Paradise of Lead Trilogy

by Mackenzie Morris

  "Dying for people." Isidore says.

  "Oh, well . . ." Damien holds out his cigarette. "Byron, light this for me, will you?"

  "Sure." Byron holds up his hand and a tiny flame flickers in his palm.

  "Thanks. Dying . . . interesting." Damien says.

  "For Leena." Byron says as he lights his cigarette.

  No one says anything while they smoke and watch the breeze carry some debris across the barren ground. The lights from the town create a glowing fog in the sky behind them. Far off in the distance between the two mountain ranges, the brighter lights of Paradise still shine without flickering above those lead walls that will forever stand between them and a life where they can be happy.

  Byron tries to imagine what his life would be like if he was on the other side, if he hadn't been made into a M.A.G.E. He didn't ask for this. None of them asked for this. Even the ones out here who don't have powers are bound to this forbidding land. From the moment they were born, they were destined to be here, shut off from the world of the higher societies, government, and prosperity. He's heard rumors about all manner of foods and drinks, movies that the people watch from before the war, and on clear nights when the wind is just right, he can hear cheering and singing coming from over the emptiness of the desert. Those people will never fully know the hardships of their lives out here. They have everything they could ever need, all because of the Inquisition's developments and technology.

  On certain days, once or twice a year, the Inquisition will send out food, clothes, and all manner of manufactured goods into the wasteland for the less fortunate and the ones who have been deemed unworthy of a life behind the lead walls. It's all a show to garner the trust of the few citizens inside who do care. They are told that life isn't bad out here, that the government is doing all they can for them. It's a lie. It's politics. It's life. They will never see the rubble and destruction that was caused when those bombs dropped so long ago. They are unaware of the daily struggle for survival and what it's like to see the ones you love taken from you because they aren't what the Inquisition says is acceptable. Then there's the excess. Anyone deemed to be excess is killed when they are born or worse yet, they are taken and turned into M.A.G.E.S. No one wants that. That's why so many women are dying during childbirth. They don't want to go to a medic in fear that the Inquisition will show up and take their children away from them.

  Leena. What if she gets pregnant in the future? Byron doesn't know what he would do if that happened. Surely someone in Rubble City could help her give birth covertly. But still . . . he hopes it never comes to that. No child needs to be brought into this kind of world. It's not a pretty life. Nothing ever goes right out here in the wasteland. It's not living. It's a constant struggle for survival. Between the elements, dehydration, starvation, diseases, radiation, and slavers, it's a wonder that anyone is still alive. At least Rubble City has guards. Paradise has walls, impenetrable walls.

  Damien flicks his cigarette out into the sand dunes. "I used to live in there."

  "Inside the lead walls?" Isidore asks.

  "Yep. I was one of the lucky ones, one of the happy ones." Damien says. "I had everything. It's nothing like it is out here. You know the stories you hear about life in there? They're all true. Growing up, I had nothing to worry about and things were great. I didn't even know there were people out here. They try their hardest to keep us from knowing anything that goes on outside of those walls. It's a wonderful place. That's why they call it Paradise. A paradise encased in lead."

  "Why are you out here? There aren't any M.A.G.E.s in Paradise except for those in the science lab." Isidore says.

  "That's true. I wasn't born with my power." Damien says. "Once you're exiled from Paradise, you can never go back. I had it all. I was engaged to a beautiful woman. We had two wonderful children. I was working my way up the ranks of the Inquisition. I was months away from earning the title of inquisitor. Then I learned that in a world of perfection, it only takes one mistake for the entire illusion to come crumbling down. If you're the one unlucky soul who tears down the veil and exposes the truth, you become the example and everyone knows what happens when you're kicked out of Paradise. You might call me a fallen angel. I call myself a failure, a victim, and a man who wants nothing more than to avenge his family."

  So Damien is one of them. Or . . . was one of them. "What happened for you to be out here with us undesirable people?"

