The Lost Kids: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance

by J. L. Smith

  I had hardly begun my introspection, when I saw the hospital, all red bricks and white arches and cornices. It was pretty, almost welcoming, as if people were not dying from the same plagues that harassed us in the desert. But, of course, we knew better. We were shepherded in, whisked through a reception area with attendants and orderlies who eyed us suspiciously. We filed along white hallways, quiet, but for the shuffle of the nurses and doctors who walked on by and the anguished groans from within the rooms we sailed past. I attempted to peek into a ward where the door was left ajar, but my escort prodded me on, not giving up the pace for a moment. But, try as they might, they could not pretend that the smell of death was not fresh in the air. It showed its face in the masks that the doctors wore, in the little red crosses marking some of the doors, in the silent dread which sat upon that place. I wanted to get out. I wanted the fresh air of my harsh and hellish desert instead.

  Finally, we were ushered into a stark white room and greeted by a woman dressed in a pressed, white uniform, austere against her aging, caramel-colored skin and dark braids pulled into a bun at the back of her head. Despite her orderly appearance, there was something dangerous in her smile.

  “Patricia,” she said, by way of introduction. “I don’t mind giving my name away.” She eyed our nameless friend derisively, “It’s hardly a state secret.” She paused, before adding, “Those, I keep.”

  “Like the diseases killing your people,” Rayder commented bluntly.

  Patricia narrowed her eyes slightly at him, “You must be the leader of your little gang.”

  “At your service, for today it seems,” Rayder responded, smiling without humor.

  “And you are?” she asked.

  “Damon,” he replied without missing a beat. “Can we get this show on the road?”

  “A man of action.” She wrung her hands together, “I’ve always enjoyed them.”

  “Great,” Susie muttered, “another one.”

  It seemed, however, that Patricia had more on her mind than strong men, for she began testing the organs hastily, ordering our escorts about as if they were her minions, which perhaps they were. We sat down in a line of chairs, waiting as she did the necessary tests in an adjoining room. It was perhaps an hour later that she returned, all of us, even the usually patient Neal, bored and more than ready to leave.

  “Damon,” she said as she strutted back into the room, causing us all to stand in expectation, “I believe we have a deal.”

  Nodding, Rayder responded, “Good to hear, after the trouble it took to get here.”

  “We are somewhat off the beaten track,” Patricia confirmed. “Although, that’s the way we like it.”

  “Not quite far enough away to escape the outbreaks, though, right?” Saffron said a little aggressively, gesturing to the walls around us as if they might offer their support.

  “Sadly, no,” Patricia responded, looking Saffron up and down. “In that respect, we’re still part of your world.”

  “How terrible for you,” Saffron muttered.

  Patricia smiled wryly, a twinkle in her eyes, “It is rather. Okay,” she turned her attention back to Rayder, “let’s discuss terms. Ten thousand. That’s all we can offer.”

  Rayder actually started to laugh, “Pat,” a pause, “do you mind if I call you that?” She nodded her consent in apparent amusement. “You and I both know you have a hell of a lot more to put on the table. Not only that, but we both know you need these organs a lot more than we want the cash.”

  “Perhaps,” Patricia conceded, pressing her glossed lips together, “but we usually ask that our guests play nice. We would hate anything to happen to them while they’re down here.”

  Her threat sat heavily for an instant, before Rayder responded as if they were discussing the weather, “That would be tragic, especially when Balen has such a special interest in this particular group of guests.” Her gaze hardened as she seemed to be deciding whether to call his bluff. Rayder continued, “Besides, a good guest always has a reason to return home, like, say, a really big stash of weapons and friends who aren’t afraid to use them.”

  Patricia’s face broke into a smile, “Gumption. How marvelous on a boy your age!” When Rayder did not respond, she said, somewhat in resignation, “Okay, name your terms.”

  “Forty thousand.” When she raised her eyebrows, he added, “And a night’s rest here.” The last part surprised me.

  “Thirty thousand,” Patricia countered, brushing her hands against her starched skirt, “and a dinner before we send you on your way. We have a no-guest-stays-over policy,” she added, falsely apologetic.

