A cold wind off the sea struck her face, clearing her head. Tally looked around, realizing that she was up on the cliffs, tangled in her sleeping bag. Tired, hungry, and desperate to pee, but not falling into oblivion.
She took a deep breath. The seabirds still cried around her, but in the distance.
That last dream had been only one of many falling nightmares.
Night was coming, the sun setting over the ocean, turning the water bloodred. Tally pulled her shirt and jacket on before daring to emerge from the sleeping bag. The temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute, the light fading before her eyes. She hurried to get ready to go.
The hoverboard was the tricky part. Its unfolded surface had gotten wet, covered with a fine layer of ocean spray and dew. Tally tried to wipe it off with her jacket sleeve, but there was too much water and not enough jacket. The wet board folded up easily enough, but it felt too heavy when she was done, as if the water was still trapped between the layers. The board’s operation light turned yellow, and Tally looked closely. The sides of the board were gradually oozing the water away. “Fine. Gives me time to eat.”
Tally pulled out a packet of SpagBol, then realized that her purifier was empty. The only ready source of water was at the bottom of the cliff, and there was no way down. She wrung out her wet jacket, which produced a few good squooshes, then scraped off handfuls of the water oozing from the board until the purifier was half-full. The result was a dense, overspiced SpagBol that required lots of chewing.
By the time she was done with the unhappy meal, the board’s light had turned green.
“Okay, ready to go,” Tally said to herself. But where? She stood still, pondering, one foot on the board and one on the ground.
Shay’s note read, “At the second make the worst mistake.”
Making a mistake shouldn’t be that hard. But what was the worst mistake? She’d almost killed herself once today already.
Tally remembered her dream. Falling into the gorge would count as a pretty bad mistake. She stepped onto the board and edged it to the crumbling end of the bridge, looking down to where the river met the sea far below.
If she climbed down, her only possible path would be to follow the river upstream. Maybe that’s what the clue meant. But the steep cliff showed no obvious path, not even a handhold.
Of course, a vein of iron in the cliff might carry her down safely. Her eyes scanned the walls of the gorge, searching for the reddish color of iron. A few spots looked promising, but in the growing darkness, she couldn’t be certain.
“Great.” Tally realized that she’d slept too long. Waiting for dawn would be twelve hours lost, and she didn’t have any more water.
The only other option was to hike upriver atop the cliff. But it might be days before she reached a place to climb down. And how would she see it at night?
She had to make up time, not blunder around in the dark.
Tally swallowed, coming to a decision. There had to be a way down on her board. Maybe she was making a mistake, but that’s what the clue called for. She edged the board off the bridge until it began to lose purchase. It slipped down the cliffside, descending faster as it left the metal of the track behind.
Tally’s eye searched desperately for any sign of iron in the cliff. She eased the board forward, bringing it closer to the wall of stone, but saw nothing. A few of the board’s metal-detector lights flickered out. Any lower, and she was going to fall.
This wasn’t going to work. Tally snapped her fingers. The board slowed for a second, trying to climb, but then shivered and continued to descend.
Too late.
Tally spread her jacket, but the air in the gorge was still. She spotted a rusty-looking streak in the wall of stone and coaxed the board closer, but it turned out to be just a slimy smear of lichen. The board slipped downward faster and faster, the metal-detector lights flickering out one by one.
Finally, the board went dead.
Tally realized that this mistake might be her last.
She fell like a rock, down toward the crashing waves. Just like in the dream, her voice felt choked by a freezing hand, as if her lungs were already filled with water. The board tumbled below her, spinning like a falling leaf.
Tally closed her eyes, waiting for the shattering impact of cold water.
Suddenly, something grabbed her by the wrists and yanked her up cruelly, spinning her in the air. Her shoulders screamed with pain, and she spun once all the way around like a gymnast on the rings.
Tally opened her eyes and blinked. She was being lowered onto the hoverboard, which waited rock-steady just above the water.
“What the…?” she wondered aloud. Then, as her feet came to rest, Tally realized what had happened.
The river had caught her. It had been dumping metal deposits there for centuries, or however long rivers lasted, and the board’s magnets had found purchase just in time.
“Saved, more or less,” Tally muttered. She rubbed her shoulders, which ached from being caught by the crash bracelets, and wondered how far you had to fall before the bracelets would rip your arms out of their sockets.
But she’d made it down. The river stretched out in front of her, winding its way into the snowcapped mountains. Tally shivered in the ocean breeze and pulled her soggy jacket tighter around her.
“‘Four days later take the side you despise,’” she quoted Shay’s note. “Four days. Might as well get started.”
After her first sunburn, Tally stuck a sunblock patch onto her skin every morning at dawn. But even with only a few hours in the sun each day, her already brown arms gradually deepened in color.
SpagBol never again tasted as good as it had that first time on the cliffs. Tally’s meals ranged from decent to odious. The worst were SpagBol breakfasts, around sunset, when the mere thought of more noodles made her never want to eat again. She almost wished she would run out of the stuff and be forced to either catch a fish and cook it, or simply starve, losing her ugly-fat the hard way.
What Tally really dreaded was running out of toilet paper. Her only roll was already half-gone, and she rationed it strictly now, counting the sheets. And every day, she smelled a little worse.
On the third day up the river, she decided to take a bath.
Tally awoke, an hour before sunset as usual, feeling sticky inside the sleeping bag. She’d washed her clothes that morning and left them to dry on a rock. The thought of getting into clean clothes with dirty skin made her flesh crawl.
The water in the river was fast-moving, and left almost nothing in the muck-trap of the purifier, which meant it was clean. It was icy cold, though, probably fed by melting snow in the approaching mountains. Tally prayed it would be slightly less freezing late in the day, after the sun had had a chance to warm it up.