Nick James - Crimson rising

It’s been four months since I’ve seen home. Even the Surface looks kind of inviting.

Eva analyzes a map she’d pulled from an overhead compartment before glancing out the window. “The Fringes are so bright. It’s like a different world.”

I bite my lip, thinking of Avery. I don’t know how she’s managed to stay well this whole time, out here in the wasteland.

Ryel turns left, beginning our descent.

“It’s close.” Eva consults the map again before glancing out the window. “I’ll let you know when to straighten us out.”

He keeps his gaze forward. “This terrain is not unlike Haven. Warm. Dry.”

I cough. My mouth is dry from the temperature-controlled air. “What do you think Morse meant… ‘you’re going to regret this’?”

Eva ignores me, pointing forward. “Now. Bring us level. Syracuse is straight ahead.” She folds the map and turns. “He’s just being the big, bad agent, Jesse. Trying to intimidate you.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I reply, though part of me doesn’t quite believe it. I’ve had a nasty feeling in my gut ever since the first time I defied the Academy. Even now that we’ve freed Ryel, it’s hard to reconcile the two.

I grip the armrest, trying to steady my nerves. As we lose altitude, New York State’s vast, brown desert fills more and more of our windshield. It’s a different kind of desolate than Siberia. Even at dawn, the temperature will be hotter than I’ve felt in months. One hundred and twenty degrees according to the onboard thermometer, and rising. A scorching, suffocating heat that crawls inside your body and kills you from the inside. Everything slows. Mind. Reflexes. We can’t be outside for long.

As we approach the dusty collection of buildings that used to be the town of Syracuse, I peer behind us out the side window. I see the silhouette of Rochester-Chosen City #17-glinting far in the distance, a beaming mirage against a blanket of dirt, a soaring metropolis positioned awkwardly at the edge of a desert. The dome of connectors forming the Bio-Net over the city gives it the impression of a protected snow globe. People inside are free from the intensity of the Fringes, their comfort and security paid for by the Government’s Environmental Tax. It’s the Unified Party’s domain, and even though Syracuse could be dangerous, I’d much rather land in the lawlessness of the Fringes than spend even a moment inside a Chosen.

Ryel brings us down in the center of what could be the same street we landed on last spring. They’re all the same.

Instantly flashes of that afternoon come back to me. My first meeting with Cassius, the energy when our powers activated, the fall to the ground.

“I’m shutting off the temp control,” Eva warns. “Prepare for the heat.” She turns a black knob above her head until it clicks. Earlier this morning, we’d found a pair of Surface outfits in the back hatch of the shuttle-pale, thin uniforms over undershirts. The material’s light, designed specifically to refract sunlight. Ryel insists that he doesn’t need one. His clothing is white anyway. He should be alright.

As soon as we open the door, the coolness inside our shuttle dilutes, replaced by the brutal heat outside. The air hits my body with physical force, as strong as any missile or explosion. It courses down my throat and into my lungs. There’s no comfort here. And this is just the beginning.

We amble down the lifeless street, shells of dirt-caked buildings on either side. A wind kicks up and showers our faces with clouds of dust. It’s utterly silent. I hope that means the Fringers are off in another part of town, as far from us as possible.

Eva speeds until she’s in step with me. “I don’t see anybody.”

“Shh.” I push her back. My head darts back and forth, analyzing every closed door as we pass. “Avery’s probably waiting inside. Do you remember which way the hotel is?”

Eva points to the left down an alley. I nod and lead the way between the buildings, keeping watch for Fringers. My cheek stings with the memory of being slammed into the hot brick wall last spring. I push the thought away and step into the next street.

Ryel follows, arms crossed, unconcerned with any of the dangers a Fringe Town could surprise us with. Ever since leaving Siberia, he’s seemed increasingly impatient. I guess I can’t blame him, after all the time we’ve wasted. Still, he’s not exactly the warm and happy type. But maybe he’s what I need.

“There.” I point to a building half a block away. It’s several stories high and dilapidated. If possible, I think it’s crumbled even more since the last time I saw it. I stare at the rooftop at the exact point I’d hung onto that morning. I thought I would die there. How wrong I was.

A voice shatters the silence-an undistinguishable, wordless cry from somewhere above us. Deep, but fractured. Eva and I duck instinctively. It doesn’t seem to startle Ryel.

Eva covers her head. “What was that?”

“It almost sounded like-”

“Fringers,” she interrupts. “They’re watching us. We better be quick.”

I glance up at the boarded window where the sound had come. Eva’s probably right. Fringers. That’s the likely explanation. Still, I can’t help but wonder.

“That’s Avery’s hotel,” I whisper. “What if they’re hurting her?”

Before Eva can answer, the door to the derelict building falls open, its top hinge knocked off. A figure stumbles out, cautious, shielding the harsh sun with her hand.

“Avery!” I forget the others and take off in a sprint. Nothing else matters for a second, not the unbearable heat or the threat of Fringers. I run until I’ve got my arms around her. I pull her close, unwilling to let her slip away again.

The monster hug doesn’t last long. Not as long as I’d like. Our damp skin sticks together as we part. Her hair, grown out some since I last saw her, is pulled back in a ponytail. Her face is dirty and mottled with sweat. Her eyes point down, unwilling to look at me.

I step back. “Is something wrong?”

She shakes her head.

“I can’t believe it’s you, Avery! All these months, I thought… I wondered if you were alive. I didn’t know what they’d do to you.”

“Shh.” She raises a finger. “There are Fringers nearby.” She glances around, lips trembling.

Eva moves beside me, expressionless. “Nice to see you again, Wicksen.”

Avery’s face hardens. Her breath quickens. It’s like she’s trying to keep from vomiting.

I lean forward and grab her hand. “Something’s wrong. What is it? Are you sick?”

She shakes her head.

“Eva, do we have water?”

“Back in the shuttle.” She steps away. “You want me to grab it?”

I nod, then turn back to Avery.

Avery meets Eva’s eyes. “Wait. Don’t go. Don’t leave him alone.”

I stare at her face. She still won’t look at me-not for more than a glance at a time. “What? Leave who?”

“I missed you, Jesse,” she says. “Seeing you here… urgh… ” She grabs her forehead. She’s sweating even worse now, like the beginning stages of Surface Stroke.

“We’ll get you in the shuttle.” I move behind her.

“No,” she says. “It’s all I can do to-” Her teeth clench. “Run away, Jesse. Run.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Run!” She backs into the doorway, bumping against the frame.

My heart sinks. “Avery, you sounded fine on the communicator. I thought you-”

The street erupts.

Footsteps echo in a clamorous beat, kicking up dust and sand in clouds around us. Men in dark battle suits rappel from buildings. The clicks and whizzes of artillery come next, locking on the center of the street where we stand. Avery doesn’t move, not even to flinch. She still won’t look at me.