Deviants (The Dust Chronicles)

by Maureen McGowan

  Burn grunts. “Yeah. Over chains.” He shakes his head. “Chains they used to slow Gage down to make it easier for the Shredders to catch him.” He laughs. “I wonder how much of Gage’s escape got caught on camera. Management will be pissed they didn’t get their show. They probably shut off the feed the second Gage ran, then told everyone that dust got into the camera.”

  “So Management…”

  “Likes having Shredders around the dome. Keeps you Haven people scared and compliant.”

  “And the Shredders? Why are they so sadistic?”

  “Too much dust.” His eyebrows rise. “Plus, they’re recruiting.”

  He says this as if it’s obvious, and I’m not sure I can digest any more information right now. Everything Burn says sounds crazy if I take each piece on its own, but it’s starting to hang together into a consistent pattern. A pattern that shows how we’ve been lied to in Haven. Constantly.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  LIGHT AND SPARKS rise from behind a long, low building close to the wall. Burn says it’s a Comp outpost for storing food and weapons, but Comps must not be stationed there tonight given all the Shredders. Shouts and screams pollute the night air and it’s hard to guess the exact number of monsters based only on shadows and occasional silhouettes. We climbed as high as we could, but still can’t see to the other side of the outpost, beyond which lies the Shredder camp, then a door through the wall.

  With my mask at my side, one hand resting on its straps in case the wind picks up or we have to run, I shiver in my thin jacket. I was warm enough while we were moving—given the effort of walking quickly over the uneven and soft surface of the dust, not to mention climbing obstacles—but since we stopped, the night air has been biting through my clothing, chilling the light sweat I worked up on the run.

  Burn looks toasty in his thick coat, not seeming to notice I’m cold. He did give one of his sweaters to Gage, and the garment hangs halfway down the thin man’s thighs as he leans against a partially intact ruin wall.

  Gage turns. “How far to the next way out?”

  “Don’t know,” Burn answers. “I don’t know for sure there is another way.”

  “So we just wait until those Shredders leave?” I ask. A whole day has passed since we were separated, and Drake must be terrified.

  “They don’t exactly look like they’re planning on leaving.” Gage pushes away from the wall, bends down, and whispers to Burn.

  I jump up and move closer. For all I know, Gage is suggesting they offer me up as a sacrifice. I wouldn’t put agreeing past Burn. “What are you talking about?”

  Gage looks at me and shrugs. “I was just saying that I’m fast and could run along the wall’s perimeter to look for another way out.”

  “Too dangerous in the dark,” Burn says.

  “Not with your goggles.” Gage points to the night-glasses Burn has pushed onto the top of his head.

  Burn doesn’t reply, but his brow furrows in the moonlight and it’s clear he’s not going to give up those goggles for anything. He stands and walks to the edge of the raised platform.

  “I’ll find out what we’re up against.” Burn leaps from the ruin, down fifteen feet to the dust.

  I almost shout after him, but a loud voice might attract the Shredders’ attention, putting Burn in even more danger, so all I can do is hope and wait. Keeping low and sticking to the shadows, he moves swiftly and soon I’ve lost sight of him.

  “Will he be okay?” I ask Gage.

  “Don’t know.” He leans against the partial wall again, and pulls a shaking hand under the cuff of the borrowed sweater. “He should have loaned me his goggles. Your boyfriend has trust issues.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.” My cheeks heat. “And if you took the goggles, how do we know you’d come back?” That part of Burn I understand. If they were mine, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with them, either.

  Gage shifts his position against the wall, then groans.

  “You should sit down,” I tell him. “You’re obviously in pain.”

  He turns toward me and his skin seems nearly transparent in the moonlight. “It’s not that bad, considering.”

  I step closer. “Don’t try to be brave. I saw them cut you.”

  “My cuts are healing, fast. Some of the small ones are already closed.” But he sits cross-legged on the concrete, leaning back, and I drop down a few feet away.

  “Is healing part of your Deviance?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Then how—?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest.” Gage runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick up even worse. “From the little bits I got out of your boyfr—Burn—the dust helped me heal.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s what he claimed, while he was forcing my face into it.”

