“It is in a junkyard,” said Peony.
“I’m serious. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Cinder ran a hand along a rubber cable.
The light flashed back and forth as Iko’s sensor scanned the engine from above. “Any useful parts?”
“Good question.” Cinder’s vision tinted blue as she connected to her netlink. “Could you read me the VIN by the windshield?” She searched the number as Peony read it to her and had the hover’s blueprint downloaded in minutes, the display creating an overlaid image on top of the engine above her. “Seems to be fairly intact,” she murmured, running her fingertips along a cluster of wires over her head. She followed them with her eyes, tilting her head to trace the path from hoses to pulleys to axles, trying to decipher how it all fit together. How it all worked.
“This is so cool.”
“I’m bored,” said Peony.
Sighing, Cinder searched for the magbelt on the blueprint, but a green error message flashed in her vision. She tried just magnet, and then just belt, finally receiving a hit. The blueprint lit up a rubber band wrapped around a series of gears, encapsulated by a metal cover—something called a timing belt. Frowning, Cinder reached up and felt for the bolts and lock washers that attached the cover to the engine block.
She thought timing belts hadn’t been used since internal combustion had become obsolete.
Gasping, she craned her neck to the side. In the deep shadows beneath the vehicle, she could make out something round beside her, connected to the bars overhead. A wheel.
“It’s not a hover. It’s a car. A gasoline car.”
“Seriously?” said Peony. “I thought real cars were supposed to be…I don’t know. Classy.”
Indignation flared in Cinder’s chest. “It has character,” she said, feeling for the tire’s treads.
“So,” said Iko a second later, “does this mean we can’t use any of its parts?”
Ignoring her, Cinder hungrily scanned the blueprint before her. Oil pan, fuel injectors, exhaust pipes. “It’s from the second era.”
“Fascinating. Not,” said Peony. She suddenly screeched, launching herself back from the car.
Cinder started so fast she whapped her head on the front suspension. “Peony, what?”
“A rat just came out of the window! A big hairy fat one. Oh, gross.”
Groaning, Cinder settled her head back into the dirt, massaging her forehead. That made two head injuries in one day. At that rate, she was going to have to buy a new control panel too. “It must have been nesting in the upholstery. We probably scared it.”
“We scared it?” Peony’s voice carried a shudder with it. “Can we go now, please?”
Cinder sighed. “Fine.” Dismissing the blueprint, she squirmed out from beneath the car, accepting Iko’s offered grippers to stand. “I thought all the surviving gasoline cars were in museums,” she said, brushing the cobwebs from her hair.
“I’m not sure I would label it a ‘survivor,’” said Iko, her sensor darkening with disgust. “It looks more like a rotting pumpkin.”
Cinder shut the hood with a bang, sending an impressive dust cloud over the android. “What was that about having a fantastic imagination? With some attention and a good cleaning, it could be restored to its former glory.”
She caressed the hood. The car’s dome-shaped body was a yellow-orange shade that looked sickly under Iko’s light—a color that no one in modern times would choose—but with the antique style of the vehicle it bordered on charming. Rust was creeping up from the hollow beneath the shattered headlights, arching along the dented fender. One of the back windows was missing, but the seats were intact, albeit mildew covered and torn and probably home to more than just rodents. The steering wheel and dash seemed to have suffered only minor damage over the years.
“Maybe it could be our escape car.”
Peony peered into the passenger’s side window. “Escape from what?”
“Adri. New Beijing. We could get out of the Commonwealth altogether. We could go to Europe!” Cinder rounded the driver’s side and scrubbed the dirt from the window with her glove. On the floor inside, three pedals winked up at her. Though hovers were all controlled by computer, she had read enough about old technology to know what a clutch was and even had a basic idea of how to operate one.
“This hunk of metal wouldn’t get us to the city limits,” said Peony.
Stepping back, Cinder dusted off her hands. They were probably right. Maybe this wasn’t a fantasy vehicle, maybe it wasn’t their key to salvation, but somehow, someday, she would leave New Beijing. She would find a place where no one knew who she was—or what she was.
“Plus, we couldn’t afford the gasoline,” continued Iko. “We could trade in your new foot and still not be able to afford enough fuel to get out of here. Plus, the pollution fines. Plus, I’m not getting in this thing. There’s probably decades’ worth of rat droppings under those seats.”
Peony cringed. “Ew.”
Cinder laughed. “All right, I get it. I won’t make you guys push the car home.”
“Whew, you had me worried,” said Peony. She smiled because she hadn’t really been worried and flipped her hair off her shoulder.
Cinder’s eye caught on something—a dark spot below Peony’s collarbone, visible just above the collar of her shirt. “Hold still,” she said, reaching forward.
Peony did the opposite, panicking and swiping at phantoms on her chest. “What? What is it? A bug? A spider?”
“I said, hold still!” Cinder grabbed Peony by the wrist, swiped at the spot—and froze.
Dropping Peony’s arm, she stumbled back.
“What? What is it?” Peony tugged on her shirt, trying to see, but then spotted another spot on the back of her hand.
She looked up at Cinder, blood draining from her face. “A…a rash?” she said. “From the car?”
Cinder gulped and neared her with hesitant footsteps, holding her breath. She reached again for Peony’s collarbone and pulled the fabric of her shirt down, revealing the entire spot in the moonlight. A splotch of red, rimmed with bruise purple.
Her fingers trembled. She pulled away, meeting Peony’s gaze.
Peony screamed.
Chapter Five
PEONY’S SHRIEKS FILLED THE JUNKYARD, SEEPING INTO THE cracks of broken machinery and outdated computers. Cinder’s auditory interface couldn’t protect her from the shrill memory, even as Peony’s voice cracked and she dissolved into hysteria.
Cinder stood trembling, unable to move. Wanting to comfort Peony. Wanting to run away.
How was this possible?
Peony was young, healthy. She couldn’t be sick.
Peony cried, brushing repeatedly at her skin, the spots.
Cinder’s netlink took over, as it did in moments when she couldn’t think for herself. Searching, connecting, feeding information to her she didn’t want.
Letumosis. The blue fever. Worldwide pandemic. Hundreds of thousands dead. Unknown cause, unknown cure.
“Peony—”
She tentatively reached forward, but Peony stumbled back, swiping at her wet cheeks and nose. “Don’t come near me! You’ll get it. You’ll all get it.”