by K. A Knight
It’s dark when we finally find a building that looks like it will protect us from the elements, give us shelter from passers-by, and not infested with murderers or ferals. Speaking of, I miss my baby. I didn’t want to bring him on the road when we might not make it back since he is so small, but damn that fuzzy little cutie has wormed his way into my heart.
Clay and Jago check the building while I wait with the bikes, Archel, and Evvie.
They come out minutes later and wave us over, so we park the bikes around the corner near a backdoor they indicate. If someone comes in through the front, we can make a quick escape. Once through the door, we wander through a dark corridor before Jago pulls back a crusty curtain, and it finally clicks what we are standing in…or on, I should say.
A stage.
We are in a theatre. “Damn,” I mutter, looking out at the rows and rows of seats, some missing and some ruined. There’s a balcony up top, and boxes hanging to the left and right. The old gold fixtures were either ruined or stolen. There are some holes in the roof, but other than that, it’s in okay condition.
“I’ll find a way up to the balcony and take first watch,” Archel murmurs and kisses my cheek as he brings his sniper rifle with him and slips into the wings.
He comes back out a minute later and sighs. “Stairs are destroyed, but where there’s a will there’s a way. Watch this, Princess. You can ogle my ass while I protect your pretty one.” With that, he jumps from the stage and works through the chairs and seating, slinging the rifle over his shoulder as he grabs onto a post beneath the balcony and quickly climbs it. The ledge sticks out, and he has to jump back to grab onto the edge, dangling there as he effortlessly pulls himself up and over. Getting to his feet, he blows me a kiss as he sits down, his sniper rifle back out to watch us while we sleep.
Jago sets up our sleeping pads as Evan passes out water, and I choose food for us to eat. The floor is hard and worn, and scratched in places from years of use of performance and art. Now it’s empty, forgotten like a lot in this world. No more plays, no more performances. No ballet or imagination. Just…surviving. It’s sad really, how many stories these wooden boards could hold. How many years of dedication people had just to make it to this moment, only to be lost in the devastation of our world.
“I wonder what I would have been in the other world,” I muse as I stroke along the floor. “A dancer? Probably not, I’m not graceful enough.”
“Not a singer, you sound like a dying feral,” Evan teases, and I grin at him.
“Something amazing. Like an inventor or an activist. A fighter, maybe even a soldier.” Jago shrugs.
“Whatever it was, Pascha, you would have been remarkable and made a difference,” Clay adds.
“Jago would be a soldier for sure. Evvie, would you still be a doctor?”
“Hmm, maybe. They always say doctors are born, but…”
“But?” I prompt.
“I like drawing. I think I would have been an artist or even a tattooist.” He smiles, and I can’t help but smile back.
“I like that, I think so too.” I lean into him, watching Clay. “What about you, my mountain man?”
“We do not speak of before, so I do not know. What do you think?” he asks, sipping his water. I run my eyes over him.
“Soldier,” Evan offers.
“Nah, MMA fighter,” Jago says.
“Serial killer!” Archel calls, making us all laugh.
“I think you would have been a bodyguard or maybe an architect. You like building things.”
“Weapons. Hey, he could have been an arms dealer,” Evan jokes, making me laugh.
“What about Archel?” I call, and we all share a look before laughing.
“Stalker for sure.”
“Serial killer like he said,” Jago grumbles.
“Shady government agent,” Evvie teases.
We laugh, even as Archel flips us off, and I settle back, still stroking the wood. I wonder what happened to the many talented people who walked or danced and performed on this stage. Where are they now? I wonder if one day we will ever get back to this, back to entertainment and talent that doesn’t involve bloodshed and death.
Maybe one day, and that is why we fight—so we can reclaim as much as we can and live a life that is more than just killing.
So we can enjoy the little things.
We all sleep together on the stage with Archel watching our backs. We huddle together for comfort and warmth, the sound of old symphonies filling my head as I fall asleep to thoughts of art and dancers.
