The door to the machine opened, and a tall man slid out. He was rail thin and had short black hair. He took a moment to straighten his jacket. Two beautiful girls, both with long blonde hair, climbed out behind him. One of the girls handed him a top hat. It took me a moment, but I realized then that the girls were twins.
With a broad smile, the man turned to the assembled crowd.
“The Park,” he said then bowed deeply. “We are most grateful for your sanctuary. We are the Dead Troupe. Tell me, friends, does Mister Ramsey still govern here?”
Ramsey stepped through the back of the crowd. “Legba?” he called.
The tall man with the top hat laughed loudly. “Ah, there is the man indeed. Mister Ramsey, it is my pleasure to see you once more.”
Ramsey smiled—an expression foreign on his usual countenance—then exhaled with relief. “It has been many years, but The Park is very pleased to see the Dead Troupe once more,” he said happily, clapping Legba on the shoulder.
The others, upon seeing the deep effect on Ramsey, smiled and cheered, a few of them clapping.
Throughout the community, the others who had been spooked by the unexpected appearance began opening their doors and peering outside. Sensing the danger had passed, they came outside.
Beyond the wall behind me, the wailers howled in protest. But the menace in the wasteland was forgotten for the moment as the residents of The Park stared in disbelief that in our most dire hour, the Dead Troupe had appeared.
Seven people in total emerged from the Dead Troupe’s vehicle. As I studied them, my mind went back to my childhood. I remembered Ash and I sitting by the fire watching the Dead Troupe perform. In my memories, I saw Legba, the leader of the troupe. In addition to Legba, the twins, and the man who had saved my life, there was also a young woman who appeared to be Legba’s daughter, a short, bald-headed man, and a massive hulking creature who was bigger than any man I had ever seen.
“My friends, let’s let our visitors take their rest, and tomorrow, I am sure they will regale you with great stories,” Gutierrez called as Ramsey led the strangers toward Park Building.
Carrington stopped to ask some of the others to bring refreshments. Seeing me standing by the gate, she gave me a little nod then pointed from me to my house. Yes, yes, everyone was always trying to keep Keyes safe.
I smiled patiently at her then nodded.
“Do you think they were at Low Tide?” Maria asked, coming to stand beside me.
With the arrival of the Dead Troupe, would Enrique still go out in the morning? Certainly, the Dead Troupe would be a great distraction, and no one would miss him—or me—but much depended on the news the Dead Troupe had to share, most of which I would never hear. When my parents were alive, they were part of the inner circle. Now, I was shut off from the truth. Most of us were. But most people seemed to like it that way.
I shook my head. “They came from the south.”
Maria sighed heavily. “Don’t worry, Keyes. They’ll be back soon. I know it. Faraday’s alive. I can feel it. You can too, right?”
I heard the hesitancy in her voice. She was not as sure as she seemed.
“They’re alive,” I replied.
Maria squeezed my arm then headed back toward her house.
Soon, the others dispersed, heading back inside in groups to discuss the unexpected arrival—but to do so safely behind their own locked doors. Windows were shuttered, and lights grew dim. The watch resumed, and the wailers howled. The community grew quiet, ready to ride out another night. With the exception of the massive vehicle parked in the middle of the square, suddenly everything went back to normal.
Curious, I approached the vehicle.
There wasn’t a soul around. Surely no one would mind if I had a look. I eyed Park Building. Thin shafts of light filtered through the windows of a mostly unused room on the first floor. Long ago, someone had readied the room for unexpected guests. In years past, back in my grandparents’ time, others had roamed the wasteland. Back when there were fuel and resources, more people traveled between the communities. The room had been used by those wanderers. Now there was only the Dead Troupe.
