by J. L. Smith
As seemed to be his habit, he answered cryptically, “For now.”
He began pulling off his goggles, mask and helmet and so I mirrored him, more than pleased to be getting rid of the constricting apparatus. “So, what, you move around?”
“Sometimes.”
“All of you? Are these The Lost Kids?”
“Yeah.” He took my gear from me, depositing it in the compartment beneath the seat of his bike.
“Where do you sleep?” He gave me a pointed look, as if to express that I asked far too many questions for his liking. Perhaps I did, but I could hardly help it after the day I had had. Instead of answering, he nodded towards the bus. Surely, that explained the lack of seats. It was more a mobile home than anything else. “Are you always so chatty?” I asked in response.
He laughed and walked off towards the shade cloths, where those who had been left behind were obviously eager to greet him. The other bikers were slowly arriving and I spotted Kieran on the back of a motorcycle, clinging to the blonde girl who I had learned was Stef, Susie’s twin sister. They were not identical, although the resemblance was obvious. Stef was far prettier than her sister, softer somehow, and it was she who seemed more worried about Kieran.
I hovered about as they arrived, the other kids far more interested in Kieran’s gunshot wound than in my arrival, which suited me just fine.
“You can wash up over there.” It was Neal, coming up quietly behind me, pushing his glasses up his sweaty nose. “The water’s hot,” he continued, pointing towards a distant tented area which I took for the restroom. “Solar panels, conductors and a series of pipes with a bunch of jerry cans and cylinders.” Shrugging, he added, “Simple enough.”
“You made it?”
Looking away, as if embarrassed, he said, “Yeah.”
“Cool,” I replied, about to ask more, but he ducked off with a shy smile.
I made my way over to the restroom, keen to wash the desert from my face, at least. Once in the tent, I found the privacy I desired and the hot water Neal had promised, flowing freshly from a metal cylinder. There was a long drop nearby, something I had been using all my life back home. Just as I was rinsing off my face, the layers of red sand falling away as the water touched my skin, I heard a voice.
“Hey, Rayder.” Without seeing her, I could tell it was Saffron, perhaps a few feet away outside of the tent. “We need to talk.”
“What’s up?” he responded. That voice, it was beginning to get under my skin and I was not sure why.
Saffron spoke again, her voice sounding urgent, “We can’t just keep taking them in.”
“What else are we meant to do?”
“I don’t know. But we’re under enough pressure as it is. There’re too many of us and you know it.”
By now I was shamelessly eavesdropping, for I knew she must be speaking of me. Rayder was silent for some time and I wondered if they had moved off. “I’m not denying it, but we couldn’t just leave her there. She’d be as good as dead by morning. You know how the runners control that stretch.”
“She’s weak,” Saffron argued. “A liability.”
“How do you know?”
“Come on, Ray. Those wide eyes haven’t seen much of anything.”
“Yeah,” he sighed.
I heard a brush of fabric and wondered how close together they were standing. “Maybe she’ll leave once she realizes she’s got to earn her keep,” Saffron continued.
“Maybe,” Rayder said and I heard him trudge away.
Even in the cool of the evening, I could feel the heat in my face. To Nita, I had always been a burden. Another mouth to feed, she had called me, even going so far as to say it would have been a blessing had I died along with my parents. I straightened my shoulders. Ever since my parents had passed away seven years before, I had been unwanted, out of place. Something was stirring within me, a rebellion, a need to prove myself.
“Shadows keeping you company?” It was Susie, giving me a knowing look from the entrance to the tent. “Don’t worry, my first week I practically lived in here. I was like a toilet monster, only coming out at night.”
I laughed, appreciating her attempt to put me at ease. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“How so?” She feigned confusion, making me laugh again. “So, who has the honors?” When I looked perplexed, she added, “Who sold you? Got to be a first-class act, that.”
“My aunt,” I replied, hearing the bitterness in my voice.