  “Thirty five,” Rayder said, “and we’ll ditch the dinner and throw in a swim in the waterfall.”

  Patricia smiled and looked over at the blonde man, who I had forgotten was in the room, “See Damon and his friends over to the falls, Lyle.” His name fell from her tongue with such condescension, that I could not help smiling along with her. “And get the thirty five grand to them on their way out. By order of council.”

  We swam in their waterfall that evening, bathed in the glow of thousands of amber city lights. It was the strangest feeling in the world, having never had the luxury of swimming before. Sure, my feet were touching the ground, so it was not exactly swimming, but my body felt unfettered, free of the earth for a while. The cool water tickled my skin, kissed my whole body, making me laugh for the pure joy of indulging in something so far removed from the gritty, invasive desert sand.

  “This really your first time?” Susie yelled over the crashing of the falls, tracing her fingers through the water.

  “Yeah, why is that so hard to believe?” I replied, grinning and splashing water in her direction. “The desert isn’t exactly overflowing with this stuff.”

  “Suse,” Stef chipped in, “you say that like we’ve done this loads of time. Aria, this is precisely the second swim of our lives. The first was on a mission last year,” she went on to explain. “We happened to meet up with these runners dropping organs off at this exotic house which happened to have a pool!”

  “Yeah,” Kieran added, “so after we offed them all, we took a swim to cool off!”

  “Lovely,” I said, smiling, despite myself.

  “It was!” Susie said, winking at me.

  I laughed, enjoying watching the others in the water. Ordinarily, I would have been conscious that we were all in our underwear, but I could not bring myself to care. Even Rayder’s presence did not bother me, as I relished every moment of our temporary dip into paradise. Saffron moved beautifully in the water, gliding along on her back without a care in the world. I imagined she had spent time in the water in her childhood, having grown up in Balen’s fortress, which presumably had such luxuries. Although, I could not imagine they were exactly happy memories.

  I made my way over to the falls themselves, stumbling a bit over the uneven rocks beneath my feet. I stood a while, taking in the expanse of the rushing water, the deep grumble as masses of it tumbled over the cliff. It was almost ridiculous to think that it was all manmade.

  “How’s your first swim?” Rayder spoke in a low, husky tone from behind me, causing the hairs on my arms to stand on end.

  I spun around, “Not really a swim, more of a water walk, but it’s good.”

  “I thought so,” he replied, rather cryptically.

  An idea struck me then and I blurted out, “Did you ask Patricia about the swim for me?”

  He smiled, “Maybe.”

  “You knew they wouldn’t let us spend the night here,” I continued. “This was what you really wanted.”

  “It’s what you wanted,” he corrected and I could not think of one intelligent thing to say. Rayder had done it for me.

  “Thank you,” I said after a pause, and, despite the cool of the water, my skin was on fire as I stared at him, seeing him again through fresh eyes.

  Chapter 13

  We left Paradise Falls armed with a bag
of cash, thirty five thousand in notes. As an added bonus, our clothes were given back to us on departure, washed and pressed, which Neal told us had nothing to do with courtesy and everything to do with taking extra precaution. The mood was light as we piled into our truck, which was surprising given that we had just sold a chest of organs. I tried not to think about it, reminding myself that what was done was done and that it was all for a good cause anyway. Still, it was a gray area, a very dark gray area, and I knew it.

  Regardless, it seemed to be understood by us all that we would not speak of it, from a moral standpoint, that is. We had the means to implement our plan, where the first port of call was locating the actors which Rayder had spoken about. We could only hope that they would take the bait and agree to pretend to be us.

  “So, how are we going to find them, anyway?” Kieran asked that night, as we sat around our campfire, a good fifty miles from the underground city.

  “There’s only one person I can think of who’ll know for sure,” Saffron said, taking a bite out of an apple.

  Kieran regarded her for a moment, before replying, “Who, Madame Sonyaba?”

  “Who else?” Saffron said, shrugging.

  “Is she even still alive?” Kieran asked, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. “I thought she’d be way dead by now. She’s like a hundred.”

