Sam was shocked, as it stood in a far off ditch, and was fenced around with electrical wires.
With each rumbling thrust, the ground shook endlessly, and crumbling sand atop buildings to a fine, red dust that filled the air around them.
Sam coughed, her eyes struggling to focus.
The air was dim, and the sun was setting in the west, when all inhabitants of the ghost town at once flooded the streets. They had marched their way from the boisterous pump-plantation, dirty and tired, as if spent the entire scorching day labouring away within it.
Their faces were beat, and their muscles were shaking, but each came forward carrying a rattling satchel of coins. It hadn’t been much, but it was clearly enough for the older men to enter the bar, and grab a quick drink.
‘What kind of place is this?’ Eric gasped, whistling. ‘They’re all enslaved!’
‘Well, they have to get their water and electricity from somewhere.’ Luke said. He elbowed a man to his right, and worked his way to the group. ‘This is the wastelands after all!’
Sam knew that Luke was right. In fact, it wasn’t much different than the system of Emitton, or at the Keep. Everywhere they went, labouring was a key part of survival.
Sam’s eyes studied the faces of those around her. She saw women with kids, and men with beards, all who were once hardened juveniles too.
‘Do you recognize any of these people?’ Sam asked, the tips of her fingers grazing Shawn’s forearm.
There had been forty other prisoners that had escaped alongside Mike, all of whom were close friends with Shawn. If only he’d recognize a single face.
‘Can’t we just stop someone and ask them about Mike?’ Melanie asked. She was knocked off balance, and almost trampled over by a rickety, drunken man.
‘Watch it!’ She cried after him, but he hadn’t even flinched. ‘What’s wrong with these people? They’re like a lifeless bunch of zombies!’ Her baffled eyes followed the dreary figures of slumping ex-prisoners that slowly passed them by. Melanie had always thought that those released from the Keep, happily retired to the ghost town, and lived out the rest of their days with a clean slate and a blissful mind.
Things weren’t at all as she imagined.
Instead, the people here were dull, and without any lust for life. Every day had gone by the exact same way: Wake up. Go to work. Go home. Sleep. Repeat.
‘Are you okay?’ Luke asked, gently.
Melanie nodded. Her eyes were hidden beneath two scowling eyebrows, angrily pierced to the drunken man who’d by now entered a building. Out of sight, but definitely not out of mind.
‘Nope, I’m sorry Sam.’ Shawn said. ‘They’re all complete strangers to me.’
Just then, a whispering group of girls had trudged by. They giggled and whispered, every now and then, having one of them gaze athwart Shawn. He smiled, and broadened his chest.
‘Are you…sure?’ Sam asked, pretending not to notice. She certainly wasn’t surprised. With his now scruffy beard ruggedly sculpting his jaw, and the tight fitting men’s tank wrapped around his chest, Shawn was purely irresistible. He had abs too, and well sculpted ones for that matter; topped off with the natural gift of rocking the sun-scorned-fugitive look.
Shawn shrugged. He had just wanted to speak, when Viper interrupted.
‘We should’ve stayed at the Keep!’ She whined. ‘At least at that awful place of a hellhole, we wouldn’t end up starving to death!’
Viper leaned back against a broken streetlight, crossed her arms, and grunted. Her raspy voice echoed across the plains, for all had once again been deserted. Wide, symmetrical lines of streetlights, from which none of them had worked, stretched out as far as the road had led, into pitch darkness.
‘We’re not going to starve! Okay?’ Sam said. She had clenched her fists, even so tight, that her sharp fingernails sliced into the soft flesh of her palms.
Her stomach had growled, when her mouth couldn’t. It tried to warn her, telling her to flee from the expectant crowd of starving humans closing in around her. Sam knew that she had promised them everything but this, and they trusted her with their lives. She couldn’t blame them for having lost faith, for she too, had trusted herself.
‘I promise.’ She said. ‘Just trust me.’
A little further down the road, a turquoise, wooden door swung open. From within its threshold came an orange glow of lights, a warm babble of voices, and a searing smell of food. Sam’s head flew towards the building. She could tell that by its outer, it once was a quaint little barbershop, now turned into a bar: The Cactus Pit.
