The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2) by Ramona Finn (no david read aloud .txt) 📕

one I’d run over, but I just saw his death, his body tumbling under my wheels. He’d had a name—

“Ben. The truck—oh. Hey, Myla.” Lita flipped up her mask, winked at me, and pulled it back down. I cringed without meaning to, but she didn’t seem to notice. “They gutted us,” she said. “That one that got under us, he cut our fuel line. I can fix it, but it’ll be a while. You guys should take the buggy back to camp. I’ll come when I’m done.”

Ben nodded. “That’s fine. Just don’t take too long.” He turned toward the caves, grinning behind his mask. “Hey, Lock. I was wondering when you’d show. You missed the whole—whoa. You okay?”

“Lock?” I darted past Ben, stumbling to Lock’s side. He was standing, by some miracle, all loose-limbed and pale. I got an arm around his waist and felt him sway against me. Ben’s gaze darted between us, his brow knit in consternation.

“What happened to him? He looks awful.”

“Lazrad deactivated his nanobots,” I said. “We were spying for Reyland. We got caught. We thought we got away clean, but...”

“He really looks terrible.” Ben started forward, just as Lock’s knees gave out. He dropped gracelessly to all fours, retching up bile. I held him, felt him trembling, felt the muscles spasming in his gut. He moaned, thin and broken, and I caught him as he crumpled.

“Too—fast,” he choked. “’S all happening... too...” His eyes went hazy, and he slumped against my chest.

“We need to help him.” I turned to Ben, pleading. “He needs gretha. A mask. He can’t breathe.”

“Get him in the back,” said Lita. “I’ll grab a tank from the truck.”

I lifted Lock with an effort. He was dead weight in my arms, long limbs dragging in the dirt. His shirt was soaked through, filmy with sweat. I laid him out across the back seat and cradled his head in my lap. His hand twitched when I took it, but he didn’t wake. Ben pulled his eyelid back and frowned.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Not long. It just hit him like a freight train, like—”

“Get this on him.” Lita hopped up beside us and fixed a mask over Lock’s face. Gretha hissed as she connected the tank, and I felt Lock’s chest hitch. “He’s a good guy,” said Lita. “For a Decemite, I mean.” She went to jump down, but I caught her by the wrist.

“Lita.”

“Huh?”

“About Derrick.” I couldn’t look at her. I stared at my own hands instead, where my nail polish had chipped away. “We found him at your old camp. He was—”

“I know.” Lita took back her hand, but she stayed where she was. She stood breathing hard, head turned toward the Spire. “They came at night. We were sleeping. It was chaos—trailers burning, everyone running. Everyone screaming. I thought he was right behind me, but... But he never caught up. So I knew.” Her breath caught in her throat.

“We brought him home,” I said. “Left him in the mines. We thought he’d be... safe down there.” It sounded stupid, said out loud, but Lita reached out and squeezed my hand.

“Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t like to think of him out there, just forgotten. So, thanks.” She let me go, slapped the buggy, and Ben gunned the engine. More Outsiders piled in, faces I didn’t recognize, crowding into the front seat and stretching out in back. Some of them eyed us curiously, and some with disdain. One of them offered me a water bottle, and I took it and wet Lock’s lips. He didn’t react.

“You in there?” I pulled his mask back down and stroked his hair, hating its coarse, spiky feel. He’d never worn it that way, shorn close to his head. It made him look younger, all awkward and smooth. “Just hold on. Hold on. If you can hear me, hold on.”

The buggy lurched and jolted, and we were on our way. Lock’s body jerked with every bump, his mouth falling open under his mask. I held him tighter and prayed he couldn’t feel it—that wherever he was, he was beyond pain.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The drive stretched forever, Lock limp in my arms, Ben hunched over the wheel. We arrowed northwest, away from the mountains. The creek joined a riverbed, arid in the dry season, and Ben followed it down the valley. Lock moaned and shivered, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“Not far now,” said Ben. “He’ll be better inside, out of the atmosphere.”

“You think?” I twined my fingers with Lock’s, held on tight. Ben glanced back, frowning.

“It makes sense, right? Out here, he’s fighting on two fronts, his own body and the air. In there, he can breathe free. Wash the poison off his skin.”

Lock made a choking sound. I swallowed fear. I could see the base now, a cluster of houses in the neck of the river valley. They stood, low and moss-roofed, around a cobbled square. A wavery dome shimmered over them, thin as a heat haze.

“That’s keeping the air clean?”

“Mostly.” Ben’s grip tightened on the wheel. “We couldn’t get enough projectors. It’s still breathable, though. Especially if you stay indoors.” He swung the buggy toward the gates, where the track widened to a road. Pale lamps lit our way, powered by oil instead of gretha.

Ben slowed, closing in, and a guard rose to greet him.

“When do we rest?”

“When the earth breathes. Let us through.”

The gates swung open, and Ben drove through the square, past the cookfires and sheep pens, around behind the houses. He parked the buggy under an awning and jumped down to let me out.

“You need help with him?”

I swung Lock over my shoulders. “Just show me where to take him.”

“Up there.” He jerked his thumb at the nearest house. Up close, it looked ancient, windows rippled with age. “Second room on the right, there’s a bed. You get him settled. I’ll go find help.”

I did as Ben said, and I found the bed easily enough. It was narrow and hard, but Lock