Wasteland

by Ann Bakshis

  The truck jerks sideways as another impact jars the wheel from my hands. My head slams into the driver’s side window, cracking it. I lift my head up as pain shoots down my spine, and notice my eyes are not focusing, so I force myself to blink several times until forms begin to take their shape. I see four small lights in the distance that are getting larger, rapidly. I have no time to move before the passenger side caves in, overturning the truck, and sending anything loose flying in all directions. I have the restraint on, so I remain in my seat, only now I dangle upside down.

  I’ve lost sight of Quin, which sends me into a panic.

  What do I do? What do I do?

  Unbuckling myself causes me to fall onto the ceiling. Someone smashes out the driver’s side window, grabs my ponytail, and yanks me out of the vehicle, hard. I scream in pain, thrashing around in an effort to dislodge myself from the man’s grip. Blood trickles down the side of my face from the head wound, but the pain begins to subside.

  The wound is beginning to close.

  “Look at what we have here, boys,” the man who is holding me says, in a low, husky voice, his body smelling sour.

  Three other men approach our location, two of which I recognize from the other night at the Refuge. However, the man holding me and his companion are new.

  “She’s sweet looking, Tank. She’ll sell for a nice price,” one of the men says.

  My eyes begin to focus so I’m able to see my captors.

  The three in front of me range in height from six foot to six foot four. One has a gut like Terrance’s, while the other two are fit and muscular. I wriggle around to see what the fourth man looks like, noticing he is a twin to the one with the large gut.

  “Hi, sweetheart, want to have some fun?” he asks, eyes examining me from head to toe.

  “No,” I spit back at him.

  My knee nails him in the crotch, causing him to crumble. Two of the men charge as I reach for the knife in my boot and fling it at one of the brunettes, hitting him in the shoulder. I reach for the Beta gun, but it’s not there. When the truck flipped it must have fallen out of my waistband. I dive back into the truck to locate the weapon. Someone grabs my feet, pulling me back outside, scraping my stomach against several pieces of shattered glass left in the window frame. I come out with the weapon drawn, pull the trigger, and hit the overweight ass in his thigh.

  I try to fire again but off-balance, I miss, so I flip myself around and catch one of the men in the face with the heel of my boot. Three of the four are injured, but they’re all still coming at me. I notice Quin coming up behind the last man standing, his blade in hand, charging through the two battering ram vehicles used to knock me off the road. I smile, as the man doesn’t know he is about to die.

  Quin raises his blade, but a blue flash from behind stops him dead in his tracks. He falls hard to the ground and doesn’t move.

  “Quin,” I scream, as my stomach drops and I begin to convulse.

  I know what hit him…I’ve seen that flash.

  What have I done? I should’ve followed Quin’s plan.

  The driver of the delivery truck walks up from the same direction Quin had just come from holding the Levin gun in his hand, which he has covered in a thick black glove. He steps over Quin’s body, past the blond who still hasn’t moved, and over to me. He pulls me up by the front of my top so we are face to face.

  “Should’ve listened to your friend,” he says.

  I shake him loose and run over to Quin.

  His back is covered in blood and there are bits of flesh missing in spots around a hole that has penetrated through his ribcage and out the front of his torso. I bend down and begin to look for the metal container of Quarum I’d given him. I shove him onto his side and find it in his front pocket, but as soon as I have it in my hands I’m yanked hard from behind, causing me to drop it onto the ground. I scream as I’m being dragged away from him, trying to fight to free myself, but the blond who didn’t fight has me secured tightly in his massive grip. Tears rolling down my face, I shriek Quin’s name. As I’m being lifted into one of their trucks, I brace myself against the door frame, preventing my body from bending into the car. I feel metal being pressed against my neck and a current runs through my body as I go limp, and darkness takes over.

  Chapter 7

  Distant voices weave in and out of my consciousness.