I walked over to the vehicle, touching the sides of the massive machine gently with my fingertips. I wrapped on the metal. It was solid. In fact, it was heavily plated. Three small windows ran along the side, all of which were covered with wire: wide enough for a gun barrel but not big enough for a wailer to reach through. I could smell the exhaust still effervescing from the machine. The scents of fuel and oil and hot metal filled the air. When I reached the cab, I looked around. There was no one nearby. I stepped up on the footplate and looked inside the open window. It looked like any other vehicle, but the dash had also been rigged with a series of levers and buttons. I reached for the door, hoping to get a better look when someone clicked their tongue at me.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice called from above.
I looked up to see the stranger with the hat sitting there. I thought he had gone with the others.
“I just wanted a look at the dash.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Could be. But the door is booby-trapped. Try to open it, and you’ll have a knife in the palm of your hand.”
I hopped back down and looked up at him. “I was just looking.”
“I’m sure you were, but not everyone just looks.”
To my surprise, a smile crept up on my face. “I think I owe you a thank you.”
“You think it, or you know it?”
I grinned. “I know it. Thank you. For before.”
He nodded then pointed behind him. “You eat them?” he asked.
“Eat them?” I followed his gaze and looked back to find Nat bent down by the body of the forgotten wailer. “No. Disgusting. He’s our doctor. He’s just…investigating.”
“They eat them at Crossroads. It’s a source of meat that’s plentiful, at least that’s what they say. Odd effect though. Their people…they’re all jittery,” he said with a shudder. Swinging his legs to the side, he braced himself then jumped down. “And it gives them bad breath,” he added.
I chuckled.
“Keyes,” Nat called quietly. “Help?”
I nodded and walked over to Nat, the stranger following.
“I brought a sheet. Help me get it into my house? I’ll get rid of it tomorrow. I just want a look.”
“Better, it will stink like hell in a day. No hiding your prize then,” the stranger said.
Nat laid out the sheet and moving carefully, he pulled on his gloves and began moving the body.
The stranger laughed then reached down and grabbed the wailer by the feet, flopping it onto the sheet.
When he realized we were staring at him, he chuckled. “It’s just a body, mates. I thought you two were up to subterfuge. That requires speed and stealth, you know,” he said then moved to lift the end of the material. “Which way, Doctor?”
Nat grabbed the other end, and with a heave, they lifted the wailer and headed toward Nat’s house. I raced ahead, opened the door, then moved chairs and tables to make a spot on the floor. Nat and the stranger entered and laid the body down.
Nat motioned for the stranger to follow him to the wash basin where Nat poured water over the man’s hands then doused them with a little astringent. The sharp smell of alcohol filled the air.
“Thank you,” Nat told us then lit a lantern. “I need to get to work.”
“You want help?” I asked.
“No. But thank you, Keyes. You get some rest.”
I nodded then turned and headed back outside, the stranger following. I walked back toward the center of the square. My house was not too far from where the vehicle was parked.
“So, you’re the watch for the night?” I asked.
“I suppose. Your people are bringing some food, I think. Might go in then. What do you say? Safe to leave her parked here?”
“Yes. The Park is…very safe.” Too safe. Too boring.
“No other curious redheads around?”
I smirked. “No.”
The stranger pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his long, dark hair. I saw the glint of moonlight on his silver rings.
“Again. Thank you for before. I’m Keyes,” I said then stuck out my hand.
“Bodi,” he said, giving my hand a shake. “Nice to meet you, Keyes.”
I smiled nervously, fully aware there was a flutter in my chest that did not belong there and one I had never felt before.
“So, if you’re still curious in the morning, why don’t you stop by, and I’ll let you have a look.”
If I was still there in the morning. If I didn’t leave. “Thank you. I will. I was wondering…you came from the south, right? You weren’t at Low Tide?”
Bodi shook his head then slipped his hat back on. “They’re next on our travels.”
“Serendipity,” I whispered, saying a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god was still listening.
“Sorry?”
“Nothing. Well, goodnight.”
He chuckled. “Okay then. Goodnight. Hey, you have chickens here? I’d kill for some chicken.”
