Wasteland

by Ann Bakshis

  “Lehen?”

  No response.

  “Lehen, its Trea.”

  Still no response.

  I hear the front door open and shuffling steps heading in my direction as a light turns on in the hallway outside my chamber.

  Rabaan unlocks my cell door, allowing the old man from earlier to enter. He wears a ragged brown suit and tie, and is still clutching his brown leather book in his right hand.

  “Trea,” he says to me, getting really close to my face, “I’m Parson Mathan. Rabaan, would you mind releasing this young woman from her binds?”

  Rabaan unlocks my chains, removing them from my aching body. I rub my wrists and then my head as the pain has increased again. Parson Mathan takes my hand and escorts me to a chair where I’m made to sit down.

  “Let’s see it,” he says, more to Rabaan than me.

  Rabaan walks over and pulls up my right sleeve, revealing the Quantum Stream. Parson Mathan’s eyes grow large at the sight. Rabaan forces my hand palm side up to show the port marks.

  “Interesting,” the Parson says. “I want to see the full extent of her powers. Quin has advised me they’re far more advanced than Lehen’s.” He calls to one of the guards and asks that the prisoner be brought inside.

  “Where’s Lehen?” I ask them.

  “Don’t worry, my dear, he’s in good health. You’ll see him shortly,” Parson Mathan replies.

  A young man, who looks to be my age, is dragged down the hall, the tops of his feet scraping against the concrete. He’s carried by two guards who affix him to the wall using the chains I’d been held with.

  “Kill him,” Parson Mathan says, pointing to the young man as the guard fastens the last lock.

  The man begins to scream, thrashing his body violently. The restraints around his neck pulling tighter with every movement. Rabaan offers me a Levin gun, but I refuse to take it, so he forces it into my grip. I feel heat begin to rise in my arm. He holds my hand tightly around the grip of the gun, but I still refuse to pull the trigger.

  “Fine, have it your way,” he says and lets go.

  He escorts Parson Mathan out through the cell, locking the door behind them, but remains standing on the other side. I place the gun down onto a small wooden table next to the chair and walk over to the young man, who’s finally stopped screeching. He looks at me with terrified eyes as I begin to unchain him. As I bend down to release his right foot a force pulls me up off my feet and into the air. I hit the far wall hard, cracking my nose against the dusty cement block. Shaking my head free from stars, the man frees himself from the rest of his bindings.

  It seems the guards hadn’t secured the man as tightly as I’d believed.

  Why am I not thinking clearly? I’m being set up, but I can’t grasp on the reality around me. Is Trea messing with my mind?

  I begin to scour the room for a weapon other than the gun, but I waste too much time and he’s now freed himself, charging at me. We both go down violently, smashing the table into shards. He reaches under his shirt and comes up with a knife that was hidden in his waistband. I block the blows that he swings at my face, managing to only get nicked in a few spots before I use my legs to propel him off me, but I can’t get the correct leverage. I twist my body to better my position and wind up taking the blade in the left shoulder. I cry out, but secure my feet against his stomach and push him up and backwards. He slams into the wall, knocking him out.

  Looking over to the large mass on the floor, I slowly stand. His eyes begin to flutter slightly then open wide, he lunges at me again. I have little time to react as he drives the knife deep into my chest. The steel penetrates my heart. The electrical current making it pump stops. He removes the blade; blood begins to pour down my chest.

  I fall to my knees. Inhalation has become very difficult, my breaths becoming shorter.

  My hands reach out to the ground in front of me as I fall forward. I notice out of the corner of my eye the Levin gun as it lays just a few inches away amongst the broken shards of table. The ground before me is thickening in a pool of blood as it continues to pour from the gaping wound, my heart pumping again.

  I reach cautiously for the weapon as I feel myself beginning to heal, my breathing restoring to normal. The young man thrusts himself forward, determined to finish the job. I grab the handle of the gun, firing multiple times into his upper body. He falls onto his back, dropping the knife. I stand, completely healed, and kick the knife into a corner.

