Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(49)
If those three efforts fail, a return trip to the Observatory will be our last chance.
“Gaston, wake up Bishop and Visca,” I say. “We’re going back to the jungle.”
—
We head out beneath a sky that glows yellow-orange with morning light. My group consists of Bishop, Visca, Coyotl, Borjigin and a young tooth-girl named C. Kalle. Kalle has the second bracer and knows how to use it—she’ll check any food we find.
I’d rather have Spingate, but her arm will be in a sling for another day, and it makes more sense for her to continue the mold research. Zubiri will assist her. Or is Spingate now assisting Zubiri?
O’Malley stays behind as well. He’s wiped out from the Observatory climb. We all are, but he’s worse off than the rest of us. I leave him in charge of organizing a larger search of surrounding buildings. We’re out of time and can’t afford to play it safe; everyone will be involved. I’ll also have him put Aramovsky to work, make the tall boy so busy he doesn’t have time to spread lies.
My food ration is so small it easily fits in my coverall pockets along with some bandages, a water bottle, a few medical supplies and my flashlight. I don’t even need a bag. One small grain bar and a cube of protein—perhaps my last meal. At least the last one that isn’t full of poison.
Moving as silently as we can, we head for the city gate. The rain has dropped off to a drizzle. The sun is out again, making this city of vine-covered pyramids gleam as if it is sweating from the heat.
We stay close to buildings, ready to hide under vines at the first sign of a spider. Bishop, Visca and Coyotl are far out in front, scanning for threats, leaving me with Borjigin and Kalle. She keeps sliding the loose bracer back up her forearm—it clearly wasn’t intended for a small, rail-thin twelve-year-old. She and Borjigin each carry a knife sheathed on their thighs.
“I don’t understand why I have to go,” Borjigin says.
It’s the fourth time he’s said that. I try to stay patient.
“You know our food situation better than anyone,” I say. “If we find any, you’ll figure out how far it will go, how many people we’ll need to carry it back to the others, stuff like that.”
“I can do logistics from the shuttle—someone could just report back to me. It’s dangerous out here.”
“Shut up,” Kalle says without looking at him, without breaking stride. “I’m half your size and you don’t hear me complaining about the danger. We do this or we die. Stop being a godsdamned baby.”
Borjigin glares at her. Kalle ignores him.
I’m not happy this little girl curses, but I like her already. She has curly blond hair that sticks up more than it hangs down. It reminds me of Latu’s hair, so I try not to look at it.
“Just listen to the circle-stars,” I say. “If you want to survive, do exactly what they tell you.”
Kalle says, “Yes, ma’am,” but Borjigin blanches. Maybe his definition of “dangerous” didn’t include the possibility of him dying.
We walk on in silence. It takes us four or five hours to reach the city wall. We join the circle-stars at the gate. The tall doors are closed, just as we left them a few nights ago.
“Still no sign of spiders,” Bishop says. “Everyone, on the door. Together now—push.”
The six of us lean against the thick metal slab. The hinges screech, and the solid door slowly opens a crack. We slide through. Best to leave it open a little, as we don’t know if we’ll have to come back this way again.
The jungle ruins lie before us. I’d hoped I might see a smoke column snaking into the sky, but no such luck. Of course it can’t be that easy.
Bishop scans the tree line. I do the same, but I know he will see any danger long before I do, even danger I would never see at all.
“Looks clear,” he says. “Visca, go.”
Visca moves out, the vine-choked wall on his right, his eyes fixed on the ground. He thinks he can follow the trail we left a few nights back, which should lead straight to the fire pit. That saves Bishop and me the time of trying to remember where we were when we first found it. From there, Visca will look for signs of the fire-builders.
Bishop gives Visca a head start, then follows. I’m next, then Kalle, then Borjigin, with Coyotl guarding our rear.
“I still don’t like this,” Borjigin says. “I hear animals in the jungle. What if they attack us?”
Kalle sighs and shakes her head.
Coyotl pats his thighbone against his open palm.
“Don’t worry, Borjigin,” he says, smiling wide. “If anything happens, I’ll protect you.”
Bishop stops, turns, waves me forward—Visca has found our trail.
—
The midday sun beats down, hot on my hair and face whenever it punches through the canopy. Mist curls up from the muddy ground, from water beaded on yellow leaves. The jungle simmers in a low-hanging mist. Despite this steamy heat, despite scratching branches, the jungle’s natural beauty grips me. Brightly colored blurds whiz through the air. We hear small animals scurrying in the underbrush. Maybe those animals are what the mystery people cooked in their fire.
Kalle stops every time she sees a new plant, waves the bracer over it. And every time, she says the same thing: non-edible.