Kidnapped more like it.
The new world belonged to the engineers, especially those who could build something useful out of salvaged materials, and Hook collected them like trophies.
Soot billowed from the smokestacks lining the machine shops at the back of the city. Peter wondered how many engineers Hook had under his employ now.
Neverland, the most densely populated of the five fortresses, was recognized for its engineering ingenuity. It had its own onsite resources and didn’t have to rely on The Farm, the iron fortress dedicated to agriculture and food production.
Across the vast seabed, a glint caught his eye and he lifted the telescope.
A steam-powered vehicle chugged toward the entrance gates. Tank treads made of steel plates left furrowed tracks in the sand. Welded to an undercarriage of thick bars and pipes was the bottom half of a bus. The driver sat on a tall seat at the back.
“What the heck is that?” Peter squinted.
The last rays of the day sank deeper behind the horizon and shadows crept across the bleak land.
“A Neverland slave transport.”
Peter adjusted the setting on the telescope, bringing the strange vehicle into focus. At least a dozen individuals rode in the belly, their hands chained together.
More kidnapped wastelanders forced into servitude by Hook’s underlings.
Grimacing, he clenched his fists around the spyglass.
Without a word, he walked back toward the darkening shadows of the jet plane. Goosebumps raised on his skin, and he tried to ignore the Mechum whose unsettling gaze followed his retreat.
This world was the one he and his sister were born into nineteen years ago, but it wasn’t the only one his parents knew. Before the world died, it had lived, quite successfully at one time until man destroyed it.
Now this horrible wasteland was all that remained ruled by the five iron fortresses, armored cities run by the Machinists who hoarded resources, enslaved wastelanders, and stole orphaned children to work in their factories.
The new world had become about two things—survival and the Machinists’ power with the villainous Hook as its epicenter.
Peter cringed at how close he and Wendy had come to being captured by Hook’s hunting party last year. If Tinker hadn’t intervened—
A chill ran up his spine.
After Hook created her, she became one of his most loyal war soldiers, and then one day she just walked away.
Tinker had been with him and Wendy since their encounter in a backwater outpost off the Burning Road a few years back. She gave them no explanation for her desertion of Neverland, nor did she speak much about her life before Hook mutilated her and turned her into a Mechum. Maybe that, along with the creepy eye, was why he was always wary of her.
Wendy accepted Tink’s seething silence when it came to her past and her intentions, but Peter had reservations. Over time, he’d become jaded by the advanced technology that was his father’s legacy and formed an opinion that just like the Machinists, Mechums could never be fully trusted.
“Will they stay?” Wendy asked.
Peter finished tying the third cabin window he extracted from the plane to the front of the dune buggy and surveyed his work.
The patch job wasn’t pretty, but it would give them some extra protection from the sand swirling through the air when they drove.
“It’ll stay,” he answered, tugging on the windows.
Wendy pulled a faded map from her bag and spread it on the hood of the vehicle. It was a crude puzzle of other maps pieced together to make a rough and probably inaccurate blueprint of Neverland’s vast interior.
Tinker pointed to the back of the iron wall surrounding the fortress. “The opening to the sewage tunnel is here. It’s small, but it’s the only access point other than the entry gate.”
“And you think it will be open.”
“No, but there is a way around this problem.” She pulled a key from her mechanical arm where it had been lodged between a pulley and two rubber straps. “Unless they have changed the padlock holding the grate closed, we can gain access with this.”
“And what if they have replaced the lock since you left three years ago?” Peter’s ire swelled when he realized they were risking their lives on a half-baked plan and a Mechum who used to be the enemy.
“Then we improvise.”
The throb in his head compounded with the tightness in his gut.
This is a bad idea.
Wendy’s cool hand rested on his forearm, and he opened his eyes, not realizing they were closed.
“This will work, Peter. It has to. We need the resources for our people, or there will be no one left to build a better world.”
“Right. A better world.”
No matter how bad it got, Wendy’s optimism about a future reflective of their parents’ past never dimmed. She truly believed one day the land would heal, and man would begin to flourish again.
Peter wished her dream would become a reality, but her enthusiasm escaped him. Life in the wastelands was about survival, not hope. Hope had died long ago with the other world and humanity.
“Is this really the only way in?” Peter’s voice echoed through the culvert.
Tinker ignored him and kept working on the bolt and lock that blocked access into the sewage system.
Of course the key she possessed didn’t work because the padlock had been replaced by a menacing-looking sliding bolt system. His brow furrowed when her motorized arm ejected yet another tool from its inner workings.
“You are practically a Swiss Army knife, Tink,” he teased, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut when she turned his way and fixed him with a deadly stare.
Mechums had no sense of humor.
The scent of raw sewage burned the back of his throat. The handkerchief pulled over the bottom half of his face did little to diffuse the rancid smell, nor did the aviator goggles protect his eyes, which teared profusely from the toxic fumes. Wendy’s purple-tinted face indicated she was trying to hold her breath indefinitely.
With a deep-throated grumble Peter sloshed through the sludge and exited the culvert, grateful to gulp in a lungful of untainted air.
