The Walls of Orion
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
The Walls of Orion (The Walls of Orion duology)
CONTENTS
1. THE CUSTOMER
2. THE LABEL
3. SOMEONE ELSE'S CRAZY
4. THE TORCH
5. THE SUPERHERO
6. SMALLNESS AND SNOWSTORMS
7. WILD GOOSE CHASE
8. WHAT'S THE HOLDUP?
9. THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT
10. THE KNIGHT
11. HEROES, LUNATICS, AND EVERYONE ELSE
12. DEAD MAN WALKING
13. WHEN IT SOUNDS THIS CRAZY...
14. ...IT’S PROBABLY TRUE
15. THE FUSE
16. THE EXPLOSION
17. THE RUBBLE
18. THE DARK
19. THE NAME
20. WHO YOU GONNA CALL
21. THE BEST LIES
22. STRINGS
23. THE CHAMELEON
24. FAVOR
25. THE SLIDE
26. THE CHOICE
27. FIRES
DEAR READER
AUTHOR'S NOTE & ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
THE WALLS OF ORION. Copyright © 2021 T.D. Fox. All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America. For information, address
Acorn Publishing, LLC, 3943 Irvine Blvd. Ste. 218, Irvine, CA 92602
www.acornpublishingllc.com
Interior designed by T.D. Fox
Cover design by Damonza
Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author.
ISBN-13: 978-1-952112-42-3 (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 978-1-952112-41-6 (paperback)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020924674
www.tdfoxbooks.com
PRAISE FOR THE WALLS OF ORION
“An exciting debut that will ensnare YA readers and leave them wanting more of this intricate, intriguing world where nothing is quite as it seems. Fans of science fiction, dystopian and superhero fiction will fall in love with this story.”
—K.A. Fox, USA Today Bestselling Author of The Devil's Own and Judas Kiss
“Original, dark, and gritty, Fox's debut novel beautifully marries the complexities of forbidden romance and moral gray areas. The pages practically turn themselves.”
—Jessica Therrien, Bestselling Author of Children of the Gods
“A fun, inventive urban fantasy debut with plenty of atmosphere and a swoon-worthy antihero. Kept me turning pages late into the night!”
—Kat Ross, Bestselling Author of Some Fine Day
“T.D. Fox has crafted a gripping and gritty fantasy with the perfect combination of suspense, twists, and self-discovery. The Walls Of Orion will have you on the edge of your seat!”
—Dennis K. Crosby, Bestselling Author of Death's Legacy
“The mystery woven into every scene of this debut is riveting! Fox is a master at building suspense. The Walls of Orion will capture you with its charm, then drag you deep into a world that feels all-too-real. I'm so in love with this book!”
—Danielle Harrington, Bestselling Author of The Diseased Ones
“WOW! A debut novel? I would never have guessed. The writing is perfect, the world building beyond imagination with truly exceptional characters. Stand aside, Roth! Fox is in town.”
—D. Fischer, Bestselling Author of the Heavy Lies the Crown series
To my Mom
Who never believed I was ordinary
CONTENTS
PART 1: THE CALL
THE CUSTOMER
THE LABEL
SOMEONE ELSE’S CRAZY
THE TORCH
THE SUPERHERO
SMALLNESS AND SNOWSTORMS
WILD GOOSE CHASE
WHAT’S THE HOLDUP?
THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT
THE KNIGHT
HEROES, LUNATICS, AND EVERYBODY ELSE
DEAD MAN WALKING
WHEN IT SOUNDS THIS CRAZY...
...IT’S PROBABLY TRUE
THE FUSE
THE EXPLOSION
PART II: THE CHANGE
THE RUBBLE
THE DARK
THE NAME
WHO YOU GONNA CALL
THE BEST LIES
STRINGS
THE CHAMELEON
FAVOR
THE SLIDE
THE CHOICE
FIRES
PART I:
THE CALL
1. THE CUSTOMER
THE RAIN DRUMMED, charging down the darkened windows like great silver cracks. Silent shimmering ribbons fought each other to reach the sill first, melting and streaking into oblong spider webs. A stark contrast to the cacophony inside.
Courtney couldn’t remember ever having felt so claustrophobic. Coffee hung on the air in a burnt, chocolaty dust. The scream of the steaming wands, the hiss of milk churning, the clamor of customers filing past the counter... it all squeezed in like a big warm fist. Under the rumble of rain on the roof, someone else might call it cozy. She might, in another café.
Not here. Not tucked in so close to the suffocating shadow of the Wall.
“It’s really comin’ down,’’ Max said, leaning back against the bar while she steamed her thirty-seventh latte of the hour. “Funny how dark it can get at three o’clock this side of Main Street.”
Courtney watched the thermometer climb to one-hundred-forty degrees.
“Packed today, huh?” He peered out at the lobby beyond their tiny linoleum-floored haven. “No great tippers, either.”
“They just don’t want to be wet and cold,” she replied, soft tone clipped.
Max grunted, arms folded over his apron. His eyes drifted back out the window to the drizzled gray concrete beyond. “At least the wind’s blocked here.”
