The Lost Kids: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance

by J. L. Smith

  “She’ll be on the back of my bike,” Rayder said, his tone cold. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t screw it up.”

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted, all too tired of people speaking on my behalf. Nita had been doing it for too long and I was not about to let it start happening again. “But, firstly, she has a name. And secondly, she is not going to screw it up. And she,” here I looked at Rayder, “doesn’t need anyone babysitting her.” Rayder seemed to be on the verge of speaking, but I continued anyway, a little less emotionally this time, “I’m not an idiot, you guys. I won’t mess this up.”

  Rayder shrugged, “Well, you heard the girl.”

  Saffron sighed, rolled her eyes dramatically and muttered, “Fine.” She strode off then, in search of Neal, but not before she had the last say, “Just don’t screw this up. You do and we die.”

  “No pressure,” I said under my breath. Turning back to Rayder, I noticed that he was smiling. “Something amusing?” I asked, but my voice had lost its bluster.

  He raised his eyebrows, “Maybe a little.”

  “Is she always like that?”

  “Saffron?” He seemed to ponder this for a moment, “Yeah.”

  “Saffy hates Balen a little harder.” It was Kieran who spoke, coming up behind us.

  “You heard that rant?” I asked.

  “Whose rant?” Kieran smiled, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Yours or Saff’s?”

  I rolled my eyes at him, but couldn’t help laughing. “Why does she hate him more?”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Kieran questioned in response. “If you’d been his child sex slave?”

  I felt the blood draining from my face and immediately clutched my stomach, feeling ill at the thought.

  “Kieran,” Rayder said sharply.

  “What?” Kieran asked sheepishly, glancing from Rayder to me. “I thought she knew.” But one look at my face and he must have seen just how little I knew of Saffron’s past. “Sorry,” he muttered, seeming truly repentant.

  I shook my head in response, not trusting my voice, while Rayder said, “Yeah, okay.” After an awkward silence, he continued, “You ready?”

  “Born ready,” Kieran replied, sounding more like himself, although I thought I detected a slight blush. I imagined he hated letting Rayder down, even if it was inevitable that I would have found out somehow.

  “Let’s get going,” he nodded at Kieran and, just like that, I could sense that their connection was repaired. Kieran strode off, his gait determined.

  I was still reeling from my discovery about Saffron. How young had she been when Balen had captured her? And, more importantly, what unspeakable acts lay buried in her past?

  As if reading my mind, Rayder took a step towards me, “Don’t ever let her see you feeling sorry for her.”

  “Who?” I replied half-heartedly.

  He simply raised his eyebrows by way of reply, and I nodded. I still could not say that I liked Saffron, but I had to respect her. Perhaps, too, I could grow to understand her.

  “Here,” Rayder said, interrupting my thoughts as he shoved an automatic firearm into my hands. “Try not to use it.”

  “Right. So, more for show?”

  “Not really.” He slung another automatic gun over his shoulder. “More like, for emergencies.”

  I nodded, “Got it.”

  “And, Aria,” he added, with a hint of a smile on his face, “try not to distract me.”

  Intrigued, I asked, “Distract you how?”

  “With all your questions.” He jumped on his motorcycle and proceeded to fit his goggles.

  “If you insist.” I smiled, “Okay, last one. How long’s the ride?”

  “Maybe six hours. Now, get on,” he grinned, looking wickedly handsome, “before I change my mind.”

  I climbed on behind him, unable to resist giving him a light smack on the shoulder. After securing my goggles, respirator mask and helmet, we were finally off and there I was – on my first mission with The Lost Kids.

