New World Inferno: Book Three in a Young Adult Dystopian Series

by Jennifer Wilson

“You do see the irony that she wouldn’t need that if you had just left the warehouse when I said to.” Grenald rebuked the man, but without any true malice. In fact, it was the most soft-spoken tone I had yet to hear from him.

  The second man ignored Grenald. “Name’s Otto by the way and thank you for saving me. I didn’t get the chance to say that properly before… and I’m sorry about that.” Otto eyed the blossoming bruises.

  Normally, I would have shrugged off his apology, but the movement would have hurt like hell. So instead, I did nothing. I wasn’t sure what made me save Otto. Why my body had sprung into action so quickly, and then again, I did. In the milliseconds that had passed before the ceiling crashed down, I had thought of Maddox. Of how he had saved me. Of how he died. Of how I had watched him die.

  The men shifted uncomfortably under my gaze.

  “We’re both grateful.” Grenald cleared his throat. He was fingering the cut on his chest. I watched in surprise as his other hand reached out and the men’s hands found one another, grimy fingers intertwining. It was then I understood why some of the anger had eased from the giant’s eyes. I had saved the man he loved. Otto elbowed him in the side, and Grenald’s hand fell from his chest wound. Apparently, I was to be forgiven for the knife throwing incident earlier too. Sort of.

  Triven opened the red packet producing gauze, wrappings, two blue pills and a jar of something orange. Grenald pointed to the wrappings. “You should bind her ribs up as tight as she can tolerate. It’s the best we can do for now. The blue pills might help with the pain too, but unfortunately there’s not a lot that can be done.”

  “Thanks.” I reached for the wrappings only to have Triven gently slap my fingers away.

  “Stay still.” He commanded.

  The first pull of the bandages was the worst. I held my breath to keep the pain under control, and tried to smooth all the muscles in my face. Grenald and Otto began to back away. Eyes looking anywhere but my bruised skin. They stopped when I spoke.

  “Any news from the other survivors?” Of Doc, of Veyron? I hadn’t had the chance to ask this yet.

  Otto let go of Grenald’s hand, stepping forward again, oddly eager to continue our conversation. He crossed his arms, burying his fingertips in his armpits as if fending off a chill. “Not yet, but it’s early still in the night. We may need to send out scouts to look for them.”

  “Once we get the rest of them to safety, we’ll send out a party for the others.” Triven spoke, trying to keep his focus on my bandages. I wondered if the others noticed the way his eyes worried my face on the word “safety”.

  I glanced in the direction of the hidden vent again. “I should’ve gone with them.”

  Grenald looked as though he felt the same.

  “You needed to get this taken care of.” Triven said. He paused, the tail end of bandage taut in his hands. “Ready?”

  I tightened my grip on the rifle, locked my elbow over the roof’s edge and nodded.

  Pulling as hard as he dared, Triven cinched the wrappings tighter and secured them in place.

  “That will have to do.” Concern knotted his brow.

  It wasn’t perfect, but they did feel better.

  Dropping my shirt, I placed a hand to his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

  He knew I wasn’t only talking about my ribs, but about what was to come next. His jaw tensed, but Triven didn’t say anything else. I had warned him he wouldn’t like my plan. He knew the risks, but he had still agreed. I had promised these people a safe place to stay and I was going to do everything in my power to make that happen. Broken and bruised ribs be damned.

  There was a scraping sound below us, barely audible, but we had been anxiously waiting for it. Praying for it. We snapped to our positions. Triven, Grenald and two others began lowering ropes while the rest of us took watch. Our guns scoured the streets ready to shoot anything that moved.

  My scope swept back to the school, watching their backs. The Ravagers should still be busy with their fire, but that didn’t mean the other Tribes weren’t restless tonight.

