The Green Ones

Episode 1, Part 3

Off-balance, we lope downhill. Neca’s legs are longer than mine, despite my above-average height. His endurance is equally impressive. My lungs are on the verge of exploding when he ducks behind a three-story iron foam building I don’t recognize.

“Have we,” I spit the words out between gulps of air, “crossed into—”

“District six,” Neca nods. “It’s the fastest way on foot.”

I’m pleased to note he seems winded, although not as severely as me.

After a few short breaths, he starts moving again.

“I can’t—”

“How about a lift?” He nods toward a cable platform.

I offer weak objection as we cross the walking thoroughfare between the two districts, “A cable? Do you think that’s safe?”

“We’ve gone far enough. Huatiani is too systematic to jump his search randomly about the city.”

I shiver at the mention of Huatiani’s name out loud. So few within Worker City refer openly to the legendary retired general of the Ometeotl Guard. Neca does so with a flourish, as if he knows every intimate detail about the immortal. I’m sure he intends it as part of his bad boy act, but it paints him in a self-conscious light. I imagine him, tucked under the covers at night, practicing the name quietly.

We reach the stairs without anyone taking special notice of us. Most people working outside the shield wall as farmers or beneath the city as miners leave within minutes of the ID burn, ensuring the longest amount of time until the next one. Just in case. No one talks about it, but missing a burn is the worst nightmare of everyone in Worker City. Except for those who’ve already given up.

 Olin mumbles under his breath as we carry him up to the platform.

Gently, I slap his cheek. “Olintl, can you hear me?”

His eyes dart back and forth beneath his closed lids. “I’m not afraid of Huatiani just because he knows the truth.”

“The truth?” I catch Neca looking at me with questioning eyes. “What truth?” As we reach the top of the exposed platform, Olin is mumbling unintelligibly again. I glance upward before closing my eyes to the dizziness. Too many of the buildings in district six are squat, adobe structures despite the dome of the shield wall being stories above us.

Neca reaches the activation pad first and straddles it. A mild electrical current transfers between his bare feet, indicating a rider is waiting. Awkwardly, I shift closer to his lean, muscular frame until Olin is sandwiched between us.

On cue the two halves of the bench sprout from beneath the platform and lock in place using powerful electromagnets. Squished together, I end up with Olin on my lap and Neca’s arm around my back. We ratchet upward until the wench drops us onto the cable itself. With the circuit completed, the chair rushes forward.

Whipping through the subtropical breeze, I realize I’ve soaked my tzotzomatli in sweat. Worse yet, the wind is plastering it against me. Subtly, I situate Olin’s head on my chest to avoid indecency. At least the dark purples and blues are more modest than white. And with the size of my chest, it’s not like Neca would notice. Finally, I grit my teeth, angry I even care what Neca does or doesn’t notice.

Then it hits me, like diving from a cliff into crystal clear water. I know where we’re going. “Oh, no.”

“You forget to turn off the stove?”

I try to wrench my arm to punch Neca, but I can’t. “This is not a joke.”

“No one’s saying it is.”