  I grip my dust mask. “What was it like”—I slide closer—“inhaling the dust?” I almost ask if he’s changing into a Shredder, but the question seems insensitive, intrusive. Plus I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

  Gage is quiet for what feels like several minutes, and I assume he isn’t going to answer, then he turns to me. “Breathing the dust was amazing. It was like inhaling pure energy. As if I’d been turned on like a light bulb.” He fumbles with his mask and stares down at the ground longingly. “I want more. It’s all I can think about.”

  I stare at him, incredulous, fumbling over what to say. “But dust is lethal.” I regurgitate what I’ve been taught. “People choke to death on it. I’ve seen it happen.” But even as I say it, I’m not sure I’ve witnessed actual deaths. Maybe I’ve heard the stories so many times I can picture them, and I never had reason to question it.

  Gage draws a long breath. “I’ve seen it, too.” He shakes his head. “Clearly, it’s not always lethal for Deviants.”

  “Or Shredders,” I add. That must be why Burn stopped him from taking more in. For all I know, Gage might be one lungful away from turning into a Shredder. I inch away from him.

  He lifts his head and I instantly feel bad for moving away. I’m trying to figure out Gage. One minute he’s a nice guy and I’m grateful we have an adult with us, but the next he seems to unravel. I can’t clear my mind of his crazed expression when Burn was feeding him dust.

  “Is your Deviance speed?”

  He nods.

  “How did the Comps find you?”

  “I told someone that I was a Deviant.” His voice is hard, cold. “She turned me in.”

  “Someone you trusted?”

  He nods.

  That was his first mistake. Trusting someone. “Someone betrayed me, too.”

  Gage’s wipes his glassy eyes with the sleeve of the sweater he borrowed from Burn.

  “Who was it?” I ask quietly.

  He shakes his head and his expression hardens as he stares into the night.

  “Do you have a family back in Haven?”

  He shoots to his feet and starts pacing. His face twists into a grimace and I can’t tell whether he’s in pain or upset by my question—or both. I stand, hoping he’ll stop, but his speed increases, each pass across the twenty-foot-wide slab taking mere seconds.

  I’m getting dizzy, and worried. “Are you okay?”

  He stops and spins toward me. “No, my cuts are hurting. I need more dust.” Gage grabs me and his bony fingers dig into my arm. “Get me some?”

  “More dust?” Even if it heals, this doesn’t seem wise.

  “Please! Just a little.”

  I shake my head and pull my arm from his grasp.

  “Help me.” He lunges and I jump back. “I can’t go down there right now, not like this. If Burn sees me taking more dust…” His eyes are open too wide, he’s sweating and his whole body’s shaking. “He warned me. I don’t trust myself. I’ll take too much.”

  He drops to the concrete and starts punching his thighs so hard it would hurt even if he weren’t cut.

  “Stop that.” I grab his arm. “What are you doing? You�
��re going to hurt yourself.” Fresh blood seeps through his pant leg—he’s not as healed as he claimed—then he curls up in a little ball, tucks his face into his knees and moans. The sound’s low and creepy, and although part of me thinks I should try to comfort him, I can’t bring myself to do it. Instead I move away, as far from him as I can get on the platform.

  Gage is the adult here—Burn and I are kids in comparison—and it’s too much for Gage to expect me to look after him. Besides, I’m not qualified. Look at the mess I made of looking after Drake. I was a sorry replacement for our mother.

  Sadness lands on me like a fallen sky panel and I drop to the floor, the weight of the last few days sapping my strength.

  Hoping to conjure her presence, I rub my mother’s ring, but I’m beyond comfort, beyond saving, beyond hope. Cal betrayed me, I lost my brother, Burn deserted me, and now Gage has gone insane. I’m all alone, surrounded by darkness and dust and death.

  Gage sobs and his clear self-pity pulls me from mine.

  I can’t sit here and do nothing. And no way will I cry.

