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

by Jennifer Wilson

  We had spent the entire last day canvassing the area, watching for movement. There was none to be found. But both Archer and Grenald were positive the Wraiths were there. Maybe they sensed them in a way the rest of us could not. Tethers from their pasts.

  I stared at the tarnished dome capping the building.

  “You’re sure the oculus is still unwatched?” I had asked this question a hundred times in the last twenty-four hours and the answer was still not what I wanted.

  “Two years can change a lot of things.” Grenald seemed to shrink in the shadow of the building. Neither had set foot in Wraith territory for nearly five years combined. Things could and probably did change in that time, but we were hopeful they hadn’t.

  “They don’t have any reason to think it’s been compromised. As far as they know, the only ones who could talk are dead. That we’re dead.” Archer’s hand reached back, feeling for her rifle. She tapped the muzzle, caressing her truest friend.

  “An hour?” Otto stood close to Grenald, though he never reached out to touch him. His presence alone seemed to comfort the giant. A little.

  We were all on edge. And with good cause.

  Triven’s hands gripped a little too tightly on the rope slung across his chest. My own hands automatically checked my weapons again. Three knives, two guns, an extra clip and one small but significant pack. It was the pack that bore the most weight. Both physically and mentally. Strapped securely to my back were three packets of Sanctuary food, a medical kit and a bomb that could take down the entire building along with everyone in it. I hoped we wouldn’t have to use it.

  “What if she’s not alone?” Archer’s breath was shaky.

  “She will be.” Grenald reassured her, again.

  “But what if—”

  I cut her off. “It doesn’t matter. Something is bound to go wrong in there. We’ll figure it out. Adjust.” I paused. “The only thing that doesn’t change—”

  “If you’re not back in an hour we move on without you.” Archer pulled her rifle free now, clutching it to her chest.

  “We’re holding you to that.” Triven swept the entire group, making sure they all understood. There would be no rescue mission.

  Their silence sealed the contract. There were three faint pops six blocks down and a black smoke began to rise, filling the streets. It was our signal from Nos and Veyron. Baxter, Cortez and Arden were ready for us. It was time. The group moved to take their places. The minutes were ticking down. Starting now.

  I stopped and turned to block Archer. “If we don’t… Promise me that you will move on. That you will try, with the others?”

  She hesitated, chewing on her cheek.

  “Archer,” I growled quietly, “I need to know someone will carry this out if we fail. Someone has to be there when The Wall comes down. Someone has to fight.”

  “Fine,” she snarled. But as I pivoted on my heels to follow the others, she snatched my arm. Her fingers would leave marks. “I’ll do it if I have to. Don’t make me have to.”

  My eyes moved from Archer’s grip on my arm back to her face. “Be careful out here too.”

  We didn’t say the obvious. What we both were thinking.

  Don’t die.

  She let me go then, as I pulled away. Without a second glance, Archer dropped to her knees setting up her vigil. Her fingers danced over the sights on her gun. Eyes checking the scope, then the streets. At least with her at watch, we were untouchable out here. For now.

  Triven, Grenald and Otto were waiting for me on the roof ledge. The gap between our roof and the Wraiths’ was nearly half a street. It seemed to yawn in the darkness, opening wider. The distance could not be jumped, but fortunately we had other means of crossing. Grenald slumped to one knee, balancing the air gun on his shoulder. Otto stood over him, a hand pressed to Grenald’s other shoulder as his eyes focused on the western sky. There was spark of light in the distance. Baxter’s signal. Otto’s hand squeezed in response and Grenald didn’t hesitate. With a quick pull of the trigger, an anchored projectile shot from his gun. A dark line tethered out behind it, whistling as it cut the night air. The spiked end hit the Wraiths’ rooftop, but any sound of clatter was swallowed by a thunderous explosion emanating from signal Baxter had detonated.

