Focus gave way to exhaustion as Cassius’s eyes struggled to stay open. He was about to drift into sleep when the pain hit him again. Same as the Lodge and the Academy, like an eighteen-wheeler was being driven through his chest.
His eyes darted open automatically. His thoughts lagged behind, more annoyed than concerned.
Now? Just when he was about to get some sleep?
But as his sleep-addled mind began to clear, annoyance turned to panic. Now? On this train with nowhere else to go?
The medication had kept him safe up to this point. Its effects must have expired. Tightening his lips to keep any noise in, he felt around in his pocket for the small envelope of pills Madame had given him. He found it almost immediately, pressed tightly against his warming body. Only two left.
Realizing he needed water, he fought through the pain and stood up, staggering through the length of the cabin toward the bathroom door on the opposite side. The light above shone green. It was unoccupied.
Pushing into the bathroom, he shut the door behind him and leaned against it, breathing hard. His heart leapt out of his chest, speeding up with every second, trying to break free. Soon it would match the pace of the Chute. Not again. Not now.
He stumbled to the miniature silver sink in the corner and poured the two white pills from the envelope, cradling them in his palm.
Out of nowhere the room began to shake. Something pelted the outside of the wall. Rain? No, it was impossible. It hardly ever rained in the Fringes.
The noises grew louder. Something heavy rocked the right wall of the bathroom, tilting the ground up beneath his feet. Before he could prevent it, his hand flew into the air. The pills scattered, landing in the sink. Clank. Clank.
He panicked, watching as they danced around the outline of the drain before disappearing into the dark hole.
Body on fire, he reached down to try to retrieve them, but the drain was deep and narrow. His fingers only went so far. No pipe to unscrew. No pills.
He kicked the wall, tears forming in his eyes before they evaporated into the air.
He did what he could.
Crouching on the floor, he huddled in the corner and gripped his chest, focusing on breathing. Desperate to inhale cool, temperature-controlled air and exhale the heat, he imagined snow. Ice cubes. Freezers.
Dropping his head down between his legs, he gritted his teeth, struggling against the growing pain. He’d conquered worse in his life. He could do it.
He removed his jacket and threw it to the floor, unfastening the top buttons of his shirt. He chest felt tied up with rubber bands. His skin was wet with sweat.
He grabbed the com-pad from his pocket, dialing Madame’s number. She knew what was wrong. She could help him.
There was a ring on the other end. No one picked up.
Another ring. Still no answer.
After five, he cursed and threw the com-pad to the other side of the bathroom. Madame said she’d be in constant contact. Why not now, when he needed her?
The tiny chamber steamed up as fire erupted inside of him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to control it much longer. He thought about running back into the cabin and forcing the door open-jumping outside. But he didn’t have the strength. He couldn’t even stand.
So he cowered like a baby, waiting for it to happen, wishing someone would come and take away the pain.
But there was no one. He’d ignored Madame. His real parents were gone. Nobody on the Chute knew him. Even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to help.
At 10:08 p.m., halfway between Portland and Spokane, car number fourteen exploded in a great ball of fire, lighting up the darkness for miles around. The flames quickly spread to the reserve engine in the back and shut down the entire Chute.
Knocked off course by the blast and unable to control its breakneck speed, the Chute’s front end plunged into the rocky abyss of the Fringes, zigzagging through the dust until it flipped sideways, carrying the rest of the train with it. Many up front died instantly, including the engineer.
The Unified Party would later blame the accident on a Pearl power surge, though the Fringers would somehow convince themselves that they were responsible. Nobody would believe the truth, that a fifteen-year-old boy had taken down a Chute carrying more than 500 passengers without as much as a weapon. The country was in dire straits, for sure, but something like that was just ridiculous.