Chapter Twenty Three. Junkyard

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Year E3029

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Year E3029

Ocea

"I hate this place." Becca tripped over a rock, trying to keep tears from falling.

"I hate this forest." Her legs shook from the distance we had run.

"I never want to come back here," she whispered in between breaths while jogging.

The morning dawn crept deep into the hillside. Rain slowly dripped from the overhung trees, freezing my hair to my cheeks. Wyatt paused on top of a log, rotating to help Becca up and over.

Her high ponytail fell to her shoulders while the hairband barely held anything in place. Once on the other side of the log, she kept jogging, not looking back.

"I hate this place."

"I hate this forest."

"I never want to come back here," she whispered, thinking we couldn't hear her.

Wyatt jumped off the log as I climbed up. He chased after Becca, grabbing her wrist to slow her down. I glanced around, seeing the City of Rise on the other side of the river. The tower buildings of the rich side shadowed the town.

"Are we close?" Thomas asked, knowing our goal was to head to the junkyard on the city's edge.

I looked down at him, reaching my hand out. With his palm in mine, I pulled, helping him. Thomas quickly wrapped his hand around my waist, bringing our hips together. His forehead bumped into mine, forming a chuckle deep in his throat.

"Your dad would have separated us by now." Thomas's brown eyes connected with mine.

I swallowed thick saliva, watching the gold specks in his eyes dance. "Um—" I glance away, pointing. "Do you see the city?" I asked while he leaned his face closer to my cheek.

"Yeah," he said, then shifted his eyes to mine.

"Hey!" Wyatt yelled. "The junkyard should be over the wall next to the river, right?"

Wyatt waved his arms around, pointing toward the tall yellow brick wall. He leaned against a tree while Becca sat on a rock with her head in her hands. They were both waiting for us at the top of the hill.

I stepped back from Thomas, jumping off the log. "Yeah, I believe Stop told me there is an underwater passage into it."

"When did he tell you that?" Wyatt asked, picking off a leaf from a tree and playing with it.

"He told you too, but not directly." I stopped a couple of feet from Wyatt, looking up at him. "Remember the story about getting caught in Clair's bed?"

Wyatt pointed at me. "Fake story, but yes." He continued walking toward the river. "He escaped out from under the wall into the river."

"Fake story?" Thomas asked.

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