The Blood Racer (The Blood Racer Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

              In the middle of the causeway, I was tempted to stop and just lean on the railing, watching the clouds tumble around the mountain beneath me. It was peaceful to watch them mingling with the darkness of the Veil as they swept along the low skies. It was beautiful. There was no denying it. I wished that I could spend more of my life this way, just admiring things and appreciating beauty…instead of always having to worry about something or someone. It’s hard to appreciate the world when it’s always sitting on your shoulders.
              With a tired huff, I made it across the causeway and into the residential area, the place where almost all of Adams’ citizens lived. The entrance to the plant was the first thing anyone saw when crossing from town, and if there was another way to get to my house without going by it, I would go that way. Unfortunately, there wasn’t, and I had to walk by it every single day.
              After my father had died in the race, my mother took a job in that same plant to help support us. Every day, she would ride a tram down to the depths of the mountain, into the dormant volcano below, to help harvest geothermal energy. It was dangerous and exhausting work, but she’d had very few options. The plant was just about the only readily available job in this town. Either from an accident, a death, or somebody just plain quitting, they were always looking for new hands. I hated to walk by it, especially having not been back there since my mother died. Some of the older workers still gave me a nod when I passed by, but no one bothered talking to me anymore. I couldn’t stand the sight of it. The ancient, rusted sign above the entrance, the one that had been there since the plant’s inception, was a haunt that I could never avoid. “
Tristitia”,
it read. I think everyone had long forgotten the word’s real meaning, but someone once told me it meant “sorrow” or “sadness”.
              Rather fitting for such a gloomy place. It seemed that the workmen that had built it centuries ago had felt the same about it then as we all did now.
              No one liked the plant, but it was basically the only reason our town existed. It provided us with free power, and allowed us to sell it to others, most notably Rainier, whose citizens were always after cheap volts. In addition to geothermal power, the plant also served as a mine for iron oxides, which was something that places like New Eden and Shiloh loved to use. I had no idea what it was for, but I assumed it was used to either make things or grow things…or make things
to
grow things. I never questioned it.
              Finally, with my feet starting to ache, I made it to my door, which was nothing but a corrugated piece of tin over a wooden frame, and pulled it open. As I stepped inside, the scent of cooking squash filled my nose, and I inhaled deeply.
              “Smells good,” I said loudly, announcing my presence.
              My house was modest, to say the least. It consisted of four rooms. Two tiny bedrooms, an even tinier bathroom in between them, and the living room/dining room/kitchen where I now stood. On the side of the kitchen, my mother had added her greenhouse, which was just kind of wedged between our back wall and the two neighbor shacks that were built on either side of us. It was the only place in our home that received sunlight, so it was sort of the only option.
              In the kitchen area, which was no more than a sink and a fireplace made from an old barrel, Zanna, my younger sister, was stirring a pinch of some kind of spice into her pan of chopped squash and zucchini. Her long, wavy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had an old, ragged hand towel thrown over her shoulder. Around her midsection was a faded denim shirt that used to belong to our father. It looked absurd atop her pink skirt, as well the black thermal leggings that also had been dad’s.
              I sighed at the sight of her. I had asked her a few times if she really thought it was a good idea to still wear his things, but she had always argued. She didn’t want to get rid of them, and had thrown an absolute fit when I had proposed selling them. She didn’t even want to pack them away. She never said why she wanted to keep them around so badly, but I guessed it was because it was the only way she could feel close to him. Zanna had been his favorite, after all. He never said it, but it was evident. The way he always brought her little treats and shiny rocks that he’d found down in the plant, the way he would hold her and point out the constellations to her, he had loved her dearly.
              I remember being jealous on plenty of occasions, but I let Zanna have his attention. It made her so happy, after all. Now, however, she and I were left with different memories of the same man. He never was the way with me that he was with her. Our relationship was much more distant. Colder, even. He taught me about flying, about plane mechanics and making repairs, but that was as close to ‘quality time’ as he and I ever got. We never talked about anything serious, about anything meaningful. He just used me as a receptacle for his accumulated knowledge of flight and mechanics. I still don’t know why. Maybe just because he knew the burden would eventually fall to me.
              Zanna, though…to her, he was a hero.
              “Smells good,” I said again, stepping closer to my sister to get her attention. She looked up at me in surprise, her brow shiny with sweat. “Oh. Hi,” she said. “You’re back early.”
              “The smell of your cooking brought me in,” I joked. “Where’s Echo?”
              “Sissy!” came his little voice, bouncing off the close walls as he shot out of the bedroom that he and Zanna shared. At once, he launched himself at my legs, almost knocking me backward as he slammed into me.
              Laughing with him, I reached down and hoisted him up to sit on my hip. He was getting big these days, almost too big to hold. He was seven years old, now. If we’d still had a school in our town, he would be starting first grade this year.
              “Hey, niblet,” I said, poking his little belly. “Did you have a good day?”
              He nodded. “Zanna let Franklin come over, and she made us lunch, and then we played outside, but then Franklin had to go home, and I wanted to play with Zanna, but she didn’t want to, and then I drew a picture.”
              I nodded, absorbing his rambling story. “A picture? Can I see?”
              He shook his head vehemently. “No! It’s not done.”
              “Oh, okay,” I relented. “Are you ready for some dinner? Looks like Zanna almost has it finished.”
              “There might not be enough,” Echo said, staring at the pan.
              I looked down at it. There did seem to be less than usual, but Zanna seemed sure. “There’s enough,” she told him.
              Echo pointed to the food. “But you said-”
              “There’s plenty!” Zanna said loudly. “Now go wash your hands before you eat.”
