by Tam Linsey
As he stood, Uma whispered, “They’re trading with the Fosselites.”
He froze halfway off the stool, unsure he’d heard correctly. The tech whirled to stare at her, his back against the console.
Rael lowered himself back onto the seat. How are the cannibals even aware of the Fosselites? The scientists never came out of their underground complex; the longevity treatments that had allowed them to live for centuries also caused severe skin photosensitivity. The Protectorate had always traveled to them to trade. Six years ago, when it was discovered that the Fosselites had been harvesting escaped reversions for anti-dementia chemicals, the Protectorate had cut off all interactions. Rael and the rest of the Board had assumed the citizens of the Protectorate were safe. No more converts—reversions or otherwise—could be harvested by those monsters.
But the Fosselites had found another way. They had savages hunting Protectorate citizens. He caught the tech’s wide-eyed stare.
“This cannot leave this room,” Rael said. “You understand?”
The tech bit his lip and, after a moment, nodded.
He can’t be trusted. No one could be trusted.
It was time to go on the offensive.
The Holdout
Eily glanced over the vehicle as Gid slammed the hood. The mini looked nothing like the sleek, gleaming dusters of the Protectorate. In addition to lifters, it had huge tractor wheels. Welded seams connected the panels with warty lines, the metal darker there from the heat of the torch. Inside, a panel of toggles and gauges faced the driver’s seat. A plate of transparent nuvoplast across the front protected the operator from the elements, while a roll bar over the pilot seat gave the canopy an ugly, boxy shape. After the combine accident had given Gid a permanent limp, he favored safety over aesthetics.
“All set.” Gid rubbed his dirty palms on the front of his trousers. The scars on his hands mimicked the weld lines on the mini duster.
“We’ll stay close to the ground?”
He dropped his shoulders and cocked his head at her in exasperation.
Her heart pounded fiercely. “At least a kiss for luck?”
His gaze lifted to the surrounding field. “Someone may see.”
“There’s no one here. And we’re to be married soon. What’s the harm?” Her chest ached as he shook his head and turned back to the mini to climb inside. They’d agreed to marry for practical reasons; his scars repulsed the girls at the Holdout, and her green skin kept suitors away. Every time she saw other couples sneaking glances or discreet touches, she longed for the same. But that wasn’t his nature. She accepted that. She planned to lavish all her affection upon their children once they started a family.
She took a breath and climbed in the opposite door. He fastened her seat harness and then his own before he engaged the engine. Although smaller than a Protectorate duster, the mini was nowhere near as silent. It rumbled like a tractor. Gid grinned at her, giving her a thumbs up. He wanted to finish testing before the wedding next week. Eily nodded at him, clutching her apron against her thighs.
He pulled back the throttle, and her stomach lurched. The mini wobbled alarmingly as they rose higher than the lights along the electric fence. She craned her neck to look at the ground. Bits of debris kicked out below them. In the grass where the mini had taken off, only a dark circle of bare soil remained, and the scent of crushed plants blasted toward her. Gid wouldn’t be pleased about the damage to the pasture. His intent was to use the mini in field applications, but it was worthless if it shredded crops to bits.
The machine dipped sideways, and she cringed until he regained control and circled the field. He turned to look at her, smile as wide as the sky. “Hold on!”
He tapped the throttle and the mini shot forward. Air surged through the cab and caught her bonnet. The white scrap of fabric whipped out the side window. “Oh! My bonnet!”
His face creased with apology, then brightened. “I need to test the landing, anyway.”
The world dropped out from under her, leaving her stomach behind as he sloped the vehicle into a rapid descent. A squeal escaped her lips. “Giiiiiid!”
The barren soil of the small Burn surrounding the Holdout approached with terrifying speed. Gid’s fingers danced over the controls, and the mini bounced against the ground, huge wheels rumbling as they rolled to a stop. Dust choked the air. He cut the engine and disengaged his harness. “Your bonnet landed just over there.”
