He tries to pull away, but his hand sticks to mine as an invisible whirlwind sucks our fingers together. Sparks kick off from our fingertips, tiny green things shooting out from within our hands. They should be hot, but I don’t even feel them. Everything above my wrist is numb.
“What are you doing?” Cassius strains his arm as he continues to pull. It’s no use. We’re completely stuck.
I don’t feel pain anymore, not even in my strained muscles. It’s like I’m floating.
A soft humming joins the suction where our hands meet as the sparks amp up. They shoot across the rooftop and disappear. The humming vanishes with them.
Silence.
The pain returns. It starts in my toes, moves up to my feet, legs-all the way to my arm. I feel it rise through my hand and into my fingertips. When it can go no farther, an explosion of force pries our hands free.
Cassius and I separate violently, thrown back with the strength of a hurricane. We fly apart, which isn’t so bad for him because he’s got the rotting Fringe hotel rooftop to land on.
Not so good for me, as I’m looking down at twelve stories of freefall. I don’t have time to grab onto the side of the building. I don’t have time to grab onto anything.
The dust-clogged air tugs on my windbreaker, ruffling the material as I fall backward. I panic, combing through training modules for something I can do to stop myself before hitting the ground.
Rows of shattered windows pass by above me in a blur, faster and faster until I’m mere feet from smashing into the ground.
This is it. All I can do is close my eyes and pray.
2
I land hard beside a metal dumpster with a sickening thud. Whatever’s inside reeks. The fact that I can smell it at all is more than a little surprising.
For a moment I’m sure that I’m dead. I can’t feel anything. Not my arms, not my legs, not even the intense heat swirling around me.
I look up at the rooftop. From down here it seems a mile away. No way could I survive a fall like that.
And death isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be. I may not be able to feel, but nothing’s changed around me. Same old dustbowl Fringe Town. Beyond depressing.
I try to push my body up off the ground, but everything’s gone limp. My mind tells me my arms are moving in the dirt, but there’s nothing pressing against my skin. I can’t feel the wind pushing on my face either, or the sun frying my jacket. But I can smell the dumpster. And I can see.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I watch three lanky teenagers dart out from a nearby alleyway and run over to me. Their hair is cut short-nearly shaved to the skin. They wear mass filthy, hole-ridden tank tops over rail-thin bodies. Their dark arms are blistered. The “Surface Tan,” we call it.
Suddenly I know I’m not dead. There aren’t any Fringers in the afterlife.
One look at their faces and I can tell they’re not like the peaceful Pearl Traders we met outside the abandoned hotel fifteen minutes ago. These guys are lawless. They’re out for blood.
Another moment and they’re on me. I watch helplessly as one grabs my neck, lifts me up, and throws me against the wall, knocking the feeling back into my body.
The fall catches up to me, or maybe it’s the wall slamming into my back. I fight to stay conscious as the pain tingles down to my feet. The second Fringer grabs my arm while the first releases my neck and pins my left side tighter against the brick.
“Search him!”
The third rummages through my pockets, stopping at the belt under my jacket.
I kick at his shins. My nerves cry out with a sharp pain each time I move my leg. I’m so dizzy and uncoordinated that I nearly topple back to the ground before I can do any damage. I’m mass threatening.
The Fringer manages to unbuckle my belt and rip it out of the loops, whipping it into the street. I watch as my com-pad flings out and rolls into the dirt, along with my surface goggles. They’ve got the taser now, too. Even on my best days I’m no match for three angry Fringers. Without a weapon I might as well just crawl into my casket now.
“Pockets are empty,” the Fringer mutters. His breath smells as bad as the dumpster.
The guy on my right leans his torso against my arm and grabs my cheek with his free hand, pushing the side of my face into the hot brick. My skin roasts on the wall. I bottle up a scream.
“Not used to the heat, are you sky boy?”
The second guy moves down to my hand, forcing it onto the wall. “We don’t need no vultures coming down here and picking from our scraps.”
His friend pushes harder on my cheek, spreading the skin up to my eye. “Maybe we’ll fry you up and pick at your scraps.”
I wince at the thought of it. I wanna defend myself, but I can’t even talk. My mouth’s pulled at such an awkward angle.
Just as the guy’s about to crack my skull open, an explosion rattles the street.
All three Fringers release me and spin around. I crumple to the ground, face on fire.
Framed by their tense, ready-to-pounce bodies, I see the silhouette of Eva Rodriguez. A trail of sandy smoke winds up into the air beside her like a serpent. It came from a detonator, the spherical shell of which lies on the cracked pavement in front of her right foot.
She looks older than her fifteen years, and far more intimidating than me with her cropped hair and well-practiced battle scowl. A bulky burlap pouch hangs over her shoulder, barely containing a radiant green glow. Resting inside is the Pearl we were sent down to retrieve.
Before the Fringers can move, she pulls a pistol from her belt. It’s only a stunner, but there’s no reason for them to know that. Her brown skin glistens in the sun. Her arm is five times as buff as mine.
“I’ve got more where that came from.” Her dark eyes lock onto each of them as she moves the barrel of the pistol from one to the other. “Leave. Now.”
The Fringers exchange glances before realizing that it’s not worth it. Snatching up my belt from the dirt, they take off. Eva watches them disappear around the corner of the nearest building before walking over to me. “I was looking for you.” She reaches out her hand. “I should have known to follow the screaming.”
I grab her wrist and lift myself to my feet. “Remind me why we trade with them?” My voice comes out muffled and scratchy, like I’ve swallowed a ball of dust.
She holds up the pouch. “Pearls. Besides, you know they’re not all violent. The ones in the alley were nice enough. You should have stayed and talked for a while instead of wandering off.” She squints and grabs my chin, pushing it to examine the side of my face. “That’s gonna hurt tomorrow.”
“It hurts now.”
She frowns. “Where the hell were you, Fisher?”
“I just-”
“And where’s Skandar? This is why we stay together. You know it’s dangerous out here.”
“Mr. Wilson said this city was deserted.”
“Well, he was obviously wrong.” She straps the pistol onto her belt. “They got your stuff too, didn’t they? Thank god you’re not authorized for stunners yet. You’d have shot yourself in the foot.”
I rub my cheek, wishing I had some cold water. “Hey, as far as I’m concerned, we shouldn’t even be here. I mean, leave the combat missions to the adults.”
She sighs. “If you and Skandar would have stayed in the alley like you were supposed to, then this wouldn’t have turned into a combat mission. I know this was your first time in the Fringes. I know Skandar’s a bad influence, but you need to think of the consequences, Fisher. This isn’t a game!” She lays her hand on the pouch, further muting the green glow from inside. “This is what it’s all about, Jesse. Not your nursery-school curiosity.”