Refugees from the Righteous Horde (Toxic World Book 2)

by Sean McLachlan

  Sounds like the best option. How to pull it off?

  Jeb peered out the front window and saw the mountains looming closer. New City was now far behind, and soon the furthest farm would be left behind too. They were entering the wildlands, and he knew from long, bitter experience that anything could happen in the wildlands.

  Jeb turned and peered out the back window, ignoring Christina’s pistol as it jabbed into his side.

  This won’t be the last time you travel this road, buddy, I promise you that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Susanna cursed herself for her pride. The corn cake had staved off her exhaustion for only a couple of miles before a weary ache dug its nails into her bones. The Giver had offered a whole bag of food and she had refused it.

  Temptation to turn back and find him nagged at her. She shook that feeling away as unworthy and continued south.

  The clouds were gathering again, bringing with them the stench of a toxic downpour. She hastened her pace, hoping beyond all reason to make it to New City before it started raining again.

  Half a mile later those hopes were dashed. A sheeting rain soaked her through within minutes. Susanna choked on its acrid, rotting odor.

  She wrapped the dripping blanket around her head and shoulders and kept moving forward. There was no shelter here and in any case she was done with hiding. She needed to get to New City and make a deal. She needed to set a few things right. Derren was going to pay. Abe was going to pay. Oh, how she’d love to make them all pay!

  Her rage kept her going. She’d survived the Righteous Horde, survived captivity in Weissberg, a little rain wasn’t going to stop her. She stumbled, she slipped, she gagged at the smell of the tainted water, but she kept going.

  The rain let up after a time, only to sweep across the desolate land once again.

  Bent toward the wind, Susanna wondered about the man who called himself The Giver. He hadn’t preached to her or babbled about some great revelation like so many of the self-styled holy men of the wildlands. Instead all he had asked was for her to deliver a message to his daughter in New City, a message he scrawled on a paper with the nub of an old pencil.

  Susanna had looked over his shoulder. If she was going to deliver a message she wanted to know what it was. The Giver didn’t try to hide what he wrote. There was no need. It was gibberish, clusters of letters that made no sense.

  A code. Why would he be sending a code to his daughter? Was this just the insane ramblings of some loner? Perhaps there wasn’t a daughter at all.

  But he didn’t seem insane. Susanna had seen enough madness in her time to tell. Some of the faithful in the Righteous Horde had been insane, not just cattle like Eduardo but completely disconnected, truly believing that slaughtering tweakers and sick people would make God forgive the world its sins.

  As if God cared.

  No, The Giver was driven, not crazy. He had the same burning, calculating eyes as The Pure One. She suspected The Doctor would look the same way. Anyone who gave up their name for a title usually did.

  So what was this scavenger after? When he spoke of New City he spoke of it with loving disapproval, like a father speaking of his successful yet wayward son. Susanna got the impression that he and this girl of his were cooking up something.

  None of her business. She’d deliver the letter in exchange for that corn cake. It was a fair trade. He’d thrown in something else too, a little box that he called a crystal radio. It picked up Radio Hope without requiring any batteries. She’d love to listen to it now. Those broadcasts had always comforted her. Just the thought that a station existed out here in the wildlands somewhere, broadcasting information everyone needed and asking for nothing in return, helped her keep a bit of faith in humanity.

  But the squall coming in off the sea made her afraid of getting it wet, so it remained wrapped in a cloth in an inside pocket, where she hoped it would stay dry enough to make it to New City. There she could trade it for a couple of meals. The thought that she’d never get to listen to it saddened her. She missed Radio Hope.

  Susanna kept to a straight path, only shifting to avoid large ruins and once a heap of rusted barrels that gave off a poisonous smell she whiffed half a mile off despite the rain. Any time she had to go off course she tried to head windward, the direction of the sea. New City lay on the coast, and while hugging the meandering shoreline would double the distance she needed to walk, she needed to keep close to it in order not to pass the city without seeing it. If she got lost, she’d never have the strength to make it.

  Her mind was a blank. Anything not directly in front of her faded. Strange black shapes flitted at the edges of her vision.

  The rain came in waves. At times it would let up and even a bit of blue would peek through the looming gray, then another band of black clouds would sweep overhead, bringing with it another foul downpour. She leaned into it and took it head on.

  Susanna stumbled, then stumbled again. After a time she was more stumbling than walking. Her eyelids drooped and odd thoughts and fragments of dreams sparked in her mind. Reality and fantasy mingled, and when she saw the vague shapes of buildings and tents in the distance at first she didn’t think they were real.

  She stumbled on, and the forms blurred by rain solidified into tents and corrugated shacks and a few cabins.

  As she passed into the outskirts of the settlement, Susanna didn’t even slow down. The Doctor would be further in, past the gate. That’s where she needed to go.

  The path between the shelters was abandoned. Alone she walked through the city that she had seen once before as the rearguard of a conquering army.

  A blurred face at a rain-streaked window. A shout. She kept moving. Three figures in waterproof capes made from old tarpaulins hurried up to her. Two men and one woman.

  “What are you doing?” one of the men asked.

  Susanna kept walking.

