Falling Sky Read Online Free

the Core before I realize I’m doing it. Then I realize I’m looking for Miranda. No , I tell myself. Not a good idea.
    On my way back to the ship, my pockets full of the Core’s food—I mean, I have been working for them—I run into Clay again. He cocks his head at me, which just makes me want to punch him. I resist the urge. But only barely.
    â€œSo you couldn’t hack it,” he says, a smirk on his face. And my willpower slips just a bit more. “Well, I can’t say that it’s a surprise.”
    â€œMove out of my way,” I say.
    â€œWe’re going to do it, you know. We’re going to change the world. While you’re picking among the scraps of the old world, we’re going to create a new one.”
    I think of about thirty things I could say to him, about ten ways I could hurt him. But in the end, I just push past him on the way back to my ship.
    â€œDon’t worry,” he says at my back. “I’ll look after Miranda.”
    I stop for just a split-second, then curse myself for it. But I force myself not to turn around. Then I continue walking.
    All I want is to be in the air. To be in the air and fly away.
    So that’s exactly what I do.

I have to admit as I fly the Cherub away that she’s handling better than she has in years. Sergei and some of his friends were good mechanics. I’m going to miss having their input. Their tools. Their skills.
    Shut up, Ben. That’s all done.
    I scan the horizon from the gondola, then flip on the sound system, an old phonograph Dad installed even before I came along. Records are hard to come by these days. Especially when back in the Clean they’d moved on to anything digital. But Dad used to say that records couldn’t fail. And every so often you’d come across a stash in an old house or a store, and from time to time you’d find them at trader stands. We’d lost a lot among the years—from too many scratches or just plain breaking, but there was still a decent stack left on the Cherub . I put on George Harrison, one of my old-time favorites, and rock gently to the music as I fly the Cherub across the sky.
    Truth be told, it feels a little weird to be on my own again. Despite so many years of being alone, it seemed like the last six months had a greater gravity to them, more momentum. It feels weird knowing that I don’t have a place to go back to. Even though the Cherub was always my home.
    On the other hand, it means freedom. I can go where I want, do what I want. Beholden to no one.
    Foraging is my life. I’m good at it. I’d stayed alive this long, hadn’t I?
    I think I might fly down over Southern California, near the coast. The heat would be nice, and the water. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve had a swim in the ocean. That’s one nice thing about the ocean—no Ferals. They live near the coast sometimes, but they don’t swim. At least not out too far. And the Bug can’t live in saltwater. That makes the ocean feel safe. Of course last time I took a splash I couldn’t stop thinking about what was swimming beneath me. Unseen creatures in the dark. Probably harmless, but then again, maybe not. I figured they were happy about the Bug. It meant a lot less of them dying. It meant a change in the ecosystem. And many would say a change for the better.
    But still. The Bug.
    Harrison chugs on in the background telling me all things must pass.
    I think about Miranda and Sergei and the others. I try not to think about Clay. I think about how their little house, the Core, might as well be made of twigs and branches. I think about how just one wrong move, bringing in a Feral, for example, could topple it.
    I think about all that food. All that clean water. All that potential. Wasted. It makes me angry. So I stop. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about all of them.
    I reach for what’s left in the moonshine bottle