Prodigy

I’ve stripped down to my collar shirt and waistcoat, I jump up and grab the sides of the opening, arms trembling, then pull myself up halfway to see where we are. Some sort of dark corridor. Nobody around. I jump back down and take June’s hands, but she’s starting to fade away into sleep again.
    “Stay with me,” I murmur, gathering her in my arms. “See if you can pull yourself up.” June unwinds the blanket. I kneel and help her step up onto my shoulders. She wobbles, breathing heavily, but manages to pull herself to the surface. I follow with her blanket tucked under an arm, then pop up through the ground with one thrust.
    We come up into a dark, narrow alley not unlike where we came from, and for a second I wonder if somehow we’ve come all the way back around into the Republic again. Wouldn’t
that
be something. But after a while, I can tell that this isn’t the Republic at all. The ground is even and nicely paved under a patchy layer of snow, and the wall is completely covered with brightly colored posters of grinning soldiers and smiling children. On the corner of each poster is a symbol that I recognize after a few seconds. A gold, falconlike bird. With a shiver of excitement, I realize how closely it resembles the bird imprinted on my pendant.
    June’s notices the posters too. Her eyes are wide and hazy with fever, her breath rising in faint clouds of steam. All around us are what appear to be military barracks, covered from top to bottom with the same bright posters. Streetlights line both sides of the road in neat, orderly patterns. This must be where the tunnel and those underground shelters get their electricity. A cold wind blows more snow in our faces.
    June suddenly grabs my hand. She sucks in her breath at the same time I do. “Day . . .
over there.
” She’s trembling uncontrollably against me, but I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from what we’re seeing.
    Stretching out before us, peeking through the gaps between the military buildings, is a city: tall, shining skyscrapers reaching up through low clouds and delicate snow, and each building illuminated by beautiful blue lights that pour from almost every window and every floor. Fighter jets line the skyscrapers’ rooftops. The entire landscape is aglow. My hand tightens around June’s. We just stand there, unable for a second to do anything else. It’s exactly how my father described it.
    We’ve reached a glittering city in the Colonies of America.

M ETIAS HAD ALWAYS TOLD ME THAT WHENEVER I DO GET sick, I pull out all the stops.
    I know it’s cold, but I can’t tell what the temperature is. I know it’s night, but I can’t tell what time it is. I know Day and I have somehow made it across the border and into the Colonies, but I’m too tired to figure out which of their states we crossed into. Day’s arm is wrapped tightly around my waist, supporting me even though I can feel him shaking from the effort of carrying me for so long. He whispers encouragingly to me, urging me on.
Just a little longer,
he says.
There must be hospitals this close to the warfront.
My legs are trembling from the effort of keeping me up, but I refuse to faint now. We crunch through light snow, our eyes fixed on the sparkling city before us.
    The buildings range between five stories and hundreds of stories tall, some of them disappearing into low clouds. The sight is familiar in some ways and entirely new in others: The walls are lined with foreign flags shaped like swallowtails, colored navy blue and gold; the buildings have archway designs carved into their sides; and fighter jets line each rooftop. They’re distinctly different models from the ones in the Republic, with a strange reverse-swept-wing structure that makes them tridentlike in appearance. The jets’ wings are all painted with ferocious gold birds, as well as a symbol I don’t recognize. No wonder I always heard that the Colonies had a better air force than the Republic—these jets are newer than the ones I’m used to and, considering their rooftop placements, must all be able to perform vertical takeoffs and landings effortlessly. This warfront city seems more than prepared to defend itself.
    And the people. They’re everywhere, both soldiers and civilians crowding the streets, huddled under hooded coats to shield themselves from the snow. As they pass under the neon glow of lights, their faces are tinted shades of green, orange, and purple. I’m too exhausted to do