt like it was burning a hole through the thigh pocket of my body suit. Zipped carefully inside was the tablet Fiona had forced on me in Ryker’s absence. Scanning the city again before averting my eyes, I pulled out the device. As soon as my fingers brushed the glassy surface, the screen flickered to life and staring up at me in his immaculate Sanctuary uniform was Major James Ryker.

  5. SOUVENIRS

  R YKER’S FACE WAS smug, but slowly his usually coy smile faltered. My breath hitched, he wasn’t dead.

  “Ryker?” I questioned, waving my hand at the screen. Two beats and my heart sank. There was no recognition in his eyes. He couldn’t see me. This was just video like the others I had seen, a recording. On cue the screen glitched, rewinding itself a half second before playing again. Ryker’s voice emanated from the device speaking to me from the past. The volume was low, forcing me to pull the screen closer to my face to hear his words. I squatted on the roof clutching the screen as I hid from the possible eyes below.

  “Hey Princess.” I glowered at his unseeing face. “If you got this, then I think you already know shit went wrong.” His Adam’s apple bobbed before he continued. “Hopefully I’m not dead, just detained—because let’s be honest, the world needs more pretty faces like mine.”

  “Pompous ass.” I mumbled. My thoughts scattered. Was he a dead pompous ass?

  “Hell, maybe we’re both dead and there’s no point to this stupid video.” He seemed to sober up, our thinking patterns syncing. “If you are dead, then this video is a complete waste of my time. Knowing you though, if you survived my escape plan, you’re probably glaring at this screen wishing me dead.” His mouth twisted self-righteously. His genius escape plan mainly included getting shoved into a human oven and then nearly being suffocated before dropping out into an abyss of human ash. Yeah, I should have wanted him dead—except that he might actually be…

  He paused, chewing thoughtfully on the corner of his lip, his bright blue eyes as penetrating through the screen as they were in person. “You’re not dead though, are you? I know you, Prea. You could probably survive a second Devastation.” He rolled his eyes. “Look, whatever happens, you have to stick to your side of the deal. There are thousands of people in here counting on you, whether they realize it yet or not. This world needs to change and you must help it. Especially if I’m dead. You and I both know—but other people need to see what Fandrin is made of. And the Tribes, they deserve a place in this new world too. I know you said they are monsters, but they’re humans too. We need them to fight together and in turn we must allow them a victory. We are all trying to survive and it’s time we started doing it together. The Wall has entombed both sides; if it doesn’t come down we will all die one way or another.” He leaned in closer to the monitor. “I need you standing there on the other side when it comes down. This new world needs you.” The military leader had emerged, all straight lines and harsh tones. Gone was the playful air I so often detested.

  “Once outside of The Wall, I doubt this device will transmit to our side and the battery life will dwindle, so use it sparingly. If you got out when you were supposed to, The Wall will be coming down sixteen days after your escape. The clock is ticking Princess. No pressure, but if you fail we may all die. And if you’re not standing on the other side when The Wall comes down, then you had better freaking be dead.” He hesitated before adding. “Don’t be dead.”

  He leaned forward and the screen froze, his face focused on something off to the side. That was it.

  A tempest of emotions swirled in my head. I flicked the screen causing Ryker’s motionless face to recede back to black, but the dull click of my nails did not reflect the anger percolating under my skin. I tossed the device relishing in the clatter of n
oise it made before sliding to a stop at a pair of black boots. I flinched. How long had he been standing there?

  “Ryker could have gotten lucky. He could still be alive.” Triven did not meet my eyes. He knew what I had been watching.

  I shook my head. “If Fandrin’s got him alive, then Ryker is anything but lucky. Trust me, I would know.”