“Sorry. That’s well below average. But,” she smiled, “if it makes you feel any better, my stepmother and daddy dearest have the moral compasses of goldfish. They’re both runners for Balen. Left Stef and me in the middle of the night a few years back.” I must have looked surprised, for she added, “Nice, huh?”
“Hell is empty, right?” I said, echoing the words I had seen on the bus.
“Some dude called Shakespeare, apparently,” Susie responded. “And Rayder. That pretty much sums up his life’s philosophy.” I nodded, thinking that suited him. He seemed so cold, so harsh. “Anyway, come on, this restroom ain’t big enough for two. Monsters or not.”
I laughed, for the first time feeling more at ease. As we made our way back towards the others, I asked the questions which had been gnawing at me all afternoon. “So, how did you guys find me today?”
“Homing pigeons,” Susie answered, nodding her head in the direction of the roof of the bus. I was surprised that I had not noticed them before, tucked into the rafters on the bus’s roof, nestled between solar panels and bits of straw and debris. Their soft cooing punctuated the air, barely audible over the evening chatter. “Neal’s idea, of course. He’s the brains around here.”
“I noticed.”
“Yeah. Smart kid. Anyway, basically the runners control the four main routes on the way to Balen’s fortress. We’ve got a few scouts who spend most of their time out there, checking the routes. When they find anything worth telling us about, they send a pigeon on home.”
“Right,” I said slowly, still a bit confused by the logistics of it all.
“We don’t always catch up, but when we do,” Susie paused, “well, you were there.”
“So, your mission is to screw with Balen?”
“Nah, pretty much anyone and everyone’s fair game.” She started to laugh, tugging on my arm, “Kidding! You should see your face. Yeah, Balen and his runners. He’s the reason we’re all here. One way or another. Anyway,” she said, dragging out the last syllable of the word, “you need to get out of that dress!”
“Tell me about it,” I said, looking down at my nightdress, tucking out from beneath Rayder’s leather jacket, which I was still wearing.
She grinned, “I’m not exactly your size. My jeans would most definitely drown you.”
“Saff’s clothes will fit.” It was Rayder, surprising me by coming up behind us. I guessed he would probably know. “I’ll get her to bring you some.” He was about to move off again, when he asked, “So, who sold you?” He said it with such indifference, as if it meant nothing at all. To him, I supposed, that was the case.
“My aunt,” I replied, my voice flat.
Shrugging, he said, “Could be worse.”
As he strode off, Susie linked arms with me, “That’s our Rayder. Overly sensitive. A real shoulder to cry on.”
I laughed, even though I could not deny that I felt a touch hurt by his apathy and more than a little hurt over his conversation with Saffron. “Is he always like that?”
“Always,” she confirmed. “Anyway, Stef’s having a heart attack about Kieran’s arm, so I better go have another quick check. They’ve just started dating,” she went on to explain, “and it’s like you can actually smell cheese melting every time she talks about him. It’s horrific!” She smiled affectionately, clearly very close to her twin.
Shortly after Susie left me, Saffron approached, a bunch of clothes in her arms. “Here,” she said, extending
her hands towards me. “Rayder said you needed them,” she added swiftly, as if making sure I did not mistake her actions for kindness.
“Thanks,” I said, giving her a tight smile.
She turned to go without another word, her braid swinging over her shoulder. I could not help thinking that she and Rayder deserved each other.
And so it was that I took the next step in what I hoped would be my transformation. Once I had returned to the restroom to change my clothes, I looked down at myself, washed in the pale yellow glow of a lightbulb hanging by a thread from the top of the tent. I wore a pair of black denim jeans, skintight and ripped across the knees and thighs. Chunky black boots came up above my ankles, almost to the middle of my shins, while a fitted black vest, adorned with a silver studded tiger, exposed just a sliver of my midriff. I wore a sandy-colored leather jacket, littered with pins and metal badges, which I was sure matched my orange hair, falling messily over my shoulders. On winter nights, I usually wore little else but mohair pullovers and Nita’s hand-me-down corduroy pants. Perhaps it was naive, but somehow I felt that my new look might just be the start of something new. A new me. I lifted my head high, determined to appear braver than I felt.