Without thinking twice, she pulled herself together, and bolted down the street.
‘Sam, wait!’ Aaron cried after her. He had tried to warn her about thinking before acting, something she’d never seemed to do, but before he could, she had already entered through the turquoise wooden door.
Chapter 24
Samantha Cyrus burst into the bar, and trampled forward at the severe velocity of her swing. She had thought the door would be harder to open, thus was starkly surprised when it simply gave way. She stumbled to her feet, and found her balance.
The turquoise door swung shut behind her, muffling Aaron’s voice that had still been calling after her. Sam peered at the exotic scene of the bar from behind a golden curtain of hair. She shoved it all behind her ear, and stood upright.
Inside, despite its candle-lit glow, the bar was dark.
As expected, a musky smell of sun brewed, cactus beer hung in the air. Its sweet, yet slightly bitter, smell had prickled the famished senses of her nose. It was a simple matter of sheer strong will that withheld Sam from trampling the nearest person holding a glass of bubbling beer.
Sam blinked.
The rackety, old piano in the corner died down, and so did the bar. All chattering murmurs had developed to that of whispers, while copious pairs of prying eyes rose to study Sam’s face.
She cleared her throat, and forced a smile.
The barman stood where all barmen were typically found: Behind the bar. His skin was like that of Donny’s (caramel) only a few shades darker. He wore an old barber apron, perhaps embracing the building’s prior trade.
There was a neat row of old barber chairs stacked around the counter, most of which empty, with the exception of two, in the far off corner. The largest of the crowd, sat around square, wooden tables scattered across the room, and dimly lit by wax-dripping candles.
This wasn’t at all like the bars in Emitton.
There weren’t any speakers with music, nor a dance floor, or dancers. The piano was played by a washed out woman; her rounded bun like a yellow bale of hay. Sam’s eyes had drifted to the ceiling. She saw two empty light sockets, and one with a burst light bulb.
No replacements then? She thought.
Moving forward had been harder than anticipated.
While Sam’s mind had wanted to move, her body clearly didn’t, leaving her gracelessly treading forward, and on route to the barman. She stepped carefully, not to trip on the carpet, and kept her eyes glued to the fold-up blackboard set on the counter: Fresh 4-pound scorpions, 5 credits each. (Beer not included)
Just then, the turquoise door to the bar abruptly swung open, and the other eight entered. It was as if their sole presence had braced Sam with all new confidence, and her stomach deflated.
By being an only child of circumstance, and homeschooled for most of her life, Sam never had any friends. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if she’d been worthy to have friends, especially not now. Not after misleading them, and putting their lives at risk. Their sole trust was like receiving a gift, when she herself had nothing in return, but ended up taking it anyway.
The barman frowned as Sam stiffly leaned across the counter. Her pleading blue eyes were begging to be relieved from the spotlight. In his one hand, he had a green check towel, and in the other, a brass, cracked beer mug. He raised his head, and scowled at the crowd.
‘Go on with y’all business, there
’d be nothing t’see here!’ For a simple barman, his level of authority was shocking, as the entire bar had instantly retained its liveliness.
‘Now, what can I do for you youngsters?’ He asked. ‘Not from here are y’?’ With one hand, he dried off nine brass mugs, and sturdily placed them upwards on the counter, ready to be filled.
Sam could see that he was much older than them. He had faint patches of grey stalking the edges of his hairline. The rest of his head was covered by a dark chocolate, curly bush.
‘Oh, we’ve actually just arrived in town.’ Sam said. ‘So you see, I just thought you might be able to help us with something.’ Sam paused. She felt the nearing presence of the others behind her. When peering over her shoulder, she looked deep into Melanie’s eyes, and knew exactly what she’d needed to ask.
The barman stared at Sam, awaiting her question.
‘I was wondering if you might know my brother. His name is Mike Cyrus?’
