Page 6

“What is it?” I whisper.

Arlo squints at the structure. He walks the length of the visible portion, running his hand along the rusted metal skin, pausing where a section has buckled open, creating a gap wide enough for a body to fit through. He braces one hand on the metal and swings both legs over.

“Arlo!” I hiss, watching his body disappear into the ground. He doesn’t answer, and panic creeps up my throat.

“It’s fine!” His voice is muffled and strange.

It is not fine. Everything about this feels wrong: the dead fish, the rotting smell, this metal skeleton buried in the sand with its empty-eye-socket windows. My skin prickles with unease, and I cross my arms tight over my chest.

“Arlo, you shouldn’t be in there.”

No answer. Just the sound of something scraping against metal, then a grunt of effort.

I curse under my breath and climb through the gap.

Instantly, every hair on my body stands on end. It’s like I’ve stepped through a portal into a different time. The inside is dark, and sand has drifted through every crack and broken window, filling the lower half of the space. Rows of rusted seats stretch the length of the interior, some still bolted to the floor, others torn loose and tipped sideways.

I blink a few times, and my surroundings shift. The seats are full of people now, peering out the windows in panic as the endless ocean grows closer. Their screams and cries wrap around me. Noise like I’ve never heard fills my ears.

Then the lights flicker overhead.

Vertigo washes over me, and I stumble as the world tilts to one side. My hand lands on something solid, an oval window where water is all you can see coming toward us.

A soft melody carries over the panic, and I peer down at the woman seated one row up. Her eyes are glossy with tears, but as she sings, calm and sweet amid the chaos, I can’t look away.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are.”

My brows furrow, not knowing the rhyme, but then I notice something squirming in her arms. A baby with soft, round cheeks and eyes trained on the woman holding her. The baby looks so content at the sound of her voice, unaware that there is no warm bed for her to rest in or that death is coming.

Sirens blare, and the room tilts again. I clench my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. The screams grow louder.

“Alessia?” My eyes fly open to find myself huddled on the ground, gripping the rusted wall. Peering up, Arlo is watching me with concern.

I take in the rusted ceiling that is low and buckled. Water drips somewhere in the dark, and I try to breathe deeply to ground myself.

“So many people,” I murmur.

“There is no one here.” Arlo looks around, and I blink, realizing what I said. But there were people here. Lots of people who were devoured by the sea.

“This is horrible,” I breathe. “We need to leave.”

“Hold on,” Arlo says, helping me to my feet before moving and crouching by a door at the front of the structure just beyond the gap. It’s smaller than the rest, built into a wall that separates this section from whatever’s beyond. Sand is packed against its base. He digs at it with his hands, scooping wet clumps away from the bottom, then he grabs the handle and pulls.

Metal screams against metal as the door resists. It’s rusted shut after years of saltwater sealing it. Arlo braces his foot against the wall and heaves until it gives way. Sand spills through, and I shriek in panic, thinking we are about to be buried alive, but it quickly stops.

He pushes through into a smaller space. I follow, ducking under the low frame.

The room beyond is cramped and filled with strange instruments. Panels of dials and switches line the walls, covered in grime and corrosion. Two seats face forward toward a wide window that’s blocked by packed sand. Everything here is frozen in place, preserved in its ruin.

Then it hits me. We’re on a plane. The old world put human beings in metal containers and hurled them through the air above the clouds. People did this voluntarily as a way to get around.

“Arlo.” My voice sounds strange. “It’s a plane.”

He looks up from where he’s pulling copper wiring out of the instrument panel, his bag open at his feet. “Took you long enough to figure it out.” He laughs.

“I’ve never seen one up close in real life. I almost forgot what they looked like. I asked Mom what they were once.” I pause, letting the memory of my mother’s voice play in my mind. Arlo looks up from his work, waiting for me to continue. “She told us they were flying stars, searching for the ones who had fallen and couldn’t find their way back. I remember wondering how something so bright could ever get lost.” I didn’t realize what they truly were until I saw one in a book once when Sable and I lived with Madam Dahlia.

He looks around the tiny compartment at the dead instruments and the sand pressing against the window where the sky should be.