They had started a fire, presumably meant for both cooking and warmth, and as I approached them all, I could feel their stares, some curious, some wary. I came to a stop at the fire, about to introduce myself, but not really sure what to say. Rayder, however, got there first.
“Guys, this is Aria. She’s with us from now.”
I met his gaze, which flicked to my feet, taking in my outfit. I thought I saw approval there, but I could not be sure.
“Hi everyone,” I said, hating that I sounded shy. Some of them called out a greeting, others nodded their heads or smiled.
As I went to sit beside Susie, I passed Rayder and handed him his jacket, “Thanks.”
He nodded, a lock of his dark hair falling into his eyes. His skin glowed in the firelight and I turned away, not wanting to stare. As I sat down, Susie muttered, “Bad boys, right?”
I pretended not to hear her, but I knew exactly what she meant. There was something alluring about him, something which made me feel distinctly uncomfortable, even while drawing me in. But, the last thing I needed was for anyone else to know that.
“Listen up,” Rayder called over the fire, interrupting my thoughts. “As you all know, today we got some more runners. And, we’ve come home with fuel and another rescue.” He frowned, “But, word out there is that Balen’s not taking too lightly to our attacks. We’ve got to be prepared for the worst. From tomorrow, I’m upping combat training, starting with six hours a day for the teens.” There was a mixed response to this, with some of the kids cheering, while others looked exhausted at the very thought of it. “Get a good night’s sleep,” he continued. “Slackers tomorrow are on cleaning duty for a week.” There were groans at this and, as he turned to leave, I saw him grin, something almost genuine.
Despite Rayder’s threat, the evening only seemed to begin then, as tins of tomatoes and beans were dished out, while strips of chicken were cooked over the fire, alongside puffy pink and white marshmallows. A pair of gangly teenage boys practiced fire dancing, streaks of blazing orange cutting through the blackness of the night. Ignoring his wounded arm, Kieran was sharpening an array of ruthless-looking knives, while Saffron was sorting through bullets. Once again, I was struck by the strange fusion of it all, the way a thread of violence knitted everything together. At some point while I was taking it in, I saw Rayder, staring thoughtfully into the fire, his dark eyes indiscernible in the shadows. Just then, he lifted his gaze and met my eyes. For an instant, I thought I saw something more than the tough, self-assured exterior he portrayed. There was something dark in his eyes: pain, a bitterness which I found myself wanting to understand. But, in the next moment, his expression was neutral once more, almost bored. I looked away, all the while feeling that I had just witnessed another layer to the apparently fearless leader of The Lost Kids.
Chapter 4
Rayder had not been exaggerating about the consequences for those who slacked during training. Already, several of the kids were on cleaning duty, although he did ease up on the littlest ones of them all. Gena, for instance, an exuberant seven year old with a face full of freckles and bulging green eyes, mostly just got in the way during practice, as she danced about in circles, singing encouragement. Then there was Calem, with his shock of white hair and the palest blue eyes I had ever seen. At only five years old, he was exempt from doing much at all, except the barest of self-defense, and that was mostly just about letting him have a little fun. On the other hand, eleven-year-old Ralph, whose hazel-colored eyes matched his smooth, tanned skin, was almost unrivaled with a bow and arrow, beating even Saffron at hitting targets.
“Nice, Ralphie,” Kieran called, who was slightly grouchy on account of being ordered to rest his injured arm and sit the round out. “Knocking out Saff is no joke!” Saffron huffed in response, muttering something about using an inferior bow. “Yeah, sure,” Kieran added, ignoring her glare. “Blame the weapon.”
“Easy, Kie,” Stef chided softly. “Saff’s right. That bow she’s using is rubbish.”
“Still,” he continued, shaking his head, “what’s the bet I could take all of you, even with the worst bow we got and my arm in pieces?”
“So, that’s your angle,” Susie laughed. “Irritate us enough to let you off bed rest.”
