by Peter Telep
And because I’m a risk-taker.
Or just impatient. Or a fool. Whatever.
I take Meeka’s hand.
And Julie grabs mine before I can stop her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I didn’t want Julie to come. It was my risk.
But you don’t stop her. You just board up your windows and hide in your bathtub—because she’s coming.
“There used to be apartment buildings all up and down this street,” Meeka explains.
She and Steffanie have returned to their bodies... and here we are—and it’s just awful.
We stand below mountains of concrete and stone and rusting metal soaring thirty or forty feet into the night sky. The destruction lies everywhere. You can walk or carefully bike down this particular street, but it’s impassable by car. Too much debris.
However, parked at the intersection behind us is a line of six or seven monstrosities that you could say are vehicles. They’ve been cannibalized together from at least a dozen more rides and anything else these scavengers found useful.
There are no windshields, windows, or glass of any kind. It’s either been shattered or deliberately removed.
Tires are the wrong size, and in some places fenders have been cut away so they could fit.
Solar panels mounted to rickety poles sprout from the roofs like weeds.
In fact, everything’s mismatched, taped, bolted, or wired on. They remind me of that night I came home after tasting whiskey. I built Lego cars until three in the morning because I thought my creations were hysterical. Dad found pieces of Lego scattered all over the house, and that’s how he broke one of his toes.
Anyway, the largest vehicle resembles a pickup truck with a rickety metal shed mounted to its flatbed. A little girl hangs from an open slot cut into the shed’s side wall. She stares at us, and then shakes her head and slides shut a tiny door.
“We’re just rumms like anyone else,” Meeka says.
“Yep, like anyone else,” Steffanie echoes. “We’re everyone who doesn’t belong. Rummagers, scavengers, refugees. We’re orphans and stragglers. Just everyone. All we have is us. And a bunch of junk we collect and trade.”
“We rumms stick together. Like a family. We protect each other,” Meeka says. “That’s our group back there.”
“This is horrible,” I mutter.
“Yes, it is,” Meeka says. “But we don’t want sympathy.”
“You want our location,” Julie says.
Meeka’s tone actually softens. “Now I’ll show you why.”
The girls take us to the caravan.
Behind the vehicles we meet dirty-faced teenagers armed with rifles. Maybe thirty in all. Their clothes have been stolen from the nomads and worn down to the threads.
Most have blotchy white scars and tumors on their arms, necks, and faces. Some are missing limbs and have propped themselves up on the hoods of cars. One kid has a piece of dirty cloth wrapped over both eyes.
I recognize the four muscleheads from the Hood—
And I can barely face them.
They’re neither muscular nor handsome, with more scars and burns and cheeks caved in. The tallest kid has lost a leg. The others sit there like weary prison camp survivors.
Meeka continues toward the truck with the shed. She tugs open the back door. The little girl pops out. Cute blonde with curls, six or seven years old, dressed in sun-bleached clothes she’s already outgrown. “Hello, Taggie.”
The girl practically leaps into Meeka’s arms.
“Who’s she?” I ask.
“Her parents were with us for a while.”
“I guess we shouldn’t ask about them,” Julie says.
“No,” Meeka replies. “You shouldn’t.” She kisses the girl on the cheek. “We take care of each other now, right?”
“Right,” Taggie says.
“How many bags today?”
“Four.”
“That’s great.” Meeka hands over Taggie to Steffanie, and then she invites us inside the shed.
As we climb in, we’re assaulted by a powerful smell.
“Wow, it’s like pumpkin spice in here,” Julie says.
I take a deep breath and sigh.
“This is where she works.” Meeka gestures to a table bolted to the wall, along with a stool piled up with books so Taggie can reach the workspace.
A stack of about two dozen branches lies in one corner. Each branch is as thick as my thumb and about a foot long. Small bulbs like tiny blue eggs sprout from the pale white bark. The bulbs are furry and cast a familiar glow.
Right in front sits a collection of tools: knives, a hammer, a mortar and pestle for grinding, and a pile of hand-stitched bags from a green material that looks like grren skin... and probably is.
“This is the powder house,” Meeka says. “Those branches are from the snowter tree. We grind the bulbs into a powder called mirage. We mix the powder with water and drink it.”
“What is it? Like a drug?” Julie asks.
“More than that. It’s the most valuable thing we have. We trade it for food, favors, whatever we need. There’s a huge black market for it.”
“So what do you do?” I ask. “I mean do you just get high or something?”
“Not exactly,” Meeka says. “There are all kinds of drugs that affect the wreath. Some can shut it down. Some can do other things.”
“Like what?” Julie asks.
“Like buy us more time in our personas. Don’t forget: your clock’s running right now.” She points to Julie’s chest. “Stay too long here, and your wreath gets weak. Stay even longer, and then wreath drains your body… and you die.”
“Oh, yeah, I get that,” Julie says.
“Yeah, but if you’re taking mirage, you can double, even triple your time. Noobs like you are lucky to get an hour or two. We get about four hours. But check it out. I know one kid who was taking mirage and stayed in his persona for over a month. A whole month!”
