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

by Jennifer Wilson

  The metal contraption was made of silver piping, multicolored wires and what looked like repurposed body armor panels. It was a compilation of metal and mechanics. And the shape was unmistakable.

  Ryker's jaw went slack, his eyes swimming. "You made me a leg?"

  Thaddeus smiled at his rebel leader, glowing with pride. "A leg for you, and..." Carefully pulling something else from the folds, he held it up for Archer to see. "A hand."

  “HOW DO YOU know this is going to work?” Ryker poked at a wire protruding from the leg’s insertion point.

  “Mine worked.” Mouse said, accentuating the fact by speaking a little louder than necessary. Petra leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

  “Plus, my husband is a genius.” She added, giving Thadd a look that made me want to gag and flush at the same time.

  “Archer?” Triven asked, hovering over Doc’s shoulder.

  “Seems to work fine to me.” Archer pulled her new hand out of Thadd’s grip and flexed the mechanical fingers then contracted all but one to flip Ryker a rude gesture. Mouse giggled as Petra disapprovingly tried to cover the little girl’s eyes. I stifled a laugh as Triven clapped Archer on the shoulder approvingly.

  Ryker snorted, a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. But it slipped away as he eyed the leg meant for him. “How long will it take me to learn to use it?”

  Thadd leaned back against the stack of crates Archer sat on. “It could be a few hours or a few weeks. It all depends on how well it maps to your system. We calibrated them to your genetics, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be a learning curve.”

  As he said this, Archer picked up a knife from the table. She flipped it twice in her new hand before the fingers went limp and the blade clattered to the floor.

  “Damn.” She shook the hand, then slowly wiggled the fingers, testing them as they came back to life. They made little clinking noises with each movement.

  Doc picked up the knife and handed it back to her. “Our point exactly. It will take time, same as Archer’s arm and Mouse’s voice box.”

  “Will I be able to fight with it. Run?” His voice quavered.

  I understood the frightened reserve in Ryker’s words. He didn’t want a band aid—a mechanical crutch that did little else than remind him of all the things he couldn’t do. He wanted his old life back. His quality of life hinged on being able to get back into the fight. He was a rebel and a soldier. He wanted—no needed—to be able to fight for himself again. To defend himself. To move like a free man.

  I understood that.

  “How bad?” Ryker was staring at Archer, daring her to lie. His long fingers massaged gently over the tip of his amputated leg. Archer had mentioned to me, if his loss was anything like hers, the skin around the severed area would be sensitive and that he would experience something called phantom pains. How strange that a leg that was no longer there could still itch or worse yet, ache. We had all watched as Doc fitted the hand onto Archer’s arm. She had slipped what remained of her forearm into the tube-like structure of Thaddeus’s hand, like putting on a very heavy and shiny glove. That part wasn’t so bad, but when the cuff around the glove’s rim unleashed a dozen spider-like legs, each tipped with a needle that clamped onto her arm, even tough-as-nails-Archer couldn’t hide the pain completely.

  Archer squeezed the fingers again, still mesmerized by their movement. She traced the skin around her new hand, touching the points where the mechanical legs had buried themselves into her skin. She made a point to look Ryker in the eye. “It wasn’t as bad as losing it.”

  Ryker brushed the smooth metal hesitantly like it might bite him. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Then turned his sunken gaze on Doc. “Screw it. Put the damn leg on.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?” Thadd stared at the leg he had made. Nervous.

  Ryker responded with no mirth, staring at me. The one person in the room who might understand. Who might carry out his request. “Shoot me.”

  38. COMPASSION

  M ERCIFULLY, THADDEUS’S MECHANICS along with Doc’s medical knowledge had worked a minor miracle. Ryker complained about the weight of the leg, the lack of perfect mobility. But after Petra told him chipperly to shut up, that it was a prototype, Ryker began to act like the boy I had once cared for as a brother and despised. Like many of us, he was just a ghost of that boy, but a version of him nonetheless. That’s what war does. It strips away the layers that make us whole, leaving the core intact but changed forever.