  At times I think I’m back at my house, with Devlan giving me instructions on training, then moments later I’m shifted to the Refuge where I watch Terrance die as I sit by helplessly, his tormentors ripping apart his flesh. I want to scream, but my mouth will not open. Eventually the nightmares fade and my head clears. I feel rough straw against my face, concrete under my feet, and smell foul air around me. A breeze blows in from somewhere behind me, warm and gentle. Words are spoken quietly at first, then louder as my hearing returns.

  “What do you think Artemis will do with her?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Do you think he’ll sell her to one of the hatcheries? You know they like to take them young.”

  “Are you kidding me? Didn’t you see how she fought out there, nailing James in the thigh without really aiming? She’ll be too valuable to be sold to the hatcheries. If he’s smart, he’ll sell her as a fighter.”

  “I wonder if he’ll let us have a go with this one.”

  “Are you stupid?” I hear one say, followed by a slap. “Now stop being an ass and wake her up.”

  Water is poured on me, soaking me from head to toe. I shake my head, trying to get my matted hair out of my face. My hands are bound behind my back, my feet chained to the floor. I roll onto my side and watch as one of the men walks over to me with a ring of keys, and unlocks my feet. As soon as they are loose from their bindings, I slam both of my boots into the man’s stomach, sending him flying across the room. His companion laughs at his misery.

  “See, I told you, she’s a fighter, not a baby maker.”

  I wriggle my wrists, testing the bands. The rope is thin and not very well tied, so I easily snap them, pick up the bucket that was dropped on the floor, and swing it wide, hitting the man by the door in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. I’m about to exit when three more men come in, all armed, followed by a fourth who is too well dressed to be from the Wasteland.

  “I was told you were quite a handful,” the man says to me, as his guards secure my hands behind my back again, this time with rope infused with steel thread. It begins to dig into my flesh as I twist my wrists to test its strength. “So, what do I call you?”

  I keep my mouth closed, staring past him at the courtyard beyond, trying to plan my escape. One of the guards standing behind me hits me hard in the back, causing me to collapse onto my knees.

  “The man asked you a question,” he grunts.

  “Meg,” I whisper, as I have no wind in my lungs. “My name is Meg.”

  “Hello, Meg,” the well-dressed man says to me, as he bends down gently gripping my arm to help me to my feet. “My name is Artemis Webb.”

  He holds onto me longer than necessary. He brushes the hair from my face, plucking out pieces of straw from my hair. I stare hard into his face, memorizing it. His eyes are deep green, almost emerald in color. His hair is sandy, slightly tousled, and just brushing the collar of his dress shirt. He appears to stand just under six foot, of slight build, but with hints of muscles tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. If I didn’t know he was leading a bunch of killers and kidnappers, I’d almost say he was attractive.

  “Are you hungry?”

  I nod in acknowledgement.

  He waves for me to follow him, and escorts follow on my tail. We walk along the wide brick courtyard that is in immaculate condition, lined with doors not unlike the one I just left. A small fountain sits in the center, crystal clear water pouring from the decorative spout at the top. We seem to be walking towards the main house at the end of the courtyard where we climb some steps before reaching the large, glass-inlayed doors. />
  The interior of the entryway is brightly lit, with skylights lining the ceiling. Pale sandy terracotta tiles cover the floor, and the walls are covered in a pale yellow finish. Decorations are minimal, just a few plants and a small wooden table in the center of the room with a large glass vase filled with roses. We turn to the right and walk down a small hallway, passing by a study filled with books and a lavish dining room that has a long dining table lined with fine China.

  “How many people have you sold to buy all this?” I comment.

  The only response I receive is a kick in the back.

  We enter the kitchen at the far end, but the guards stay in the hallway, while Artemis walks me over to a clothed barstool sitting in front of a large marble island. After removing eggs and what appears to be real butter from the refrigerator, he cooks them, along with some toast, then pours me a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. My restraints are removed so I can eat, which I do, slowly at first.

  I’m unsure about how to interpret unexpected kindness from the man responsible for Quin’s death, although I have to suspect there’s some plan I have yet to hear about. Then my hunger takes over and I devour every bite.

