The Lost Kids: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance

by J. L. Smith

  “Yeah,” Rayder replied, sounding smug.

  “How’d you get them in this here truck?” the third man asked, squat with a thick neck and skew jaw, as if he’d taken one too many punches.

  Rayder shrugged, “They tried to take us down on a run. Came off second best.”

  “Nice. This your crew?” the tall man asked, his eyes roving over us.

  “Yeah,” Rayder said. “Those kids didn’t stand a chance. Best shooters and knifers on the south eastern route in this truck.”

  “You kill any of them?” the short man asked excitedly.

  “Nah,” Rayder responded. “Balen wanted them alive. You guys want to earn a quick buck?”

  “Respect, buddy,” the pockmark-faced man said, nodding as if he’d just imparted invaluable wisdom. “A quick buck, though, you say. How?”

  “Spread the word. It’s easier on a bike to get through this mess.” Rayder indicated the queue ahead of us. “We need the guards up front to know.”

  “And what’s in it for us?” the tall man questioned, his eyebrows raised.

  “This,” Rayder said, opening his hands and showing them a fistful of notes.

  All three of them perked up and the tall man reached to snatch the notes. “Not so fast, guy,” Rayder said. “Half now,” he peeled some of the notes from his hand and passed them over to the man, “and half when the job’s done and we’re on our way in.”

  Despite grumbling in protest, the men dashed off speedily enough. Word spread quickly then, the crowd coming alive with anticipation before us, many of them jumping out of their vehicles and coming to see the spectacle for themselves. I turned in my seat to watch as those starting to surround our truck jeered at the actors, some of them throwing bits of half-eaten fruit and bread. The actors didn’t flinch, taking the blows with only cold glares and smug smiles in return.

  “Ray,” Stef whispered, “this could get ugly.”

  The crowd began to intensify, growing in number and gathering in anger.

  “Hey,” Rayder called out of his window. “No more bruises, boys. That’s Balen’s job.”

  “These guys killed my buddies,” one man shouted, tossing an apple at them, hard.

  “Yeah, join the club,” Kieran shouted back. “It’s Balen’s call what gets done to them, though.”

  A stone flew then, missing the actors and smashing through our back window, luckily missing us too as it landed. I gave a startled cry and Rayder flicked the engine on, revving it in readiness, although the path ahead was blocked.

  “Ray, we need to get the hell out of here,” Susie muttered, her gaze fixed on the angry little mob.

  “It won’t be long now,” Rayder replied.

  At the same time, another stone came, this one hitting Aidan on the thigh. He laughed, finally giving them a response, and it occurred to me how like Rayder he was in that moment. “Is that all you’ve got?” he called, prompting yet another stone to get flung in their direction, missing its mark.

  “Hey,” Rayder shouted again, “if you’re all so desperate to get on the wrong side of Balen, try this on for size.” He held his gun up out of the truck’s window, daring the crowd of easily three dozen people to make a grab for his weapon. “He wants them alive, but if you’ve got other ideas, go ahead.”

  The restless group began to quieten then, the anger still on their faces, but clearly no one dared to contradict Balen.

  “What’s he gonna do with them?” an older woman asked, a scar zigzagging down her cheek and chin. “They got my Lenny, I’m sure of it. Only eighteen.”

  “They better bleed,” another young girl shouted, her dirty blonde hair tied in low pigtails. “I wanna see their guts spill for what they done.”

  “You think Balen won’t make them bleed?’ Rayder asked, smiling.

  Just then, a guard burst through the crowd, a huge man with icy blue eyes and white dreadlocks. He wore a leather waistcoat draped in knives and held on to an axe, while a gun was holstered above the front pocket of his pants. The guard was accompanied by five other men, similarly attired, all of them with long dreadlocked hair. They had to be in Balen’s elite circle.

  “What’s all this about the bikers Balen’s looking for?” he asked, directing his cold stare at Rayder.

  Shrugging, Rayder replied coolly, “I brought them in, just like Balen wanted.”

  “Who are you?” the man snarled, before eyeing the actors in the back, fixing them with a glare.