  The vent’s cover had been moved aside. The narrow tip of a handgun emerged followed by Archer’s willowy limbs. Slowly, cautiously, more people began to filter out, eyes alert and wide with fear. Then a child with brown hair appeared from the shadows, and there was a tugging at my heart. In her hand was a knife, drawn and ready. In fact, most of the older children were carrying weapons, even the light-hearted Maribel clutched what looked like a small dagger. Mouse paused, staring at her best friend, and I could read her thoughts from here. Her friend’s blonde ringlets were a beacon in the dark. Reaching up, Mouse pulled Maribel’s hood over her head, tucking in the stray locks. She then took the knife from the girl’s hands, readjusted Maribel’s grip and mimicked a proper thrust with a stabbing motion. Maribel gave a shaky nod, but the girl had gone paler.

  I wasn’t sure if I was proud or horrified.

  Other children around them began adjusting their grips too, mirroring her instructions, but unlike Mouse, the weapons looked foreign in their small hands. Their grips were awkward, fearful even. If anyone fell while running, it was obvious they would be more likely to impale themselves than to harm others.

  I took a tight steadying breath.

  Guns drawn and the children corralled in the middle, the group began moving. Their pace seemed terribly slow, the seconds stretching into minutes. The children were pulled up first, some in small groups of two to three, others cradled by their parents. My gun never left its watch, finger poised to fire, not even when the small hand touched my shoulder. Despite the bandages strangling my ribs, I took a deeper breath. Mouse was here.

  The child’s fingers tightened as Grenald pulled the last rope.

  “Everyone’s up.” Archer was panting as they pulled her over the ledge, her boots the last to touch down.

  Shouldering the gun I twisted, gathering Mouse into my arms. Kissing the top of her head I turned to Triven. “You’re sure they can make it?”

  “They don’t have a choice. Can you?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  ­Before I could second-guess myself, I pushed against the bandages holding me together, against the pain, and I began to run.

  The Healer had already turned me down. If The Master did the same, blood would be shed and people were going to die.

  12. MASTERED

  T HOSE WHO HAD stayed to guard the stolen supplies sagged with relief when we arrived, Baxter’s grin widening to the point of being painful as he welcomed our group. The journey, though a short distance, had not been an easy one. We moved in stints like an ever-rotating wheel. Split into groups of four, those most able-bodied would run ahead, scouting the city until the next leg had passed them. They would then take up the rear, slowly rotating back to the front again. For two miles, this process continued. I was careful in choosing our path, selecting the buildings with the least exposure, the ones that offered us the most shelter. But with that protection came other risks, especially for the children. Most of them rode in the arms of an adult, or clinging to their backs. But as the adults became tired, the jumps became more strained. Feet slipped and shins were scraped. In several instances where the gaps were significantly wider, I had watched—gut clenched—as several kids were thrown from one rooftop to another, always landing in waiting arms on the other side. No child was ever dropped, but the sight was enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

  We had made it two miles and not a single life lost.

  Then, on the third to last jump, we lost one.

  I had been at the back of the pack, completing my fifth rotation when he fell. I could see it in his leap, knew that he wasn’t going to clear the gap. The man was thinner, older than the others. His legs had been shaking when he pushed off the ledge. Then there was a flail to his arms and I knew.

  He didn’t even cry out.

  His chest had slammed into the ledge of the other building, arms and legs clawing for anchorage. I had launched myself n
ext to him, twisting back to grab for his hands. But as I reached, the man did something that shocked me.

  He let go.

  There was no fear in his eyes, just acceptance. I had lunged, but he was gone. His eyes had closed as he fell to the streets below, a serene smile lighting his lips as his arms opened wide, welcoming death. I looked away then, squeezing my eyes closed just before his head smashed into the concrete. I wished I could unhear the gruesome sound that had followed. When I could finally open my eyes, I had pointed my gun at the body below. If the fall had not killed him, then a bullet to the brain would be a kindness. He made his choice, there was no need to suffer for it.

  But no bullet was needed. The man was gone.

  I looked back toward our group then. Should I tell someone?

  Grenald stood three feet behind me, his eyes on the space where the man had just disappeared. He pressed an open palm to his chest then moved it as a fist to his forehead. A salute of farewell. Hoisting his bag higher on his back, he had shaken his head and turned to follow the others. The message clear. There was no point in telling them, not now. So, I too moved on. My feet carried me to Triven’s side, Mouse riding safely in his arms. I didn’t leave there until we found the rest of our group and even then, I stayed close to them. My anchors.

