Wasteland: Sirain Rises

by Ann Bakshis

  “Need any help?” a young voice says behind me.

  Grainne is standing there, the sun overhead causing her hair to glow a soft yellow, her soiled clothes dripping from her bones.

  “Get out of here, Grainne. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, I want to help,” she spits at me, defiance in her voice.

  “Fine,” I say, relenting. “Go get Vier for me.”

  She runs back to the convoy, watching her steps as she goes. Vier approaches my position cautiously.

  “We need to remove these, not just disarm them.”

  “How many are we talking about?”

  “Six. It’ll take a great deal of time since we will only be able to handle one device as we go.”

  “Can we help?” someone with a deep voice asks.

  I look at the crowd that has gathered behind us. At least twenty Hostem have joined us in the battlefield.

  “No, you all could get hurt. Vier and I can handle this.”

  “Trea,” Bevan calls, making his way forward, “we’re not afraid of dying if it means getting you to Tartarus.” He smiles wide, his scar crinkling from his grin.

  I look towards Vier, who is nodding in agreement. Reluctantly giving in, I tell them my idea. Everyone moves towards the first transport while Vier and I stay by the mortars. Taking a deep sigh, I begin.

  After disarming the first mortar, I carefully remove it from its hole and hand it off to Vier, who walks towards the convoy, changes course, and heads south. He’s to walk for ten minutes, set the device carefully down, and return. As Vier is making his return trip, a Hostem is to approach me, take another device, walk towards the convoy, and veer into a different direction for ten minutes then return. We’re just about half way through the routine when the first mortar goes off. The sky south of us ignites then fades.

  As the last mortar is carried away by Vier, the driver of the lead vehicle flips a switch opening the gate as we hear the sounds of a mortar detonating in the distance. While the other transports make their way through the opening Braxton, Grainne, Bevan, and myself wait in the weapons vehicle for Vier to return. Another mortar ignites in the distance as Vier breaches the horizon. He runs towards us as the driver begins to slowly move the vehicle forward. Another mortar detonates as he climbs onboard. We pass through the gate as the second to last mortar ignites. The final mortar erupts as the gate closes behind us, and we’re safely on our way.

  Lehen continues to sleep as the day grows long. We stop just briefly in the late afternoon to stretch our legs and quench our thirst. I step out of the transport, looking at the decimated world around me then I wander up the convoy to check on Jagger.

  Large black sections of earth shoot up from the cracked ground. Charred remains of massive forests lay scattered for miles, mixed with rusted metal fragments. The air feels dry and smells slightly of sulfur. Some heat radiates up from the soil. Only a few Hostem venture out on this stop, but the hatches lay wide open for any who decide to step outside.

  Jagger’s eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling when I climb in. He turns his head, watching as I sit down on the bench next to his stretcher. I reach down to take his hand with mine, but he pushes it away.

  “Why can’t you let me die?” he cries, anger resonating in his voice. He flips his whole body over onto his side, not waiting for a reply.

  I leave the transport and go back to my own. The hatches close and we’re moving again, though a lot slower than before. Braxton seems to sense my mood, so he switches seats with Vier to be by my side. Leaning my head on his shoulder, he takes my hand and squeezes it gently.

  “He’ll get over it,” he whispers to me.

  “Not this time.”

  The hours tick by slowly…painfully.

  I look up towards the monitors, noticing the ground before us has divided into deep canyons, each glowing orange. Two tall spires loom in the distance, anchoring a section of the earth to an expansion bridge.

  “What’s that?” I ask Bevan, who is sitting at the end of the bench, Grainne asleep on his lap.

  “It’s the entrance to Tartarus.”

  The convoy begins to slow the closer we get. A thin haze begins to cover the screen, preventing us from seeing a clear image. The terrain beneath changes the moment we pass between the towers. The monitor displays a long wide bridge, metallic in appearance, extending near a platform in the center of the expanse. Deep chasms glow bright orange on either side. Heat waves rising from below are so thick it makes the pictures on the screens almost dance. We slow down as we enter a platform. The monitors turn off as the hatch opens, revealing a heavy plated door closing behind us.

