Authors: Megan Curd
She punched a crimson button and turned to us, pulling her beaked mask up just enough to reveal her rosy lips. “We’ve got a schedule to keep. Let’s go!”
She pulled her mask back into place and unlocked the seal, then pushed the door open. I squinted, trying to adjust to the glare of the red sun reflected off the Dome’s glass. Heat forced itself upon us in waves, and sweat began to trickle down my back.
Light filtered through the thick glass overhead. Millions of water droplets trickled down the sides, with gutters along the steel casing in an effort to contain the rust damage.
Ironic that the very steam that kept us alive slowly ate away the metal that protected us.
Ironic that the place that kept us safe from the outside world was also the place my parents had gone missing.
They called this place Dome Four, but it was actually a series of monolithic windows held together by steel beams. The large panes reminded me of a stained glass window I’d once seen in a church. Only these weren’t made of pretty colored glass; the toxic atmosphere outside had colored them a permanent grey, subduing the world in a dull, overcast aura.
The way I’d felt since my parents disappeared.
My chest constricted at the thought.
No, no time to think about them today. I’ve got to stay focused.
Stagnant air made the space feel claustrophobic. Rays from the harsh glare of the sun bounced off the dome’s rippled glass, and tall, thin shadows slanted across the dome as afternoon gave way to twilight. The smell of rust was thicker than usual; construction crews must have been reinforcing the beams that held the dome aloft.
Droplets of water hit my head, and I looked up. Oxygen purifiers hummed high above. Those machines were the only things keeping the air clean enough to breathe since World War III decimated our atmosphere.
I stopped short of the hovering airbus and looked out over the Dome. To the west, Wutherford Tower’s lights were bright and steady, a reminder that only the rich and well connected had the means to keep their homes powered around the clock. That left the rest of the population literally in the dark once the sun set. I hated it. The war had polarized everything and everyone; there were a Traditionals: someone who was normal by all accounts and expendable, and Elites; the government, the rich, or an Elementalist.
Elites were pampered…rich. Traditionals were lucky to survive. I hated being considered Elite.
Caved in rooftops and rebar extending from the tops of buildings stretched out as far as the eye could see…all the way to the edge of the Dome, where the condemned housing sat. Beyond that laid a wasteland even worse than the one in this modified fish bowl.
The thought of what might lay beyond the boundaries—what desecrated, ruined mess our world might be in—caused me to shiver, even in this overbearing humidity. Sweat dripped off my brow and stung my eyes. The mass of people pushed into me, spurring me onward. There was no time to daydream of what might be outside our Dome.
There was no time to dream of anything.
Dreaming was reserved for those who weren’t struggling to survive, and we lost that luxury long ago.
CHAPTER
TWO
Ten minutes later, the airbus jerked to a stop on the tarmac of our destination, and the doors whirred open. We were in the capital, at the only building that Traditionals were permitted to visit and my “home”: Wutherford Tower.
Thick plumes of dark smoke billowed out of the dual stacks at the top of the tower, slowly dissipating into the already toxic air. The steel millers must have been hard at work today. I tugged at the straps of my oxygen mask, thankful for it.
Wutherford Tower was an oxymoron at it’s finest: the highs and lows of society constantly intermingling and colliding with one another. Steel millers and Elites tried their hardest to avoid running into one another, as if the other carried a contagious disease.
Trash dipped and floated in the wind from the hovering airbus, whipping them into a frenzy before falling to the ground like crude snow. The smoke stacks loomed over us and blocked out the sun. Its rays split on either side of the monstrous building and made the entire structure look like a giant shadow. The temperature dropped noticeably in the shade and I welcomed the break in the relentless heat.
I ducked between people and entered the massive foyer as the warning tone for the next class reverberated off the steel beams inside the tower. The crowd dissipated into one of three hallways available from the loading dock as the bay door shut off the natural light from outside. I put my mask back in my bag and headed for the hallway to the right.