  The following two weeks flew in contrast to the tedium of the previous three. Archer’s outburst had set gears into motion. The Tribes, rebels and Subversive members were not only talking, but listening to each other. It was strange. I would be lying if I said there wasn’t still tension hanging in the air. There was. Nearly palpable and thick enough to choke on at times. Case in point, Arstid. But we were talking again, not always cordially, but we were agreeing.

  We had a plan again. A real one.

  One that might work.

  We had spent the last two weeks training, plotting and sending out small parties to gather intel and supplies. Though they refused to come back to our base, the Taciturns had reappeared to join our cause. I had seen the crazed woman twice since our strategy was set in motion and neither sighting did much to improve my opinion on her sanity. I couldn’t prove it, but I also had the feeling Teya and Sedia had been talking since we crossed The Wall. Maybe even before that. It was a crazy idea, but I couldn’t shake it. The idea of two Tribe leaders—one severely unbalanced—holding private meetings didn’t exactly thrill me. Truthfully, it was more a cause for concern than celebration. But it was a relief to know the Taciturns would fight with us. The last thing we needed was a Tribe to turn on us now. Words of loyalty aside, I still wasn’t going to risk another Veyron-like incident. Even Triven, who was gifted with finding the good in all people, seconded my request to have Zeek monitor the Tribes as closely as possible.

  Little by little the cameras were becoming ours again. Zeek and his team wore the circles under their eyes with pride. Every sleepless hour was a minor victory for us. The Tower’s security was the only thing we could not hack and if we had to go in blind, it seemed fair Fandrin should be sightless too.

  Two weeks had rapidly dwindled down to two days. Forty-eight hours and everything we had sacrificed for would come to an end. In forty-eight hours, I could be putting a bullet in my grandfather’s head.

  I spent most nights curled in Triven’s arms, but had kept our promise to Mouse. Though both Triven and I left on hunting parties, we never went together. Not since the night of the bombing. One of us always stayed with Mouse. I didn’t know what was worse, leaving them behind, or watching Triven leave without me. I hated all of it.

  Today was a rare day, both our teams were at the base. Everyone was. With only two more days to prepare, we were all on edge as the last details had to be put into place before leaving our base.

  Half of the main room had been converted into a training space during the days. Beds were pushed to the sides making room for training and doubling as spectator seats. Circles formed as people honed skills like hand-to-hand combat, weapons handling and Doc’s contribution—in field triage. There wasn’t enough serum to go around and even with what we brought from The Healer, there was only so much that could be done without some medical knowledge. Many of the citizens who had joined the cause since our arrival were not willing to fight, but they were willing to help save lives and Doc’s trainings had become vastly popular.

  The Wraiths rarely showed off their own skills for the rest of us to witness, but it was nice to see that Teya and her warriors appeared surprised if not impressed by what the rest of us were capable of. Only when Grenald or Archer practices, did their expressions change from admiration to resentment. I made sure to stay close to those training sessions, weapons ready. What was it Astrid had said once about me? Even trained dogs bite?

  It didn’t take long for me to notice that any tim
e I taught or practiced, the Wraith leader was always nearby, watching. There was satisfaction in training the others and watching them get better, but I always claimed to need a break whenever a younger kid wanted to train. Twice Jeric, the vengeful boy who had joined the rebels on our first night, had stepped in eager to spar with me and twice I had excused myself. I never sparred with anyone younger than me and was grateful when Xavier took my place without so much as a word. He didn’t know the gory details, but he knew enough. He had no desire to help with our planning, but had taken to training others like oxygen.

