Chapter 20
Jane
It took a long moment for Jane to figure out why this particular suburb street she’d never seen before was so familiar.
The moon hung like a glass lantern flickering out as the sun rose steadily behind her. The tall steeple of a crumbling church grasped at it but fell short. She knew the shadow of that steeple. One omen leading to another. Something nameless and primal skittered up her spine as she slipped inside the church. The silence had a certain quality, like it was holding its breath. She didn’t have time to investigate.
A girl with black braids tangled with leaves flung herself at Jane, pinning her to the stained glass. She pressed a knife to Jane’s collarbone. Feeling the bite of the blade, Jane froze.
“I know you.” Jane recognized the braids, the fierce anger. “I read the omens for your friend Killian on the steps of the cella.” She turned her head slightly to alleviate the pressure of the knife inching up to her throat. Cartimandua might not need to send soldiers after her at all, she was about to have her throat sliced open by a half-dead scavenger from the Core.
It probably served her right for trusting a pink moon.
And then suddenly, that wasn’t the only danger anymore.
Clouds were gathering like a rust-coloured puffball mushrooms sending out deadly spores on the other side of the cracked glass. It smelled like raspberries and vinegar, and something sharper. “Red Dust,” Jane croaked. “It will kill us, puncture---“
“I know what it does,” the girl said flatly.
Fear was acidic, searing her stomach, her throat, the space between her ribs. They fogged the suburbs on a weekly basis to eradicate any squatters, runaways or otherwise desperate folk who thought they could hide from the Directorate. The cloud left a red film like desert dust. It was harmless after a few hours, but a fresh cloud like the one stalking towards them was deadly. Jane didn’t know exactly how it worked, only that it left behind bodies with red eyes and thousands of bleeding pinpricks.
“We have to run,” she said. “They Dust all the buildings, inside and out, through the broken windows.”
The machines blowing the Dust whirred and purred. Birds flew overhead in such numbers that the sky darkened as they passed, trying to escape the poison. Jane was grateful she’d been running for fun for so long. It made running for her life so much easier.
“You’re from the bloody Enclave,” the girl said staring at her survival suit. “Figures.”
Jane was well aware that the Elysians hated the Enclave. They got the best education, the best food, the best of everything.
The best of everything.
“That could work,” she muttered out loud. A bonebird dropped screeching from the sky, wing tips dusted red. “Come on.”
The girl started running, but in the wrong direction. “That road will take you to the Enclaves,” Jane said. “If you survive. Now come on!”
She paused but when the red cloud came closer she cursed and ran after Jane. Her foot caught in a bit of buckled pavement and she sprawled forward. When she pushed up into a crouch, her arms, side and cheek were scratched bloody. Something green poked out of her pack. When Jane reached to help her lift it, the girl snapped at her. “Don’t.”
But she’d seen the green leaves, she knew what it meant. And why the pink moon had brought her here.
The cloud licked at them with a monstrous mouth full of deadly red tongues. More birds fell. A horse and three dogs galloped out of the weedy space between two houses and nearly trampled them in their panic. “Go, go, go!” The girl shouted, even as Jane slipped an arm under the shoulder to support her weight.
“We need high ground,” Jane shouted back. “I have an idea.”
The machines closed in, a wall of steel and motors and death. They ran until even Jane was gasping, her lungs fire, her legs water. The machines multiplied, coming in from both sides to meet at the edges of the suburbs. Jane felt a prickle on the back of her hand, just before pain burst like soft fruit falling from the top branch of a tree. It stole her breath, very nearly stole her eyesight too as everything went white for a long terrible moment. She cradled her hand to her chest, adrenaline pushing her a few more feet.
“High ground,” Jane choked a reminder. The air tasted like metal and pepper.
“That one,” the girl said suddenly. “Trellis.”
Jane saw it, relief pumping more power through her legs as she climbed. She crawled across the peeling shingles, dust making the air look rusty. Her hand hurt, blisters already forming from her brief contact. “Dying up here or down there,” the girl added. “I don’t see the difference.”
“The Dust is focused on the streets and inside homes. It will blow up here, but not as concentrated,” Jane explained, fumbling for the large pouch attached to her utility belt. She unwrapped a length of silver plastic, like an emergency blanket. The girl looked unimpressed. “It’s a survival bag,” Jane said. “Like a sleeping bag, but it protects against acid rain, ice, heat.”
“Dust?”
“I hope so,” Jane replied. She had to believe the omens wouldn’t just lead her to a slow agonizing death on a suburb rooftop. “Because it here comes.” She tossed a mask at Saffron. There were always two, just in case. “Put this on. It’s good against mustard gases and chemicals.”
She slipped hers on until it suctioned to her face. She wrapped the survival tent around them. They had to wedge against each other, elbows and knees digging into soft places. She pulled the zipper then the string that activated the compound along the seam, sealing them inside. Jane’s breath was loud and hot inside the mask.
There was no way of knowing if the tent was working, or if the Dust had found them yet. They weren’t on fire with pain, but there were no guarantees for the next second and the one after that. The silver material crinkled. “If we’re going to die here wrapped in plastic, I should probably know your name.” The girl’s voice was muffled and tinny through the mask.
“Jane Highgate.”
“Saffron Foxfire.”
Jane remembered fields of purple crocuses along with the pink moon. Saffron was a pollen gathered from the stamens of crocus flowers and used as a spice. She half-smiled, both bolstered and slightly terrified. Whatever was happening was laced with numen, pushing them and prodding them. But why? And where? She wanted to ask her about the leaf mask but she looked so fierce.
“Where are you going?” she asked instead.
“The Spirit Forest. You?”
“Away.”
“So how do you like it so far?” Saffron asked wryly. She shifted, the material crinkling loudly. “Since I’m not bleeding from the eyeballs, I’m guessing your survival bag is working. So thanks.”
“We have mandatory survival training. Just in case.” Jane said. “The Directorate wants the Enclave to survive because--.” She cut herself off.
“Makes sense,” Saffron said. “You have the education. What does the world need with another Core rat?”
“I don’t think that way,” Jane said quietly.
“Saffron snorted. “I do.”
Green Jack Page 20