Lost Angel

by Kyle West

  Samuel was no longer here, too. That meant it fell on her shoulders and her shoulders alone.

  The burden was a heavy one.

  When she circled a hill, aiming north, she was out of sight of Last Town for good. She started crying. The frigid wind blew, kicking dust into her face. She wrapped everything below her nose in a scarf she’d packed in her bag.

  Get a handle on yourself, she thought. Tears are a waste of water.

  The thought made her laugh manically for a good minute, to the point where she wondered whether she was going crazy.

  “Don’t go crazy yet,” she thought. “Wait till we get there. Then we can really go crazy.”

  The sun rose, shining red on the wasted surface of the horizon. She passed through empty ghost towns, the buildings decaying, and windows empty of glass. Half-buried rubbish lined the streets. The paint was faded, and the letters of signs were nearly illegible. Almost as soon as she entered these places, she was passing through. No one lived there anymore. There was nothing left in them.

  She realized, after the second small town she passed in the early afternoon, that it probably wasn’t a good idea to head into these places. There could be people lurking within the buildings, as uninhabitable as they seemed. This suspicion was confirmed when she came across the remains of a campfire in an alley that appeared fresh. It was the first sign of life she’d seen all day out here.

  Like the ruins of L.A., people would be best avoided. This certainly didn’t look like a land of plenty, so she was sure people would try to nab whatever they could from her.

  She ate while walking, trying to close the distance to Oasis as quickly as possible. She followed the road north and didn’t come upon a single soul.

  When it got too dark to keep moving, she went off road, climbing under some desert scrub that would provide at least some protection from the wind and prying eyes.

  It was cold. Very cold. Makara longed to start a fire, but she didn’t dare do it. She ate under the brush, and tried to use some of the scrub and her backpack to keep her off the cold ground. It helped, but her thin blanket wasn’t enough to keep the cold at bay.

  Nonetheless, she was so exhausted that she fell into a fitful sleep, with dreams full of Samuel, Raine, and Reapers.

  WHEN MAKARA WOKE, SHE was so stiff she could hardly move. She forced herself to get up, and did her best to brush the brambles off her coat and hair. She had a few nicks and scratches, but that was the price she had to pay for safety.

  There was no one on the road, so Makara followed it north. All she knew was to go north, but unlike what Jaz had told her, she passed through no occupied settlements.

  That would change later in the afternoon, when she came to a small town with dirty and ragged buildings with several fields of crops growing next to a small stream.

  When Makara entered, she was stared down by a few of the town’s shabby, thin denizens. This town was clearly far less prosperous than Last Town and didn’t even have a wall. Makara got a bad feeling from the place, but she needed information to know whether she was on the right track.

  She was quickly approached by a tall, thin old man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and patchy overalls, so ratty that they were almost falling off his boney shoulders. “Who are you, and what brings you here to New Barstow?”

  A woman, similarly thin, along with another man, this one the oldest of all with a dirty face, gathered around. Their eyes looked unnaturally large in their sunken faces.

  Makara did her best to project confidence. “I’m looking for Ohlan and Oasis. I’ve got a message for him from Raine in L.A.”

  The first man smacked his lips a few times. “I can help you with that. It’ll cost you, though.”

  The others nodded their agreement. “What’ve you got in there, love?” the woman asked, her eyes beady and hungry.

  “None of your business,” Makara said, reaching for her handgun. The others backed up as she did so. It didn’t seem any of them had weapons.

  “She’s bluffing,” the old man said. “She ain’t got nothing in there.”

  “I don’t want to use it,” Makara said. “I’ve killed three men on my way here, and I don’t want that number to go up six today.”

  The warning was enough. They made no further move to try and reach her bag.

  “Now, where can I find Ohlan?” Makara asked.

  “We want food first,” the woman said, spitting on the ground.

  “I need my food,” Makara said.

