The Tremblers

by Raquel Byrnes

  “Speaking of why,” Verne said, shifting from foot to foot.

  Rothfair looked, pulled a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the back of his neck. “Yes? Have you made headway as to why it would infect children that never left the safety of the city?”

  “There is no discernable reason,” Verne said, his brows knit. “I’ve examined the bodies and even tested the lake water at the Pennsylvania mining camps Blackburn visited. I have found nothing that explains how it is spreading. It should not be. It should have been contained to the facilities.”

  “And yet we are hearing tales of missing people, violent fevers, and mangled bodies. It is not contained, Verne. Not in the least,” Rothfair spat. He paced, sweat trickling down in cold rivulets along his spine. “If we could at least decelerate the spread…”

  “You must contact the Ignition Laboratory Committee,” Verne urged.

  “The Tesla Dome would cease to operate in a two weeks’ time if we even slowed production of the paltry coal we can still manage to scrape out of the ground.” He pointed upwards, his hand shaking. “That grid is the only thing keeping us all from dying because the poisoned gas of the wasteland and the engine eats through tons of coal a month. Imagine that multiplied by the thirteen domes in operation around the Peaceful Union. We cannot afford to cease production for any reason or millions of lives will be at stake.”

  “But we can’t stop this blight. Even if we could stop initial infections, there are already signs of secondary—”

  “Blackburn could,” Rothfair cut across him. “I believe he may have found a way.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “He was a renowned scientist in his field, responsible for countless remedies to the toxins and vapors affecting our populace. If anyone could, it would be Blackburn.”

  “Perhaps he meant to broker a truce between The Order, Defiance, and the Governors. A scientist would put a cure above all else, no matter to whom he swore obedience.”

  “If we had only had time to question his contact on the wharf that night.” Rothfair shot a look at Verne. “He would have been more valuable alive than dead.”

  “He recognized me,” Verne snapped. “Either way, we could not have known Blackburn never meant to show.”

  “Yes, he had us chasing shadows while he broke into my facility.” Rothfair balled his fist.

  “My question is how he managed to get back into Manhattan unobserved?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that very point,” Rothfair said. “Blackburn must have gone through a commuter station. There are hundreds of workers entering and leaving the Domes every day. They cannot check everyone’s citizen papers. He would know that.”

  “If he sought to elude the government as well...” Verne snapped his fingers and pointed. “Then he must have suspected The Order and the Governors knew about the sickness already and were covering it up. It would explain his turning to Defiance.”

  “How long do you suppose Blackburn colluded with Defiance?”

  “Long enough to trust them to meet, at least,” Verne said thoughtfully. “And Miss Blackburn?”

  “We can’t be sure she wasn’t the one who turned him in the first place,” Rothfair mused. “They are radical, rash, and uncompromising. The very sort a motherless girl raised by a militant father might find interesting.”

  “If she finds out about the cavern…”

  “It won’t matter,” Rothfair said, waving his hand dismissively. “She’ll be behind bars or better yet, dead, by that time.”

  “How can you be so confident? As of yet, all efforts to apprehend her have failed.”

  “I think,” Rothfair said quietly as he strode to the aethergraph machine. “We just haven’t been using the right incentive.”

  “Her father?” Verne looked at him doubtfully. “How would that work? She’ll know right away.”

  “Perhaps, but not fast enough to avoid capture.”

  27

  The odor of sweltering tar and sulfur burned my throat, and I stifled a string of coughs as I wove my way through the tattered road. The alley just behind the safe house led in a circuitous route to the main road running parallel with the electro-rail tracks.

  Hushed conversations in stoops and dark corners of broken buildings kept my gaze bouncing like a scared rabbit. I passed under a row of windows taped and boarded to keep out the seeping vapors that stole in through the crackling dome. Entire areas of the grid were blacked out, and through the gaps I saw furtive movement as Fire Crew in gas masks peered in.

  By the time I reached the main thoroughfare, the morning commuters making their way to the inner city shuffled in a large throng toward the station buildings. Rows of metal spires sat atop the arched roof in an attempt to stabilize the static charge buildup. Their tips sizzled with violet electrical streams that snapped up to the sky or to one another.