  “We’d have heard if she was dead,” Saffron countered.

  “Who’s Madame Sayaba?” I asked.

  Flicking her gaze to me, Saffron answered, “Sonyaba. She’s this old lady whose business it is to know where everyone who’s anyone is.”

  “Why doesn’t she know where we are, then?” I responded in confusion.

  Shrugging, Saffron said, “Anyone can get themselves lost in the desert if they try hard enough. But, if anyone were to know where we are, it would be Madame Sonyaba.”

  “But she doesn’t,” Kieran added. “Otherwise, we’d have been found long ago.”

  “The actors, though,” Stef said, “they will want to be found.”

  Rayder had approached the campfire at Stef’s last comment, having apparently gone in search of a hoodie, which he was putting on, the last of his tattoos disappearing from view as he did. “What’s that?”

  “We’re just discussing how we’re going to find the actors,” Saffron filled him in.

  “Madame Sonyaba,” he responded immediately, his eyebrows furrowed, as if it were obvious.

  I felt a slight twinge of jealousy. It was ridiculous, but I could not help envy Rayder and Saffron, the way they were so in tune. My jealousy was short-lived, however, as plans to get to Madame Sonyaba were swiftly underway.

  It was not a terribly long journey by desert standards, only slightly over two days’ south of us, but we had to restock our fuel supplies along the way, which dipped into the money we planned to use on the actors. There was nothing to be done about it, however, although Saffron did grumble that the truck consumed more fuel than all of the bikes combined. I did not think it was true; it was more likely that she simply missed her motorcycle. I had to admit that I occasionally felt the same, not that I had my own motorcycle to miss. It was the solitary time which I missed. The truck so often felt a little too cramped, all of us trapped in there for days on end, our conversations deteriorating as we became increasingly bored.

  Just shy of two and a half days into yet another one of our journeys, we reached Madame Sonyaba’s speck of a village. She resided in the outer circle of the village, which was a little over a dozen houses strong, having set up shop within a small, but very bright purple tent. From the exterior, it seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary, just another slip of a tent collecting dust in the desert, its fabric door flapping in the breeze. It was only once you stepped inside that you were transported into another world. Lanterns and lamps from eras past dotted the space, each housing flickering flames which bathed the walls in light. Colorful glass orbs hung from every conceivable corner of the tented roof, flooding the makeshift room with splashes of red and gold and royal blue. Pale pink and deep green crystals were strewn about in little patches on tables and stools, catching the light and seeming to dance in shimmery patterns.

  Deep red and mocha-colored mats lined the dusty floor, thick and fluffy and waiting patiently for her clientele to be seated. The tent was heavy with fumes, as incense burners competed with one another, drowning the air in sweet odors. And, in the middle of it all, there she sat on a red divan. Dressed in layers of midnight blue velvet, her gray hair covered by a soft black gossamer scarf, she looked the very part of a fortune teller, although apparently that was only what she did on the side. Her primary source of income was working as some sort of decrepit desert map, pointing out everyone’s location and giving away any number of secrets along the way.

  Her aging lips broke into a smile as we trudged into her tent and I could practically see her counting her money, as she rubbed her old hands gently together. “Gather around, young ones,” she called, her voice thin and reedy. “Sit, sit, it’ll do no good hovering.”

  We made space for each other on the mats before her, sitting on our knees and cross-legged, as she adjusted her black scarf absently, waiting impatiently to begin her trade.

  “You’d think she could afford decent seating,” Susie mumbled as she tugged her boots off in discomfort.

  Saffron cleared her throat rather than respond, signaling our readiness and causing Madame Sonyaba to look down at us in something like surprise, “Goodness, I had all but forgotten you. One of the side effects, I’m afraid,” she shook her head slowly, “in navigating the dimensions.” She sighed theatrically, “It can be a lonely life. Being only half here, and half there.” She waved vaguely in the direction of the entrance to the tent.

  “Sure, sure,” Susie nodded, looking over her shoulder towards the entrance, “the curse of being gifted, right. I know how you feel. It can be a real drag.”

