Firefight by Brandon Sanderson Read Free Book Online Page B

realized, thinking back to the films I’d watched with the other kids at the Factory. We’d all lived in Newcago, a city of pure steel. Faded signs, brick walls, woodpiles—these were things from another world. The only place I’d seen them before was in the films.
    This was what the rest of the world thought was normal. How bizarre.
    We drove through this dead city for a long while, still on the expressway, but going at a slow speed. I assumed that Prof didn’t want to make any noise. Eventually he pulled onto an off-ramp and drove down into the dark city itself.
    “Is this Babilar?” I asked softly.
    “No,” Prof said. “This is … was … New Jersey. Fort Lee, specifically.”
    I found myself on edge. Anything could be watching from among those broken husks of buildings. This place was abandoned, an enormous grave for the time that had come before Calamity.
    “So empty,” I whispered as Prof drove us down a street.
    “A lot of people died fighting the Epics,” Tia whispered back. “And a lot more died once the Epics started fighting back in earnest. But the most died in the chaos that followed, when civilization just … surrendered.”
    “A lot of people avoid the cities,” Prof said. “Hard to grow anything here, and they attract the worst kind of scavengers. However, the land isn’t as empty as you think.” He rolled us around a corner. I didn’t miss that Tia had a handgun out in her lap, though I’d never seen her fire a weapon before. “Besides,” Prof added, “most everyone in this area has made their way to the island by now.”
    “Life’s better there?” I asked.
    “Depends.” He stopped the jeep in the middle of a darkened road, then turned back toward me. “How well do you trust the Epics?”
    It seemed a loaded question, considering the source. He climbed out of the jeep, boots scraping on asphalt. Tia got out the other side, and they started walking toward a looming building.
    “What’s this?” I asked them, standing up in the back of the jeep. “Where’s the road into Babilar?”
    “Can’t drive into Babilar,” Prof said, stopping by the door of the building.
    “Too noticeable?” I asked, hopping down and joining them.
    “Well, there’s that,” Prof said. “But mostly it’s because the city doesn’t have any streets. Come on. It’s time to meet your new team.”
    He pushed open the door.

9
    I followed Prof and Tia into the building. It looked like an old mechanic’s garage, with large bay doors on the front. And it smelled … too clean. Not musty, like the forgotten chambers of Newcago’s understreets. It was pitch-black, though, and creepy. I couldn’t make out much besides some large dark shapes that might have been vehicles.
    I unslung my rifle, feeling the hair on the back of my neck rising. What if this was some kind of trap? Had Prof prepared for that? I—
    Lights came on in a sudden flare. Blinded, I cursed and jumped to the side, slamming my back against something large. I raised my rifle.
    “Oops!” a feminine voice said. “Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry! Too bright.”
    Prof grunted nearby. Rifle stock firmly against my shoulder, I blinked until I could make out that we were in some kind of workshop. We were surrounded by tool-covered benches and a few half-disassembled cars, including one jeep just like our own.
    The door clicked closed behind me, and I pointed my rifle that direction. A tall Hispanic woman in her early thirties had shut the door. She had angular features and dark hair with one lock in the front dyed purple. She wore a red shirt and a blazer, with a black necktie.
    “Mizzy,” the woman snapped, “the point of dimming the lights until they were in was to avoid alerting the entire neighborhood that this building has power. That doesn’t work if you turn the lights back on while the door is still wide open .”
    “Sorry!” called the voice from before, the sound echoing in the large room.
    The Hispanic woman glanced at