The Lost Ones

by Indigo Shade

If you run fast enough, do you fly? Would you let yourself be Found... or would you rather die?

2. Chapter 2

The Lost Ones

{A story about a little girl's heart tearing into shreds.}

Rence waits for the train. It shrieks past and she screams at it, howling back into the darkness.

They won't take Harper. Rence won't let them.

=={Baker, baker}==

Sammy wakes up while the white of the fog is still dusky black. He warms up some water and washes himself in it, happy to have the time to do so.

He's going to the Cliffs today. Maybe someone there could cut his hair without making him bleed.

Or, if he's very, very, very lucky, maybe they'll rip him open again.

=={bake me}==

Zyon wakes up and cleans the house, making as little noise as possible, trying to ignore how empty his home is.

Shouldering his pack, he takes a deep breath, edging the front door open.

"Zy?" his little sister's voice finds him. She's rubbing her eyes and peeking out of their shared room, his oversized shirt falling to her knees. "Where ya goin'? Is Pa back?"

Zyon breaks but doesn't show it. "No, Rose," he whispers, "Pa's not back yet. Go back to bed. I'll be home afore you know it." He follows her back into their tiny sleeping chamber, tucking her under the thin sheets. They can't afford a mattress, but he's found some padding in the streets for her. He just sleeps right on the floor.

Rose frowns and shifts her weight. "Zy," she murmurs sleepily, nodding off, "I miss Pa."

He pushes her black hair out of her eyes. "I know, Rosie," he tells her, watching her fall asleep. He makes it out of the house and onto the streets before he has the courage to admit, "I do too."

=={a pie}==

The whistle for wake-up sounds right as the fog starts getting lighter. Rence is already up, frowning at the counter and idly stirring her food.

Her mother, messy-haired and tired-eyed, raises one eyebrow. "Rence," she yawns, "What are you doing in my kitchen?" Rence's mom is named Diana but everyone calls her Billie. Rence has never found out why.

"I made first meal," Rence says, nodding to the pot on the stove, "And burnt the fog outta my mouth."

"Florence Louise," her mother gasps, "You watch your tongue, young lady."

Rence rolls her eyes. "It was hot, Ma. I think I can actually feel where it took my skin off."

"I'll take your skin off if you don't stop talkin' like that. Mind your mouth or one day it's gonna land you in all kindsa trouble." Her mother spoons Harper a bowl of the mash before making herself one. "Are you street-sweeping today?"

Rence gets real quiet. "I thought I'd head over to the Heights," she says finally, "Check out some jobs or somethin'."

Billie looks stricken. "I know it looks bad, but we t'aint in that much trouble yet, Flo-ro. You best stay the Father away from the Heights if you know what's best for you, girl. I don't wanna hear from Deeter's parents that you directly disobeyed me yet again. You know the Blues already think I'm some kinda terrible mother."

Rence moves her spoon around her bowl some more. "Ma," she says, taking a deep breath, "What's snow?"

Her mother makes a face. "Some ol' kitten tale about before the fog and the Father. Once we used to have high-up clouds, it says. Real clouds and real sky. The clouds would sometimes cry and sometimes laugh, and if it were laughin' on that particular day, it was snow. I guess it were chillier 'n' the Father, 'cause it would make your fingers go all crumbly and your nose get all runny."

The teenager laughs. "And what if the high-clouds cried?"

Billie sends her eyes out of the window, like she's looking past the fog. "They called it rain," her voice is a whisper suddenly, empty and lonely and wistful, "And they said it could heal you as quick as it killed you. Weren't supposed to be a prettier sight then the Father's kingdom after a rain. Said the clouds and their tears had just cleaned everything up and swept it all away."

"Sounds crumbly if you ask me," Rence snorts, grabbing her sister's food and heading down the hallway, "I like my stuff messy. Don't need no tears getting it all prettied up. The Father didn't intend for a pretty kingdom anyhow."

=={before}==

"Ann?" Nikka calls, "Ann, I'm leaving."

From the other side of their house, a faint thump answers her. She rolls her eyes, putting a piece of tuber in her mouth and padding down the hallway.

"Auntie Ann," she sings, listening to it echo through the narrow passageway. "Where in the Father's kingdom are you?" Grinning, she pushes open the door to her surrogate mother.

Auntie Ann is on the floor, setting out sticks in order of length. She doesn't look up. "What do you want, Nicolette?" Her tan skin is the same olive as Nikka's, but without the burn scars.

"I'm taking first meal to daddy and then I'm stopping by the streets," the teen says, watching as her Aunt places another twig. "Thought you should know."

The blonde stares for a while before her curiosity finally get to her. "What exactly are ya doing?"

"Making things," Ann says, leaning back and looking at her niece. "Get your crumbly nose outta my life."

"Love you too," Nikka smiles, dropping a kiss on her aunt's head, "See you later."

She bounces out of her house, humming. Her eyes slide in the direction of the streets and she bites her lip. Her time is click-clacking out. She's getting old. Real old.

Nikka looks down at her hands. She's nineteen. Shouldn't she have a real family by now?

=={the Father's}==

Deeter kisses his mom goodbye and slinks out onto the streets. Rence is already waiting for him, lounging against the door to his house.

"Where's Snow?" she asks, loping beside him. They're making their way to the streets, but there's no rush. The slow pace has to be one of the only reasons he can make a living street-sweeping.

"Father, Rence, lower your voice," he hisses, looking around. The few people that are milling about don't seem to notice, but all it takes is one wrong move. "I put her someplace safe, ok?"

She nods and tugs on her braided hair. "Hey, Ma says I have to go to the Heights and cut my crumbly hair soon. It's past regulation. I was thinking a reservation for next train."

