Page 127 of The Last Hope

Zimmer?

My brows pull together. “Why Zimmer?”

Court gives me a strict look. “You care deeply about him. And he’s going to die young.”

I try to shrug. “Everyone dies. It’s normative.”It used to be.And then I remember the way the humans sobbed for the dead admirals. I remember the pain in Stork’s eyes the night he couldn’t drink his hurt away.

One day Zimmer will just be gone. And that thought crushes my chest.

Court swallows. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Guilt sinks low, but I shake my head.

“I should prepare. You’re right—” I cut myself off as our hands break apart. Court has come to a complete halt.

His head whips left to right along the dank tunnel. “We should have come upon the branch by now.”

I flick my lighter, but the flame only illuminates a portion of the passageway. Unable to peer down its dark depths.

I hear the splash of sewage and the pitter-patter of lively footsteps. Maniacal laughter echoes closer and closer.

Fyke.

“Court, run,” I say, not trusting whoever has decided to creep down here.

He spins around swiftly. We’re both a breath from sprinting back the way we came. And then a second shadowed figure approaches. Obstructing our exit, he stomps a metal pole into puddles. The boom reverberates off the walls.

My pulse speeds.

We’re being boxed in.

I step backward and bump into Court’s firm chest. His back is pin-straight. Carriage poised, confidence emblazons every muscle in his body.

I pull back my shoulders. I’m used to warts, and they can’t be too different than the ones I’ve met on Saltare-3.

“I’m glad you’re here!” Court shouts to the approaching shadows on both sides. “We’re lost in this fykking tunnel. We’re trying to meet some friends at Lulencrest.” He hunches his weight onto his right foot like he’s an unconcerned FT.

The Fast-Tracker on our left emerges from the darkness. He’s older than us. Maybe by five years or so. Bald-headed, dirt and grime smudges along most of his pale skin. He reeks fouler than the sewage.

Holding my breath, I watch him grin, a few front teeth missing, and he twirls his long metal pole.

He sidesteps around us to join his friend and frees one side of the tunnel.

Can we run for it?

I try and take a step back—

“Ah ah ah.” He wags a finger at me in disapproval.

I glower. “Who made you king of the fykking tunnels?”

Court stiffens more than he should as an FT.

The bald-headed boy snickers and he unpockets a glowing orb, the soft light illuminating his equally dirty and sniveling friend. He has spiky pink hair and a half-bitten ear, but Court and I are more focused on what he holds.

A rusted… mechanical device, something more suited for Saltare-3. A screwdriver, maybe?

“I know, she’s a beauty.” The pink-haired boy grins. He raises the rusted object and kisses the metal edge. “Bought her on Saltare-4. They call it anailgun over there.”

They both laugh shrilly again.