The barman’s eyes stiffened. He cleared his throat, and chuckled. ‘Nope,’ He said. ‘The only Mike I’d knows’ is Mike Longhorn–an’ he’d be sitting over there.’ With his plump, round, sausage fingers, the barman motioned to a well drunken teenager sitting across the room. His hair was messed up, and he bellowed something of a song, but was definitely not the Mike Sam had been looking for.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Shawn chipped in. He saw the barman flinch before shaking his head in denial. Shawn’s hand crept over the counter, and squeezed shut, balling into a fist. A tree of bulging, blue veins had instantly flooded his skin, rammed and ready to fire.
‘Listen her’ boy, I ain’t looking for no trouble.’ The barman warned. ‘I’d told you, the only Mike here’d, be Mike Longhorn.’
Shawn broadened his chest, ready to speak, when Sam had smothered him with a stone cold glance. ‘Leave it.’ She mouthed, and Shawn retracted. His hands relaxed.
‘Would that be all?’ The barman asked. He shoved nine glasses of foaming beer over the counter.
‘Oh, um, we’re not here for drinks.’ Sam said, she turned to the others for help. ‘We don’t have any money, um, Credits.’
‘It’s on t’ house…Since y’ be new in town.’
‘Thanks.’ Sam uttered. She was pleasantly surprised by the barman’s sudden act of kindness, considering Shawn had just threatened to punch him. Perhaps even within the musky and dark Cactus Pit bar, there were kind and innocent souls, falsely confined. They too, had been doomed to the wastelands, and forced to live out the rest of their days in confinement.
Not all of them falsely confined, but definitely unfairly commended.
‘It’s t’ least I could do.’ The barman said. ‘Y’ first week in ol’ Jaf is always the hardest, having nothing but t’ clothes on y’ back, and the t’ memories left behind at t’ Keep.’
‘Jaf?’ Sam asked.
‘It’d be meaning dry–as it never rains here.’ The barman raised his eyebrows. He studied the strangers’ clothes with a keen eye, blinked twice, and blocked the counter just as Aaron reached out for a bubbling mug of beer. ‘I’d need to scan y’all tags first, y’ know, it being a formality and all.’
Sam froze.
She knew from the start, that something bad was bound to happen. They’d completely forgotten about not having tags, and now, they were cornered. Out of instinct, Sam reached for her pocket, but retrieved with nothing. They were illegal, just as the clothes they’d worn on their backs.
They truly had nothing, and no one to run to. If only Mike had been there.
The resistance, Sam thought, THAT’S why the barman pretended not to know Mike. She thought back to her short-lived visit to the crow’s office.
Sam slightly remembered him raging on about a sudden rise of a resistance: Destroying satellites and such. Jack Crowe had clearly hated them, even enough so, that he would banish all mention of them.
Sam wished to have listened better to what he had said. Her entire being was too rattled by seeing the grown face of her brother; especially after she hadn’t seen him in so long. It was then that she realized, Mike wasn’t in the town of Jaf, or quite frankly anywhere near it. Their entire travel, and everything they’d gone through, was all for nothing.
Not even to mention their current predicament: The barman’s eyes widened as he reached out in the expectance of a tag.
Sam swallowed. She felt a heavy gulp sinking into her stomach.
‘You know what, I have the feeling we’re not finding Mike in here.’ Shawn said, grabbing Sam’s hand, and turning for the door. ‘We’d better go then.’
Sam watched as Aaron rose from a bar stool, and nod in conformity. It was the first time ever that he and Shawn had actually agreed on something.
The barman stood still, speechless, watching the nine strangers wallop for the door, and breaking into the streets. When the door swung open, the darkness of night had filled the bar, and a slight breeze threatened to blow out the candles. He felt from the very start that something wasn’t quite right with those children, but thought nothing of it at the time. After all, things have changed around Jaf, and times have changed.
The barman dropped his towel. ‘I’d be right back.’ He said to a passing waitress.
He rushed behind the building, and into a storage room, locking the door behind him. From within the wooden floorboards, he had opened a hidden trapdoor, and retrieved a hand-held radio transmitter.
It was something he’d reserved only for the direst of times. The signal crackled as he flipped a switch, and by the smooth turn of a knob, it turned to a clear wave of communication. It’s been a long time since he’d had to use one of these.