  "What didn't?" Damien laughs and shakes his head. "Turns out that being eighteen doesn't make you invincible after all. I thought I knew everything because I was Mr. Big Shot and had everything worked out for my life. I never even knew half of it. I had just graduated from the Academy and I was working under an inquisitor on some case and things took a turn for the worse when I stepped in and defended a M.A.G.E. It was a boy about twelve years old that had gotten out of the science lab. He was under some special security or something. Anyway, he got out and was running around in the streets causing all kinds of havoc. The inquisitor I was working under told me the boy had some sort of computer part in his brain and we were going to punish him by getting it out and killing him in the process. The inquisitor dragged the boy into the main square and pulled out a drill. He was going to drill into the boy's skull. Well, I couldn't let that happen so I did what my instincts told me and I . . . punched the inquisitor in the face. The boy ran off. To this day, I don't know if he was caught or even if he's still alive. Needless to say, that was my last day training for that job. Then all of the Inquisition forces showed up and took me into the lab. That's when they told me my punishment. They told me they had killed my family and that I would serve them as a M.A.G.E. That was the worst physical pain I have ever felt in my life. It went on for weeks until they were satisfied and they ran tests and experiments then when I wasn't powerful enough, they abandoned me out in the desert. So here I am."

  Isidore stands and turns his back to them. "I'm going to bed. Try to keep it down. And Damien?"

  "Yah?"

  "Thanks." Isidore says as he goes inside the van and slams the door.

  "Oh my God." Damien looks at Byron. "It was him. Let's see, I'm twenty-six. Isidore is twenty. No way. The time M.A.G.E.s have microchips in their brains. How did I never make that connection?"

  "Should you go talk to him?" Byron asks.

  "I'll talk to him tomorrow. I don't think Isidore wants to talk right now. Damn."

  "So, you were almost an inquisitor?" Byron asks.

  "That was before I knew what evils they were capable of." Damien says. "Besides, I don't look good in a tan trench coat and sunglasses with red lenses. Do those make what you're seeing look red? I've never understood that. Maybe they like seeing blood all the time. They're either wearing that or gas masks. So what about you? Were you born into this?"

  "My past doesn't matter. Just forget about it." Byron says as he finishes his cigarette.

  "Come on, Byron. It can't be worse than mine."

  What the hell. Why not? "I was born out to the west of here to really poor parents. They were starving and trying to feed my younger siblings. One day the Inquisition showed up and my father sold me to them. I was taken far away and after recovering from third degree burns on the entirety of my body, I was injected with some type of radioactive sludge and the next thing I knew, I could control fire. They liked to play games with me by burning me then using their medicines to restore my skin. It was incredibly painful, but they always healed me and I don't have any burns now. Their medical science is highly advanced. I know I should have died many times from that abuse, but here I am. One of the inquisitors, Inquisitor Allen, I think his name was, became fond of me and we would practice my magic together. Then one night, I ran away. I slipped past the guards and ran out into the wasteland. I was only about fifteen at the time. I thought it was the best decision. To this day, I don't know if I should have stayed or not."

  "What about your family? Do you know if they're still alive?" Damien asks.

  "No i
dea and I don't really care." Byron says. "The two people I viewed as my family were taken from me and slaughtered in cold blood by the Inquisition when they arrested me. I was living with two women, Aleesha and Meygan. I viewed them as my wives and that was the happiest time of my life. We would do everything together and each of us cared for the other two like brother and sisters. As much as I take pride in blowing up that military fueling station, I would go back and undo it all just to get those two women back. They were my world. We would scavenge around every day and every night we would play poker and play for the things we found in the wasteland. They would sing songs together for me. I honestly couldn't have been happier."

  "This might be a weird question, but did you sleep with both of them at the same time?" Damien asks.

  Byron laughs and steals a drink of Isidore's tequila he left on the ground. "Only you, Damien. Only you would want to know something like that."

  "I thought it was a perfectly valid question."

  "You are . . . you are a silly man." Bryon starts laughing uncontrollably.

  "I think you've had enough to drink, Byron."

  "Really? Why don't you try to take it away from me, then?"

  Damien eyes him curiously. "Are you trying to . . . flirt with me?"

