Ash (18 page)

I couldn’t shake the feeling that they might know something—something about why my brother did what he did. Aldan had spent a lot of time at this track. Sometimes he’d even sit up on the top loop for hours, just thinking. No one would have noticed him there, but he would have seen everything. And everyone. I jumped up and trailed after them, pushing apart the bushes where they had slipped through. There was nothing. Just a few more trees and then the fence surrounding the track.

That’s when I noticed a strange ripple distort the metal of the fence in front of my feet. I stared at the now smooth surface, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. But once again, a glitch sent a tiny ripple through the metal. I reached toward the fence and gasped as my hand passed right through it. It was a holograph. I waved my hand back and forth, finding where the real fence met the edge of the projection. It was big enough to crawl through.

My heart pounded against my ribcage hard enough that I could barely breathe. I stuck my head through the holograph and peered down into the darkness. A tangle of shadows concealed all but the platform at the very top of a descending staircase. I had no idea what was below or if it was even safe. But I couldn’t stop now.

I felt for Aldan’s cuff beneath my sleeve, then disabled my locator, knowing full well I’d be slapped with a fifty ostow fine for it. I didn’t care. Let my mom yell. I took one last look around before crawling through the hole in the fence to stand on the platform. The darkness pushed in from around me, and I reached to turn on the light on my tracker. Except I didn’t get the chance.

An arm, muscular and hairy, darted out and grabbed me. I was knocked off of my feet, and I fell back into my attacker. I tried to scream, but his other arm circled around me, pulling me into his chest. His hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my cries.

“Quiet,” he said. His voice was deep, the word unraveling like the slow rumble of thunder.

A gag quickly replaced his hand, followed by a large piece of fabric draped over my head. Seconds later he threw me over his shoulder and pinched my wrists between one of his giant hands. My body jerked as he pounded down the steps, away from the surface.

I’m going to die.
The thought hit me like a tranquilizer, and for a moment I was too stunned to do anything. Whoever this man was, he was strong enough that my weight presented no hindrance.

And then the full realization of the thought took shape.
I’M GOING TO DIE.

My body surged to life, kicking and flailing desperately, but his arms just crushed me tighter. I thrashed with even more energy, thrusting my elbows with all of my weight. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. But it was no use. My jabs and squirms were met with no response at all, just an unconcerned, unaltered jog. We moved on for several minutes, and I became more frantic with each heavy step.

“Stop moving,” the man commanded.

I did nothing of the sort, continuing to kick as hard as I could, struggling to yell despite the gag in my mouth. I could tell we were going down a decline by the air, which was getting colder. Damper. And as I listened, I realized that there was another set of running steps beside my kidnapper. There was someone else with us. I had to get away. I renewed my efforts, determined to get out of his grip.

“I mean it,” the man said in his rumbling voice. He squeezed my body to his even more tightly.

A woman’s voice hissed next to me. “Let’s just kill her already. This is a waste of time.”

The man stopped, and I froze, expecting the worst. I heard the squeak of a hinge. “That’s not your call,” he replied, stepping through what I thought must be a door.

“Yours either,” the woman spat back.

I could tell the man was distracted, and I finally managed to get one kick in. I was rewarded with a grunt, and then a toss to the floor. My whole side throbbed in response, but I ignored it, scrambling in one direction, then the other, only to run into walls. I was backed into a corner.

“You know your problem, Thom?” the woman continued. “You’ve always been too nice.” I heard footsteps walking toward me and then small, cold hands pinned my wrists behind me. The woman bound something around them before kneeing me in the stomach.

I curled over in pain, gasping for the breath that had just been knocked out of me.

“Fortunately,” the woman continued, “being nice is a weakness we don’t share. Shall I demonstrate?”

I
should never have come to the Ash ring, I thought. The footsteps from behind now pounded toward me, and I stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then instinct overwhelmed my nerves, and I began to run. I had three blocks to go. I could get there. I
would
get there. There was no way that anyone was going to… and then my shoe caught on a piece of rubble, and I fell onto the sidewalk. I turned back, hearing the footsteps behind me growing louder. The dark shape of two people approached. Right as I was about to scream, I heard a faint voice call out in the night.

“Oh no, she’s fallen. Should we call Mom?”

The moonlight revealed two children approaching—a boy and a girl—neither could possibly be over the age of ten. A wave of embarrassment washed over me, and I did my best to gracefully climb back to my feet.

“Are you okay?” the girl asked with obvious concern.

I patted my dress and examined my hands. No cuts, thankfully, but I suspected I’d have bruises on my knees. “I’m fine,” I assured them.

“Is it her?” the boy whispered.

“She wouldn’t be here,” the girl said, shaking her head.

“It looks like her. And she’s wearing purple. Just ask her,” he said, ushering the girl on.

The girl studied my dress and then gave me a timid smile. “You’re not Madden Sumner, are you?” she questioned.

I nodded. “Yes, I’m Madden.”

Her eyes got wide. “I can’t believe you’re really here!”

“Told you,” the boy said. “Why
are
you here?”

“I just thought I would take a tour of the Ash ring.”

His face scrunched up in disbelief.