  The crowd narrowed, flowing into the stations through vast doors. All around me a sea of uniformed workers swarmed and tossed me ever forward. Blue clad, with tired eyes and chapped hands, they wandered the halls of the terminals stepping in and out of the sheets of light cutting through the overhead beams. The din of hundreds of people murmuring and greeting each other mixed with the sounds of the railway machines. Exhaust pipes chuffed great billowing clouds toward the ceiling, and the squeal of metal brakes reverberated throughout the vast station.

  Only ever having taken the rail from Manhattan, the vastly different state of this station left me unsettled. Shocked to find steerage class accommodations and nothing else, I realized there would be no seating of any kind. Standing room was what the commuter cars offered to afford as many passengers as possible.

  Union Security Soldiers prowled the perimeter. Tracer rifles slung across their backs, guns at their hips, they barked orders for people to hurry up or to stop clogging the hallways. They pulled seemingly random members of the milling crowd aside to search their person, their bags, and to scrutinize their citizen papers.

  One soldier, more than a foot taller than a young working man, shoved the lad against a nearby wall, shaking his papers in his face. He shouted, berating the young man for failing to re-register upon entering a new city-state.

  A hard knot of fear pulled in my middle. I did not have anything to show them should they ask.

  Signs dangling from the ceiling beams denoted Manhattan and other stops on the line’s itinerary. Falling in behind a group of girls, I hovered just near enough their numbers to hopefully remain unnoticed as a lone traveler. As the final one pushed through the turnstile, I caught the gate and slipped in behind her. She looked back at me, raised a brow, but said nothing as she turned and continued.

  With no papers, no bank notes or silver, and no idea what to do if confronted, I jumped when a high-pitched whistle echoed out of the nearby tunnel.

  The crowd around me jostled, crunching together on the platform as the engineer let off another volley of shrieking signals. Dirty hands pushed on backs in front of them, men and women crushed together, their bodies close and cloying as I struggled to stave off panic. I could not see or breathe, moving with the throng of humanity against my will.

  The carriage cars approached and a great swell of charged air welled over the crowd, lifting the loose strands of my hair straight up from the scalp. Tiny arcs snapped from the train rails to crawl along the hooks and buckles of our boots and saddle bags.

  A thread of energy crawled along the chain at my neck, skittering down to the pocket watch nestled under my bodice. The sharp snap of pain from the shocks made me flinch and I caught the curious glances of those nearby. I frowned, head down, as I realized that years of this made them immune to the small pains of their existence. Pushing sideways, I maneuvered just outside the crowd as I scanned the faces. Gaze jumping from one girl to the next in desperation, I chided myself for such a foolish plan.

  How could I hope to find Moira or even Violet, in such a mass of people?

  As the train pulled to a stop, the sq
ueal of brakes made my teeth grind and I fought to control the shaking of my hands. When the doors hissed open, I was not prepared for the rush of power behind all the waiting bodies. They flooded forward, taking me with them as we scrambled aboard the car.

  I yelped at the pain of my toes trampled under countless heavy boots. My hand went to my thigh, to the journal strapped around my leg, and I wondered again if I should have left it with Ashton. Pinned against the far wall, I panted, striving to catch my breath amid the stench of soiled bodies and smoke.

  A series of bells rang overhead, and then a final lurch propelled us down the line and into the cramped carriage car.

  Flattening myself into a corner, I peered through the grime of the window at the shadows and caged filament bulbs dotted along the tunnel. Garbled voices squeaked from the overhead speaker. The conductor called out the stops and I strained, listening for the right one, each announcement sounding like the last. Vibrations rumbled along the floor, crawling up my boots and sending fits of nervous twitches through me as I thought of the revolver tucked near my ankle. I hugged the shawl tighter, rubbing my hands together.

  A man next to me peered out of the corner of his eye, shook his head, and wiped his brow with a kerchief.