  Triven stooped to pick up the discarded device, but not before his face contracted with guilt. I immediately regretted my words. They were honest, yes, but cruel. Triven knew what I had endured while in my grandfather’s imprisonment. He saw what that man did to my body and my mind. I would never forget it, and in some cruel selfish way I didn’t want him to either. I didn’t want to be alone in that hurt. But that wasn’t fair. Triven had suffered—was suffering—in his own way. The twist of his features, the hollowness that echoed in his eyes was proof. He had blamed himself for what had happened to me. I had forgiven him, but still sometimes when my guard was low, that venomous snake called hatred would raise its head and lash out. Anger likes to spread. In fact, it seemed to thrive on infecting others. It wasn’t rational or right, but it wasn’t always easy to keep in check either. I couldn’t scream at Ryker, so Triven became the target.

  Ever the better person, he didn’t take the bait. Instead he sat down next to me, his long legs extending far beyond my own. The screen was still clutched in his gentle hands. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  His chin dipped slightly, but that was the only acknowledgement he made toward my misplaced angry words. “We thought Archer, Veyron and Arden were all dead too.”

  Sharp rocks filled my head as I leaned into him, my temple dragged down by the weight to rest on his shoulder. “People die.”

  “Have hope.”

  “Be realistic.” I countered, raising my eyebrows.

  He actually laughed, “I’ll try, if you will.”

  “I hate him.” I nodded at the screen in Triven’s hands. The words were mostly true, and it felt good to say them out loud. I did hate Ryker—for torturing me, for bringing back a past full of ghosts I had thought were forgotten, for rescuing me, for asking the impossible and for possibly sacrificing himself to ensure our escape.

  I also knew in part, Triven needed to hear those words. He knew my relationship with Ryker was complicated and that I didn’t harbor the same feelings as the rebel leader did for me, but still, Triven deserved the reassurance.

  As his arm wrapped over my shoulders, squeezing gently, I knew it was the right thing to have said. For both of us.

  “He’s alive, Prea.” Despite my harsh words, despite both of our frequent distaste for Ryker, neither of us wanted him dead. Punched in the face occasionally, maybe, but not dead.

  “Ever the optimist, are we?” I asked. Triven’s hands swept the screen, dusting it off as he began to replay the message.

  “No… In my experience, people as stubborn as him are hard to kill.” His hazel eyes tilted in my direction before glancing back to the screen, a strange expression crossing his handsome features.

  Triven’s eyebrows rose as he watched the video. “He really is a pompous ass, isn’t he?”

  I snorted, “My words exactly.”

  Our shared laughter faded.

  What if he is dead? The unspoken question hung between us.

  When the video stopped, Triven’s finger flicked across the screen, turning the device off before handing it back to me. Not wanting to touch the physical reminder of our impossible situation I shoved the device back into my pocket trying to ignore the overwhelming weight it now seemed to carry and rose to scan the streets again. Triven’s broad frame shadowed mine.

  Together we looked out over the empty streets, both of us lost in our own thoughts. A purple smoke unlike the other blacks and greys that painted the skyline furled and unfurled its translucent violet tendrils as they wound their way along the rising breeze. The undulating plume swirled then abruptly rolled in on itself, doubling back against the nearly invisible force field. It was mesmerizing to watch. The smoky cloud halted midair, before sliding upwards toward the murky sky. As it moved, crackles of electrical lightning sparked whenever tiny ash particles hit the electrical barrier. Not even the vapors could penetrate The Wall.

  “Sixteen days.” Triven’s deep voice broke the growing silence, grounding me back to reality.

  I nodded, focusing on the source of the purple smoke.

  “Did you tell her?” I asked, my eyes on the faded water tower.

  “No. I thought we should do it together.” Triven’s fingers reached for mine, easily sliding into their now familiar place. They squeezed lightly.

  “Archer?” I squeezed back.

  “She’s held her tongue.”

  “For now.” I amended.

  “For now.” He agreed. His chest rose with a stuttering breath, releasing as I leaned into his shoulder. My head pressed to Triven’s collarbone, his chin dipping to rest on top of mine.

  This was it­—the last moment of calm before the tempest.

  “You know, this is the first sunrise I have seen here in nearly five years.” The words felt disjointed, threaded loosely with the plan weaving itself in my head.