  "No." Byron says as he moves closer to Damien and puts his arm around him. "You are just so warm."

  "Um . . . kiss me and I call Isidore over here to slap some sense into you. Byron, I'm warning you. I'm not afraid to stab you."

  Byron leans closer as the fragrance of cinnamon vodka and aftershave battle for dominance over his mind. At this point, it's like ripping duct tape off your mouth. You know it's going to hurt like hell, but you have to do it at least once in your life just to see if what everyone told you is true. Wait, why is he getting aroused by this? He tries to ignore it and just get this over with. It was inevitable, after all. Or is this the tequila talking? Either way, he's going for it.

  4

  The desert sun is hot on Byron's skin as he wakes up and rubs his forehead. "Damn tequila." He rolls over and is met by Damien's warm arms and bare chest. "Oh hell. What did I do last night?"

  Damien sits up and brushes the sand off of his pants. "Don't worry, Sunshine. You didn't do anything except get drunk then vomit and pass out."

  "We didn't . . . you know?"

  "No. God, no. Why do you have this fascination with me?" Damien asks. "Do you really think I would even be attracted to you? You didn't even actually kiss me. Do you not remember anything? Hell, I didn't know you liked men."

  "I don't. I thought you did." Byron says.

  Damien glares at him. "Really? Wow. No. Do you know how many women I've been with? I thought we discussed this already."

  "So . . . it wasn't anything romantic?"

  Damien sighs. "Touch your busted lip and tell me if that is romantic to you. There's a reason you have blood on your shirt. I don't know what you remember from last night, but you basically threw yourself at me and I had to kick you in the face to get you off of me. Then you fell asleep as you were bleeding. It's pathetic, actually. Do you need a woman that badly?"

  Well, this isn't at all what Byron remembers. Hell, this is awkward. "I . . . um, I'm sorry about all of that. I'm not . . . you know."

  "Sure. Whatever."

  "I'm not." Byron says, sounding almost desperate.

  Damien laughs as he stands and pulls his shirt on. "That's not my problem one way or another. Just don't try to kiss me again or you'll only bleed more. Got that?"

  Byron stares at the empty tequila bottle. What was in that stuff?

  Isidore leans out of the window of the van. "Well, well, well. The two lovebirds have awakened. Tell me, who's the woman in this relationship?"

  "Shut up, Isidore! Nothing happened." Damien says.

  "Oh, I know. I just have to poke fun at you two. You're ridiculous. Let's go get Leena before Byron tries to romance you again." Isidore clears his throat. "Also, whoever cut the seatbelt apart in the backseat needs to step forward and apologize before they get acquainted with a nice bullet in their face. No one destroys my van. Even God might have a difficult time getting me to stop from killing you. Okay? Tell you what. I'll let it go this one time. This is everyone's only warning. Okay? How's your leg, Damien?"

  "Oh hell. Fine. It was me. I'm sorry. Don't shoot me, please." Damien says.

  Byron rolls his eyes and crawls into the van. "Any of you have some ibuprofen?"

  "You drank my tequila, didn't you?" Isidore asks.

  "Yah, that's why I did crazy stuff last night. I'm never like that." Byron says.

  Blice taps his Byron's arm and hands him a handful of pills.

  "Um, thanks. What drugs don't you have?"

  Blice scribbles on a wrapper and hands it to him. The ones I really need. Call it a hobby.

  "Your hobby is collecting drugs?" Byron asks.

  He takes the wrapper and writes on it again. It's better than yours and Damien's. Did you two learn that in prison?

  "Damn it, McSage. I'm establishing this right now. Nothing happened last night. Okay?" Byron says. "Let's go get Leena."

  * * *

  Byron steps into the barren house where the sand has blown across the floor. Small cots line the patched walls and the sound of a child crying filters in from a back room. He finds the mother and goes to her. "Where's Leena?"

  She looks exhausted and worried. "I'm so glad you're here. You have to hurry. Some slavers took her early this morning. We tried to look for you, but we couldn't find you. I don't know what to do."

