The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 1

Author's Note:

This is a continuation of The Runner series. If you haven't read The Runner, check out my profile.

Thanks! I hope you enjoy Part 2 :)

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The sun bakes down across my shoulders as I sprint from rooftop to rooftop. My legs burn with exertion and my heart pounds steadily in my chest. My breaths are slow and even, falling into a natural rhythm.

My feet land securely on the ledges and I push out across the alleyways, clearing the gaps effortlessly. My trained eyes scan the landscape in front of me, registering the familiar layout of the City and charting my course toward the Palace.

I move from the depths of what was once the Commons and into the former Court. As I run I note how it is becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between the two districts. The excessive displays of wealth that used to be displayed prominently in the windows and storefronts have dissipated and migrated closer to our outer Wall. Now, the City streets blend together in a cacophony of colour. Sun-bleached buildings boast brightly painted shutters and richly dyed fabrics dangle on clotheslines between the alleyways.

The glass Palace swims into view and I have to blink to clear my vision, at the same time absentmindedly swiping the tendrils of red hair from my forehead. The sun has risen to its highest point and I am hard pressed to find a direction to approach from which the reflective walls of the Palace don't blind me. I curse myself for letting the hour grow late and increase my speed, relying on my instincts rather than my eyesight to direct me across the roofs.

Finally, I reach the edge of the Court nearest the royal grounds. I swing myself down over the ledge and drop window by window until I reach the ground, dusting the sand from my hands as I straighten.

This street marks the barrier between the City buildings and the wall surrounding the army compound. I turn to jog in the direction of the compound's front gate but am immediately halted in my tracks when something adorning the wall catches my eye.

I step closer, feeling a frown pull at my mouth as I read the propaganda someone has posted.

Meg's serene face smiles out at me from the parchment, marred by the words "Queen of Extinction" scrawled crudely across her features. Scowling, I reach up and tear the poster away, balling it in my fists before I rip down three more posters.

Cursing under my breath I turn and run to the front gate, smoothly dodging the carriages and people crowding the street.

The gate guard has already opened the gate to admit me and I call out my thanks as I tear past him. I run through the gate and toward the training field, bypassing the airships in the hangar and the barracks. Up ahead, I can hear the sounds of multiple booted feet marching in formation as Will runs his drills, his familiar, deep voice carrying across the open grounds.

I circle around the rear of the field and hop the fence, then duck down behind the marching soldiers, looking for an inconspicuous opening. I nudge my way into position next to my friend, Marc, adopting his stance and stepping in time with the drills. Marc throws me a knowing wink, stepping helpfully to the side.

Will's voice sounds from the front of the pack, counting off our steps as we turn and march across the field. I chance a look to the front of the line, catching sight of his scruffy head and trimmed beard, his square jaw clenched tightly in concentration. My steady heartbeat picks up and I force myself to focus on the back of the woman in front of me, copying her movements.

"Nicely done." Will finally calls a halt.

I suppress a sigh, covertly rubbing my lower back. Even after running these drills countless times, the practice of following orders still rankles me. The fact that it is Will calling out commands is all the more annoying.