Kassy Tayler - Remnants of Tomorrow

There are so many people who contributed to the publication of a book. Believe me when I say it is a team effort. Thank you to my wonderful agent, Roberta Brown, who is always there, no matter what. Thank you to Holly Ingraham, my editor, who pushes me to write the best story possible. Also huge thanks to the team at SMP, who work behind the scenes telling everyone that my books are awesome. Thank you to the art department for giving me great covers that I love so much that I have one on my phone case. I write a story, everyone else turns it into a book, and I cannot do it without them.

Also heartfelt thanks to my dear friends Lucy Connors and Mari Mancusi, extraordinary writers who share this journey with me. Thank you for being there and making it so much fun. You lift me up when I am down and you give me honest answers. I love you both to pieces.

I have always had a fear of falling. Heights do not bother me at all. It is the thought of having no control, of spinning through the air with my arms and legs flailing about as I scream in terror that terrifies me more than anything. Especially when I think about the chasm that was discovered in the tunnels where I used to live and the knowledge that the bottom was way past where any light filtered down. Not knowing where the bottom was, when I would hit, yet knowing that eventually it would come I shake off the chill that rattles my spine as I look down from the windowsill I crouch upon.

Here I can see the bottom. It is the streets of the dome twelve stories or more below me. I really dont want to know how far it is as I am reminded of my fear with the same impact as a punch to my gut. Instead of looking down I turn my face to the wind whistling in through the hole in the roof of the dome. It carries with it the smells that became so familiar to me in my time outside. I take a deep breath of sea and evergreen to steady myself as I try to decide my next step.

I am two floors below the roof of the government building. The floor above holds my fathers office and his quarters, I think. I dont really know, as Im not privy to my fathers personal life. I perch like a bird on the sill of the small window in the water closet attached to my room. Even though my accommodations are luxurious I still consider them a prison because I have been locked inside for the past two weeks, ever since I surrendered to my father with Levi and Pace so that James and Lyon, and hopefully our other friends trapped inside the dome, could get away. This is my fathers building, and from here he rules the people of the dome with an iron fist and outdated notions.

I have no idea what has happened to any of my friends, as I have had no contact with them since the night we came into the dome through the hole in the roof. I can only hope that they are faring better than I at this moment. Down is definitely not an option. I must go up if I am going to escape.

It took me two weeks to remove the bars that kept me imprisoned. Two weeks of scraping at the bricks with a spoon I managed to conceal from my tray. I worked at night when I knew I would have long hours alone. Two weeks of hiding the scrapes and bruises on my fingers from Ellen, who brings my meals three times a day with a sullen face and a sense of resentment. Two weeks of praying that my fathers man, Findley, will not notice the disturbance around the window.

Finally, I was able to remove the bars and squeeze through to the outside. It is the middle of the night and the buildings that surround me are dark. A few lights flicker down by the street, nothing more than a couple of candles sitting behind windows because there is no power in the dome now. It does not matter to me that there is no light. I can see quite well with my shiner eyes without it.

There is a window above me, but it is as small as the one I came through, and the sill is too far above me. There must be another water closet above mine. There is a tall window six feet to my right. I think it is one that lights the staircase that is next to my room, if the memory of the night of my capture is true. It is the only way to go because to my left is the corner of the building and around the corner the window to my room. All the windows I can see have bars, but the one to my right is tall enough that I can use it to get to the top floor, where there are no bars. From there I hope to make it to the roof, and from there down to the streets and then to the tunnels below that used to be my home. It feels like several lifetimes have passed since I lived there. In reality several lives have passed. I hope mine is not the next.

Most of the windows are tall enough for me to stand on and set deep into the bricks, with wide spaces on the bottom and narrower ones on top. Unfortunately the one I am occupying at the moment isnt. Still, I stand as best I can and stick my right foot into the corner of the window between the bricks and a bar and grab on to the same bar with my right hand as I try to gage the distance.

I am going to have to jump. There is no way around it. Still it takes me a while to gather my courage. If I miss I am dead. My only hope is in catching the bars. I place both feet on the edge of the sill while holding on with my right hand. I crouch and push off and drag my right hand along the way with a wish that it will give me some purchase as I reach out with my left.

I catch the bar with my left, and my upper body jerks to a stop as my legs thump against the brick and I hang sideways with my face to the wall. My cheek burns where I scraped it against the wall and my shoulder cramps with my effort to hold on. I pry my fingers into the mortar and scratch my right hand up to grab on to the bar.

Dont look down My heart is pounding. I hold on tightly as I try to find something to brace my feet against. I pull my knees up and place the soles of my boots flat against the wall. I quickly move my left hand over to another bar and try to walk my way up the wall. It turns out to be a lot harder than I thought, but I finally get a knee on the ledge and am able to pull myself up until I can stand.

The window is taller than me. It is taller than I can reach. But the one above it is within reach if I can get to the top of this one, and if I can do the same again getting to the roof will be easy. First I have to get to the top of this window.

My fingers cramp because I am holding on to the bars too tight. The only way I can go up is to slide them up as far as I can reach and then toe myself upward. The leather soles of my boots are slick against the bars, and I slide nearly as much as I move upward. I am glad it is dark because someone would surely see me in the daylight. I feel as if I have been out here for hours, yet I know its only been minutes. The longer I hang on to the side of the building, the better my chances of being caught.

I hike myself up an inch at a time. The hardest part is releasing my hold on the bars long enough to move my hands up and start all over again. Every muscle in my body screams for relief, but I dare not stop. I just grit my teeth and refuse to give up. I refuse to stop until, finally, my fingers grasp at the top ledge of the window and I wrap my legs around the bars.