In the Shadows of the Floating Cities

The rumbles and tumbles of the stained brown truck jostle me back awake. The haze of The Undertowns always lulls me to pieces—never a coherent thought, never a full breath, never a look other than a dead fish gaze, and I'm stuck gazing out.

This truck holds no coverings, a blessing and a curse in its own right. As I'm sitting, resting against the wheel well of the bed, I'm constantly struck by the puffs of ash-brown smoke and low sitting smog, but I look slightly upwards at the city lights shining down through it all like a patchwork of knits on a old family blanket undoing themselves before sunlight. The anti-gravity pillars peaking through where pipes end, the floating mass of silvers twinkling with each pebble dropped from the boot of an upper-worlder.

"Hey man, be careful," Abel said softly to me, under his breath but through the thick sitting smoke. I averted my eyes from the lights quickly and looked at him; his layers were dusted and stiff, the cloak, the coverings, the hood— all aged beyond their years. But they serve a purpose. He puts his hands together into an all but familiar sight,

"Don't become the moth," he said and made a gesture of the insect flying into a flame.

"Yeah, I know," I managed before catching smoke in my throat.

I try to suppress a coughing fit before the driver hears but to no avail. Quickly, I pull my neck covering up and bend downwards in a desperate attempt to stifle the noise. The voices in the truck stop their argument—My eyes lock to Abel's, his once blonde now dust stained brown hair almost covers his, but I can see the piercing blue. His eyebrows furrow before he looks away. He turned towards the steel shaft buried in materials next to him. The truck begins to slow. His hand wraps around it. My mind speeds for refuge. Options. Options. Options. I think slowly as the smog infiltrates and picks and pulls thoughts astray. They can't discover him … I’ll need to distract them. We can meet at the Tether.

"Get out of here," I press, then manage, " I'll meet you at MotorCity Shadow… Barry's place." His knuckles, white around the pipe, loosen and release. Abel nods his head at me before pulling his neck covering up above his nose and pulling down his hood. The dusted grey cloths against his face, a cold steel plating. With no hesitation, he jumps off the bed of the truck like a spring held against the ground, and lands without a sound. I watch him throw the grey cloak around himself disappearing among the barren, gravel covered landscape as the wheels crush gravel underfoot. With the truck rolling further and further away, Abel's figure assumes semblance with the sea of stones around him. Then the brakes screech as the truck slides along the gravel, stopping fully ten seconds later. The engine cuts.

"I suppose I don't have a choice anymore," I say to myself before looking outwards.

Stretched as far out as I could see were the gravel dunes, stones among stones, smog among smoke. Holes dug here and there with black pouring up and out the entrance, their makeshift chimneys serve as front doors and airways. A mother slides down dragging a dead vulture, stripped of feathers but not of shape. Her skin white like ash from the lack of sunlight due to the shadow of the floating cities permanently dripping the area in dusk-like conditions. The twinkles of the Watchers provide the only light, the plume of toxins absorbing it before it reaches a soul.

"I just wish I coulda seen it once," I say before a large sigh escapes me.

The truck door opens. The gravel shifts underfoot. Swaths of stone tumble with each step as the driver walks like a lion attempting to catch prey. I look around for a weapon other than the knife strapped to my side—I've only got one shot with that. I reach for the piece of metal warmed by Abels hand…until I hear a gun hammer click into place. With clarity like being able to hear the sands of time tumble, I know in that moment, if I run, I die. If I fight, I die. My hand reaches for the locket against my chest. My fingers trace it's patinated surface. The steps slide closer, but I simply open the locket, my eyes staring at the picture inside; it's faded and warped to fit the heart-shaped metal, but still whole.

The family in the picture means nothing to me. A father, one son, it's meaningless, I don't know them and they certainly don't know me. They're not what catches my attention, the Trees are. Wandering more, my mind traces every leaf and fold and flick of the dusty green wrapped around wisps of brown smoke solidified. The individual pebbles come together to form an overhanging canopy. The land behind this family is filled frame to frame, all with these mystical growths of life— I want to see one. I close the locket like a shark closes it's jaw. I let the tainted air fill my lungs to capacity. Steps grow closer. My heart beats faster. I snap my head towards the undergrowth of the floating city. My eyes directed at the faintness of the light cast from above.

"I hope I can meet you again Abel," I say aloud, "I hope we can see those trees together one day… and I really hope the stories aren’t true."

