Marissa Meyer - Scarlet

The speaker fell silent, leaving Scarlet and Wolf staring at each other.

Scarlet’s throat constricted.

A blood test. Crying. A delay.

“The plague.”

Wolf said nothing.

“They’ll put the whole train on lockdown,” she said. “We’ll all be quarantined.”

Out in the hall, doors were slamming, neighbors yelling questions and speculations at each other, ignoring the conductor’s request to stay in their own rooms. The android must have moved on to the next car.

Scarlet heard the rushed words: letumosis outbreak, posed as a question, a fear.

“No.” She spat the word like a bullet. “They can’t keep us here. My grandma—!” Her voice hitched, a tide of panic overwhelming her.

Someone down the hall pounded erratically on a door. The distant wailing grew louder.

“Get your things,” said Wolf.

She and Wolf moved at the same time. She threw her portscreen into her pack while Wolf crossed to the window and flung it open. The ground raced beneath them. Beyond the tracks, a dense forest stretched out, dissolving into shadows.

Scarlet checked the pistol in her waistband. “Are we jumping?”

“Yes. But they might be expecting it, so we have to do it before the train slows too much. They’re probably prepping enforcement androids right now to round up runaways.”

Scarlet nodded. “If it is letumosis, we’ve probably already become a quarantine.”

Wolf thrust his head out the window, looking both ways down the length of the train. “Now’s our best chance.”

Pulling inside, he heaved the bag onto one shoulder. Scarlet peered down at the ground fleeing beneath them, dizzied by a moment of vertigo. It was impossible to focus on any one spot as the speckled sun flashed against the trees. “Well. This seems dangerous.”

“We’ll be fine.”

She peered up at him, for a moment expecting to meet that crazed madman again, but his expression was stone-cold and clinical. He was focused hard on the landscape that whizzed by them. “They’re braking,” he said. “We’ll start slowing down faster now.” Again, it was a few seconds before Scarlet sensed it too, the subtle shift of speed, the way they were decelerating fast, no longer just coasting to a steady stop.

Wolf inclined his head. “Climb onto my back.”

“I can jump myself.”

“ Scarlet. ”

She met his eyes. His youthful curiosity from before was gone, replaced with a sternness she hadn’t expected.

“What? It’ll be just like jumping off the barn into a haystack. I’ve done that a hundred times.”

“A haystack? Honestly, Scarlet, it’ll be nothing like that.”

Before she could argue, before she could cement her defiance, he bent over her and scooped her into both arms.

She gasped and had just enough time to open her mouth, ready to demand he put her down, before Wolf was on the windowsill, the wind whipping Scarlet’s curls against her neck.

He jumped. Scarlet yelped and grabbed on to him, her stomach somersaulting, and then the shock of landing jogged up her spine.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders. Every limb trembled.

Wolf had landed in a clearing eight steps beyond the tracks. He staggered into the tree line and hunkered into the shadows.

“All right?” he asked.

“Just like”—she caught her breath—“a haystack.”

A laugh reverberated through his chest, into her, and before she was ready Wolf settled her feet onto a patch of squishy moss. She scrambled out of his hold, caught her balance, then punched him squarely in the arm. “Never do that again.”

He looked almost pleased with himself, before he tilted his head toward the forest. “We should move farther in, in case someone saw us.”

She listened to the train zipping by, her pulse heavy and erratic, and followed Wolf into the trees. They hadn’t gone a dozen steps when the thrumming of the train disappeared, fading away down the tracks.

Scarlet dug her port out of the bag on Wolf’s shoulder and checked their location.

“Great. The nearest town is twenty miles east of here. It’s out of our way, but maybe someone can give us a ride to the next maglev station.”

“Because we seem so trustworthy?”

Scarlet peered up at him, noting the pale, scattered scars and the faded black eye. “What’s your idea?”

“We should stay on the tracks. Another train will be by eventually.”

“And they’ll give us a lift?”

“Sure.”

This time, she was sure she caught mischief in his eye as he started back down the rails. But they hadn’t gone a dozen steps when he halted mid-step.

“What—”

Wolf spun on her, clamping one hand behind her head, the other firmly over her mouth.

Tensing, Scarlet moved to shove him away, but something gave her pause. He was staring off into the forest, brow furrowed. Tilting his nose up, he sniffed the air.

When he was sure she wouldn’t make a sound, he snatched his hands away as if something had stung him. Scarlet stumbled back, surprised by the sudden release.

They lingered, still and silent, Scarlet straining to listen for what had Wolf on edge. Slowly reaching behind her, she pulled the gun from her waistband. The click as she released the safety echoed off the trees.

Off in the woods, a wolf howled. The lonely cry sent a shiver down Scarlet’s spine.

Wolf didn’t seem surprised.

Then, behind them, another howl, this one farther away. Then another to the north.

Silence crept around them as the howls faded longingly into the air.

“Friends of yours?” Scarlet asked.

Clarity returned to Wolf’s expression and he glanced at her, then down at the gun. It struck her as odd that he could be startled by it, when the howls had garnered no reaction at all.

“They won’t bother us,” he said finally, turning and heading down the tracks.

With a snort, Scarlet trotted after him. “Well, isn’t that a relief. We’re stranded in wild wolf territory, but as long as you say they’re not going to bother us…” She clicked the gun’s safety back on and was tucking it back in her waistband when Wolf’s gesture gave her pause.

“They won’t bother us,” he said again, almost smiling. “But you might want to keep that out anyway, just in case.”

“What is all this junk?” Cinder locked her jaw, straining to push a plastic crate that was almost as tall as she was.

Thorne grunted beside her. “It’s—not—junk.” The tendons in his neck bulged as the crate collided with the cargo bay wall.

Thorne tossed his arms over the top with a groan and Cinder collapsed against it. Her shoulders ached, as tense as the metal that made up her left leg, and her arms felt like they were about to fall off. But when she allowed herself to look around the cargo bay, a sense of accomplishment settled around her.

All the crates had been slid to the walls, clearing an actual path from the cockpit to the living quarters. The smaller, lighter ones had been stacked on top of one another and some were left out as makeshift furniture in front of the main netscreen.

It bordered on cozy.

The next job would be to actually unpack the crates—the ones that were worth unpacking—but that would be a job for another day. “No, really,” she said when she’d found her breath. “What is all this?”

Thorne slid down beside her and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I don’t know,” he said, eyeing the stamped labels on the side of the nearest crate: an unhelpful code. “Supplies. Food. I think there are some guns in one of them. And I know I had a few sculptures from this really collectible second-era artist—I was going to make a fortune off of them, but I got arrested before I had a chance.” He sighed.