Deeter thinks Rence looks beautiful again, and that's why she has to cut it. Whenever her hair started growing out, she lost the boy look and sailed right into woman.

"Eh," he shrugs, "I mean, I guess I could swing by and pick Mom up some food or something. I'll come with." They don't mention that it's not safe to go to the Heights alone, not when you're a street kid. Not when you're hungry like they are.

They pad along and she shifts awkwardly. "Is… Can… After curfew this train? I mean, is this train ok? Can I meet Havoc?"

"Actually, though, Rence," he sighs, "I think you're tryna kill me. Smacks are all around and listenin' in with their crumbly ears and you're off jibbling 'bout Havoc."

She grins and shrugs. "Just kinda wanna see 'em try 'n' Find me, you know?"

"Careful what you wish for, smack," he growls, "You'll wind up with the Father faster 'n your crumbly eyes can catch 'em."

Her light brown eyes cut to him. She's got freckles across the bridge of her nose and high cheekbones, flushed with the excitement of their conversation. Rence is always walking the line to pretty, but Rence has never in her life cared.

She skips a little ahead. "Betcha a tuber I can find more shinies 'n you," she grins. "Oh, no, wait. Betcha I can get there a'fore you." With that, she starts running, getting that shine to her that she takes when her long legs stretch.

Deeter rolls his eyes. "T'aint nothing but a fools bet," he calls after her, "I know you. You're probably cheatin' in some way."

He still lengthens his stride to fall into step with her.

=={great wings}==

Sammy lets the world curl out in front of him, putting one foot in front of the other. The dust from the road clings to him and gets him all dirty again.

The way to the Cliffs is not safe. He has to pass through a slim section of the streets. The clatter of children is starting already, even though it's barely a signal since first whistle.

"You look lonely," someone calls. He doesn't turn. Picks up his pace.

Footsteps. A wide smile. Easy-going green eyes. "Are you Sammy?"

Sammy sizes up the boy. Doesn't say anything. It's best to keep going. He takes a step, but a hand with long fingers shoots out in front of him.

"I'm Prime," says the teen. "And you are Sammy, aren't you?" Voice smooth. Calming.

Sammy just stands there. Thinks about his hairdresser. Looks up to the fog and sighs. "What do you want?" he asks finally. Not admitting to anything. Just trying to get through to the streets.

That bright smile. "I don't want anything, Sam. May I call you Sam?" Before Sammy can answer, Prime starts walking, tugging Sammy along in his gravitational pull. "Actually, Sam, if I could, I'd leave you alone. Just looking at you, I know exactly what kind of person you are. You'd rather be anywhere else, even as I speak to you. A Father-follower. Good all the way through."

"What of it?" He sticks his hands into his threadbare pockets. The streets are getting closer, and Sammy can't decide if it's worse to go through them alone or with Prime.

The tall, slender teen lights up. "What of it? Why, Sam, it's people like you I've been… hunting for."

Sammy gets chills, but he can't say why. "What do you want?" he repeats.

Prime tilts his head back, striding across the land with those long legs. "Again, I don't want anything. But they want you."

"Who?" Sammy frowns. The streets are awfully close and Prime is starting to look pretty sky with his charisma leaking from every pore.

Standing near Prime is like being Found. Sammy can feel himself being taken in, sucked into wings he can't struggle against. Prime bites his thumbnail and winks. "Why ruin the surprise?"

=={come down}==

"Are you goin' to the streets today?" Stephanie wants to know, washing her red hair, her voice echoing in the wooden basin.

"Shut up, smack," Bree smiles, "You'll get water in your mouth at this rate."

"But I hate this, Ree," Stephanie groans, "I dunno why you gotta wash my crumbly hair every train. Why can't it be every other or somethin'? Lawrence says his Ma don't even wash his hair ever."

Bree flicks back her blonde hair and purses her lips. "Remind me not to touch Lawrence overly much," she states dully. "You know that the Whites say there's the sickness on this street, and I'm takin' no risks with you, Stephie."

Stephanie opens her mouth to complain, but ends up tasting water. She gags and spits it back out, groaning. Bree grins wide.

"Told you, smack," she sings, getting their raggedy towel and rubbing her sister dry, "I know best."

"But are you going to the streets?" Stephanie pushes, leaning away from her sister's hands.

The skinny teen sighs. "You know I gotta, with how the food's been." Of course, part of that was her fault, but she does her best not to think about why half of her meals go missing.

"Take me with you," Stephanie pleads, "Mom says it's not safety that you're flyin' all 'round the streets with nothin' but your knickers to keep you whole."

Bree shakes her head and walks away, getting her pack together. "It t'aint safety for a little one like you, Stephie. You'll get Found or some kid'll get ya. And I aint got time for you to Depart."

"But what's it like, Ree?" Stephanie whines, "Why can't I go?"

Sighing, Bree rolls her eyes. "It's too big, Stephie. I'd lose you straight away. It goes on for forever, about." She gets real still and bites her lip. "Sometimes even I get all kindsa twisted and turned afore I know which way is out, and not many been doin' this as long as I have."

Stephanie pouts, folding her arms. "I wouldn't get lost. Mom says I got a mind like the Father's claws."

Bree wraps her into a hug, smiling. "I'd like to keep that mind out of the Father's claws, if'n ya don't mind," she tells her, "Now finish dryin' yourself off afore you catch a shiver."

"You're not the Father," Stephanie sulks, "You can't tell me what to do, Aubree Rose." She saunters off, stewing.

"Can so, Stephie," Bree calls back, "Mom said so."