  Today, the vaulted ceiling echoed with the grunts and smacks of combat. I had tuned them out. Instead, I was straining to hear a different voice, a familiar one. Triven sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the room with a small audience of his own. In his hands, he cradled my favorite weapon of all. A book. The group surrounding him was growing with each page turned. There were kids and adults alike, every one of them rapt with his words. Mouse curled up at his side, her head leaning against his shoulder as she listened. From the snippets I could catch, it sounded like a classic. Possibly from Inessa’s banned collection. Maybe Mae had brought it as a little piece of her soulmate. Her way of keeping Inessa alive without having too much hope that she really was.

  I was trying so hard to pick out Triven’s words, that I nearly didn’t hear the rattle of bones until she sat next to me. Teya was calm and reserved, but my hand still went to the knife at my hip.

  I stared at her, reading her every movement. However, she wasn’t looking at me. She was watching Triven and Mouse.

  My fingers tightened on the hilt.

  “Do you know why I decided to join you?” Her voice grew deeper when she spoke quietly.

  “I stopped trying to make sense of anyone’s decisions a long time ago.” Keeping my hand on the knife handle, I turned away to continue watching Triven.

  Teya continued unperturbed by my sharp reply.

  “The night you first came to me, you threatened me with the life of my youngest daughter. I was going to skin you alive for that. Literally. And I would have. But then you left her.” She turned to face me. I stared resolutely ahead. “Any other Tribe would have taken her as leverage. I would have. Yet, you left her unharmed where she would be quickly found… It was a stupid decision.”

  “So, you joined me because I’m an idiot. That doesn’t sound very intelligent on your part.” I tilted my chin toward her with a side glance.

  Teya smiled in her strange wild way. “It was stupid. But it was also the first act of humanity I had seen in many years. You spared a child.” Teya paused. “We don’t harm children. We have taken some, yes. But they are then raised as one of our own.”

  So that was how their numbers had gotten so big. Teya had turned the Wraiths into a Tribal version of the Lost Boys. It was like another of my favorite books, filled with abandoned children who fought off wicked pirates to survive. Teya’s words painted a nice picture, but I didn’t believe them. She hadn’t always been a rescuer of abandoned children. She had left at least one for dead.

  I held her gaze, forcing Teya to face the truth in my words. “I doubt all your children would agree with that statement.”

  Teya sighed, looking away. I didn’t need to follow her gaze to know who she was watching now. Ryker and Archer had teamed up and were taking on Xavier together at the far end of the room. Ryker was slower than before, which was to be expected. His new leg was heavier, but he was doing well. Archer had been right. He wasn't fixed, but he was improving. Archer too was excelling with her new hand. She still favored the right, but her dexterity with the metal appendage was getting better.

  Teya’s gaze would be on them—on her—rightfully so.

  It should have pleased me to see the hint of guilt on the Wraith’s face, but it only stirred confusion. Monsters didn’t have regrets. Did they?

  I pushed her. “So, it’s true? You took your own daughter’s hand to gain the throne?”

  “Yes.” Teya admitted, but she shook her head. The long dreads woven with white feathers swayed around her face. “But it was a kindness.”

  She glared at me when I scoffed at her words.

  Her upper lip quivered in anger. “Don’t judge what you don’t know, child. Archer’s father, Drek, was leader then but he wasn’t supreme like I am now. He had people to answer to. He wore the crown, but he was a puppet, every string pulled by the Tribe’s elders. Even at a young age I saw the rebelliousness in my daughter. Archer was never one to be controlled, her smart mouth alone was cause for concern. Archer talked of ruling differently, of change. Of trying to work with the other Tribes. And the younger generations were starting to listen. The elders saw her as a threat. They wanted her dead, to make an example of my child.

  “Drek was weak,” Teya spit at the mention of his name. “He couldn’t see what needed to be done. The elders were going to have our daughter killed. So, I made a move before they could. I slit the Drek’s throat in the bed we shared and then, yes, I lured my daughter into the city and took her hand. Yes, it gave me the throne. But do not forget. I took her hand, not her life.”

