Read Online Breathe by Sarah Crossan - Free Book Online Page A

hits the pod in such a way that it could be a beautiful glimmering mountain if it weren’t for the four recycling stations steaming next to it. There is nothing else close to the pod. All debris was cleared a long time ago. It’s only now that we are at a distance that we come upon the rubble of the world as it was before The Switch. There are rows of tumbledown houses along cracked, warped roads, and everywhere the remains of old vehicles covered in what looks like ivy. Even though it’s winter and the frost is probably freezing the roots off everything, the earth is not as barren as I imagined. Besides the ivy, tufts of wild grasses and moss eat away at the ruins. I carefully sidestep anything living, anything growing, though now and again I bend down to brush the greenery with my hand.
    What I love most is the dirt. Everything is so clean in the pod. Even the streets in Zone Three are spotless. In the short time we’ve been walking, my boots are scuffed and brown. The old roads are often impassable. The paths we are using are muddy, worn tracks made by the tourists, spreading out erratically from the pod like veins. I take off my gloves and reach down to dig up a handful of cold, hard, pebbled soil. I rub it between my fingers so that it crumbles, until I’m left with only one small blue stone. I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger. Alina is by my side, between Quinn and me, and she is watching. Her eyes squint so I know she’s smiling. But I don’t know what her smile means—maybe she is laughing at me. I throw the blue stone back onto the ground and brush my hands against my pants. And I notice Alina’s laces are undone. I consider not mentioning it. But I don’t. I point down at her feet. She nods and bends to tie her shoelaces. When she stands up again I smile at her, too. I think I might be trying to prove how nice I am, so she’ll be on my side. If I’m kind to her, maybe she won’t take Quinn away from me.
    Within half an hour, we pass The Cenotaph. A crowd has already gathered to weep and read the names of their dead loved ones from a mammoth pentagonal stone. The actual burial places are many miles from the pod to prevent the spread of disease, too far for people to travel to. So the Ministry erected this monument to give the grief-stricken a place to remember. Not that many auxiliaries can afford the air to get here. When my grandmother died, we had to hold a small vigil at home instead. “Are there names of people you know engraved on The Cenotaph?” Quinn asks Alina.
    She turns to him and her eyelids flutter closed for a moment. “No,” she says. “My parents’ names aren’t on it.”
    He opens his mouth to respond, but I pinch him. It isn’t his business. Whatever it is. Then he says, “Can you imagine how big that thing would have to be if they made a monument to everyone lost in The Switch?” We all look at The Cenotaph but quickly turn away. The truth is, it’s impossible to imagine how far it would have to stretch.
    Eventually the hundreds of armed stewards who guard the pod in concentric circles thin out, and after another hour of walking, there is no one ahead of us and only a scattering of ambling day-trippers almost a mile behind—shifting dots in the distance.
    We cut through an old school yard, past rotting wooden benches and a capsized basketball hoop. At the edge of the yard, garbage cans lie on their sides, bottles spilling out of them, the plastic ones intact. We reach a wide road, climb a set of stairs, and cross a concrete bridge to the other side. When we get there, Alina stops and stands with her hands on her hips. “This is as far as we go together,” she says. I look at Quinn.
    “You won’t be safe on your own,” he says.
    “I’ve enough air to get me to where I’m going.” She knocks on her tank with her knuckles and gives us the thumbs-up. “I don’t need as much as you. I’ve already tightened my valve.”
    “Where exactly are you going?” Quinn