Wasteland (Wasteland - Trilogy)

by Kim, Susan

  “What?” said Skar, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

  Esther couldn’t speak. Instead, she pointed to the food, the clothing, the crates.

  “What—what is all this?” she said.

  “This?” Skar turned and looked. Then she said, innocently, “It’s food! You know, and other stuff!”

  Esther looked closely at her friend now. At the base of Skar’s ears and hanging around her tattooed throat and wrists were new and shiny pieces of jewelry, colorful stones and bright metals. She had never seen Skar—or any variant—adorn herself like this.

  “And where did you get this?” she said, flicking at the bangles.

  Skar touched her ears and throat, growing self-conscious and her smile less confident. “Well . . . from the Source. Like the rest of it.” She gestured at the boxes as if in confused apology.

  Esther nodded, very slowly.

  Her mind was whirling. What did this connection, this alliance mean? The variants did not, of course, Harvest gasoline, nor was there much left to collect even if they did. So what had the variants exchanged with Levi for this massive payment of goods? What had he wanted from them? What had they done to earn it?

  The sun was higher in the morning sky; the heat began to beat down. Esther had forgotten to wear her sunglasses and was forced to hold up a hand, to protect her sight. Soon, she had to shut her eyes.

  All she could see was Caleb’s face.

  PART TWO

  SEVEN

  ALTHOUGH IT WAS MORNING, THE SUN BURNED WHITE HOT IN THE DIRTY yellow sky. Yet inside the Source, it was perpetual twilight, dark and cool.

  To Slayd, the interior of the gigantic white building always felt like a cave . . . and he did not care for caves at all. They were damp, unwholesome places, dappled with pockets of darkness that harbored all that was unnatural, possibly deadly, and to him, disgusting. In caves, he had seen oversize spiders, patches of mottled mold growing on wet rock, snakes with pinprick eyes and pale skin, and mice that fluttered through the air with leathery wings. His skin crawled at the thought.

  In many ways, Slayd felt the same way about Levi.

  Although technically a norm, Levi resembled no one the variant leader had ever seen before. He was more a cave-dwelling animal than an actual human, with his black eyes, his dandified black clothing, and silver jewelry. His skin was so pale, it seemed to glow in the gloom, and it emitted a sharp and musky smell that turned Slayd’s stomach.

  More disturbing, Levi’s skin was soft; even his bones seemed soft, revoltingly so. It was almost more than the variant could bear just to look at him, much less grasp his hand in greeting.

  The two had been sitting across from one another in Levi’s office, a large, trembling room with wire walls that the boy called a “freight elevator.” A single electric light overhead threw deep shadows into the surrounding cavernous space. Perhaps because Slayd was the one to request this meeting, Levi kept the variant leader waiting for nearly an hour and now seated him on a smaller, inferior chair that was dwarfed by the massive desk separating them. Still, Levi continued to delay, appearing to examine some papers on his desk, a white cloth pressed to his mouth.

  Slayd was keenly aware of these deliberate slights. Yet rather than be angered by such rudeness, he knew enough to hold his temper and stay watchful instead. It was clear that Levi was doing it on purpose, to trigger some sort of emotional response from him, throw him off balance. He wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  Yet even though he sat in silence, Slayd had already made a mental note of the precise location of the five guards that surrounded them. Should the situation deteriorate, he had calculated the quickest way to escape.

  When Levi finally looked up, Slayd wasted no time and got to the point.

  “I’m here to request the rest of our payment,” he said. “For the latest action. The one with the smaller band.”

  “I heard about it,” Levi said. His voice was polite, almost bland.

  “We’ve been waiting for another shipment,” said Slayd, his tone as even as that of his host. Whatever game Levi was playing, the variant was more than prepared to meet him. “What arrived was less than we agreed to.”

  “What you did wasn’t worth the full payment,” Levi replied.

  He was finding it difficult to look at the mutant leader. As always, Levi found everything about Slayd—his deformed features, his scarred and tattooed skin, his small and pointed teeth—freakish and repellent. He couldn’t bear his sexless quality. Slayd called himself male, yet looked no different from the so-called females of his tribe: hairless, smooth-faced, and slight of build. Worst of all was his smell, which was sharp and acrid like an animal, with a tendency to linger long after he had gone. Once again, Levi pressed the cologne-sprinkled handkerchief to his face and inhaled.

  Slayd was nodding. Then he bowed his head and spread his hands in an obsequious manner that Levi did not believe for an instant. “We did as you requested,” he said. “We escalated the violence.”

  “I’m not talking about what I requested,” replied Levi. He realized his tone was harsher than he intended, revealing too much; he softened it. “I’m talking about the stranger. I understand he defeated you and four of your best single-handed.”

  “Ah,” said the mutant leader. Again, his air of polite apology seemed false to Levi. “But we did not know he was coming.”

  At this, a slight frown creased Levi’s forehead. “Even so, I’m surprised,” he said. “Five against one? I can’t imagine that should be so hard to handle.”

  Slayd shrugged. “My people and I had specific instructions, and those instructions did not include taking on another. Especially one who turned out to be so skilled a warrior.”

