Legend

I pull out the sea daisies that I had tucked into my shirt’s sleeve. Some of the blossoms are crumpled now, but I prop them up as carefully as I can and gently pat down dirt around them. Mom will probably never see them here. But I know they’re here. The flowers are proof to myself that I’m still alive. Still watching over them.

Something red in the dirt beside the daisies catches my eye. I frown, then brush aside more of the dirt to get a better look. There’s a symbol here, something inscribed underneath all the dirt and pebbles.

It’s a number, just like Tess and I had seen by the bank of the lake, except this time it says: 2544

I used to hide down here sometimes when I was younger, back when my brothers and I would play hide-and-seek. But I don’t remember seeing this before. I lean down and put my ear against the ground.

At first there’s nothing. Then I hear a faint sound, a whoosh—then a hissing and gurgling. Like some sort of liquid, or steam. There’s probably a whole system of pipes down there, something that leads all the way out to the lake. Maybe all around the sector. I brush aside more dirt, but no other symbols or words appear. The number looks faded with age, the paint chipped away in little flakes.

I stay there for a while, quietly studying it. I glance one last time through the vent at the bedroom, then make my way out from under the porch, into the shadows, and away into the city.

I WAKE UP AT DAWN. THE LIGHT MAKES ME SQUINT (where is it coming from—behind me?), and for an instant I’m disoriented, unsure of why I’m sleeping in an abandoned building facing the ocean with sea daisies growing at my feet. A sharp pain in my stomach forces a gasp out of me. I’ve been stabbed, I realize in a panic. And then I remember the Skiz fight and the knife and the boy who saved me.

Tess hurries over when she sees me stir. “How are you feeling?”

She still looks wary of me. “Sore,” I mutter. I don’t want her to think that she wrapped my wound badly, so I add, “Much better than yesterday, though.”

It takes me a minute to realize that the boy who had saved me is sitting in the corner of the room, dangling his legs over the balcony and looking out toward the water. I have to hide my embarrassment. On a normal day, with no knife wound, I never would’ve let a detail like that go unnoticed. He went somewhere last night. When I was slipping in and out of sleep, I’d made a mental note of the direction he took (south, toward Union Station).

“I hope you don’t mind waiting a few hours before eating,” he says to me. He’s wearing his old newsboy cap, but I can see a few strands of white-blond hair beneath it. “We lost the Skiz bet, so there’s no money left for food right now.”

He blames me for his loss. I just nod. I recall the sound of Day’s crackly voice from the speakers and compare it quietly to this boy’s. He looks at me for a while without smiling, as if he knows what I’m doing, then returns to his vigil. No, I can’t be sure the voice belongs to him. Thousands of people in Lake could match that voice.

I realize that the mouthpiece in my cheek is still turned off. Thomas must be furious with me. “Tess,” I say. “I’m going to head down to the water. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You sure you can make it by yourself?” she asks.

“I’ll be fine.” I smile. “If you see me floating unconscious out to sea, though—by all means, come and get me.”

The steps of this building definitely used to be part of a stairwell, but now they sit open to the outside. I get to my feet and limp down the stairs one at a time, careful not to slip off the side and plummet down to the water. Whatever Tess did last night seems to be working. Although my side still burns, the pain is a little duller and I can walk with less effort than yesterday. I make it down to the bottom of the building faster than I thought I would. Tess reminds me of Metias, of how he’d nursed me back to health on the day of his induction.

But I can’t handle memories of Metias right now. I clear my throat and concentrate on making my way to the water’s edge.

The rising eastern sun is now high enough to bathe the entire lake in a shade of murky gold, and I can see the tiny strip of land that separates the lake from the Pacific Ocean. I head all the way down to the floor of the building that sits right at the water’s surface. Every wall on this floor is collapsed, so I can walk straight out to the building’s edge and ease my legs into the water. When I look into the depths, I can see that this old library continues for many floors. (Perhaps fifteen stories tall, judging from how the buildings on the shore sit and how the land slopes from the shoreline. Approximately six stories should be underwater.)

Tess and the boy sit at the top of the building, several stories above me, safely out of hearing range. I look back at the horizon, click my tongue, and turn on my microphone.