25

I floated on the edge of nothing. Darkness surrounded me, the winds of death whipping my clothes and hair. So cold, I flailed, frantic to cover up as the force of it ripped my ball gown and cape away. The rags blew out in front of me, tumbling away into black oblivion. Stripped bare by the gale, I clasped my arms around my nakedness, trembling as terror spiked my heart. All around, in the inky black, forms moved, falling and crawling over each other as they fought to reach me. A rush of voices flooded through me, rising with strength until the cries pierced my heart and brought me to my knees. Pain and fear and a throbbing wave of need, I could not fathom. It flattened me to the ground, crushing the breath from my lungs.

Overhead, a ticking grew louder, thunderous as every moment passed by with agonizing clarity. The tunnel around me crumbled, fracturing into a whirling dervish of debris and screaming wind. I curled up on the floor, covering my face as the tempest tore at my bared skin. The moments slipped ever faster toward disaster.

Multiple blasts shook the air, heat rushing across the floor spewing molten puddles, and I looked across the ground at their glowing light. They flared, moving in a spiraling snake of fire toward me. I knew this. I’d seen it before and the thought crushed its way through my mind with startling clarity. I tried to get up, to stand and run, but my limbs failed me and I collapsed, shaking as a sob tore from my throat. I had to stop it. I had to stop it or they would all die.

“No!”

I slammed down into myself, my eyes snapping open, as I tore from my fevered dream with a ragged gasp. Even as I struggled to hold onto them, the gossamer images faded from my memory until all I could remember was pain and cold and darkness. Blinking in the candle light, I stared at a boarded up window and struggled to get my bearings. Curled up on the floor, the roughness of canvas scratched my arms and I pulled it tighter as a wave of chills sent a shuddering breath from my lips. A tortured groan rattled through me and I struggled to sit, every joint in my body aching as if I’d tumbled down a vast mountain.

Flashes of fear still gripped me and I choked down sobs. Shaking my head, I told myself it was just a dream, but I knew the truth. I knew something terrible barreled toward us, and the helplessness nearly made me crumble to pieces. Movement next to me pulled my gaze and a strong arm held me close.

“Charlie,” Ashton pulled me tighter to his side. “You were crying in your sleep.” Propped against the wall near the smoldering fireplace, he turned to face me, wincing as he emerged into the light. “Nightmares?”

“Yes, I…” I shook my head, the vestiges of the dream falling away and still the unwanted certainty of fate mingled with fear.

“Are you all right?” He asked, his voice hoarse. “The fumes overcame you. I was so worried.”

“I am fine.” I took in his pale face and half-mast eye lids. My teeth chattered and I stopped the noise with my tongue between them. “What is wrong?”

“My shoulder.” His face slick with sweat, he squeezed his eyes shut. “We make it through a throng of Tremblers only to be taken out by a locked door.”

“You burst through?” Pulling back his collar, I winced, my stomach tightening with worry. His shoulder bulged from its socket, distorting his bruised skin.

“As I said, it was locked.”

“You need a doctor, Ash.” I tightened the tarp around me, my joints stiff and sore.

“You are still so cold.” He shook his head, bringing my hand to his mouth and kissing my knuckles with warm lips.

A flush of heat bloomed across my skin and I looked at him, riveted by the intensity of his dark gaze.

He tossed the broken leg of a chair on the fire. “I prayed you would come back to me.”

“How did we get here?” I worried about the burn left by Berkley’s tracer gun. The electrical charge left a charred hole in his shirt, and marred his skin an angry red. I reached for him, but he stilled my hands, holding them in one of his. “I must have passed out, Ashton. Did you carry me?”

“I couldn’t reach him. Berkley, I mean. I had his fingers and then he shoved the book in my hand, but the Tremblers—”

“Don’t. We tried. There were too many. We were lucky to get out alive ourselves.”

“He thought he was doing the right thing.” He shook his head, struggling to his feet.

The color drained from his face. Ashton could not hold himself upright.