=={from the sky}==

The streets don't end, just begin. One second there's the town road and houses and dead grass, and the next, beyond a towering fence, the streets for forever and ever. It's an eternity of lost things, old things, dead things, all piled on top of each other.

The streets have territories and rules and districts. No one lives in the mountains of the streets. The streets smell like death even though they're the only way kids stay out of the Heights. You don't mess around in the streets, because you take a wrong turn through the maze of filth and you wind up Departed on the next train.

Rence knows the first part of the streets so well, she dreams about it. The gate that everyone enters through leads into the only safe pathway, one that branches out into the unknown forty steps in. It's one of the only places where a view of the fog is uninterrupted. Everything else is just caves and caverns carved out of trash.

She and Deeter head in their familiar pattern: right, left, left, left, right, left, right. By now they're far from the other kids and the tightly-packed waste raises high above her head. They both keep one hand on the right wall, because that's the only way they're certain that they're going the right way.

"So I was thinking, Deet," she says finally, "What do I gotta do to get Havoc to lemme have one of them crumbly fighting monsters? 'Cause I aint got no food to give out."

The dark tightness of the tunnel is home to Deeter. It's where he met Rence. They had fought over a shiny and he'd lost. He sends a glance over his shoulder, but he's pretty certain no one else is around. This is Deeter and Rence's tunnel, even though it's not marked that way. Everyone knows not to mess with Rence, because her sister could hand out the sickness whenever she felt like it. "They give 'em out for free-like."

Rence rolls her eyes. "Oh, that doesn't sound crumbly at all, Deets."

Deeter has to admit that when he heard it at first, his reaction had been exactly the same. "Well, as best as I could figure it, they expect you to pay in food. They get an amount of whatever you win each time you fight, and then when you've paid 'em off, you get all the food each time."

"But what if," she stops and plucks at something from the wall, turning it in her fingers, "What if you don't win?" She pockets the item and keeps walking, pretending there wasn't a certain weight to her words.

The idea has crossed Deeter's mind more than once. Snow was a frail little thing, even if he was feeding her most of his meals. "Don't rightly know," he says slowly. The ground starts sloping upwards and the walls become less perfect. They're getting to where they haven't chiseled out yet. It's his favorite part. "I imagine they just wait to see how good you are, and if you aint, they take it back."

Rence shakes the conversation off, heading up out of the tunnel onto the steady slope of trash that they haven't managed to dig through yet. She's so sure on her feet as she dances around, careful not to cause an avalanche, stopping now and then to pick something up and either toss it away or bag it. He does the same, letting their companionable silence take up the time between them.

"I guess it don't matter much," says Rence suddenly, pulling a shiny out of the dirt, "I don't plan on losin'."

=={quick}==

Nikka hates getting to the Heights because it's too many check-ins.

She pulls herself to a lazy trot, working her way off of her block and down the stone pathway where her first checkpoint is. A man behind a counter looks up and waves her through, so she barely even stops to breathe before she's on the road again, wind in her face and smile on her lips. She can taste fire when she runs like this.

The ground gets steep and her pace slows but her heart doesn't, clacking against her chest. It feels good, and it makes her calm as she stands in line for the next checkpoint, trying not to roll her eyes too much.

She doesn't have anything but her father's food on her, so they just make her stand with her limbs all splayed as they pat her up and down while reading her information to her. She has a standing reservation with the Heights every seventh train, but they double-check anyway. After that, they measure her hair and ensure the regulation status on her clothing, matching her colors up to be sure she's not cheating with clothes from the streets.

After this there's a whole section of city she passes through. They have the same brown buildings as the one she lives in but with a second story. She tries not to look in the windows. The Heights are a terrible place to live, even this far from them.

Twelve checkpoints later, and she's told her eyebrows need to be reformed soon and her toenails need to be cut, but she's allowed to enter the Heights as she wishes, so long as she makes a reservation to get those things handled.

The thing she hates about the Heights is how very clean they are. The houses here are white. The streets are black. The grass is green. The trees are planted in perfect rows.

The people are perfect. They smile with such straight teeth and dull eyes that it sets Nikka's hairs on end.

Even though the blocks of houses at the bottom of the mount are touched by the streets, they're friendly and alive. She closes her eyes and wishes she was home.

"Happy first whistle," meets her ears as each person she passes murmurs a bright greeting to her. She does her best to remember her manners and repeat it back, trying to swallow the panic she feels. The higher on the mount, the closer to the Father. And that meant any slip-up got you Found.

Trying to keep the regulation pace, she glides to her father's shop, her eyes on the ground. The owners recognize her and wave, grinning with their Heights happiness. "Happy first whistle, Nicolette," the burly man says, "Arthur will be out shortly."

She stands a little away from the counter as usual, hoping no one will pay any attention to her. Streets kids didn't belong in the Heights. She couldn't hide how far removed she was from this place. It was written in the burns on her face.

Her father eventually shows himself, wiping the grease off his hands onto a towel. He scowls when he sees her, like usual. Her visits are predictable. She doesn't know why he's always so surprised that she showed up.

"I brought you first meal," she says, like every other time. Their conversations don't differ much. She hates the stilted, awkwardly formal speech of the Heights, but she forces her tongue around it anyway. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Thank you, daughter," he grunts, taking the bundle from her. "Good train to you."

"Good train, father," she says, "How lovely it was to see you."

She turns to leave, showing nothing of what she's feeling on her face. She's in the Heights. She can't afford emotions.

The streets weren't safe. They swallowed people every day. But at least when she was near them, no one expected her to be clean from the outside in.

