the time. At the time, she thought the sky had split apart. At the time, she thought the world was ending.
Turn the page to continue reading Lyraâs story. Click here to read Chapter 7 of Gemmaâs story.
EIGHT
THE FORCE OF THE FIRST blast threw her off her feet. She landed palms-down in the mud, with 72 beside her. Her eyes stung from the sudden vapor of dust, which seemed to rise all at once and everywhere, like a soft exhalation. People were screaming. An alarm kept hitting the same high note of panic, over and over, without end.
It was the sound that paralyzed her: shock waves of sound, a screaming in her ears and the back of her teeth, the sound of atoms splitting in two. It took her a second to realize that 72 was no longer beside her. He was on his feet, running.
But after only a few feet he stopped, and, turning around, saw her still frozen, still belly down in the mud like a salamander. He came back. He had to yell to be heard over the fire and the screaming.
âMove,â he said, but even his words sounded distant, asif the ringing in her ears had transformed them to vague music. She couldnât move. She was cold and suddenly tired. She wanted to sleep. Even her mouth wouldnât work to say no . âMove now.â She wasnât very good at judging feelings, but she thought he sounded angry.
She was focusing on very small details: the motion of a rock crab scuttling sideways in the churned-up mud, the hiss of wind through the trees that carried the smell of smoke, the maleâs bare feet an inch from her elbow, his toenails ringed with dirt.
Then 72 had her elbow and she was shocked back into awareness of her body. She felt blood pumping through her heart, valves opening and closing like eyelids inside of her.
âNow,â 72 said again. âNow, now.â She wondered whether his mind had become stuck on the word, whether like Lilac Springs and Goosedown and so many others his brain had never formed right. She grabbed the pillowcase from the ground where it had fallen. It had gone a dull, gray color, from all the shimmering dust. The Altoids tin landed in the dirt but she had no time to stop and retrieve it. He was still holding on to her elbow, and she wasnât thinking well.
A drumbeat pop-pop-popping sound made her heart lurch, because she knew what it was: every so often the guards, bored, fired at alligators that swam too close tothe island. She thought there must be alligatorsâbut the alligators would burnâshe wondered whether their hides would protect them. . . .
They went back through the broken machinery, moving not toward the marshes but toward the sound of roaring fire and screams. Ash caught in Lyraâs throat and made breathing painful. She didnât think it strange that they were heading back toward the fireâshe could see a shimmering haze of smoke in the distance, beyond the trees, smoke that seemed to have taken on the silhouette of a buildingâbecause she knew they needed to find a nurse, they needed to line up, they needed to be told what to do. The nurses would tell them. They would make things better. She longed in that moment for Squeezeme and Thermoscan, longed to feel the familiar squeeze of pressure on her arm and suck down the taste of plastic, longed to be back in bed number 24, touching her windowsill, her headboard, her sheets. They moved past the chemical drums and squeezed through the fence through which Lyra had come looking for a hiding place. She was still holding the pillowcase to her chest with one arm and felt a little better, a little more clearheaded.
But as they came into view of the institute, she stopped. For a second she felt one of the bullets must have gone through her, punched a hole directly in her stomach. She could no longer feel her legs. She couldnât understandwhat she was seeing. It was like someone had smashed up reality and then tried to put it together all wrong. A-Wing was gone and
Turn the page to continue reading Lyraâs story. Click here to read Chapter 7 of Gemmaâs story.
EIGHT
THE FORCE OF THE FIRST blast threw her off her feet. She landed palms-down in the mud, with 72 beside her. Her eyes stung from the sudden vapor of dust, which seemed to rise all at once and everywhere, like a soft exhalation. People were screaming. An alarm kept hitting the same high note of panic, over and over, without end.
It was the sound that paralyzed her: shock waves of sound, a screaming in her ears and the back of her teeth, the sound of atoms splitting in two. It took her a second to realize that 72 was no longer beside her. He was on his feet, running.
But after only a few feet he stopped, and, turning around, saw her still frozen, still belly down in the mud like a salamander. He came back. He had to yell to be heard over the fire and the screaming.
âMove,â he said, but even his words sounded distant, asif the ringing in her ears had transformed them to vague music. She couldnât move. She was cold and suddenly tired. She wanted to sleep. Even her mouth wouldnât work to say no . âMove now.â She wasnât very good at judging feelings, but she thought he sounded angry.
She was focusing on very small details: the motion of a rock crab scuttling sideways in the churned-up mud, the hiss of wind through the trees that carried the smell of smoke, the maleâs bare feet an inch from her elbow, his toenails ringed with dirt.
Then 72 had her elbow and she was shocked back into awareness of her body. She felt blood pumping through her heart, valves opening and closing like eyelids inside of her.
âNow,â 72 said again. âNow, now.â She wondered whether his mind had become stuck on the word, whether like Lilac Springs and Goosedown and so many others his brain had never formed right. She grabbed the pillowcase from the ground where it had fallen. It had gone a dull, gray color, from all the shimmering dust. The Altoids tin landed in the dirt but she had no time to stop and retrieve it. He was still holding on to her elbow, and she wasnât thinking well.
A drumbeat pop-pop-popping sound made her heart lurch, because she knew what it was: every so often the guards, bored, fired at alligators that swam too close tothe island. She thought there must be alligatorsâbut the alligators would burnâshe wondered whether their hides would protect them. . . .
They went back through the broken machinery, moving not toward the marshes but toward the sound of roaring fire and screams. Ash caught in Lyraâs throat and made breathing painful. She didnât think it strange that they were heading back toward the fireâshe could see a shimmering haze of smoke in the distance, beyond the trees, smoke that seemed to have taken on the silhouette of a buildingâbecause she knew they needed to find a nurse, they needed to line up, they needed to be told what to do. The nurses would tell them. They would make things better. She longed in that moment for Squeezeme and Thermoscan, longed to feel the familiar squeeze of pressure on her arm and suck down the taste of plastic, longed to be back in bed number 24, touching her windowsill, her headboard, her sheets. They moved past the chemical drums and squeezed through the fence through which Lyra had come looking for a hiding place. She was still holding the pillowcase to her chest with one arm and felt a little better, a little more clearheaded.
But as they came into view of the institute, she stopped. For a second she felt one of the bullets must have gone through her, punched a hole directly in her stomach. She could no longer feel her legs. She couldnât understandwhat she was seeing. It was like someone had smashed up reality and then tried to put it together all wrong. A-Wing was gone and
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