“Eggs. You can only eat a chicken once.”
Bodi laughed then grabbed the ladder and crawled back up on the vehicle. “Good point.”
I turned and headed back to my house. I paused in the doorway and looked back. Bodi was settling in on the roof of the vehicle. He laid back, set his hat aside, then pulled out a long instrument. A moment later, the sound of flute music filled the air. The music he played had a melancholic sound. The notes drifted on the breeze, filling the night’s air with its foreign music. All around the community, everything seemed to go still and quiet as we all listened.
Like some simpleton, I stood staring at the stranger whose music both saddened me and gave me hope. I didn’t need to sneak out in the morning. If the Dead Troupe was going to Low Tide next, I would go with them, and no one could stop me.
Chapter 7
Once I was back inside, I set about scrubbing the dried blood of the wailer off my arm. The orange color of the liquid marred my cloth. Alone in my small house, I grabbed my bag and pulled out the Bozo’s menu. I stared at the photos of sandwiches, French fries, and ice cream. Mostly, I stared at and through the images as I considered what to do. Ramsey would learn that the Dead Troupe was planning a visit to Low Tide next. He would send Enrique with them if the Troupe would take him. It was the safer bet. Now I just had to figure out how to get them to let me go too.
Stuffing the menu back into my bag, I laid down on my cot and listened to the flute music paired with the yowls of the wailers.
The Dead Troupe.
Just a kid when they last came through, all I thought about then were the shows they performed, the stories they told. Now I wanted to know more. What had they seen in the wasteland? What was beyond these walls? Was anyone out there surviving, or were we all holding on by the tips of our fingers?
It was late when the flute music finally stopped.
The wailers’ howls replaced the soothing sound, reminding me of the reality of my world. My chest felt heavy. Closing my eyes, I let it all go and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of laughter. I rose groggily and opened my shutters to see that the small, bald-headed man and the girl who I presumed to be Legba’s daughter had set up a small stage near the now-defunct fountain that sat at the center of the square. They were acting out some sort of pantomime. Maybe Hades and Persephone? I wasn’t sure. Many of the community members, including the children, had gathered around to watch.
I closed my shutters and started cleaning up. I took a little care that morning to ensure that I washed off all the dirt, grease, and grime. I pulled a clean black tank top out of my wardrobe and a pair of gray pants with pockets. It took me longer to move all my supplies from one pair of pants to the other than it did to get myself looking decent. When I was done, I rebelted my tool belt and slipped on the necklace I always wore. It was a seashell tied on a piece of leather. My dad had given it to my mom long ago, a gift from one of his voyages to Low Tide where he had found the colorful abalone shell.
I glanced at myself in the mirror. I guessed I looked okay. My vanity surprised me. Who the hell cared how I looked? My sister was missing. What was I doing worrying about getting all freshened up anyway? I had work to do. I adjusted my belt once more then headed back outside.
Legba, the leader of the Dead Troupe, stood in front of the vehicle talking to Enrique, Ramsey, and Gutierrez. I was right. Enrique had stayed. Now, I guessed, the elders were trying to strike a deal. I looked away from them. Bodi was on the roof of the vehicle inspecting the speaker. I could hear him cursing softly. Giving the others a wide berth, I went around from the back of the vehicle and called up to him.
“Need a screwdriver?”
A moment later, Bodi looked over the edge of the roof down at me. In the morning sunlight, I discovered his eyes were a startling mix of blues and greens that put me in mind of pictures of the ocean which I had never seen.
“A screwdriver, a wrench, and some ideas.”
“You’re in luck. I have an ample supply of all of those things. Is the ladder safe, or do you have a bomb hidden there that’s going to blow my foot off?”
He chuckled. “Ladder’s safe. Come on up, Red.”
I smirked then climbed onto the roof of the vehicle. I heard voices inside the vehicle. It seemed that the two twin girls were inside. They were bickering as only sisters could do. From my vantage point on the roof, I scanned the compound and saw the massive bear of a man with Raj at the watchtower.