A gruff and violent voice spoke, "Who's in my truck," then came a pause as I hear the gun being lifted, "I don't take no hitchhikers, only corpses to sell and if you're not one yet you'll soon be one," The driver, still speaking, swings around to face the bed of his truck, the barrel of his gun finding my face before his eyes could. The fingers wrapped tightly around the trigger stop short—

"No…" he stuttered, "What've you done?"

The driver began to run, not back into his truck, but into the gravel hills. I turned one eye back down towards him to see his figure fail to make meaningful distance. I felt sorry for the man, but our goal was more important than his soul. Then, the blue beams of light shot down from the heavens like a flashlight into the night. I've seen them once before. They reach down like skinny arms, the light breaking forth into two sections; one honing in on the now hiding driver and one section honing in on myself. I hear a horrible noise as the dunes below shake, then shriek as hundreds of pillars begin to rise up from beneath the haze-laden ground. My head searches from side to side and I watch them grow forth like nails shot through skin. From these pillars a signal was received and broadcast, each giving off the same static start.

"Under Section 4a of the Charter of Living Deeds the law states clearly; Those who look to the cities in the skies will be under the jurisdiction of those who reside in said cities."

"A representative will be on their way."

My hand finds the knife at my side, the genetic alter code set with only a single dose. All I need to do is break skin and their brain will switch lefts and rights, simple… simple. The hilt feels strange in my hand, I've never had to use one of these and I'm certainly not looking forward to this moment. I know it will all be over in a single second, all it takes is one slice, one stab, one nick against the blade. All it takes is one instant. I place the hilt atop my shoulder, blade pointing backwards. With my other hand I pull my hood up over my head, and then cover my neck and face with the fabric left below. All that remains are my eyes to shine through. Past the blue light I look outwards towards the driver, a flash of white light travels downward and makes an impact. There was no sound. There was no poof of dust, no rumbles, no shuddering. Then I hear a scream from the direction the man ran but I see nothing. Suddenly, I can feel the blade against my neck, it's edge already cut into and through my layers of coverings, any closer and my blood would be drawn.

“Guess I wasn’t quick enough on the draw huh,” I say out of nervous energy. My knife is flicked out of my hand before I’m able to react. I can feel sweat already beading and bludgeoning it's way down my skin. My eyes search for where the knife landed but it's useless if I can’t get there.

"Where is the boy you were with?" The man behind me spoke with the blade against my throat, his words equally as sharp.

"I'm not sure when it became my job to know," I say as I start to swing my head back. His sword ripped across my throat, the edge barely skimming my skin. A shallow cut. This is no good. With fluid motion and before I could see the blade even fully leaving my throat, the fingers on my right hand were gone, then the ones on my left. My mind screamed for sensation but I was left with nothing. There was no pain, no heat, no recognition from my body to announce what had just been done. I feel a kick to my back and I fall hard against the rigid truck bed, my head banging against the assortment of hard metal pieces that lay now disturbed. Like fire, the pain on my back sets in a few moments later, but not before I feel another kick, and the pain bursts again. The boot feels like a cement block swinging against me with each moment expanded out to its full extent. The seconds last minutes, the pain wells and crashes countless times before I even manage to exhale. I try to crawl but remember the now lost digits. I let out a scream and feel the vibrations endlessly ripple. What my muscles remember lasting a short burst instead last eternity as I find myself stuck with the scream, all the while the pain swells higher and higher.

"Where is the boy you were with?" The man asks again, dropping and pushing his boot into the center of my back . I hear his voice clearly, it cuts through the looping sensations like his own blade cut through my fingers. I grit my teeth, then I make out the faint sound of resheathing and unsheathing a knife — he’s changing the alter code. I begin to protest in full panic but cannot manage to get myself out from under his boot. I squirm and writhe but each action takes a lifetime of moments both before and after. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the dark handle. I reach out with my arm before the second boot finds it's mark against my elbow. Pinning me down and pulsing pain through me once again.

“Acting in accordance with section 3465 of the Heliotrope charter you will now be judged; For looking at the underside of the city and willful noncompliance; I sentence you to immortality with fear,” his words began to slur to me as his blade was driven through my chest, “This altercode makes your body need only rest, no food or water are needed— you will still feel thirst and hunger. I am required to inform you that the time dilation from the first alter will wear off in 200 days,” with that, the man lifted the blade out of my chest. With no ability to protest he effortlessly rolled me over. He stood shining like an angel enveloped in blue light before a black bag was placed over my head and tied shut.