  “But everyone knows you people are the best fighters,” said Levi, persisting.

  Again, Slayd shrugged. “That may be,” he said. “All I can suggest is that perhaps my people might work harder in the future if they were paid the full amount. And maybe even a bit more.”

  Levi now rocked back in his chair, silent.

  The variant watched him, making sure his expression gave nothing away. If Levi was changing the terms of their agreement, then he would counter and change them too. There was, he thought, no harm trying.

  “Well,” said Levi after a moment. “That’s certainly a conversation we could have further down the line.”

  Slayd frowned, annoyed by this evasion. “We are—” he began, but Levi cut him off.

  “But the truth is, I’d only consider increasing your pay if you people managed to do a better job,” he said.

  Slayd felt his face flush with annoyance.

  “I told you, we did everything that was asked,” he said, his control slipping. “Two of my people were seriously injured as a result. If you pay us more goods, perhaps it would begin to make up for the loss to my tribe. It would certainly not cover what we have lost in goodwill with the people of Prin by attacking them, the reasons for which you never once explained. That alone is worth an increase.”

  Levi didn’t even look at Slayd now, finding that his patience was wearing thin. Explain? he thought, with disbelief. It would be like justifying yourself to a dog. Instead, he ignored the remark.

  “I am not only talking about the recent attack,” said Levi. “It’s everything. What about that other job from before? The job I asked you to do far from Prin?”

  But Slayd was shaking his head. “Why do you mention that now? We brought you the child,” he said. “We fulfilled our end of the deal. What else was required?”

  “You were supposed to kill both parents,” replied Levi. “You told me the father survived. I’m surprised, Slayd. I thought you people were capable of handling such a simple job.”

  The variant leader smirked.

  “We are,” he replied. “But it was not my people who carried it out.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Levi.

  Now Slayd was grinning, relishing the look of confusion on the norm’s face. �
��It was another tribe. They made the mistake. Not my people.”

  “But—” began Levi, and this time, he was interrupted by the variant.

  “I hired them,” Slayd said. This time, he did not bother to hide not only his triumph, but also his anger—anger at Levi’s rudeness, his condescension, and presumed superiority. “It was too far for my people, too much trouble. Not worth what you offered.”

  “And you paid these others . . . out of the fee I paid you?” said Levi, his voice rising. He, too, had dropped the veneer of politeness, the pretense of civilization; he was openly furious. “You dare to attempt profiting from the jobs I give you by hiring others?”

  “Profit?” The mutant seemed to spit out the word. “When my people are starving? You dare to call that a profit?”

  Incensed, Levi was about to rise and call for his guards. But with the remarkable self-restraint that had served him for so many years, he instead remained motionless.

  Levi realized he was foolish to respond emotionally to what was a business disagreement. True, any norm alive would be angered by the effrontery of the savage in front of him. Such arrogance was unacceptable and at some point, Levi would make certain to pay it back, harshly and many times over.

  But not quite yet.

  As much as it pained him to admit it, Levi still needed the mutant leader. Since the Source had started running out of food and water, Slayd and his tribe had been critical in helping Levi carry out his plan. He had to drive the people out of Prin. If the residents believed they were making the decision to leave themselves, it would lead to a cleaner and simpler transition than if he were to try using force. With control over an endless supply of water, Levi would then be sole owner and occupant of the town. All he needed was for Sarah to bring him the missing book, which would tell him exactly where to dig. Until she did, Levi would have to endure Slayd’s insolence.

  Levi was aware that Slayd was watching him and so he forced himself to smile. Then he chuckled, as if enjoying the punchline to a good joke. At this, the mutant visibly relaxed, and in doing so, missed the involuntary twitch in the norm’s jaw.

  “Of course,” Levi said, “perhaps I should be taking all of this as a compliment. You seem to have picked up a few of my tricks, Slayd. Why shouldn’t you hire others to do your dirty work for you?”

  Slayd inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Any comparison to you is a compliment we do not deserve,” he murmured. “But as to the subject of our payment. May we possibly assume . . . ?”

  Levi nodded. “The balance will be paid in full as soon as you leave. With an extra half case of water thrown in.”

  He noticed with distaste that even though the mutant leader kept his gaze lowered, he couldn’t control his jubilation. Slayd was grinning openly. Now he got to his feet, his hand extended, but Levi remained where he was, his elbows propped up on his desk and his fingers steepled.

  “All of this is on one condition,” Levi said. “Will you and your people be ready for another excursion soon?”

  “Certainly,” said Slayd. “Can we also assume . . . ?”

  “I will raise the fee,” said Levi after a moment. “One half case of clothing, one of grain, and one of water.” He watched as a look of stunned happiness crossed the mutant’s animal face. The effect was both grotesque and comical. “But this one must be special,” Levi added. “I want you to use something different than the usual clubs and stones. This attack needs to be much more . . .” He traced something ineffable in the air with his pale hand and let the sentence hang, unfinished. “Do you understand what I mean?”

  The mutant smiled. Then the two shook hands.