Her grip tightened on the pitcher handle. Killing the steam, Courtney tipped the milk into the next cup, topping the espresso with an expert, foamy swirl. Stepping around Max, who had yet to finish his macchiato, she slid the mug across the pickup counter.
“Latte for Dave!” she called.
“What would you do? If it happened tomorrow.”
Courtney snapped a look at him, side-stepping again to pick up the next order. “If what happened?”
“If it came down—you know, the Wall.”
Eyes on the espresso machine, Courtney queued up an Americano with stiff precision. “Your foam’s going flat.”
Turning back to his pitcher, Max sloshed the milk into a cup, flipped the shots over the top and slid the cup across the counter. “Emily, your macchiato’s ready!”
Hands fidgeting as she watched the shots drip for the Americano, Courtney bent to snatch a bag of beans. She stretched up on her toes to overfill the already stocked espresso hopper.
“Come on, what would you do?” he persisted.
Why did they have to be the only two on shift today?
“I’d head straight for Chicago,” Max went on. “Screw packing, whatever, I’d hop on my motorcycle and see the first live concert in town, blow my paycheck on the ritziest hotel I could find
, kiss a foreign girl. Or someone from the West Coast. Hell, a Chicago-native, born and bred. I’d kiss her so hard she’d wonder what the hell kinda man they breed out here in Orion City.”
“Classy,” Courtney muttered. “Derek, your Americano!”
“You a beach girl?” he asked. “I could see a beach girl. Or wait, maybe a mountain chick? Pick the first road north, drive straight on up to Canada. That’s more your vibe.”
“You’ve got drinks backed up.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Plucking a cup from the bar, Max twirled it in his hand before poking the number of shots on the espresso machine. “C’mon, I’m bored. Would you go international? See the Eiffel Tower? The Pyramids?”
A tightness crept up in Courtney’s chest. She carefully lined up her next order. “Didn’t you grow out of this in middle school?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about After.”
The thrum on the roof intensified. Unable to resist, Courtney’s eyes jumped to the window. To the thin line of sky above the arrested horizon, that tiny sliver crushed between the press of buildings and the cage of concrete beyond.
“There is no After.”
A heartbeat or two, then Max’s snort cut over the rain. “What a sunny place it must be inside your head.”
“I’m a realist.”
“A pessimist, more like.”
She caught her reflection in the window, and smoothed her scowl. “It’s been ten years.”
“Yeah. That’s like a century in scientist time. A century to find a breakthrough.”
“Pour your latte. I’m gonna check the front.”
Escaping the bar, Courtney picked her way over the sticky mats to the front counter, snatching a rag to wipe down the few empty tables.
The rush had died down since the beginning of the rainstorm. Most people had found their cover for the afternoon. The various shops and boutiques up and down Main Street were probably packed. Courtney looked out over the stuffed seating area of the café, spotting only two empty chairs by the bar. Once she’d cleaned those, everybody else would be sitting down with their beverages. She’d get a break for the first time since coming in five hours ago.
Max’s low hissing curse jerked her back around.
“You okay?”
“Ow,” he muttered. “Someone get Jess to fix this stupid thing already.”
Courtney took a step back in his direction, following his gaze—and stopped, clammy prickles rushing over her. A spot of crimson trickled down the corner of the espresso machine, where a tiny piece of metal poked up over a broken plastic seal. Grumbling, Max grabbed a clean rag and pressed it between his fingers, then looked up to catch Courtney standing there, frozen. He laughed.
“You have got to be the wimpiest almost-doctor I’ve ever met.”
She flinched back, turning to put him and his bloodied finger behind her. She dragged the rag over an already clean counter.
“Seriously,” Max continued. “Who goes to med school if they’re afraid of a papercut?”
Lips squeezed together, Courtney scrubbed the bar harder.
“Your friend’s still there, right? The hot one. What was her name? Dina?”
“She’s a nurse now.” She focused on an ancient smudge glued between the counter tiles, back still to him. “She graduated.” And Courtney had celebrated with her, like a good friend, even been happy. Like there was no sting.
“Huh, maybe I’ll go see her to get stitched up.”
“You said it was a papercut. You don’t need stitches.”
“How do you know? You couldn’t even look at it.” Max chuckled. “Could you even look at the pictures in your textbooks?”
“Yes,” she snapped. Then, swallowing, “Sometimes.”
“How the hell did you ever think you could become a doctor?”
She tossed the towel into the bucket of sanitizer under the counter. “Well, I’m not one now, am I? Maybe you should focus on catching up to me with your coffee game. I can steam a latte four times faster than you.”
“Yeah... you put way too much effort into this job. It’s kinda sad.”
The front door swung open with a jingle, tugging with it a blast of thunderous rain and mist. Courtney spun toward it, eager to leave the conversation. Max scoffed under his breath.
The man striding in brought a tiny river with him. Her relief at the distraction dimmed to sour exhaustion as she watched the gleaming footprints spread into each other. She’d just mopped. Returning to the cash register, she focused on the newcomer sauntering up to the counter.
