la ciudadThe road out of Rueville was old and uneven, the asphalt sectioned off by wide cracks. Nobody used roads like this anymore. But Gabriel had an old truck that ran on gas—the same one I’d seen from afar that day on the flats. It bounced over potholes and ridges, knocking us about as we sped toward Cizel. I braced my feet against the dash, half exhilarated, half panicked. Gabriel grinned with mad glee. Both the side windows were broken and the wind tore into my air. The landscape ahead shimmered in the heat. It didn’t take long to reach the city. As we came upon it, I could see the magnet roads, concrete and steel structures gracefully arcing over the buildings. The sun glinted dully off the low-profile cars as they zoomed over the highest points. The rail circled the edges and looped through the center, efficient and clean. We had to stop at the edge since the roads down here were for walking or magnet cars, not this monstrosity he’d revealed from under a dust-covered tarp.