              I let him down to the ground and he scampered off to the bathroom as I wadded up my helmet and jacket and dropped them by my chair. “Did you have a rotten one?” I asked, watching as she divvied the meal onto three different plates. It happened a lot. Our greenhouse wasn’t the best, and sometimes the vegetables just went bad before they had fully ripened.
              She shook her head. “Nope. Just…sold one too many, I guess.”
              “Oh. Well, that’s not so bad then,” I said, accepting a plate from her. “Thanks.”
              Echo emerged from the bathroom with wet hands, and the three of us sat in silence around our miniscule dining table as we ate. The food was good. Zanna possessed the same knack for cooking that our mother had. I was glad, too. I was terrible at it. With her at the helm, though, I always had something tasty to come home to. Conversation was the hard part. We had so little common ground anymore. There just wasn’t much to discuss. So we kept quiet while we stuffed our faces. It wasn’t until we were almost finished that Zanna finally spoke.
              “How was work?” she asked, looking at me.
              I smiled. She used to ask our mother the same question after every day. She knew that mother liked telling stories, so Zanna would always ask and then listen politely. I wasn’t nearly as fond of speaking, though, so I just nodded.
              “It was good, thanks.”
              “Did you get a lot of flight time?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the hand towel from her shoulder.
              “Yeah,” I replied. “Yeah, it was a good day. I even flew from the outside on my last run.”
              She gave a smile, but it didn’t hold. “Good.” She stood up and held out her hand, and I handed her my empty plate. Echo, who had actually been the first to finish, held his plate for her to take.
              “Done!” he shouted. “I’m gonna finish my drawing!” Without being excused, he hopped out of his chair and skipped back into his bedroom.
              Zanna busied herself in the sink, scrubbing the old plates under the faucet. There was something bothering her, but I didn’t know what. I had no idea how to approach her anymore, either. Years ago, we had been so close. We weren’t just sisters, we were best friends. We laughed and played and made up stories to one another, pretending to be heroic pilots saving the city from flying monsters. That seemed like a million years ago now. We had grown so far apart since then.
            With a sigh, I stood from my chair and sauntered into my bedroom, the same room that Zanna and I had once shared. When my mother died, she moved to my parents’ room with Echo, leaving me a room of my own. It took me quite a while to get used to sleeping alone. But once I did, I never wanted to share a bed with anyone again. The freedom was fantastic. I could roll over and toss and turn all I wanted, never having to worry about waking someone up.
              Taking advantage of my solitude, I stripped off my pants and boots before flopping onto my thin mattress with a groan. It was a little too early for bed, but I couldn’t seem to stop my eyelids from sliding shut. Within just a few minutes, I was sleeping.
              The next morning, I didn’t even wake at my usual time. For some reason, I had slept like a corpse through the entire night, and even long past sunrise. I didn’t have a set time that I usually headed to Nichols’ shop, but it was always early. Quickly, I stepped into the bathroom and opened the rain vat. Sparing as much as I could, I hurriedly washed my hair and body and then dressed in some baggy pants and a thick shirt. I grabbed my leather messenger bag, just in case I might need it, and hurried out the door.
              Town was much quieter in the morning. There were still people milling around, or going about their business, or even going to work, but it wasn’t nearly as busy as it was later in the day. I was glad of this. Far fewer people to get in my way. I passed the plant and headed across the causeway, wrapping my jacket tightly around my shoulders as I went. The weather was warming, but the night and early mornings were still chilly. I couldn’t wait for the summer. In between rain showers, those days were the best for flying.
              Finally, I made it to Nichols’ shop, but my hurry had been for nothing. He would have a delivery for me to make, but it wouldn’t be for another couple of hours. So, with no work, and plenty of time to kill, I decided to make a trip to Alice Butterfield’s store. Rigel had advised me yesterday to stop in and see her, so I figured I’d make the trip. It was always interesting to see what kind of random nonsense had made its way to her.
              As I went, I noticed that the calm peacefulness of the morning had seemingly vanished. Adams was suddenly busier than ever. There were people bustling in and out of shops and stores, and I had to actually work my way through several small groups of people that had gathered to chat in the street. I knew it all had to be because of the race, which was now just one day away. People were excited. There was a definite feel in the air, an energy that rarely ever made an appearance in our little town. I even saw plenty of people I didn’t recognize. They must have been tourists on their way to Rainier for the start of the race. Either way, I was beginning to feel more agitated by the minute. I didn’t do well with large groups.
              It took me twice as long as usual, but I finally made it to Alice’s shop. I pushed open the door, listening to the small bell jingle as I walked in. As I had expected, there wasn’t anyone in here. Even Alice was nowhere to be seen. I strolled through her cramped shelves and tables, each one filled to the brim with a hodge-podge of items both familiar and just plain odd. There was a small bin of portable flint lighters, a radio built into the shape of a robot, a pocket watch cased in some kind of very shiny metal, and a bottle of something very old. I bent down to look at the label, but it was so worn that the only words I could make out were “Tony Packo’s”. Before I could pick it up and open it, Alice appeared from behind the counter. I didn’t see where she had come from, she was just…there.
              I gave a small start. “Oh! Hi, Alice. Rigel said I should come see you. He said you had some really interesting things in. I thought I’d come see. I hope that’s…all right.”
              Alice beamed happily at me, her wrinkled face looking positively delighted. “Of course it’s all right, sweetie. I was hoping you’d make your way through my neck of the woods,” she said, pulling something from the waistband of her cotton dress. “I wanted to make sure you, in particular, saw this.”
              In her hand, she held something old and grimy, about three inches long, and made of metal. From where I stood, that was all I could determine. Now quite curious, I stepped over to the counter where she held out the item in her hand.
              “May I?” I asked.