First Spark: Wall of Fire, #4

By Melanie Tays

Their saviors became tyrants. Their safe haven became a prison. And worst of all, most people don't have a clue they should be fighting for their lives.

The City, which was once a sanctuary from a ravaging pandemic, has become a prison. With unique ties to one of the Council members, Eason alone has a chance to set everyone free. But the forces that seek to hold The City captive will not be easy to outwit and overcome.

Long before Emery crossed the Wall of Fire, Eason was already hard at work undermining the Council and laying the groundwork for the downfall of The City. Finally, Eason has his chance to share all the secrets he's been guarding so closely—about his family, about The City, and about Emery.

First Spark is Book 4 in the Young Adult, dystopian Wall of Fire series. In this prequel told from Eason's perspective, discover what happened in the two years leading up to Emery's heroic rescue of The City and what Eason was really planning when he enlisted Emery's help.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Tays
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781952141140

Book preview

EASON

Chapter 1

It’s not the ear-piercing scream that sets me on edge as I exit the school building but rather its muffled quality as it reverberates down the alleyway. If the scream were loud and unrestrained, I’d make the most logical assumption that a loose brick had fallen or there’d been a malfunction at the nearest recycling center. The poor victim would still need help, but it’s the suppressed nature of the scream that leads me to believe something more sinister is happening.

I break away from the main flow of students walking to lunch and head in the opposite direction. Glancing between the rows of dilapidated buildings for the source of the sound, it doesn’t take long before I spot two figures grappling. An older man—clearly marked as homeless by his shoeless, filthy state—towers over a boy who can’t be older than ten. The man has an arm locked around the kid’s neck and his hand, which has long ago been stripped of two fingers, clamped over his mouth.

I take off running toward the pair, determined to put a stop to this before things get any worse for either of them.

Let him go! I say in an authoritative tone that comes easily at my bidding.

Stay out of this, the man growls, his words garbled by the absence of most of his teeth. This isn’t your concern.

Everything in The City is my concern, I counter, taking hold of his free arm and twisting it backward to the point of pain but not injury.

The boy seizes the opportunity to wriggle free and takes off running.

There, that’s better, I say, releasing the man.

I ought to cut your throat, he hisses. That boy stole my lunch. He had it coming.

More like you were trying to steal his. Damaged people like this man can’t work anymore, and that means they don’t earn credits. No credits equal no place to live and no trays of meal rations from the nutrition stations. Even the most meager offerings of the Smoke are kept out of reach. Most don’t survive long. Some find a way to scavenge and make use of things The City doesn’t claim or recycle—which is pretty much limited to dirt and bugs.

There was a raccoon that ran through here. I haven’t seen one of those in ages. I almost had it, and that little cretin scared it off when he came tromping through here.

That may be, I say. But tell me, which were you hoping to end up with: a blaster shot through your chest or a ticket to the Ash? Because if I’d been an Enforcer instead of an interfering seventeen-year-old, those would have been the options.

The man shoves past me, purposely colliding with my shoulder as he does. Like I said, mind your own business.

I grab his arm again and then dodge his attempt to land a blow with the opposite fist—or whatever you call three mangled, balled-up fingers. It won’t always be like this, I whisper. Hang in there, and things will get better.

His eyes widen in surprise then shrink to thin, angry lines that attempt to pierce me with their sharpness. He rips his arm away. Things in The City have only ever gotten worse. You’re delusional if you think that’s ever going to change. He stalks away, more dragging than stepping with his right leg, leaving a trail in the dirt to mark his passing.

I wish I could tell him why I know he’s wrong. The Council’s stranglehold on The City is about to be broken. If it wouldn’t give far too much away and put the whole mission at risk, I could give him a time frame, almost down to the day. Approximately six months and one week from now, I’ll deactivate the barrier field that imprisons The City and set everyone free.

But there’s no time for worrying about that now. This encounter has put me behind schedule. If I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my own lunch. Running, I make it to the nutrition station in record time and fall into line at the back. Most people have already received their trays and consumed the gray mush that constitutes our entire diet. When the barrier field comes down, we’ll all be able to have real food again. There’s plenty of land out there to grow more food than we could eat in a dozen lifetimes. We just have to get there.

One by one, the people in front of me scan their ID cards, accept their trays, and move to the tables. None of them show the faintest hint that they’ve noticed the faded sign on the wall announcing the beginning of the next round of the Burning. Every six months, the sign fills that space for one day, welcoming anyone who is seventeen to test their worth and skills for the chance to obtain a life of ease and plenty in the Flame. It’s rare that anyone tries because it’s so well known the Burning is impossible for anyone from the Smoke to pass. For us, joining the Burning is basically just another way of asking to be sent to the Ash.

