The Sun Dwellers (18 page)

“Funny,” I say. “Perhaps the Sun Realm is more dependent on the Lower Realms than anyone realizes.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tristan says. I glance at the shining steel doors on the building. “Trash, taxes, building supplies, gemstones, iron ore: it all comes from the Lower Realms. The Sun Realm wouldn’t exist without it.”

“Which is exactly why your father is moving so fast to knock us back into line,” I add, immediately thinking of my mom and sister. With the strength and resources of the Sun Realm, their hope of survival is minimal if we don’t succeed in our mission. Instead of fear rising, it’s determination that wells up, heating my chest. Failure is not an option—never was.

Before Tristan can respond, the raucous grinding of gears sounds to the right. A dark crack appears below the roll-up doors, growing thicker as the twin risers are pulled inside. Then: the rumble of an engine joins the cacophony of noise.

“Quick, away from the doors!” Tristan says. “Make like we’re just hanging out.”

We rush to the side of the opening, against the wall, sort of facing each other, as if we’re just having a conversation. In my peripheral vision a monstrous truck emerges from the garage like a troll from its cave. With a roar, the closed-bedded truck hangs a hard right and blows past us, sending a mixed rush of hot air, exhaust, and old garbage over us.

“Whew! That stinks like the Star Realm,” Trevor says. “I thought you said the garbage service would be shut down.”

“It should be,” Tristan says. “There’s no way that truck’s headed below.” He motions to the ground.

We stare at the ground in silence, each puzzling over the mystery.

“It could be going to subchapter four,” Roc says.

“Why four?” I ask.

“There’s an incinerator there. It’s mostly used for easily disposed of waste that doesn’t require the lava flow, but they’re desperate, so maybe they’ll try to destroy whatever they can there.”

“Good call, Roc. That’s the only place they could be taking it,” Tristan says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Trevor says. “All we care about is reaching subchapter one. Where’s the train?”

“Dammit,” Roc says, as if just remembering something. “It’s the Sun Festival. Even trains won’t be running today.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, dreading having to hike another dozen or more miles through an intra-Realm tunnel which is probably full of sun dweller soldiers looking for revenge for their fallen comrades.

“Pretty sure,” he says.

“Why not?” Tawni asks. “Wouldn’t people want to be able to get to the best parties?”

Roc’s expression is thoughtful. “You’d think so. But there’s a lot of pride in one’s subchapter up here. There are buses to transport people within the city, but no intra-Realm travel is permitted on Festival Day.

“We have to check anyway,” Tristan says. “Do you remember how much further?”

“Maybe six blocks.”

“Move out.”

We walk faster this time, presumably because we all want to know whether our plans have indeed been foiled by a silly holiday in the middle of a war. Even Tawni picks up the pace, performing admirably in her heels. Two more clusters of sun dwellers pass us, but both are too busy laughing and carrying on that they don’t say a word to us, which is fine by me.

When we reach the train station, the truth stares us in the face:

Linked metal chains seal the doors.

Tristan

S
tupid, stupid, stupid. I should have remembered. Everything was going so well I got complacent, assumed we’d be able to just coast into my hometown on a golden train. Not today.

“We can hide out somewhere,” Roc suggests. “Wait until morning and then hop the early train while all the sun dwellers are sleeping off the festival.”

On the face of it, it seems like a good suggestion. We seem to be relatively safe here in our disguises, and soon no one will be in any condition to identify us. We haven’t seen a single Enforcer, as most of them have probably been sent to join the army. Deep in the Sun Realm, it’s unlikely that any of them are stationed here. However, there’s one problem:

“The Moon Realm might be defeated by morning,” Adele says. “If not already.”

The truth of her words ring in all our ears. Although the world seems like a happy, peaceful place in subchapter eight, in reality it’s a war-ravaged battleground. I know my father will be pushing hard to finish the siege quickly, perhaps desiring to make a victory announcement the day after the biggest celebration of the year.