“And I think I know why…” I say.
She nods. “Because you’ve already felt it, Doc. When we’re in our personas, we’re whole again. We can see with both eyes. We’ve got our legs and our arms back. No more wounds that never heal. No more pain that keeps you awake all night. Life doesn’t suck anymore.”
“So those kids outside, they all take it?” Julie asks.
“Yeah, whenever we can,” Meeka answers. “Like I said, being in our personas takes us away from all this.”
“Can it hurt you?” I ask.
She hesitates. “There are some side effects, but believe me, they’re worth the risk.”
Julie lowers her gaze. “This is beyond sad.”
“I told you, we don’t want your sympathy,” Meeka says. “We’re survivors. This is how we grew up, and now I’m glad you’ll finally get a chance to see what it’s like to be us.”
I ball my hands into fists. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the Palladium is gone. You’re all alone. You think you can make it out here alone?”
“Wait. Now you want to help us?” I ask.
“Well, we don’t actually want to, but you’ll be raw meat in two days… so really, you got no choice.”
“What do you really want?” Julie asks.
Meeka lifts a brow. “Just the best for everyone.”
Julie glares at Meeka. “We came here looking for Keane. You tell us where he is—otherwise we’re out of here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I like Julie’s style. Call out Meeka and cut to the chase.
Yep, that’s the way we roll.
Meeka wants our location because they plan to use us for something. They assume we’ll do it in exchange for their help and protection.
But they don’t realize we have a wild card. His name is Tommy. He’s not exactly human, either. He’s a Marine—
First in, last out. Best friend. Worst nightmare.
And now Julie’s a jarhead herself, all fire in her eyes as she stares down Meeka.
Meeka leans over and draws a snowter branch from the table. She hands it to Julie, saying, “This is why Keane left.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was going with you to the river valley, but he changed his mind.”
“What river valley?” Julie asks, her voice cracking a little. Damn, she’s not doing the best job of lying...
“Come on, you’re up in the Highlands right now, aren’t you?” Meeka asks. “Keane told us everything.”
“Apparently not,” I say.
“Why is that so important?” Julie asks.
“Did you make it up there or not?” Meeka asks.
“Why does it matter?” I ask.
“Just a simple yes or no,” says Meeka. “Why is that so difficult?”
Julie and I look at each other, confused. I face Meeka and ask, “You tell us why that’s so important.”
“You confirm you’re there, and I will—and believe me, this will benefit all of us.”
I think it over. Julie shrugs. “Oh, so we made it up there. So what?”
Meeka sighs deeply with relief. She opens the shed door, and then climbs outside. “They’re definitely in the valley,” she tells Steffanie.
“Awesome.”
We join them back on the street, and Julie looks as baffled as I am. What just happened?
Have we made a deal? Or did we just play into their trap?
“So you found me,” comes a distinct voice from behind us.
I turn. “Well, look who it is… Keane… the guy who doesn’t say good-bye.”
“I’m not big on that.”
“We didn’t drive you away, did we?” Julie asks.
“No, it wasn’t you.”
“Then why did you just leave?”
Keane seems embarrassed. “It’s sort of complicated.”
“Tell them,” Meeka says. “We’re back to being a family—just like the old days.”
Keane gives her a dirty look. “Go away.”
Her expression takes sarcasm to new heights. “Whatever.”
As she leaves, Keane apologizes.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “So you’re out here with no suit? What’s up with that?”
“I heard it’s gotten a little better with the storms cleaning up the air. But either way, I don’t care anymore. Whatever happens happens.”
“That’s a new attitude.”
“I guess so...”
“So what’s going on?”
He sighs. Loudly. “You feel guilty about a lot of things, you know? When I was at the Palladium, all I could think about was everyone out here. Why? Because I’m one of them. Just a rumm. And they’re my family.”
“That sounds like you,” Julie says.
He blushes. “Yeah, whatever. So they need our help.”
“If we help them, will you help us?” I ask.
“I guess I would.”
“So what do they need?”
He smiles as though it’s obvious. “They need mirage.”
Julie makes a face.
Keane reacts. “I know what it sounds like, but please, you have to listen.”
“We will,” I say, glancing at Julie, who’s definitely not into this whole drug thing, but we have to hear him out. She looks at me and tightens her lips.
“Okay,” Keane begins. “So I’m not sure if Meeka told you, but mirage isn’t just our drug. It’s our money. We use it to make deals with other caravans, and for a while there we were bribing guards at the Palladium to help us smuggle out supplies.”
“So where do we get this stuff?” I ask. “The branches...”
“All the snowter trees for a thousand miles are dead or got stolen by nomads—all of them except the ones up in the river valley. That’s the mother lode.”
“So go get it.”
“No one goes up there.”
“Why?”
“Because of the grren. Even the nomads gave up.”
“So you want us to get some branches,” I say.
“Not some.”
“How many?”
“All of them. Like thousands. And we’ll help.”
“But you need me to talk to the grren,” Julie says.
