Deadwood Burning

I think our planet is being roasted on a spit.

Everything is melting. The sweat on my skin. Ice cubes in the puddle of spilled soda I step over. Gray coins of bubblegum plastered on the pavement. The cone of mint chip ice cream in my hands, and the diminishing wad of cotton candy in Beau’s.

A white sun cooks the fairgrounds around us. Even through my sunglasses, I can tell it drenches everything in a blinding haze, warping the ground and buzzing in my ears. Carnival rides glint in the light. The air feels sticky with sucrose—like we’re walking through syrup instead of asphalt, dead grass, and litter.

Beau strolls at my right, staring at his cotton candy like he’s won the lottery. “Dude, you’ve gotta try some of this.”

Pieces of it stick to his auburn hair and freckled cheeks. If he weren’t getting on my nerves, maybe I’d tell him. I take a cool lick of ice cream instead. “No.”

“Here.” He rips off a wad and tries to shove it in my mouth. I swat his arm away. “Oh, come on! Just one bite.”

“We’ve gotta be strategic here, alright? I’m saving space.”

“For what?”

I point to a man gnawing on a turkey leg. “One of those.”

“You’ll have room, trust me. This stuff is like air.” He takes another bite. “I could eat fifty of these and never get full.”

“You’re the one who’s been begging to go on the Zipper all day, not me.” I raise a hand. “If I have any more sugar, we both know how it’ll end.”

I shudder as I remember what happened when we snuck out here last spring—how all this sugary food and motion sickness had me hurling the entire drive home. We grow our own food at the Cut, and since it’s impossible to cultivate artificial sweeteners and cotton candy machines on trees, my stomach isn’t used to the diet of chipped civilians. Beau had to pull over so I could vomit. Our trip before that ended similarly.

I take another lick of ice cream and hope I won’t regret it later.

“It’s all part of the fair experience, alright?” Beau devours more cotton candy. Unlike me, he grew up building a tolerance to this stuff. “You’re the one always begging to tag along whenever I sneak out. If you want an authentic adventure, you’ve gotta let me show you the ropes.”

“I don’t beg.”

“Fine. You whine about how bored and lonely you are. Better?”

He tries to feed me again. I swat him harder.

My shades slide down my sweaty nose again, and I push the frames back up. I’d love to get a break from wearing them, but it’d be pretty stupid to reveal my scar in a crowd full of Chips.

They’d kill us both if they figured out what we truly are.

“How’s the ice cream?” Beau asks, jolting me out of my thoughts.

“The things I’d do to have mint chip ice cream back home.” I shake my head and take another lick. “God damn.”

“Murder?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll help you hide the body.”

“I’ll bring the shovels.”

A passing man wearing all white stops dead in his tracks, brows pinched in our direction. Beau notices and gives him a wave. “We’re kidding.”

The man scowls and moves on.

Beau places a hand on my back and pushes me forward. “Walk quickly.”

“What? Why?”

“Are you stupid?” he hisses, glancing over his shoulder. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “That was a Chaser, dumbass.”

My eyes widen. I look behind us and watch the man disappear into the crowd. “No way.”

“Don’t look at him now! That’s suspicious.” Beau nudges my arm, and we glue our gazes to the pavement. “Only Chasers can wear all white like that.”

“Why wasn’t he in full uniform?”

“They need to look more subtle when patrolling crowded events like this. So they can watch you better.” Now that the Chaser’s farther away, he looks over his shoulder again, shuddering.

I can’t ignore the twinge of guilt in my gut when I see the paranoia on Beau’s face. I’ve gotten so used to having him around that sometimes I forget he grew up like this—out here with the Chips, always worried about saying the wrong thing or making a mistake.

Maybe I know what that feels like.

Beau scarfs more cotton candy. “So do you really think burying the body is the most efficient way to cover up this murder we’re planning?”

“It’s convenient. The body will decompose easy enough. No one goes out to the woods anymore, anyway.” I bite down on a chocolate chip. “Plus it’s good for the ecosystem. Circle of life and whatnot.”

“Burying won’t work. You’ve gotta burn it. That way nothing gets left behind.”

I pause to think about that. “That’s depressing.”

“What is?”

I kick an empty soda can as we walk. “Getting reduced to nothing in the end. Just… ash. Or worm food.”

He crinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“What? I’m not wrong.”

“But that’s such a weird thing to say.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You definitely need to be socialized. You’re starting to sound like your dad.”

I glare. “Say that again and you’ll be the one decomposing.”