  Burn has been gone for too long. I stand at the edge of the slab and look ahead, scanning for him but I can’t see him. Whether he’s deserted us or needs help, I can’t just sit here listening to Gage’s moaning. I need to do something. I need to see what we’re facing for myself.

  I don my mask. Immediately the world grows much darker, so I unsnap the eye-shield and flip it up to the top of my head. Not even saying good-bye to Gage, I grab on to the girder at the side of the platform and swing around until I’m hanging from it in a crouch, my feet braced on the rusty metal. Hand over hand, taking some of the weight with my feet to slow my descent, I lower myself until I’m close enough to the ground to jump.

  Dust rises to my knees and I’m glad I put the mask on, even though I already miss the crisp night air. My ankle didn’t scream when I landed. Must be adrenaline. Can’t be the dust.

  I don’t believe what Gage said about the dust healing—and I don’t want to. A shudder runs through me. If I inhaled enough dust to mend my ankle, I’d be one step closer to becoming a Shredder. It was easy to see how crazed it made Gage.

  As I slowly move toward the Shredder camp, searching for Burn, the noise rises along with my fear. Reaching a pile of twisted metal, instead of going around or over, I carefully climb through it. Midway a sound makes me jump. A rat scurries in the corner and my shoulders relax. At least now I know where to come for a meal.

  I duck under a beam. The sharp edge of a metal sheet glints in a sliver of moonlight and I lean to avoid slicing my face. The light’s brighter ahead, and I’m almost out of this bizarre den-like structure.

  Reaching the edge, I start to flip down my visor then stop. Without a fully covered face, dust might sneak under the filter’s edges or enter my body through my tears, but I need the extra visibility.

  The outpost building is about fifty yards straight ahead, but shouts and screams from the camp make it seem much closer. Their fire casts an orange glow on the dust and the building’s sides. Various piles of concrete and steel jut out at intervals—some in light, some in shadows—but there’s no way to tell whether anyone’s lurking behind one. Even Burn. The nearest hiding place is at least twenty yards away. As soon as I move, I’ll be completely exposed.

  My best option is to sprint to one of the piles that’s far to the side. From there, I’ll gain a vantage point to peer around the building. Burn might have been captured, but for all I know he’s in cahoots with the Shredders, maybe making a deal to turn Gage or me over, in exchange for safe passage.

  I don’t really believe that, but I’m in the dark, in more ways than one, and need information to form a plan.

  Focusing on the shadows, watching each potential hiding place, I choose a direction then keep low and run. Reaching my target, I press myself against the far side of the crumbling concrete.

  The distance was short yet my chest heaves, and I concentrate on pulling in air through the filter to get my breath back. Pressed against the slab to minimize my shadow, I move to its edge and look.

  At least twenty Shredders are gathered around a huge fire. They’re all male, as far as I can tell. And on the far side of the fire, two Shredders are shouting at each other in hideous, grating voices that assault my ears with noise, but no detectable words. The smaller of the two picks up the big one and tosses him into the fire.

  The burning Shredder roars and my hands fly to my ears, certain my eardrums have shattered. He crawls out of the fire, but as he rolls on the dust to extinguish the flames, he bumps into the legs of another Shredder who kicks him back into the fire.

  My stomach revolts. There’s still no sign of Burn. I crane my neck to see more of the crowd. A few are stretched out on the ground, and another fight has broken out between six or seven Shredders between the fire and the building. It might be a trick of the light, but it looks like one of that group has metal spikes protruding from the backs of his hands. Not from gloves, from his actual hands.

  Nausea rises in my throat and fear grabs my chest. On the far side of the fire, a man—or a Shredder; it’s hard to be certain—is strung up between two posts, his limbs bound. Is he alive? Someone shifts and the flickering firelight illuminates the captured man’s body. I back away, hiding my face behind my concrete barricade.

  Dead. He must be, seeing how his insides are hanging out.

  My back pressed against the concrete, I bend at the waist, pull off my mask, and heave for air, struggling to regain my composure. If I don’t, I’ll be their next victim.

