by Patti Larsen
Just in time for the crack of lightning to throw the landscape in stark relief. The others crowd behind me, excited mutterings barely loud enough to hear as the rumble of thunder following the flash crashes through the night sky overhead.
The crew quickly tires of the spectacle but I stand there for a long time, watching the storm recede, wiping rain from my face until there's no longer any to wet my cheeks, breathing in the scent of fresh air washed clean by the downpour.
I feel reborn.
When it's over, the night returned to quiet, I return to Poppy and fall into the most peaceful sleep.
***
The sun is just rising when I hear the shout through the open door.
“Station!” Everyone stirs, though not with the same enthusiasm as before, the encounter with the Brights still sharp in our minds. But still they gather out on the coal-car landing, hanging from the sliding entry. I hang back, stroke Poppy's hair as she sits up, yawning and stretching.
“Another?” One of the puppies wakes, Shade going for Poppy's sleeve and a game of tug-o-war.
“Another.” I scratch the black lab behind her ear, hear her groan in happiness before flopping on her side to let me rub her soft belly.
“I think I'll stay here this time.” So odd for my young friend to not want to see, to do. But she smiles at me, her little hands finding the velvet fur of Shine's blonde coat. “I need to keep them safe.”
Beckett's impressed her with her responsibility after all. “Good idea,” I say. “I'll stay with you.”
Or is that the case? Her lower lip trembles despite her brave smile, but she nods and hugs me before going back to giving the puppy attention.
Fear then. I can understand.
I ignore the others as they move around me, crew and friends alike, hear Socrates say, “...I'm sure it is...” with Vander at his side before the two drift off. Beckett is long gone as the train comes to a screeching final halt, the brakes making their horrible grinding sound against the rails. I absorb myself in the dog, the puppies and the little girl I love so very much.
It's not long before the others return, looks of disappointment on their faces.
“Nothing,” Beckett says with a hint of disgust as he crouches next to me. “The place has been trashed. Not a scrap of anything usable left.”
Chime strides into the car with Brick right behind her. “We're moving on,” she says.
“Not quite yet.” Vander slides in beside Chime, eyes locked on me. “I can't find Socrates.”
Chime's mouth opens, face already crinkling into a frown when I speak.
“He's invaluable,” I say. “Knows more about Crawler weapons and has been helping Ande.” I make sure that reaches her, let it soak through her stubborn nature. “We need him.”
She's unhappy, and everyone knows it, she makes sure they know it, but I watch her back down. “Go find him,” she snaps at me. “But be quick. As soon as the boiler is hot we're moving on.”
Vander gestures to me, but he didn't have to bother. Beckett joins us as I leap down from the car to the platform where Vander shields his eyes with the lowered peak of his ball cap, irises clear in the sunlight. “He told me he wanted to find a library,” Vander says.
I groan. “At least we know what to look for.”
Vander leads us around the building where a few stragglers from the crew catch a last minute sprawl in the grass, enjoying the sunshine while they eye the entry to the main car for signs of Chime. My gaze rises to the outline of buildings against the bright blue sky, the hint of the mountains dark in the distance. The sun is climbing, the day heating up as we bypass the wreck of the station and find the road leading into town.
More like a small city. This one's welcome sign I can read, at least. Alamine, Kansas. My mind goes to the map I've seen while memory flickers. We've come a great distance already, still with far to go. But I feel more optimistic now I have a real indication we've made progress.
The road into the middle of the city is packed with rusting cars and debris. If anyone still lives here, they aren't nearly as orderly as the Brights we met at the last station. I can't help but hope this place is empty like Albuquerque, not sure I can handle another encounter with damaged kids.
The library is pretty obvious, a large building right on the main street only a few blocks from where we started. It looks like a town hall, red tiled peek roof partly caved in, but the sign out front is still legible.
One large door hangs partially from its hinges, the red paint, once deep and rich, peeling away to reveal the rotting wood beneath. I step into the darkness, Vander at my side, no need for my eyes to adjust to the change of light when he slides back his sleeves and allows his glow to illuminate the entry.
