Prologue
Everything was hazy and dark, his body ached, his feet were cut and bleeding, while a bitter ice-cold wind bit into his exposed flesh. He didn’t know where he was, nor how he got there, but he had been walking through the trees for hours now. It felt like he was walking in circles. He kept tripping over his clothing; all of it was much too large for his little body. A shiver wracked through him, its quivers threatened to rip him in half, the clanking of his jaw on the verge of shattering his teeth.
I need to find somewhere warm. He thought to himself, trying to hold himself together, arms clenched so tight around himself that he was certain there would be bruises there tomorrow. If I’m even alive tomorrow.
The first flakes of snow swirled around him as the trees finally parted. They opened up to expose a ten-story wall made of a mix of rusting iron patches and shimmering black stone. Flying out of holes near the top of the grand fortress were flying ships. Their hulls painted the same shimmer black as the stone, their wings and thrusters leaving behind trails of smog and bitter clouds.
There was no way he’d be able to climb the wall to get in through those windows. But his best chance at surviving the night lay beyond that wall. So, he walked again. Shuffling along the wild felid grass that was slowly flattening under the weight of the falling snow. Surely there had to be a door along the base of the wall somewhere.
The boy could no longer feel his toes, not even a cold stump on the end of his feet. He tripped more frequently, the numb appendages catching on roots and roots, and lost chunks of metal and odd bits of what he assumed must be garbage. The numbness was climbing, making it harder and harder to lift his feet; his arms felt frozen to his arms, and he didn’t think he’d be able to catch himself if he were to fall anymore. He had to keep moving, even if he didn’t find the entrance to… wherever he was. If he stopped, if he gave in to the cold and sat down, he would die. But it hurt so much to keep moving.
The sound of trickling water met his ears as he shuffled near the end of the left-hand side. As he grew closer, he could see steam rising out of a pipe that jutted out of the wall just above his head. The pipe had a slow trickle of water splashing out onto a stone below it, and a smell that burnt the boy’s nose. He gagged on the smell, aborted heaves causing him to hunch over. But, as much as he could smell it, he could also feel the warmth coming from it.
Can I even get up there? He wondered as he gripped the edge. How much strength would it take to heave himself over the lip and into it? Did he have that kind of strength left? Did he have it, to begin with? The boy shook his head, trying to clear it of questions and doubt. He had to get in there.
It took him several tries before he managed to pull his upper body into the pipe. His bare feet slipped on the slick rock below, his frozen fingers didn’t want to cling to the edge of the wet metal. But now he was halfway there, legs dangling as he lay half in, half out of the pipe. It smelt worse inside, the odour more concentrated. He didn’t want to imagine what the mud he was now covered in actually was. He wiggled and shuffled, struggling to pull the rest of his body in with no leverage on the smooth metal walls. Eventually, he was there, fully crouched in what was certainly a drainage pipe.
It was warmer than outside, but now he was wet, and the wind still blew in. The cold wind caused the cold to bite even worse on his wet skin. He had to go further in. He hoped that on the other end of his pipe would be safe, maybe a warm building, maybe something to eat.
The boy let his mind wander as he crawled deeper into the sewer drain. He thought of a soft bed, of warm blankets and dry clothes, imagining sitting wrapped up in them, a fire going next to him. The soft crackle of the wood paired with the deep baritone of a song. A warm cup of tea in his hands, warming him from the inside out with every sip. No, not tea. He corrected his imagination. Hot chocolate, the kind with marshmallows and milk. The kind that was perfect for cold stormy nights, that made you think of family, holidays, and time spent feeling loved. He let the feeling of love and images of fire and hot beverages distract him from the chill that still clung to his bones.
Ahead of him, the pipe opened up into a small stone room. A small landing protruded out, just below a set of metal rungs. Above the rungs, light shone into the space. A way out! He thought, rushing toward the landing. The young boy gripped onto the ladder and began the slow climb out of the sewers, pushing out of the small opening and rolling out onto the street above. He was on the other side of the wall.
The city beyond the wall was dark, the streets almost deserted. A few people milled around, picking through closed displays for forgotten products and climbing through trash bins for a bite of half-edible food. Some sat hunched in corners, their beady eyes watching him like rats from out of the dark. Their clothes were rags, their faces covered in trauma. The boy wandered too close to one, and it smiled at him, showing off empty blackened gums, their breath almost as foul as the sewer he’s just crawled out of. Papers blew across the cobbled path stones, as the wind danced around him; its bitter touch reminded him of his mission. He had to find somewhere to huddle down for the night. The surrounding people had layers of clothing, and sheets of cloth like blankets wrapped around them to keep warm. All he had were the soaked clothes that looked more like they belonged to his father than him.
