Page 7 of The Last Hope
Because I’m so tired of fearing death, and I’ve started replacing those grand, overwhelming fears with one of Court’s big words.
Indignation.
A noun. In-dig-na-tion. Defined asanger provoked by a special something that is unjust, warty, or downright mean.
I may’ve added some flair to that, but my definition still carries the same meaning.
I keep my ear pressed to the pink metal door. With no time left to dwell, I focus on our plan. Every few days, a cadet has been giving us a small portion of bread and an even smaller canister of water.
So I listen for footsteps.
Mykal and Court separate behind me. Hands lowering from each other, Court fishes his slacks’ button through a loop and carefully takes a seat on the cot. His bones wail at every little movement, and mine start aching badly if I concentrate too long and hard on him.
So I train my mind elsewhere.
The door.
The door.
The door.
“Ready, little love?” Mykal pants and sweats, crouching down on the other side of our soon-to-be exit. Hopefully. He looks graver than Court, and that’s saying something.
I nod, and while we wait in silence, I only break the quiet to whisper, “Do you think the gods are on our side?” Sometimes I think they’ve abandoned us.
Maybe because we’re human. They hate what we are as much as the Saltarians do.
Mykal grinds down like he was chewing dry root. He has none here. “My pa used to say that the gods will be believing in you if you just believe in them, and that’s all there is to it.”
I tuck more belief close to my chest. Back home in Bartholo, maybe I’d be called a chump for questioning such certain things. Death and gods. Or maybe I’d still be ano oneto most everybody.
Just the girl behind the wheel of a battered Purple Coach. Driving people to wherever they need to be.
I don’t care what I’m called. All I know is that I’m not ready to let Court die, and I’m not ready to give up on the gods. I pray and hope that they’re not ready to give up on me.
Clap.
Mykal and I exchange a readied look at the sudden noise.
Clap, clap…
Our pulses speed in sync. Court freezes on the cot, his concern an undercurrent to our anticipation.
Untroubled footsteps grow louder and louder.
And then they fall quiet again. He or she is right up against the door. I ease back from the squared hatch and hear a brutish snicker.
“Day thirty-one, vermin.”
I bite my tongue as hard as Mykal bites his. We’ve spat back nasty insults before, but for Court’s sake, we’re doing our best not to lash out.
The hatch screeches. About to open.
I bristle and breathe heavier.Don’t botch this, Franny. Don’t botch this.
And I watch the hatch slide to the right. I don’t peek through the sudden opening. Quickly, I reach my bony arm through the slot and try to grab the cadet. His wrist. His shirt.
Anything.