“A tour, now?” he asked. “Why would—”

The girl elbowed him in the side. “Who cares why she’s here.” A giant grin spread over her face. “She is!”

“It was nice meeting you both,” I told them. “But I should get going.”

“Wait. Please.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a scrap of wrinkled paper. “Would you…” she trailed off and handed me a pen and a photo. Of myself. “Would you sign it?”

She must have seen the perplexed look on my face because she looked down and began speaking again, her voice stammering. “We were learning about the ministers in class. And my teacher promised that anyone who got a perfect score on the test would get a picture of their favorite minister. We all chose you, even though you’re not a minister yet.”

“That’s so nice,” I said with a fresh wave of embarrassment. I asked for their names and wrote out a quick inscription.
To Kerla and Vanco, make your ring proud. Madden.

It was strange seeing my picture on paper instead of a cube or electronic poster, but I suppose that was part of the Ash ring. They still kept some of the old traditions. I’d have to point that out to Link—if he was so big on the old days, then he should appreciate this zone. I waved goodbye to the young Ashes and left them whispering on the sidewalk.

I walked the last two blocks until my wrist vibrated again, and found myself facing Avenue D, No 15. A smaller sign next to it read 15½ and pointed to a path wrapping around the concrete block. I followed it to an aluminum door. The windows to either side were barred, but there was a light on inside. I knocked, wondering what I had possibly been thinking by coming here. Never again, I vowed.

I heard footsteps approaching, followed by a sudden light overhead. A curtain swayed to one side, and moments later the door swung open. A tall, gaunt woman stood there, her eyebrows raised into two arches of astonishment.

“Oh my,” she said. “Why you’re… well, you know who you are, now don’t you, dear? Please come in.”

She stepped to one side, and I entered into a narrow hallway. Several pairs of small, dirty tennis shoes were in a pile next to the door. The woman nudged them to one side so I could pass.

“But are you sure you’re at the right home?” she continued. A spasm twitched one of her eyelids up and down, and she blinked at me rapidly. “We don’t normally get your kind here. Not that I’m complaining. A Purple is a glimmer of sunshine in a bleak world, and you’re the brightest Purple I’ve ever seen. Why you just glow, now don’t you?” She smiled, showing a row of pale pink teeth. “Are you one of Sol’s schoolmates? He certainly is a popular boy. People contact him all hours of the night. Gets that from his father. My husband was an exceptional man. Brilliant, really, but he never really did recover from the Event…” She trailed off and looked through the open front door, as though she could see a happier past unfolding through the darkness.

I recognized her twitches, stained teeth, and frailty. She was one of the afflicted—one of the many in our society who had witnessed the Event and never fully recovered. The government had given out Xalan pills to help people cope with the trauma when it first happened. It was supposed to calm nerves, dull the senses. Back in the day, most people took a dosage. It was the only way to do what needed to be done—move the bodies, regroup, rebuild.

Except that prolonged use caused weight loss, anxiety, indifference, giddiness and, in the worst cases, extreme paranoia. It also stained the teeth a telltale shade of pink. Those who could afford it bleached their teeth to disguise their habit, but even so, Xalan addicts were easy to spot. The government had tried to offer them help— withdrawal patches, therapy, counseling—but some people refused to give up the medication. At one point, the ministry had even outlawed it, but that only resulted in disaster. The AnaKurtz sector practically shut down. Too many people had become dependent on Xalan. The ministers had no choice but to legalize it again. But as an added incentive for people to get help, they upped the taxes on the pills.

It was supposed to motivate people to quit using. But it seemed no matter how poor a family, they still managed to find enough ostows for pills. This was clearly the case with Sol’s mother.

“Is Sol home?” I asked softly.

She turned her gaze back to me, looking at me in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we had company. Why you’re Madden Sumner!”

I gave her a warm smile. Dealing with the afflicted always made me sad. “Yes, I go to school with your son.”

“Well come in, let’s find him, shall we?” she asked, and turned to walk down the hallway. I closed the still open front door, and followed her into a tiny kitchen, my shoes clicking against the concrete floor. The remnants from a meal were still on the dining room table. It looked like soup of some kind and smelled horrible. I tried not to wrinkle my nose. Above the table hung a picture of a man in his late twenties to early thirties who looked like Sol. It must have been his father. Next to it was the only other adornment in the room—a black-framed, old-fashioned clock. The sound of the second hand bounced off of the empty walls surrounding us, amplifying the steady tick.

“Sol, Sol,” she yelled. “Come here quick. Get your brothers and sisters too. You are not going to believe who is visiting us!”

Sol appeared at the top of the stairs. He paused briefly, surprise clouding his expression. “Mom,” he said, making his way down to her and putting a hand on her arm, “can you give me a few minutes alone?”

“But we have company,” she said. “Important company. Let me make some tea.” She turned back toward to me. “Where are my manners? Have you eaten? Would you like some dinner?”

She motioned to the table, and I shook my head. “No, thank you,” I said. “I just need to speak to Sol.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” he said. “Why don’t you go upstairs. Lucia wants a bedtime story. Maybe the one about the night star?”

“Ooh, I love that one,” she said, clapping her hands.

Sol led her from the room while I silently thanked destiny that I hadn’t grown up with an afflicted. My father was difficult enough.