  Slayd was escorted to the door. He was given back his knife, his bicycle. After checking to see that no norms were nearby, he pedaled back toward the variant camp miles away. Jubilant at the thought of the extra payment, he relished his victory over the clever and arrogant Levi. It would make for a good story to tell to the village elders that night, he thought.

  Back at the Source, no one saw him go. Not even Levi watched from his hidden window.

  He was too busy calculating his costs. True, he did not anticipate the bonus he had just promised to Slayd. Even so, in the long run, the terror he had purchased with a handshake would be a bargain even if it were two or three times the price paid. For fear was like fire, a powerful force that could sweep unchecked through a town and drive everything living from its path.

  And if all worked out as planned, that was exactly what was going to happen.

  The plume of smoke rose almost imperceptibly in the midday sky. Without even looking, Esther knew it was there. But instead, she pedaled harder and tried to keep her eyes trained on Sarah, who rode her purple bicycle in front of her.

  That morning, using a combination of guilt and begging, her sister had managed to talk Esther into taking part in the Harvesting they had both been assigned to. She even managed to find a bicycle for her. Resentful at having to work at all, Esther was nevertheless aware that she was down to her last warning, and any more work violations would result in an automatic Shunning.

  “Hurry up,” Sarah called over her shoulder, from far ahead. Her voice was anxious. “You’re going too slow.”

  But Esther found it difficult to ignore the signals, which had been coming all day. They had begun early in the morning and at least in Esther’s eyes, had become more and more insistent, reproachful. Helplessly, she peeked upward. Although she knew it was impossible, she was sure she could smell the far-off smoke, the pervasive scent of damp and rotted pine branches tossed onto a fire.

  It smelled like a rebuke.

  There had never been a day when Esther had not scanned the horizon for such signs. Long before the recent tensions in town and the growing ugliness between townspeople and variants, the secret code was how she and Skar had always communicated.

  The signals were few and simple, meant to convey only the most basic and crucial information:

  Meet me now. I am returning to my home. All is well. I need to speak with you. The situation is urgent.

  But Esther’s surprise visit to the variant camp had changed how she felt about her friend. She did not know why. All morning, she had been struggling to sort her jumbled thoughts about seeing the goods from the Source and make sense of her churning emotions.

  Skar had little to say when pressed for information. She had always been this way, the kind of person who bent to authority and accepted what was going on around her without doubt or question. Unable to give any satisfactory answers to Esther’s questions, she instead tried to placate her friend and change the subject, which only made Esther angrier. It was the first time the two girls had ever quarreled or parted on bad terms.

  Even now, Esther couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  By now, she had lagged far behind the others, despite Sarah’s best efforts to shepherd her. She bicycled hard and soon caught up with the group. Besides her sister and herself, there were three others on the Harvesting team, all girls a year or so older than Esther. One of the girls, thin and haughty, was named Rhea; she was the team’s Supervisor. When Esther joined them, panting, Rhea glanced at the others and raised an eyebrow, and everyone laughed.

  Sarah, blushing furiously, gestured at Esther to stand near her.

  “Where were you?” she hissed. Esther only shrugged.

  Today’s destination appeared to be what was once a large field that lay to the side of the highway. Over the years, the sun had hardened the land, which was now covered with an intricate network of fissures and cracks. Strange pools of relatively clean, white sand were scattered across the field at intervals. The remains of a large building, once resplendent, sagged in the distance, past a broken sign reading SKYVIEW LINKS. A windowless structure, no more than a large metal shed, stood closer to the highway. Its doors were held fast with chains and heavy locks.

  “In here,” said Rhea, nodding at the shed.

  The shack was most likely a garage, the kind of structure that hous
ed cars, motorcycles, and other gas-filled vehicles. Judging from the heavy scuff marks on the doors and the locks themselves, it was obvious that others had tried here without success. But today, the team had brought a crowbar with them. After repeated efforts by all five, they succeeded in smashing open the locks.

  Inside, the team found a row of boxlike vehicles. They were not much bigger than bicycles, only with four wheels, and were clearly meant to carry two passengers on their cracked leather seats. The side of each vehicle contained a rusted metal cap.

  Elated, Rhea and her team tried to unscrew the caps in order to get to the gas inside; but the job was harder than they expected. And even once they managed to pry them off, it turned out that the tanks were nearly empty. For all of their time and effort, they collected no more than half a bottle’s worth of gas.

  Throughout, Esther attempted to participate. She dutifully took her turn with the crowbar, tried to open the tanks, and helped coil away the rubber tubing once the small amount of gas had been Harvested. But her mind was not on it.

  “Try to be friendly,” Sarah implored her in a whisper. Their work done for now, the team was on a break, sitting in a loose circle in the shade of an abandoned truck in their dusty robes and eating the meager lunch they had brought. The air was heavy with humidity, a sure sign of an oncoming storm. “They’re not so bad. Try talking to them.” But Esther made a face.

  “About what?” she whispered back.

  Sarah shook her head hopelessly. Then she turned back to the others and made a great show of listening as she laughed and nodded.