Daughters of the King |✓|

Chapter Four

As I slept, a bad taste slowly invaded my subconscious, curling its way into my mouth and lungs, until I couldn't deny what it was: The unmistakable taste of smoke. I coughed as I blinked up into the hazy bedroom, and it only took me a moment to realize what was happening.

The house was on fire.

There wasn't time for panic. I peeled the covers off, feeling strangely calm, and moved across the room to check the door.

I snatched my hand back when the handle burned and turned to the window next. Through the glass, I could see the house next to ours, blazing. Flames licked into wood and plastic and solar panels, stretching upwards into the night sky, as though reaching for something.

I grabbed my boots from underneath the bed and my jacket from the closet—the one I stole from the last place where we lived, mossy green with a zipper slashed at an angle across the front. I put it on for good luck and said one last goodbye to the room, since I planned to never see it again. Not the stale air or the peeling paint or the sticky dust.

In return, the old house offered no parting words. We wouldn't miss one another.

I slammed the window open all the way and leaned out. The heat from the flames blew in my face on the breeze, singeing my cheeks, and I cringed hard. The second floor could mean broken legs, but I had no choice. I threw my legs over the ledge of the window and gripped the frame hard. My balance wavered as I sat there, terrified for a moment, but I didn't think there was a way to truly prepare for the pain.

I took a breath, counted to three, and let go.

The ground came rushing at me fast, and the impact sliced up my ankles, knees, and thighs. I crumpled and ended up with my palms smashed in the dirt, my hair in my face. I wheezed, the air knocked from my lungs, and waited for the throbbing to subside. Somehow, I managed to crawl away, in an effort to put some distance between myself and the flames. My body stopped working when I reached the road, and I folded over like broken origami.

I knew I couldn't stay here long if I wanted to get away, but I couldn't summon the energy to move. I just hugged the ground, dirt and rocks and all, and tried to endure.

That's when I heard someone calling, and at first, I thought it must be my imagination, until I heard it a second time, then a third.

Now much closer, Kid leaned down and put his mouth by my ear. "He's dead."

I just nodded. "Help me up."

He helped peel me off the ground, while all around us, houses burned. Was it a revolution? Was it an attack? There was no way of knowing. It just looked like pure chaos.

All I knew was that I had to get out.

Together, the Kid and I limped towards town, towards the rain station, and the roads filled with people the closer we got. I recognized many of the faces we passed, most of them looking like they were running for their lives. Soldiers were everywhere, fighting to control the frenzied crowd, their uniforms shifted like angry black shadows in the night—shadows that seemed to be closing in on us from all directions.

"What's going on?' Kid asked.

"An uprising, I think," I said. "There's a train due to arrive this morning. It might already be here."

People would be fighting for a chance to get on—a chance to get out of here.

With the possibility of escape calling to me and the burn of adrenaline settling in my bloodstream, I started moving a little faster. Kid stumbled along at my side, as slow and useless as ever, and my mind instantly recalled a similar day when I had run to the train station with my mother dragging behind me. I remembered her floating eyes and the shine on her temple from the sweat. I remembered the way her face lit up when she saw the money I'd thrown into her cold, unfeeling hands, before she escaped with it all and left me.