  I hear applause behind me as my cell door swings open. Parson Mathan’s huge grin tells me he’s satisfied with the outcome. It’s only at this moment that I realize why I’ve been set up.

  The intention wasn’t to demonstrate my abilities with the Quantum Stream, but how I heal.

  I’m still holding the Levin gun, but before I can take aim at the Parson, Rabaan removes it. The young man’s body is carried away by the two guards. One of Rabaan’s men enters the cell with a smaller man in bent wire-framed glasses, wearing a white coat covered in red spots, and carrying a heavy black leather bag. The man sets the bag down between his feet, reaches inside, and removes a small syringe. Rabaan grabs my arms, pinning them to my side.

  “Now my dear,” the man says, as he approaches me, “this won’t hurt a bit.”

  I try to shake off Rabaan by thrashing my body around, kicking around me, but his grip is surprisingly strong. The other man grabs my legs and I’m hoisted into the air, held firm between the two of them.

  The needle stings as it enters my arm. The pain is so intense I begin to lose consciousness.

  Chapter 21

  Scorched, cracked granite falls from the sky as the woman in orange runs down the smoke-filled hallway. I turn my head slightly to the right; soot covers Magda’s face as she runs out into the night. The air is cool, steam rising from our hot skin as we go uphill and away from the fire. I can still hear the screams of my friends as they burn alive. Magda turns to her left, heading towards the forest that flanks the east side of the complex.

  A few others have escaped as well, we find them huddled together to keep warm. Claire is cradling Kedua as she screams from a burn on her face, Midge standing behind them. Kedua continues the noise long after she’s healed. Several men I don’t recognize stand guard outside our hideout. Three other men, including Dr. Hersher and two little boys, scurry up the ridge. Magda sets me down on a rock to tend to one of the men, who’s cut his leg badly.

  The boys flock over to Kedua, who’s still crying, watching her in rapt silence.

  “Devlan,” I hear Dr. Hersher call out, as a tall thin man runs up to the group. “Where’s Eunice? I thought she was with you?”

  Devlan pants, bending over at the waist trying to catch his breath.

  “She went back for Trea. The building collapsed just as she entered,” he spits out.

  “I have Trea,” Magda says, pointing over to me.

  His face grows pale; he ages twenty years in a matter of seconds. He slowly walks over, dropping to his knees in front of me. Tears well in his eyes and spill over as he brushes my check with his rough hand.

  “Meg,” he whispers, as his body is overcome with emotion, “remember that your mother will always love you.”

  “My name is Trea,” my young voice squeaks out.

  “Not anymore.”

  I awake bent over and strapped to a thick stone table. My tops have been removed and my flesh is pressed against the cold stone. My arms are tied along the side of the table, dangling downward while my legs remain standing. I try to move my head, but my neck won’t rotate so my face remains pointing to the wall on my left. The air around me feels cool and damp; the only light is from the fixture above the table.

  “Hold still please,” I hear the little man say to me, as he stands to my right.

  My skin begins to burn ferociously as something is slid under the flesh on my back. I try to scream, but Rabaan is there and shoves a leather strap into my mouth. Spasms begin to take over my muscles as my body tri
es to heal itself, but the multiple devices being inserted are preventing it. I watch out of the corner of my eye as Parson Mathan walks around me placing small clay pots on the floor around the table. Liquid begins to roll down both of my sides. I hear my blood hit the bottom of the pots.

  I scream with the strap in my mouth, tears streaming down my face as a total of five implants are placed. Parson Mathan walks around me one more time, then everyone leaves.

  It seems like hours pass by as I lay in the dim light with no one coming to check on me. The pain is so intense I’m on the verge of passing out. The hard surface of the table continues to dig into my abdomen as my legs grow strained from standing, my neck muscles growing tighter.