An ache so deep I could scarcely breathe squeezed at my throat as it hit me that all had been for naught. My father, Aunt Sadie, Berkley…all gone for nothing if we failed to find Collodin. If I failed.

“You need help,” I murmured. “Won’t The Order—”

“I won’t call them. Not now. They may offer help only to attack when we reveal our location. No…The Order is not to be trusted any longer.”

“Ash,” I rasped, aware of the pain in his eyes. My fingers found the links at his wrist. “I am so sorry.”

“My covenant is not with any Order or church, Charlie,” he said softly and covered my hand with his. “It is with my God alone. Their lack of faith does not affect mine. We will succeed in stopping this sickness. I know we will, together.”

“But it is just the two of us,” I whispered even as I took in his injuries and tried to convince myself I wasn’t alone in this now.

“That is of no consequence,” he smiled weakly.

Letting my gaze travel the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips, I was not sure I was the person he thought he saw. “Ashton,” I took in a ragged breath. “I think you see more to me than there truly exists.”

“You are wrong. I wish you could see past the obstacles right in front of us. Look at all that we have made it through despite surety we would not.” He reached up, brushed his thumb across my cheek. “Realize, Charlie the Debutante, what you survived thus far. You braved Outer City, faced off with lawmen, blew an armada from the sky, and survived the poisoned seas. How can you not believe that you can do this?”

“I—I want to believe--” I offered, completely spent“—but there’s an army out there.”

“They are nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

“How can you think that?” My voice cracked. “You can barely move. I am so full of terror I cannot think. Just because you will it does not make it so!”

“You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day...” he said softly, rubbing my hand with his thumb. “You know this, Charlie.”

“I don’t know it anymore,” I sobbed. An image of my mother’s room flashed behind my eyes. Me on a chair next to her, my feet dangling over the floor, book open on my lap as I read with conviction.

“…nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness,” Ashton continued. “Remember, Charlie, what it felt like not to know doubt.”

I shook my head, eyes clenched. “Those words aren’t incantations, Ashton. They don’t make things better just by saying them. You have to trust the One who made those promises.”

“These words are from you; murmured in your sleep.” Ashton moved, wincing as he did and I stilled him with a hand to his chest. He looked at me, his gaze glassy. “Somewhere, deep down, Charlie, you have some hope left.”

“Ash,” I squeezed his hand, shaking my head as I sniffled. My heart ached, every fiber of my being crying out with overwhelming loss. Frustration boiled in my veins, breaking my voice. “I have nothing left to give.”

“There is room for both anger and faith in the same breath.” Ashton soothed, his eyes rimmed red. “Screams of ‘why’ are better than a silent turn away.”

I licked my lips, forcing the long forgotten words from memory. “A thousand may fall at your side…but…but it will not come near you.” I finished, wiping my cheek angrily. “They are just words, Ash.”

“For now,” he said, his eyes swam as he drifted away.

My gaze went to his weapon, set against the hearth; something in the turn of his hand as it rested on the stock reminded me of what my father often said.

Battles are won with bloodshed and brilliance, my child. Always remember, the brighter the mind, the lesser the cost in lives… My father spent hours relaying to me his military stories, but it was not until he thrust the gun in my hand that I realized they were not just stories. They were preparation. Eyes on the enemy, Charlie…

I thought about what Ashton had said aboard Berkley’s cutter. My father’s actions had made me a soldier in a war I had never known existed. He’d risked his life in defense of innocents threatened with this terrible pestilence. How dare I snivel and cower when there was something in my power to make a difference. My fingers found the chain around my neck and I pulled the pocket watch from beneath my bodice, watching the firelight glint off the polished metal. Think, Charlie. Don’t just sit and despair.

I glanced around the room. In disrepair, the cracked paint and layers of dust told me the building was at the very least abandoned, but most likely condemned. The sparse amount of furniture and working lights all but assured the absence of an aethergraph as well. Ashton slept, his breaths even. When I tried to move, he stirred.

“What are you planning, Charlie? Tell me.”

“I need to speak with Lizzie.”

“Are you mad?”