We get moving early. The sun is barely up when we are back on our bikes. We know the closer we get to the north, the more careful we need to be. This is new territory for all of us, and who knows where these scavs are hiding. But we will deal with them like we do everything else and protect our people and land like we promised.
The farther north we go, the quieter we get. Nan was right—even the terrain up here is rougher. The ground is filled with deep grooves and holes. The roads are broken halfway across bridges, just dropping off, and cars are still parked there like they tried to flee before it was destroyed. It makes finding a way true north hard, and we keep having to double back. Eventually, we get tired and take a break under an old, abandoned lorry. We sit in the back, eating and drinking. Clay perches on the top of the truck, watching the roads both front and back.
Archel has an hour power nap before we head back out again. We drive slowly, avoiding the holes that might pop our tires or trap us. There are signs of life, but they are old—tire tracks, bones, and blood littered around. We must be reaching the end of the land soon, so where are they hiding?
An hour later, we hit the coast. The land just disappears into the Dead Sea. We drive along it, making our own path as the land ascends into jagged cliffs, which are blocked by destroyed cars, making us head farther inland.
Where are they hiding?
Finding them might be harder than bloody killing them at this point.
Everywhere we look, there is empty, destroyed land, nothing more. We see no people, no ferals, and no cannibals…so where the fuck is everyone?
Could it be that the land is too destroyed to live up here? There is no shelter, no places for food or water, but Worth said her intel isn’t usually wrong.
We stop the bikes near some devastated trees and sit down, debating what to do. I check the map, but it doesn’t offer much. “We could set a trap,” Evan suggests, and I blink and look at him.
“That’s…pretty smart,” I comment.
“I am known to be sometimes.” He grins. “If they are up here, they must be watching or checking the land every now and again. We set a trap for them and wait, then draw them to us instead of driving around in circles.”
“Any ideas for a trap?”
“The simpler the better. I’m betting they aren’t very smart.” Archel snorts. “Let’s have Piper sit out in the open while we hide behind something, waiting to lure them in. Bam, we jump out, kill them all, then head home for some orgies and sleep.”
“I mean…it’s not a bad idea.” I laugh.
“Then let’s do it,” Clay says and stands, looking for a good place to do it. “There is a load of abandoned train runners over there. We could easily hide behind and in them and keep an eye on you.”
I follow his eye, and we quickly pack up and head over. We push the bikes behind the train carts and cover them with some scraps of fabrics and sand in case they come from that direction. Clay lies on the roof of one of the trains. Archel hides inside another with his rifle resting on a box, waiting. Evan and Jago are behind a different one, watching, as I just sit out in the open.
I feel exposed, and my eyes run across the area before Jago calls out, “Relax, Brawler, you look too alert.”
He’s right, so I close my eyes and breathe out before I bury a knife in the sand next to me, set my crossbow on the other side, and lean back on my bag like I’m resting. Who knows when they will turn up? But if they
spot me waiting and watching, they might not take the bait.
I have to sit in the burning sun for hours, listening for any sign of scavs creeping up to kill me. Sweat drips down my face, and I wipe it away before closing my eyes. Let’s hope I don’t have to wait here all night too.
I doze off at some point, knowing my men are watching, but the rumble of the ground under me has me jerking awake. Luckily, I remember the plan and keep my eyes closed, even as I hear the engines drawing closer. And closer. I stay as still as I can, skidding my hand across the sand to land on top of my knee as I wait.
The engines stop, and then I hear boot steps.
“Well, look what we have here, boys!” comes a call with a thick accent.
I pretend to wake up and sit upright, acting scared as I dart my eyes between the men heading towards me—even though I’m checking their weapons and numbers. There are eight of them all looking worse for wear. One on the left is missing an eye, another an ear. Their clothes are tattered and covered in grime and blood. Their bodies are sweaty, and I can smell them from here, making me cringe as I swallow and fake scramble to my knees as they chuckle and call out rude remarks.
It’s evident the one at the front is the leader of this gang. Is this all of them? Eight people are causing such chaos? Easy-peasy.