“Will you?” Keane asks.
Julie shakes her head. “Find somebody else.”
“There’s no one else willing to do it,” Keane says. “Believe me. We’ve tried.”
“Then Julie, you need to,” I tell her.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“Are you serious? Why not?”
“Because I feel like we’re just making a bad situation even worse. It’s like these kids are all crackheads now.”
“Julie, it’s easy for a pretty girl like you to stand there and say that. Try losing a leg. Or an eye. Try being burned over half your body, and then talk to me.”
“I know what the drug does. I just… I don’t know…”
I get in Julie’s face. “Damn, girl, look around at this place. Nuclear holocaust. What we think is right doesn’t matter to them. Besides, they’re already taking the stuff.”
“I know they are.”
“Yeah, and it’s like mirage is their medicine to help them feel better.”
“I know, I know. I just feel horrible about all this…”
“Julie, we’re helping,” I tell her. “Because we need a favor from them.”
“You do?” Keane asks.
“Yeah, help us get back to Earth.”
“Cool. Are we building a spaceship? Because as you can see, we’re pretty handy around here.”
“Shut up. Listen. There’s this thing called an engine.”
“You asked Ms. Martha about that.”
“Yeah, it’s how we’ll get back home. So you help us find it, and we’ll get you all the branches you need.”
“Wait a second, I have an idea,” Julie says. “If we find the engine, maybe we’ll take these rumms to Earth.”
“Are you crazy?” I ask. “They get there, they’ll be like sick, homeless aliens. And they’ll be locked up, just like you were saying, remember?”
“Tommy’s the government guy. He can work this out,” she says. “They kept us safe for all those years. I bet they can do it with these kids. Plus they need doctors and real medicine. It’s gotta be a better life than this.”
“Whoa, I don’t think Tommy would go for any of that.”
“Why is it his decision?”
“Because of operational security.”
“Now you sound like him.”
“That’s what he’d say. We send these kids back home, they could escape, run wild, get into trouble. We’re talking about first alien contact. We’d be like changing history, who knows what.”
“Tommy won’t let that happen. And I’m sure these guys would love to get out of here.” She turns to Keane. “So, you wanna come to Earth?”
He shrugs. “How’s the food?”
“You ever have pepperoni pizza?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
I smile and think about it. “So… uh… I don’t know, Julie, this all sounds insane. And who knows if we can convince Tommy.”
“We’re doing this,” Julie says.
Keane holds up his hands. “Hey, slow down. I got a stupid question. If we find this engine, do you know how it works? If it can send people to Earth, then it was created by geniuses and must be super high-tech.”
“Hollis showed me one of them, but I have no idea how it works. I think you just climb up a staircase and jump in.”
“Yeah, right. I’m sure it’s that easy.”
“Look, we’ll figure that out when we get there.”
His eyes light up. “Wait, Hollis could’ve put instructions on how it works in his immortal.”
“Yeah, we’ll let him borrow my persona, and we’ll ask.”
“Perfect.”
“Looks like everyone’s getting along famously,”
Meeka says, shouldering her way back into our conversation.
“I told you to go away,” Keane grunts. “I should have said far away.”
I raise my chin at Keane and Julie. “You guys mind if I have a private talk with our awesome host?”
Julie frowns. “About what?”
“Look, just let me handle this, okay?”
Julie opens her mouth, and then thinks better of it. She grabs Keane’s wrist, and they start toward the front of the caravan, where the rumms have built a fire.
Meanwhile, I share our plan with Meeka, who snorts and says, “Look, there’s no guarantee we can find your engine, but either way, we still get the mirage.”
“I’m okay with that. But you only get half up front.”
“Okay, and we get the rest after we’ve tried everything.”
“That’s a deal.”
“See, I told you we’d be working together.”
I curl my lips into the broadest, fakest smile I’ve ever made. “Meeka, this is the greatest experience of my life.”
She chuckles. “You’re almost as snarky as I am.”
“Snarkier.”
“Impossible. So, Mr. Docherty Harrison, do you have any idea where this engine might be?”
“No, but I know who built it. Guy named Solomon, the leader of the nomads...”
“Solomon’s not the leader of the nomads.”
“He’s not?”
“No, it’s this crazy guy named Kharrion.”
“Have you seen him?”
She nods.
“Show me.”
She jumps into her persona, takes my hand—
And we’re inside one of her trucks, bouncing at high speed over a seriously rough patch of dunes. She’s at the wheel, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “Look back!” she cries.
The topless dune buggy/Jeep thing behind us has three nomads crammed into the front bench seat. The guy in the middle stands tall, clutching the windshield frame with one hand, brandishing a rifle with the other.
His face is scarred, his skin deeply tanned, his thin blond hair now shoulder length and peeled back from his forehead by the wind.
“The guy in the middle,” Meeka says. “That’s Kharrion.”
“No, it’s not,” I say. “His real name is Solomon Carter, my dad’s old partner.”
“He changed his name—”
“Because he sold my father’s research to the Monkshood, and they dropped the bombs here.”
