Free The Fear Trials by Lindsay Cummings Page B

your age. It will always be the same.”
    I lift my hand, imagine what it would be like if I could pluck the stars from the sky, cup them like fireflies.
    The mast creaks, and the rocking of the boat makes my eyes heavy. My mother sighs.
    â€œWhat was it like?” I ask. She has told me hundreds of stories about the way the world used to be, before the Perimeter went up. About how freedom felt.
    â€œIt was like the kiss of the wind on a hot summer day,” she says. “But it was also terrible. With so much freedom to make our own choices, the world was a scary place.”
    A cloud races across the moon, the stars, and suddenly it is pitch black. In the distance, I hear a loud crack. A scream, somewhere far away. “I can’t imagine a world scarier than the one we live in now,” I say.
    She pulls me closer, wraps me up in her arms. For a moment, she is the mother I remember. The one that used to sing all day. The one that was happy. “We can’t change the way things are,” she says. “But we can learn to love what we have now. And we have each other.”
    â€œAlways?” I ask.
    It takes her a moment too long to answer. “Always is impossible, Meadow. But we are here now. So let’s enjoy it together.”
    I fall asleep to the sound of the wind and the waves.
    I dream of darkness and death.
    I dream of a world without my mother.

Chapter 4
    T he sun rises too soon.
    My father and I stand on the deck, watching Koi strap knives to his chest. Then he pulls on his shirt and turns to face us. There are circles under his grey eyes. His hair is rumpled.
    â€œHow do I look?”
    Sweaty. Nervous. “Like you’re about to puke,” I say.
    Koi fakes a smile. “Thanks for the support.”
    My mother and Peri come out to kiss us all good-bye. We climb down the rope ladder and into the dinghy, then paddle away. As we navigate through the maze of wrecked boats, my mother stands on deck watching. Not waving, not smiling, just watching.
    Once on shore, we hide the dinghy. The beach is already crowded with people. My father keeps his hand on my shoulder, making sure we don’t get separated.
    People beg for food. Some are crying. I grit my teeth and stare ahead until we reach the trees. The heat is unbearable. Sweat drips down my spine. It is hard to breathe.
    â€œWouldn’t a plane be nice right now?” Koi asks. “A big metal bird?” He holds aside a palm frond for me.
    â€œI’d like a plane,” I say. “We could fly away from here and never come back.”
    â€œI never trusted planes,” my father says behind me. “Sometimes they crashed. And everyone died.”
    â€œThat’s Dad, always so positive,” Koi snorts. “It’s his greatest trait.”
    We walk in silence until we reach the edge of the jungle. The trees and vines become sparse, and warped concrete and buildings take their place. Some of the buildings are almost rubble, windows shattered, missing entire chunks of wall. Initiative flyers are plastered to the brick, waving in the wind.
    And there are so many citizens, it is like a sea. A great wave of humanity. And in the middle of that sea, rotting on the concrete, are the bodies. The victims of the Dark Time. It is best not to look at them. The gulls usually pick out their eyes before dawn.
    â€œWe need to hurry,” my father says. “The train will be here any minute now.”
    We melt into the crowd, swept up by its motion. People press against me on all sides, and I feel as if I can’t breathe. My father’s hand on my arm is the only thing that keeps me tethered, safe.
    The train tracks cut across the middle of the city. On most days there is one train, but today there are two. A red and a blue. I don’t understand it completely. I only know that one train is good. The other is bad. I hear whistles, see the trails of smoke as they come rumbling toward us. We stop at the