“Got to give me credit for trying,” Kieran mumbled, resuming his position reclining on a bean bag.
“If I were you,” Saffron called, “I’d spend more time trying to reduce the swelling and less time annoying all of us. Because, hey, you never know when that wound might just be opened up again in the very near future!”
“With that lousy arm,” Kieran countered boldly, “I think you’d have a hard time following through with that threat, Saffy.” In response, she promptly threw the remainder of an open bucket of water at him, drenching his face and hair, causing the little ones to howl with laughter. “Touché,” Kieran called, wiping his eyes. “Just don’t let Rayder catch you wasting water.”
“Worth it,” she retorted, smiling widely.
It was our third day of training and, although I was a long way off from any of the others, I was not embarrassing myself, as I had feared. Our days were far more structured than I had imagined, with different combat classes taken by those regarded as amongst the best in a particular field. With Saffron, we learned martial arts, focusing heavily on the skills of boxing and kicking. With Kieran, we were meant to practice knife-throwing, but, with his injury, he could only oversee training, rather getting Stef to show us the various techniques. I was surprised when it was Neal who demonstrated how to shoot a gun, as he seemed a little less violent than the rest. Naturally, his class included a thorough description of the science behind it all, much of which I could not completely understand.
At that moment, however, we were engaged in a bow and arrow competition, with Ralph firmly taking the lead.
“Anyway,” Susie interrupted, “how about a little game of all or nothing?”
I looked towards the so-called trophy for our little competition, a can of ice cold soda. After a morning of huffing and puffing in the sun, where even in winter, temperatures soared, I could use the refreshment.
“How’s that work?” I asked, intrigued.
“Draw straws to see who starts,” Stef explained, “and the one who hits the target first, wins.”
I drew fifth place and, when my turn came around, after no one had yet managed to strike the target, which was a tin can a good fifty feet away, I forced myself to imagine tasting the soda, so determined was I to win. It was not so much the soda, but my need to prove myself which spurred me on. As I prepared to fire my bow, I did as I had been told, standing with my feet shoulder-width apart and ensuring that my shoulders were perpendicular to my target. Next, I positioned the shaft of my arrow
onto my bow and held the bow in place at shoulder height, pulling back on the bowstring. Closing my eyes for the briefest moment, I looked up, taking in my target. In the next moment, I released the bow and watched as it sailed through the air, my breath held. Ting, rang out the can, as the arrow connected with it, causing it to topple off the rock upon which it sat.
“Alright!” Kieran yelled. “The newbie’s got game!”
Surprising myself, I bowed theatrically in response, a wide grin on my face.
“Not bad,” a voice drawled behind me. I turned to see Rayder, who had been scarce for several hours. He looked almost impressed.
“Beginner’s luck,” Susie joked, throwing the soda in my direction. “You give me a sip, I’ll be your friend for life.”
“You’re a cheap date,” I quipped, my mood still soaring.
“So I’ve been told.”
Susie, Stef and I ended up sharing the soda, sitting beneath a shade cloth, as we took a quick break.
“Where’s Rayder been this morning?” I asked conversationally, trying not to give away my keen interest in the subject.
“Rayder’s always on a mission,” Stef replied, taking a polite sip from the can.
“Probably cutting a deal for new weapons,” Susie agreed.
“Does anyone ever go with him?”
“Saffron often,” Stef said. “Or Kieran. When it’s bombs he’s after, though, it’s got to be Neal.”
“Why Neal?” I asked.
“He builds them,” Susie filled in, “so he knows his stuff.”
“How did he get here?” I questioned, wanting to know more about the shy boy who could not have been more than sixteen.
“His dad died. That’s who taught him everything,” Susie explained. “He was a scientist. When he got sick, organ failure in the end, he and Neal apparently did everything they could to save him. Balen came through their village one day and heard about Neal’s dad. He tried to make a buck selling him new organs.” She pulled a face, “Can you say sleazy? Anyway, obviously Neal’s dad was a stand-up guy and refused.”