The Dark and Hollow Places - Carrie Ryan [118]
We did it. My chest feels lighter than air, as if I alone am pulling us into the painted dawn sky.
The sun’s just rising over the horizon, the morning wind shifting, pushing us across the river and over the edges of the Dark City. Behind us more Recruiters surge toward the Sanctuary wall but they’re distracted by a group of dingy gray balloons rising on the south end of the island: the Soulers.
I whoop and cheer; Elias and my sister grab for each other, kissing and hugging. We did it! I want to scream at the world. We’re free!
But the Recruiters won’t let us go that easily. They climb the Sanctuary walls and continue to fire their crossbows at us. I hold my breath, watching the bolts go wide or fall short. Every second we’re farther away, every heartbeat we’re drifting out of range.
The balloons careening away from the south end of the Sanctuary aren’t as lucky. A flaming arrow pierces the fabric of one of them, fire racing along the fat-soaked seams and crumbling the material to ash almost instantly.
I avert my eyes but not quickly enough to escape the sight of bodies plummeting to the frozen river below.
And then a loud ripping sound races down my spine—the sound of fabric tearing, splitting apart, and I look up to see a small flap of the material snapping in the wind. It takes a few seconds to lose enough air but suddenly the envelope buckles and we drop, fast. I scream from the shock of it, grabbing for my sister.
I struggle to add more fuel to the fire to refill the balloon, but my fingers fumble as the basket whips and jerks around. Hot air rushes into the envelope but we’re still dropping. Sweat pours from our faces, every inch of our skin glistening from being so close to the flames.
The lightness I’d felt earlier solidifies into something dense as panic teases my mind. I force it away, needing to focus.
“Weight,” I shout. “We have to drop everything we can.”
My sister scrambles for the bags at her feet—supplies for the journey ahead—and tosses them over the side. Our descent slows but we’re still not rising and the wind’s taken over, shoving us faster in the wrong direction—toward the shore of the Dark City.
Elias cranks the propeller, trying to steer us away from the ragged buildings, but the balloon is too heavy and it’s difficult to control. We might not even make it over the first one. “Maybe we can just land and repair the seam,” my sister says, pointing to a long rooftop ahead. I glance up at the envelope, at the way it strains.
“We’d never find enough fuel to fill it again,” I shout as I shovel more wood onto the fire.
Recruiters bellow in the distance. I look back and see them scrambling into the cable car, and slowly it starts to move across the river right underneath us. But the shore at the other end still teems with Unconsecrated: It’s suicide for them to come after us.
“Look.” I point down at them as Elias shifts the propeller, trying to turn us away from the tallest buildings. Heat billows into the balloon from the fire, a trail of smoke seeping out from the tear.
My sister heaves the last of the supplies over the side and then stands there with a book held in each hand, staring at the covers. I’m sick knowing she’s willing to throw away things that mean so much to her.
She glances at me trying to fill the envelope with as much hot air as possible, and at Elias, who’s trying to steer us, but there’s just too much weight.
We’re blown over the edge of the City, buildings passing by so close we could almost touch them. She tosses the books, watching them fall to the roof just below us, pages fluttering like broken wings.
But it’s still not enough. We’re still not rising.
In that moment I’m thrown back in time. I’m standing on the path and