5
“Rook!” I cry as I’m tugged through the fence, passing through the flickering lines of electricity. And it fucking hurts. My skin is on fire, like it’s being peeled off in thin ribbons of bloody flesh.
I don’t have to look behind me to know I’ve been snatched by a rabid Keeper.
His hot breath hits the back of my neck, and I kick and flail wildly.
“Poet!” Rook shouts.
Immediately, he follows us through the fence.
The Keeper drags me away, one hand wrapped around my throat, another arm banded around my waist. He smells awful. Like burning rubber and dead flesh. It coats the inside of my mouth as I kick and kick, trying to free myself, but his grip is iron-strong.
Rook approaches carefully, his stance hunched as he assesses the situation.
“Help,” I manage to rasp.
The Keeper is cutting off my air, and spots bloom in the corners of my vision. He pants heavily in my ear, exhaling gusts of putrid air that stir the tiny hairs around my temple. My eyes water and my fingers turn numb as I fight for breath.
Rook rushes toward us, swerving around me and knocking into the Keeper with his shoulder. We both go flying, and I feel something snap as the man’s big body lands on top of me. I groan as pain shoots up my hip, spreading down my leg and up my arm. A cracked rib, maybe.
Rook is on top of us, tugging on the Keeper, landing punches to his head and back. The Keeper doesn’t let go, rolling me under him, crushing me, his ragged breaths loud in my ears. Muted rattles echo from his chest as his glowing eyes flicker.
“Get off her!” Rook shouts, hands gripping my attacker as I try to break his hold, but he’s impossibly strong. I twist toward him, kicking out, landing a blow between his legs. The Keeper’s mouth opens, his eyes bulging and his grip loosening just enough that Rook can finally pull him off.
The Keeper tackles Rook, and they stagger several steps, trying to knock each other down. I watch as the Keeper punches Rook in the jaw so hard, I’m surprised his neck doesn’t snap. Rook goes flying, lands on his back several feet away, and skids along the grass with a pained grunt.
The Keeper launches at Rook as I struggle to my feet and rush at him from the side. We become a tangle of limbs and wild punches until Rook rolls on top of the Keeper. He clocks him in the face, temporarily stunning him.
“Come on!” Rook says, taking my hand and tugging me back toward the encampment. “We have to get to a bunker.”
But the Keeper is already recovering.
He catches up. A cold hand snags my arm, and then I’m going down again.
The Keeper might not make sounds in the traditional sense, but he’s making a sound. The most horrifying rattle vibrates in his chest and throat, like he’s swallowed a bag of teeth and they’re fighting to escape. It’s grotesque and unnatural. It’s so . . . wrong that it makes me gag.
“Help!” I croak as he grips my neck with strong fingers. My windpipe narrows as he squeezes harder. Again, I start to fade, blackness smearing around the edges of my sight.
A moment later, I hear a crack.
Everything falls silent before the Keeper goes limp.
I look up to find Rook with the man’s head gripped in his hands.
Rook snapped his neck.
The light drains from the Keeper’s eyes as he collapses to the earth, and I roll out from under him, choking and hacking as I try to suck air into my lungs. My throat aches, bruises already throbbing beneath my skin.
It takes me a moment to realize that Rook is standing perfectly still, staring down at the body of the dead Keeper. His face is pale, his chest expanding and contracting. Slowly, he lowers the man to the ground before running a hand through his hair, tugging on it. Hard.
“Rook?” I ask. My voice comes out hoarse, scratchy. “Are you okay?”
His gaze snaps up to mine, his haunted expression taking a moment to clear. He looks toward the encampment on the other side of the fence. “We have to get back inside. They can’t see us out here.”
Then he grabs the Keeper by the wrists and drags him toward the perimeter.
“Can you get up?” he asks. “I can help you in a moment.”
“No, I’m fine,” I answer. I think. I stagger to my feet as Rook drags the body of the Keeper through the fence. I don’t understand why Rook is moving him.
“Come on,” Rook says from the other side. The lines of flickering light cast long shadows over him, hollowing out the contours of his eyes and cheeks. The wind tosses his hair while the sky above continues to tumble.
I can’t seem to move.
“Poet,” he says, his voice sharp, snapping me out of shock. “Before someone sees you.”
I nod and then make my way closer, wincing with every step as sharp pains stab through my rib cage.
“You’re hurt,” Rook says, twitching like he’s about to leap back through the fence.
I hold up a hand to stop him. “I think I broke something.”
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
“I’m fine, I just need to sit down.”
