by Morgan Rice
All the prisoners begin to follow me. For the first time since being chained to the front of my group, I catch sight of Bree, way, way back. She and Charlie are attempting to liberate Jack and Penelope from their cages. I’m about to scream at them that there’s no time when they manage to get the cage open. The dogs leap down and start running toward me and Ryan. Bree and Charlie clasp their hands together and run at full speed through the fire and smoke, jumping over smoldering body parts and hunks of metal. I want to run to Bree, to sweep her into my arms, but I know I have to keep going forward. I have to trust that she’ll follow.
Ryan is right beside me as I run. Out of all the prisoners, we’re the only two completely free from our shackles. The others are still bound together. They’re all running at different speeds and attempting to maneuver in different directions around debris. It’s slowing us down, giving the slavers a chance to regroup. There’s no way we’ll be able to get all the prisoners free. But then I have an idea. Maybe we can use this to our advantage.
I tell Ryan my plan and he looks at me like I’m crazy. But when he looks back and sees the bikes racing toward us in a line, he knows this is the only chance we have of defeating our captors. We pass the message back to the prisoners and one by one they nod their agreement.
The bikes are gaining on us, and the slavers riding them swing their whips over their heads, ready to strike us down.
“NOW!” I shout.
All at once, the prisoners fan out in a long line, stretching the chains that connect them so they’re just level with the necks of the approaching riders. One by one the slavers are caught in the trap, the chains pinging them from their bikes and throwing them to the ground.
Some of the bikes keep rushing forward before crashing and exploding, while others skid to their sides and halt. Ryan and I rush forward and grab the spare bikes. Now it’s up to us to keep the remaining slavers at bay while the prisoners escape. Molly’s using a dropped axe to start smashing apart the chains and freeing the prisoners. Once they have their arms freed they’ll be in much better positions to steal bikes.
Ryan and I also grab discarded tools, brandishing them as weapons as we start circling back and forth on our bikes, facing off with the remaining slavers. We’re trying to keep them at bay long enough for the rest of our group to be freed.
The scene behind us is one of utter chaos. Prisoners are cowering as the slavers attempt to whip them into submission. Other robed men are running around on fire, screaming, trying to fan out the flames. More still lie dead on the ground, their limbs twisted and jutting out at painful angles. There’s thick smoke everywhere, obscuring my vision. Then, through the smoke, a figure emerges.
Despite being fully robed, I recognize him straightaway as the man who’d first spoken to us in the prison cell. He’s standing at the front of a group of slavers, leading them to battle. A red mist descends over my vision. I rev the bike, brandish the crowbar in my hand, and race toward him. I swing the crowbar back and, as I pass, bring it down with all my strength. I hear the crack of his skull, see him fall, dead, to the ground, and a sick satisfaction washes over me.
I loop back and see that Molly and the others have managed to get hold of bikes. As much as I wish we could liberate all the prisoners here, I have to be selfish and look after my own. I drive up to my group.
“Bree, get on the back,” I say to my sister, who is cuddling Penelope in her arms. “Molly, you take Charlie and Jack. Ryan, Ben, take a bike each. We’ll need the spare spaces for Zeke and Stephan once we find them. Come on, let’s go.”
Everyone gets into position and I lead the way through the compound, racing past burning structures and groups of slavers and prisoners, trying to find Zeke and Stephan amongst them. But they’re nowhere to be seen.
“We have to get out of here!” Molly cries from behind.
“NO!” I shout back. “We need to find Zeke and Stephan first.”
“There’s no time,” she barks.
She’s right. The slavers have noticed our little gang and they’re starting to follow. But the thought of leaving my friends behind makes my blood run cold.
“We can’t leave them!” I scream. “We have to rescue them.”
Molly locks her eyes with mine. “We can’t rescue them, Brooke. They’re not here. They’re dead.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We’re still tearing along the road on the bikes, but it feels like the ground has fallen away beneath my feet. I can hardly breathe.