  I looked at my feet, biting the inside of my cheek in an effort not to laugh. When I glanced back at Madame Sonyaba, she was glaring down at Susie, “What can I do for you?” she said, her voice suddenly sounding a whole lot younger than it had before.

  “Where’re looking for people who want to be found,” Susie replied, all business. “So, it should be a fairly straightforward transaction.”

  “My dear,” Madame Sonyaba smiled without warmth, “nothing is ever as simple as it seems.”

  “It’s a group of actors,” Rayder cut in, sounding somewhat irritable. “They’re called The Darkness. Or, at least, they were last time I checked, which was maybe two years ago. They were doing a theater circuit in the west. We need to find them.”

  Madame Sonyaba regarded Rayder for a long moment, before shaking her head slowly, “Still so angry. I had hoped you would have conquered it by now, dear.” Clearly, age had not diminished her mind a jot, for she evidently recalled exactly who Rayder was from his last visit to her tent. Lucky for us, she did not know about his revenge mission.

  “Anger’s not high on my priority list of conquests,” he responded coolly.

  “It should be, dear. Anger makes a rather lonely bedfellow.”

  “I’m not big on sleep anyway,” he said, smiling wryly.

  “Yes,” she mused, “I don’t suppose you are. At least, that seemed to be the trouble last time.”

  “I’ll pay extra for the end of your advice,” he threw out rather too cynically. “But, how much to find The Darkness?”

  Madame Sonyaba smiled and I could see gold in that smile. She knew we wanted them badly and she knew we had the means to pay. She named her price. Rayder did not argue, but paid it, his gaze pure steel as he did so. And so, she told us where we needed to go.

  “That was practically highway robbery,” Kieran grumbled, as we piled into our truck once more.

  “You could have at least tried to wear the old hag down,” Susie agreed, casting a quizzical look at Rayder.

  “I was having a bad day last
time I was here,” Rayder replied mysteriously. “I didn’t feel like reliving it.”

  Furrowing my brow, I caught Rayder’s eye. He had paid for her silence, not wanting her to spill any of his secrets, or perhaps what he perceived as his vulnerabilities. Again, I thought how lonely he had to be, never really opening up to any of us. Except me, I corrected internally, the night he told me about his family.

  “We’ve all been there, I guess,” Susie replied, without the slightest hint of mockery. “Except, some of us don’t mind talking about it,” she added in a fake whisper, causing Rayder to sigh.

  “Do we still have enough cash for the actors?” I asked, addressing Rayder.

  “Nah,” Rayder said, “so I was planning on selling one of the twins.” He looked pointedly at Susie, “I mean, we don’t really need two.”

  Susie promptly burst out laughing, causing Rayder to smile at her genuinely, “I believe you just made a joke, Ray. Hold your hats, folks, it’s a rare event! Might just rain today!” She bowed at him dramatically, and we all started laughing then, taking in Rayder’s attempt not to laugh along too.

  Even Saffron added, “He’s cracking a smile.”

  “It can’t be helped,” Susie said. “Even the most serious of men do, on occasion!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Rayder laughed, “get in, before I leave you behind.”

  The mood was merry as we left Madame Sonyaba’s little village behind, the houses climbing back into the sand as the horizon stretched behind us. Susie entertained us with a bunch of bawdy popular folk songs, following which Stef sang in earnest, her voice like an angel, clear and crisp and containing every true thing there ever was or ever will be. It was the first time I had heard her sing, which was a tragedy, for she should have been singing always. It was as if she carried the world in each note: all the joy; all the sadness; everything that is messy and chaotic and what makes us human. She sang of ordinary things, of desert storms, of loves lost and won, of friends and foes. As she did, we all gradually became still, each locked in our own worlds, reliving old pains and old smiles. I thought of my parents, the way my mom used to lick the wooden spoon when she was baking bread, getting batter stuck in the corner of her mouth until my dad kissed it off some time later. I thought of my dad, the way he used to talk to the Angora goats, telling them about the day his world fell to pieces and was remade, with my mother at its center.