Beau laughs. Maybe I’d give him shit for it, if there weren’t such an undeniable ring of truth around his teasing. That is something Dad would say.

My hands clench into fists. Which is exactly why I need to get out more.

I shake my head and observe our surroundings again, taking in the crowd we weave through. The brightly colored rides that hurt my eyes to look at. The smell of fried chicken and corn dogs and funnel cake. The sound of children screaming and spinning on swings, or laughing with friends at the petting zoo.

We walk past it—the fenced-in patch of dead grass, organized in stalls with pigs and goats and sheep. I spot a mother goat with her kid in one stall, where two young boys reach down to feed them pellets. Brothers.

I walk slower, eyes glued to the baby goat with its mother. Then the brothers, who laugh and grin. Something in my chest aches. Everyone looks so happy.

No one here is alone.

I finish the last bite of my ice cream cone and wipe my hands on my pants, then nod toward Beau’s pocket. “Still got some money left?”

“A little, why?”

“Enough for some turkey legs?”

“Just barely.”

“Good. I think it’s about time we indulge in a few.”

He can’t fight a grin. “Agreed.”

We sit on a bench and scarf down two legs each. They’re juicy, greasy, and definitely too salty for human consumption, but I’d eat five more if I had the stomach for it. I think it’s the best food I’ve ever tasted. Beau agrees.

So we sit, and we enjoy the world’s best turkey legs. For a moment, I feel like part of the crowd.

Until Beau elbows me in the shoulder.

“Look,” he whispers.

He nods toward the bench across from us, where two girls our age sit. One of them wears her black hair in two neatly woven braids, and a white knit sweater that looks too thick for the weather. She holds a to-go cup of tea in her hands. The other has dark brown curls and an olive-green hoodie, sipping iced coffee with a frown.

The girl with the braids snickers and whispers something in her friend’s ear, pointing subtly in our direction. Her friend rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

My face heats up. Do I really stand out that much? I glance down at my black t-shirt and tattered jeans. I’ve had these pants for years, since before my legs were long enough to fit in them. The shirt too. They’re worn and ripped, but when I check the crowd, I see about a dozen other Chips wearing a similar style. On purpose. I even spot a few kids our age wearing boots like mine.

Then what are they looking at? My brows furrow. Is it the sunglasses? Are they really that weird?

“You should go talk to them,” Beau says.

A twinge of fear flickers in my gut. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because they think you’re cute.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be good for you.”

“Talking to strangers I’ll never see again is a waste of energy.”

“One, that’s pessimistic. Two, I thought that was the whole point of me letting you tag along. A change of scenery. Having fun. Connecting with people.”

I look away. “That’s easier said than done.”

Just because I want to experience life outside the Cut doesn’t mean I know how. And it doesn’t fix the real problem here, I remind myself.

Sneaking out once in a blue moon isn’t the same as Dad trusting me to go out on my own.

Beau smirks. “You’re nervous.”

Heat spreads over my face. “I’m not.”

“Look. You know a total of three Unseen girls your age.”

I nudge him and mutter under my breath. “Lower your voice.”

“You know three girls your age. One of them is your sister, and the other two were visiting from different camps. When do you ever get the chance to… you know, have a bit of fun?”

I toss the bone of my last turkey leg into the trash can, shoving my hands in my pockets. “I’ve met other girls.”

“Oh really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“We’ve only snuck out like five times. All of them were with me, and I didn’t see you socializing with anyone.”

“That’s because you were off socializing yourself.”

Beau rubs his chin in thought, then snaps his fingers. “The boardwalk.”

“No.”

“The bonfire? At that one beach with the rocks?”

“This fair, last spring.” I pick at my nails. “I talked to girls there.”

Beau squints. “Plural?”

I glare and slouch further.

It’s true. I did meet a girl once—the last time Beau and I snuck out. We waited for Dad’s big spring foraging trip and took the same run-down car to this same overcrowded city and ate the same disgustingly delicious junk food. Beau was busy fraternizing with a few chipped students and I got bored, so I tried the Ferris wheel for the first time. I shared a car with a girl my age. I’d never admit it aloud, but I got pretty freaked out by how high up we were. My leg wouldn’t stop shaking.

She noticed and held my hand without saying a word. When the Ferris wheel stopped, she gave me a kiss on the cheek. I never saw her again.

Beau laughs at my reluctance to answer. “Now I see why we need to run away more often.”

It’s quiet for a moment. I hear a distant stranger announce awards through a microphone, voice fuzzy, praising cows and pigs and sheep and alpacas.