“I’m sorry,” Molly cries over the wind as we race across the parched earth. “They didn’t survive the crash. We have to go.”
Stephan and Zeke are dead? I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it.
I look back over my shoulder. They others look as depressed as me. None of us wants to accept the reality of having lost two of our group, and I can’t help but feel like their deaths are on my shoulders. I look at Ben, hoping that the only other person in the car who may have been witness to their tragic demise will be able to refute the bombshell Molly has just dropped on me.
“Ben was passed out,” Molly shouts. “He didn’t see. But I did. They’re gone, Brooke. We have to save ourselves.”
Emotions threaten to choke me. I feel like I could easily give in to the blackness, to give up the fight.
“Brooke!” Bree cries from the back of the bike. “Listen to Molly. We have to save ourselves.”
The sound of her voice grounds me, brings me back to the moment. We may have lost our friends but we haven’t lost our hope. Now isn’t the time to break down. Like my dad would always say, crying won’t keep you alive. No matter how terrible I feel, I have to do what needs to be done to survive.
I grip the handlebars of the bike hard in my fists and grit my teeth, more determined than ever.
“Let’s go!” I cry.
Without another word, we rev the bikes, driving even faster through the thick smoke. We’re searching for a road, a way out. The slavers got into the crater somehow, and we’ll be able to get out if we find it. But driving through the crater city is dangerous. There are still slavers milling around, not to mention prisoners who are desperate to be liberated. The whole time I’m on a knife edge, feeling like my world could end any second. Bree must feel it too; her clutch on me is so tight it’s painful.
Finally I see a steep incline leading out of the crater. It’s been carved like a road, winding up the crater edge. I pray our bikes can handle such a difficult climb.
“THERE!” I cry to the others.
One by one we start to race up the steep road. I’m gunning the bike, knowing the only thing that will carry me up is speed. As we burst through the cloud of smoke, I know we’re now in plain view of all the slavers below. There’s no hiding on the crater’s edge. We’re completely exposed.
It’s then that I hear someone cry out. Instantly, I recognize the voice as belonging to Ben.
I look back and see that his battered bike is struggling to get up the incline. It has clearly been damaged in all the fighting and is starting to give out. It’s getting slower and slower. Behind him, racing along on their own bikes, are a group of slavers.
“Ryan!” I shout. “You have to go back for Ben.”
Ryan grits his teeth. “No way. If I go back, the slavers will get me.”
I stare at him, horrified. “We can’t leave him!”
“We left Zeke,” he spits back. “We left Stephan.”
“They died, Ryan. You heard Molly. We have to let them go. But Ben is still alive and he needs our help!”
Behind me, clinging on with dear life, Bree starts to cry.
“Please,” she begs Ryan. “You’re the only one with a spare space. Don’t leave Ben to die.”
The motorbikes are getting so close to Ben now it’s almost too much to watch. I feel like every muscle in my body has tensed as I wait for Ryan’s decision.
Finally, he lets out a deep sigh and turns his bike around, heading for Ben. The rest of us
keep gunning it along the narrow pathway, racing up and up, higher and higher. I can’t look back, terrified that I’ve sent Ryan to his death. I can’t lose them both.
“BREE!” I shout over the roaring wind and revving engine. “What’s happening?”
I can feel her cheek pressed into my back. The vibrations from the bike are making the wounds from being whipped sting.
“They’re okay,” she says. “Ryan’s got Ben.”
I let out my breath. They’ve made it. For now.
Just then, there’s an almighty explosion. I can’t look back, too scared that if I do so I’ll veer off the narrow road and plunge into the crater beneath. Bree fills me in.
”Ryan and Ben blew up the bike,” she cries. “The rest of the slavers are gone.”
They did it. We’re free. We made it.
