Scorched: The Last Nomads

by Melanie Karsak

  At once, the perfume of the books filled my nose. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I loved the smell of books. I opened the blinds, letting in the gaudy light, then set my bag down on the table.

  Water.

  Today I needed to distract myself with water.

  I thought about the rust leaking out of Nat’s chair. There were two options to discovering a solution to our water issue. We needed to either learn what had worked, what had been used before the advent of technology-driven water filtration systems, or invent something new.

  I walked through the bookcases, my fingers brushing along the spines. I pulled down a book on ancient Rome, grabbed a handful of Popular Mechanics magazines, and then went hunting for a supply catalog I’d seen lying with the other catalogs and menus. It had all kinds of machines inside. I set all my finds on the table then stared at the books. A feeling of despair washed over me before I cracked the first page. It hardly mattered what any of them said. It never rained. No aqueduct could save us. What water we had was deep in the ground. So deep, in fact, that our well could barely reach its recesses anymore. We needed to dig deeper and find a way to pump the water up, which meant we needed a way to power the pump. But power it with what? All we had was dust, rust, the wailers, and wind. My landships, which I had modeled off an article I had read about ships people used to use to race across frozen lakes, had worked well. But they were powered by the wind.

  I glanced across the table to see a clown with a round red nose looking out at me. It was a menu for Bozo’s, a restaurant that had died with the rest of the world. I picked up the menu, looking at the faded pamphlet, imagining for the millionth time the taste of the sesame seed bread, the juicy burger, the cheese, and the vegetables. The sunlight streamed through the window, glinting off the paper, making me wince.

  I narrowed my eyes, but an idea came to mind.

  I tapped my finger against the menu, shoved it into my satchel, then got up. Locking the door behind me, I headed to the stairwell that led to the roof of Park Building. The entrance to the stairwell was just outside the door to the elders’ meeting room. Inside, I heard the elders discussing…something.

  Annoyed with the elders, I headed upstairs.

  When I pushed open the door, a wave of heat struck me. Careful to prop the door open behind me, I crossed the roof to the set of defunct solar panels that sat there. The panels themselves, while not very large, were still in good shape save the rusted frames. I pulled on a pair of gloves, grabbed my wire snips, and started working. Like everything else, the CME had fried the electrical converter, but in theory, solar power could still be drawn from panels. I just needed to find a way to transform its energy. Easier said than done, I knew, but there had to be a way.

  The one thing we did have in abundance was sunlight.

  My mind raced as I worked. In the book I had of da Vinci’s inventions, he’d used mirrors to concentrate the sun’s light to power a device that could heat water. There had even been a reference in that book to a device Archimedes had built in ancient times that used solar power as a weapon. Now I just needed to riddle out the conversion. It could be done if…if and if and if.

  I reached around my tool belt for my socket wrench only to find it was missing.

  Dammit. I’d left it in the garage last night after I’d had my fit.

  I turned to head back downstairs, but stopped and redirected my steps. I went to the edge of the roof and climbed up onto the ledge. I gazed across the horizon. The descending sun was low in the sky. Heat moved like waves across the landscape.

  Ash, where are you?

  She’s at Low Tide. She’s safe. She’ll be home tomorrow.

  But she wasn’t safe, and I knew it.

  Turning, I headed back downstairs. I opened the door to the third-floor hallway slowly. The elders were still inside the meeting room talking, but they must have been standing very close to the door. I could hear their voices clearly.

  “Be ready at dawn,” Gutierrez said.

  “Yes, sir,” Enrique answered.

  “And go quietly. The more people who realize you’re gone, the more panic it will spread,” Ramsey added.

  “But also be safe,” I heard Carrington add, her voice sounded a bit exasperated.

  “Of course.”

  I stepped back, letting the stairwell door close. I slid down the wall, sitting on the floor, and out of sight from the small window in the stairwell door.

  The door to the meeting room opened. I heard Enrique’s footsteps move down the hallway away from the conference room. A few moments later, I heard him open the door at the other end of the hall on his way back downstairs.