  Baxter, Nos and Veyron had done well. More plumes of black smoke began billowing through the streets mixing with the dust bombs already swirling there. The ex-Adroits had assured us the smoke would coat nearly half the city so there would be no red flags indicating the Wraiths were the intended target. Grenald and Otto worked quickly, yanking the line tight and tethering it. The moment Otto’s head jerked, I was climbing on the cord. Interlocking my boots over the rope, I let my body swing down. My hands moved rhythmically, pulling one over the other. The line shook as Triven followed. Mercifully, there was no moon in the sky tonight. The black smoke undulated below us, its fingers reaching up to swallow us too. We were shadows sliding out into the night.

  Grenald’s shot had been perfect. The anchor had caught between two pillars of twisted metal, giving me enough room to set a steady foot on the building’s edge before letting go. Triven’s feet reached just after mine. We grabbed each other’s forearms, bracing ourselves for the next part. The building’s roof rose in stained arcing panels that stretched skyward. The dome’s incline was not severe, but the metal surface was slick with years of acid washed rains. My first step was a jarring reminder.

  Even with our boots—gifts from the Sanctuary—my foot slid back two inches. It wasn’t enough to throw me off balance, but it was enough to send my heart racing. Triven’s hand pressed against the small of my back reassuringly.

  “Stay low.” I whispered.

  Thighs burning, backs hunched, we scrambled side by side to the top. Twice one of us lunged for the other, catching each other when our feet failed. Our boots cushioned our careful steps, the soles clinging precariously to the surface. Without them, we would have never made it this far. Only the soft swish of our suits spoke of our presence. I had beaten my suit, washed so many times it should have fallen apart, but it still smelled of ash to me. Of smothering flames and the dead. I hated pulling it on again, letting it cling to my skin, but it was another safety line. With hundreds of odds against us, this was one advantage in our favor. They were bullet-proof at long distances, fire repellant and helped control body heat. But could they work against bombs too?

  The oculus was dead center at the peak of the dome, just as Archer and Grenald said it would be. We slowed, staying low as we approached the circular opening. No light filtered out, but as we got closer light could be seen flickering below. No glass covered the hole as we peered cautiously inside.

  My stomach clenched.

  The sheer height of the room was terrifying. I now understood why they didn’t watch this point more carefully. Aside from being near impossible to reach, no one could survive a fall from this high up. And that was the only way down. The room below us was a cavern of ornate walls, sloping floors and lines of tattered chairs. Flecks of gold flaked off the surfaces along with peeling colors still rich in pigment. Many of the seats had been ripped from the floor, left overturned or broken to form over-sized beds of torn velvet and animal pelts. Tattered curtains hung on one side of the room, where the ground was elevated above the rest.

  At the center of the raised platform was a throne made of what looked like bones and fur. A girl, maybe Mouse’s age, lounged in the gruesome seat. Her leg was draped over the side of the chair and cradled in her lap was… No. I squinted, it was! She was holding a book. Not just holding it, but it appeared she was reading it. The sight was astonishing.

  Still, it wasn’t the unexpected grandeur of the building or the child that had shocked me.

  At a quick glance, I estimated nearly three hundred people below us. That was almost double what Archer and Grenald had estimated.

  There was a slow exhale next to me. Triven was doing the math as well. I placed a hand over his arm, meeting his s
hocked gaze. This didn’t change anything. The plan was still the same. I pushed my back to him, feeling the gentle tug as he took what he needed from inside. When the pack cinched closed, I twisted on my knees to face him again. I steady myself to stand, but instead found my face caught in his warm hands. Before I could pull away, Triven’s lips were on mine, hungry and frightened. Instead of stopping him, I pressed myself hard into his kisses. Neither of us was gentle and we reluctantly broke apart. His thumb brushed my lips as my fingers memorized his face. Every goodbye in Tartarus could be the last. Especially now.

  Our hands slipped down each other’s arms catching at the fingertips for one final squeeze. Then we set to work. Triven’s hands flew in controlled, well-practiced movements. My attention stayed on those below, gun drawn. One sign of an up-turned face and our mission would end here. But no one looked up.

  Triven pressed my shoulder when he was done and we were moving again. Careful to keep out heels down, we tilted back sliding down the dome in the opposite direction we had come from. The heat from the friction never penetrated our suits. The building’s ledge loomed at the edge of the dome and we pressed our feet down harder. Panic flared for two heartbeats as we continued to slide before finally slowing.

