Page 53 of Stormbreaker

I drop my bag behind a statue to conceal it, planning to retrieve it later. Then I button up my coat, jog to the door near the front . . . and make my way outside.

With my collar up and head down, I brace against the wind. The streets have emptied, save a few brave—or possibly naive—souls. The canals are closed due to the high winds, but it’s better to take the tunnels regardless. The train is faster, and I’m too obvious out here. Too exposed.

I take a deep breath and veer right, heading for the nearest subway entrance. Even down here, hundreds of security cameras are mounted everywhere, so I pull up my hood and shrink into its shadows.

The city maintains a vast network of industrial-size pumps to keep the tunnels dry and free from the water that surrounds us. There isn’t enough room for the Hollows to live aboveground, so this ensures they have somewhere to go.

As I scramble down the stairs, I enter the crush, immediately feeling confined. A glance to my right shows a wall lined with stands selling various scavenged items, along with moonshine and other provisions.

Bright caged lights set in the walls cast everything into harsh shadows, and flickering screens mounted to the corners play The Shield’s messages on a loop, reminding everyone of our duties and obligations to the city.

I check my phone, confirming I still have several hours before curfew hits—more than enough time to make it back. I push through the turnstile and then wait on the platform, where I find a mixture of cogs and Hollows. I also spot the occasional Society member, including some kids from Amery, who I assume must all be headed to Sogno.

Ducking my head, I move away, hoping they won’t spot me.

It doesn’t take long before I hear rumbling in the distance. The effect of the gathering storm is less pronounced underground, but more tingling ripples over my skin, forcing me to rub the back of my neck and then my hands. A hot spark erupts at my nape, and I spin around. It almost feels like I’m being watched.

I shake off the sensation as the train comes barreling toward us and hisses to a stop.

I clamor in with the masses, finding a corner to stand in. Then fold my arms and try to make myself inconspicuous despite the itching in my fingers.

But I still can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me.

I chalk it up to anxiety and the gathering energy that always makes me a little anxious when I’ve gone too long without absorbing a hit of Spark.

We careen through the Hollows’ underground city, past markets and squares, where hundreds of people make their homes. I spot a scavenger swap, where tables are piled high with clothing and various bits of kitchen equipment and decor.

The train empties the closer we get to the end of the line, which finishes in the factory district, where House Asale maintains control. It turns out to be the busiest station of all, suggesting a shift must have just ended. I slip out among the scramble of bodies, thankful for their cover.

When I’m free, I pound up the stairs, racing against the storm. If it hasn’t already started, it’s only a matter of minutes, and I don’t want to miss it.

Hot spots flash across the sky in splashes of ultraviolet light, vibrating in my bones as I scurry along the train platform and down the stairs at the end. With my arms folded and my head down, I walk quickly, winding past warehouses and factories.

Two massive Storm Towers stand in the distance. If I squint, I imagine I can see the Breakers staggered on their various platforms. What I can see are the glowing purple Spark wands they each hold in a hand. About two feet long and an inch in diameter, the wands are made of shatterproof glass and filled with a core of pure galvanic energy that attracts bursts of Spark. A special rubberized handle at one end helps tamp down the effects of flowing electricity, helping to protect the Breakers from being blitzed.

I head for a tear in the chain-link fence, where the terrain has made it impossible to place a tower, before slipping through.

We accidentally discovered this spot a few years ago when Knox and his friends got it into their heads to explore the Wastes. Those flat, stretching miles have always held a sort of tepid fascination for all of us.

I also think Knox wanted to show off.

Thus, Knox, Sal, and Jackson dragged me and a few others along with the theory that we were more protected in a group.

It didn’t take long to find the nearly invisible break in the metal, almost as if someone had come before us. It was a million-to-one discovery that’s proven useful to me more than once.

That night, we didn’t make it to the Wastes.

The ruined portion of Old Manhattan beyond was so dark that a few people got freaked out and wouldn’t stop crying. So we aborted the mission and slunk back home.

I never forgot about it, though, and so I came back alone a few weeks later to uncover what became a refuge.

Another flash follows me past a bombed-out building, crumbling from neglect.

That same wary prickle I felt earlier touches the back of my neck, and I stop, peering over my shoulder to find nothing but shadows.

Bending down, I retrieve the knife tucked in my boot, gripping it in my hand, just in case. I refused to kill that man for the sake of the initiation, but I have zero hesitation about defending myself. Keeping one ear peeled for anything unusual, I pick my way over rocks and debris, a few stacks of bricks where buildings once stood. My destination is a towering wall of massive flat rocks piled about a hundred feet up.

From my reading about the Wastes, I’ve learned these were left behind during the floods that wiped out the people of the Warming Age. Inhaling a deep breath, I pick up my pace, losing myself in their tall shadows. I stick close to the rocks as I make my way to the tunnel I know leads to the other side.