  Just then, Aidan shouted, no doubt to distract from too many questions, “You got a problem, old man?”

  The head guard smiled malevolently, “A problem that’ll soon go away.” He raised his axe menacingly and walked slowly towards Aidan.

  For one horrifying moment, I was sure he was going to make a swing for Aidan’s head, but for a voice calling, “Stand down, Randolf.”

  The man, apparently Randolf, pulled his axe to his side in no time, before answering, “Yes, sir,” and saluting his superior.

  I recognized his superior immediately as Balen’s sidekick from the day we had met him. I seemed to recall that his name was Grigor. He wore dark glasses again, as well as a fierce frown, which I had guessed upon the previous occasion had to be permanent, for I could not possibly imagine the man smiling. His deep-brown skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, yet the collar of his leather jacket was pulled high, unnecessarily so, as the weather was fine.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Grigor barked at us, glaring hostilely.

  “I am,” Rayder said confidently. “And want to know what else?” When Grigor simply scowled, arms crossed, Rayder continued. “You’re Grigor, right?”

  “Get out of your car when you speak to me,” Grigor ordered.

  “Alright,” Rayder replied shrugging, before leisurely proceeding to open the car door and step outside.

  “Who’s in the back of your truck?” Grigor all but shouted, clearly accustomed to his instructions being followed with haste.

  Rayder smiled, “Exactly who you think they are.”

  “And that is?” Grigor asked, irritably.

  “Those bikers who’ve been messing with our runs.” Rayder pointed towards the actors, “The ones Balen wanted. I said I’d bring them in. Well, here they are.”

  “And where did you happen to find them?”

  “South eastern route,” Rayder replied. “Real far from here. Six, seven days’ drive, depending on who’s behind the wheel.” Rayder looked at them and grinned, before turning back to Grigor, “They tried to do us in, but we got them first.”

  Grigor strode towards the actors, glowering at them, “Who’s the ringleader here?” When there was no response, Grigor said, his tone quieter, more deadly, “I don’t ask twice.”

  I was clutching the seat of the vehicle, my nails digging into the upholstery, as I watched the exchange. The looks on the actors’ faces spoke of angry and open defiance. The silence stretched as Grigor became increasingly irate, sensing that they would not do his bidding. Just as he was reaching towards the holster of his gun, Aidan spat at him, a glistening globule of saliva which landed squarely on Grigor’s chin. The expression on his face could have killed.

  “I don’t take orders from you,” Aidan said, an almost mad look on his face. “Not one of Balen’s clowns. Not Balen. Not anyone.”

  For a moment, I thought Grigor was going to explode, yet as his guards came forward for the attack, he held his hand up to still them. Slowly using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the saliva from his face, he smiled at Aidan and said softly, “I’d kill you myself, but instead of wasting the effort, I’m simply going to enjoy watching you die. Balen tends to get creative with special deaths. And yours is going to be extra special.” Aidan merely grinned, while Grigor snapped his attention to Randalf and continued, “Clear a way for this vehicle. Get it to the front and I want all of them through the tunnel and to Balen, now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Randalf responded militantly
.

  “Name?” he asked Rayder.

  “It’s Damon,” Rayder replied.

  “Where’ve I seen you before?”

  “I met Balen after one of his underground weapons depot rallies,” Rayder replied smoothly. “I told him I’d bring these bikers in. And look, it’s done.”

  Grigor only nodded curtly. “Bring them in,” he said, addressing Randalf.

  Randalf nodded in return, following which he and his guards forced through the crowds, the vehicles beginning to move aside as they went, allowing us to drive right up to the front of the fortress. We were directed to one side, a little away from the crowds, ordered to park our vehicle in front of the great outer wall and get out immediately.

  “Legs apart,” one guard said to me, as I jumped out of the vehicle, my heart hammering in my chest.