=={as}==

Bree is lying to her sister for Stephanie's sake. She walks half the way to the streets and takes a right instead of a left, finding her way around alleys and back yards until she's in her favorite part of town. It's completely deserted. The sickness Departed every single person from the block about a wheel ago. No one has dared moved in again, so Bree gets an entire stretch of land just to herself. It doesn't matter what she does: no one is around to watch her break the law.

She yawns and stretches, hearing her bones crack. She shakes herself off and heads into a house, nudging the door closed behind her. "Vi?" she calls out. "Honey? I'm home."

From the other side of the building, Bree can hear her loved one chirrup and bound over, light paws over the thin wood. The purple cat-like creature appears from a corner, purring already.

Vivi is thin, despite Bree's best efforts. The little monster rubs itself against her hands, begging for food. When Havoc had shown Vi to her, Bree had fallen in love instantly: the little ruby gem in the center of her forehead, the large ears, the forked tail. A creature of grace, power, poise. Perfect.

Still. Bree wasn't winning enough. It wasn't because Vivi wasn't excellent – she was – it was that Bree couldn't always be certain the little cat was in well enough shape to fight. She barely had enough food for her family, much less the pet she wasn't supposed to be keeping.

She rubs her hands over the thin animal's spine. It curls up in her lap, closing its wide eyes.

"Vi," she whispers, "I think I have to get you a friend."

=={you}==

When the second meal whistle blows, Zyon's weary already. He'd taken a wrong turn in the streets and ended up cornered against some dangerous kids. They'd held him up but Zyon was faster and older anyway. He'd collapsed a tunnel on them. He felt kind of guilty, but they'd probably be fine. Probably.

He yawns and makes his way to his favorite meal spot. It's high up so he can see people coming for him. He'd once spent half a wheel in the streets, surviving off of the tubers that grew in the dirt and selling off shinies for food. Of course, that was before his life started crumbling under his fingers.

Crunching on a tiny root, he watches a flash of clothes. He chokes. It couldn't be. "Rose?" he calls out. "Rose, oh my Father, is that you?"

"Hello?" a girl's voice answers, echoing off the walls. "Who said my name?"

Zyon wants to throw up. No way was Rose in the streets. She must have followed him and stayed hidden this entire time. What if she found the wrong group of kids? She'd end up Departed. Or worse, she'd end up Found.

He leaps to his feet, slinging his bag onto his back with a solid thump. "Rose? Rose?" he calls, panic strangling his voice. "Rose can you hear me?" He sets in the direction of her original shout, hoping the echoes won't mess him up too badly.

"Who is that?" Rose sounds terrified, "Who said my name?" He hears her clattering around and adjusts his direction, sprinting for her. His mind flashes with a thousand terrible possibilities. He promised their mother that he'd keep Rose safe. He promised.

"It's me," he tells her, "Rose, I'm coming for you, stay where you are." Trying to sound calm. Trying to sound like a big brother. He's watching their arguments about the streets in his mind, her annoyance at his blatant refuse to allow her out of the house. I'm seven, she'd growled, I'm full-grown. You were six when you first went. Zyon, please.

He hears her footsteps pause and then take off, running as hard as she can. He must have scared her. Swearing under his breath, he picks up his pace, his heart hammering in his chest. This is the worst possible thing. She's never been in the streets before. Their twists and turns were going to swallow her, and she had none of his tricks to keep herself safe.

Zyon tries to keep track of where they're going, but the streets have a way of swallowing up logic and sense. She's always a turn ahead of him, ignoring his pleas to stop running. She doesn't answer, just leads him in all sorts of directions, obviously trying to lose him in the maze of waste.

His breath gets ragged and his head starts hurting and his body is burning when his flight stops abruptly at a chain-link fence. The edge of the streets. He doesn't know how, but she's found a way out. He can see the regulation clothing over the other side, disappearing into the blocks of houses.

Panting, he drags himself up the fence, hurling himself over the top and suffering a gash along the inside of his thigh. He swears and keeps going, forcing himself down the metal wall. Zyon jumps from halfway down and falls to his knees, sharp tingling pain shooting through his bones. He lurches to his feet, heading in her direction. If someone saw her running like that, they'd think she'd done something unlawful. The next step was being Found. He couldn't lose anyone else.

"Rose," he calls again, even though his throat is scratched up from screaming and his lungs are wrecked and he's moving on motivation alone. He pulls himself along streets and alleys and follows the sound of sprinting, hoping he's got the path right.

They get to a part of town he's never been in before, and then a little farther. He watches a door close and his heart jumps into his throat. It's not their house. In her panic, she must have opened a random door in order to get away from her imagined pursuer. The owners are going to spot her, and then she'll be Found.

He doesn't know how, but he runs faster, bolting to the door and shouldering it open. The hinges crack and splinter and he doesn't even care. "Rose," he screams, before his voice catches in his throat.

At the end of the hallway, there's a tiny, thin teenager. She's panting and her blonde hair is a mess, her skin glistening with sweat. She looks panicked. "Get away from me," she growls, "Don't make me use her."

Zyon's at a loss for words, and then he realizes that there's a small purple cat at her feet and he just sits down because his brain is spinning and his heart is about to burn out of his chest and he can't breathe and he hasn't even eaten yet.

"Where's Rose?" he asks finally. Doesn't even mention the cat. "What did you do with her?"

The girl's brown eyes narrow. "I'm Rose," she snarls, "Aubree Rose. Who're you?"

Zyon groans and flops onto his back. She can call the Father on him, for all he cares. At least Rose is safe. "I broke your door," he admits, catching his breath, "Sorry abou' that. I can fix it, if'n you want." He closes his eyes at her silence and then remembers what she asked. "Oh, yeah. I'm Zyon."