  The ride through that dark, windswept night was tougher than I had expected it to be. They rode faster, pushed harder, than I had anticipated. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that had I been on my own bike as a new rider, I would not have stood a chance of keeping up. As it was, I simply had to cling to Rayder, while my joints ached as the hours ticked on by. Nevertheless, I gradually became accustomed to it all – the way my goggles were constantly caked in orange sand, the way insects smashed against the plastic before my eyes, some of them leaving a wing or a leg in my peripheral vision. I got used to my respirator mask, which did not quite fit. It was too tight, the small opening forcing me to breathe in hot, sticky air. Every so often, I would feel a fluttering of panic, the beginning of claustrophobia, and I would have an insane urge to rip off the studded leather jacket which I wore. But, then I would focus on Rayder, the wisps of his dark hair which crept out from under his helmet, the way his hands were so steady on the handlebars. And I would admit, only in the quietness of my thoughts, that I was exactly where I wanted to be.

  Ever so slowly, I began to detect the lightening of the horizon. Patches of the desert seemed to be coming to life, as the promise of another day began to permeate the air. I saw a flock of birds dipping off in search of the light and watched as curious rodents poked their noses out of their little holes. Gradually, as the sun climbed out of the horizon, bathing the morning in sharp, clean yellow and washing the sky in a deep blue, I noticed the scenery changing. Almost imperceptibly, the sandy flatness began to give way to pebbles, then to rocky red outcrops and proud, twiggy cacti. The rocks began to pool together, becoming taller and stranger, forming troughs and peaks, making riding more difficult, as we jolted over the hard ground. Then, like an oasis in that bleakness, the south eastern route was suddenly upon us, a road easily five vehicles wide, brazenly cutting through the wilderness.

  It was as if a switch had been turned on and all at once there was a palpable sense of adrenaline in the air. Kieran whooped loudly, before drawing his bike up and doing a handful of wheelies. I could hear Stef laughing, while Susie started zigzagging her bike across the sand. Even Neal seemed animated, circling around the same giant rock several times, while Kieran cried encouragement enthusiastically.

  Then Rayder shouted over his shoulder, “Hold tight!”

  I tightened my grip around his waist and, in the next instant, we were doing a series of wheelies of our own, my stomach lurching each time Rayder thrust the bike into the air. I screamed in delight, closing my eyes and, not for the first time, I considered that they really were just a bunch of kids still, with an endless propensity to play. But, a different game entirely lay ahead. Of that much, I was sure.

  Chapter 6

  We rode on, the desert seeming to me to become a timeless thing, as the sun made its way up the blue void of the sky, inch by ever so slow inch. As the morning began to slip by, I found myself wondering whether we had somehow managed to miss the truck altogether. I understood that we had intersected the south eastern route as close to Balen’s fortress as was thought safe and that we were following that road in the opposite direction. In all likelihood, the truck was before us, coming for us still. Of course, I could not help worrying – half of me hoping we would never come across the truck, while the braver part of me felt concerned that Rayder had somehow miscalculated.

  Then, I would feel his firm waist or the expanse of his shoulders beneath my fingers – somehow there was a confidence there, even as he said nothing at all. It was in the way he held himself, alert, but almost relaxed at the same time, as if nothing could take him by surprise. For me, however, the surprise was the way I felt when I held him. I felt safe, something which I had not expected to find when I was near him. Always, his proximity had elicited tension – my heart would beat a little faster, I would find my eyes darting nervously in his direction. But, here, even as we recklessly chased danger, I felt protected, a little less vulnerable. I could
no longer deny it to myself – it was more than just attraction. The truth was, I was developing feelings for him. I shook my head angrily as I swallowed the fact, knowing that where Rayder was concerned, I was out of my depth, surely destined to have my heart broken. I needed to concentrate on our mission, on my newfound position in The Lost Kids, and not some silly infatuation.

  Just as I had decided that the best course of action was to ignore my feelings entirely, Rayder came to a halt, the wheels of his bike skidding, as he signaled that the others should follow his lead. They pulled their bikes around his, forming a tight circle in the middle of that wide dusty road. Taking the opportunity for fresh air, Rayder tugged aside his helmet and mask and pulled off his goggles, letting them hang around his neck. Strands of dark, wet hair stuck to his forehead and I had an insane urge to brush them away and tuck them carefully behind his ear. Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek, a chastisement of sorts.

