Wasteland (Wasteland - Trilogy) (29 page)

Release is imminent. We are going home.

But the longer the townspeople waited, the more doubt grew. Soon, panic and despair began to take hold. It was now well into the second day. There were nearly a hundred people crammed together in the heat, in a building meant for a quarter as many as that. By now, the conditions were unspeakably filthy. What was worse, they had not been given anything to eat or drink since they were brought here.

On the first day, two boys and a girl had managed to escape by making their way to the roof and jumping past a stretch of barbed wire that was unguarded. No one had followed. It seemed much too much of a risk to take, especially when an explanation, not to mention supplies, were surely coming at any moment.

But now, hysteria whipped the flames of a new rumor.

We have been abandoned by Levi. There is no more food or water left at the Source. We have been brought here to die of thirst and starvation.

Shouting and pushing, townspeople fought their way into what had once been the opulent kitchen. They tore open the chestnut cabinets and the oversize refrigerator, smashed the glass windows of the ovens, ripped open drawers in the pantry, and dumped the silver cutlery onto the ground. There were rodents’ nests and scurrying insects amidst the dusty china and crystal glasses, still intact after all these years, and cardboard boxes and metal food canisters with contents that had long since rotted to nothing.

In one cupboard, a girl found a forgotten can of tuna fish, bloated and stinking of decay. She and another girl fought over it, pulling each other’s hair and slapping. The winner tore apart the corroded metal with her bare hands and ate the putrid mess inside. Not long after, she was curled in a corner, retching violently.

All day, the air had been thick and humid, and now, the sky darkened as wind began to whip the trees. When the rain came, the guards took shelter in a nearby building used to house cars. Inside the mansion, flashes of lightning revealed that rainwater was dripping from the many holes in the ceiling and leaching down the stained plaster walls.

Most of the townspeople shrank back in terror. Others were too desperate to care. They stood, mouths open, trying to catch the drops on their tongues. Some even attempted to lick any stray moisture off the walls, oblivious to the death sentence they were bringing on themselves.

One girl watched with a special sadness.

Sarah sat huddled against a wall. She was one of the few who had had the foresight to bring a robe; now, she covered herself with it, intent on disguising any evidence of her illness.

But no one noticed. They were too busy fighting and rampaging, taking out their fear and helplessness and panic not only on each other but on their palatial surroundings. Stained glass windows were smashed, a chandelier pulled to the ground, and marble fireplaces defaced; satin bedding was shredded and sofas and armchairs gutted, their stuffing littering the stained Oriental carpets.

It was the only beauty the people of Prin had ever seen. And they were destroying it.

It was too painful to watch, and soon Sarah’s eyes, already blinking with fatigue, closed.

Four riders were on the main road heading out of town.

Caleb pedaled in front, next to Eli. Bekkah and Till followed close behind. They were on their way to find reinforcements, riding bicycles that they had stolen from outside Prin’s destroyed homes.

They stopped at an intersection. “I think we go that way,” Bekkah said, pointing.

After a hesitation, Eli shook his head. His voice was gruff and barely audible. “No. We go
that
way.”

From his bike, Caleb turned and nodded his thanks to Eli. The boy caught Caleb’s eye, then glanced away.

After that, there was little time for talking. The road continued for a long time, past the parched lake, the forest, and beyond.

“This is it,” said Eli at last.

The four, gasping and trembling with exertion, paused at the foot of a mountain. Overhead, the sun had passed its zenith. Faint tire tracks and footprints in the dust marked out the trail that disappeared among the trees in front of them.

Bekkah and Till traded one last look and the smaller child turned to Caleb.

“Are you sure?”

Caleb didn’t answer and Bekkah took the opportunity to speak. “We could stay down here,” she offered. “If you think that would help.”

It was Eli who replied, scowling. “This is why we came,” he said. “We all stick together.”

And so they began the arduous climb, getting off their bicycles to push them alongside when the ascent became too steep. It was easy to lose the trail; if there were marks, they were so subtly done that they were invisible to the untrained eye. Caleb and the others were so intent on finding their way, it was only when they approached a clearing at the plateau that they realized they had reached their goal: the place that everyone in Prin had always heard about but few had seen.

The variants’ camp.

Warily, they looked at the strange lean-tos and huts, the still smoldering communal fires, the racks of drying meat. Off to the side were empty crates from the Source, starting to deteriorate from the sun and rain: discarded testaments to a time of trade and prosperity, now over.

Caleb barely noticed.

Six or seven variants had turned to face them and more were spilling out of their homes or from the woods. Soon, the variants far outnumbered the four norms who stood before them, now shrinking back with unease. The variants murmured loudly to one another, all wearing expressions of open disbelief, suspicion, and hatred.

Their anger seemed directed at Caleb, who gazed back at them evenly. Beneath his cool appearance, however, his heart was beating wildly and his stomach felt like lead.

All noise ceased; someone was cutting through the crowd. As the others fell back, the largest male among them stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger and disbelief.

Caleb recognized him at once: it was the warrior he had fought on his first day in Prin, so long ago. After his humiliating rout by Levi, the variant leader seemed more than ready for a confrontation, especially with his entire people present as witness.

“What is this?” Slayd asked.

Bekkah and Till recoiled, falling back a step. Eli, too, could not help quailing in front of such fury. Caleb, however, stood his ground, although he could not control the twitch that flickered across his cheek.

“We need your help,” Caleb said.

At this, the crowd’s agitation grew. “How dare you come here and ask us a favor?” Slayd said. “You above all, who fought us and took a special pleasure in it?”