Students bustled between rooms, yelling out directions to one another as they carried cogs and beakers. The smell of formaldehyde stung my nose as I passed a room full of hissing Bunsen burners. A mangy stray cat darted between people, nearly tripping an older man who had his nose buried in a wrinkled, water-stained papers. Life in Wutherford Tower was loud and busy.
As I neared my classroom at the end of the hallway, I saw Erin standing outside the room, arms crossed and still wearing a look like there was a pile of dung under her nose. I sighed, and in that instant decided Histories of America was not on my to-do list today.
The tide of people pushed against my back, surging toward their destinations without pause. I pressed myself against the cold concrete wall and went against the traffic until I reached the stairwell.
Ten flights of stairs stood between extreme stupidity and me.
The Polatzi swarmed down on the main roads, like hawks circling weaker prey. They rarely bothered Elites, but Traditionals were fair game. I dug in my satchel for the crocheted beanie Alice made me a couple weeks prior. It would be perfect to hide my flaming red hair — a dead giveaway for me, since I hadn’t met anyone with a head of locks like mine.
Well, except for my mom.
And she was gone.
Each step I took reverberated off the steel steps, no matter how lightly I treaded. I waited for someone to ask me where I was going, why I was using the stairway when airbuses ran around the clock, but no one stopped me. I took it as an indication that fate was on my side for this little endeavor.
With my mask back in place, I put my beanie on and hoped there weren’t any Polatzi close to recognize me. If I could get into a crowd, I could disappear into the masses.
Probably.
Hopefully.
The seal on the door hissed when I pushed against it, and then the harsh light bombarded me.
Rebellion. Sweet, adrenaline-inducing rebellion.
Freedom surged through me as I stepped outside. The pathway out of Wutherford Tower and into the Traditional area of the Dome was worn to mud from the humidity and sweat of everyday life. It was real. It was gritty.
It was life for everyone but a select few.
Twenty minutes later I passed under the
Welcome to Detroit, the Motor City
sign. It creaked as it swayed back and forth, barely hanging onto the thick wire holding it aloft. I scanned the surging crowd for the sweeping capes of the Polatzi, who would be more than happy to cart me back to “approved” grounds, but saw none.
I was safe…
For now.
I pulled my beanie a bit further down and kept my head down. It wouldn’t take the Polatzi long to figure out it was me if they saw a stray lock, or saw my Elite mask.
To the right of the market was government housing. Wooden boards covered broken windows and hid the inhabitants from the outside world. Candlelight flickered through the boards of one house, as the family turned in for the evening. Even the bravest souls made sure to be off the streets when darkness fell.
There was little mercy for those out past curfew.
I’d take the risk today.
With one last glance around, I headed into the crowded marketplace building and stuffed my mask back in my bag. One less identifying trait to worry about.
People milled about, murmuring, their faces tinged with resolve. There was no joy in this place. Only a dogged determination to survive.
Most of the lights overhead were broken and hung by their thin wiring. A few flickered as they clung to life, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. Steam hung in the air like a corporeal being and made me feel like the market wouldn’t be out of place in the underworld.
I gazed around the hazy market as people brushed past me, not bothering to apologize or excuse themselves. Signs for booths and “Today Only!” sales bombarded me from either side. The constant stream of people made it almost impossible to see down the long row of wooden ramshackled booths.
“Hey, shorty,” called the familiar, slow drawl of a southern woman who used to know me all too well.
The wooden cart to my left was laden with overripe fruit. The woman behind the table leaned toward me, her ample bosom spilling out of her ragged dress. She placed a hand on her chest and smiled broadly. “My lands, if it ain’t baby girl comin’ down from her throne! I haven’t seen you since your mamma and daddy got snatched. Now look at you, all grown up.”
Heat rushed to my face. Memories of my mother and I coming to visit the market flooded back. The warmth of her hand and the assurance of her stride as she navigated the throngs of people. The Red Vines she bought me each time we came.
I hadn’t eaten Red Vines since Mom and Dad disappeared.
I forced a smile. She meant nothing by it. “Hey, Dana.”