He says something about the Nightjade Order. Our air is cleaner than ever. Our land is healing its wounds. Our soil is regenerating. There are no food shortages, no droughts, no wildfires—and they say it’s all thanks to those damn playing cards. Our goats are fat and happy. Society is fat and happy. Balance is gradually being restored, because our country is fair.

I don’t know what’s fair about a world run by a card game you can pay to win.

I hear the baby goat receive an award I can hardly make out, somewhere far out of sight. It’s just as fat and happy as the rest of them.

I vomit all the fair food into the garbage can.

I wash up in the bathroom. Beau laughs when I return to the bench, trembling. My head pounds and my skin is hot and sticky and my intestines feel like they’re trying to strangle each other, and all I can do is sit with my head in my hands.

Beau pats my back with a burp, otherwise unscathed by his indulgences. “If we were back home, I’m sure your dad would know exactly what tea to give you.”

I lean back and groan. “I don’t care.”

He shakes his head and stares down at his cotton candy. “He’s not as bad as he could be, you know. There are worse dads out there.”

Guilt knots my stomach, but I quickly shove it aside.

It’s Dad’s fault for never letting me leave the Cut, I remind myself. It’s not wrong to want more than what you have, is it?

I’m too sick to glare, and the sunlight feels like it’s drilling holes into my skull, so I close my eyes and sigh. As much as I hate to admit it, I know Beau’s right. My dad isn’t a bad guy. He’s loyal and smart and he’s done amazing things for the Cut, but that doesn’t mean we get along well.

He and Dad must have had some sort of conversation. It’s almost like Beau’s trying to make me homesick.

I don’t think that’s possible.

“Don’t forget why we’re doing this, alright?” I say, opening my eyes to stare at the sky. “I just want one day without thinking about him, or his nagging, or his teaching moments. Is that really too much to ask?”

He raises his hands in innocence. “Okay, sorry.”

I shake my head, bothered by the fact that I’m bothered when bothered is the exact opposite of what we came out here to be. Bothered that I can’t not be bothered no matter how hard I try.

With Dad on his foraging trip, I know I’d get a break from him if I stayed home too. But there’s more to it than that. A small part of me wants to prove that I can do this—that I don’t need him around to experience the outside world and turn out just fine. I can handle being out here by myself.

Though I guess this won’t prove anything to him, since he’s never supposed to find out.

Beau and I sit still for a while, watching the commotion unfold around us. We place our hands behind our heads and stare at the clouds.

“Do you ever wish you could come back to this?” I ask.

“Sometimes.” Beau glances at me. “Do you?”

I pause to think about his question.

It’s stupid, really. I didn’t spend as much time chipped as Beau did. He’s been Unseen since he was fourteen, but I’ve lived at the Cut since I was five. My memories of chipped life are severed and hazy, just fractions. Climbing trees. Playing hide and seek with kids at school. Riding bikes. Eating sugary, colorful food, just like the kind that made me sick today.

And I’d still trade just about anything to get those pieces back.

“Then why don’t you come back?” I ask instead of answering.

“Because going back doesn’t exist. Just because all this is fun every now and then doesn’t mean I’d choose chipped life over ours.” Beau gestures at the crowd, then drops his hands in his lap. A gust of wind toys with his fox-colored hair.

“You really think living in the middle of nowhere with no one around and nothing to do is better than this? Having places to go? Things to do? People to…” My gaze drifts toward the girls on the bench, who no longer pay us any attention. “People to talk to?”

“No, but what you described isn’t what we have,” Beau says. “Our home is a great place to be. It’s safe. Separate from…” He can’t finish his sentence without triggering the mics. He shakes his head. “Living like this crowd isn’t as glamorous as it seems, alright? Don’t you realize how lucky you are?”

“Our life isn’t exactly glamorous either.”

“If that’s really how you feel, then do something about it.” He gestures to the girls. “You can’t experience the world you’re so desperate to know by sitting around and moping about your life.”

I stare at them through my shades. The one with the coffee grins at something her friend said. My face warms.

I rise to my feet, cut across the pavement, and pause in front of them. “Hey.”

The one with the coffee lifts a brow. “You lost?”

My heart drops. Shit, do I really stand out that much?

“No,” I say a little too quickly, then clear my throat. I nod toward her sneakers. They’re gray now, but they must have been white at some point. The sides of their soles are covered in bored doodles. I wonder if she did those in class.

“I like your sneakers,” I manage, unsure of what else to say.