  The man’s death had shaken me. He had simply let go, stopped trying. Less than a year ago, that could have been me. I was ready to let go. But things had changed. I had changed. I was still willing to die, but for very different reasons.

  There was no time for mourning. I pushed away the memory of the old man’s face and focused on the task at hand. A few bottles of water were handed out, passed and shared between the tired group. They needed to rest, to eat, but they wouldn’t get either. Our lookouts kept watch, but even with their keen eyes, this place would not be safe for long. The fire that had consumed the Ravagers’ warehouse was all but out and that meant they would be seeking revenge for their losses. Soon.

  Triven offered me a water, glaring as I tried to shove it away. To placate him I took a sip before passing it to Mouse. It was liquid heaven, the cool water soothing my scorched lungs, but as it hit my stomach the muscles clenched, threating to throw it back up.

  To take my mind off the twisting pain, I grabbed a shard of metal off the rooftop and began drawing in the ash collected there. The Subversive members were quick to gather around me watching the city materialize. The maps were locked in my brain. The streets laid out in a perfect grid, the lines creating the footprint of my skyline. At the center, I drew an X marking The Master’s lair. Seven blocks over I drew a circle.

  “We’re here.” I tapped the circle, then pointed to the X. “We need to get there.”

  Arstid stood at her son’s side, her breath still short from the run. “Are you going to tell us exactly what is there?”

  “Shelter.” I left it at that and turned to Arden, who half-smiled at me encouragingly. I began to trace a line across the buildings, marking our route. “I will lead the way. When we reach this point,” I tapped a building three away from The Master’s. “All of you will need to fall back. The rogue we are seeking doesn’t enjoy company. He will fire on us first given the chance, but I think I can reason with him—”

  “You think?” The motherly woman from the school basement stiffened with concern, latching onto my poor choice of words.

  “I mean I can. He will listen to me.” I hope.

  Worry heightened the pitch of Arstid’s voice. “And if he won’t?”

  “Then we will kill him and take the place by force.” I lied. If The Master wouldn’t see reason, we were screwed.

  AS WE HAD gathered our stolen supplies, saddling those most capable with the heaviest load, I had felt Triven watching me. Watching for any sign of pain, hoping for an excuse not to let me face The Master. I had given him nothing. Now, though, I was thankful he was running behind me. I could feel the color draining from my face, the pain pulling at the corners of my mouth.

  Five buildings out.

  I held up a hand signaling the others to slow. They did. For the most part.

  Legs pumping harder, my hands began checking my weapons, inventorying each one. Saving the supplies from the Ravagers’ warehouse, gathering the others—easy. Convincing the man I had called The Master—the man Triven knew as Xavier—to take in eighty-seven traitors was another story.

  It was hard to feel particularly optimistic at the moment. Yes, I wanted The Master to take us in, to give us shelter in trade for food, but Triven and I had asked him before to side with us and been turned down. If he did the same now, we would have to kill him. I would have to kill him. If he didn’t kill me first.

  On a good night, I stood a chance, but this was not a good night.

  My throat burned, my lungs were screaming, my ribs were splintering and my limbs had begun to shake with fatigue. But my ears still heard the first knife and my exhausted body snapped into action.

  The knife clipped my shoulder as I dropped. I slid feet first, drawing my knives as the silhouette of a man materialized on the next roof over. Tucking my legs under me, I propelled myself upright again. Two leaps found solid surface and then I was launching myself over the alley and across the rooftop as my hands flicked out. The shadow vanished, dodging the deadly projectiles. My feet barely landed before another knife whistled past my right ear. I tucked, rolling to a halt at the shadow’s feet. My neck pulled taut and every muscle in my body froze. The man’s hand extended, a knife held firmly at my throat, the blade kissing my skin.

  “Sloppy.” The Master chided, pushing the knife closer.