Where was his father? He wondered. How did he get out in the middle of the woods? Was someone looking for him? Surely someone had to have been with him. He was too young to be there alone. Wasn’t he? How old was he? The aching emptiness that had been sitting in his mind pulled for his attention, endless who, what, where’s buzzing around in his mind. Their chatter made him anxious. What if something bad had happened to him and the people he had been with? What if he had been kidnapped? What if he was injured? He didn’t feel injured, but maybe it was on the inside. No, he said, to silence his thoughts. Injuries bring pain, and the only pain I have is from walking in a forest with no shoes and being out in the snow with no coat. I am fine, I just need to find a place for the night. We can ask around in the morning when non-rat people are awake.
He walked down three blocks, taking in the stacked city around him. He saw the laundry lines hanging between buildings, the leaning patios with the odd chair, and the bridged walkways between them. Some of the higher lights were on, but most of the windows were dark. Dead vines of once living plants hung off some buildings, their lattice frames hanging like a net above the alleyways. Finally, he found a stack with a hollowed-out base. The steel structure stood at street level, its walls half finished, door frame and windows nothing but open boxes.
He slipped into the building, finding relief from the wind at last. It wasn’t warm, but at least he wasn’t frozen anymore. Maybe he could find a blanket or a change of clothes, he thought as he set about searching the new space. It was a wide warehouse-type building with three rooms, two closets, and what looked to be framed out to be a bathroom. The restroom only had a few pipes and a large hole in the ground, but it was fully boxed in, with a working door. Mostly working, he corrected as it failed to clasp and swung open when he let it go. It would be a decent place to sleep if he could find something to hold it shut.
The boy re-entered the large room, looking around again for something to wear, and now something for the door. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t much. He couldn’t find any clothes, but he found several blankets hidden in one closet. After several minutes, he also found a strange box. A fan shook on the inside as he picked it up, but none of the buttons did anything. The front of it had a mesh speaker of sorts, but it was otherwise solid, and the boy was certain it would have enough weight to hold the door closed.
Returning to the bathroom with his loot, he laid out the blankets and placed the box against the door. He stripped out of his dripping clothes, not wanting to get his new bedding wet, and hung them over the pipes, hoping they’d dry overnight. Settling into the blankets he’d found, the boy turned himself to look at the door. He doubted he was safe; anyone could come in there and find him. The image of the toothless smiler and the rat man sent terror through him. What if they followed him and were planning on stealing his blankets? What if they were cannibals and ate him? Best to keep my eye on the door. He thought to himself, as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself for comfort.
As he lay there waiting for sleep to take him, the boy looked at the square box with the buttons. It made him sad it wasn’t working. Did someone throw it out because it didn’t work? Did it get lost? Did someone want it back? His eyes looked for patterns in the mesh front, following the abstract lines and wondering about its purpose. Was it a radio? Did someone listen to music and find joy in its vibrations? Was it an amplifier? Did someone use it to spread the sound of their voice to more people? Maybe it blew air or sucked it in. Maybe it used to purify the air, so someone with allergies wasn’t bothered anymore.
“What did you used to be?” He whispered aloud, hands reaching out to touch its surface. He didn’t expect it to answer, but as he touched it, he felt something akin to a purr under his fingers. The boy pulled himself closer to the device.
“Are you lost too?” He asked, his hands playing with the dials and buttons. “I wish you were working again. Then maybe your owner could find you.” The purr rose, and an electric current seemed to pass through them. The buzz urged his fingers toward a panel on its back. He peeled back the panel to find a complicated mess of wire. Some looked cut.
“Did someone hurt you?” He wondered at the device, barely conscious of his fingers’ movements as they deftly worked to reconnect the wires and tighten some bolts. “There you are,” he said when he finished straightening it all out. “I bet it feels better to be all worked out. Maybe you’ll start now.” He said, placing the panel back on and pressing the largest button.
A static-like shock shot through his fingers and burned warmly in his chest for a moment, then suddenly the strange box hummed to life. Its front mesh turned orange as the hot air blew out at him. The device was a portable heater. He smiled at the machine softly. “Thank you, friend. You are exactly what I needed; don’t worry, I won’t let you get lost again.” He set the thing down against the door again, settling into the blankets, the warm air lulling him to sleep. The sound of the fan was a lullaby of safety.
