CHAPTER 1
The city air was humid and thick, the hazy early heat of a late May morning. Houses and storefronts slid by in flashes of murky colors, wood and metal, paint and glass all melding into one.
Faces emerged and disappeared quick as firecrackers, faces of men and women he’d never know.
Sprinting down Washington Avenue, Rusty darted through the crowds, side stepping stragglers
and barely missing a herd of baby strollers. Early 90’s grunge rock blasted into Rusty’s eardrums,
his SEED music system buds canceling out the screech of commuter traffic in the street. Sweat soaked the undersides of his arms and dripped heavily off the edges of his fire red hair. But through this mayhem all he could hear, all he could feel, was his breath surging in his chest and his legs pounding the pavement. It was a mad dash of Hollywood standards. Three blocks to go, five minutes left. A runner stealing home in the World Series couldn’t have put on a better show.
He swiped his train pass through the electric reader and crashed through the revolving gates in one haphazard motion, barely keeping stride as he took the stairs three steps at a time. He skidded around the final corner and his hundred-fifty pound frame was almost knocked off its feet by the weight of his overstuffed backpack. He caught himself just before he hit the ground and came to a halting, jerking stop at the edge of the Mag-Lev platform. It was past the normal rush hour for trains and the station was practically deserted, with only one or two businessmen lazily reading newspapers. Hands on his knees, soaked shirt clinging to his wet skin, he panted hard and stared down the tracks. He could see the train’s headlight coming through the tunnel a half mile away. He’d done it; he’d made the train on time. Eight blocks in barely ten minutes -that had to be a new personal record. Rusty smiled despite the burning cramp in his side and pulled away the stray end of a hair that was threatening the corner of his eye. Looking up at his mop top of red and debating a haircut, Rusty sighed and continued to grin anyway, realizing he should relax. It was May 31st after all, the last day of school before summer vacation. In just a few short hours he’d be free, free for three whole months. Three months without Shakespeare reports or lazy teachers or lockers with broken locks. A chance to sleep, soak up a little sun, maybe even try his luck with asking Jenna Harrisonout on a date. The Mag-Lev was quickly approaching and Rusty felt so good that he started to rock out on air guitar, fingers picking the hot air as the solo took off. He closed his eyes and bobbed his head as the heavy finale reached its peak. He hopped up on his toes, bouncing from foot to foot and trying to remember how the rock stars acted on stage in those old concert videos. He spun in place, stepped side to side, and started really laying into the groove. For a moment Rusty actually felt like he was flying through the air, weightless in the moment. A sickening crunch to his stomach snapped Rusty back to the real world. Eyes wide in confusion, he looked down and saw he was lying on top of something hard and metallic, something digging into his gut. He whipped his head around frantically, craning his neck and cringing as the pain in his stomach grew. What the @#!*% had just happened? Rolling off the metal object and onto his side, one of Rusty’s earbuds came loose and dropped onto the ground, rolling away and bumping
into a nearby rail. It exploded instantly, letting out a loud pop and sending bits of plastic flying everywhere. A bright, hissing white electric current arced across the metal where the earbud had once been.
Rusty suddenly figured out where he was: on the train tracks. Somehow he had fallen off the platform and dropped six feet down onto the rails, barely missing the electrified portions that kept the train rolling. On either side of him were smooth cement walls, painted white like clouds. Below him was the steel and electronic infrastructure of the Mag-Lev’s tracks, sparking and
