by Amy Braun
But it was the silence that put the shiver in my spine and the tension in my gut.
No wind, no distant voices, no scrabbling rats moving over stones. I felt like the last man alive in a dead world.
I pulled up the collar of my ragged greatcoat and looked at the monstrosity hanging in the sky.
The mother ship of the Hellions, the formidable Behemoth, hung in the thick grey clouds. Swirls of black smoke churned from the exhaust pipes at the stern like a toxic cloud. The main ship was a man-o’-war built from corrugated metal and heavy gears. Spikes jutted from its sides along with four rows of cannon guns. Lashed under the main ship with heavy chains was a docking bay where the Hellion skiffs sat until they decided the beasts decided they were hungry.
From so far down, I couldn’t tell if the raiding ships were docked or not. Ivan, one of the snipers on the Barren’s wall, said he hadn’t seen anything. I didn’t trust him, but for now I would take his word and tell myself that Russ had been lying about the Hellion’s new daylight tactic. Best to get this over as soon as possible.
Refusing to look at the splintered concrete and fractured rebar wall at my back, or the tarnished cannons still mounting the structure that used to be seventy feet tall before it was shot to pieces in The Storm, I started crossing the empty space of the Barren into the western part of the city.
Before The Storm, the Barren had been called Dovercourt. Circled by ten miles of stone and cement, topped with watchtowers, cannons, and flags, it had been the perfect area for Westraven’s military elite to live with their families. I was the son of merchants, but I remembered seeing the air shows and military parades. The Sky Guard would race their sloops through cloudless blue skies, perform training and combat drills, tell stories of epic battles against marauders, and celebrate with feasts fit for kings. Dovercourt had once been a small city in its own right. My family didn’t live in it, but even we were proud to have such a respected garrison.
After all, not even the marauders had been able to defeat the Sky Guard. We thought nothing could.
Not until The Storm.
Dovercourt had been one of the first Districts to be hit. The Hellions seemed to know that retaliation would be possible, and they wanted to eliminate any threats as fast as they could. No matter how grim the thought was, I couldn’t deny that the monsters had been brutally efficient.
The seventy-foot wall surrounding the district was covered with holes like pock-marks, the scars of cannon fire from the Behemoth. Any major gaps were re-filled with serrated rebar and broken flagpoles that jutted out like misplaced daggers. Two remaining watchtowers remained, though their cannons had never been used.
As I walked toward the wall, I cast a quick glance at the space where the Sky Guard troops had lived with their families. The lovingly built houses were now heaps of broken wood, shattered glass, and crushed brick. Most of those materials were taken by the Stray Dogs and other small marauder Clans hiding in the Barren. I didn’t know what they did with the bodies of the dead, because there was no trace of them, or any blood for that matter. It was like a force of nature had swept in, shattered the houses, and erased any trace of life that had once been in this wide, open space.
I got chills just thinking about the fate of the tens of thousands of people that had lived here.
When I reached the closest wall of crumbled debris, I was able to push the memories from my mind. Climbing over it was easy, though I was careful to avoid the sharp pieces of metal and rebar that would slice me open if I fell the wrong way. At least Ryland hadn’t laid any kind of explosives down. There were a few places that the Hellions no longer bothered to raid, and the Barren was one of them. There was no need for traps to be set.
I hoped that wouldn’t change any time soon.
The walk to the farm would take all day. All major traveling vessels were had been shot down during The Storm, and any kind of small ship would either be stolen or seen as a target for Hellions. So I left the Barren behind and trudged through the broken city, trying to think about my destination, and not the memories threatening to surface.
But every step I took reminded me of a life long gone. The mechanics shop where my father did some of his best trading. The bakery where my mother would buy sweet rolls once a week. The market square where I won Marley a stuffed bear during the carnival for the Drafter Showcase.
The fountain statue that collapsed on Colby and crushed his legs, leaving him defenseless when the Hellions reached him.