  As I work on my second helping, he walks over to the kitchen door, making sure it’s closed before coming up behind me. He’s almost right against my back, where I can feel his body heat, but he doesn’t touch me.

  “I know who you are, Meg,” he whispers.

  I put my fork slowly down onto the plate, but I don’t let it go.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I respond, as calmly as possible.

  He gently brushes the hair off the back of my neck. My body tingles at his touch.

  “I inspect everyone who comes to me, so of course I noticed the marks. The three dots you have here.” His finger gently rubs the spot just below my hairline. “I recognize them. You’re one of the four Antaean…soldiers built for fighting.”

  I’m reminded that like Artemis, Devlan mentioned only four, yet Quin is number five. I wonder how many really survived the destruction of the dormitories.

  I grip the fork tighter, readying myself to attack. He doesn’t move from his spot, but instead he continues to caress the back of my neck, to the point of annoyance.

  “You’re a very valuable asset, Trea. You’re lucky that I found you before one of the cities’ Collectors did. Who knows what could’ve happened to you if they caught you.”

  I think back to Devlan and the attack on my home.

  I’m not sure if Artemis’ Collectors are any better than the cities’.

  “What do you want?” I finally ask through clenched teeth.

  “I want to help you, Trea.” He walks around the island removing my plate, glass, and fork, setting them into the sink.

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Of course you do.” He leans over the counter staring hard into my eyes. “You just don’t know it yet.”

  The door to the kitchen opens and the guards come in, binding my wrists together, and yanking me off of the stool. They propel me down the hallway, past the door we came through and to a small room at the back of the house. We march through the chamber, out a back door, and down a steep incline to an encampment of five small buildings that sit along the edge of a large open area in the center. As we get closer, I notice several people in the open area fighting each other with Pugio blades. We walk past, but they ignore us since they’re too intensely focused on injuring each other. One of my guards marches ahead, opening the door to a shack that is half the size of one horse stall in the barn at the Refuge. My restraints are removed and I’m shoved into the small room, the door slamming shut behind me.

  I hear the lock click, and the sound of the guards’ retreating feet.

  The room is completely dark except for the errant streams of sunlight that are coming through slits in the wood. I wait a brief moment for my eyes to adjust before moving from my spot on the floor. The furnishings are identical to the ones of the room I was previously held in, and the odor is just as bad. I eye the hay with suspicion and decide to sit against the wall next to the door instead.

  The heat in the room quickly climbs and I begin to sweat, drenching my clothes and hair. My head begins to ache as the moisture rapidly escapes my body. I contemplate testing the integrity of the walls, but I feel this move by Artemis is intentional.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes, listening to the two men out in the ring battling. After several minutes one finally goes down, screaming from a wound his adversary has inflicted. The others clap and cheer the victor. From the voices, I can tell the audience consists of two women and one man. I sit and listen to the injured man’s wails that slowly become whimpers, and then silence.

  “Who’s next?” One of the men holler, but no one volunteers.

  I hear footsteps approach my door, but I’m too tired to move. After some fumbling with the lock, my door is opened and I’m dragged out into the sunlight. I wince at the sudden assault on my vision while I’m being pulled through the dirt into the makeshift ring.

  “How about this one?” The man who seized me says to the others.

  “Sweet,” the victor says as he walks over to me. “Hey little girl, want to play?” He bends down to look into my face.

  I don’t acknowledge his presence, so he grabs my ponytail and hauls me to my feet.

  “This should be easy,” he says as he lets me go and walks to the others. “Choose a weapon.” He nods his head to where several Pugio blades lean against the wood railing that encircles the area, along with a couple of Beta guns, but I don’t move. “Have it your way, then.”

  He comes at me full speed, blade over his head. I wait until he is practically on top of me then simply step aside. He falters and slams into the railing, the blade of his weapon cutting his hand as he falls forward. The others break out into laughter, including the man he had wounded before, who is now resting in a far corner.