  A purr emanated from his chest and neither of us moved, prolonging our stolen moment. I clung to him, knowing that in the end, I would have to be the first to step away.

  The time to unite the Tribes had come, but a few things that needed to be taken care of first.

  “I’ve got a plan.”

  “And?” Triven’s sandpaper cheek snagged in my hair.

  “And you’re not going to like it.”

  6. LOYALTIES

  A RSTID WAS WAITING for us when we returned, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in my direction. I rolled mine in response. It was nice to see not everything here had changed in our absence. Her narrow shoulders held square, but there was something off about the way her pointed chin jutted up. Then I saw it, the subtle shift of her feet. It was something a hesitant fighter would do. The stoic pillar of the Subversive was unsure of the future, of herself. At one time, I would have laughed at her discomfort, relished in it even, but not today. Not when it was taking all my focus to conceal the same in my own body language. An unexpected thought flickered to life. Had she even wanted leadership, or had it been thrust upon her shoulders like it had mine?

  “We need to talk.” The commanding tone of her voice cut the air. “Now.”

  The thought soured. Maybe she had wanted it.

  “So we do.” I halted, mirroring her stance. A frustrated sigh came from my left. Though I didn’t spare a glance in his direction, Arstid’s eyes shifted to her son.

  “Shall we?” Arstid’s fingers unhinged from her arm, gesturing to the door behind us.

  Several people I recognized from old council meetings began peeling themselves from the flaking walls and sullied ground, but my feet remained rooted.

  “This will do fine.” I nodded to the room around us.

  The council members’ eyes darted to the other citizens scattering the room, falling heavily on the children. My eyes only found Mouse’s. The girl’s mouth turned up approvingly, with a curt nod of encouragement. At her side, Maribel’s eyes were round with equal parts eagerness and anxiety. Arstid’s chin rose higher, her taut mouth falling open to object, but I cut in.

  “There’s a traitor among you.” Bodies stiffened as an invisible vacuum sucked the oxygen from the crowded space. My eyes scrutinized the faces, trying to memorize them, before turning back to their leader’s icy glare. “Is everyone here? Is everyone accounted for?”

  Murmurs of confirmation buzzed as people counted their loved ones. I could see Baxter’s lips twitching out numbers as he counted each head. Arden’s eyes were simultaneously hopping from Subversive member to member doing the same.

  “We’re accounted for.” Arstid spit, but it wasn’t until Baxter and Arden both nodded in confirmation that I continued.

  “Starting now, no one
is ever alone.” Several onlookers started, but others nodded in agreement, eyeing their once trusted companions with suspicion.

  “I will NOT have you spreading a seed of mistrust among my people!” Arstid protested, but worry had flashed across her features.

  “That seed was planted long before tonight.” I leveled at her. The woman’s shoulders shook, whether from rage or fatigue I wasn’t be sure.

  “Arstid…” Arden’s voice emerged from the shadows behind her. “Phoenix is right.” A pain twisted Arstid’s face as his scarred hand slid over her trembling shoulder. Arden’s voice dropped to a whisper as his other hand traced the welts now fabricating his new face. “This wasn’t an accident. You know that.”

  Her fingers wound apologetically over his as her gaze fell to the floor in defeat. She didn’t need to look at him to know what he was referring to. Despite the ice queen’s cool demeanor, not even her frosty glare could completely hide a guilty conscience.

  My eyes narrowed.

  Averting the attention from his mother, Triven stepped forward addressing his people. “We’re not saying to turn on each other. The traitor may be in this room, or out there with the rest of our people. We are saying to watch out for each other, to protect each other. There is strength in numbers.”

  “We can’t stay here!” A woman cried, the rising panic finally overflowing. Her hands grappled at the front of her shirt like it was choking her. “What if this location has been leaked? What if the traitor is out there and already exposed us?! We’re easy pickings here!”

  “We have to help the others!” Another voice bellowed, a tall man standing alone in the back. His loved ones were obviously not here.