  The air is hot and dry. Sweat almost immediately begins to run down my back.

  “Why’ve we stopped?” Braxton inquires, wiping his brow.

  “The guards need to check the transports as well as the passengers before we can pass. Once they give the all-clear, the doors at the front of the platform will open and the operator will extend the rest of the bridge.”

  “Why is it so hot?” I croak.

  “We’re sitting over a fissure in the earth’s surface. There’s a dormant volcano about one hundred miles southwest of here. It’s buried under an old mountain range. There are several other fissures surrounding this area, but we don’t know how they came to be since it was some time ago, long before Sirain rose.”

  Two men in reflective coveralls enter the hatch with scanners. Bevan comments that the outfits the men wear are cooling uniforms, each containing a portable unit attached on the inside of the coveralls by the base of the neck. The men don’t comment when they notice Lehen unconscious, nor his wounds or even my arm, which is clearly visible. I’m still in the same shirt I’ve been wearing for days. As soon as the men depart, the hatch closes, and we roll slowly forward.

  On the monitors, the bridge extends across the gap securing itself against a dark rock formation on the other side, black volcanic rock looming closer as we move. The structure is dome-shaped, and upon closer inspection I can see that the dome is made of a dark metal similar to the transports, with dusky paned windows that stand tall and wide, and wire mesh framing them in place. The whole structure bends around and into the rock, both behind and underneath.

  The thick doors part when the convey is only a few feet away, revealing an expanse of dark, empty space. The lead vehicle drives under the edifice, then makes a sharp turn to the right. As we pass through the entrance, our driver turns left, then right, and stops. I hear the gears of the heavy doors grind as they slide shut and our hatch opens. Bevan rouses Grainne from her slumber as Hostem pass by our vehicle, one group removing Lehen while others take some of the heavy weaponry.

  “Where are they taking him?” I ask, sliding out of the vehicle and immediately handed several bulky guns.

  “Over to the medical and housing station, located in the ridge to our left.” Bevan points out the window above the door, to a peak jutting high, dangling over the fissure.

  “How do they get over there?” Braxton asks, while removing four Levin guns from the cabinet by the hatch.

  “They’ll go down one floor and place him on a carrier that will ferry him across a spanner that lays over the fissure to the facility. It’s built within the rock, just like this complex and our research campus. Keller will be transported with Lehen, so Captain you can visit him there later today.”

  “Why can’t we go now?”

  “Our medics need time to assess their injuries and begin them on the correct treatment. Once they’ve been stabilized we will be notified, and you can both visit.”

  I turn my attention to the transports parked next to ours. Jagger is escorted from his stretcher and placed in the queue of injured Hostem that are in line to go down to the spanner. He catches my eye and snarls at me before turning and heading into line. Braxton bumps my arm, indicating we’re moving, so I follow behind him and Bevan as we go around the vehicle and towards a set of large cages g
rouped in threes in the center of the vast room. There are four sets of these units, each with a heavy work-bench nestled between them. Hostem sit on stools, hunched down, repairing or building weapons for the arsenal.

  Grainne directs me to a set of cages on our right, opens the middle door, and tells me to place the weapons inside, then closes the door just as Bevan sidles up to us.

  “You ladies ready to head over to housing and get something to eat?”

  “Bevan,” someone calls out.

  We turn and see a tall, muscular man standing in the doorway of a lift sitting at the back of the chamber. He gestures for Bevan, waving an arm the size of a log. His red curly hair lays damp on his scalp, his mustache and beard neatly trimmed to about a half inch.

  “Grainne, take Trea over. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Bevan jogs over while we turn towards the other lift to head down.