“Kill him!” someone shouted, and the murmuring grew louder, more restless.

Slayd held up a hand for silence.

“We need your help to fight Levi,” Caleb said.

The variant leader did not pretend to hide his surprise and gestured for explanation. With his voice shaking a little, Caleb proceeded to give him one.

Caleb told all assembled about the wrongs done to him by Levi: about the kidnapping of his son, the murder of his first partner, and the foiled attempt on his own life. He revealed that Levi was holding those he loved against their will.

“Many of you are raising young ones,” Caleb said. “You can imagine how I feel having my son taken away. And many of you are partnered. So you too might understand how I feel to have lost my partner, Esther, as well.”

In the silence that followed, Slayd stared at Caleb. Then his lavender eyes narrowed. Despite himself, he was moved by the norm’s words and thought for the first time about the human cost of the crime he had so blithely hired others to do. Still, he showed nothing in his face.

With a sinking heart, Caleb read the silence as indifference.

“Don’t you have a score to settle with Levi?” he asked, this time speaking to Slayd. “Didn’t Levi break your deal and betray you after you trusted him? Why not join with us and pay him back?”

Caleb’s barb found its target; Slayd winced, as if struck. It was clear that the memory was not only fresh, but still painful. Yet the variant pulled himself up and said in a haughty voice, “That is not your concern.”

Too late, Caleb realized his tactical error. Reminding Slayd of Levi’s betrayal had embarrassed the proud leader before his people by making him appear weak and foolish. Without intending to, he had caused Slayd to lose face. And he knew this was something the variants did not forgive.

Again, the crowd grew restive; the delicate trust had been broken. As Caleb glanced around, he now saw that most of the variants were beginning to slip rocks out from their pouches and pockets, loading up slings or wielding them in their hands.

Slayd stepped aside. When he raised his hand, all of the variants fell silent. They were cocking their weapons.

Desperate, Caleb gave a final look at the three behind him. They too were aware of the deadly shift in tone that had just occurred. Sensing impending disaster, unsure whether to fight or flee, they backed up on their bikes.

Then a voice broke through the silence.

“Stop!”

A lone female fought her way out from the crowd. A boy, most likely her partner, tried to hold her back. She said something inaudible to him. When he did not relent, she broke free of his grip. With no fear whatsoever, she approached the variant leader and addressed him.

“Esther is my friend,” she said. “She is also a friend to us all. If this boy is truly her partner and says she is in trouble, we must help.”

Slayd looked down at the girl, his arm still raised and his face a mask of fury.

“You are certain, Skar?” he asked. And she nodded once, emphatically.

At that, the impossible happened. Slayd’s features softened. His hand, about to signal mayhem, fell back to his side.

He turned away from the girl, back to Caleb.

“You’re lucky that I believe her,” he said in a gruff voice.

Skar smiled to herself. She clearly did not want to gloat, yet could not resist doing a little dance that Esther alone would recognize.

Slayd pointed at her with obvious pride mixed with respect and not a little exasperation.

“My little sister,” he said, “has never led me wrong.”

I
N THE HALLWAY
, E
STHER COULD HEAR ONE OF THE GUARDS TALK ABOUT
dinner.

How hungry he was. How long it had been since he had eaten a good meal. How desperate he was for a bite of something juicy.

“Yeah,” said the other guard; “but we got orders. Besides, I like pigeons with a little more meat on them.”

As the key turned in the lock and the door swung open, both laughed. Esther, lying on the cold, cement floor, squinted upward at the sudden light. They were talking about her, she realized. Her cheeks burned with shame and fury, but she said nothing.

One of the guards set a bowl of food on the floor and shoved it toward her. The first few times, they had stayed long enough to watch her eat, guffawing at her pathetic efforts. With her wrists and ankles bound behind her, Esther was forced to inch toward the bowl on her side, then attempt to eat out of it like a dog. But after two days, the routine was not as entertaining as it once was. She had barely made a move before they exited, slamming the door shut and throwing her back into total darkness.

Esther stayed still on the cement floor as she waited for the sound of their footsteps to fade away. Once she was certain they were gone, she worked her way to a kneeling position and shuffled on her knees across the floor.

When Esther was first imprisoned in one of the small rooms in the basement of the Source, she discovered a wooden bench near the wall, bolted to the floor. Exploring it with her bound hands, she located what she was looking for: a tiny rough edge on one of its metal legs. Since then, she had been spending hours every day rubbing her nylon wrist binds against it.

Today, she was able to cut through the final fibers. Then she untied her ankles.

Wincing at the pain, Esther attempted to rub blood back into her limbs as she got to her feet to take stock of her surroundings. The only illumination was the tiny strip of light below the door. She clapped her hands once, sharply, trying to get a sense of how big the room was by the faint echo that bounced back. This was something Skar tried to teach her to do for fun, on several occasions; but as before, she found her ear was too insensitive and untrained to detect anything at all.

So she walked ahead, sightless, reaching out. Starting with the door, Esther began to grope her way around the room. There was a smooth expanse of what felt like painted brick, with a small switch set in a metal plate. Esther clicked it and waited; nothing happened.

She reached the second and then the third wall; it was a medium-size room, rectangular in shape. Near the bench, her fingers encountered something metal, a shallow and boxlike structure that was taller than she was and built flush against the wall. It sounded hollow when tapped and by touch, she assumed it to be a series of narrow closets of some kind, side by side, with ventilation slats. There were a dozen or so per wall, each set with a small metal handle. Esther went down both rows, trying to jiggle each one open, but to no avail.