He exited the cab and limped across the desiccated ground. Eily clutched her skirt, heart racing from the ride. And something more. We’re outside the fence.
She hadn’t been outside the fence since she’d arrived. Since Ana had been taken. She darted a look around, senses she’d long forgotten coming alive. The whisper of the breeze, the scent of dust, even the way the shadows fell across the rocky ground jabbed at her awareness. The urge to unbuckle her harness tugged at her, but she resisted. He’ll be back in a moment, and we’ll be in the air again, out of range.
She waited. And waited. Craning her neck to the rear, she spotted Gid circling behind the mini, eyes to the ground. If he needed to run, his limp would slow him down. He didn’t belong out here. He’s not even aware of how exposed we are. With a flourish, he swept something from the ground, raising a hand high with its prize. Eily heaved a sigh of relief as he limped back to the cab and took his seat.
“Your bonnet, milady. And I shall raise the windows.”
She forced a smile and took the dusty headpiece. “My hero.”
He strapped himself back in and pushed the starter.
Nothing happened.
He frowned and pressed the ignition again.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head and unbuckled before reaching into the back to retrieve his toolbox. “Probably something’s come loose.”
“Gid, we’re totally exposed out here.”
“I know. I’ll have us running again in no time.” He climbed out and raised the hood, blocking her view of the horizon.
This time she let her instincts take over. Yanking the seatbelt off, she scoured the cab for some sort of weapon. But of course there would be nothing. The Order believed violence—even in self-defense—was a sin. She hopped out of the cab and scurried to where Gid had his head buried in the engine compartment. His toolbox sat on the ground, open. She bent and picked up a large crescent wrench.
Placing her back toward Gid and widening her stance, she surveyed the horizon. Waves of ghost-like heat rose from the hard, pale soil of the Burn. The amarantox was only a hundred paces away. Her stomach churned with memories of her past. Of her flight to this place. Of her loss.
She began murmuring the Lord’s Prayer as she watched the horizon. “And deliver us from evil, and deliver us from evil, and deliver us from evil...”
Chapter Five
The Burn
Outside the Holdout Compound
From beneath the protection of the towering amarantox, Jubal gazed across a stretch of open land at the hazy line of what had to be the lightning wall.
Rann held a broad leaf aside with one hand. “I don’t remember Pops talking about all this open space between the Tox and the wall.”
“Flame Runnas’ve been burning.” Jubal pointed to where new growth sprouted amidst fire-blackened amarantox stalks at the transition.
Taking a small step backward into the concealing foliage, Rann huffed out a breath. “We can’t do this. Pops wouldn’t want us to do this.”
Jubal whirled to face his brother. “You’re the reason we’re here, Rann. We have to do this. You owe Pops.”
“I told you, I didn’t free that Flame Runna.”
“Maybe not on purpose, but your drunkenness caused all this. Now come on.” Jubal readjusted his pack and took a firm step onto the hardpan, belying the terror of his thundering heart. Without the surrounding amarantox leaves, his skin crawled as if a thousand eyes focused on him. Heat from the cracked red soil pierced through the hard leather of his traveling sandals. He pl
unked his trader staff against the earth, rattling it with each step, wondering if Flame Runnas even knew what such a symbol meant. The clattering metal of Rann’s staff sounded behind him.
Halfway across the expanse, a strange noise, like the rapid pounding of a woman’s grinding stone, caught Jubal’s attention. A flash of metal in the sky drew his gaze, and he stumbled to a halt.
Rann croaked, “Flame Runnas.”
Jubal’s legs turned weak. They would never make the edge of the Tox in time. He dropped to the ground, the dusty bulk of his pack hopefully concealing him. Rann sprawled directly beside him. The flying machine dipped and wobbled in the air, then sped toward them, the rapid beating sound growing louder. As the craft passed nearby, it wobbled again and dove for the ground. It contacted the surface and rolled like a runaway wagon, kicking up a cloud of dust before coming to a stop a few hundred paces away.
“I thought flying machines were supposed to be silent?” Rann whispered.