He nods and waves me closer. I approach the fence and then brace myself. With my breath held, I plunge through it, gasping at the jolt. The burn. The pain searing across my skin.
“Fuck!” I shout as I collapse to my knees, clutching my aching side. I understand that the only reason I’m alive is my secret ability, but this isn’t Spark, and it definitely has the power to hurt me.
While I stare at the ground, willing my vision to stop spinning, Rook doesn’t move. I peer up to find him staring at the Keeper’s dead body. He’s so pale, and I’m worried he’s about to faint.
“Rook, are you okay?”
“I . . . shouldn’t have killed him.”
“You had no choice. He was about to kill us.”
“This isn’t our way.” He says it dully. Woodenly. Like he’s committed the worst of crimes.
Their way.
They protect their Keepers.
I think of their silent screams and that hollow rattling in the man’s chest.
This madness was never his fault, and Rook’s people understand and respect that.
Why does that thought make tears burn so hotly in my eyes?
But Rook isn’t a Keeper. Nor is he a Whisper, and neither am I.
Which begs so many more questions.
A burst of Spark hits the ground a few feet away, exploding into a plasma arc.
“We need to get out of the open,” Rook says again, snagging me by the wrist. “Can you walk?”
“I think so,” I say as he helps me up on wobbly legs. A sharp pain stabs through my side, but now I think it might only be bruised. “Let’s go. I’m fine.”
Rook offers me a skeptical look, but we have no choice but to continue moving.
Again, we dodge through the camp as more bolts of Spark explode across the sky.
I spy a lone Keeper approaching a group of soldiers. She moves in that slow, stilted way, her eyes shining like amethyst fireflies.
They surround the woman while giving her space.
I notice the glint of a needle. Someone carefully approaching. A moment later, the Keeper goes limp, collapsing to the ground. The group scatters, moving toward the next attackers while someone remains behind to tie up the unconscious Keeper.
“What will they do with her?” I ask as the soldier picks the woman up and slings her over his shoulder.
“We have facilities for them,” Rook says. “Somewhere safe they can go.”
“Facilities?” Skepticism colors my voice. We have facilities, too. Claiming it’s somewhere safe sounds a lot like Extinguisher language.
“They’re not like the ones in the city,” Rook says, clearly reading my thoughts.
“Okay,” I say, not sure if I believe him.
“C’mon,” Rook says. We reach another hatch buried in the ground. He drops to his knees and starts turning the crank. It eases open with a hiss, and then he lifts the top.
“This way,” he says. A ladder leads into a dimly lit space.
“Really?”
“Just until the attack is over,” he answers. “Please.”
I don’t really want to climb into a strange, dark hole, but I guess I have no choice.
With some difficulty, thanks to my injury, I lower myself and snake down the ladder, dropping onto a concrete floor before I sag against a cold cinderblock wall.
Rook follows a moment later, closing the hatch behind him before jumping down.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to sit.”
He slides his hand in mine, tentatively enough to feel like a nervous gesture. I look up, staring at our linked fingers and then at him. It’s warm and safe. Exactly what I need right now. His solid presence. His confidence. Just . . . him.
But I almost snatch my hand back.
He must notice me flinch, because a question passes over his expression.
After a moment of hesitation, I leave my hand where it is. Maybe it’s a foolish thing to do, but I can’t find the will to pull our fingers apart.
“Lead the way,” I say softly.
He nods, relief replacing his uncertainty. I want to tell him this hand--holding thing is only temporary because I’m hurt and scared and confused. But I don’t.
Then we’re winding down a narrow hallway lit with caged bulbs.
“Rook,” I say as we walk. “Can you please tell me something? What’s going on?”
He stops and looks up and down the hallway. It’s empty as far as I can see.
Then he leans in close, and I back up, hitting the wall. He places his palms on either side of my head and tips in closer, his mouth against my ear.
He clenches his jaw before saying, “I never meant for any of this to affect you, Poet Graves. I thought I’d go into New Manhattan and get out. Then you came along and . . . Well, things didn’t go entirely to plan.”
His body presses against mine, his solid warmth protecting me from the tunnel’s cold air.
“You’ve entered the Tiera Frais. A land built from the ashes of the Wastes and centuries of struggle. Scattered across the continent, you’ll find numerous encampments, plus the Kindred in the wilds, and the Neo-Cities that thousands call home.
“My father is High Commander Summit Athira, leader of the Veil, which presides over this region. You call us Solitudes, but we are united, and we are free. Free from the rules of your Societies and the hierarchy your Shield created to benefit only those at the top.