  I cry softly until thin rays of sunshine begin to peek through a small window near the top of the wall. Parson Mathan is the first to enter my cell as soon as the streams of light touch the floor. He hums to himself as he walks around the table, checking the pots. He seems satisfied, and calls for Rabaan and the doctor to come in and remove the implants.

  I’d spit the strap out at some point during the night, so Rabaan places the strap back into my mouth. The doctor begins to remove his gruesome contraptions. Rabaan smiles deeply, taking great pleasure in watching me flinch. The doctor is taking slow and methodical steps to ensure he inflicts the most pain. I feel myself beginning to heal once the metal has been removed, but still ache all over. Parson Mathan gathers the pots as Quin enters. Once the room is clear, Quin frees me from my restraints and hands me one of my tops. I feign being much weaker than I am, and slip halfway to the floor as if exhausted. I feel my fury building inside at what has been done to me.

  I welcome Trea.

  Moving slowly, I slip my arm through the sleeve of my black top, draping it over my head as I place my other arm through. When my face emerges I lean towards Quin as if still weak, and he comes closer to help. I take hold of his shirt and slam his head onto the stone table. He crumples to the ground. I know he won’t be out long, so I quickly exit the room and go down the hall on my left. As I round a corner I hear shouting behind me, so I quicken my pace, although I have no idea where I’m heading.

  I turn my head to see if anyone is directly behind me when I run into a Morrigan. Trea is about to break his neck but stops when his face is revealed in the light. I know him.

  “This way,” the man whispers, pushing me further down the corridor and through an opening that hides among the paneled walls.

  As the door slides back into place, he presses me hard against the wall on the other side, his gritty hand covering my mouth. He places a finger in front of his lips. We stand there quietly, listening as heavy steps fall along the wall opposite us.

  Once they pass, he removes his hand and mask.

  “How did you know where I was?” I ask Braxton, as he wipes the sweat from his brow.

  “I saw them carry you down here, but I wasn’t able to get to you sooner because these tunnels are crawling with Morrigan. I’ve been hiding in here, checking every couple of minutes to see if anyone was coming, then I saw you.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Let’s not talk here. Come on, follow me.”

  The walls of the tunnel we’re in are covered in sheetrock, and dusty wood floorboards creak beneath our feet. We walk for several miles before coming upon a set of granite stairs that lead up to a small oblong room, with two caskets sitting on either side of the arched doorway.

  “What is this place?” I ask, walking slowly through the room.

  “It’s a mausoleum. The previous society used them to bury their dead, from what I understand. According to the names etched on the stone coverings, these appear to be Parson Mathan’s parents.”

  The tomb smells of death and decay. Petrified flowers lay scattered atop the windowsill by the woman’s resting place. Two stained glass windows depicting ancient beliefs adorn that side of the wall.

  We exit the building into overcast skies. As we walk towards a small wooden house, I turn back and see thousands of tiny flagstones lining the ground. The nuggets are no bigger than my palm, but are precisely placed in perfect alignment behind the crypt.

  Braxton knocks on the door three times before opening it.

  The door opens to reveal the last person I ever expected to see…Jagger, alive and well. I’m overwhelmed with emotion. At last I can start to believe that things might actually work out somehow. He stands, beaming, and we rush together, wrapping our arms around each other in an embrace that I’d rather never end. It feels good to be there, secure and safe, if only for a moment.

  He gives me some food before he goes back to help tend to two of the four guards that have minor wounds. After taking off the uniform, Braxton removes a small kit from a rucksack at his feet and applies ointment to his wounds; his face and arms are blackened and bloody. I sit down on the floor close to his feet.

  “What happened?” I ask, after finishing a tin of pears.

  “They were waiting for us,” Braxton begins, wincing. “We made if about twenty miles before they attacked. They were waiting in the trees. The skies rained propellant rounds at first, then conflagration slugs. They took out a good portion of my men, then captured the rest of us.”

  Jagger comes over and sits next to me. I lean on him as he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

  “How’d you all escape?”

