I’m about to knock when the sounds of a motor struggling to putter into existence on the other side cement me in place. Only it’s not a motor. It’s organic. The wheeze of tortured lungs repelling an invader, and only succeeding in hawking up tissue and darkness.
Reaper’s Cough, as it’s known in the Parish.
My eyes squeeze shut. Mrs. Bledsoe’s always been there to help out. She was a rock for Mom when Dad passed. Then she’d practically adopted Cole and me when Mom couldn’t hold on any longer. Now she’ll be lucky if she sees another summer.
I open my eyes and take in the filth surrounding me, barely visible in the meager light, courtesy of the extra hour of electricity the Establishment so graciously provided us with on this oh-so-festive occasion.
Maybe Mrs. Bledsoe’s the lucky one after all.
My knuckles meet the door.
The whooping becomes muffled, as if a hand is trying to suppress it before being betrayed by the next determined assault. Then the unmistakable sound of feet shuffling across the floor, pausing just beyond the door.
I tap softer now, leaning in close. “Mrs. Bledsoe, it’s me, Lucian.”
A long breath hisses free. No telltale phlegm this time. Relief, not Reaper.
The bolt squeaks its way across its housing, freeing the door, which creaks open about six inches. A set of eyes peers up at me, one bloodshot, the other encased in a grayish shroud. They find my own, and the wrinkles surrounding them relax. “Lucky? Oh, thank goodness it’s only you!”
The door opens all the way, exposing a short, thin woman, gray hair matted around her skull, concave cheeks on a face the color of flour. Her hands are dry and cracked, like the walls.
Is this what I’ll look like when I turn forty?
I tear my eyes away before she realizes I’m staring. “Sorry to bother you so early.”
Her lips curve, showing as little of her yellowed teeth as she can get away with and technically call it a smile. “Like anyone could sleep, today of all days.” Her words may be referring to today’s event, but her liquid eyes are all about Dahlia on this loathsome anniversary. I can’t help but feel guilty, intruding on her memories.
“Well, don’t just stand there, boy.” She steps aside and waves me in. “Come in and let me fix us some breakfast.”
I almost chuckle at the lunacy of the idea that she’d have enough food to feed me, let alone the both of us, if it weren’t for the sincerity swaddling her words. I stoop under the doorway and enter.
She cocks her head to peer behind me. “Where’s my little Cole?”
“Mrs. Bledsoe, I can’t stay. That’s why I’m here. I need you to keep an eye on him while I’m out.”
She shuts the door. The trenches dissecting her forehead deepen. “Where can you possibly be going at this hour of the morning? You know there’s a curfew until Recruitment is underway. If you’re caught by any of the Imposers without the proper authorizations … ” She erupts into another hacking spell. Turning away, she pulls a ragged piece of cloth from a frayed pocket, clutching it to her mouth.
My hand finds her trembling shoulder, squeezing it until the convulsions peter out. “You need to see a doctor right away. Maybe I can barter for medical services in exchange for some labor until I can cover the rest of the fees.”
I barely make enough money working at the library to feed Cole, with a few scraps left over for myself, but I’ll find a way, even if I have to cut down on sleep and take a side job. No one should have to suffer like this. Especially Mrs. Bledsoe.
She shakes her head. “No need. I’m all right, dear. It’s just a little hay fever. It’ll pass.”
The splattering of bright crimson on the rag she stuffs into her pocket says otherwise.
Why do we even bother to cling to this hell we breathe in, day after day?
Then I see Cole’s shiny face in my mind’s eye.
“Can you watch him for me, please? I promise I won’t be long.”
“Tell me you haven’t gotten involved with … ” Her voice drops to a whisper. “With those people and their crazy notions. I hear the word on the streets. And so does the Establishment. Rumor has it they’re starting to make notes, take names … there’s even talk there was a raid down at the Roarkeshire Farm. I’m scared of what’ll happen next.”
It’s more than just idle gossip. I watched it unfold, hidden in a tree in a neighboring field. The entire place burned to its foundation. No one ever came out. I can still smell the roasting flesh. But I can’t worry her. “It’s nothing like that.” I shrug. “Besides, could it really get any worse than it already is?”
A hand shoots out and grabs my chin. “Oh, yes. It most definitely can. Don’t you forget it.”
Her intensity claws through me like icy talons. I shrink in her gaze. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
The grip on my chin relaxes, evolving into a pat on the cheek and then a mussing of my hair. “Forgive me, Lucky. I just worry about you and your brother. You’re … you’re all I have left … ” She steps back, appraising me now, ice melted.
“Did you get a chance to see her yesterday during the Ascension Ceremony?”
She stifles another cough. “Just for a few moments. Right after the Prior gave the benediction. I can’t believe she’s been promoted to First Tier already.”
Just one step away from becoming a full-fledged Imposer …
“It seems like just yesterday she was recruited.” Her good eye clouds over, too. “She looked so grown-up in her uniform. Not like my little Dahlia. I tried to get her attention as she left the dais, but … she must not have seen me.” She wipes her eyes.
“I’m very sorry. I know it’s been a long time.”
“You’re so like her. The same wavy dark hair … that olive skin she got from her father … ” Her voice chokes off.
Being recruited tears families apart. That’s why I have to risk what I’m about to do.
Clearing her throat, Mrs. Bledsoe places her hands on her hips. “Only you’re too thin, boy! We need to feed you better. When you get back from your errand, I’ll have some breakfast ready. And then the three of us will sit down and eat before heading off to the opening ceremonies. Like a proper family.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Bledsoe.” I turn before she can see the gratitude streaking from my eyes.
“And Lucky,” her voice calls after me, “your mother and father would be very proud of you.”
Without turning back, I walk out and shut the door, leaning against it to catch my breath. I wonder if she’d feel the same way if she knew that not only am I planning to break curfew, but I’m going to make sure I get caught by the Establishment in the process.
Three
Pressed against the rear of the building, I slink down the alley, ignoring the soot and slime oozing onto my back. At least I remembered to wear my rattiest clothes, though considering the state of my wardrobe, it wasn’t a difficult choice.
I barely escape a loud splash that spatters my boots with a strong stench of ammonia. Smothering a gag, I look up. A rusty basin disappears into a fifth-floor window, which slams shut with a rattle. Guess all those years of playing Dodge Piss in these very alleys with the rest of the neighborhood kids paid off. Or maybe it’s just the universe hinting at the chances of my plan’s success. Either way, I pick up the pace before I get the opportunity to relive another childhood fave: Shit Dash.
Overhead, a half-dozen gliders circle the dawn sky like predators. Their wooden wings beat courtesy of churning cylinders hidden in their bowels. Puffs of steam billow from two nostril-like exhaust ports on either side of their cockpits, resembling beastly breaths.