Free Book Three of the Travelers by D.J. MacHale Page A

in her mouth, dribbling bits of egg all over the floor.
    â€œStill working on those manners, though?” he said.
    She finished the food, then flopped down on the little cot in the corner, apparently ignoring him.
    â€œWhat’s it like out there?” he said. “I wish youcould tell me.” He sat down in the chair on the other side of the bars from her. “You can’t imagine how quiet it is here in Rayne. I just can’t help feeling that there’s more to life than this .” He spread his hands. “Nice little town. Nice people. Nice school. Nice food. Nice weather. Everything’s nice. But there’s got to be something more. I bet you could tell me a lot. I mean, if you could just talk.”
    The girl belched.
    Siry started babbling, talking about all the things that had been going through his head lately. All the questions he had about the world. All the fears and anxieties he had. All the feelings that he’d been keeping bottled up, that he’d tried telling his friends about. But no one had understood. All his friends had stared at him as if he were crazy when he started talking about sea trash, and where it came from.
    â€œSea trash,” he said. “It just keeps coming back to sea trash. What is it? Where does it come from?” He took out a bag and spread it on the floor, showing her the bits of rusted metal, the hard clear material, the unnaturally flat and regular pieces of wood—and his biggest treasure, the flexible blue fragment with the writing on it.
    Finally he put all his treasures back in the bag.
    â€œI guess I must not make any sense to you,” he said. “I talk and talk, and you have no idea what I’m saying.”
    He put the bag back on his belt.
    â€œThey’re going to put you on trial tomorrow,” he said. “And when they do? They’ll execute you.”
    The girl sat up and walked toward him, her green eyes pinned on him. She grabbed the bars, her fingersalmost touching his. Yesterday she had smelled horrible. Now she smelled soapy and clean.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, “but they’re going to kill you.”
    Suddenly she reached though the bars and grabbed his arm. For a moment he was sure she was about to bite him or scratch him or stick her fingers in his eyes.
    But instead she leaned close to him.
    Then she spoke—a hoarse, uncertain whisper.
    â€œHelp. Me.”
    F OUR
    S iry blinked, then flushed. If she could talk, then had she understood everything he’d said? All his complaining about Rayne must have seemed so childish. His life was far easier than life was for the Flighters, starving away off in the jungles on the far side of the island, or wherever they came from.
    â€œYou can talk ?” he said.
    She glared at him.
    â€œBut—everybody says—”
    She looked out the window. “Help me.” It seemed as though the words didn’t come easily.
    â€œWell…what do you want?”
    â€œDo not.” She looked at the floor. “Do not let them kill me.”
    â€œThe tribunal.”
    She shrugged, pointed at the guards.
    â€œDo you understand what’s happening here?” he said. “You’ll be tried in front of the tribunal. It’s a group of important—look, if they find you guilty, they’ll execute you.”
    She grabbed his collar and pulled him close to the bars. Her eyes were only inches from his. “Rena!” she hissed.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œRena.” She tapped her own chest. “Me. Rena.”
    â€œOh!” he said. “That’s your name.”
    She nodded. “Me. Save.”
    Their faces were only inches apart. At first he’d been interested in her because she represented something to him—everything that was… out there . Everything that was not Rayne. But now? Now she seemed different. She wasn’t just an idea. She was a person. Maybe not like everybody in Rayne. But