Jubal squinted across the sun-drenched space. He thought so, too. But then, he’d never been through a Flame Runna attack. “Just watch.”
A man’s figure emerged from the craft. He limped in a meandering loop behind the wagon, then bent and lifted a fluttering white cloth from the ground. He thrust it into the air as he hobbled back to the flying machine and disappeared inside. A few moments later, he reappeared, and a woman joined him at the front of the vehicle.
Two Flame Runnas, one wounded, or at least limping. Jubal looked at Rann. Perspiration carved rivulets down his brother’s dusty face. Jubal’s pulse thundered in his ears. He covered his nose and mouth with one hand, attempting to filter out the dust choking his lungs. What if more Flame Runnas arrived to help? He squinted toward the sky.
Rann clambered to his feet. “Maybe we can take these two before help arrives.”
Jubal thrust out an arm to stop him, but Rann had already paced forward. By the Knife, Rann was determined to get them both killed. Keep up trader appearances before you’re caught skulking. He scrambled to his feet and loped to his brother’s side. No going back now. He hoped they could get these two back to the cover of the Tox before help arrived.
“Gid. Men are coming.” Eily kept her voice level and chose the word men rather than cannibals. If Gid was close to finishing, they had time to board and get airborne before the two figures approaching from the amarantox reached them.
“What?” Gid raised his head so quickly he slammed it against the mini’s hood. “Ow!”
Eily’s fingers hurt from gripping the wrench. She took a shuddering breath, longing for the protection of Haldanian guns. Some of the Order owned guns for hunting. She could have brought Samuel’s gopher gun, but she’d never dreamed they’d find themselves outside the compound.
Over her thundering pulse, the tinkle of metal and bone reached her. Where had she heard that sound before? She backed up a step.
“Are those cannibals?” Gid whispered.
She nodded, unable to speak. She felt the pressure of his gaze as he looked at the wrench she held upright beside her.
He put a calloused hand on her arm, attempting to lower the weapon. “Eily, you mustn’t. I’ll talk to them.”
She fought the pressure of his hand as she spared him a sharp glance. “We can’t let them take us.”
“If it’s Gotte’s Wille—”
“Don’t give me that! God didn’t force us to cross the fence. You have no idea what’s in store.”
The jangle of metal sounded again, purposeful and rhythmic. Eily squinted at the approaching figures. Sunlight winked off shards suspended at the top of two tall staves. The music of a trader’s staff. The air lightened, and she began to laugh. “Traders!”
Gid took the opportunity to remove the wrench from her grip. “Let me talk to them. Get in the mini.”
“Gid, you don’t speak Cannibal.” He barely spoke Haldanian, and it was akin to the Cannibal dialect.
“It’s not proper for you to speak to them. Now go, woman.” The thin line of his mouth told her she’d better obey.
She took her seat, but left the door open so she could hear. Women in the Holdout did not speak to the salt trader when he visited. They barely spoke to Protectorate tourists inside the compound. A good wife obeys her husband. She folded her hands in her lap and squinted through the dust-covered windshield at the blurry images outside.
Gid placed the wrench back in the toolbox, then straightened his spine to face the oncoming men.
One of the men called, “Keep the Peace!”
Excitement thrilled up Eily’s spine as she recalled trade days with her tribe. She’d only been a girl, but those words meant small treats and new stories.
When Gid didn’t respond in kind, the men slowed to a near halt. Eily leaned out the door and shouted, “Gid, repeat the greeting. Raise your hands, palms out.”
“Geep de Peace.” Gid raised his hands. With all her willpower, she pulled herself back into the mini, but not before catching a glimpse of sun-browned torsos and hair worn in traditional bone beads.
The sound of the staves filled the air as the men continued forward. The taller of the two gestured at Gid and tilted his head. In spite of the language barrier, they seemed to come to an agreement, and Gid walked back to her open door. “Can you steer? They’ll help me push.”