She nods. “I like your sunglasses.”

The bridge of my nose heats up. I wave and turn to walk away. “Bye.”

Coffee Girl’s friend stands up. “Wait.”

I turn around.

The friend holds back a grin. “Aren’t you going to tell us your name?”

“It’s uh…”

Should I tell them?

Dad always warns me to protect my name. Aaron Kabir is supposed to be dead. He disappeared at age five when his tracker went off, and no one’s seen him since. Rumors say he was kidnapped by Undergrounders.

If the authorities somehow discovered I’m still alive—that my father and I abandoned our trackers and society to live with the rebels in the woods—they’d go after Mom and Lori. That’s how the Runner’s penalty works.

We’re traitors.

The Nightjade Order is unforgiving of those who can’t pay for Immunity and become an exception to the rules. Even the Immune aren’t fully safe from the consequences of treason.

Beyond that, Dad says my name is a symbol. It represents who I am at my core. Traitor, Runner, Undergrounder—they can call us whatever they want, but I’ll always have my name.

I’ll always be Aaron.

You’re being overdramatic, I tell myself. And Dad’s not here, remember? These girls seem harmless. I can trust them with something this simple.

Coffee Girl stands before I can answer, tugging at her friend’s sleeve. “Stop pestering him. We have places to be.”

“Alright, fine.” Tea Girl rolls her eyes. “Well, we better get going. It was very nice meeting you.”

I watch them disappear into the crowd of strangers.

When I return to the bench, Beau is eating another spool of cotton candy with a smirk. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I refuse to look at him. “Finish your food.”

Beau devours the rest of his cotton candy, still unaware of the crumbs on his face. We sit in comfortable silence, watching the sun set over a world that will never be ours again.

Something white flashes past our bench.

A tiny goat springs through the crowd, chased by an older man in a brown flannel.

Beau blinks. “That’s the baby goat from the petting zoo.”

“No shit.”

“There’s gotta be a good story behind that one.”

I fight a smirk. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Beau winks.

Without another word, we jog after them, eager to see what’s going on. The crowd gasps as they dodge the man and the runaway kid—then us.

The man in the flannel trips over a soda can. Beau and I leap over him and continue after the goat. It sprints through the crowd before disappearing in an alleyway between two brick buildings. We hurry after it and finally reach a dead end.

The goat has nowhere left to run. I scoop him up in my arms. “Gotcha.”

I notice little nubs on his head where horns will grow someday. He reminds me of the goats we have back home, but much smaller. A pygmy goat. We don’t have those at the Cut.

“Hey, little guy,” I coo. He bleats. “Shh. It’s okay.”

He releases another loud cry. He probably doesn’t like my shades, I realize. The goats back home always hate when I wear them. I glance over my shoulder. We’re still alone in the alley, so I remove the sunglasses and hang them over my collar.

“I think he’s calming down,” Beau whispers.

The goat doesn’t seem scared anymore. He looks me right in the eye. I can see my reflection within them. Only then do I realize they’re different colors. One is an earthy brown, while the other is a pale, cloudy green.

My brows knit together. Heterochromia is rare in goats. I’ve never seen it before. I squint to study it closer—and my lips part.

His eyes aren’t different colors. One is scarred. Blinded, maybe.

Just like mine.

“Oh, thank you! You found Gooseberry,” a new voice says.

We turn to find the man in the flannel approaching, panting as he wipes sweat from his forehead. “He’s a feisty one, alright. Does this all the time.”

The man steps closer, and I offer him the goat. He’s about to take him when he pauses, brow raised. “That’s quite the scar you’ve got there. What happened to your eye?”

Shit. My shades are still attached to my collar.

“Wait a minute…” The man’s gaze lands on Beau next. “They’re looking for a boy with your description.” He observes the empty paper cone in his hands—and the crumbs lining his face. “You’re the kid who stole that cotton candy, aren’t you?”

Beau hides the cone behind his back. “Uh… no?”

The man glares. “I think you two are due for a little chat with the authorities.”

We petrify as my mind returns to the patrollers dressed in white. This place is swarming with Chasers. If we’re reported for suspicious behavior, it’s over. They’ll figure out where we came from in no time.

We’ll be dead in no time.

The man pulls a phone from his pocket.

I whisper quickly under my breath. “We need to bolt.”

“We’re turning this goat Unseen, aren’t we?” Beau whispers back.

I smirk. “It’s like you read my mind.”

I kick the phone out of the man’s hands and run for it.

You have reached the end of this free sample.