  We moved as quickly as we dared, tracing the edge of the dome. My mind ticked the panels as we passed them. On panel fifteen I found what Archer had promised us. Her own private escape.

  A trapdoor.

  It was small and the fit would be tight for Triven, but it was there. My fingers rubbed against the plate holding my hair back. The grease I had smeared there coated my fingertips and then I slathered it on the rusted hinges.

  Waiting until Triven had his gun pulled and aimed at the door, I grabbed the handle and paused, unsure of what was waiting on the other side. Archer swore she was the only one to know about it, but things change. She might not be the only one anymore. Every nerve in my body spiked with adrenaline. This was it. Our last chance to back out. We could walk away right now and no one would blame us. We could survive the night. I could go home and see Mouse. This was the last chance I would get to walk away from this war.

  With a deep breath, I pulled the hatch.

  18. GHOSTS

  D ESPITE MY GENTLE coaxing and the oil, the hinges still protested from disuse. Every muscle went rigid. Waiting. Listening. Not a single noise followed. Either no one had heard us or they were waiting patiently for us to enter.

  Triven’s feet moved and mine snapped back to life in response. The space beyond was absolutely black, giving the illusion of an endless abyss. I thought of the height from oculus.

  Archer promised, I reminded myself.

  Threading my legs through the opening, I rolled onto my belly. The rusted edges scraped against the Sanctuary suit, but didn’t pierce it. I clung frantically with my fingertips as my feet slid down the wall. Pulses of blood thrummed in my hands, my ears, matching the spiking rate of my heart. My body was nearly at full extension and still my toes found nothing. The metal bit into the pads of my fingers, then I let go. Swallowing a scream, I dropped into the shadows.

  Air rushed from my lungs as my feet collided with a solid surface. I braced my head against the cold wall before quickly shuffling sideways. I felt along the wall, groping for anything tangible. A body landed with a quiet thump next to me and Triven’s arms were immediately reaching for me. The tremor emanating from him steadied as our hands connected.

  I counted our steps as Archer had instructed. On the sixth step, I raised my hand, finding the iron beam it was looking for. Pulling Triven level with me, I raised our joined hands until his too grabbed onto the cold support. I tapped the back of his hand three times.

  On the count of three.

  He pressed back hard once, then began the countdown in measured taps. On three we pulled ourselves up onto the beam. We perched for two beats. The darkness eased here. I could see shadows, trace the lines of the beams. I could now also hear voices carrying up to us.

  Triven tapped my hand and pointed toward the right. A sliver of light slashed the darkness. Slowly, methodically, we maneuvered through the open beams. As we approached, the sliver of light fluttered. A thick curtain gently swayed, stirred possibly by a Wraith passing just on the other side. Seconds stretched on as we sat uncomfortably wedged amid the metal supports. People were talking, laughing and fighting somewhere below us. The sounds echoed off the arched ceiling, amplifying every noise. But there was nothing near us. At least nothing moving.

  My knife slid from its sheath followed by one of its brothers. Guns allowed you to kill from a safer distance, but attracted unnecessary attention. Triven pulled his own. His eyes glinted in the seam of light. Buried in them was the encouragement I needed. Careful to move the fabric as little as possible, we slithered from our hiding place. Our toes found the rail on the other side of the curtain with ease. Archer’s and Grenald’s instructions were good. We were not in the body of the building, but suspended above it. An elevated platform hung above the stage I had seen from above. The light up here was just enough to see by, yet allowed us a place to hide. Grenald had said these suspended bridges were rarely used.

  But tonight, he was wrong.

  I felt the approaching steps before I heard them. The tiny vibrations reverberated under my boots. They were coming from our right. My head swiveled and I saw her. Wandering up the labyrinth of catwalks was the girl I had seen sitting on the throne. She was on a level lower than ours and the child’s chin was tucked down watching the room below as she moved.

  She hadn’t seen us.