  CHAPTER 3

  The lift is crowded with Hostem heading back to their homes, so the air inside the small metal box is thick with heat, sweat, and sour smells. We all stumble out when the doors open after having come to a jarring stop. Grainne takes my hand and walks me over to a set of rails on our left. Boxcars that accommodate four passengers at a time hug the top of the rail. We wait our turn, empty cars returning on another rail behind the first, disappearing into an opening behind us, and returning to our side of the spanner moments later. The carrier stops for a few seconds to let people on then quickly and quietly whisks down the tunnel.

  A few cars have no seats, and are sealed shut. They move on by without stopping. Grainne tells me they’re food transports from the farms behind the mountain. Several minutes pass before we’re finally able to board. Grainne and I sit on the back bench while two women take the seats in front of us. We begin to move immediately, going down the spanner a few feet before entering the tunnel.

  Cool air blows down on us from vents in the ceiling that are spaced every few feet. The tunnel is lit by miniature bulbs recessed into the walls along the top casting off very little glow. The journey is swift, and we emerge on the other side in a matter of minutes. Our car makes a brief stop, allowing us only seconds to disembark before it loops around and heads back to the main building.

  The hangar is bustling with people. At the far end is the medical ward, large dark green doors marking the entrance, along with a memo board displaying the names of the patients they currently have. Lehen is listed under the critical ward, as well as Keller. Jagger is in observation with a dismissal time of 0800 hours tomorrow. A few people venture through the doors, probably checking on loved ones resting inside.

  Grainne pulls me away and over towards the dining hall, which sits at the south end. The doors stand wide open as people weave in and out through the lines forming to get inside. We stand behind a couple who are wearing steel gray twill pants, matching short sleeve tops, and blue half tunics. The line moves relatively fast. There are only four tables in the dining hall, each long enough to accommodate one hundred people. Each table is constructed out of a shiny resin, cast in different colors. Those already seated are wearing tunics that match the color of the table they’re at.

  “What’s with the outfits?” I ask Grainne, pointing to a pair of women sitting down at the black table next to us.

  “There are four factions in Tartarus, and each is represented by a color. Sable is black, Byrrus is red, Cerul is blue, and Verdant is green. Each performs a different task for the city. The living quarters are also segregated by faction. I live in the Sable faction with Bevan.”

  We move forward into the eatery where the food is dished out in an assembly line fashion. Everyone can only take a small helping of everything though they may have more if the medics have determined it’s medically necessary. The kitchen is next to the eatery, but Grainne advises me only those wearing a green tunic are permitted to enter.

  We take seats at the Sable table right outside the entrance to the eatery. I pick up my fork and poke at my food, since I’m not sure if I want to eat it. The meal consists of a small roll, dried meat, and a mash of various vegetables along with a red juice to drink. Grainne cleans her plate before I’ve even taken my first bite of the salty chewy meat. The color is appalling and the texture is gritty, but the taste is something I can live with.

  As soon as my last forkful is gone, we get up from the table and walk over to a tall cart leaning against the wall between the eatery and the kitchen, placing our tray, silverware, and cups onto one of the empty shelves.

  “Grainne!”

  I hear squeals and shouts from behind us.

  Three little girls and one boy come running up to her, almost knocking her down with their hugs.

  “We missed you so much,” a little red haired girl says, her black tunic swishing around her waist. “How was Sirain?”

  “It was fine, but I missed you guys.” She hugs each one before they scurry over to a pair of women calling to them. “Let’s get upstairs and change,” Grainne says to me, taking my hand.

  We exit the dining hall then turn left down a hallway by the medical ward, coming upon a bank of lifts lining the wall next to the eatery. Each lift has two vertical stripes running down the doors in the faction colors. The Sable lift is at the far end and only Grainne and I board. The interior is nondescript, just a few sconces to provide light. Grainne pushes a button labeled “2R”, the doors close, and we ascend.

  The portal behind us opens when we reach the top. We exit into a vestibule where benches line every wall and a floor to ceiling column stands in the center of the room covered in three vertical convex screens. Like Sirain, the images on the screens display a lush landscape, only the sun is setting on these, as stars begin to emerge from the darkening sky. A door on our left is labeled “Males” and we head towards a door on the opposite side marked “Females”.

