Page 86 of Ember Rising
It’s like a gray snowfall. Bits of ash float through the air, everything in sight covered. We couldn’t breathe without our bandannas. Even with them, we’re both coughing constantly.
Our instructions from the ILF are to find a fashion designer’s storefront on a street near downtown. I used to be familiar with the streets here, but I can’t make out anything through the ash.
Marcus tugs on my hand, leading me into an alley. He crouches beside a dumpster and I follow his lead.
“I don’t like those patrols,” he says.
I close my burning eyes, wishing I could dunk my head in a giant bucket of water. “If they stop us, we have our IDs.”
The ILF gave us both New America IDs. Marcus’s says he works at a warehouse where supplies are distributed, and mine says I work in Lochlan Murphy’s household. I should be able to lie my way through any questions I get asked about it.
“We need to get to the store without being seen,” he says.
I consider, then say, “Or I could go straight to Lochlan’s house. If he has the same people on staff, I think I can get a message to Mae.”
“Fuck no. What if you get caught?”
“I’ll take the dampener off and escape.”
The dampener is working very well. It got moved aside by accident when I was peeing once, and the agony that flooded into me in the few seconds that passed before I moved it back knocked the wind out of me. As long as it’s in place, though, I can’t feel anything but myself.
“B.” Marcus sounds horrified. “You take that dampener off, and you might die just from that. You won’t be in any shape to fight or escape.”
“I haven’t seen my sister in seven years.”
“And you’ll never see her again if you get thrown into jail.”
I cup my hands over my eyes, trying to shield them from the falling ash. “I don’t know that Lochlan would send me to jail again. I think he might just execute me on the spot.”
“I don’t want you anywhere near that asshole or his house.”
“Too bad. That’s where Mae is.”
He runs a hand through his hair, ash coating his hand. “You’ve got me to help. Others too. You’ve come too far to turn careless.”
He has a point. I’m recognizable to Lochlan and his staffers. Marcus isn’t.
“I just ... I need to know if she’s still alive.”
“Let’s get to the meeting point and see what the plan is,” he says. “We can hide our packs behind this dumpster and come back for them.”
“Okay.” I cough, wishing for just one deep breath of fresh, clean air.
Lochlan’s house is only about three miles away. For years, I thought Mae was likely dead from the virus. And when I finally found out she’s alive, I was thousands of miles away, with no way to reach her.
Now I’m close—painfully close—but I can’t go to her. It kills me inside to think of Lochlan grunting and groaning on top of her like he did to me. Even one more night of her trapped in his house, her body controlled by him, makes me want to rage.
Marcus is right, though. I need to be smart about this.
Brightly lit from within, the designer boutique is like an inside-out snow globe. White and gray ash flies outside its windows, but the inside is pristine. After having our IDs checked at the servant’s entrance, we’re led down a darkened stairway, where a woman in a bright turquoise suit wrinkles her nose at us.
“You have to be clean to touch anything here,” she says. “Start in the blowers. An assistant will be waiting outside to take you to the showers.”
We act like that’s not weird at all, but I want to turn around and leave. I don’t like this.
The ILF gave us papers to pass over when we arrived. They listed pickup information for several gowns and two trunks full of items for a client of the designer.
Our cover story is that Marcus works part-time for the household and I’m filling in for a sick maid. We’re just here to pick up and deliver the items.