And that’s what I’m counting on.

I accept my own tray of food and make my way to the farthest edge of the outdoor tables where I can be alone.

Even though I’m seventeen now and this is one of my two opportunities to join the Burning, I won’t—not this time. Still, I can feel something significant has changed today. The countdown has begun. The next time that sign hangs there, I will go. And the minute I’m set free of The City, the Safe Dome will cease to be.

Somehow the slimy bite I’m attempting to swallow sticks on its way down as though my throat is swelling shut. I swallow hard again to force it down. Even though I’m hungry as always, I shove my tray away, unable to continue.

No matter how much I try to distill my mission down into the beginning, where I escape The City, and the end, where I destroy the barrier, there’s another part in the middle I usually try to forget about. But I’ll only reach the end where I free The City if I survive long enough to do it.

Most people in The City have forgotten—or never knew—that when the twelve Safe Domes were set up to shelter their inhabitants from the grotesque and lethal grasp of the Withers pandemic, it wasn’t meant to be forever. The Architect who created the domes built in a system for deactivating the barrier fields as soon as the outside world became safe again. When the secret frequency was transmitted to the barrier field generator, the Safe Dome would shut down and the inhabitants would be able to rejoin the outside world. No one expected the Safe Domes to be necessary for more than a few years, maybe ten at the most.

Ten years came and went eight years ago, and we’re still here.

Most people who are still aware of these facts also believe something went wrong and the Withers must still ravage the outside world. Tales of Roamers—deformed carriers of the disease who stalk the Ash beyond the protection of the barrier field to prey on anyone expelled from The City—haunt the nightmares of most children and many adults.

None of them are privy to the information Mom knows and which she shared with me. And even if they were, I’m the only one who can do anything about it. It’s strange, having a mission that will alter the life of everyone I know and having to keep it a total secret for so many years. But it’s no less strange than being the son of a member of the Council without a single person knowing it.

We didn’t even have to change our names to find anonymity in the Smoke. Most people don’t know the names of the five members of the Council that rule The City with absolute authority. Even if they did realize that among that short list is a man named Bretton Crandell, no one would guess that our shared last name is anything more than a coincidence. The family of a Council member would surely live in the Flame. The fact that finding us in the Smoke is so unthinkable is the exact reason we’re here. This is the one place in The City where we can live our lives mostly unnoticed. Here, Mom could tell me the truth about everything without fear that our every word is being listened to, as it would be in the Flame.

Because of that, I know so many things that not a single one of the hundred or so people in sight right now could even begin to guess at. I know my father was the lone Council member to stand up to the growing tyranny of Traeger Sterling when he unveiled his plan to erect the Wall of Fire and enact the Burning. I know the real reason this Safe Dome still exists is because Traeger dismantled the device meant to receive the signal from the outside and deactivate the barrier field. I know we’re all being lied to. I know we’re really in a prison, not a safe haven.

Not only that, but I know how to set us free. My father gathered all the necessary plans and sent them with Mom when she fled with me to the Smoke just before the Wall of Fire went up. Here, Mom taught me the truth. Here, we had access to the recycle centers where the necessary components to reconstruct the receiver could slowly be pilfered over the years.

The receiver was completed years ago. Nobody, not even the Council, knew the secret frequency the original receiver was set for, so I had to choose a new one. That means no one on the outside can deactivate the barrier for us. We’ll have to do that part ourselves, too. Once the receiver was complete, we went to work on a transmitter with a matching frequency, which someone must carry outside the barrier field to activate from the Ash.

That someone will be me.

That is my mission and how I will save The City and everyone who lives here.

My parents hoped that by the time I was old enough to join the Burning—to join and fail and thus be expelled to the Ash—the outside world would be safe. But none of that actually proves the world of the Ash and beyond really is safe. It should be by now, but how can we know for sure without communication from the outside, which Traeger destroyed?

We can’t.

So that’s the middle. That’s the true danger. That’s the part of the mission that makes my throat seize up and my stomach roll. Because no matter how I try not think of it or how many times I tell myself the Withers is gone and there’s nothing to fear—I know I don’t know.

Once I leave The City, it will be my job to verify that the world really is a safe place for us to reenter. It won’t be an instantaneous thing. I’ll have to travel. I’ll have to see what the world has become.

I’ll have to not die in the process.

Then—and only then—can I transmit the signal to free The City. Only once I’m certain everyone will better off in the world outside than in the hands of a power-hungry madman. But if it’s not safe, then I’ll have to leave the barrier in place, separating myself from everyone I know and care for, sacrificing myself to protect them.

