Cress awoke to a dizzying assortment of sensations. Her legs throbbed
and the bottoms off her feet ached. The weight of the sand that they'd
buried themselves in to keep warm pressed down on her from neck to
toes. Her scalp was still tingling from its strange new lightness. Her skin
felt dry and scratchy, her lips brittle.
Thorne stirred beside her, moving slowly so as not to disturb the
square of parachute material they'd draped over themselves to keep
windblown sand out of their faces, though the grains in Cress's ears and
nose proved that it hadn't been entirely effective. Every inch of her body
was covered in the stuff. Sand under her fingernails. Sand at the corners
of her lips. Sand in her hair and in the folds of her earlobes. Attempting
to rub the dry sleep from her eyelashes proved a difficult, painstaking
operation.
"Hold still," said Thorne, settling a palm on her arm. "The tarp may
have gathered some dew. We shouldn't let it go to waste."
"Dew?"
"Water that comes up from the ground in the morning."
She knew what dew was, but it seemed silly to expect it in this land-
scape. Still, the air did seem almost damp around her, and she didn't
argue when Thorne instructed he to find the tarp's corners and lift
them up, sending whatever moisture there was down to its middle.
What they found when they had shimmied out from beneath it was
a little less than a single gulp of water, muddied from the sand that had
blown up onto the fabric overnight. She described their underwhelming
success to Thorne and watched disappointment crease his brow, though
it soon faded with a shrug. "At least we still have plenty of water from
the satellite."
Plenty being their last two bottles full.
Cress looked out at the brightening horizon. After walking nearly the
entire night, Cress doubted they could have slept for more than a couple
of hours, and her feet felt like they would fall off with the next step. She
was disheartened when she looked up at the mountains and discovered
that they didn't seem any closer now than they had the evening before.
"How are your eyes?" she asked.
"Well, I've been told they're dreamy, but I'll let you decide for your-
self."
Flushing, she turned back to him. Thorne had his arms crossed over
his chest and a devil-may-care grin, but there was something strained
beneath it. She realized that the lightness in his tone had also rung
false, covering up whatever frustrations were simmering just beneath his cav-
alier attitude.
"I couldn't disagree," she murmured. Though she immediately
wanted to crawl back beneath the parachute and hide from embarrass-
ment, it was worth it to see Thorne's grin become a little less forced.
They packed up their camp, drank some water, and retied the towels
around Cress's ankles, all while the taunting morning dew steamed and
disappeared around them the temperature was already climbing. Be-
fore closing up their pack, Thorne shook out the sheets and made Cress
wrap one around herself like a robe, then adjusted his own sheet to make
a hooded cloak that came over his brow.
"Is your head covered?" he asked, brushing his foot along the ground
until he found the metal bar he'd been using as a cane. Cress tried her
best to mimic the way he'd covered himself before confirming that it
was. "Good. Your skin is going to crisp up like bacon soon enough. This
will help for a little while at least."
YOU ARE READING
Cress
Teen FictionTheir best hope lies with Cress, a girl trapped on a satellite since childhood who's only ever had her netscreens as company. All that screen time has made Cress an excellent hacker. Unfortunately, she's being force to work for Queen Levana, and she...
