Beyond City Limits (Under Revisions)

Chapter 17: PULLED UNDER

The Outercity gets darker the farther I limp along. The lights from the broken sky scrapers flicker off one by one. The ache in my ribs scream with every step, but I don't dare make a noise. Mostly, I'm silently scowling myself for believing in Rust. His sincerity and manipulation were something I should have picked up on when he first sat on my bed.

They aren't done messing with me. I think they just started.

But how am I supposed to fight against them? Will all their friends come after me next?

The illusion of safety surrounding the OTF is disappearing, but there is no other choice but to crawl back. Besides, what if Andrew comes back?

My steps scrape the pavement one after the other. The dirt and dust fly around my feet and sprinkle back on the ground. Other voices throw through the buildings, but they are all distant and illegible.

Something shifts to the left of me, and my heart stops. The unfamiliar sounds of gravel breaking underfoot snaps my head to an abandoned alley. But I only find a dark empty alley. My eyes narrow down the alley, and I see a flash of white and blue uniform. A border guard.

My shoulders relax at the sight of him talking to a group of Outerciters loitering on the sidewalks.

I continue my stride until two figures appear in front of me. Two men. One holding a glass bottle while the other weighs himself heavily against his friend.

Both walk ahead of me, oblivious to the beaten blonde girl in the road.

"Cliff really laid it in tonight. I can't believe Chief let him in our Territory." The bottle holder said.

"Did ya see-em screamin?" The other man slurs. "Pa-thetic."

I fold my hands against my chest to still myself. My feet stay frozen mid-stride, balancing between the next step. My breathing shallows as I wait for the pair to leave the road.

"Do you think Chief is really joining that coalition? He knows what happens when anyone in the Outercity charges for the wall. I heard they killed a hundred people a few weeks ago." The one with the bottle sips his drink.

They must be talking about that riot I was on the tablet in the commons room. My body leans forward, straining to hear.

"Poor bas-turds. 'Em never stood a chance." The leaning man shakes his head, "Wat ever da Chief says goes." He shrugs, "I just hope em Sharks have da guns."

Guns?

The thought makes my body jolt, and the foot I was balancing on wobbles. My sore middle sends its complaints up my spine.

"I hope—" The drinking man's words are cut off. I stumble forward and catch myself on the pavement, the pebbles biting into my palms. I hiss in pain and look up to find the pair looking down at me with surprise shooting their eyebrows up and cocking their heads.

Their eyes glow in the dark street and the fading light and moon shines through their bright hair, creating ghostly figures. The man downs the rest of his drink and throws it. The glass breaks against the brick in a splintering crash. The drunk one smiles and starts toward me.

"Looka mouse. I hates those annoying buggards. Always hearin da wrong things."

Before he gets any closer, I shoot up from my spot. I brush the debris from my pants and confront the two with my head lifted. It's then that I decide that trouble comes in twos.

"Did you lose your way?" The taller, more sober, man asked. Peering down at me, taking me in with each inch his eyes will allow. My eyes quicken over him, looking for anything he could use against me. Instead, my eyes lock on a swordfish swimming up his neck. It reminds me of another tattoo. Of a sting ray on a pale hip.