The sound of an engine caught his attention, and he shrunk back into the gloom of the fortress walls. Overhead, the airship they’d seen yesterday moved past where he hid to a stone landing platform about a hundred feet away.
From its lower decks, it jettisoned heavy ropes with enormous hooks attached to their ends. The tips sunk into the dry earth on impact. With the craft anchored in place, the deck crew released some lifting gas. The gasbags hissed, and the ship slowly descended until the hull was only yards from the ground.
Peter crouched against the metal wall, hoping none of the crew looked his way. If they did, they were all doomed. He cursed himself for coming back out here. He should have stayed in the culvert with the others.
A rope ladder was tossed over the edge, and he glanced at the entrance to the sewer. Wendy peeked carefully out. Their eyes locked, and he sensed her fear. Smiling, he put a finger to his lips and signaled for her to go back into the tunnel.
He breathed easier once she was gone from sight. At least if he got caught, there might be a possibility Tink and Wendy wouldn’t.
Yells from the airship drew his attention, and he dropped to his belly, hiding behind the iron framework of the foundation.
A man dressed in a long leather duster descended the ladder. Peter peered around the abutment. When the man’s boots hit the ground, he turned and faced the spot where Peter hid.
Hook.
A black patch covered one of the Machinist’s brilliant ice-blue eyes. He sniffed the air and turned his tanned face skyward as he removed his left hand from his coat pocket and waved at his crew to follow.
Peter shuddered when a glint caught his eye—instead of a hand there was a clawed steel hook.
After Tinker removed the entire lock mechanism, the three of them lugged the heavy grate off the sewer
tunnel.
After an hour wading through the maze under the iron fortress, they reached their destination—the storage silos. In the tight space, the stench was unbearable, and the cold, dirty water seeping through their boots only added to the discomfort.
“Here,” Tinker said, pointing to a vent above their heads. “The main silo.”
Peter looked around. “How do we get up there?”
Before the Mechum could answer, a raspy voice floated through the slats above. They flattened themselves to the sewer’s wall out of sight from prying eyes.
“Take the rest of these seeds to The Farm, and on your way back stop at the outpost on the Burning Road. Word got back to me Peter Darling’s been spotted in the area, and he’s with that useless Mechum, Tinker,” Hook said.
Peter glanced over at Tink. Although her face remained passive, she absently rubbed the deep scar on the side of her head, visible under her cropped hair.
Through the vent, he saw Hook standing to the left. He spoke to a short, stocky man with shaggy gray hair. Tiny rimless spectacles were perched precariously on his nose.
“And Smee, make sure the lost boys clean the upper stacks. The exhaust is full of soot, which makes it difficult to land the damn airship on the roof. I had to set her down out back, again.”
“Aye, Hook, I’ll get them little whelps straight up there tomorrow.”
Boot heels echoed as the men walked away.
Peter exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath.
They waited patiently for a period to guarantee Hook and Smee had left the silo. Confident the storage tower was empty, he and Tinker lifted Wendy up, and she pushed the vent plate out of the way.
A few minutes later they stood at the center of the silo, surrounded by shelves of food, bins of grains, and stacks of water canisters.
Peter let out a low whistle at the resources in front of him. This unit alone could feed many of the colonies in the wastelands for months.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Wendy said.
“This is only some of it. Well, the viable stuff anyway,” Tinker said.
“What do you mean?”
The Mechum motioned for them to follow.
They passed through a series of doors until they entered an outer tower containing a vast pit of rotting food waste.
“What is all this?” Peter asked, gulping air through his mouth. The putrid rot scorched his nasal passages.
“The excess Neverland residents don’t consume.”
Wendy’s green eyes filled with tears, and he felt that all too familiar rage rush through him. The one that made him fearful that a monster hid inside him, born of this wretched place and the evil lurking in it.
No sooner had they returned to the central silo and begun loading up one of the supply trucks—a semi with a flatbed and a spiked grill—did the drivers enter, followed by Smee.
“I’ll be going with ya today.”
“Why you gotta come?” said the one with multiple piercings in his cheek and prison numbers tattooed on his neck.
Peter’s eyes narrowed. Not surprising Hook had ex-convicts under his employ.
“Because the boss wants me on a job, and what the boss wants he gets. Now start loadin’ the crates and keep your trap shut.”
Smee was quite the authoritarian for a man with such a slight stature. Maybe it was the life he led prior or the man whose favor he held now; either way, without another word the drivers began to load the truck.
Peter waited hidden in the shadows of the stacks of food with Wendy and Tink until the flatbed was almost full. He was perfectly happy to allow Hook’s men to do the work for them.
After their visit to the garbage pit, they’d stolen a few crates of bandages and peroxide along with some tools, weapons, and a case of firewater Hook’s men were brewing in the furnace room. Extras to provide the wastelanders with a little comfort. With the supplies that filled the flatbed, they should be set for months.
When the men finished, Tink snuck around the cab of the truck. Peter readied himself for confrontation. His hand clutched the handle of the dagger and the other gripped his sister’s.