He’s a big guy, but not huge. One of his arms is longer than the other, and one leg drags behind slightly, as if it was injured and didn’t heal properly. His face is mean and squashed with his eyes spaced close together. His lips are thin, even when tilted up, and he licks his tongue along them. I shiver when I see it’s split down the middle like a snake’s. He has no eyebrows or hair at all, and sweat drips down his meaty face.
“All alone, little girl?” he sneers, stopping just before me. His men are laughing like fucking hyenas as they call out dirty remarks about my body, which I ignore. “Big fucking mistake. What do you think, men? Let’s welcome the little dove to the north.”
“Your first mistake was not checking the perimeter,” I call, and then let out a whistle as I drop forward. Shots fire right over my head as I grab my crossbow and roll. Stopping near them, I get to my feet and fire. I hit one in the chest, making him scream as he falls back. Their calls are loud—they are unorganised. Some run, some stay. Engines start, and I see one in a golf cart covered in graffiti with spikes on the front and the name ‘Crusher’ on the side. Another gets in a similar cart with a shovel on the front with spikes on it.
Three men are already dead on the ground as Evan, Clay, and Jago rush out to meet me. Archel picks off those in the carts. I watch as one slumps, and the cart jerks to the side as he dies before the vehicle rolls, then explodes. I duck a punch from baldie and fire again, hitting him in the shoulder. He roars, and I have to reload. When I do, I swing my crossbow up, but he storms over, grabs it, rips it from my hand, and tosses it away. I snatch a knife from my side and slice it up with a snarl, cutting across his face. I duck another punch, but then someone grabs me from behind and jerks me back. With a grunt, I slam my head backwards, but it gives baldie enough time to take in the fight and realise he is losing.
He may not be smart, but he knows when he is outnumbered. He glares at me, turns, and rushes to an old police car waiting with the others’ transports. It has the word ‘Police’ still written on it, but now it’s covered in graffiti and skulls along the front hood, and it doesn’t have a window. He revs the engine and peels away as I stamp on the foot of the man holding me. He spins us, and I spot Archel. He’s standing in the doorway of the train cart, his eye to the scope, and I freeze as he fires, hitting the man behind me effortlessly. He falls away, and I scramble forward, grabbing my crossbow. Turning, I scan my surroundings. Baldie and another scav on a bike got away, and they are speeding into the distance.
“We can’t lose them!” I scream, slinging my crossbow and bag over my shoulder and racing to my bike.
I throw off the sand as best as I can, swing my leg over, and spin in the dirt as I rev the engine. Jago points at me. “Stay close,” he orders as we peel after them, kicking up sand as we give chase.
We can’t lose them and ruin the mission. They won’t fall for another trap. We would have to spend weeks hunting them up here, and they have the advantage of knowing the land. No, we end this now.
I spot them on the horizon and push the bike to its limits. Luckily, our bikes are faster since we can cut across what they can’t, and we catch up to them. They spot us and increase their speed, shooting forward as we race across the land. The hunt is on.
They twist and turn to avoid Clay’s bombs and Archel’s knives. I swing my crossbow up, and one-handed, I pull next to the other bike and fire right into his face. He goes down hard, his bike flipping into the distance. It’s just us and the car now.
He turns so fast, he almost tips, his wheel squealing as he kicks up sand and dirt and then shoots forward. He’s heading into a pass between dunes. We follow him down, and it gets darker and darker as we drive towards the cliffs on the coast.
I search the jagged edge, wondering what he’s aiming for. It stretches into the sky, eclipsing the sun. Is he heading right for the rock to protect his back, trying to take us all down? That’s suicide. Is he really that dumb? We follow either way, needing to kill him.
But he doesn’t stop, gunning it faster and faster towards those rocks. I have to slow down, straining to see where he’s going. It’s only a moment before he shoots through the opening when I see it.
I skid to a stop at the top of the tunnel entrance, still in the sun.