  I rode with knocking knees, nearly toppling over with every jolt. Until finally, the train broke through to the light of another station with a huff of smoke and a flurry of violet sparks. Commuters jostled, angling to get near the door. The distorted voice overhead shouted out a name that sounded familiar. The large sign over the platform read Fulton Street and I moved, worried I might not be able to disembark in time.

  Once out on the platform I tried to get my bearings only to notice a great many fellow travelers staring up at an electro-speck sign. The surface, a series of circles, either turned black or remained neutral to form an image. A cascade of clicks flipped the dots in a series of waves that rendered a picture that stopped me cold.

  I blinked, certain I was not seeing things correctly. But the unmistakable likeness left no question. Another torrent pushed the particles into a new picture of me with wild hair and angry eyes. I wore the goggles from Outer City atop my head. The caption underneath said it all.

  Warrant advisory for Charlotte Blackburn: enemy of the Peaceful Union.

  28

  Cold sweat broke out along my temples and I swallowed, my mouth terribly dry. All around me, people hurried in droves for the exit queues, their bags clutched tight. A man stood in the corner of the platform waving a handful of flyers as he shouted about plagues and the end of the world. No one listened. No one even looked in his direction.

  Security soldiers stalked the lines, pulling out people and directing them to a secondary kiosk. I followed their path and saw it was a citizen’s papers checkpoint. With so many commuters, a random sampling was the best the soldiers could do on a normal day, but I realized all the people being yanked from their lines were young girls with dark hair. My age. My height. The soldiers all held missives and I knew at once. They searched the crowd for me.

  Falling in with the flow of the crowd I shuffled toward the exit. Hands balled with my skirts, my gaze flit to the soldiers as we neared.

  An officer, crisp suit crinkling as he walked, scowled under his light brows as he shoved people forward while peering down the line. Stopping a few paces before me, he yanked a young girl’s sleeve pulling her out of the queue. “Papers,” he snapped, hand out.

  “Y—yes,” she stammered, digging in her bag with shaking hands.

  “Now!” He grabbed her satchel, upending it onto the floor. He kicked at the contents as she squatted and tried to gather her things. “Where are they?”

  “They are here, sir.” She pawed through the debris, her lip quivering. She could not find them and sobs bubbled up from her chest. She looked up at the rest of us, beseeching.

  I wanted to help her, but getting involved might endanger the journal. I watched helplessly and tried to get away from the horrid scene. Those in line with her had veered away from the ruckus, and I stepped back with them, my breath coming in hitches as my heart raced. The impenetrable crowd blocked my escape, and the more I tried to jostle my way from the scene, the more tightly the bodies packed as more and more commuters bottlenecked, watching with wary eyes.

  “Flanders,” the soldier called and another man walked up, paper in hand. “Check her.”

  Flanders stepped forward, grabbed a handful of her hair at the crown, and yanked her head back peering at her face. She cried out, but he silenced her with a look, holding the paper up. He tossed her aside, shrugging. “Could be her.”

  The first soldier nodded, motioning to the girl. “Take her in. Put her with the others.”

  “No,” she cried, crawling on her hands and knees as she tried to get to her feet. Her small hand fell to Flander’s boot and he kicked her off, sending her to her stomach. “Wait.”

  “Where are your papers?” The first soldier snapped. He bent, clutching her thin arm in his meaty grasp.

  “I—I lent them to my cousin.”

  “Do you deny you are the outlaw known as Blackburn’s Daughter?”

  “Yes, yes! I deny it.” Shaking her head, she sobbed. “I am not her. I love the Peaceful Union. The Governors rule with wisdom and mercy—”

  My father, Aunt Sadie, Moira. All the people I failed to help flashed in my mind, twisting my heart with helplessness.

  “She is innocent.” I froze, horrified that the words had escaped my thoughts.

  The first soldier looked up, “What did you say?”

  My mouth moved, the barely audible words coming out in a squeak. “Let her go.”

  “Enough,” Flanders shouted. He tossed her into the waiting arms of the first soldier before peering into the crowd. I cowered behind a large man, eyes clenched as if that would keep him from seeing me. “Who said that?”