“What’s this?” I asked, kneeling down to see what Bodi was working on.
“High-frequency sonar,” he said. “We have two speakers, but one went down. Shitty wires. Nothing works. Like trying to build a house with burnt wood. You know how it goes out here. We wouldn’t have brought so many friends with us last night if the speakers had been working properly.”
Bending down, I worked the screw loose then gently lifted the broken speaker. “Sonar?” I asked, thinking back to the sharp whine we’d heard. “It made my ears pop.”
“Wailers hate it. Your doctor will probably discover that their ears are extremely sensitive to sound, just like their eyes are to light. The sound drives them away, but this damned thing has been on the fritz ever since it got bumped awhile back. One speaker will work well enough. Two works better. The broken one was the good speaker. The other one is barely working.”
Bodi pulled off the back of the speaker to reveal a tangle of rusted, taped, and nearly broken wires. I followed the lines to what looked like a car battery.
“Battery powered?”
Bodi nodded.
“How? I mean, how do you recharge it?”
“Spires in the north has power. We recharge there.”
“There is a community that has power?”
Bodi laughed. “Several.”
I frowned. If there were communities that had power, then what the hell were we all still doing here?
“If there are places with power—“
“I know what you’re thinking, Red. You’re right and wrong. Spires has power, but it’s also a pit. It’s not a place anyone wants to visit.”
I frowned then tried to focus. The world beyond The Park was bigger than anything I knew, and so far, all I ever knew of it were names on a map. Sighing, I studied the equipment. “Wires are burned out here. And broken here,” I said, pointing.
Bodi signed heavily. “Wonderful.”
“I have some extra wire in my garage.”
“Your garage?”
“Yeah,” I said then rose. I looked around the roof of the vehicle. There was a panel, but it was cracked. “Solar panel?”
Bodi nodded. “Yeah, but it’s dead. We’re going to have to scout in Hell’s Passage for a replacement. Then we’ll see if we can get it working again. Howey used to be our mechanic. Solar sickness t
ook him a year ago. I’ve been patching up holes ever since, but I’m really more adept at juggling than playing mechanic,” he said, and to prove his point, he started juggling the tools he’d been holding.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
When he was done, he bowed.
I clapped politely.
Bodi winked at me. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I saw a red-haired girl. Someone told me the sun is hard on redheads. But here you are.”
“There’s a trick to surviving.”
“Really?”
“You need to be tougher than the sun,” I said with a grin.
Bodi laughed. “No damsel in distress to be found here.”
I smiled.
“All right then. Come on,” I said the climbed back down the ladder.
Bodi and I headed toward the garage. He slowed, however, when he reached Legba who was still talking to the others.
“Boss,” Bodi said. “Sorry to bother. She’s got some parts for the trolley.”
“Very good,” Lebga told Bodi then looked at me.
“This is Keyes,” Ramsey said, introducing me. “She’s very handy with mechanics.”
Legba smiled at me, a wide toothy grin. “Keyes,” he said with a nod. “I’ve heard your name more than once already. Thank you for any help you can provide. We are indebted.”
“Of course, I—”
Ramsey, however, interrupted to say, “Our resources are open to you as best as we may assist you.”
Legba looked at Ramsey and fixed him with a long stare. “You see my daughter Manderly over there?” he asked Ramsey.
Ramsey nodded.
“I taught my daughter not to trust anyone who does not let her speak her own words,” Legba told Ramsey then turned once more to me.
“Sir,” I said with a nod. “I am happy to help if you need any repairs.”
Legba inclined his head to me. “Thank you.”
Legba then passed Bodi a glance whose meaning I could not determine, and we set off once more. I was just a little ways away when Legba called, “Keyes, can you sing?”
Scorched: The Last Nomads (The Burnt Earth Series Book 1) Page 4