I shook my head and walked faster, pushing the memory as far back as I could. I had to pay attention. A quick glance to the sky told me the skiffs hadn’t left the Behemoth, but that didn’t mean I was safe.
After the devastation of The Storm settled, most of the survivors did whatever was necessary to reclaim their lives. Others sought pure and simple power. Electricians took control of the substations to reroute energy to their underground empires. Even Ryland was forced to negotiate with them as he worked to regain his foothold in the Barren.
In a way, the marauders had it the worst. They were never ones to give control easily, and they couldn’t take revenge against Robertson Kendric and his famous Wanderer Clan. Rumour was that he and his sadistic son Davin followed the explorers to find the Breach, and something had happened that spurred the Hellions into rage. When they followed the marauders and explorers back through the Breach, the Kendric Clan was among the first to fall. The marauders were grounded and forced to disperse, unable to give the Wanderers the punishment they deserved.
After The Storm, the rest of us became desperate. Food, tools, gadgets, clothing, and weapons were snatched up and hidden. As stores got lower and lower, survivors were forced to find alternatives. Offering service and slavery to those who had abundant resources. Killing others for what they had. Some people were even said to have resorted to cannibalism.
Those who died in the early years found the easy way out. The rest of us did our best with the scraps left behind.
I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face. Thinking of the Westraven and Aon’s sorry states and my own problems wouldn’t change anything. The best I could do was find Davy, and think of a way to persuade him without using my fists.
***
My feet and legs were aching by the time I reached the farm.
After hours of straight walking, the buildings and rubble became less prominent. The cracked concrete under my feet stretched to an open patch of concrete, stopping at a single free- standing structure in the middle of it.
All the farms in Westraven were self-sustaining and capable of producing more than one product. In front of me was a fifty-foot wide structure made of foggy glass and dented metal. The top half of the farm was constructed of windows and topped with cracked, black solar panels. It was hard to see from the corner of the building I was hiding behind, but I could have sworn I saw green plants and wheat struggling to grow beyond the windows. With so little sunlight, I doubted that many of the plants were getting the light they needed. Most of them were probably shrivelled and drooping. The vegetables and barley growing inside the greenhouse would be small and meagre at best.
The lower half of the farm was made of battered sheet metal. It had no windows, so I didn’t know what was hiding inside of it. I wondered if Davy managed to keep some livestock behind those walls. That would have been a miracle, but if there were cows or sheep in the farm, they had to be dangerously unhealthy. If humans were struggling to find food, the animals were starving.
Next to the farm was a large metal water tower. Its stilted legs were had probably been blasted away during The Storm, making rebuilding virtually impossible under the eye of the Hellions and the Behemoth. So rather than being rebuilt to stand, a series of thick metal pipes were fastened to both halves of the farm. The rainy season wouldn’t hit Westraven for another couple months, but when it did, the rain would fill the top of the water tower and slip through the pipes into the greenhouse and the lower half of the farm. Maybe it would be enough to sav
e whatever Davy was trying to grow and produce in there.
Maybe. But probably not. Whatever he did wasn’t going to be enough to save the people dying in the ruined city.
And it wasn’t as though anyone could simply walk onto Davy’s property. He knew his resources were beyond valuable, so he took precautions. A twenty-foot wire fence surrounded his property, topped with coils of sharply pronged barbed wire. A series of black boxes lined the fence, thick wires tracing down the siding to the ground. They must have held some kind of electric charge, probably set in place by an Electrician’s colony, no doubt a trade-off for a portion of whatever food Davy managed to grow.
I could only imagine the pressure the old man endured from every corner of the starving city. This was the largest, still working farm I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t help but pity Davy. My eyes found a small, two story wooden shack that must serve as Davy’s actual home. How he managed all of this alone was a mystery.
Especially since he was only a hundred feet from the barricades.