  “If I have to take in every dark-haired—”

  “I said, l—leave her be,” voice breaking, I tried to square my shaking shoulders. Those around me parted as if by an unseen force. Stock still, I stared wide-eyed at the two soldiers who glared at me with gaping mouths.

  “Her,” the first soldier yelled, pointing at me with the missive. “That’s her for certain!”

  Whispers of Defiance rose from the crowd. A ripple of aggression moved through those around me as wary looks turned to angry glances at the soldiers.

  “She blew Union ships from the sky,” a voice behind me warbled.

  “It’s Blackburn’s Daughter…” a surprised cry rose, setting off a series of murmurs.

  Turning, I glanced around, their energy pulsed, giving me strength. Restless movements, clenched fists, bold stares met me where there’d once only been brokenness.

  “You can’t do this,” I said evenly to Flanders, my voice quiet despite the anger burning in me. I pointed to the young girl. “You have no right to treat any of us like this.”

  “Yeah, let her go!” someone shouted form the back of the crowd. A barrage of assent rose in pitch until the station crackled with mounting tension.

  Flanders’s gaze snapped to me, his face a mask of rage. He drew his tracer gun from its holster, leveling it at my chest. “Stand down, Blackburn!”

  More soldiers edged over, their guns cycling up.

  Gaze darting, I licked my lips, refusing to cower. There was strength in numbers. I would not give that up.

  The gathered security men exchanged uneasy glances.

  “Defiance!” Someone screamed and a bottle sailed from the heart of the crowd, shattering at Flanders’s feet. He fired, the snap of lightning piercing through the throng and setting off complete mayhem as the angry mob erupted into chaos.

  Men and women surged. They fell on the soldiers pulling down signs and pieces of kiosks to use as weapons. Furious, they attacked, toppling stands and newspaper shelves as they drove the Security Soldiers back. Others ran, scrambling for cover.

  I stood in the midst of the bedlam, shocked.
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  “Traitor!” Flanders bellowed and lunged for me.

  Attempting to dodge his grasp, I flopped forward as he dove, grabbing my knees. An angry howl shredded from my throat as I clawed at the floor of the station trying to drag myself from his clutches. Searing cold ripped through my veins, the frigid wave so intense I struggled to draw breath. He flipped me over and his hands crushed my thighs and then my stomach as he climbed his way over me.

  The first soldier shouted, incoherent as he fought with the girl in his own arms.

  I tried to speak, but I was losing my grip. Something was happening. Overwhelming anguish pierced my mind and a torrent tore over my body sending my limbs thrashing. A terrible ache pulsated through me as I twisted, flailing at him as shocking cold stiffened my every muscle. My jaw snapped and warm blood flooded my mouth.

  His scream reverberated along the walls. I pulled away, shocked at the gash on his neck. He rolled off of me, hand to his wound, struggling to untwist his rifle from his back.

  Hand to my mouth, it came back crimson and my stomach tumbled, a cry escaping my lips. A momentary stillness allowed me a glimpse of Flanders among the commotion struggling to right himself as people ran between us in the brawl with the soldiers.

  The first soldier tossed the girl aside and pulled his weapon, his face a mask of shock as he pointed the rifle at me. “Stop!” He shouted, his voice cracking.

  I fought the shudder wracking my spine, trying to stand, but it whipped me forward, doubling me over with bone-rattling force. “What’s happening…” the words faded when the vapor escaped my lips. Cold like a winter morning, my breath froze the air in front of me and I gasped, not believing. Beyond me the riot spiraled out of control.

  “Burn her,” Flanders gurgled.

  “No—” A tracer stream lashed across the station floor scorching my arm. I curled into myself, screaming as the white hot pain momentarily shocked me from my frozen agony. I wrestled the revolver from my boot as I rolled. Unable to get my legs under me, I pulled the trigger blindly, staggering toward the train tunnel. Falling against the train car, I caught sight of the first soldier falling to his knees, his hand to his chest coming away bloody before he fell on his face.