Blackout (Darkness Trilogy) by Madeleine Henry Page B

on—in just a ratty blue thermal—but that’s all she will need in the heat. The thought of her sleeping through the night without shivering makes me feel less guilty for a moment and I let myself smile. I kiss her cheek, and now she’s smiling, too. She can’t help it. I’m too happy.
    Looking around, I take in my home for the last time. Wallpaper hangs in patches over cracked wooden boards. The brown sofa cushions slant in haphazard directions. The kitchen is barren—but with something different now. I crinkle my brow and stare at the counter. There, I spot a white box like the one I saw at Star’s. Its glossy exterior reflects our new light. I set my backpack down and approach it cautiously. Thick, black strings tie it together, and the box top beneath them reads T he Carnival . I recognize the word that Frontman said earlier—Carnival—but it means nothing to me. I try to pull the string, but it’s caught in a complicated knot.
    “Open the box,” Burn says. “It’s for you.”
    “For me?” I repeat softly.
    “The Frontmen gave it to us,” he adds. “They said it’s from America.” He enters the kitchen and pulls an old steak knife out of a drawer at hip height. I use it to cut the strings. Toss them aside. Aura picks them up from the tile floor and holds them to her chest as if they’re important. And maybe she’s right. I should be more careful.
    The roar of a car motor sounds outside and my hands stiffen, paralyzed. “When do I leave?” I ask nervously.
    “Now, ” Aura whispers.
    I grab the unopened box and my backpack, which already contains everything I need: wood, flint, shears, a change of clothes, and Magic. There’s no more time to waste, and I walk toward the front door. My parents follow.
    Outside, a daunting black truck awaits in the empty street—the same make of truck I saw break through the Frontier. I freeze on the porch and stare. Giant headlights shoot four white beams straight ahead and dark exhaust pumps steadily out of the tailpipe. I recognize the tires: the giant black wheels up to my shoulders. I swallow hard. Either these trucks are common in America, or the exchange and the breach are definitely linked.
    B ut I don’t have time to speculate. Or be scared. No matter how ominous the car looks, I have to get in. I’m going to have to take risks now. At all costs, I must get to Star.
    I turn around to face my parents. They pull down their sleeves and crook their forearms up at right angles. There, on the soft sides of their wrists, is the Troublefield family crest: the family’s longest and greatest tradition. Every Troublefield has this tattoo—a black T inside the dark outline of a shield—beneath their left hand. Burn tattooed Aura after they got married, and Aura tattooed me herself when I was fifteen. She dipped a salvaged tattoo instrument in India ink and pricked me thousands of times. The family crest is a symbol of loyalty. It’s supposed to remind us to put other Troublefields first.
    And t hat’s exactly what my parents have done. They just made the ultimate sacrifice, and here I stand, willing to put them through hell. Worse, even happy to leave. Aura cries harder into Burn’s chest, and I hug her in the little time I have left. Burn reaches his arms around both of us and we all embrace for the last time.
    “We’re proud of you, son,” Burn says.
    I wince. That doesn’t feel deserved.
    “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
    “ For what?” Aura asks.
    “ For—being different,” I struggle to say. “For leaving.”
    “ Phoenix,” Burn says. He looks up at the sky to find the right words. “When you love something, you set it free. We are letting you chase Star because we love you. We will always love you, son, and if you make it back…” He clears his throat again. “We will be right here at home. We will always be here for you.
    “Go on, son,” Burn says.
    It’s time to leave . I walk heavily toward the truck trying to memorize this walk.