Page 5 of Storm Caller

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When I wake up, I’m rolling across the ground, coming to a stop in the dirt with my head spinning. I stare up at a dusky sky as low conversation and moving bodies blur around me.

Someone kicks my foot. “Get up. We’re here.”

Here. Where?

Rook appears above me a moment later. “Poet,” he says, gently touching my forehead. I wince, remembering that Calliope knocked me out.

That witch.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I groan as my temple throbs with a dull ache. “What’s going on?”

He helps me sit up, and I scan the horizon. New Manhattan is gone. Someone must have carried me while I was unconscious.

My stomach pitches with an uncomfortable tangle of emotions. Fear. Confusion. Shock. I blink at Rook, remembering all the things he said during our escape.

The promises he made. The warnings.

That’s when a low humming buzz seizes my attention. I peer over my shoulder to find a shocking sight—a fence constructed of flickering, silvery light.

Not Spark. Just electricity, I think.

Beyond it, an array of buildings sprawls into the middle distance. They’re nothing like the towering monuments of a civilization where I’ve spent my life. But these structures are squat, sturdy, and permanent, made of metal and wood and glass.

I blink. There isn’t supposed to be anything out here. The Wastes are dead, empty land, filled with nothing.

Clearly, that isn’t true.

“Get her up,” says Calliope, approaching us.

Rook spreads his arms, shielding me. “Stay the fuck back.”

Calliope rolls her eyes and brushes past. The rest of her crew moves to follow, save August, who waits for Rook and me to stand. I’m unsteady on my feet, my head swimming through fog.

“Let’s go,” August says.

For a moment, I can’t.

My stomach dips like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Another step, and my old life will be gone forever.

“Now,” Calliope grits out, suffering no moment for my internal breakdown. I wonder if she senses how close I am to cracking. Maybe she wants to offer a little push for her own personal amusement.

I won’t give her the satisfaction.

Rook is moving carefully, still favoring his injury, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s about to fall over and die. I’ll call that an improvement.

We approach a tall metal gate buzzing with electricity. Two large men with short-cropped hair grip a set of those strange stunners as Calliope marches toward them without hesitation. She barely comes up to their chests, and they bend down as she exchanges a few quiet words that I can’t make out.

Their gazes find me first, then Rook.

Their eyes widen.

The one on the left bends at the waist in a gesture of respect.