  “I guess we won’t tell you nothing, then,” the old woman said. “Be gone, brat.”

  The woman turned away, and reluctantly, the two men followed her.

  Makara waited a moment, and then called out. “Fine. I’ll give each of you a sandwich if you tell me where he is.”

  The woman stopped and turned around. “You’ll have to do better than that, love.”

  “I got something I can give her,” the skeevy old man said, licking his lips. His teeth, Makara saw, were yellow and rotting.

  “Shut your trap, Clarence,” she said. “She’s a child.” She looked at Makara, appraisingly. “Still, we would need more than just a sandwich. Give us whatever food you’ve got, and we’ll tell you where to find him.”

  “I’m not giving everything I have,” Makara said. “How else would I make it there?”

  “The girl has a point, Marnie,” the old man said.

  Marnie narrowed her eyes. “What’ve you got besides sandwiches?”

  “I’ll throw in some jerky, one stick for each of you. That’s my best offer. And I only give it to you if I like what I hear.”

  The three conferred for a moment. After half a minute, the old woman, who seemed to be the ringleader, nodded. “All right. We accept that.”

  Makara reached into her pack, keeping her eye on the three old people, trying to push down her disgust. They seemed to be the town’s only occupants. Where had everyone gone?

  “Hand us that jerky first,” the woman said, wetting her lips. “Then, we’ll tell you everything. After we’re done, you give the sandwiches.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”

  Makara ignored the hand and backed away a few steps, keeping her hand on her holstered handgun. “Sounds good to me.”

  Once Makara had the three sticks of jerky, she showed them, and handed them to the man in the overalls, who seemed a safer bet than the depraved old one.

  The three tore into them like coyotes in a chicken coop while Makara watched, equal measures disgusted and feeling bad for them.

  “All right,” she said. “Tell me all about Ohlan.”

  The woman was done eating first, smacking her lips. “We don’t much like him. He left us behind. Promised to bring us to his new town. Took the rest of the town with him, but left us three behind.” She spat. “Said we were too old, a drain on resources.” The old woman eyed Makara from head to toe. “Oh, he would like you enough, though. Don’t you worry. Maybe you can put in a good word for us.” She cackled madly.

  That sounded like Ohlan, leaving behind the old folks to starve. Makara felt sorry for them, despite their rough appearance. Hunger had a way of twisting people into the worst version of themselves.

  “Where did he go?”

  The woman pointed with her chin. “Not far. Twenty miles that-a-way. The road leads right to it.”

  That was it? Makara could have just kept walking up the road, as she would have done originally, and saved herself the food. She could keep moving on herself, now. Didn’t look like any of these folks had a gun, either. She might just keep those sandwiches.

  But, despite knowing these people would have taken advantage of her if they could, Makara decided not to do the same. She reached into her pack and passed out the sandwiches.

  “Thanks for the information,” she said.

  The three starving people tore into the food while she went on her way. She glanced back every half minute to make sure she wasn’t being tailed, but the old folks were already back inside whatever buil
ding they had come from. The road went over a barren hill, after which New Barstow was thankfully out of sight.

  Chapter 49

  THE OLD ONES’ INFORMATION seemed to be correct. Makara passed a couple of folks on the road. One old man led a couple of laden pack mules, and was armed to the teeth, but seemed cordial enough, tipping his Stetson to Makara while he passed. The other one she passed was an old woman in rags, who crossed her path, mumbled something, and wandered out into the desert with nary a glance her way. She had made Makara more nervous than the man with the guns.

  By late afternoon, she was making good time. By the onset of evening, she rounded a hill and the road took her directly ahead to a large, walled settlement, with thick wooden gates with manned turrets on either side. Makara jogged up to those gates, and the guard from above hailed her.

  “Who goes there? State your business.”

  “I’m here to see Ohlan,” Makara called up. “I have a message from his brother, Raine.”

  The man stared down at her for a long moment, as if trying to guess her game. After half a minute, he responded.

