Riven by Sherry Ficklin & Tyler Jolley

Author:Sherry Ficklin & Tyler Jolley [Ficklin, Sherry]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Clean Teen Publishing
Published: 2015-05-04T22:00:00+00:00

Future DC is not what I imagined. Smog-infested skies swallow the top floors of all the buildings. A thick band of brown pollution hangs in the air, smelling of bad eggs and curdled milk. I’m grateful for the masks. Besides blending in, at least I’m not choking on dust, even if it doesn’t improve the smell.

As if pre-programmed with the location, we are quickly able to make our way to the holding stables for the llamas. Sisson rarely has to pull on the reins. When she does, it’s minor corrections.

Even though the city is free of the dust storm, it’s still filthy. One corner has a pile of wire and wheels. Another stretch of sidewalk has a small tent city set up that looks like a permanent fixture.

“Welcome to New DC,” Sisson says under her breath.

I look over at Lex. He is waving like he’s in a parade. “Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist,” Lex says.

Thankfully, no one is looking, nor does anyone seem to care about our arrival at all. We blend in nicely with all the other rickshaws pulled by llamas.

“Hey Lex, can you turn this thing on?” I ask, motioning to my backpack.

Lex sticks his hand up my robe and, like a ventriloquist manipulating a puppet, he struggles to turn Nobel’s machine on.

“Got it,” he declares as a low hum starts up. Immediately, I feel the heat from the thing on my back. It’s not hot, but it is warm enough to make me just this side of uncomfortable. Before long, plump beads of sweat roll down my back, making my shirt cling to my skin.

Riding through the city on our morbid futuristic amusement park ride, I can’t help but feel disappointed. I always thought the future would have more flying, shiny things. Instead, the city is barely more than a ghost town with thick, smog-filled air. A majority of the buildings are struggling to stay erect as they fall to decay. Beneath us, the ground quivers, a minor tremor, and around us, no one seems alarmed. People walk the sidewalks slowly, as if marching to some terrible drum, as they dodge pieces of brick and mortar falling from the buildings around them.

It’s strange that no one is looking at us. I thought we would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but the rebels did a good job giving us the appropriate gear to make us fit in. It takes me a minute to realize why. Everyone has their eyes down, trying not to talk, not to make any sounds or contact with anyone else.

This is what fear—real fear—looks like. They, like us, are trying not to be noticed. Even the normal humans are terrified. How could this have happened? What could have made the world… this?

Getting anxious, I lean forward and hold the wand over the side of our cart. Before long, I hear music.

Pour Some Sugar On Me plays from Nobel’s device into my ear.

“We need to get off this thing,” I say, hunkering down while I touch my ear.

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