“I agree. We can’t wait. We have to get there no later than tonight,” I say. “Any other suggestions?”

Silence.

“How far is the walk?” Trevor asks.

I cringe, dreading the thought of running all the way to subchapter one; for running is the only way we’d make it by the end of the day on foot. “Far,” I say.

Roc cranes his neck and stares at the cavern roof high above. “I think there’s a twenty-eight-mile-long tunnel that would get us to subchapter four. At least then we’d be in the right cluster. Then we could just take the Nailin Tunnel to the capital. That’s only a little over a mile.”

“So twenty-nine miles, not including the time and distance to get to the right tunnel. Even at a manic pace it will take us at least three hours,” I say, “and we’ll be in no position to fight anyone when we arrive.”

“Subchapter four…” Adele murmurs, almost to herself. Then, turning to Roc, she says, “Isn’t that where you said the garbage trucks might be headed?”

“Yeah, so?” Roc says.

I know where she’s going with this. “No, absolutely not,” I say. “It’s too dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than everything we’ve had to do this entire mission, and a hell of a lot less dangerous than what we still have to do,” she says hotly, giving me a look.

“Am I missing something?” Tawni asks, to no one in particular.

“She wants to ride in the garbage trucks,” I explain.

“I don’t
want
to. But it may be our only choice. You said it yourself—getting there on foot will be long and tiring.”

“But a garbage truck?” I say.

“Suck it up, sun boy,” Trevor says, “I’ve waded through some pretty nasty sh—”

“Fine. If everyone agrees, I’ll do it,” I say flatly, hoping someone else will disagree.

“What if there aren’t any more trucks today?” Roc asks.

“Did you see the amount of garbage piling up outside the chute?” Adele says. “They have no choice—they have to take it somewhere.”

“But we’ll destroy our new clothes,” Tawni says, looking down at her expensive dress, a look of horror on her face.

“I forgot about that,” Trevor says, brushing a bit of gray dust off his black Rizzo tunic. “Maybe there’s another way.”

“Now who should suck it up?” I say mockingly.

“I retract my previous insult,” Trevor says seriously.

Adele looks at us like we’re crazy. “We can just steal more stuff in subchapter four if we have to.” It seems she’s got an answer for everything.

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with all this stealing,” Tawni says, reverting to her role as the moral conscience of the group.

“You
are
the one who picked the lock,” Roc points out.

Tawni blushes, her sparkly makeup looking even shinier over the red of her cheeks. “Okay,” she says. “I’m in.”

This time I lead the way through the streets, easily remembering the zigzagging path back to the garbage chute. As we near the chute, it’s clear that the shipping door is still open, either because more trucks have recently come through or because more are about to come through. I’m hoping it’s the latter.

Creeping along the building’s wall, I risk a glance around the corner, into the garage. Two men wearing thick black gloves are hauling bags of trash from a conveyer belt to a truck, tossing them into the back one by one. The truck bed is already half full.

“There’s one about to leave,” I whisper back to the others.

“That’s our ride,” Adele says, her green eyes fierce and sharp, even more so because of the black makeup.

“Move when I do, as close behind me as possible,” I say. “Tawni, you’d better carry your shoes.”

She nods and begins unclasping them, her hands deftly slipping them off. “Ready,” she says a moment later.

I sneak another peek into the garage. The truck is nearly full now, and the men are engaged in a conversation near the cab door, which is open. Their backs are to us.

Without checking that the others are paying attention, I steal into the garage, tiptoeing to prevent an errant footstep from betraying our presence. I hear nothing behind me, which either means they’re not following me or they’re being equally careful with their footing. My heart is pounding; if one of the guys turns, there’s nowhere to hide. But they don’t turn, and I manage to safely reach the still-open cargo hold, indulging in a quick glance back.

The others are right on top of me, their faces white and focused. I turn back to the truck, clamber inside, and screw up my face when the rotten stench of garbage hits my nostrils. Trying to breathe out of only my mouth, I reach back and help Tawni inside. Adele, Trevor, and Roc pull themselves up unassisted. We’re all in, but we’re far from safe. One of the guys will be back any minute to shut the gate.