  “Great job, Matt,” one of the cheerers chuckles.

  The man they call Matt gets up, wipes the blood from his hand onto his shorts, re-grips the blade, and changes his approach. Seems like he realizes there’s more to me than he thought. He walks slowly around the outer rim while I walk in the opposite direction. This goes on for some time, neither of us giving in.

  “This is ridiculous,” Matt shouts at me. “Pick up a weapon and let’s go.”

  “No,” I shout back.

  “Fine, then at least stand still so I can practice gutting you.”

  I reluctantly reach down and pick up one of the blades. I’ve never used them before, so I’m unsure of how to hold it correctly. Something Devlan didn’t have me train with. It hits me again that I’ll never that chance to learn from him again.

  Thinking of Devlan makes me suddenly feel weak. My knees collapse, giving Matt an opportunity to attack. He seizes the moment to slash my back with the sword. The pain is something I’ve never felt before, my flesh ripping open with the sensation of thousands of pinpricks radiating down my spine. I scream and fall on my stomach as the ground begins to soak up the blood dripping from the wound, but the pain begins to subside as I begin to heal.

  Matt lifts up his blade, readying himself to plunge it into my back. I grab the hilt of my blade, roll over, and slice open his thigh. He drops to the ground, and the others immediately run to his side, tending to his wound. Artemis walks into the arena, clapping. Another man follows, carrying a medical bag. He begins to attend to Matt’s wounds.

  Artemis walks up to me, lifting up my shirt to examine the slice in my back, which no longer exists. He doesn’t say anything, just simply lets my shirt fall back into place. Matt and the man he defeated are carried out of the ring and up the hill towards the house to be tended to properly. Artemis motions towards several bodyguards that have joined the crowd. They walk over to me, remove the blade I’m still holding, and secure my hands behind my back. We too walk back to the house, while Artemis instructs the other fighte
rs to return to their quarters.

  I’m led into a small but lavish bedroom off the stairs that rise to the second story. My restraints are removed, but I’m advised I can’t leave my room. Of course the minute I’m left alone I try the doorknob but find it locked from the outside. My room has one window without any coverings, a large brass bed covered in a floral bedspread, a teak dresser and matching nightstand, and my own bathroom with both a shower and a deep-seated tub. I look out of the window and see the ring below. The backdrop behind the house consists of large snowcapped mountains and pine trees.

  I miss the desert, the wide open land.

  These mountains feel confining and daunting.

  I walk into the bathroom, turn the shower on, and then look under the cabinets, locating an extravagant variety of bath salts, lotions, shampoos, and conditioners. I locate a washcloth and towel under the vanity, along with soap. Placing the towel on the top of the toilet tank, I set the washcloth and soap on the floor of the shower stall, strip off all my clothes, and ease myself into the hot water. I stand under the deluge, letting the heat of the water ease the tension in my muscles. Then it hits me - my nightmare realized - I’ve been taken by Collectors. Sitting down on the tiles covering the stall floor, I hug my knees up to my chest, rocking back and forth as tears begin to spill down my cheeks. The hot water begins to run cold, but I continue to sit as my sobs subside into numbness.

  How could I have let this happen?

  Panic sets in.

  I shake in addition to the rocking, overwhelmed with all that has transpired.

  How do I pull myself together? What can I do to get back to the Wasteland?

  My first objective is to clear my head and come up with a plan of escape. After several more minutes, I take a couple deep breaths, stand up, and wash my body along with my hair, scrubbing everything off.

  Stepping out, I wrap myself up in the towel, but leave my hair dripping down my back. I grab a second towel from under the sink to cover my head before walking back into the bedroom, where I rummage through the drawers in the dresser for something to wear, managing to find cotton shorts and a matching top. After I slip those one, I go into the bathroom, brush my hair, and hang up my towels. I wash the arm sleeve under the sink and slip it back on, even though it’s still damp. The sun is still shining brightly outside, but I decide to crawl under the blankets and go to sleep, almost welcoming the nightmares that soon begin.