“I didn’t know sun dwellers were slobs, too,” I comment, catching a whiff of putrid rotting garbage as we approach. “What’s with all the garbage?”

“Now that’s interesting,” Tristan says.

“What is?” Tawni asks.

“Sun dwellers are typically very clean. That hole leads to giant Dumpsters that, when full, are shipped to the Star Realm for destruction in the lava flow.”

“But that’s a lot of garbage,” I say. “My subchapter wouldn’t create that much garbage in a month.”

“People are very wasteful here,” Roc says. “That’s probably a day’s worth.”

I cough, choking on breath. “A day! That’s ridiculous,” I say.

Roc shrugs. “It’s a different world up here. But still, whether it’s a day’s worth, or a month’s, it shouldn’t be piling up on the street—it should be shipped away.”

“It seems that’s not happening anymore,” I note.

“Seems not. Given the war, all inter-Realm shipping would be cancelled indefinitely. I guess there’s not a backup plan for managing the trash.”

“Funny,” I say. “Perhaps the Sun Realm is more dependent on the Lower Realms than anyone realizes.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tristan says. I glance at the shining steel doors on the building. “Trash, taxes, building supplies, gemstones, iron ore: it all comes from the Lower Realms. The Sun Realm wouldn’t exist without it.”

“Which is exactly why your father is moving so fast to knock us back into line,” I add, immediately thinking of my mom and sister. With the strength and resources of the Sun Realm, their hope of survival is minimal if we don’t succeed in our mission. Instead of fear rising, it’s determination that wells up, heating my chest. Failure is not an option—never was.

Before Tristan can respond, the raucous grinding of gears sounds to the right. A dark crack appears below the roll-up doors, growing thicker as the twin risers are pulled inside. Then: the rumble of an engine joins the cacophony of noise.

“Quick, away from the doors!” Tristan says. “Make like we’re just hanging out.”

We rush to the side of the opening, against the wall, sort of facing each other, as if we’re just having a conversation. In my peripheral vision a monstrous truck emerges from the garage like a troll from its cave. With a roar, the closed-bedded truck hangs a hard right and blows past us, sending a mixed rush of hot air, exhaust, and old garbage over us.

“Whew! That stinks like the Star Realm,” Trevor says. “I thought you said the garbage service would be shut down.”

“It should be,” Tristan says. “There’s no way that truck’s headed below.” He motions to the ground.

We stare at the ground in silence, each puzzling over the mystery.

“It could be going to subchapter four,” Roc says.

“Why four?” I ask.

“There’s an incinerator there. It’s mostly used for easily disposed of waste that doesn’t require the lava flow, but they’re desperate, so maybe they’ll try to destroy whatever they can there.”

“Good call, Roc. That’s the only place they could be taking it,” Tristan says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Trevor says. “All we care about is reaching subchapter one. Where’s the train?”

“Dammit,” Roc says, as if just remembering something. “It’s the Sun Festival. Even trains won’t be running today.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, dreading having to hike another dozen or more miles through an intra-Realm tunnel which is probably full of sun dweller soldiers looking for revenge for their fallen comrades.

“Pretty sure,” he says.

“Why not?” Tawni asks. “Wouldn’t people want to be able to get to the best parties?”

Roc’s expression is thoughtful. “You’d think so. But there’s a lot of pride in one’s subchapter up here. There are buses to transport people within the city, but no intra-Realm travel is permitted on Festival Day.

“We have to check anyway,” Tristan says. “Do you remember how much further?”

“Maybe six blocks.”

“Move out.”

We walk faster this time, presumably because we all want to know whether our plans have indeed been foiled by a silly holiday in the middle of a war. Even Tawni picks up the pace, performing admirably in her heels. Two more clusters of sun dwellers pass us, but both are too busy laughing and carrying on that they don’t say a word to us, which is fine by me.

When we reach the train station, the truth stares us in the face:

Linked metal chains seal the doors.

Chapter Fourteen

Tristan

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have remembered. Everything was going so well I got complacent, assumed we’d be able to just coast into my hometown on a golden train. Not today.

“We can hide out somewhere,” Roc suggests. “Wait until morning and then hop the early train while all the sun dwellers are sleeping off the festival.”

On the face of it, it seems like a good suggestion. We seem to be relatively safe here in our disguises, and soon no one will be in any condition to identify us. We haven’t seen a single Enforcer, as most of them have probably been sent to join the army. Deep in the Sun Realm, it’s unlikely that any of them are stationed here. However, there’s one problem:

“The Moon Realm might be defeated by morning,” Adele says. “If not already.”

The truth of her words ring in all our ears. Although the world seems like a happy, peaceful place in subchapter eight, in reality it’s a war-ravaged battleground. I know my father will be pushing hard to finish the siege quickly, perhaps desiring to make a victory announcement the day after the biggest celebration of the year.

“I agree. We can’t wait. We have to get there no later than tonight,” I say. “Any other suggestions?”

Silence.

“How far is the walk?” Trevor asks.

I cringe, dreading the thought of running all the way to subchapter one; for running is the only way we’d make it by the end of the day on foot. “Far,” I say.

Roc cranes his neck and stares at the cavern roof high above. “I think there’s a twenty-eight-mile-long tunnel that would get us to subchapter four. At least then we’d be in the right cluster. Then we could just take the Nailin Tunnel to the capital. That’s only a little over a mile.”

“So twenty-nine miles, not including the time and distance to get to the right tunnel. Even at a manic pace it will take us at least three hours,” I say, “and we’ll be in no position to fight anyone when we arrive.”

“Subchapter four…” Adele murmurs, almost to herself. Then, turning to Roc, she says, “Isn’t that where you said the garbage trucks might be headed?”

“Yeah, so?” Roc says.

I know where she’s going with this. “No, absolutely not,” I say. “It’s too dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than everything we’ve had to do this entire mission, and a hell of a lot less dangerous than what we still have to do,” she says hotly, giving me a look.

“Am I missing something?” Tawni asks, to no one in particular.

“She wants to ride in the garbage trucks,” I explain.

“I don’t want to. But it may be our only choice. You said it yourself—getting there on foot will be long and tiring.”

“But a garbage truck?” I say.

“Suck it up, sun boy,” Trevor says, “I’ve waded through some pretty nasty sh—”

“Fine. If everyone agrees, I’ll do it,” I say flatly, hoping someone else will disagree.

“What if there aren’t any more trucks today?” Roc asks.

“Did you see the amount of garbage piling up outside the chute?” Adele says. “They have no choice—they have to take it somewhere.”

“But we’ll destroy our new clothes,” Tawni says, looking down at her expensive dress, a look of horror on her face.

“I forgot about that,” Trevor says, brushing a bit of gray dust off his black Rizzo tunic. “Maybe there’s another way.”

“Now who should suck it up?” I say mockingly.

“I retract my previous insult,” Trevor says seriously.