“We’ve got to get behind the garbage,” Roc hisses.

Fun.

Luckily, the trash is in big canvas bags, but it still makes for an unsteady and constantly shifting climb to the top of the pile. A few of the bags have rips and tears in them, spilling some of their contents onto the heap. Half-eaten food, like rotten apples, mystery meat, and spoiled unidentifiable gelatinous ooze, squishes under my treads, making me glad I have thick-soled shoes, unlike Roc. Tawni’s the worst off, forced to plow through the muck in her bare feet. The price of fashion, I think wryly.

Just as I reach the top of the heap, the front door of the truck slams. I look back, ushering Tawni, Adele, Roc, and Trevor past me and behind the mountainous pile. The engine rumbles to life. Just before following, I glance back once more to find one of the guys hooking around the back of the truck. Without thinking, I dive down the smelly hill, tumbling head over heels, knocking into someone, bouncing off, and then knocking into another someone.

Arms and legs are tangled in a mess of limbs. There’s a head in my armpit, and my face is near someone’s feet—Trevor’s, I think, by the look of them. We’re all frozen in place, none of us crying out or complaining or so much as breathing while we silently pray the man didn’t see or hear us.

There’s a
thud
, presumably when the guy mounts the truck bed, and then a click and a clatter, as he rolls the door down, casting us into darkness.

“Good to go!” he yells, and then the truck lurches back, the bags of garbage shifting slightly from the rear acceleration. I finally risk a breath, but still don’t speak, expecting the truck to slam to a halt, the door to fly open, the men to come at us with big guns. We do stop, but only because the truck has reversed out, and is now ready to move forward. With a harsh roar, the truck shoots forward, and we’re thrown back into the trash pile.

“Get your armpit outta my head!” Roc hisses.

“Your head’s in my armpit,” I retort.

“Someone’s foot is in my face,” Adele whispers.

“Sorry!” Tawni says.

“This is foul,” Roc says.

With the truck door closed, we’re locked in a steel box, the air thickening with each passing second. The stench is so strong it’s almost like I’m eating it with each breath. Every few breaths I gag, wishing I could throw up, but knowing the others would never let me live it down.

“Are we there yet?” Trevor asks after a few minutes.

“I truly hope you’re not going to ask that every five minutes,” Roc says.

“Maybe every ten,” Trevor says, his smile obvious, even in the dark.

We’re probably talking too much, but it’s comforting to hear my friends’ voices in the dark, and the drone of the engine is more than sufficient to drown out any sound we make before it reaches the driver’s ears.

“I feel unclean,” Roc says after a few minutes of silence.

“Join the club,” I agree.

“Are we there—” Trevor starts.

“No!” the four of us say collectively.

“Okay, no need to get so testy. I was just checking.”

“What’s the plan when we get there?” Adele says, thinking ahead, as usual.

“Not get killed?” Roc suggests.

“That’s a good start,” I say dryly. “Look, when the truck stops I’d say it’s highly unlikely we’ll be able to get out without being seen…”

“So we’ll have to fight our way out,” Adele says.

“Exactly.”

“You children can stay in the back while I take care of it,” Trevor says.

“Just like you took care of things with your crowd-surfing dismount?” Roc says.

“That wasn’t my fault!” Trevor says.

Although the banter between Roc and Trevor should put a smile on my face, it doesn’t. Instead, a lump forms in my throat. I swallow a few times, but it refuses to be dislodged. A dark cloud settles over me—not one of stinky garbage, although that’s there too, but of untold truths and sadness. The silent truth: one that Roc and I have held onto since I was fifteen, since right before my mother disappeared. The sadness: that I haven’t told Adele, or Trevor and Tawni for that matter. They deserve to know, not only because they volunteered for the dangerous mission we’re on, but because they’re good people. Eventually, the world needs to know, but first they should.