  “Hey! What’s the matter with you?” the other man said.

  “It’s one of the porters,” the woman said.

  “Oh great, another one!” the first man said.

  “Hey,” the woman said, putting a hand on Susanna’s arm.

  Susanna yanked her arm away and kept walking. The trio walked beside her.

  “Relax, we won’t hurt you,” the woman said.

  “She’s nuts.”

  “No, she’s half dead.”

  “Leave her for the guards.”

  “She’ll die if she stays out here too much longer. Come on, honey, we won’t hurt you.”

  One of the men put a hand on Susanna’s arm. She yanked it away again, slipped, and fell into a puddle.

  “OK, OK, let us help you.”

  Hands lifted her up. Susanna was too weak to resist. The fall had knocked the last of her energy out of her.

  “Bring her inside.”

  “I’ll get Frank.”

  One of the men ran off while the other two led her into the cabin. Through hazy vision Susanna saw a tiny interior with a few bits of rough, homemade furniture—a double bed along one wall, a small table, a shelf with a couple of cans, and two chairs set in front of a crackling hearth. They sat her down in one of the chairs.

  The woman smiled at her.

  “I’m Francine. Here, let me help you get those wet clothes off. I’ll give you a blanket. Don’t worry about James, he’s gay. James, could you reheat the soup?”

  The man took a pot from the bricks on the edge of the hearth and set it on the grill in the flames.

  Susanna let herself be undressed. James kept his back turned while the woman dried her with a blanket, turned it over so the damp side was out, and wrapped her in it. Then she busied herself hanging up Susanna’s wet clothes.

  “I need to see The Doctor,” Susanna murmured.

  “Glad to hear you can talk,” James said, smiling as he handed her a steaming bowl of soup. “I’m sure Doc will take a look at you. What you need now though is to get warm and fed.”

  Susanna took the bowl in h
er hands. Warmth seeped into her fingers and she inhaled the sweet smell of cooked vegetables.

  Francine was putting up the last of her clothes. She reached into an inside pocket and pulled out the letter and the crystal radio.

  “Put that away,” Susanna said.

  Francine turned to her and smiled. “I’m not going to steal your radio. We have one too.”

  “No, I mean the letter.”

  Francine looked at the damp, folded paper. She shrugged and put it back in the pocket, turning the shirt so that the pocket faced the fire.

  For a while no one talked and the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the rain hitting the tin roof. Susanna sipped her soup, her mind a blank. The world darkened.

  Hands grabbing her snapped her awake. She was being carried to the bed.

  “She needs to sleep,” Francine said.

  “Let’s tuck you in, hon.”

  She felt herself being laid out and covered with blankets. Within an instant she was unconscious.

  Sometime later, voices woke her. Rain still pattered on the roof of the cabin but it had slackened off from the hammering that she had heard when she had first entered.

  The residents—what were their names again?—were sitting by the fire talking to a burly, black-haired man who was still dripping after coming in from the outdoors.

  “Look, she’s awake,” the woman said.

  The burly man turned to her.

  “I’m Frank Edgerton, deputy sheriff here in the Burbs. What’s your name?”

  “Susanna,” she replied in a hoarse voice. “I need to see The Doctor.”

  Frank’s brow furrowed. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I have something to tell him.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Frank said.

  Susanna shook her head.

  “She’s really out of it,” the man said. James was his name. Susanna remembered now.

  “Are you alone?” Frank asked.

  Susanna nodded.

  “We’ll let you rest here until the rain lets up. Let you regain your strength a little. After that we’ll take you to where we’re holding the rest of the porters.”

  “I need to see The Doctor,” Susanna rasped.

  “I’m sure he’ll see you soon.”

  “No, now.”

  Frank cocked his head.

  “He’ll see you when he sees you. Relax already.” Frank turned to the others. “I’ll come back in a couple of hours if you’re OK with that.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Francine said.

  “It’s not like she’s much of a threat in this state,” Frank said.

  “I’m not a threat,” Susanna whispered. “I’m no threat to anybody. I’m ugly and stupid. Ignore me.”

  They gave her quizzical looks. Frank shrugged and headed out the door.

  “Could I have my radio?” Susanna asked when he was gone.

  “Sure, you rest now,” Francine said, handing her the little box and earphone.

  Susanna had never seen a crystal radio before and didn’t know how it could work without batteries, but it looked simple enough to use. She stuck the earphone in her ear and turned the one knob. A soft voice spoke in her ear.

  “. . .and you’ll have a safe, warm shelter that will last you through winter. Coming up next on Radio Hope, we have another in our continuing series on filtering out toxins from your food and water supply. . .”

  Susanna lay back and closed her eyes. Sleep beckoned her. The Doctor could wait a few hours. She let the calm, reassuring voice from somewhere out in the wildlands lull her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Far too soon, she was awoken again. Frank stood above her, shaking her shoulder. Her earphone was still in her ear.

  “. . .to forge iron, you’ll need temperatures in excess of. . .”

  She pulled out the earphone so she could hear what Frank was saying.

  “Time to go now. The rain has stopped. It will be dark soon and I want to get you settled before then.”