Water dripped from his long, ragged gray overcoat. It had a hood, which he hadn’t bothered to pull up, and an umbrella hung unopened at his side. Rain glistened off the ends of his dark hair.
“Hello, sir.” Courtney cleared her throat, realizing her voice still shook from the sight of blood. “How may I help you?”
“Odd request.” Twirling the umbrella by its hooked end, he paused before the counter. He was rail thin, almost gaunt despite his youth. He couldn’t have been much older than late twenties. Porcelain white cheekbones, high and sharp, lent a skeletal edge to his smile.
“What would you like to drink?” she clarified. Like that needed clarifying.
“Black house coffee. Thirty sugars.”
“House coff... I’m sorry, thirty?”
His gaze flickered down to her nametag. “You heard me, Cour...” he paused, as if considering. “C.”
She blinked at the unorthodox shortening of her name. Most people called her Court if they wanted to be friendly. Uncapping her sharpie, she picked up a paper cup. “All right. Can I get a name for your order?”
“W.”
She held the felt tip of the sharpie to the cup. “How do you spell the rest of your name?”
“You’ve got it right there.”
A handful of customers didn’t like hearing their real names shouted across the café. So long as they gave her something to identify their drink, she didn’t care. Courtney looked up to find a pair of gray eyes fixed on her. The color was so light it was almost startling, his pupils a sharp prick of black against pale irises.
“You gonna give it to me for free?”
She set the cup down. “Two dollars and fifteen cents.”
He slid a bill across the counter, stepping away. “Keep the change.”
As she ground the coffee for a new pot, Courtney peeked at him over the top of the machine to find him studying the other customers in the café. People watching was pretty much part of her job description, but the way this guy surveyed the other patrons was unsettling. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was the way his ashen eyes roved the room, staring too intently, as if searching for something. Or maybe it was his overall presence that was off. The café lights glistened off his soaked clothing, a ring of water pooling around his boots. Who carried around an umbrella if they didn’t plan to open it?
Watching the seconds tick down on the brewing machine, she heard Max approach behind her.
“You’re not walking home again, are you?”
“I’ve got an umbrella.”
“I mean, it’ll be dark in an hour. Let me give you a ride home after shift.”
“On your motorcycle? I’ll be fine. It’s not that far a walk.”
“In Westside Orion?”
“I’ve got pepper spray.”
“No way, Court. You need something more like a knife. Just let me drive you.”
“Max, I said I’m fine.”
“You’re the stubbornest person I know, you know that?”
The door jangled again. A tiny figure shuffled in, an old woman wrapped in a tattered coat with a holey umbrella over her head that let more water through than not. Filthy red toes peeked through duct-taped shoes.
Max sighed, long and loud, as she hobbled up to the counter in a trail of rain.
“Sum’ma drink?” came the rasp.
Courtney moved to stand behind the register. “What’ll you have?�
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“Jus’ wan’ sum-fin hot.” Knobby blue-tinged hands lifted to point at the menu. “Anyfin’?”
“You got money to pay for it?” Max said.
Courtney shot him a dirty look, but turned back to see the woman digging in her pockets, glassy eyes panicked for a moment. She pulled out a crumpled dollar bill, a few paperclips, and a candy wrapper. She pushed them all across the counter.
Courtney selected the dollar bill. “You want a hot chocolate?”
“A hot chocolate’s two-fifty,” Max said.
“Take it out of my tips.”
With a grunt, Max moved back behind the bar while she fished out the box of cocoa. The woman shuffled back to wait, ragged umbrella still perched on her shoulder, dripping water down over her head.
Courtney peeked at her over the espresso machine while she steamed the milk. Tongue poking out between paper lips, the old woman focused her cloudy eyes on the floor between her feet, watching the water drip into a puddle. She lifted one threadbare shoe and stomped. The small splash lit up her face. She stomped again. A tiny smile spread as she traded feet, playing with the ripples under her shoes.
“Excuse me,” barked a customer nearby, still waiting for his drink. “Hello? Baristas.”
Courtney looked up. “Do you need help, sir?”
He pointed a crinkled nose at the ragged woman. “Deal with that, would you? Some of us paid to get out of the rain.”
Wincing, Courtney glanced at the woman, who didn’t seem to even hear. “So did she, sir.”
An affronted look, then an instant scowl. “This is your customer service? Where’s your manager?”
“Not in today,” Max replied. “Don’t worry, we’ll clean it up, sir.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Black coffee for W,” Max called out, placing a steaming cup down on the pickup bar. The man with the unopened umbrella walked over. He didn’t pick up the cup.
“The sugar?”
“Sorry?” Max said.
“Oh, right. I forgot.” Courtney ducked around Max, grabbed two large handfuls of sugar packets from the box beneath the counter, and piled them next to the coffee. Max raised his eyebrows. Sugar rations weren’t a huge part of the shipments sent into the city, but they usually had plenty to spare. At least, they’d never had to ration it out like coffee and milk.