  I nodded, spreading my legs shakily, as I took note of his appearance, his ugly sneer, eyepatch and black dreadlocks reaching down to the middle of his back. His hands began to rove my body, lingering too long on my stomach, my groin and breasts. He pulled the gun from my waistband and that tucked into my leather jacket. His hot breath touched my neck, as he instructed me to take off my boots. I did so, but not before catching Rayder’s eye, directly opposite me. His expression was deadly, his gaze locked on the guard searching me. I tried to smile at him in reassurance, but I imagined it came out looking forced and fearful. Feeling vulnerable at that point in our mission simply would not do. I would not be the girl who couldn’t look out for herself and her team. Tearing my boots off, I waited as the guard checked them, striving for cool nonchalance, even while my stomach twisted, as I prayed he would not find the two small, sharp knives fitted into each shoe. It seemed, however, that the hidden compartments did the trick, as our knives remained tucked in the thick soles of our boots. And, of course, most importantly: the bombs hidden in Neal’s boots remained our deadly secret.

  “Unchain them from the back,” Grigor ordered Rayder, once we had all completed our weapons check.

  “My pleasure,” Rayder smiled, appearing charming once more, but I could still see the anger in his eyes.

  He strode towards the actors, unlocking the padlocks attached to the body of the truck. Their hands and feet were still chained up though, and I marveled again at the discomfort the journey must have caused them.

  “Out, now!” Grigor insisted, directing his glare at them. When they simply looked at him defiantly, Grigor shouted, “Fools! Every petty act of rebellion will only prolong the torment of your deaths. But, be my guests.” Turning angrily to Randalf, he added, “I don’t have time for this. Get these idiots to Balen. And give them a bruise or two for your trouble.”

  “Yes, sir,” Randalf nodded promptly, an almost greedy grin on his face.

  I gulped, trying to reassure myself that they could not beat them too terribly, as Balen would not want them in bad shape just yet.

  “Follow me,” Grigor said to Rayder.

  “To Balen, I guess?” Rayder asked, sounding hopeful. I believed the emotion to be genuine, but for entirely different reasons.

  “Of course.”

  We left the actors then, making our way through a huge door in the wall, easily double my height, which was unlocked for us by a pair of guards. I heard the crash of something behind me, but before I could turn to see whether one of the actors had been hurt, I was pushed down the staircase of a wide, dark tunnel, illuminated only dimly by sconces on the walls. It was damp and cold and we were hurried along, each of us accompanied by a guard. The man with the eyepatch walked beside me, setting a brisk pace which I mimicked, once almost slipping on the clammy stones beneath my boots.

  “Easy, princess,” he muttered nastily. “I’d hate to see you disappear in a place like this.”

  I glared at him in return, despising his innuendo, “I don’t go down without a fight.”

  He smiled at me, winking with the one cool brown eye just visible in the light. I grimaced in disgust.

  We wove through the tunnel, taking flights of stairs down and then up again. With so little light and no windows, I could only imagine we were underground. We walked for at least five minutes in silence, only the sounds of our boots shuffling along on the stones. It was enough time to make me even more afraid of what was waiting for us on the other side.

  Stopping as abruptly as we had started, Grigor beat on another great door to match the first we had entered. A flap opened at eye level and a pair of green eyes peered through.

  “Balen in?” Grigor asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard on the other side of the door answered.

  “Good,” Grigor responded. “He’s going to want to see this.”

  And just like that, the door swung open and I could make out a steep flight of stairs, which I could only assume would lead us to Balen.

  Chapter 18

  The first thing that struck me about Balen’s private chambers was that they were pretty. Far too pretty for such a terrible man. The rich could afford luxuries and he certainly had wealth in abundance. The walls were draped from ceiling to floor in thick tapestries, mahoganies, deep blues, verdant greens. They depicted scenes from woodland nymphs frolicking in long-vanished meadows to strange mythological creatures, some of them horned, some of them with tails, some of them engaging in sexual escapades. They unnerved me, but still, one could not deny that the overall effect was magnificent. Gold and diamond chandeliers hung from the ceiling, while the floor was tiled in white marble, flecked with gold. Besides a few guards, the room was empty and I suspected that Balen was in the next room, shut off by an ornate wooden door.