Someone has boarded up the broken windows, leaving the large foyer under the weight of darkness. Junk and books are piled up everywhere, a thin path leading straight ahead into the library proper.
“Let me go first.” Vander moves ahead, Beckett keeping pace with me, checking our rear constantly while I pull the calm around me and taste the air.
Something moves past the stacks of trash and discarded books. More than one something. Vander's glow fades a little as he turns a corner in the debris. I almost run into him as we join him where he stands perfectly still, looking around.
We've emerged from the tunnel, clearly man-made, into the large library. It, too, is cluttered with much more than the books and stacks originally housed here, but it seems more maneuverable at least. Still, someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to create a maze of impassible debris, with entrances and exits running off in every direction.
I feel movement, turn to my right. Beside me, fur rising, the dog whines softly as though unsure himself if this place is a threat to us.
“Trio!” Socrates looks up from a desk he hovers over, a huge smile on his face. But he's not alone. Hunched, withered, hair wispy and wavering around his wrinkled face, stands an old man.
Vander hisses in a breath and I know what he's thinking. Gault, his brother, suffered from the same affliction when he caught the Sick, one aging him beyond his years.
“Socrates.” I take a step closer, feel the dog press against my legs, the low, steady rumble of his unease through our contact. “We're leaving.”
He shakes his head suddenly, rising to help the old man approach. “We can't,” he says in a boy's begging voice. “Not yet.”
The dog barks once as Socrates and his companion come to a halt before us.
“This is Jeremiah,” Socrates says. “And these are the friends I was telling you about.”
Jeremiah's ice blue eyes meet mine, yellowing in the whites giving him a jaundiced appearance. His pale tongue sneaks out, swipes over his lips while he smiles at me and offers his hand.
“You must be Trio.” His voice is a dusty rasp and as I take his hand and shake it, such an old-fashioned gesture, the texture of his paper-thin skin repulses me. I didn't feel this way about Gault, but then again the dog didn't react toward Vander's brother this way either, golden body shaking with concern.
“Beckett,” Socrates points. “And Vander.”
“The Bright.” Jeremiah cackles suddenly. “I've read about your kind, but only met one once before.”
Shuffling in the maze, the sound of feet approaching. We're suddenly surrounded by old men and women.
“We call ourselves Waste,” Jeremiah says with a loose grin like he finds the name hilarious. “Because it's a waste, you get it?” Again he laughs, the other Wastes hooting with him as if he's told the funniest joke they've ever heard.
Part of me wonders at their sanity as Socrates grins and shrugs. “There's so much information here,” he says, grabbing my hand, pulling me deeper inside. “Jeremiah is helping me with research.”
“What research?” Beckett's anger comes through as he pulls away from one of the Waste girls who reaches out to touch him with a sad look on her face. “We're going, Socrates. Now.”
The look S
ocrates shoots me tells me he's looking for an ally, but I can't be that person for him. “We really do need to go,” I say. “I'm sorry.”
“At least stay for a meal?” Jeremiah grins, his handful of remaining teeth as yellow as his eyes. “Allow your friend here a little time on our computer.”
Socrates almost hops he's so excited. “They have a computer.” He looks around at all of us. “A working computer!”
The dog lets out a whine like something's harmed him and I look down quickly to see what's wrong. His fur stands on end, eyes huge, tail trailing low between his legs as he pushes back against me, shoving me into reverse. I bend and hug him, whispering in his ear, but he shakes free and turns to me, snapping at my sleeve, tugging me away.
I smell it then, the scent I'll carry with me the rest of my life, my skin crawling in revulsion even as my mind screams its horror. The last time I smelled that rotten, putrid scent I was in a sub-basement alone.
Surrounded by Shambles.
My head snaps up as the first one staggers out of the stacks, arms outstretched toward me.
Beckett lets out a yowl of fear before his hand whips back, a rock from his pocket ready to fly.
“No!” Socrates jumps in the way, hands up. “It's safe. See?” Another Waste appears behind the Shamble and it's only then I notice the thick leather collar around its neck. The Waste ties the leash off on the base of a stack, grunting as she rises, smacking the Shamble in the face when it tries to bite her.
