watched for some time, waiting for even the smallest suspicious movement or sound. But there were none. There was only Bridget, sitting at the top of a garbage heap, playing with a broken yo-yo, and growing increasingly impatient.
“I’d just about given up,” she said as Logan stumbled toward her through the trash. “Thought you bailed last night.”
“I did,” Logan said.
“But you’re back.”
Logan shrugged. “Chalk it up to bad judgment.”
Bridget turned her mouth down and nodded.
“So what’s the big secret?”
Bridget laughed. “I never said it was a big secret. You said it was a big secret.”
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Logan glanced nervously around the landfill. “Look. You have
about thirty seconds to tell me what’s going on here, or I’ll leave, and you’ll never find me again.”
“You’re not gonna wanna do that,” Bridget said.
“Oh yeah?”
She shrugged and took Logan by the hand as she led him down
to the bottom of the trash hill and along a narrow path between the mountains of garbage, where she sighed and pointed to it—
her big secret. “It’s a bike,” she said. “I found it here a while back.
Never thought I’d have a use for it. But after talking to you two nights ago . . . well . . . I figured you might want it.”
“I don’t understand.” Logan ran his hand over the seat.
“You’re Markless now. Markless look out for one another.”
Bridget frowned. “Your aunt and uncle can’t get you to Beacon.
You’ll never make it on foot. But with a bike . . . with a bike, you might stand a chance.” She was staring at the handlebars now,
too shy to look at Logan any longer. “I know it doesn’t look like much. I wanted to fix it up first, but . . . well, here we are. It rides well enough.”
At first Logan didn’t know what to say. “I’ve never seen a bike in real life,” he admitted, finally. “Growing up, everyone I saw on the streets just used rollersticks.”
“Then everyone you saw on the streets was Marked.” Bridget
smiled. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to lower your standards.”
Logan wiped a nervous hand against his forehead, trying to
imagine how this bike changed things. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m grateful. I just . . . how will I even ride it?”
Bridget laughed. “You’ll manage. It’s not hard.”
Logan pumped the brakes a little, testing them.
“My mom was a big cyclist,” Bridget said. “Rode everywhere
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with a bike she found just like this, since it was the only free way to get around the city. Things were easier then, of course. Wasn’t a crime, yet, to be Markless. Just inconvenient. But Mom would always brag about biking forty, fifty miles a day, so I gotta figure you’ll be able to handle that, easy, once you get the hang of it.
You’ll be sore at first, of course, but I bet that’s a reasonable pace.”
“Okay . . . ,” Logan said.
“Well, that means you’re only looking at twenty days’ travel if you can stick mostly to the old pre-Unity highway system. It’s all torn up, but bikeable, I’d imagine, and a whole lot easier than dirt or grass or ruins.”
“Twenty days . . . ,” Logan repeated. “I never dreamed I’d
make it there that fast . . .”
“I know,” Bridget said. “It’s doable.”
For a while, the two of them didn’t speak. And then, in his
excitement, Logan swung right onto the bike, smiling and determined, pushing hard off the ground with one foot, and balancing the other on its pedal. He laughed and whooped as he wobbled
down the winding path, past hills of garbage, the sickly sweet landfill air blowing back his hair and rushing in his ears.
“That’s it! You’re a natural! Just keep it straight, Logan—
you’ve got it!”
But immediately Logan froze, jamming the breaks, screech-
ing to a halt. He fell forward, stumbling as the bike slid out from under him.
Bridget’s
“I’d just about given up,” she said as Logan stumbled toward her through the trash. “Thought you bailed last night.”
“I did,” Logan said.
“But you’re back.”
Logan shrugged. “Chalk it up to bad judgment.”
Bridget turned her mouth down and nodded.
“So what’s the big secret?”
Bridget laughed. “I never said it was a big secret. You said it was a big secret.”
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Logan glanced nervously around the landfill. “Look. You have
about thirty seconds to tell me what’s going on here, or I’ll leave, and you’ll never find me again.”
“You’re not gonna wanna do that,” Bridget said.
“Oh yeah?”
She shrugged and took Logan by the hand as she led him down
to the bottom of the trash hill and along a narrow path between the mountains of garbage, where she sighed and pointed to it—
her big secret. “It’s a bike,” she said. “I found it here a while back.
Never thought I’d have a use for it. But after talking to you two nights ago . . . well . . . I figured you might want it.”
“I don’t understand.” Logan ran his hand over the seat.
“You’re Markless now. Markless look out for one another.”
Bridget frowned. “Your aunt and uncle can’t get you to Beacon.
You’ll never make it on foot. But with a bike . . . with a bike, you might stand a chance.” She was staring at the handlebars now,
too shy to look at Logan any longer. “I know it doesn’t look like much. I wanted to fix it up first, but . . . well, here we are. It rides well enough.”
At first Logan didn’t know what to say. “I’ve never seen a bike in real life,” he admitted, finally. “Growing up, everyone I saw on the streets just used rollersticks.”
“Then everyone you saw on the streets was Marked.” Bridget
smiled. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to lower your standards.”
Logan wiped a nervous hand against his forehead, trying to
imagine how this bike changed things. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m grateful. I just . . . how will I even ride it?”
Bridget laughed. “You’ll manage. It’s not hard.”
Logan pumped the brakes a little, testing them.
“My mom was a big cyclist,” Bridget said. “Rode everywhere
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with a bike she found just like this, since it was the only free way to get around the city. Things were easier then, of course. Wasn’t a crime, yet, to be Markless. Just inconvenient. But Mom would always brag about biking forty, fifty miles a day, so I gotta figure you’ll be able to handle that, easy, once you get the hang of it.
You’ll be sore at first, of course, but I bet that’s a reasonable pace.”
“Okay . . . ,” Logan said.
“Well, that means you’re only looking at twenty days’ travel if you can stick mostly to the old pre-Unity highway system. It’s all torn up, but bikeable, I’d imagine, and a whole lot easier than dirt or grass or ruins.”
“Twenty days . . . ,” Logan repeated. “I never dreamed I’d
make it there that fast . . .”
“I know,” Bridget said. “It’s doable.”
For a while, the two of them didn’t speak. And then, in his
excitement, Logan swung right onto the bike, smiling and determined, pushing hard off the ground with one foot, and balancing the other on its pedal. He laughed and whooped as he wobbled
down the winding path, past hills of garbage, the sickly sweet landfill air blowing back his hair and rushing in his ears.
“That’s it! You’re a natural! Just keep it straight, Logan—
you’ve got it!”
But immediately Logan froze, jamming the breaks, screech-
ing to a halt. He fell forward, stumbling as the bike slid out from under him.
Bridget’s
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