Set by the Hellions as soon as the Behemoth crippled the Sky Guard to keep their food from escaping, the iron wall cut off any view of the horizon and the country beyond. Angry spikes jutted out from the metal, which had unwashed blood smeared over parts of its surface.
It was possible to climb the barricade, but the trick was crossing the open space before Hellions spotted you. Over the years, people stopped trying to get over. The Hellions would see anyone running there now as a welcome chase and an easy kill.
But as I looked at the cloudy sky over the metal wall, the temptation called to me.
I wanted to do it. Or try, at the very least. There was nothing for me here. No family, no friends, no girl, no purpose… But I couldn’t leave.
My thoughts trailed to Sonya. Her terrified face and heartbreaking cries. The way she would be tortured when I didn’t come back, just because Ryland and his brute squad would want someone to take their aggression out on. Even if I died out here, they would do worse to her. Not coming back from a mission meant failure and suffering. I couldn’t do that to her. I didn’t love Sonya anymore, but she was my friend. I would never forgive myself if she suffered because of me.
I snickered. Champion of the Crater, hulking warrior, crewman for the Stray Dogs, I thought, and a bleeding heart all the same.
Knowing time was against me and an innocent life was on the line, I steeled myself to cross the property line. I had no idea where Davy was, though I assumed his house was a safe place to start looking.
Just as I was about to step out into open space, the front door on the lowest left corner of the barn opened and two men exited. I slunk back behind the crumpled building and narrowed my eyes to get a better look at them.
Davy was easy to recognize. Short and round with age-speckled skin and wispy white hair, he moved with agility and confidence. Even dressed in black rubber boots and blue coveralls stained with soil, grease, and other dark splotches I didn’t want to think about, Davy held his chin high. A man proud of his work, no doubt.
The man walking beside him with a bulky wooden crate couldn’t have been more opposite. A full foot taller and at least fifty years younger, he could only be described as a rogue. He wore a sooty leather jacket lined with fraying grey piping and spotted with tarnished buttons. It must have belonged to a military officer once, because the boy was too young to be a soldier of the Sky Guard. Under the jacket he wore a white tunic loosely tucked into black pants, the edges hidden by a brown belt that secured a flintlock pistol to his right hip and a curved cutlass to his left. Messy chestnut hair sat on top of his head. I couldn’t see his face, but something about him screamed trouble.
I hung back in the shadows, for once grateful for the crushing silence. With no wind in the air, I was able to hear what the two men were saying.
“It’s true, I tell ya,” the old man said. “Hellion skiff was flyin’ low this morning.”
“Probably just the last of the raiding party,” countered the younger rogue.
Davy stopped and crossed his arms. I imagined he would have stamped his foot if he were a little younger.
“I know what I seen, boy. Those damned beasts are coming out in the day.”
The rogue turned and looked at the farmer. He shifted the crate in his arms and took a deep breath.
“Look, Davy, I was out all day taking care of those Rattail jackasses for you. I didn’t see a single skiff.”
I swore I saw Davy turning beet red, and imagined his lips quivering with rage.
“You callin’ me a lair, boy? Pirate scum like you?”
Pirate? At least now I knew who I was dealing with.
“You wound me.” The rogue’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “Why don’t we go back to our deal? You give me a crate a month, I clean up the riffraff and keep you breathing. Sound good?”
His bluntness and arrogance surprised me. He acted like a captain when he was no older than a deckhand. I wondered what Clan he was from that would allow someone so young to command so much authority. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I didn’t want any witnesses when I confronted Davy. No telling how messy that scenario would be.
“Come on, Davy,” the rogue said. “We both know that’s as good a deal as you’re going to get in Westraven, especially with Ryland and the Stray Dogs so close.”
Davy snorted. “I ain’t scared of those inbred curs. They’re a pain in the ass, but not a knife in the ribs.”