  “There are tunnels underneath the city,” Braxton begins. “The city seems to have been built one story off the ground. The other night when they were transferring us from the interrogation room under the chapel to the prison, Jagger showed up dressed as one of the Morrigan, and managed to overpower the guards. We followed the tunnels that seem to wind in all directions under the city. They finally led us out here.”

  I look up at Jagger, quizzical expression on my face.

  “How did I escape the blast? Yeah, good question. When those two came on board the shuttle, they separated. One went to the front, while the other one headed towards the back. I was able to corner the one in the control room, snapping his neck, then stripped off his clothes and put them on. The other one didn’t even notice the difference.”

  “The High Ruler isn’t going to be happy about this,” one of the guards states as he puts his boots back on.

  “That’s an understatement,” another replies. “When are we leaving, Braxton?”

  “As soon as you all have your strength, we’ll go.”

  “I’m not leaving without Lehen,” I voice, rising to my feet.

  Braxton frowns. “Fine, then you’re on your own. We’re going to hike to the nearest hatchery and call for a transport as soon as we locate a passageway out of here.”

  “What will the High Ruler think if you come back without me? I’m not even supposed to have left Acheron.”

  “Then what do you suggest, Trea? We don’t even know where he’s being held,” Braxton says with contempt in his voice.

  At the mention of her name, I feel Trea fully emerging, as anger and rage begin to build up.

  “Let’s obliterate the city,” I say with a grin on my face.

  “You can’t be serious, Meg,” Jagger says standing. “How does that help find Lehen? That was the main reason for coming here.”

  “If they don’t want him killed, they’ll have to move him, giving us a chance to rescue him amid all the chaos.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?” Braxton asks, as he stands.

  “Jagger can do it. He can put on the uniform, go into the city and retrieve supplies and weapons that we can use to take down this monolith.” I point to the discarded clothing on the floor.

  “No,” Jagger replies walking out the door into the small forest outside.

  “Fine,” I say turning my focus on Braxton. “Perhaps one of your men will volunteer to go.”

  “I’ll do it myself,” Braxton retorts. “Nuceira has always been an adversary of Acheron, so seeing this place fall will please the High Ruler. I’ll also try to locate Lehen while I’
m in there.” He puts the outfit back on and heads out.

  Rain begins to pour as I close the door behind him. I’m not able to see Jagger any more even though he was just there a moment ago. I could follow him, but perhaps he’d rather be alone with his thoughts, so I decide to leave him be.

  Tobin, Braxton’s second in command, goes and stands outside to keep the first watch. While the rest of the guards get comfortable for our temporary stay, I take some time to examine the interior of the house. It’s well kept, not a speck of dust or cobwebs anywhere. The walls are lined with built-in bookshelves bursting at the seams with manuscripts of every size and thickness.

  Many of the books are bound in leather, cracked, and the pages are yellow from age. I don’t know any of the writers’ names: William Shakespeare, Sinclair Lewis, and Edgar Allan Poe. I pluck a book off the shelf, sit on the couch, and flip through it. Several of the margins are covered in tiny handprint. Some of the notes have lines directed towards a word or phrase that is circled. One particular phrase in a book titled Julius Caesar catches my eye:

  “Cowards die many times before their deaths;

  The valiant never taste death but once.”

  I put the book back, pick up another one, then another. I spend the remainder of the day going through the manuscripts. Not all have notes written in them. One of Braxton’s men finds some candles to light as the darkness grows, and another locates stale crackers and a small can of tuna. He divides the items among the other guards and himself.

  The leather band around my thigh is starting to irritate my skin, so I go through the bedroom, which has the lone bathroom, close the bathroom door, and slip my pants down to remove it. I wash my face and use the toilet, then tuck the knife into my waistband before exiting. I look around the bedroom to see who may live here, since it’s obvious this house is still in use. The only pictures hanging up are landscapes: there are no portraits anywhere. The walls are covered in the same paneling as the corridor.