  Carrington sighed heavily then said, “And if he doesn’t come back?”

  “Then we’ll know Low Tide is lost, and Hell’s Passage impenetrable,” Ramsey answered.

  “Just like Pine Brook,” she said, referring to a colony south of us that had perished when I was young.

  “Yes,” Ramsey said stoically.

  “We may be alone,” Gutierrez said, his voice sounding grave.

  No one answered. They closed the door and went back inside.

  I stared at the wall in front of me. The stairwell was burning hot. Sweat dripped down my back. The white paint flaked off the wall.

  If Enrique was going out tomorrow, I was going to go with him.

  I could hear Ash’s voice in my mind. “Don’t be stupid. Stay put until I come for you.”

  I thought back to the joke I’d made before Ash left, asking my sister to bring me back a Bozo’s burger. I had been trying to lighten the mood, to make her laugh at the stupidity of asking for something that no longer existed—restaurant food from the dead world. I might as well have asked her to bring me a carriage, or a laptop, or a suit of armor. I had joked with my sister about cheeseburgers, but what I really should have done was told her how much I loved her, told her to be careful, and told her not to go.

  But she had gone. No one could have stopped her. Ash was far too stubborn to take no for an answer.

  And so was I.

  Carrington was right. If Low Tide was gone, just like Pine Brook, then things were worse than we thought.

  Very soon, mankind would not be able to survive, and the wailers would inherit the scorched earth.

  Chapter 5

  I sat in the stairwell a while longer then headed back to the roof. Taking a perch at the very corner on the ledge, I stared out at the landscape. Three stories above the ground, the air was less dusty. It wasn’t clean or fresh, and even the fading sun was still hot, but at least my eyes and mouth didn’t fill with the filthy red dust that blew everywhere.

  As I stared out through my monocular, I thought about how useless everything felt.

  We were just going to die anyway. What use was any of this?

  As if in response to my question, the first howl echoed across the wasteland.

  The wailers.

  The sun dipped below the horizon. Shades of deep ruby red and rich purple lit up the skyline, but overhead, tints of navy blue heralded twilight.

  I scanned my lens across the horizon. I tried to find the source of the yowls. The wailers sheltered in the city to the east and in the rolling foothills north. I couldn’t see them just yet. They wouldn’t become too active until the sun fully set.

  I lowered my lens and looked down at The Park. The people were saying their final farewells for the night. Everyone would be inside soon. I’d wait until all the lights were out then sneak into the well house to grab some extra water. I needed to get ahead of Enrique, meet him on the road. If he found me waiting at the waterfall, he’d have to take me with him the rest of the way. The only problem would be getting outside the walls unnoticed.

  Below I saw Maria, Faraday’s girlfriend, stop by the watchtower. Faraday had gone out with my sister. No doubt she was just as worried as me. I wondered if the elders had told her Enrique was going to look for them. Probably not. Secrecy and stubbornness were the norms at The Park.
I sighed as I looked over the compound. My entire world consisted of five acres behind high, rusty walls. One of these days, time and the weather would erode the barrier between the wailers and us. And then what?

  Once again, the wailers howled.

  Glancing up, I frowned at the monsters who seemed to answer my every unspoken question with their gloomy calls. Their loud yowls, however, seemed to come from the south where there was nothing save the endless rolling wasteland.

  That was unusual.

  They rarely roamed south.

  I rose and looked in that direction.

  Something shimmered on the horizon.

  Moving carefully, I headed to the southern edge of the building and lifted my lens. There it was again. A glimmer and a dark shape that appeared to be moving toward us. Fast. I saw black shadows moving toward the light. Whatever was out there, the wailers had seen it.

  “Raj! Raj,” I yelled down to the watchtower.

  Raj stuck his head out and looked around for me.

  “Here! Up here,” I called then whistled.

  “Keyes?”

  “South, south,” I yelled, pointing.