  Three-tiered bunk beds line the walls, each covered in black sheets and with a towel neatly folded at the foot of each bed. In the center of the room are cupboards housed into a wooden island, five high and ten across, each labeled with someone’s name. I walk around and see fifty more drawers, a few without name tags.

  “Does everyone sleep in rooms like this?” I ask, moving back around to the other side where Grainne is rummaging through a drawer with her name on it.

  “The children and lieutenants have their own rooms over there,” she replies, pointing behind her. Two doors sit next to each other in the center. A bright sun hangs on the door to my left. Bevan’s name is clearly etched into the door on the right. “It’s the same layout for all residents. Newborns to age ten stay in the children’s room, unless there isn’t any room in the main quarters with the rest of us.” Grainne removes a fresh outfit from her drawer, moves to the other side of the island, and begins to open drawers that have no tag. “Here,” she says, pulling out an outfit from one of the drawers. “This should fit you.” She hands the clothing to me then goes over to a bed, removing the towel from its resting place.

  After taking her own towel, she directs me to the door to our right and into a community washroom. Posted next to the door is a schedule of use for all residents. Children have access when it’s deemed necessary. Grainne knocks on the door before turning the handle, waiting to see if anyone will respond.

  The room is empty. Shower stalls sit in the center. The men’s entrance is to our left between lavatory stalls that rest in each corner. A parade of sinks lines the empty spaces between the stalls. The tile is stippled concrete, pointy on the bare feet, but slip resistant. Grainne enters the end stall on her right. I step in the one next to her. I hang my towel on a hook just outside the privacy curtain. A shelf is nestled in the back corner carrying vials of soap.

  I strip off my clothes, throw them on the floor, turn on the faucet, and prepare myself for a shock of cold water — that doesn’t come. The water is warm, shooting out of a powerful nozzle that makes me feel like I’m being sandblasted. I pour a little bit of soap into my hands, enjoying the fruity fragrance wafti
ng from the bottle. It doesn’t take me long to fully discard the filth and debris from my skin and scalp. I hear Grainne turn off her shower and begin to dry off, so I decide to do the same and reach for my towel.

  I stay in my stall to dry off, not wanting Grainne to see the torment that’s been done to my body, nor do I want to embarrass her by stepping out when she’s not ready.

  “Trea, are you done?” Bevan calls from one of the doors.

  “Just a minute, Bevan,” Grainne answers for me, “we’re drying off.”

  I wrap myself up and step out just as Grainne is putting on her half tunic.

  “There are combs underneath the sinks along with mouthwash to clean your teeth. I think Bevan wants in so he can shower as well.”

  She picks up her discarded clothing, drops them down a chute in the wall next to the women’s entrance, takes a comb, and exits while detangling her hair.

  “You can come in now, Bevan, Grainne’s left,” I call to him after putting on my pants and shirt.

  He walks in, towel and change of clothes in hand, goes down the other side of the showers, and a few moments later the water is running.

  I stand in front of the long mirror that hangs the length of the wall behind the sinks. My hair has greatly lengthened since Naomi cut it. The dark blonde color is returning as the black grows out. There isn’t anything I can do about it, so I run a comb through it as best I can, pulling out clumps of matted hair. I discard the mess into a trash receptacle by the sink. My clothes lay scattered on the floor, along with the tunic that looks impossible to put on. Picking up the clothes, I drop them down the chute like Grainne did and step back in front of the mirror, trying to figure out how to don the half tunic.

  “Here,” Bevan says behind me, “let me help you.”

  There are snaps along the lapels, which he opens, slipping the tunic on me like a coat. The right side of the tunic is waist length while the left side goes down to my knees. The sleeves are cropped short and the material is coarse, with a slight sheen to it. Bevan snaps the tunic closed, our faces close together.