  “You left her for dead.” I said with disgust.

  “I left her alive. The Wraith elders assumed she would die, bleed out. But a mother knows her daughter. She’s a survivor, I knew she wouldn’t give up so easily…” Teya trailed off, watching Archer hold her ground against Xavier’s assaults. The Wraith’s hands caressed the bones decorating her slender neck. “I wear my daughter’s bones as a reminder of her sacrifice, of what her hand cost and what it gave our people. The Wraiths have never been more powerful than they are under my rule.” Teya’s lips twisted into a wicked smile. “There were a series of unfortunate accidents after the elders gave me the crown for ‘killing’ my daughter—missions gone wrong, people falling asleep and not waking up again. But the elders were old after all and accidents happen.”

  A chill swept the back on my neck.

  Teya twisted a well-worn bone between her fingertips. It was smoother than the others, one she must have worried every day for years.

  There was a boastfulness to her words. “It wasn’t long before there were no longer elders to answer to. I made the decree to never harm children as a way to grow our numbers at first. But it was much more than that. You see me as a monster, but even I have my standards. I don’t harm the innocent. Not if it can be avoided.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I pressed my palms together to keep them from shaking. This was not my secret and not one I wanted to be a part of.

  “I have listened and watched. I know the stories. You too never harm kids, not unless it’s to save their lives.”

  My stomach curled as she drew the comparison between us. I had never gone as far as to cut off a child’s hand, but I had broken a few and worse.

  “We are not the same.” I snarled.

  Teya studied me. “Perhaps not.”

  Then without a second glance, she left, bone still twisting in her slender fingers.

  Across the room, Archer took a heavying swing at Xavier, crowing when she made contact. I hated Teya for burdening me with her secret, for being too cowardly to tell her daughter herself.

  But maybe it didn’t matter. In two days, our world would be changed forever and most of us probably wouldn’t live to see it.

  39. FACADES

  A RDEN STOOD RIGID as a pole in the corner of the vacant home’s living room, rubbing the place on his arm where the rebels had inserted his firearm calibration chip. Nearly every Subversive member had one now and a few Tribesman as well. A peculiar hiccupping noise had started emitting from him. Otto eyeballed him with his good eye, stepping away in case Arden vomited. Again.

  “You need to breathe.” Grenald relaxed calmly against the wall next to him. The large man was the picture of ease. The calm before a storm.

  Arden was fixated on the only photograph hanging in the room. I had done my best to ignore it. The younger version of Fandrin glar
ed down at us. Judging. Threating.

  “You don’t have to come.” I quieted my voice, leaning in so only he could hear, offering my friend an escape. There was still time to back out. Arden could choose to stay behind, to join the second wave or go back to guard those choosing to abstain. I doubted anyone would blame him. It had surprised me when Arden volunteered to be part of the first wave. But since getting here, he had become a possessed man, like he needed to redeem himself. For what, I didn’t know.

  Slender fingers trembling, he traced the burn scars covering his cheek and neck. Arden’s glare hardened as he stared at Fandrin’s portrait, but it softened when I nudged him with an elbow. “Really. No one would blame you.”

  Arden let out a long sigh.

  “A bit late for that.” He gave me a nervous smile. The shaky grin did little to instill confidence, but it was better than the hiccupping noise. Or vomiting.

  Phase one was complete. We had taken over one of the abandoned homes. I tried not to think about what had happened to its inhabitants. Hopefully they were holed up in a public bunker somewhere and not buried in one of the rotting piles Fandrin’s raids had left behind. It had been weeks since any soldiers had come out of their precious Tower, but that didn’t mean the killing had stopped. Gage’s bombs needed little guidance to find a target. Coordinates were set and they were deployed. Simple really. They were an ingenious weapon. Obviously lethal, but they were also prototypes, new toys that had not yet been perfected, and that meant two things. They were in limited quantity and there were still kinks to be worked out.