“We come from the city of Ember,” the boy said. “We left there because our city was dying. We need help.” Mary, Ben, and Wilmer exchanged glances. Mary frowned. “The city of Ember? Where’s that? We’ve never heard of it.” The boy gestured back the way they had come, to the east. “That way,” he said. “It’s under the ground.” The frowns deepened. “Tell us the truth,” said Ben, “not childish nonsense.” This time the girl spoke up. She had long, snarled hair with bits of grass caught in it. “It isn’t a lie,” she said. “Really. Our city was underground. We didn’t know it until we came out.” Ben snorted impatiently, folding his arms across his chest. “Who is in charge here?” He looked at the bald man. “Is it you?” The bald man shook his head and gestured toward the boy and the girl. “They’re as in charge as anyone,” he said. “The mayor of our city is no longer with us. These young people are speaking the truth. We have come out of a city built underground.” The people around him all nodded and murmured, “Yes” and “It’s true.” “My name is Doon Harrow,” said the boy. “And this is Lina Mayfleet. We found the way out of Ember.” He thinks he’s pretty great, thought Torren, hearing a note of pride in the boy’s voice. He didn’t look so great. His hair was shaggy, and he was wearing an old jacket that was coming apart at the seams and grimy at the cuffs. But his eyes shone out confidently from under his dark eyebrows. “We’re hungry,” the boy said. “And thirsty. Will you help us?” Mary, Ben, and Wilmer stood silent for a moment. Then Mary took Ben and Wilmer by the arms and led them aside a few steps. They whispered to each other, glanced up at the great swarm of strangers, frowned, whispered some more. While he waited to hear what they’d say, Torren studied the people who said they came from underground.”
―
Jeanne DuPrau,
The People of Sparks