  “Arrogant.” I replied, twitching my hand. The barrel of my gun tapped his inner thigh aiming at his groin. He smiled, but didn’t pull back his weapon.

  The Master’s eyes flickered up, then narrowed.

  “You’ve brought strays.” His knife pressed deeper. There was blood now.

  “I’ve come to make a deal.” I jabbed the barrel of my gun further into his crotch and the knife’s pressure receded a little.

  “And what do I get out of this deal?”

  “Revenge.”

  The Master’s gaze sparked with curiosity, then the blade was suddenly biting at my neck again.

  Footsteps were approaching and I knew their guns were already drawn. I held up a hand in warning and the footsteps stopped.

  Don’t shoot, we need him, I silently warned them. Triven, don’t let them shoot him.

  The Master eyed our party crashers suspiciously. “What’s your deal then child?”

  “Take these people in, train them and I will give you Fandrin.”

  “How about I make you a deal?” His eyes burned. “Beat me and I will do as you ask. I win, and your strays are left to die in the streets.”

  He spoke the words loud enough for the others to hear and protests were already echoing back.

  “Deal.” I agreed.

  “No!” Triven shouted, but I was already in motion.

  Simultaneously leaning back from the knife’s blade, I kicked out in a sweeping motion and took The Master’s legs out from underneath him. His body slammed to the ground with an impressive blow, but he was not down for long. Then again, neither was I.

  Arching back, The Master rocketed forward onto his toes. The momentum carried him forward and he used it. In one swift kick the gun was ripped from my hand. I heard the metal sliding across the roof but had no time to search for it. His arms flashed out, alternating between a glinting blade and claw-like fist. My feet danced away, arms raising to block each blow. He followed, hands and feet chasing my every move. The blows were powerful, calculated.

  He was faster than I remembered or maybe I was slower. My body buzzed with adrenaline, the pain was ebbing, my head clearing. There was a glint in The Master’s eye. This wasn’t about winning, about beating me. He was actually trying to kill me. He wanted to set an example for the others watching. No one was to ever ask for his charity. This wasn’t the man who I had paid to tr
ain me. This was the rebel who had survived by remaining alone and by killing those who threatened his way of life. And right now, I was the primary threat.

  While he was yet to land a solid strike, I knew I was wasting precious energy. If I couldn’t retaliate soon, the match would be over in a matter of seconds and we would lose. All of us.

  I set my stance as his fist plummeted toward my face again, but this time I moved with him. My arm rose first deflecting his blow, then hooking onto it. My elbow kinked locking over his and I twisted, throwing all my weight forward. Head tucked, feet pushing, my body flipped forward yanking The Master’s with it. His body went airborne, first sailing over mine then crashing down beneath me. A huff of air was forced from his lungs as The Master’s back slammed into the ground and I had him. My hands twisted around his wrist, yanking his arm back at an impossible angle. He thrashed but my legs were already wound around him. One knee encircled his neck, my thigh crushing down on his larynx as the other pinned his torso to the roof.

  His legs jerked trying to dislodge my grip, his free arm grappled with my leg, punching it fiercely, but I refused to let go. Instead, I flexed back, stretching my body to its greatest length and pulled harder on his arm as my legs thrust him further into the ground. His tendons were stretching under my hands, both the elbow and shoulder dangerously close to dislocating. A scream of pain and determination escaped my lips as my ribs protested the strain. Fire bloomed along my left side and I twitched. The movement was infinitesimal, but it was a fatal mistake.

  The Master didn’t hesitate. Rolling toward me, his left arm thrust forward popping me once, hard in the ribs. My entire body seized with agony. My grasp went weak and suddenly he was gone.

  I rolled three times gasping for air, tears streaming down my cheeks. Hands pressed beneath me, I tried in vain to push my body upright. Every breath was coming in short stabbing wheezes. My shoulder collided with something cool and hard just as a hand wound in my hair. It yanked my head up and a knife slid beneath my exposed throat. But before it could slice, a gunshot cracked and the ground two feet from my nose exploded.