Eily nodded and slid across the bench to Gid’s control panel. He shut the door and retreated to the back of the vehicle. The carriage dipped as the traders loaded their packs onto the back bed. She swallowed and looked at the steering wheel. She knew how to ride a bicycle or guide a horse team, but driving the mini daunted her.
“Release the brake!”
She found the brake lever and popped it loose. The mini began to move.
Jubal strained against the grounded flying machine, Rann on one side and the man on the other. The dust on the glass prevented him from getting a good look inside, but he could tell the woman was green. One Flame Runna. One wasn’t enough.
Then there was the other issue; the man named Gid bore evenly spaced scars on his face and hands. One of the Knowing. Jubal couldn’t read the marks, but they were unmistakable. As a member of the special class, the stranger was off limits.
Gid didn’t speak their language very well, but he was obviously distressed that his machine would no longer fly. Jubal offered their help pushing it back to the fence. The wagon was heavy, but the toothed wheels gripped the ground well, and soon they were moving at a good pace. In spite of an obvious limp, Gid urged them on, faster, until they were running behind the wagon. He shouted in his strange language to the woman. The machine sputtered, and a loud rumble shook the frame.
Jubal and Rann jumped aside, hands raised to protect themselves. The wagon continued to move, and Gid hopped onto the back.
Without them.
“Flame Runna trickery!” Rann cried.
Gid beckoned them with an arm, shouting, “Come! Come!”
Jubal’s feet felt stuck to the ground. “He’s not a Flame Runna. His skin isn’t green.”
“The one inside the wagon is. They’ll take us prisoner.”
Jubal grimaced. “Our goods are on that wagon.”
“Or what if it flies away?”
Without their staves and merchandise, he and Rann might as well be dead on the Tox. “We have no choice.”
Heart racing, Jubal sprinted forward, caught the edge of the wagon, and swung himself up next to Gid. Rann followed a moment behind.
Once they were sitting atop the wagon bed, hands clutching a rail along the side, the wagon picked up speed faster than Jubal thought possible. Gid threw back his head and let out a whoop. Rann laughed and joined in. Jubal watched the looming wall of wire links, too worried about what they would face inside to revel in the speed.
They slowed as they neared the fence. A gray wooden plaque with white marks pointed out the entryway, just as Pops had described. Jubal didn’t know his letters, but he’d encountered writing before, during their tr
ade route along the Sunset Shore. Many people used these symbols to talk without using words, Pops said.
They stopped at a wide gate and Gid hopped off. He faced the fence and shouted, waving a small white cloth above his head. Jubal and Rann dismounted and retrieved their packs and staves.
“Be ready,” Jubal said, although he had no idea for what.
Another man came out of a small stone house about fifty paces inside the fence and hollered back, then disappeared. Gid grinned and gave Jubal a thumbs up before tucking the cloth into a pocket in the back of his pants.
Jubal looked overhead at the wall of metal netting. This is the lightning wall. The top of the weave was decorated with more coils of wire, but Jubal had the feeling it was more than decoration. The man reappeared from the stone house and waved. Gid pulled the gate open, allowing the flying wagon to rumble through. Gid followed, gesturing furiously for Jubal and Rann to do the same.
“Do we go?” Rann asked.
Jubal’s limbs trembled so badly, he thought he might collapse. Did the lightning wall keep men in as easily as it kept them out? “Pops has traded here.”
Rann looked to either side, then moved forward through the gate.
With a last glance toward the barren soil surrounding the fence, Jubal followed. Gid drew the gate closed, throwing down a latch and stepping back before yelling something toward the house. Jubal and Rann stood close enough to brush shoulders as the man in the stone house emerged again and began walking their direction. A straw hat shaded his face, but he wasn’t a Flame Runna, either. Have we come here for nothing?
The door to the wagon opened. Small, booted feet swung to the ground. A calf-length brown dress. Black hair mussed from the wind. Then the face of the Flame Runna came into view. A face burned into Jubal’s memory as she’d leaned over his unconscious brother.
Rann jerked and almost lost his balance under his heavy pack. “Ana?”
Her smile disintegrated into an open-mouthed stare.