  A few of the other people on the ground below heard my call and rushed toward the watchtower at the southern end of the community. A few moments later, I heard the loud gong of the alarm bell. Something was coming.

  I lifted my lens and looked again.

  My heart was stuck in my throat. Ash?

  A massive cloud of dust surrounded some sort of odd vehicle as it raced toward The Park. Scanning across the wasteland, I saw the wailers were moving toward the machine. Their eyes flashed in the dimming light, glinting orange.

  Enrique and a group of others ran in and out of the armory, all of them armed. Children were shooed back inside as the other residents closed up their doors.

  My heart slammed in my chest. Was it raiders? Who in the hell would be out there at dusk? Where had they come from?

  Voices rose up as Ramsey, Gutierrez, and Carrington rushed out of Park Building. Ramsey’s voice carried on the breeze as the three of them ran toward the south gate. Three words rose up: “The Dead Troupe.”

  The Dead Troupe.

  I gasped. The Dead Troupe were the last nomads. A ragtag bunch who wandered the wasteland, they were half-performers, half-mercenaries. It had been six years since they’d been this way last. I remembered their armored truck, their odd clothes, their weapons, and the sense of awe they evoked in all of us. The Dead Troupe were the only ones who wandered the wasteland at night and lived to tell about it. And they were legends. As a child, we used to recite a silly chant about them:

  Dead Troupe callin’ in the middle of the night

  Dead Troupe callin’ makin’ wailers run in fright

  One is the maestro

  And two hold the keys

  Three deadly beauties

  Four drops them to their knees

  Five drivin’ quickly then

  Six years will pass

  Dead Troupe keeps roamin’

  Where no others last

  I gazed at the horizon. Was it really them? A single vehicle barreled toward the south gate. Whomever they were, they knew The Park was here.

  There was a loud pop as someone shot off a flare. I watched the bright pink light shoot up into the sky. If it wasn’t the Dead Troupe—if they were, in fact, marauders—we were probably the stupidest community on the planet.

  But what if Ash had come across them on her trip to Low Tide? Maybe she was with them.

  No. That didn’t make sense. They would come from the east through Hell’s Passage if that were the case.

  The alarm bell sounded. Everyone who wasn’t carrying a gun rushed inside. From my vantage point on the top of Park Building, I saw that the strongest in our community were manning the watchtowers to the south and had started looking at the locks on the mostly unused south gate.

  “Dammit,” I said, climbing down from the ledge back onto the rooftop and running across to the roof to the stairwell.

  The south gate hadn’t been opened in years. The mechanisms inside were rusty. If they tried to open the door, they could easily break the locking devices, and then we wouldn’t be able to lock the door again afterward.

  I rushed down the steps and out the front door of Park Building. My toolbelt jangled as I raced. I could see the others at the turning the wheel connected to the lock mechanism on the south gate.

  “Stop,” I screamed. “Don’t open the gate. Stop!”

  Raj, Logan, and Maurice paused.

  Ramsey and the others looked back at me.

  “Stop,” I called again. “Guide them to the east gate. The south gate is rusted. We won’t be able to relock it.”

  On the other side of the wall, I heard the loud yips and howls of the wailers. Along with their menacing sound was the roar of an engine as the machine moved toward us in the gathering darkness.

  “She’s right. Get some torches,” Enrique called. “Lane, go to the next tower, take lights. We’ll steer them toward east gate. All weapons to the east gate. They’re going to come in hot and with company.”

  Enrique rushed back down the watchtower steps, and the crowd ran back toward the east gate.

  Torches were lit in the southern watchtower. The bright orange of the flames lit up the early night’s sky. Lane waved the fiery glow eastward, guiding the vehicle to the east.

  In the watchtower between the east and south gates, which had mainly been used for storage, another set of torches sparked to life. I wasn’t sure who was inside, but whoever it was, they began guiding the vehicle east.

  Ronan grabbed my arm. “We need to be ready to reset the locks.”