She's still angry, he can hear it in her voice. "And why were you chasing me? I don't have any food. I can't give you anything."

He sits up and smiles at her crookedly. "Thought you were my little sister," he says, "Rose is always asking to get into the streets."

Aubree Rose flicks her hair out of her face, sizing him up. He does his best to look as innocent as possible. Maybe if he plays this perfectly, she won't tell the Father and he won't leave Rose. "How old is she?" Bree asks, still suspicious.

"Seven," Zyon rolls his eyes. "She's full-grown just because some kid told her he already saw the streets."

"Was it crumbly ol' Lawrence?" Bree can't stop the question, "I hate that smack." When Zyon talks about Rose, he lights up. His black eyes look warm and sorrowful, and this makes her trust him maybe a little too much.

Zyon's wide grin finds his lips. "I think that's him," he laughs, "I heard enough stories about Lawrence to last me 'till I Depart." His eyes find the purple cat as it weaves around Bree's legs, glaring at him.

Aubree looks terrified suddenly. "Don't tell," she begs, "I thought you were gonna kill me. Vi was the first thing I thought of."

Zyon snorts down his nose. "Dunno that I could tell," he admits, "I don't even know what the Father that thing is." He pulls his bag around too quickly and she stiffens, but he's just getting his food out. He's starving. He chews a tuber and raises his eyebrows. "Thought those things weren't nothing but kitten tales."

Aubree looks down at the lavender creature and her face gets so soft, she turns beautiful. "Nah, Vi's as real as the Father," she asserts, stating the obvious. Watching him eat, her stomach growls. She pads into the kitchen to where she hid her bag, getting herself food. She sits a distance away from him and starts chewing too, certain Vi could step in if anything went haywire.

"You got a sister?" Zyon asks, and from there they swap stories about little ones before they both decide that the other person isn't so terrible at all. It's rare to find a friend in the streets.

After some coaxing, Zyon gets Vivi to come over, feeding her a bite of his meal. He runs his rough hands over her smooth fur. It's unbelievably soft. She starts to purr and his heart melts.

"How do you keep her from fading?" he wants to know, "Food must be awful scarce for you if you're street-sweeping like me. How do you keep her fed?"

Her lips purse, but watching him handle Vi, it's obvious Zyon doesn't have a cruel bone in his body. "Well, about a wheel ago, things got awfully crumbly in my home. One day in the streets, a guy approached me. Prime, I think his name was. Said he knew some smacks that could help me out, kinda. A group called Havoc. At first I thought he was crumbly in the head. But… turns out Havoc's real, and good as shinies." She snaps her fingers and the tiny cat bounces over, love-nipping at her palm. "They have a system there. You can fight for food there, but it's… it's bigger than that. There's a whole lotta smacks involved. Good for information, too. I was gonna go there after curfew, on account of needin' a partner for Vivi, if we're intending to win."

Zyon looks up at her, suddenly intense. "Aubree," he says, "Take me."

=={are}==

Rence spends all day in the streets to make up for the time she's going to miss next train, so it's getting close to curfew when she clumps home, her bag heavy on her shoulder.

"Ma, I'm back," she calls down the hallway, poking a finger into the last meal stew, flinching at the heat. She pads down the narrow passage, checking in the doorways. "Gotcha somethin' to put into…" she trails off as she comes face-to-face with her pale mother. Billie looks so stricken, it takes Rence's breath away.

"Rence, we have to talk," Billie whispers, and Rence feels her heart go cold.

"Is it Harper?" she chokes out, "Is Harper ok? Is… Is…" she can't even finish her sentence. She feels like throwing up.

Billie shakes her head. "It's not that," she replies, "Your sister is doin' fine. It's that hairdresser you like. Last train she got Found. Cut some crumbly kid by accident and the Father took her."

Rence feels even worse because instead of mourning the loss of her old friend, she's relieved that it isn't Harper. Rence suddenly feels like she has to sit down.

"I'm sorry, baby girl," Billie says, wrapping her daughter in a tight hug, "I know you loved her somethin' fierce."

It's ok, Rence wants to say, As long as it's not Harper.

"Yeah, Ma," she murmurs instead, "I'm sorry too."

=={aint}==

When Nikka gets home, her feet are bleeding. She looks down and sighs, putting them out in front of her, flexing and stretching her toes.

Auntie Ann strides into the room, frowning. She sees the blood and she softens up, turns into the sweet woman that raised a nineteen-year-old with no food and no mother. "Little girl," Ann clicks her tongue, "What you been doin' in the streets to get cut up proper like that?"

"Ran to the Heights and back again," Nikka says, watching as her aunt warms up water and puts in a few bitter tubers to disinfect it, "Weren't thinking straight."

Auntie Ann shakes her head. "Every time you visit your father, child, it's like you end up with your head in the fog. Gets you all kindsa mixed up. I don't like it overly much." She takes her niece's feet and places them in the hot water. It stings where it meets the cuts.

Nikka frowns a little. "Yeah, I know, Ann," she sighs, "But daddy's gotta be the last one left that I got, you know? Even if he were in the Cliffs, I'd still find a way to get to him."

The older woman sits back on her heels and takes Nikka's foot out of the water, wrapping a thin rag slowly and delicately around the wounds. "I know. That's what scares me something fierce. T'aint safety, you bein' a street-sweeper and up where the pretty-facers are. You'll end up Father's first meal."

"It's just," the teenager says quietly, "I just want daddy to like me."