  “All right. Let me talk to someone, I’ll be right back.”

  Makara waited for well over ten minutes before the gates started to creak open, revealing a prosperous town within filled with people. Either side of the street was lined with wooden buildings, recently constructed, while the street between them forged ahead to a body of water.

  This was Oasis, Makara had no doubt about that. Makara stepped inside, and was met with the guard, as well as a couple of men bearing rifles. One of them she recognized; he was one of Ohlan’s cronies back in Lost Angels’ days, though she didn’t know his name.

  Lost Angels’ days. It still felt wrong to think of that in the past tense.

  “That’s Makara,” he said. “Raine’s adopted daughter.

  He frowned at her. “You made it all this way on your own?”

  Makara nodded. “I have a message for Ohlan, and Ohlan alone.”

  “One thing first,” he said. “Open your mouth. You don’t look sick, but we got to make sure.”

  Makara rolled her eyes, but knew there was nothing she could do about that. The process was mostly painless, and she was cleared, just as she had been in Last Town.

  “Ohlan will see you now,” the man said. “This way.”

  Makara followed the man and another guard through the street. People watched her pass from the stoops of buildings. There were dozens of them. She could easily tell that this was a town of at least two hundred people. As she approached the oasis itself, she could see that there were more buildings and homes on its other side. From somewhere in the town, she heard the ring of a hammer on metal. A smithy, maybe.

  This is what Ohlan had wanted, then. A community that he could control and not be second. It looked like he had gotten what he wanted.

  There was a central building, larger than the rest, built of wood and completely circular, that looked to be about two floors. It was into this building that Makara was led by the two guards. Its interior was lit by blazing torches. No power out here, then. At least the Angels had managed that much.

  They took Makara to a back room, where Ohlan sat eating with two women. It looked to be a rich feast; a whole cooked chicken over potatoes, onions, and garlic, with a large bowl of mixed salad, and even a dish containing what looked like pudding. Ohlan gestured toward an empty chair.

  “Have a seat, Makara.” His voice was gruff, but amiable. The two women, both pretty, looked at Makara curiously at first, and then with suspicion. Makara did her best to push down her anger and hatred of him. Something of her mood must have showed to the women, who were both staring daggers at her.

  “Don’t be mean, ladies,” Ohlan chided. “This is Makara, my brother’s adopted daughter.” He flashed a yellow smile. “Sit down. I don’t like repeating myself.”

  Makara sat, but didn’t help herself to the food, even though she was hungry.

  “I won’t stay long,” she said. “I’ve come to deliver a message.”

  Ohlan nodded. “I have a feeling I already know what it is.”

  “Raine is dead,” Makara said. “He wanted you to know that.”

  Ohlan paused midbite, and then swallowed after a moment. He cleared his throat with a glass of beer. “Leave us,” he said.

  The women, without a word, stood up and left Makara alone with him.

  Ohlan’s sharp blue eyes looked up and regarded her. “What’s the manner of his passing?”

  “The Reapers attacked,” Makara said, quietly. “He actually died of sickness, though. The Red Sickness, I guess they’re calling it.”

  Ohlan nodded. “Yeah. That’s been going around out here, too.” Ohlan ignore his food, turning his full attention to Makara. “How are you feeling about it?”

  “Fine, I guess,” Makara lied. “Raine just wanted you to know. Whatever his reasons.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Ohlan said, his voice lowering. “Well, I guess that means I have to take care of you, now.”

  Makara’s eyes popped at that. “What do you mean, take care of me?”

  “Raine made me agree,” he said. “If anything happened to him, I’d look after you.”

  Makara felt shock. Could Raine have said such a thing?

  “I don’t need taking care of,” Makara said. “I made it all the way out here on my own.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you did,” Ohlan said. “A promise is a promise, though. You might not think much of me, Makara, but I did love my brother. Our methods were different. But I never betrayed him. Not once.” He paused thoughtfully. “Well, except when I struck out on my own. But that couldn’t be helped.”