  We raced to the gate. There, at least two dozen people armed with weapons waited nervously, bracing themselves.

  Ronan and I rushed to the side of the gate where the locks would need to be reset once the gate was shut once again. Raj and the others waited—the gate unlocked but still unopen—for the signal.

  My heart slammed in my chest. The wailers screeched and howled as the vehicle approached. They must have been chasing the machine. And if they were chasing it, that meant they were right behind it.

  There was a loud whine followed by a static sound then a sharp whistle. My ears popped. I flung my hands to my ears as a sharp pain shot across my skull. A moment later, the sound and the pain died away. Outside the walls, the wailers howled in anguish, screeching like I had never heard them do before.

  “The wailers are falling back,” someone shouted from the watchtower. “Almost here. Be ready.”

  I clenched my hands in fists, my stomach tying in nervous knots, as I listened to the combined sounds of the engine and the shriek of pain from the wailers.

  From outside the gate came the peppering of gunfire.

  “Now,” someone in the watchtower screamed.

  Raj and the others pulled the gate open.

  Bright light flooded into the community as the headlights on the vehicle shone inside. The massive piece of equipment jumped the small hill leading into the community then slid to a stop.

  “Close the gate! Close the gate!” they called from the watchtower.

  Raj and the others quickly slid the gate closed.

  Ronan and I waited on the other side, but the gate was not moving fast enough.

  “Dammit,” I swore then ran past the opening to help them push.

  But the moment I stepped into the open space, I found myself face to face with a wailer. It seemed confused, looking around as if disoriented. I stopped dead in my tracks and reached for the box cutter I carried on my toolbelt.

  The wailer jumped.

  “Keyes!” Ronan called.

  A shot rang out.

  Warm liquid splashed on my arm and pants as the wailer fell to the ground, sliding to a stop at my feet.

  More shots rang out as the others rushed to push the gate closed.

  I looked behind me.

  Standing on the roof of the vehicle
was a man wearing a hat that shaded his face, but I could see he was tall and had long hair. He was holding a weapon the likes of which I’d never seen before. Smoke rose from the barrel.

  He inclined his head to me, tapping the brim of his cap.

  Shaking off the near-deadly encounter, I joined the others and pushed the gate closed.

  “Keyes, mallet,” Ronan called. “Latch is stuck,” he told me, pointing to one of the locks. I frowned then got to work, banging it back in place. East gate was hardly in better condition than the gate in the south. It needed oil which we had about as much of as we did diesel fuel.

  The wailers barked and howled, thumping against the gate.

  Once the gate was closed, everyone who was gathered turned to look at the newcomers.

  Chapter 6

  Ramsey, Carrington, and Gutierrez approached the vehicle. I watched as Enrique spoke in low tones to some of the others on the watch. The guns that had been trained on the wailers turned toward the strangers.

  “The Dead Troupe,” Ronan whispered.

  I eyed the vehicle. It was like nothing I’d ever seen in any of my books. It resembled a cross between a sport utility vehicle, a military convoy, and a tank. There was armor plating along the sides of the machine. On the roof, I noticed what looked like some sort of speaker as well as a panel. The stranger who had saved my life knocked on the roof.

  “Locals are spooked, Boss,” he called down to the vehicle below.

  The door to the machine opened, and a tall man slid out. He was rail thin and had short black hair. He took a moment to straighten his jacket. Two beautiful girls, both with long blonde hair, climbed out behind him. One of the girls handed him a top hat. It took me a moment, but I realized then that the girls were twins.

  With a broad smile, the man turned to the assembled crowd.

  “The Park,” he said then bowed deeply. “We are most grateful for your sanctuary. We are the Dead Troupe. Tell me, friends, does Mister Ramsey still govern here?”

  Ramsey stepped through the back of the crowd. “Legba?” he called.

  The tall man with the top hat laughed loudly. “Ah, there is the man indeed. Mister Ramsey, it is my pleasure to see you once more.”