The Green Ones

Episode 1, Part 17

Neca cuts a gradual angle down the slope until we are out of sight from the structures within Immortal City. Fifteen minutes later, we’re jogging along a forested path, following the gentle curve of the shield dome from a safe distance. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of the upper section of the dome on our left.

Neca moves more naturally above ground. I, on the other hand, feel at home with the closeness of the earth embracing me. Earth beneath my feet is good. Earth above my head, even better. Maybe this is why I’ve always been drawn to the mind pits.

For over two hours we jog at a steady pace. By the time we stop, I’m drenched in sweat. Both Neca and I glisten in the occasional sliver of moonlight finding its way through the blanket of clouds.

“Drink.” He tosses me a canteen he’s been wearing over a shoulder.

Gratefully, I guzzle a third of it and hand it back. “Half way?”

He nods while gulping down another third of the water. After securing the cap, he breathes deeply. “Further than half, but most of the rest is uphill. There’s a small ridge.”

“I’m familiar with it.”

“We’ll have to move more slowly until we clear the rocks.”

“Then it’s a straight shot to the shield wall?”

“Hopefully.” He loops the strap of the canteen over his neck and shoulder.

“Hueyi, and what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Phasing through the wall around Worker City is a bit trickier. There are a lot more eyes for one thing, but I haven’t been caught yet.” He ends the conversation by resuming our pace along the well-trodden path.

It strikes me as unlikely that such a broad-beaten trail would owe its formation to wildlife. Yet the thought of that many people moving freely back and forth between the distinct halves of New Teo astonishes me. It’s an idea I wouldn’t have thought possible twenty four hours earlier. How has no one ever been caught?

Neca interrupts my thoughts as if listening in, “Well, there was that one time. But it all worked out in the end.”

He doesn’t offer any more information, and I don’t feel like carrying on a conversation, so I let it drop. I do, however, spend the next several minutes wondering what he could mean. Maybe Centavo paid someone off. Or maybe, I gulp, maybe Neca killed someone.

Occasionally fighters die in the cage. It’s not smiled upon, but it happens. Still, killing someone on accident, no matter how violent the sport, has to be different from…from, what? I swallow, realizing the severity of the actions I’ve taken over the last day—including my present situation.

If we stumbled upon someone right now, I’d have no choice. Certainly I, too, would kill, if it meant saving Olin. Or would that be one more way I’m not as strong as Neca—all bark to his bite?

For the next half hour I imagine savage individuals leaping out from the forest and attacking us. Each time, I deliver a storm of blows, saving Neca from the clutches of death. Each time, the episode seems unconvincing, so I start it over.

The ground becomes uneven, and we slow to a careful walk, ensuring each footfall doesn’t end with a sprained ankle. The trees thin until we are exposed along the rocky ridge. I steal a short glimpse toward the city. The top of the shield wall glimmers ever so slightly over my left shoulder. We’re making good time.

Suddenly, Neca stops, causing me to bump into him. “Someone has been here.” He stoops.

I scan the tree line beneath us. Nothing moves, other than the darting shadows of bats. “What makes you say that? By the looks of the trail, lots of people have been here.”

“This is Centavo’s trail. No unauthorized usage. And look,” he stands holding something in his hand, “someone’s been illegally dumping.”

“What is it? It looks like pottery.”

“A piece of a neuhtli jug.” He hands me the fragment before climbing a few meters down the side of the ridge. “Hueyi.”

“What is it?” I feel too exposed standing on the ridge, so I crouch.

“Peyotl. It’s rancid, and there’s a lot. We’ve gotta get out of here, fast.” He scurries up the rocks.

I offer him a hand. Still confused about the danger, I hear a low growl emanating from the tree line behind me.

“Wolves,” we whisper the word simultaneously.

“They can smell the stuff from kilometers off.” Neca grabs my hand. “If we’ve got a clear shot toward the wall, they’ll leave us alone for the peyotl.” Slowly, we retreat along the ridge, away from the growling below us. Then I hear the rumble of another—closer, between us and the city.

“What now?” I squeeze his hand.

“We fight.”