  Slavers? Damn it. Bryon knew it was a bad idea to leave her here.

  "Here, take this." The woman hands him a sawed-off shotgun and some ammo.

  Byron holds it up and examines it. "This will work. Do you know where they took her?"

  "They headed out of town to the west. I hope she's okay."

  "Me too." Byron pushes past her and out into the desert. Where can she be? He looks around for any tire tracks or signs of people, but the wind is picking up and any tracks are filled in and covered by the blowing sand.

  Among the outstretching sand dunes and piles of twisted metal, shingles, and random machine parts, something catches Byron's eye. A mass of purple fabric is lying in the dry creek bed. Leena. He runs over the slick sand to her and drops to his knees. "Leena?" Byron takes her in his arms then looks at her. Her hair is tangled and plastered to her face where dirt and sweat have streaked down her cheeks. Her normally pink lips are pale and chapped. How long has she been out here without any water? Her bare shoulders and face are red with sunburn and her dress is torn up the side. He looks around for her shoes, but they are gone.

  Byron places the shotgun in his belt and pulls Leena up on his shoulder. He has to get her some water and someplace out of the sun. It is ten minutes before he makes it back to the van where Damien and Isidore are waiting for him. "Isidore, Damien! I found her. She's not moving."

  "Get her in the van and get those clothes off of her." Isidore says.

  "Um . . ."

  He hits Byron's chest. "Now is not the time for your stupid games."

  Blice jumps out of the van and runs to Leena. He takes her in his arms and lays her down in the floorboard. He crawls inside and slams the door behind him. When the slight click of the locks sounds out, panic rises in Byron. What is he doing with her?

  Damien takes Byron's arm and leads him over into the shade from of the buildings. They sit in the dirt. "Calm down. Let Blice do what he needs to do."

  Isidore crosses his arms and leans against the side of a fence post. "I guess rules mean nothing to you people."

  "What do you mean?" Damien asks.

  "I said no sex in my van."

  Byron turns to him. "You don't think they're-"

  "No. Calm down, Byron. It was a joke." Isidore says as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a deck of cards. "Wanna play while we wait?"

  "No." Byron says. He can't take his eyes off of the van. Is she
going to be all right?

  "You need to get your mind off of it. She's just dehydrated. The sun will do that to people. Don't worry so much." Damien says. "Deal us a hand, Isidore."

  * * *

  Just as the sun is setting and casting an eerie orange glow across the sky, the door to the van slides open and Blice steps outside and stretches. He holds up a piece of paper and Byron takes it.

  When your hobby is collecting drugs, you learn how to use them. She's fine, just tired. You're welcome.

  "What was wrong with her?"

  Heat exhaustion and minor dehydration. Stop freaking out.

  Byron goes to the van and slides the door open again. Leena is curled up on the floor in the back of the van. "Leena? Are you okay?"

  She yawns as she pins her hair back on top of her head. "I think so. What happened? Did I drink too much?"

  "Oh Leena . . . don't scare me like that again." Byron says as he sits next to her.

  "The last thing I remember is fighting off some men in studded leather vests who were trying to rape me."

  "Rape you? They didn't-"

  "No." She smiles and flexes her muscles. "I can take care of myself. That is, until I got lost and got really weak because I had no water. Thank you for saving me, though. Maybe you are my knight in shining armor after all."

  Byron takes her in his arms and feels her shallow breaths against his chest. He tangles his hand in her hair then looks in her eyes. "Leena, no more going off alone, okay? We have to stick together in case things like this happen again. Drink this." He hands her a canteen of water.

  She puts it to her lips and drinks. "Thanks. Why are you looking at me like that? I'm fine. Blice gave me some medicine and I feel great, just a bit tired."

  "And beautiful."

  Leena smiles and leans in closer. "I told you I will never be romantic with a M.A.G.E."

  Byron pulls her into his lap and watches the tiny drops of water on her lips. "Then think of me as a human, not some experiment. We are much more than a label."

  Her fingers trace the stubble on the side of his face. "I may be a virgin, but I have kissed men before."