  “Water.” Rayder held out his hand towards Saffron, beside him, who was sucking on a bottle of water. She passed it over to him graciously, despite their earlier argument, and he finished it off in a few gulps. Rayder handed the bottle back to her and I could not help but envy their closeness. My moment of jealousy left me feeling petty, especially given where we were and what we were doing. “I’m guessing we have half an hour,” Rayder continued, fortunately oblivious to my mundane thoughts.

  “Unless they’ve broken down,” Kieran added.

  “Assuming they haven’t,” Rayder countered.

  “A code orange is generally a little too badass to break down,” Susie said, “or slow down, for that matter.”

  “Yeah,” Saffron quipped resentfully, “if they don’t get those organs harvested.”

  “Someone else will,” Susie filled in.

  “So, half an hour?” Kieran asked, brushing his fingers through his wet curls.

  “Roughly,” Rayder responded, “by my calculations.” Brushing a strand of hair behind his ear, he added, “Oh, and it’s a metal spiker. I forgot to mention.” He said it with all the casualness of someone discussing afternoon tea.

  “Now, why do I get the feeling that’s not something warm and fluffy?” I said, causing Susie and Kieran to laugh.

  “Spikes protecting the load,” Kieran responded. “Hence, the name.”

  “Right,” I nodded, not liking the sound of that.

  “I’m going to mount it,” Rayder continued, speaking with authority, as if he scaled a moving vehicle every other day. “Kieran, you’ll need to split the windshield while I’m up there, buying us some time. The rest of you, they’ll have better weapons than us. Keep that in mind.”

  “Not for long,” Kieran grinned.

  “Yeah.” Rayder actually smiled as he said it.

  As we readied to go, Rayder tugging his helmet back on, I asked, “So, I just hold on?” I was not at all sure why I was still going to be riding with him. Surely, it just added unnecessary danger.

  Rayder shrugged, “Yeah.” As an afterthought, he added, “Unless I’m injured or die. Then, I’d suggest shooting.” I was sure I detected a hint of laughter in his voice. “Otherwise, just watch and learn.”

  “I guess, let’s hope you don’t die, then.”

  He smiled at that, “I’d prefer it that way.”

  Rayder was right. I supposed I should not have been surprised. Just as I felt that the half hour was surely upon us, we saw the truck rounding a corner between two burnt orange outcrops of rock. It was like nothing I had ever seen before, thrusting up murky clouds of dust as it gained on us. Even from a distance I could make out the spikes of which Kieran had spoken. Great, sharp metallic structures protruded from the cylindrical container attached to the enormous vehicle, protecting whatever load lay within those silver walls. It had mammoth rubber tires, almost spikey-looking, caked in patches of orange and brown, while the front of the vehicle was black, except for the grille, which boasted streaks of silver and blood red, resembling flames. Although it was still a way off, I had a feeling that the driver could tell why we were there. It seemed to me that the vehicle slowed down somewhat, as if preparing for the attack. I watched in awe as the gang began to spread out, slinking through the great rocks beside the road, as if to surround the truck as I had seen them do the day of my own rescue.

  In the next instant, Rayder and I were flying across the sand, weaving in and out of those smooth rocky structures with a speed I had not quite expected. As we drew nearer to the truck, I noticed Rayder heading towards yet another giant red boulder, perhaps slightly bigger than the rest and shaped so as to be somewhat easier to scale. Its gradient was gentle, yet it rose to some height – an ideal location from which to mount the vehicle, once it came rushing by us. Unless, of course, it changed course. But, Rayder’s speed prevented such forethought and I was almost sure the driver could not expect our underhanded attack. Before I could think too much on it, Rayder pulled the motorcycle onto the rock, ascending the boulder while slowing down only slightly. The bike wobbled as we moved, but his timing could not have been better. I watched as the truck began to sail past us and, suddenly, we were airborne, the orange sand below us, the wind rushing beneath our feet. We landed between two great metallic spikes, hitting the top of the cylinder with an ominous thud. And then, all hell broke loose.