“Lizzie helped before, in the rail yard, and again in Outer City.”

“She wanted the journal,” he said, his voice edged with bitterness. “We were a means to an end. She sent Berkley after us; she just didn’t know The Order sent him first.”

“Lizzie knows where Collodin is. I’m sure of it. She would not have made a play for the journal otherwise.” I hugged myself, trying to gather my thoughts. “Think about it, Ash. If she didn’t know where he was, she would have waited and let us lead her to Collodin, but she didn’t. She didn’t need us for that.”

“Fine, so she knows.” Ashton’s gaze went to the journal on the floor by the hearth. “What does it matter? We have no way of contacting her. Even if we waited and tried another mech-fly at night there is no guarantee she will see it. We can’t trust her.”

“Ashton, we have to strike a bargain with her.”

“No.” He tried to stand, but staggered, going down hard to his knees, his face pale as he held his palm to the dislocated shoulder. “I can rally. We’ll do this ourselves.”

“You’ll be killed if you go out there like this.” I eased him back against the wall. “You cannot even hold a weapon.”

“I will manage. I got us here, didn’t I?”

“And where is ‘here’ actually?” I smoothed his hair, attempting a smile to distract.

“We are in The Boroughs.”

“Oh…” I stammered. “I—I have never been to the Boroughs before.”

The Boroughs, a collection of cracked and steaming remnants of old New York counties, rivaled Outer City in unsavory characters and crime. Unlike the tradesmen and artisans who lived and worked near Manhattan, those in The Boroughs who survived the quakes cobbled together an existence by serving in the Fire Crews. They worked just outside the protection of the Tesla Dome, fighting back the ever erupting flames that ignited along the quake seams or tarring over sink holes before they crawled underneath the grid. It was choking, back-breaking work that was still preferable to toiling in the coal mines miles away.

Those who could do neither, subsisted off of begging and thievery. As close to the edge of the dome as possible without crossing its border, The Boroughs housed the electro-rail station’s last stop before the tunnels that spanned the wasteland.

“I am sorry, Charlie,” Ashton said softly. “I promised to keep you safe and I did not.”

“You said I’d be fine. Two very different things, remember?”

The dirty room seemed stuffy, small, like an attic. Peeling wallpaper made strange shadows on the floor.

“You are the bravest, most brilliant woman I have ever encountered,” Ashton whispered.

“No,” I argued, brushing a lock from his eyelids. “I have been a child, a frightened girl making things difficult and dangerous for you. I did not see past my own needs, my own fears. Berkley was right. I would have sacrificed hundreds just to have my father back.”

“There is nothing wrong with the way you love, Charlie,” Ashton murmured, his lids falling closed.

“Ashton, look at me.” I knelt next to him.

His eyes swam, and a sheen of sweat plastered his hair to his jaw and temples. I pulled back his collar and winced. The burns from Riley’s interrogation flared bright red. Toxins from the sea worsened the wounds. Fever scorched through him.

“All those Tremblers in the sea and in the steam works…there were so many more than we realized. It must be stopped. That is why I have to risk an alliance with Lizzie.”

“But your father…”

I bit back the sob in my throat. Shaking my head, I met his gaze. “I—I have to try. Before it is too late. It is what my father wants. I have to obey him this last time or all he’s been through will be for naught.”

A low horn sounded from far away. Familiar somehow, I tilted my head. Steam carriages and the thud-thud of the electro-rail station hovered just below the din outside the window. A thought occurred to me. A tendril of hope that I clutched to my heart.

“What?” Ashton asked.

“If there is a way to contact Defiance, a way to work with Lizzie, I have to do it.” I stood, pacing the area, my stomach woozy as I walked to a wardrobe. A single jacket, moth-eaten and filthy, hung there. Pulling open a drawer, a musty smell wafted up as I rifled through the contents. Wool stockings, gloves with holes in the fingers, and a blue work dress. The other drawer held more clothes. An outdated miner’s uniform and a shawl. Under the clothes, a medical kit caught my eye. I opened it, inspecting the contents. Bandages, clotting powder, packets of medical tinctures, all faded with age. I turned to Ashton. “You understand that, right?”