They tiptoed forward, following Tink, but as the Mechum disappeared, Wendy sneezed and within seconds all hell broke loose.
Peter looked down at the bodies lying on the floor, his eyes falling on one.
Smee. Hook’s right-hand man lay face down bleeding copiously from a gash above his right temple. After Wendy sneezed and alerted the others to their presence, a scuffle ensued.
Peter could still hear the metal pipe connecting with Smee’s skull when Tink throttled him from behind. There was a look of glee in her eye, which disturbed Peter and exacerbated his concerns. Trusting her kind was difficult enough, but occasionally he got a glimpse of something behind her indifference that terrified him.
“What about them?” he asked, indicating the unconscious men.
“Leave them,” Tink said, climbing into the driver’s side.
Indifference was back.
Without a word Wendy jumped in after her and closed the door.
Peter pulled himself up into the passenger seat as Tinker started the engine. The truck groaned and spewed blackened exhaust. She rammed it into first gear, and the rig rolled out of the storage tower and into the daylight as if it were any other day.
The three silos were set apart from the central structures of Neverland. Unfortunately, the front gate was their only escape route since they couldn’t exit with all the stolen goods back through the sewer system.
And it was on the far side of Neverland.
Peter thought the plan Tinker proposed ludicrous at the time since they would be driving a stolen supply truck through the heart of the fortress, but in the end, he’d relinquished to her insider knowledge.
As they drove through Neverland, he rewound that conversation in his head, sure that it was all about to go sideways.
“Every evening a few hours before dusk a supply truck loads up and drives out of Neverland to deliver much-needed resources to small outposts along The Burning Road,” Tinker had explained.
“For what purpose?” Wendy asked.
Peter had hunched his shoulders in defiance. “Hook’s attempt at showing the wastelanders he cares while his henchmen steal their children for labor and scavenge everything useful from the desolate land, I suspect.”
Tinker’s motorized eye rotated from Wendy to Peter. “Actually, it’s bribery.”
“To whom?”
“Not all in the outer colonies is what it seems. There are many who take Hook’s trifle offerings in payment for their silence or their loyalty.”
There had long been rumors that the Machinist had cultivated a network of underlings within the wasteland population. Individuals willing to look the other way while Hook’s men pillaged, killed, kidnapped, and terrorized the peaceful colonies.
At the time Tinker had ignored Peter’s baleful stare and instead continued to detail her plan. “We will knock out the drivers, steal their uniforms and the supply truck, and drive out through the front gate undetected.”
Simple, he thought as the grinding of the gears brought his thoughts back to the present.
Through the window, he saw a group of Hook’s men working on a transport carrier. He dropped down in his seat and yanked his hat lower on his face.
Wendy was in the back taking inventory of the stolen supplies.
“Stay down,” he said, indicating the open flatbed she perched upon precariously. “Don’t be seen.”
A screeching siren ignited the dust bowl.
“What the hell is that?” Peter asked.
Tinker shifted the gear, leaned forward over the wide steering wheel, and pressed the gas to the floor. “My guess is they know we are here.”
Within seconds a jacked-up tow truck with monster tires came tearing around the corner in pursuit. At the end of the boom, tied into a makeshift harness, was a hunter—unstable individuals perfect for c
arrying out Hook’s brutal bidding. His face was hidden behind a catcher’s mask and a black-and-white striped mohawk adorned his head. Burned into his bare chest was a welted X—the mark of the hunter.
The vehicle reared up behind them, and the hunter whooped in delight, pumping his fists. The supply rig was slower than the smaller truck and soon they were speeding through the outer sanctum of Neverland side by side.
“Peter,” Wendy screamed.
The speed of the semi tossed her toward the back, and she grappled for a hold, managing to grab the cargo net before the force knocked her over the edge.
Hook’s henchman jumped. The boom swung across the distance between the vehicles, and before Peter could reach her, the madman grabbed Wendy around the waist, plucking her from the back.
His gap-tooth grin widened as he swung back to the truck and dropped to the platform.
Wendy struggled against her captor, trying to free herself to no avail. With a feral scream, she bit him in the arm. For a moment the hunter seemed shocked, and then he cocked his fist and with one punch knocked her unconscious.
Brakes squealed and the tow truck slowed. It spun around and accelerated back to the inner sanctum. In its place, two henchmen on motorcycles took up the chase. They darted in and around the semi. Animalistic shouts and screams mixed with the growl of the engines, but Peter didn’t care. All he could think about was his sister in the clutches of that madman, Hook.
Tiny pins of light swam in front of his vision, and he clenched his jaw. A wave of nausea rolled through him, followed by a spark of unadulterated fury.
If he touches her, I’ll kill him.
The supply truck roared toward the entrance, plowing through stalls and tents lining the outer area.
Tinker swore and changed gears.
Smoke and filth spewed from the exhaust stacks each time she shifted. The bulky tires rumbled as they gained speed. The chains encasing them dug into the grimy ground and churned up dust and debris in their wake.
“Tink, we have to go back,” Peter hollered over the roar of the engine. “They have Wendy.”
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