“Heard good things about you, little miss. I’m proud of you! Always knew you were special, what with the way trouble followed you around like it was gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe. Glad to see you’re makin’ something of yourself.” She glanced around, then returned her gaze to me. “You ain’t come out here in ages, and I know you ain’t supposed to be here now. What’s got you out of your shiny home at the top of Wutherford Tower?”
I shook my head and tried to look nonchalant. After the mention of my parents, inside it felt like I was barely keeping my head above water. My throat tightened as I remembered the day Alice and I returned to find my front door hanging off the hinges, Polatzi swarming the place. I fought back the tears and smiled. “What, I can’t come visit you?”
She leaned back and put her arms behind her head. “Child, you ain’t never come here before now, so don’t you go trying to tell me you’re here to see me. Land’s sakes. I know you ain’t gonna risk coming down to LaFayette for me, and I ain’t expecting you to. Your parents would be madder than hornets if they knew you was bein’ reckless. You got it good up there. Don’t be messing it up by fooling around in these parts. I know the Guv keeps a hawk’s eye on you Elementalists,” she narrowed her eyes, but the crow’s feet at the corners gave away her happiness. “Tell me what ol’ Dana can get you, then get yourself outta here before you find trouble.”
“I’m looking for a birthday gift for Alice.”
Dana leaned under her booth and pulled out a box of trinkets. “I’ve got a few knick-knacks she might like if she’s still workin’ at the old seamstress shop down on East Jefferson.” She brandished a box of brand new sewing needles. “She’ll be needin’ some new needles, won’t she? Last I saw, the ones she was usin’ were rusted.”
I smiled at the suggestion. Alice had wanted new needles forever. “What do you want for these?”
Dana winked. “Take ‘em. You know I ain’t gonna ask you for nuthin’.”
“Do you need steam for your generator at home? I know you’re still nannying for kids around here. You want to keep that oxygen purifier going for them.”
Dana nodded thoughtfully. “I ain’t asking you for nuthin’, sweet girl. We make it out here just fine.”
I placed my hand on hers as I took the needles. “I’ll be back next week. We can fill your generator with steam to last you a week or so. Sound good?”
Her white teeth shone in a wide smile. “Your parents would be proud, I know that much, Miss Pike. You’ve grown into a fine young woman. You took a bad situation—what with losing your parents and everything else—and turned it into something good for yourself and the rest of us. You’ve made what a lot of people would think was a curse into a blessing. Who needs fossil fuel when we’ve got Elementalists like you?” She smiled and waved me away. “Now get before the Polatzi start sniffing around. They give me the willies as it is, and I don’t need to be worrying about you! And stay away from those steam cisterns — I know there are extra Polatzi roaming down that way, what with steam shortage.”
“Thanks, Dana. Stay safe.”
I waved one last time before losing sight of her in the crowd on my way out. The roar of steam hissed below me as it erupted through the metal grates in a fresh bloom of humidity, one of two daily releases required to keep our soil producing food. I picked up the pace.
The lower east side was nothing more than run-down brick homes and a handful of places still clinging to their former shape. Dilapidated houses lined the road, laid out in grids like some perverse game of battleship. Right behind them and outside the dome was the now-radiated Detroit River. In the distance, the once magnificent skyscrapers loomed. The tops of them were now rebar and caving in on themselves.
The sun hung low in the sky, but I still had time. Outside the market, it felt ten degrees cooler as I entered the alleyway. Rats scurried under my feet as though they were escaping a sinking ship.
I wished
I
could escape.
Each night the Polatzi ensured that everyone was in their government-sanctioned housing at curfew. Some nights, they’d do surprise raids in this end of town—the condemned housing where no one was permitted to live. They claimed they were trying to protect the ones who might be exposed to radiation by being on the outskirts of the dome. Maybe at one point they had noble intentions, but not anymore. Now they were little more than modern day pirates, plundering anything they found under the pretense of the law.
“Pike!” someone yelled.
I jumped as a tall, lanky frame bolted upright from behind the dumpster ahead. Even with the red handkerchief covering his nose and mouth, I could see the mischievous smile hidden beneath by the glint in the boy’s eyes. “Really, Legs?”