=={nowhere}==

He waits until the sky's stained black and then just a little more. Zyon slips out of his house, holding his breath so Rose won't wake up. She stirs a little in her sleep, folding herself into a tight ball. He bites his lip and does his best not to stay home. He's doing this for her. For them.

Zyon meets up with Bree in what he considers to be their house, even though it's only been half a train since he met her. What was the saying? Kindred spirits.

The two teenagers slip through the darkness towards the wharf. She takes him past the grey buildings of the dead fisher docks and down by the reeds before he starts getting uncomfortable.

"It's this way to the Cliffs," he says, trying not to show how terrified he is of that idea. "Issat where we're going to?"

She shushes him with one hand as Vivi dances in front of her. "Father Almighty," she hisses, "Keep jibbling to the universe that we're out past curfew. I just wanna get Found."

He pales and doesn't speak for a while, following after her across the rocks, watching the way the fog reflects on the murky water. After a certain point, it looks like the world stops because the clouds get so dense and the colors match up so perfectly that they all blend together. Everyone says the lake has to be forever and ever, larger than the streets maybe. At least you could come back from the streets.

"But Bree," his voice is a whisper now, "Real as the Father though, where are you takin' me?"

She doesn't say anything, just keeps walking. After a while, he forgets to be afraid. The quiet lap of the water and the silence of the fog lure him into a blank state of being. He stares at his feet as he works across the gravel and wonders what kind of world he's entering.

"It's here somewhere," she murmurs suddenly, and he looks up, excited. There's nothing but the reeds and the lake and the rocks. Bree is making a face. "Where…?" Her voice trails off.

Vivi chirrups and runs ahead, disappearing into a long, thick set of reeds. Zyon is scared for her at first, but then Bree makes a face like oh and jogs ahead too. He follows in her path, parting the weeds in front of him. For a second he thinks Vi's lost it, but then he steps on wood. The hidden dock has little makeshift boats and rafts tied to it, all jostling against each other. Bree darts for a particular one, patting the seat next to her once she plops down onto it.

She unties them and they both take up a pair of oars. It takes them a few times to get their rhythm right, but once they do, they sail right across the glassy water. Zyon gets unnerved as the fog wraps around them, shutting them off from the rest of the world. He does his best to ignore the kitten tales he's heard about the lake. He wants to comment on how he's got no idea if they're going straight or in circles, but it feels wrong to break the silence.

After a while, Bree's the one to smile at him. "Shouldn't be much longer," she assures him, "It's pretty well-hid, is all."

He nods and lets her words hang there. His bones are wearying. He can feel how much sleep he's missing. Eventually he just lets his muscles do the work, his mind leaving his body as his eyes close.

Zyon jolts awake as the crunch of sand under the wood echoes in the night. Bree sends him a wicked look. "Fell asleep there, did we, smack?" She helps Vi out onto the little sliver of beach before shrugging and admitting, "Although, never did see no one that could row and nap at the same time."

"Street-trained," Zyon grins sheepishly, holding the boat steady as she steps out of it. He gets up and his joints crack. It feels good. He follows Bree out onto the sand and they both pull the boat up and out of the water. The number of tiny crafts already on the beach startles him.

They climb the dunes and Zyon's breath catches. Out of the ground, a giant wooden wall dares him to enter. Bree puts one hand out and runs her palm against it while walking around it. He knows that gesture, because he's done it – one hand out against the wall so she won't get lost. She's street-trained too.

The entrance is a few hundred feet away. From what he can tell, this place is an island, and most of it has to be surrounded by the curve of the wood. The gate is, in contrast, tiny and hard to find. It's unmarked and about the size of a normal door, hidden in the sheer might of the barrier. She sees the look on his face and smiles. "Harder to get in if you can't find the entrance," she tells him, and lifts her fists.

She knocks seven times, waits, seven times, waits, and then knocks three times. The door swings open and the two teens are pulled quickly through before it slams shut again.

Zyon is assaulted by the noise that assails him. There are hundreds of people. There are haphazard buildings and market stalls everywhere, all filled with shouting or laughter or singing. And beside a great deal of the humans, a furred partner of some sort.

"Father," he swears quietly, "What is this place?"

"Havoc, I guess. Havoc is kind of everywhere around here," Bree answers, leading him down the main road. She points in the distance to where a large, circular building marks the middle of the city. "See that? That's where all the official fights happen. Mind you, people have unofficial battles all the time, but if you want to be good, you gotta get there. Of course you gotta get good afore you can fight official-like, so I guess it's kinda like… where the professionals get together."

She pulls a shiny out of her pocket and trades it for some orange tubers at a market stall. She cuts up some pieces for Vi while talking and walking, handing Zyon one to chew on. It's the nicest thing anyone has ever given him, and she does it without thinking.

"I dunno," she admits, "I'm explaining this wrong-like. If you're in an official battle, there's a greater chance of rewards, but also a greater risk if you fail. Every half-wheel, they put on these competitions that are open to everyone. You gotta fight one person at a time, working your way to the top. Winner gets a whole lotta food."

The tuber is sweet in his mouth. He sidesteps a pregnant lady who is arguing about the price of cloth. "How do you make food in the first place? Do they just give it to you if you win?"

Bree grins. "How sky would that be? Nah, it's a bet," she explains. "You and whomever you're battling against agree to a certain amount – food, shinies. If you win, you get everything. In an official battle, there's a set price. It's usually higher than the unofficial ones, I guess. You can still get lots of food if you're smart, though. Just have to find someone controlling outside bets and bet on yourself. If your odds are good enough, you could go home with enough to feed your family for wheels."

Zyon thinks about how fresh the tuber tastes and how much Rose would like it. He saves two-thirds of it, putting it in his pocket. "Sky," he says, "Where do you sign me up?"