‘It’s Ben. Do y’ read me?’ Ben released the button, and lingered. ‘I said, do y’ read me?’
The radio rustled, beeped, and converted to the rocky sound of a man’s voice. ‘Ben?’ The voice uttered. ‘I’d started to think this radio was a waste of resources. What have you got?’
‘There’d be nine of them here, strangers. They asked me about Mike Cyrus.’
‘Nine, you say? Mike Cyrus?’ The voice roared. ‘Oh, they’re no strangers! Where are they now?’
‘Took off in t’ streets, on foot, but they won’t get far.’
The voice thanked Ben for his loyalty, and signed off. Ben wasn’t sure if whether it was the right thing to do, but stuck to his moral as a man of his word. He couldn’t possibly hold such valuable information to himself.
The wastelands were tough, and to survive, one had to do all sorts of things. Sacrifices, Ben told himself. In the end, they were all only victims of circumstance, unable to turn the tables on the way of the system. No matter what, they would always be preyed on.
He idly returned the transmitter to its hiding spot, and re-hid the trapdoor behind a hefty shelf of homemade, fermenting beer. He unlocked the door, and entered the bar, just as always, taking his regular spot behind the counter.
Ben nodded at the waitress, and she smiled back at him. All was as if he’d never left his post.
Chapter 25
Outside the bar, it was cold and dark. The deserted streets of Jaf were blinding, leaving all who’d roam amongst it, to trust nothing but the sheer senses of their ears and feet.
Although the moon had cast its rays, and lit the side of the buildings, its dim yellow light was nothing compared to the terrifying adrenaline that had pulsed through Sam’s veins. She ran without her eyes, and relied only on her instincts.
The nine fugitives of the Keep had stuck together as one, trampling the city’s serene atmosphere, and transforming it to a rioting scene of chaos. Although they hadn’t ran, it was clear to those that watched, that they were obviously in a rush to leave town.
An old man, resting his head on a bench, laughed at them. He hadn’t said anything, but Sam knew exactly what he found so amusing: There was no such thing as escaping the town of Jaf. Where would you go, if not to die in the deserted desert of the wastelands?
‘Are you sure?’
Viper asked. Their hasting pace had trampled her spirits, and transformed her breath to a rumbling roar. ‘I mean, he said he didn’t know Mike. Why would he lie when he’s got no idea who we are?’
Sam knew why, but she hadn’t dared say. Out of old habits, she checked both sides of the road before crossing it, and paced forward as fast as she could without running.
‘I’m telling you, there was just this look in his eyes. It was as if he wasn’t even allowed to mention Mike’s name!’ Sam paused, thinking of the suspicious look in the barman’s eyes. She wondered what he had done after they left. With no tags to show him, he undoubtedly put two and two together. ‘I don’t know if Mike’s in town or not, but something was definitely wrong.’ She said. Not a single light was lit, and the bottom of her face shone in the moonlight.
‘No use in sticking around here then, before something bad happens.’ Shawn said. ‘Or until we at least know more about what’s going on.’ He broke down an alleyway. The air grew quieter as they travelled further away from the central part of Jaf. They heard fewer voices, seen less lights, and knew little about where they were going.
‘I think we need to stop for a bit.’ Sam said, halting by a dumpster. She figured it was safe to quickly catch their breath.
‘That’s it.’ Melanie said, out of breath. ‘I’m not moving one more step, until someone can tell me what’s going on here?’ Her pale cheeks were flushed from the cold evening air. It blew through her hair, and across her bare shoulders. The scorching hot desert had turned to a freezing ice land.
Shawn wanted to answer, and parted his lips, but no sound had emerged. He was stumped. His eyes drifted towards Sam, and his questioning gaze had told the group that he too had no idea.
‘Sam?’ He asked.
Sam cringed. Shawn’s panicky voice had sliced through her shield, and her heart began racing. Not of attraction, but sheer panic. Her pointless sham was over, and she knew that there was no point in keeping her friends in the dark for much longer. They’d better hear from her own mouth, than that of someone else’s.
The Keep (A Renegades story Book 1) Page 17