piles of toys, electronics and useless junk, stacked like barricades.
“Luckily, one thing we still have a lot of is clothes,” Marcus said, looking over our outfits. “We’ve moved the merchandise to use the space, but there are still storage rooms full of crap – a lot of it is impractical, cheap fabrics that only last a couple months, but it’ll be enough for now.”
He led us down twin sets of metal stairs with rubber railings, twisted by creeping vines. On the lower level we found dozens of colorful tents set up, with lanterns and strings of soft lights. People were cooking spiced meat on small metal grills, and a group of children were playing kick the can. Somewhere I heard the sound of a guitar.
A few people turned to watch us pass, staring with large eyes and pale, thin limbs. I couldn’t tell if they were diseased or just malnourished.
I leaned over the railing, into the depths of the building. Protected from the deadly ash outside, trees and bushes flourished in the covered space, and even the walls were half covered in bright green moss. The ceiling was half rotten, exposing wood panels and hanging wires. The bottom level was completely flooded and filled with white and orange fish.
“Our own private cistern,” Marcus said. “We boil the water, of course. The fish are edible. We also breed rabbits and chickens.”
“You live down here?” Jazmine asked, pursing her lips.
“I know it’s not as comfortable as the compounds or the city of lights, but we make do.”
“Fuck the city of lights,” Luke said. “The whole thing is a scam. They get humans to do all the work, then snack on whoever they want. The compounds are worse, just a bunch of blood-suckers and blood-whores.”
“Tell us how you really feel,” Jazmine said.
“But they give us electricity,” Camina argued. “They understand the old machines. They keep the skies clear, so we can walk around outside, feel the sun and the wind on our faces.”
“They have coffee,” I added.
“And that’s enough for you?” Luke muttered. “To give them your blood, your bodies, your freedom?”
“That’s enough,” Trevor said, his brow darkening. It wasn’t that different from what I’d heard him say before my choosing, and I wondered if this is where he’d learned it.
“You’ve been here before?” I whispered.
“After you left,” he nodded. “I was desperate. I started making contacts. Some people talked about a resistance, outside the compounds. I heard about this place, and one night I snuck over the barrier and made it here. This is where I met the other rebels.”
He took a breath, frowning over his shoulder.
“Curate Marcus was still in the capital. The others showed me how to get in and out, through the tunnels. We thought, if we could just get some elixir, enough to heal some of the sick, to get strong. Maybe even fight back.”
“But that’s impossible,” I said. “Humans can’t drink enough elixir to fight an elite; they’ll go mad with rage and thirst first.”
“Sure, maybe in one-to-one combat. But there are more of us than them. Maybe some of us would die, but some things are worth dying for.”
“Martyr’s talk,” I scoffed.
“So what, you prefer the compound system? The chosen?”
“I don’t know,” I said, looking around at the piles of junk, the exposed wires and moldy walls. “But it seems better than this.”
“This way,” Marcus said, leading us through the underground city. The mall was larger than expected. Each corner we turned revealed another grand hallway, with marble floors and vast chambers that used to be stores.
Most of the rooms had been repurposed as gathering spaces or markets. I laughed as we passed a room full of farm animals. Jazmine stopped to pet a baby goat. Near the center on the third floor was a large banquet hall with hundreds of tables, surrounded by restaurants and stalls.
“Mess hall,” Marcus said, waving his hand. “We’ll come back for food later, then I’ll show you where you can stay. But first, Jacob wants to see you.”
“She needs medical attention,” Trevor said. “She’s been shot.”
“I promise we’ll see to that as soon as possible, if Jacob lets you stay.”
“What do you mean, lets her?” Trevor growled protectively.
“Frank, why don’t you take Beatrice to the health center. I can tell by her limp she’s hurt her ankle.”
“It’s just a sprain,” Beatrice said.
“The other chosen can go as well. We’ll meet you there. Trevor, you should join them. This is a private conversation.”