=={to hide.}==

"It's this way," Deeter tells Rence, weaving her through the stalls of Havoc.

"It best be this way," she grumbles, "You've been telling me kitten tales since we were by the lake. 'Not much farther, Rence.' T'aint nothin' but lies and slander, smack." Her muscles are aching from rowing, but she likes how aware of herself it makes her.

He grins at her. "It is," he promises. "You gotta have more faith in me, little girl." Snow is in his pocket, her little nose peeking out at the world, her white whiskers brushing his buttons.

Rence glowers at him again, shifting her pack up her shoulder. "Call me that again," she growls, "I'd like that."

Deeter's not scared of her. She's just showing off her angry side for the sake of those around them. She's street-trained. She knows better than to show weakness.

He pads to a white building near the town center. Rence gets real still.

"Don't like white buildings," she mutters, "Heights has got white buildings."

He laughs. "T'aint a Heights building, Rence," he promises, "Follow me."

The building is marble and opens up so big, Rence's jaw drops. "Father," she whispers, hearing it bounce off the stones, "This is sure fancy."

Deeter takes her by her hand so she doesn't walk into anything as she stares around. He brings them to the front desk and the woman smiles at Rence's face. "First time in Havoc?" she asks. "The hatchery does that to people."

"It's so clean," Rence says to the woman. "Whatcha need to do that for?"

The woman smiles and starts pulling out files. "It's for the sake of our little babies," she states, "We need a clean environment to keep them happy, healthy, and helpful. Are you here to sign our agreement?"

Rence swallows hard as she stares at the stack of papers. "That?" she asks. "And then you show me what you got and I take one?"

"Pretty much," the woman nods, "Once you've signed this, we take you into our gardens and show you what's available for adoption at the moment. Of course, it's not much, but it's the best we can do." She pushes the papers across the desk along with a pen. "Take your time. I'm going to go tell the nurses that you're on your way. Ring the bell when you're done." With that, she turns and leaves.

Rence stares down at the documents. Just stares. Touches one. Shuffles them. Blushes.

"This is sure crumbly, makin' me read all this. Didn't know there was work involved," she tells Deeter. "Can't you just jibble me a summary or somethin'?"

Deeter takes out Snow and feeds her a tiny piece of food from his pocket. She holds it in her fragile paws and nibbles on it. "T'aint nothin' I aint said to you. Just a buncha stuff about what you owe Havoc and how much time you gotta spend with your animal and stuff like that. Don't kill nothin' or nobody, don't forget to feed it, and don't forget to pay them back."

She snorts down her nose. "Don't see why I gotta read it then," she holds her head up high, "I'll just sign it rightly. I came all the way here. Should be a waste if'n I didn't."

Deeter knows why she's making a big deal about not going through it, so he puts Snow on his shoulder and shows Rence where to fill in her information. She holds the pen so tightly it makes a red mark against her skin. He takes it from her and answers everything for her, doing his best to ignore the brightness her cheeks have turned.

"Father Almighty that took forever," she sulks once he's finished, "Coulda done it faster myself."

The teen boy shrugs. "Just wanted the practice, is all," he tells her, ringing the bell, "You know I never did spectacular in my studies."

The woman shows up again, smiling widely. She sees Snow and her face lights up.

"You must be Deeter," she says, shaking his hand, "We were so glad you found our Pachirisu a home. She looks so happy under your care." Deeter practically explodes from pride and Rence rolls her eyes. They follow the woman behind the desk through a hallway before suddenly the building opens up into a great green garden, indoors. Rence gapes at the ceiling. "There are windows on the roof," she comments, "Is that safety?"

The nurse ducks her head like she hears that question a lot. "We call them skylights, and yes, it's very safe. It helps keep the garden growing all wheel long."

"It's sky," Rence states, "Do you eat the plants?" She's wondering if maybe she could find a window on the streets and make her own all-year garden. It was less questionable than that contract Deeter just signed for her.

"Well, we could," the nurse sets out on the cobblestone path, leading them through the thick foliage, "But it's mostly here for our babies. I suppose in a dire crisis it would be possible. Most people here have a garden of their own. We don't have to turn over our earnings to the Father at Havoc, but at the same time, we don't get rations, either. We have to find, buy, or grow everything that we eat."

"Sky," Rence repeats, "Sky." Her head keeps whipping around, taking in the sheer depth of color surrounding her. They make their way across the garden to where a few creatures are tied loosely to stakes for Rence to choose from.

Deeter glances over to her and watches every inch of her hard street-sweeper melt away. She looks like she loves all of them. The nurse must have noticed too, because she ducks her head at the options. "Just one," she states, "I'll be back in a little bit, but take your time."

"How am I supposed to choose?" Rence breathes, "I just wanna…" She reaches out one hand, but catches herself. Her look gets serious. "From left to right, I guess. We'll go down the line."

Deeter sits down on the grass and lets Snow loose. He does his best to watch the squirrel instead of Rence. She looks too sweet at the moment. It'll poison him.

Rence stares at the little brown and white bird that is her first possibility. It pecks at the ground with its pink beak, clucking to itself.

"See," Rence says, "I just wanna eat the Father right out of you. You look like food. Do you got any magic tricks like Deeter's squirrel, at least?"

It sizes her up with one black-rimmed eye and flaps its wings. Rence feels the wind go right through her, cutting across the grass. She raises an eyebrow. "Glad you got the ability to create a strong breeze," she states, unimpressed, "I'd still eatcha."

The next is an empty loop of rope. At first, she's really confused.

And then the thing materializes in her face.