  “You used me,” Makara said. “You’ll do the same thing again. How could Raine ever make you promise such a thing? How could he ever trust you?”

  “The world is tough,” Ohlan said. “It’s better me watching over you than for you to be on your own, with no one to protect you or Samuel.” Ohlan eyed her. “I don’t see him here, so I have to assume that he died somewhere along the way.”

  Makara nodded. “He did. Back in L.A.”

  Ohlan nodded, as if he had suspected that. “Well, Raine made me promise that I’d take care of you if something happened to the Angels. I knew it would, eventually. I suppose I just didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  Makara could hardly even process this news. Raine had never let her know. If he had, she might have never come out here in the first place.

  “I don’t need you, Ohlan,” Makara said. “I met a lady in Last Town. She said she’d take care of me.”

  Ohlan gave a bark of a laugh. “Last Town? I hope you didn’t get too attached to anyone there. They won’t last the year.”

  Makara blinked. “That soon?”

  “Last Town controls the main way into L.A. from the east,” he said. “Black will want to control it eventually. It forms a perfect eastern border for his territory.”

  “We have to warn them,” Makara said.

  “I did,” Ohlan said. “Anyone smart enough to see the writing on the wall came with me.”

  Makara remembered Mayor Bliss mentioning that.

  “You can’t stop people from digging their own graves,” Ohlan said. “All we can do is stop ourselves from digging with them.” He frowned, considering. “Just take my brother as an example.”

  Makara jumped out of her chair and started throwing punches at Ohlan. He easily held her back while the two guards came into the room. They pulled her away from their master.

  “You take that back!” Makara said. All the emotions she had been bottling up burst forth, like too much water behind a damn. She feebly attempted to punch Ohlan some more, but was restrained. Ohlan was brushing off his pants, where some cornbread had fallen on him.

  “I don’t blame you for being angry, Makara,” Ohlan said, signaling for the men to let her go. “I’m angry, too. I tried warning him of what was going to happen. Many times. But you know how Raine is. H
e likes to deal with things directly, and wouldn’t let me do anything too dirty go get ahead.”

  “You could have gotten me killed, Ohlan,” Makara said. She still wasn’t calm, but she could at least keep herself from punching him.

  Ohlan shrugged. “Those were desperate times. The Angels needed a leader to take aggressive risks to win an unwinnable war.” Ohlan shook his head sadly. “Raine was not that leader, as a good a man as he was.”

  “You don’t seem sad he’s dead,” Makara said.

  “Don’t let my looks fool you. I’ve never been one to show emotion. People always joked I’d be a serial killer someday when I was a kid.” Ohlan laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know. Maybe they were right. But hey, look where I am now. I’m warlord of Oasis, with two hundred souls under my charge. I got a wife and a mistress, and neither of them seem to mind.”

  He laughed again, as if this were a great joke, but Makara was just thinking about how she could get out of there. She’d forgotten just how much she hated him. It seemed as if getting even a little bit of power had just amplified all his worst qualities.

  “Well, I’m sorry about Raine, but truth be told, Makara, he was practically dead in my mind the minute I left. I knew that’d be the last I saw him. Everyone who followed me out here saw much the same.”

  “You’re a coward,” Makara said. “A disloyal traitor.”

  “Nah, I’m neither of those,” Ohlan said. “I’ll take shrewd and insightful, though. And realistic. I’m nothing if not realistic.”

  Makara found she had nothing else to say. She had come here for Raine, and maybe Raine had thought she’d be best in Ohlan’s hands, but Raine had been delirious at the end. If Raine could see his brother now, then Makara had no doubt that he’d want her to head back to Last Town.

  Who knew? Maybe she could convince Mayor Bliss and the rest to strike out into the Wasteland on their own, just as Ohlan had.