What’s left of us, anyway.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
We travel south, following the dried up riverbed of the Mississippi, riding without stopping. I know it only takes about eight hours from Memphis to Houston, and I’m desperate not to stop. But everyone’s weary, battered, and exhausted, and eventually, after traveling for two hours, even I have to concede that we need to rest.
The devastation here is absolute. Everything has been completely flattened, reduced to a desert. The bombs that caused craters as big as towns in the north have completely flattened cities in the south. What were once bustling metropolises have been completely eradicated. All around, as far as the eye can see, there is nothing. Which means nowhere to hide, nowhere to shelter, and nowhere to hunt.
Finally, we draw to a halt. I get off the bike and help Bree down. Her face is streaked with tears and I realize she must have been crying about Zeke’s and Stephan’s deaths the whole way. I can’t say I blame her. If my dad hadn’t drilled it into me not to cry, I would have broken down too.
I want to comfort Bree but the guilt I feel over causing her so much pain holds me back. Luckily, Charlie comes over and hugs Bree close. She cries into his shoulder. Penelope goes over to her as well. I leave the three of them to it and walk over to the rest of the gang.
Ryan is slumped in a sitting position against a rock, cradling his dislocated arm.
“Want me to pop it back into place?” I say.
“Want is a strong word,” he says, wryly. “But yeah.”
I position myself, holding him by the top of the arm with one hand and holding the shoulder with the other. Then I yank. There’s a huge crunching noise as the bone pops back into its socket. Ryan cries out, causing Jack to run over and start licking him.
“It’s okay,” he says through gritted teeth as he pats the dog’s head. “I’m okay, boy.”
Ben comes over to my side.
“Remember when you did that to my broken nose?” he says.
I do. It feels like a million years ago, in a whole different world. Up north, the effects of nuclear war have turned the place to ice, making the winters harsh and unforgiving. But down here in the south, there’s been a different effect. Winters have been all but banished. There is perpetual, blistering sunshine. And we’re all suffering because of it. Dehydrated, sunburned, sweating.
Despite my grossness, I can’t help but throw my arms around Ben. The last time we spoke properly we were arguing. Now we’re both still here. Both still alive. We hold each other for a long time.
“Brooke?” Ryan says, breaking up my and Ben’s moment.
I let my arms fall from Ben and turn to look at him. I can’t help but feel angry. Ryan almost left Ben to die. It will take me a while before I can forgive him.
“I think we’d better try hunting,” he says. “The kids are starving.”
I move away from Ben and look around. “Hunt where?” I say. “There’s nowhere around for miles.”
“There are birds,” he says. Then he tips his eyes down. “Vultures.”
I know what that means. That somewhere nearby, the vultures are picking on the bones of dead people, other survivors who’ve lost their battle to the harsh desert landscape. As much as it revolts me, Ryan’s right to bring them up as a source of food.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We leave Molly and Ben to set up a fire so we can roast whatever we come back with, and Ryan and I trudge out into the desert together.
All of our belongings were taken back in the prisons in Memphis, so the only weapons we have now are the crowbars, axes, and spades we managed to grab as we were leaving. It’s going to make hunting even more difficult, but we have no other choice. We take Jack with us too, hoping that he may be able to sniff out an easier catch for us.
We’re silent as we go, but after a while, Ryan begins to speak.
“I’m sorry about what happened back there,” he says.
“You mean about you almost leaving Ben to die?” I challenge him.
He looks away, ashamed. “Yeah.”
I shake my head, fuming. “How could you?”
“I thought it was a suicide mission. I didn’t think I’d make it.”
I realize then what Ryan did for me. He thought going back to get Ben would mean certain death, yet he still did it. I should be thanking him, not berating him. Feeling ashamed, I finally mumble an apology, and we carry on in silence.
After a good twenty minutes walking, Ryan freezes. “Look,” he says, pointing into the distance.