The rogue chuckled. “Just looking out for you, old man.” He glanced around, his gaze passing over me. I shrank back into the shadows behind a craggy, boulder-sized piece of stone that might have come from the caved in apartment on my left. I was certain he hadn’t seen me, but I wasn’t willing to take any chances.
“You never know who might be out there,” he continued.
Davy scoffed, and I peeked out from behind my cover. “You worry too much, boy. That ain’t somethin’ marauders are known for.”
The young man shrugged and grinned. “I’m unconventional.” He shuffled the crate in his hands again, trying to get used to the weight of it. “Guess I should be off. This isn’t exactly a bundle of tissue, and if the Hellions are running around during the day now, I don’t want to be slowed down.”
He started walking away, heading through the open gate of the fence to the right side of the streets. He would be at least a couple blocks from me. This time, Davy actually did stamp his foot. “They are, I tell ya! One day you’ll see it, and you’ll be the fool, Sawyer!”
The rogue– Sawyer– stopped and turned to Davy with a mischievous grin. “I’ll make sure to count the hours.”
Sawyer continued walking with his loot, the grin still on his face as he left the old farmer behind.
Davy stamped his foot again and shook his head, muttering something I couldn’t hear. He turned and marched back to his collapsing home. He didn’t bother to close the gate, maybe forgetting to do so in his temper tantrum, but I remained in the dark. I waited another ten minutes until I was sure that Sawyer would be out of sight. His deal obviously involved fighting off unwelcome marauders for Davy. I didn’t really see him as a threat– even from where I’d been sitting, I knew I was bigger than him– but I still didn’t want to risk another confrontation. Regardless, I had a knife tucked in my belt, but I had no intention of using it. Not unless I was pushed.
Assuring myself that no one was going to interference, I slipped out from my cover and crossed the open space to the farm. I moved quickly, glancing at the Behemoth. I told myself that I was alone, but with that ship lurking up there, no one was ever really alone. The Hellions watched, waited, and killed when they wanted. The feeling of eyes around me didn’t disappear as I slipped through the open gate and reached the porch of Davy’s house. I tiptoed up the steps that creaked every time I planted my foot. I was big for my age, so I was relieved when the steps didn’t cave in and take my foot with them.
I stood in front of the door, wondering again if I could make it
over the barricade and find somewhere else. A place to start over and live without hating myself every day.
Sonya’s pleading voice echoed through my mind, and I sighed.
I knocked on the battered wooden door three times, shook out my wrists, and waited. Davy’s grumbling and cursing could be heard from the other side.
“Dammit, Sawyer, I told ya–”
He spoke while opening the door, coming to a halt when he saw me taking up the entire frame. His sharp brown eyes widened, flicked to my right arm, and widened again.
“Ryland has a proposition for you,” I said.
Davy scowled. “That so? Well, you tell that dirty mongrel I ain’t gonna–”
I grabbed the straps of his coveralls and yanked him onto the porch.
“I’m going to tell you nicely. Give up your supplies to us and no one else, and we’ll make sure you’re protected. Say yes, old man.”
He continued to glower. There was fear in his eyes, but most of what I saw was rage.
“Or what? You’ll beat on me?”
At least he knew what was on the way. “Just say yes.”
“I got a better answer for Ryland.”
He spat in my face. I blinked, but didn’t let him go. I shook my head, then turned sharply and hurled Davy off the porch.
The old man hit the ground hard, crying out in surprise. He cringed and clutched his elbow to his chest. I wiped my cheek and stomped down the steps.
When he looked at me again, the rage was being replaced by fear.
“I don’t want to do this,” I said as he started to crawl away. I grabbed his ankle and yanked him across the pavement. Davy’s hands scraped raw on the rough ground. “I really don’t.” I grabbed his coveralls straps again and jerked him closer. His breathing became ragged. “But you should have said yes.”
I cocked my fist and got ready to swing. I froze at the sound of a clicking hammer, and the feel of a cold gun barrel pressing against my temple.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to respect your elders?”