Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
One of the gate attendants stops me. "Ma'am, it's not safe to leave the gates without an escort."
"I'll be fine," I tell him. "Let me pass. That's an order."
He exchanges a look with the other attendant, but then pulls the gate open and lets me through, and I'm outside of the fort for the second time in years, this time on the ground.
Everything looks so different from how I remember it. In the Before, this was nothing but buildings squeezed together, lining the streets. There'd be the occasional decorative tree in a median somewhere, or on a curb, but it was all asphalt and metal. Now when I look out, most of the buildings have crumbled except for the tallest ones, and trees and grasses are growing everywhere. I tuck my skirts between my legs and bike down the street, watching as squirrels race past and in the distance, I see a herd of deer. For some reason, it makes my throat tighten.
The world has a chance to be a beautiful home again. We just have to get there.
I take off, cycling away from Fort Dallas on the broken streets. There are massive cracks in the concrete but most of the highways don't seem to be too bad, so I get onto one and dodge broken-down cars as I head out. I'm not entirely sure that I know how to find Azar, but Gwen assured me that once he picks up my scent, he'll follow it.
So I'm determined to leave as big of a scent trail as I can.
I follow the highway for a while, enjoying the sunlight. I took a bath last night and washed my hair, and it's tied up in a tight braid right now. I feel good. Occasionally I'll see a dragon in the distance, but they never come closer, and I'm not afraid. It's like Gwen said—my smell isn't intriguing to them as a mated female, so they ignore me. Once I've biked a few hours north, I exit the highway and head east. Toward nightfall, when my legs are burning, I head south. If I have to do a gigantic loop around the city to get Azar's attention, I will. I know he's close to the fort. I've picked up stray thoughts from him here and there, just enough to let me know that he's alive.
Now he just needs to find my scent and remember me.
That night, I park my bike against a broken-down van and climb atop the roof. That'll keep me safe from snakes and wild dogs. I curl up in Azar's robes—I packed a change of clothes for him just in case—and gaze up at the stars. They're brilliant without the lights of the city to dim them. Unfortunately, the Rift is also too bright and unnerving, the edges pulsing green and sickly. Is it my imagination, or does it look bigger than before? Pulsing slightly brighter than it used to?
God, I hope not.
Azar, I mentally call out. Azar, if you're out there, come back to me. We need to talk.
There's nothing but silence.
The next morning, I ache all over. Sleeping atop a hard van will do that to you. It was terrible sleep, too, because bugs kept landing on me and biting me. I am absolutely not a camper, I decide. My legs ache, as well, from all the pedaling, and it takes everything I have to climb atop that bike again and keep going. Ugh. I didn't think this through very well. I start pedaling slowly, stretching my legs out. I bike for maybe an hour when I get the first wave of distracting thoughts.
MINE.
I skid to a halt, my foot on the concrete, and look up at the air. That thought was melded with a variety of images flashing through my head, of burnt buildings and flames and madness. Blood and scents and fresh air mingle with the faint, enticing scent of mate.
"Azar?" I call out hopefully. "Are you near?"
When that doesn't get an answer, I try thinking the words and projecting them outward, but there's no response. Maybe I'm doing the mind-speaking thing wrong. Frustrated, I pedal a bit farther and then stop when I get to a broken overpass. It's blocking the road, completely crumbled thanks to the elements, and up above, bits of rebar stick out of the concrete. Down below, at my level, there's nothing but massive chunks of debris. Okay, not going that way.
I get back on my bike, determined to backtrack, when another blast of wild thought hits me.
Mate.
Scent.
MINE.
I swallow hard, struggling to focus. Azar's thoughts are so chaotic—and so close—that when he blasts through to me, he nearly knocks me off my bike. I carefully dismount and move the bike to a safe location, my skin prickling with awareness. I grab my pack and sling it over my shoulder, my skirts rustling in the breeze. I deliberately wore one of the dresses Azar loves, not because they're easy to bike in, but because I'm hoping it jogs his memory. But the flashes I've been getting are not Azar. I'm not sure they're anyone.