"Sweet Father Almighty," she gasps. "T'aint natural," she pants, watching the purple cloud of gas hover over the ground, "You're some kinda unholy, I tell you that much."

Shivering, she turns herself one creature to the right, makes eye contact, and promptly falls in love. She forgets outright that she has alternatives, because in that second, she knows. The deep brown eyes and soft orange fur take her heart and steal it. She sits down and extends one hand. She desperately wants the creature to like her.

The little black-striped dog pulls itself to its feet, slowly extending its wet black nose towards her fingertips, sniffing. "Hey, there, sweetie," she whispers, "Is it ok if I take you home?"

It wags its tail slowly and licks her outstretched palm, curling its head down for a scratch. She laughs a little and obliges, completely forgetting she's not alone. The puppy leans into the rub and closes its eyes, and Rence doesn't care what magic tricks he has, she's not going to eat him.

"I'm guessing you've chosen our Growlithe?" the woman's voice interrupts their bonding time, "He's a great companion indeed. Strong. Fire type, as I'm sure you know. We're not sure how he is in battle, but, then, that's what you're there for."

"He's beautiful," Rence says, running her hand over his body, "Beautiful."

The woman scoops him up, taking off the lead. He struggles a little against her and she winks at Rence. "Guess he doesn't like leaving you," she sings, "But I have to take him in for one last once-over before I can give him to you. Feel free to wait here." With that, she turns to go. Rence sighs and plops down next to Deeter, frowning a little.

"That's how it was with Snow," he tells her, seeing the look on her face, "It's like I'd finally found something broken I could actually fix." He rubs the white creature's forehead with his thumb. "It was a nice change." Deeter tries to make eye contact with her, but she's staring at the other selections that she hadn't talked to. There's a little black fox-cat and a pink ball of fur and sleepy little black and red armadillo, but none of them make her heart bleed like her little puppy had.

"I dunno what I'm going to name him. What if he doesn't like whatever I choose?" She buries her face in her hands. "What am I even doing, Deeter?"

Deeter bites his lip at her sudden vulnerability. "You could name him Orange, I guess."

She bursts out laughing. "Good one," her sass and hard exterior are back, "I like Puppy, too. Choices, choices."

"That woman said he was a fire type. Maybe Firey?"

Rence grins and then makes a face. "I don't even know what that means. What did she say 'bout Snow?"

Deeter shrugs. "Don't remember much. I was here by myself and scared Fatherless. I was mostly just focused on getting out of here before things turned crumbly."

"Around you? Deets, you know the world can't be crumbly when you're in it," she grins. He looks down and wishes she wasn't joking.

The silence hangs until the woman comes back, handing over the little dog and smiling at the way Rence jumps to her feet, wrapping her long arms around the warmth of the creature. The teen sets him down on the ground and crouches, making eye contact. "My name is Florence Louise Grey," she states formally, holding out her hand, "And I'm going to be your mommy from now on. I don't pretend to be rightly excellent at many things, but so long as you can run hard and fight harder, I think you and I will be best friends. Shake?"

The dog looks at her and holds out one paw, missing at first. She has to catch it when he sticks it out again, his toenails sharp against her palm. She laughs and rubs him roughly, getting him to roll over and show her his cream stomach.

"Rence," Deeter says, looking up at the fog, "We gotta get back." He coaxes Snow onto his palm and back into his pocket. "Come on."

"Ready, boy?" Rence calls, and the little dog leaps to his feet, tail wagging, lounge lolling. He shadows her footsteps as they find their way out, perfectly content to follow orders. Rence glances over to Deeter. He's grinning so brightly it blinds her. "What are you so happy about?" she asks, "You didn't get nothing."

"Oh, it's nothing," he sings, "Florence."

She punches him in the arm, and he laughs. She scowls. "You shut your foggy mouth afore I shut it for you," she warns.

He's still cackling. "Florence Louise," he adds, and then brays out laughter. Her little orange dog barks excitedly and dances around, and Rence rolls her eyes.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood," she states, "Else things would be going real bad for you right now."

She sends a look to the creature and feels the smile on her face. For a second, it feels like nothing could be bad. Not with Deeter, Snow, and a little half-cream beast.

Rence tries not to think about the contract and the fact that she has no idea what's on it. Besides, if worst came to worst, there was nothing they could take from her.

Her little sister was already halfway gone.

XXXXXXX

A.N: Here you go! Not everyone's characters made it into this chapter, and for that, I apologize. Don't worry! They'll be here soon. I am also accepting new "ideas" for characters, so if you just discovered this story, no worries. Send one in as soon as you can.

For the ones that did show up, I owe the following people "for their idea" (in order of appearance):

Zyon: Queztionz
Nicolette "Nikka" Elizabeth: G6-flying
Prime: Whimsical Acumen
Aubree Rose: Vipergirl02

Also, its been mentioned that the grammar of the spoken word in this story is awfully crumbly. Although it will remain this way, I will largely leave the understanding of slang up to you guys, because you're smart. I feel you can usually understand in context what each thing means, and since you see it a lot, if you don't get it the first time, wait. However, it occurs to me that there is one section of this story that doesn't ever get explained, so here it is:

Glossary:
Train: their word for day, basically. The train comes every day, so that's how they measure time.
Track: about a minute
Signal: about an hour
Wheel: year. Every year, the wheels are replaced on the train.

Besides whistles, they have no way to measure time accurately. As they can't see the sun through the fog, all timing is guesswork, more or less. Although slang differs from place to place and person to person, the words for time pretty much stay true. I hope this helps!

See you Friday, hopefully, but probably Monday.

Take care.