I can just make out a patch of trees. The sight is completely out of place in the harsh desert landscape. As we draw closer I realize the trees aren’t growing out of the ground at all, but leaning against something. A fence? My heart stops as I realize it’s a dwelling that’s been covered in branches to conceal it. Through the trunks I can make out signs of life: a shack, a tin roof, something that looks like a well.
Ryan and I exchange a look. Neither of us can handle more fighting and whoever lives inside could be dangerous. But we also can’t give up on the chance that we may have found shelter. Our group could seriously do with some shade.
“Shall we?” he says.
I nod my agreement and tighten my grip on the crowbar I’m carrying.
Carefully we approach the dwelling, which consists of little more than a wooden hut. It looks so out of place amongst the desolation. It must have been erected after the bombs. There’s no way it would have survived them if all the other buildings around here were eradicated. Someone, some survivor, decided to make this empty wasteland his home.
We get to the hut and Ryan opens the door, crowbar raised over his head. Inside, everything is in darkness. It smells of dust.
I go in first. Jack races in after me, sniffing all the corners and crevices.
Whoever lived here was as much a survival nut as my dad. There are weapons and medical supplies, matches, flashlights, bandages, thread and needle, and, even more importantly, a small, wind-up radio. There’s also enough food for us to eat well for at least a couple more days, though we’re too close to our destination to slow down now. Still, it would be a great place to rest up for the night.
While Ryan seems overjoyed by the feast we’ll be able to eat, I’m happier about the discovery of the radio. I grip it in my hands, feeling like I’ve just witnessed a miracle.
“We can use this to try to get in radio contact with the military base in Texas!” I cry, clutching it to my chest. “Tell them we’re coming. Get their exact coordinates.”
Ryan seems happy for me and my discovery and smiles encouragingly.
“Here, look,” Ryan says, as Jack becomes excited by something on the other side.
I walk over and see that there’s a trap door in the floor. Whoever built this was clever enough to also dig underground for some protection.
“What if there’s someone down there?” I say.
“I guess now’s the time to find out,” Ryan replies.
He heaves open the trapdoor and we descend into the darkness. The underground bunker is a small room with bedding and pillows. It looks a bit like a nest. Certainly big enough a
nd cozy enough for us.
“Let’s get the others,” I tell Ryan. “I think this would be a great place to rest up.”
We head back toward the camp to fetch the others, relieved that we won’t have to dine on fire-roasted vulture tonight.
But as we draw up toward the spot where we left the others, something unusual catches my attention. I recognize the silhouettes of my friends milling around, but there is someone else there, someone unfamiliar.
I catch Ryan’s arm. “Who’s that?” I say.
He squints, trying to make it out. “A stranger.”
We give each other a wary look. We’ve been lucky so far with the survivors we’ve run into but I’m always on edge, always on the lookout for danger. That the stranger seems to be amongst the group calms my nerves a little; they’ve clearly deemed him safe.
We start to draw toward the gang. The stranger who has joined them is an older man, rake thin, with long white hair. He has a rasping laugh that I can hear even from this far away. Jack sprints up, yapping away, and runs in circles round the man’s ankles, making him let out another one of his thick, mucusy laughs.
“Well, well, well, who’s this then?” I hear him say as he crouches down and pets Jack. Then he looks up and sees Ryan and me approaching. “Well, howdy,” he says, straightening up and extending one of his grubby hands.
I take it and shake. Ryan, cautiously, does the same.
“I’m Brooke,” I say. “Who are you?”
“Craig,” he replies, squinting against the sunshine. “Craig Merryweather. Your friends here told me you’ve traveled all the way from Quebec.”
I nod. “And you? Where are you from?”
He shrugs. “Here and there. But mostly here.” He grins, showing off a row of rotten teeth.
Bree looks up at me. “Did you find something for dinner?” she asks. “I’m hungry.”
I look at Ryan, trying to judge whether to reveal our find or not in front of the stranger. He gives me a slight nod, as if to say he thinks it’s safe.
“We did,” I say. “There’s a shack up there with supplies in it.”