“Please, just, trust me,” he breathed. He laced his fingers through mine, urging me to settle next to him. “We can do this on our own, Charlie.”

“If you drink,” I conceded. I pulled a bottle from the medical kit and pouring a dose into the cap, I held it out.

“Drink what?” He took the cap, wincing at the smell.

“It’s laudanum,” I explained, hiding my other hand behind my back. “It’s a small dose. Just enough to take the edge off.”

“Just a bit,” he said, his gaze dropping back to the medicine. “Not too much.”

“It’s just a little.” I soothed his forehead with the back of my other hand. He felt clammy.

“Thank you.” He swallowed the dose and handed me back the cap with his good hand. I took the moment, grabbing his arm and plunging the syringe into his bicep as I depressed the plunger. The pain medication, meant for wounded soldiers in the field, hit him immediately.

“Whaaa—” He jerked, trying to fight back as complete shock registered on his features before he slumped to the floor. His hand flopped out at me, grasping. “No, Charlie…”

“Shh.” I stroked his cheek as his body relaxed into unconsciousness. Smoothing the frown lines at his mouth, I felt for steady breath as I took in the bruises and cuts to his arms and neck. “Sleep for me.” I bit back tears, feeling foolish.

Before all of this, in my privileged haven, I romanticized what it would mean to strive and strain for something with meaning. I had pictured an adventure, exciting like my father’s stories, as if nobility and honor could be found on safari, hiding under a bush. But I realized now, as I looked at Ashton’s broken body, the guilt of his perceived failings still etched under his tired eyes, that passion of purpose is hard and messy and frightening. It has real cost. I thought of Aunt Sadie. I thought of my father, and the tears started. Immeasurable cost.

“Stop crying,” I chastised myself, wiping at the tears on my cheeks with my sleeve. “You are a Blackburn.” The heat of anger rose in my chest over the situation and my own helplessness. I was tired of running and crying and losing at every turn. “Your father’s blood burns in your veins, Charlotte. Your heart beats for battle. Act like it.”

Turning, I picked up the tarp, covering Ashton before getting to my feet, and standing on unsteady legs. This might be harder than I anticipated. Panting the dizziness away, I tasted blood and felt along the side of my mouth with my tongue. A ragged gash spanned the inside of my cheek. Jaw aching, I was grinding my teeth again. I steadied my thoughts.

My father moved with conviction. He acted without hesitation.

I wiped sweaty hands on my clothes, and searched the room. Digging in a crates and finding only rusted cookware, I fought rising dejection. Another box held cracked and brittle gas masks and air canisters too old to be trusted. “Assess your supplies,” I muttered, eyeing the wardrobe as I recalled my father’s voice.

I wandered the room in the wan light, running my fingertips along the dusty mantel and over the grimy, cracked mirror, stopping to peer on my tip-toes between the boards blocking the window. The hazy sky, puffing stacks atop factory buildings, and pronounced crackle of the Tesla Dome told me where I was. On the road below, large chasms hastily boarded over with scrap wood signaled the poor, working tenement streets.

“Scout your location.” I sighed, turning back to face Ashton.

Grabbing the blue worker dress, I opened the door to the wardrobe, undressing behind it and donning the serving attire as quickly as possible. Finished, I walked to the fireplace, glancing at the cracked mirror as I wrestled my hair into the requisite bun at my nape. Startled at my appearance, I paused. Dark circles shadowed my eyes and bruising discolored my temple. I stopped, staring down at my hands. They trembled.

How long had it been since either of us had eaten? A rattling shiver tore through me and I grabbed the shawl, throwing it over my hunched shoulders. “Know your assets,” I whispered.

I leaned over Ashton, the flames from the hearth cast flickering light across his arresting features. I brushed the pads of my fingers over his brow. He would understand. This was the right course. Slipping his revolver into my boot, I stood, taking in a breath to steel my nerves.

“Do what you must.”