It’s a fucking mine.
Its wooden entrance doesn’t look too good, but it’s wide enough to fit at least three bikes side by side or a car. There’s a sign saying ‘Active Mine,’ with warning signs and a metal fence to the left and right. It dips in so we couldn’t see it until we were nearly on it.
There’s a crudely drawn skull above the entrance, and we hear the engine stop.
Fuck, we have to go in, don’t we?
We park the bikes to the side and stare at the mine, waiting for him to come out. He can’t have another exit, surely, so he’s trapped in there. But we also can’t stay awake out here forever. Fuck, he knows that. He knows this place better than us. There are too many variables.
“We can’t go in.” Clay sighs. “We ventured into an old mine once and lost a hundred of our men when it collapsed. It could be a trap and unsafe, not to mention gas leaks and the man currently hiding in there.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “We have no choice. It’s going to be dark soon, and we wouldn’t see him coming. We need to end this now.”
“This place gives me the creeps,” Evan mutters.
“I have a bad feeling, Brawler.”
“Me too,” I mumble, staring at the entrance. I really do, but I have no other idea. It’s either this or we wait, and being out in the open doesn’t sound appealing. Archel steps closer.
“There are five of us, one of him. We go in quiet and fast, watching each other’s backs, kill him, and then get the fuck out of there. It will be okay as long as we stay smart,” he murmurs.
Decision made, I grab a torch from my bag, and the others do the same, but all of us remain quiet. Going into the unknown is the usual in The Wastes, but they are right—I have a bad feeling about this. My heart hammers, my palms sweat, and my head screams at me that it’s dumb. We could set a trap outside, but we could be waiting for days or even weeks. Who knows what supplies he has in there?
No, we need to end this now.
Crossbow held tight, I strap on more knives as well as my katana and wait for the others. Evan puts on a torch headband he found at the hospital and holds a knife. Archel grasps his sword, Jago an axe, and Clay a huge blade. All of us look around before we start towards the entrance together. We pause once inside in case he is waiting to leap out at us. Archel tosses a flare inside that lights up the entrance, reflecting back across orange rock, but nobody’s there.
With the sun behin
d us, we head inside.
Going deep into the earth.
The mine is dark and hot, so hot, I feel sweat dripping down my spine as we slowly move into the huge, man-made tunnel. It tilts down with old, abandoned trolleys and tracks to the left, which we check to make sure he’s not hiding in. Not too far in, we find his abandoned car. It clearly couldn’t get any farther down, and after watching our front while Jago watches our back, the others check the car, and we conclude he must have moved deeper on foot.
He clearly knows this place. It must be a hiding area, or his scavs’ home? Either way, we stay alert. My eyes skim the graffiti on the warm, dark rock walls. Words, phrases, skulls decorate the surface, all meant to scare, and it does the trick. I swallow but force my eyes to search the dark crevices before us. Our lights only pierce so far in front of us, leaving the rest in shadows and darkness, which I think I can see things moving in, but I know it’s just my imagination.
“So creepy,” Evan mutters, his voice echoing ominously.
“You can say that again,” I reply, but go quiet after that. Our voices are too loud, and it will give us away. I’m honestly two seconds away from saying fuck this and just getting out of here and waiting outside. It may take longer, but I also won’t feel like I’m in some sort of creepy horror movie with cave monsters waiting to eat me.
I like to be eaten as much as the next girl, but not to death, if you feel me.
That’s when I hear shuffling, like feet along rocks. I freeze and hold my hand up before crouching. I hold my crossbow before me as I scan the rocks. Archel lights up another flare and tosses it, and I almost fall back in shock. There are at least ten men, all skinny, like fucking skeletons, bald and naked just standing in the dark waiting for us. Fuck! I fire and the others do too. They all laugh, a high tinkling sound, which is creepy as fuck as it echoes around. They try to dodge our bullets, and when they fall, others just take their place.
I keep firing and reloading, and eventually, they all are down. “What in the ever-loving fuck?” I hiss.