  Recovered, I replace my mask and slide to the other side of the concrete, where I’m better hidden. Burn wasn’t around that fire. From here, I could race to the wall in minutes, but not without being spotted by the Shredders, and I have no idea whether or not the door will be locked. Plus, I have no idea how to find my brother once I’m on the other side. Like it or not, I need Burn. I need to go back. Maybe he’s already returned.

  I’m working up the courage to run when a huge shape—like a monstrous boulder—lands in the dust between me and the Comp building. A cloud of dust rises around the shape, but I can’t figure out what it is.

  More shapes appear from around the far side of the outpost, and they’re easier to identify: Shredders. I press against the concrete, keeping as much of my body behind the slab as I can, yet still being able to see.

  The three Shredders head toward the lump. When they draw close, the lump expands and rises. It’s man-shaped. But huge. At least seven-and-a-half feet tall and wider than any human I’ve seen—even Burn. The shape raises its arms and turns in a slow circle.

  I gasp. It is Burn.

  At least this huge monster-like creature is wearing Burn’s clothes. His normally loose coat, which I’ve seen brushing the tops of his boots, now strains to contain his body and hits above his knees. The creature’s palms look ten inches across, fingers thick and menacing.

  Burn leaps forward and brings his arms, the size of steel girders, down on the shoulders of one of the Shredders. Its body crumples under the blow like its spine was snapped. The Shredder falls to the ground, but the others continue forward, flinging weapons.

  Burn roars and bends to pull what looks like an ax from his leg. He limps forward, grabs the ax-throwing Shredder, lifts him above his head, and throws him nearly twenty feet. The Shredder’s body slams into a concrete wall and slides down in a seemingly lifeless lump.

  The previously crushed Shredder gets up and throws a metal spike that lodges in Burn’s shoulder blade. Burn roars again and tries to reach around to pull it out, but the bulk of his thick arms blocks his attempt. He runs forward, grabs the Shredder’s head and twists, ripping the monster’s head off of its shoulders. He tosses it aside like a ball.

  I cover my mouth to capture my scream.

  The last Shredder’s more cautious and steps forward, carrying a long chain like the ones I saw wrapped around Gage, but thicker. Each time Burn steps forward, the Shredde
r swings the chain. Burn grabs for it but, with his thick arms and huge hands, he seems less coordinated and can’t catch the flicked chain.

  When Burn gets close, the Shredder turns and flings the chain so it wraps around Burn’s body, binding his arms. The Shredder drops a loop at the end of the chain over a piece of steel sticking up from the dust. Burn tugs and strains, and I almost think he might break the chain, but his pulling only tightens its hold. The Shredder takes another long metal shard from a sheath on his back and hurls it toward Burn.

  Distracted by the chain, Burn doesn’t dodge the sharp-edged projectile, and it lodges in his upper left arm. Before my eyes, Burn shrinks back to his normal size. As he shrinks he struggles against the chain and it tightens around him, holding him fast. If he’d stood still as he shrank, the chain might have dropped from his body. But he didn’t.

  Burn is as good as dead.

  The Shredder pulls out a long knife, but instead of plunging it into Burn, he picks up the end of the chain and tugs, yanking Burn down onto his face in the dust. The metal shard sticks up from Burn’s back. The Shredder seems amused by this and drags Burn toward the wall.

  I gasp, realizing what’s about to happen. Right now, Burn is facing one Shredder—the one he threw against the wall hasn’t risen and one’s missing its head—but if the Shredder pulling him manages to get Burn around the building, he’s dead.

  I run toward Burn as fast as my feet will carry me.

  With his heavy load, the Shredder isn’t moving quickly, but I need to do something to draw his attention. It’s too dangerous to yell, so I stop to pick up a brick. Taking careful aim, I wind up and throw as hard as I can. It misses the Shredder but lands on a nearby pile of dust. He stops and turns toward me.

  I continue to run, gathering my hate and anger. This stupid, sadistic creature will not kill Burn. He will not kill my chances of getting my brother to safety.

  “Go back,” Burn says when he sees me, and the Shredder tips his head back and laughs.

  “You look tasty.” He mouths a kiss and my anger builds.