  My heart clenched. She was only a child, but she was alone…

  The perfect prey.

  GO! I signed at Triven, pointing back to a shadowed corner. He moved without hesitation. As he melded into the darkness, I launched myself back over the rails and into Archer’s curtained hideout.

  The curtain fell still just as the child’s steps rounded the corner. My hands were shaking. The uncharacteristic tremor was amplified in the tips of my knives. I quickly shoved them back into their sheaths, nearly nicking my thigh. Why did it have to be a child? Why couldn’t it have been a warrior—Stop it, I chided myself. The beam of light blotted out as she passed and I forced my body to move.

  The curtain whispered as I slid out. My feet hit the rails with flawless precision, toes touching just long enough for my hands to find purchase. With a lithe leap, I vaulted onto the platform landing an arm’s length behind the Wraith child. Dark twists of hair whirled as the girl whipped around to face me.

  She had startling green eyes that popped wide before narrowing to slits. Surprisingly, she did not cry out. Instead, she snarled. Her hand dug into the folds of her fur-laden smock, procuring a sharpened bone fragment. Before she could lunge, the shadow behind her came to life.

  In a sweeping movement, Triven snatched the homemade weapon from her hand and slid his own knife under the girl’s exposed throat.

  “Cry out and we will kill you.” Triven’s tone was sure and lethal. The child stilled immediately in his arms. Repulsion tighten my throat at his threat, but I was thankful the girl could not see Triven’s face. Strain pressed his brow. He hated saying the words as much I hated hearing them. At least he was the one to hold the knife, to make the threat I could not.

  The girl was taller than Mouse. Her head thrashed against the middle of Triven’s chest as I pulled the patch Doc had given us from my pocket and pressed it over her mouth and nose. Slowly the girl’s body began to relax. Her eyelids drooped. I pulled the cloth away before she went completely unconscious. We needed a semi-coherent hostage, not one that looked dead.

  Refusing to meet her gaze, I tried to ignore the constellation of freckles that painted her nose as I whipped a fabric gag into her mouth. With Triven’s blade pressed firmly to her neck and Doc’s suppressant coursing in her veins, I doubted she would scream, but it was not a chance I was willing to take. I then made quick work of binding her hands at her waist. The heat of her drugg
ed glare burned as my fingers searched the folds of her dress, producing three more shivs. Her legs wobbled and the bones around the girl’s neck rattled together. My hands forgot their work as I stared at her neck.

  She had already taken a life.

  Bones were not accessories freely given in this Tribe. They were earned. The child smiled behind the gag. Killer and proud.

  Pulling away, I visually swept the ground below us. Not a soul turned in our direction. Though my heart was pounding, the entire disturbance had gone unnoticed. We were safe, for now.

  Let’s move. I let my fingers speak to hide the tremor lingering in my voice.

  Keeping his knife near the child’s chest, Triven lifted the girl with his other arm, pinning her to his torso. The child dangled there like a rag doll, head rolling, but her eyes scorched with rage.

  Avoiding the flaming torches lighting the platforms periodically, we moved along the rails, darting in and out of the shadows. The catwalks offered us the perfect vantage point. They wove a spider web of tracks through the air, weaving around solid curtains and metal supports. From our perch I could see nearly every Wraith as they moved below us. Three times the whites of a Tribesman’s eye flickered our way, and three times we dove to the ground. Each time, Triven pinned the girl beneath him, pulling the knife tight in warning. She did not betray us.

  Cheek pressed to the black surface, I squinted.

  “There.” Two platforms over was a dead-end. The suspended track broke off midair, one of the railings dangling precariously from its side. A dark curtain hung near the end. Everything about the broken gangplank screamed deathtrap and was exactly what we had been looking for.

  The girl’s eyes widened as we made our way to the broken plank. It was possible this was where she was headed. There was no mistaking our trajectory now and she knew the Wraiths had a traitor. Not even Archer had known about this secreted entrance, but Grenald had. As one of the Tribe’s once most trusted warriors, the giant had been privy to it. Archer’s knowledge got us in the building. Grenald’s would give us the element of surprise.