  Susanna sat up, feeling like she was made of bricks. A few hours of sleep had taken away the numbness of her long march, replacing it with a deep weariness that made every move an agony. Slowly she got dressed and, waving away Frank’s offer of help, stood up.

  She looked at James and Francine. “Thanks for taking me in. Here’s my radio as trade.”

  James laughed. “You don’t owe us anything.”

  Susanna shook her head. “I don’t take charity.”

  “It’s not charity,” Francine said.

  “Take the radio,” Susanna insisted.

  Francine pointed to the shelf, where an identical crystal radio sat. “We told you, we already have one. Now don’t worry about it, OK?”

  Susanna thought for a moment, trying to clear her head. “OK. Once I’ve talked with The Doctor I’ll come back and clean your house. I stank it up pretty bad with those wet clothes.”

  “Sure,” James smiled. “You come back whenever you want.”

  Something in his smile told her that he didn’t expect to see her again.

  “I will,” she stated.

  Frank led her outside. It was evening, and the Burbs stank from the tainted rain. Large, foul puddles dotted the street. The caustic stench rising from them stung her eyes. Susanna wrapped her blanket around herself and followed Frank. The man was more than a head taller than her and twice as wide, nevertheless he kept a sharp eye on her.

  Susanna ignored him. Trudging along the muddy lane, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the radio. She put the earphone in. A woman’s voice came to her over the airwaves.

  “. . .powder for keeping your baby dry and free of any rash. The first ingredient is lavender oil, which you can make by. . .”

  Susanna smiled. The whole world was poisoned and the folks at Radio Hope were talking about raising babies. They really did live up to their name.

  The woman’s voice accompanied her through the Burbs, telling her how to care for a baby she didn’t have.

  Up ahead she saw a large awning over a square compound encircled with barbed wire. A few dozen bedraggled figures huddled within.

  Susanna stopped.

  Frank turned around and extended his hand.

  “Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re just keeping you here for your own protection until we can figure out what to do with you. The machete men are in another pen. You’ll be safe.”

  Susanna eyed him.

  “I’m not a criminal.”

  Frank smiled at her.

  “I never said you were.”

  “Then why lock me up?”

  Frank’s smile faltered. “Well, you know, after what happened. . .”

  “I was a slave,” Susanna growled. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  Frank beckoned to her. “Come on. Dinner will be coming soon.”

  “I want to see The Doctor.”

  “You’ll see him when he makes his rounds tomorrow.”

  “Not tomorrow, now.”

  Frank faced her full on, frowning.

  “Look, I’m not going to discuss this anymore. You’re going in and that’s that.”

  “No.”

  Frank grabbed her wrist.

  “No!”

  The deputy hauled her screaming and struggling down the street. Even though she was almost too weak to walk, she fought him with every ounce of remaining strength. Frank’s face grew red and for a moment Susanna thought he was going to hit her, but in the end he dragged her over to the compound, fumbled with a key to unlock a padlock on the gate, caught Susanna when she used that opportunity to try to escape, managed to tuck her under one arm as he unlocked the gate and tossed her inside, where she landed in the middle of the crowd.

  She lay there, utterly spent. The woman on Radio Hope continued her lecture.

  “. . .apply with every changing to keep your baby fresh and clean. . .”

  The clang of the gate and the click of the lock told her she was a prisoner. After a minute she
caught her breath and managed to sit.

  An old man next to her leaned over. “You shouldn’t resist, you know. They’ve been good to us so far. Best not to anger them.”

  “Shut up.”

  She wobbled to her feet and approached the wire. The wall to New City loomed over her. A bored-looking guard with a rifle stood at the parapet.

  “I need to see The Doctor!” she called to him.

  “Anyone who can give Frank that much trouble is healthy enough,” he called back.

  She looked at the fence. It was only a few strands of wire. If she was careful she could get through. She grabbed two strands of wire and pulled one up and the other down, making a space.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” the old man whispered behind her.

  “. . .when your baby is teething it’s best to give him something soft to chew like a. . .” the broadcaster continued whispering in her ear.

  Susanna put one leg through the gap and shifted her weight to it.

  “You! Back inside!”

  “. . .twist of soft leather or a wad of cloth. . .”

  Susanna eased her body though the gap. A spike pricked her finger.

  “Psst! The guard is watching. Don’t get us into trouble.”

  “. . .teething generally takes a few months and is accompanied by. . .”

  “I said get back inside! Now!”

  The click of the safety catch snapped through the evening air. Susanna’s outer shirt, Eduardo’s shirt, caught on the upper wire.

  “Don’t anger them! They’re feeding us!”

  “. . .while your baby will be in pain and will cry and have some restless nights, it’s all normal and nothing to worry about. . .”

  Susanna tugged, trying to pull free.

  “Stop where you are! That’s an order!”

  “Don’t make them mad!”

  “. . .it’s all part of your baby’s natural growth. . .”

  Susanna threw herself forward. Eduardo’s shirt ripped. It entangled her, a long strip holding her to the wire like a flannel leash.

  “Get back in the pen immediately or I will shoot!”

  “Please, oh please!”

  “. . .remember it’s a passing phase and soon your baby will enter a new stage of development. . .”