  Bright flames erupted from both windows of the vehicle, as the driver and his passenger directed their flamethrowers at us all. Fire leapt across the surface of the vehicle, orange tongues stretching out towards us, so that I could feel their threatening molten heat. Rayder swerved his motorcycle in response, narrowly missing one of the spikes, but he did not reduce his speed in the least. We were barreling across the cylinder, easily the length of six ordinary-sized vehicles, yet, despite our speed, time seemed to slow down a little, even while my pulse accelerated. I willed my eyes to stay open, watching as we darted between the immense metallic spikes, while Rayder expertly guided the bike mostly with one hand, shooting with the other.

  Just then, a sunroof opened up and the passenger, a huge, swarthy man with a black beard, launched himself onto the roof, directing his weapon at us. Rather than betray even an iota of hesitation, Rayder continued on what seemed to me to be our suicide mission, while flames spewed out towards us, as the man shot fire in our direction. We were coming towards the windshield now. I could make out the grooved lines around the man’s eyes, the way the hair just at the back of his head stood slightly on end. I disliked the intimacy of it – somehow, I imagined warfare being more distant, muting the effect of killing, if only a little. The man ducked and I realized that he had dodged a bullet, although I had no idea who had fired it. At the same time, I heard a splintering of glass and, in perfect unison, the truck swerved precariously. The windshield must have been shattered by Kieran, where Rayder seemed more than prepared, as if he had been waiting for it. He pulled the bike in the opposite direction from that of the skidding truck, keeping us upright. The jolting of the vehicle must have surprised the man shooting at us, for he lost concentration. In the end, it cost him his life.

  Rayder’s bullet found its way into his chest, propelling the man backwards. He was flung from the vehicle and I turned sharply as we rushed by, to see him coming to his final resting place on the swirling sands below. Red pulsated from his chest and, as I looked away, I became aware of the crows, beginning to circle overhead, ready to take what belonged to them now. It happened in a matter of seconds, the truck still veering violently, the driver evidently losing control.

  Rayder did not miss a beat. In the next moment, we were airborne once more, the sand rushing towards us as we narrowly missed being trampled by the truck as we came off the front of it. Instead, we landed with a thud on the desert floor, the truck screaming past us just to our left. Unable to stop myself, I closed my eyes, letting out a scream, barely audible over the cries of the engines in the air. We skidded as Rayder began to slow us down, the bike stumbling over stones and bits of rough vege
tation. Turning back to watch the progress of the truck, I saw the very instant when its wheels lost control, when the weight of its load became too much to bear. All at once, it flipped, landing heavily on its side with a terrible crunch, as the spikes grated against the hard earth. It came to a halt behind us, a mess of spinning wheels and crumpled metal. A few lonely strands of grey smoke emerged from beneath the hood, promising further wreckage.

  “The driver still alive?” Saffron shouted, coming to a stop a few yards from where we hovered, watching the truck.

  “Don’t know yet,” Rayder replied, sounding remarkably unruffled for someone who had just mounted a moving vehicle and killed a man. Then, surprising me entirely, he half turned his head and asked softly, “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I replied hesitantly, although it was a flat-out lie.

  Characteristically, he ignored my response, “You want to find out?” It took me a moment to realize he was directing his question at Saffron.

  “Sure,” Saffron replied.

  The others were catching up to us, but we took off again, towards the truck. The smoke from the hood was rising more quickly now, but it seemed we did not care. Instead, Rayder edged towards the shattered windshield, to make out the fate of the driver. Fate had been kind to him, for his head rested against the soft cushioning of his seat and, other than looking dazed, he was unharmed.

  Saffron stalled her bike first, raising her gun up at him. It appeared that his own weapon had been flung from reach, as he did not retaliate, but merely stared at us, his eyes very round.

  “Get out with your hands up,” Saffron called, her voice harsher than the desert sands. The man seemed clearer-headed now, narrowing his eyes at her. He did not respond, instead wriggling a little to his right. Saffron did not hesitate. She fired a shot at one of the tires of the truck, causing it to burst. “Out! Now! Or that’ll be your head.”