And this is exactly why I won’t join the Burning today. I’ll let the Earth spin halfway round the sun again and give whatever dangers remain a little longer to be resolved before I go.

There’s no greater risk to the success of the mission than acting too soon.

The boy I rescued earlier comes to sit next to me. Thanks, he whispers, ducking his head shyly. His shaggy blond hair falls over his face, which I think he does on purpose. It’s a wasted effort, though, doing little to erase the faint blue mark on his right cheek that probably wasn’t there before his scuffle in the alley and will likely develop into a deep purple bruise in the next few days.

No problem, I reply with a smile, grateful to have something to think about other than my own impending struggle. What were you doing over there, anyway? You should have been at lunch.

Mom’s sick. I just wanted to check on her and make sure she’s not...you know.

It’s clear that dead is the word he won’t say.

I slide my half-eaten tray toward him. Here, I say. Why don’t you take this to her? It’s not strictly allowed, but the boy and his mom aren’t going to tell, and I don’t see any Enforcers around.

His eyes transform to the shape of grinding gears as he stares at me in disbelief. Really?

Really.

I already took her mine, he whispers, glancing nervously around as he admits to a crime—the same crime I just committed by offering my tray.

Then you eat this, I say.

Thanks! he says, his mouth already full. I’m Garret, by the way. He shovels in another bite as he speaks. I wonder how many meals he’s given up to try to help his mom.

The wrongness of the situation is so blatant it makes me want to hammer my fist down on the table, to break something, to force the universe to acknowledge and right this injustice. But the universe isn’t going to shift a single particle for us. We’ll have to do it ourselves.

I’ll have to do it.

Things will get better soon, I say in an attempt to comfort him, but instantly wish I hadn’t. I have no idea how soon The City will be free or whether that will be any real benefit to his mother. And don’t walk home alone in the middle of the day, okay? I add, which is, in fact, good advice.

He nods, but we both know he’ll do whatever he thinks will help his mom regardless of the personal risk.

I stand and walk away before I say or do something else I’ll regret.

Eason!

I turn to the sound of my name. Angelica waves from another table, beckoning me over. I gesture in the opposite direction with a shrug indicating I’d like to come over, but I’m heading the other way. Undeterred, she winks. I groan inwardly and turn, making my way through the crowd and away from her.

A few months ago, Angelica and I were assigned to work together at the records office in the Justice Building. She spent the whole time making not-so-cryptic remarks about how much she liked my blue eyes, my dark hair, and my rear end, among other things, rather than making the updates to all the advancing student records. I was left to make more than two hundred personal file updates on my own until I probably could have done it in my sleep. And when I tried to subtly let Angelica know I didn’t see any future between us, it led to a lot of questions—too many.

Soon, I decided it was just better to let her think maybe there could be something. More than once, when no one was around, I’d let her kiss me. The problem isn’t that she’s not pretty or that I didn’t liked kissing her. It’s just that I have real things to think about—important things to do. I have too many secrets, and she isn’t someone I can imagine telling them to—ever. Someday when the barrier field comes down and everyone is finally freed, I can’t see myself lamenting the time we’ve been apart and racing back to her side. So I also can’t see the point now of a relationship with her—or anyone, for that matter.

I was relieved when the assignment came to an end, so I didn’t have to see her every day anymore. But in the Smoke, everyone sees everyone sometimes. There’s no escaping that.

I feel a twinge of guilt for the way I’ve led her on—or let her lead herself on. But it isn’t any worse than the countless other half truths I’ve told over the years in defense of my family’s secrets.

Nothing is more important than the success of my mission—least of all, a silly girl’s feelings. Besides, I’ve seen Angelica flirt with half the guys her age—give or take a year—so I feel confident she’ll recover soon enough.

I walk briskly until I’m well out of sight, passing a group of kids playing ball with their last moments of free time. There are still a few minutes before afternoon work assignments begin, and the last thing I want is to arrive early. While I wait, I lean against the back wall of the school, letting my head rest against the rough bricks and trying not to think.

Suddenly, the sound of crunching dirt behind me draws my attention and I spin to face it, afraid Angelica has found me. I’m at once relieved and startled when my gaze is met by another girl, whose name escapes me at the moment, racing straight for me. She’s in the class two years below mine, and though I’ve never spoken to her before, I’ve certainly noticed her. It appears she must be fleeing some sort of danger, but nothing chases her. I have only a second to react. On instinct, I stiffen and brace myself for a collision, but she pulls up short just as she reaches me.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she lifts to her tiptoes and kisses me right on the lips. Before I have time to react—to close my eyes, kiss her back, or push her away—she’s already retreating.

I stare at her back, stunned, as she returns to where Raven waits for her, looking on with a huge smile.

Emery, I