  Grigor strode across the room, telling us to wait where we were. For a few minutes, he disappeared behind the wooden door and then it opened again.

  “You’ll join Balen for lunch,” Grigor said briskly to Rayder.

  “Just me?” Rayder asked and I was not sure if he was actually hoping that would be the case.

  “All of you,” Grigor responded.

  My heart in my throat, I followed Grigor and Rayder through the door, the guards who had accompanied us staying behind.

  Even before I entered the room, I heard Balen’s strong voice ask, “And who do we have here?”

  “The name’s Damon,” Rayder replied, showing no fear.

  At first, I barely noticed the tapestries hanging on the walls, the great wooden table and gold chairs, the fountain spurting water in one corner of the room, the Siamese cats perched on the window sills and marble statues, twinkling with gemstones, dotting the room. My eyes immediately went to Balen. He was almost exactly as I remembered him, just bigger somehow. Once again, he wore a leather vest, his tattoos on display as if to show his strength. His bald head disturbed me, with the black tattooed stripe adorning it almost aggressively. His piercings hadn’t changed, nor had the look in his black eyes: cocky, confident, with just enough of a hint of something evil within.

  Across the table from him sat Bea, the woman who had threatened me when Balen had flirted with me during our previous encounter. Her wild, dark curls were placed on top of her head in a messy bun and she wore deep red eyeshadow, perfectly matching the red velvet of her revealing top. I would have called her beautiful, if not for the palpable evil in her eyes. It was as if violence simmered just below her surface, always eager to escape.

  “Apparently, I met you at a rally,” Balen drawled, almost to himself, “although I can’t place you.”

  “It was after a rally,” Rayder said, arms crossed. “I told you I was going to bring those bikers in for you.” He shrugged casually, “And I got them.”

  Balen’s cool gaze assessed Rayder, before taking in the rest of us. It was impossible to tell whether he believed us, for he gave away no emotion. “You,” he said, eyeing me. “I remember you.”

  I gulped, smiling in what I hoped was a coy fashion. “You do?” I asked, trying to sound flirtatious.

  He smiled and it made my skin crawl, “Hard
to forget that hair. What’s your name?”

  “Sara,” I responded automatically.

  “Sara, come join me,” he patted the chair beside him and I could feel Bea glaring daggers at me.

  Just then, the door opened again and in came the actors, saving me from having to move towards Balen. I almost gasped seeing them. Aidan’s lip was cut and bleeding. Mabel had the beginnings of a black eye, while Christal had a bruise on her left cheek, as if the butt of a gun had connected with her skin. I could not meet their eyes, knowing that it should have been us.

  “So,” Balen said, his voice laced with anger now, “you’re the gang who’s been annoying me?”

  Aidan simply shrugged, again reminding me of exactly what Rayder would have done in his position. It occurred to me that Aidan must have been studying Rayder closely, getting into character as he watched.

  “Kid,” Balen said, his voice dangerously low, “this is how it’s going to work. When I speak, you answer. If you choose not to do what I say, Grigor over there is going to put a bullet into each of your heads and I’ll go on eating my lunch.” He paused, lifting a forkful of meat into the air. We all watched as he ate it slowly. “I’ll ask one more time. Are you the bikers who’ve been annoying me?”

  “Depends what you mean by annoying,” Aidan responded arrogantly, cocking his eyebrows.

  Balen’s eyes narrowed, “Are you the bikers who’ve been stealing my harvest, my fuel, my medical supplies, my weapons?” His voice slowed down as he listed our supposed crimes. “Are you the bikers who’ve been blowing up my trucks? Killing my runners?”

  Aidan smiled slowly, “Yes to everything, but one.”

  Balen smiled in return, seemingly enjoying the game now. “And that is?”

  “It’s not your harvest.”

  “How so?” Balen mused, twisting his knife into the air. “I pay for it, ergo it’s mine.”

  “You mean you pay for them,” Aidan snapped, seemingly losing his temper, his tone clipped. “They’re people, not plants. And they only belong to you if they want to. And I’ll bet they don’t.”