My mind spins, heart pounding even as the Shamble crouches and moans softly, dead eyes staring off into space.
Pets. They keep Shambles as pets.
“One meal,” Jeremiah says, smile widening. “Tell us of your journey. Enough time for Socrates to use the computer.”
Vander shudders, Beckett with him, though I notice he's lowering his arm, disgust fading.
Have they lost their minds?
“We'll ask our leader,” Beckett says.
Right. Chime. Perfect. There's no way she'll accept and we'll be on our way.
So why does the grin on Socrates's face make me think otherwise?
***
Chapter Twenty Three
Chime shovels another fork full of meat into her mouth and groans in pleasure while Brick copies her action, the other hand already reaching for a scoop of what I can only guess are mashed potatoes.
So much for her predictability. When Vander returned, she, Brick and a few of the other kids were with her, the offer of a free meal enough to entice her to check things out.
Within moments, Jeremiah had her wrapped around his fingers. “Such a lovely and benevolent leader would surely allow her people the benefit of a home cooked meal? While one of your own does what research he can to improve your position?”
Chime actually bought such pathetic language and lapped up his praise. “Lunch it is,” she said, flinching a moment at the sight of the Shamble, but more than eager to participate.
I can't bring myself to taste any of it, stomach rejecting the idea entirely, though I admit the Wastes set a very impressive table. I remember linens, tablecloths, and napkins, silver holders for salt and pepper. There are even wine glasses for water, a centerpiece with fresh flowers, candles in elaborate silver holders flickering softly. The whole scene, the large wooden table and heavy chairs, is as surreal as the dinner I ate with Cade at the stadium.
Was that only days ago?
The dog shivers next to me, refusing to eat anything he's offered as well. His anxiety tells me to be cautious at least, even if perhaps I second-guess my own nerves. He's never led me astray, saved my life in fact, and I'm unwilling to dismiss his warning.
Beckett leans close from where he sits next to me, whispers in my ear. “The meat tastes funny.”
Jeremiah catches my gaze, salutes me with his wine glass, the water sloshing slightly as his hand shakes. Socrates is firmly ensconced beside him, asking a million questions I don't hear as I allow the calm to remain, devouring me as surely as the others eat their meal.
Brick sits back at last, belches as one of the Waste girls fills his glass again. He waves her away, treating her like a servant. Despite my lack of trust for these people, his action infuriates me, adding anger to the calm.
Not a good combination. I'm prepped for battle with nothing to fight. Any moment now I'll crawl out of my skin for certain.
“Come.” Jeremiah rises with Socrates's help, the two turning toward one of the tunnel-like passages. “Let's see what our friend here can find.”
So much for us leaving after lunch. Socrates made no move during his meal, despite Jeremiah's assurances the boy genius was to be conducting his research at the same time. I follow when they leave, the dog practically clinging to me, deeper into the building even though my mind and heart both scream at me to run, to escape. I'm certain any moment now they'll attack, the Shambles will break free, the Wastes will reveal their horrible plans. When Jeremiah halts next to a desk with an old computer on top, I'm so wrapped up in the fearful story, so prepared with the calm ready to leap to my bidding, almost disappointed.
Socrates sits with what looks like reverence and grasps the mouse. He wiggles it gently, the black screen suddenly alive with color.
He actually squeals like a little girl. “How much is here?”
“Everything,” Jeremiah says with a smile and a pat to my friend's head. I jerk suddenly to the side as one of the Waste girls tries to look over my shoulder, not wanting her to touch me or even come near me. She smiles and backs off though there's no apology in her expression.
More like guile.
Am I being uncharitable? The longer I stand there, in the quiet of the space with Jeremiah at Socrates's side, the brilliant boy clicking with great enthusiasm through the pages and pages of text available, I wonder. Until the dog whimpers and tugs at my sleeve again and I shake off my doubt.
“Thanks for the hospitality,” Chime says, “but we really have to go.” She glances at the two Wastes hovering near her, finally uncomfortable too, and I wonder if the dog's reaction is reaching her at last, though I know she'll never admit it.
Socrates spins, about to protest, but Chime shakes her head.
“Surely a few more hours.” Jeremiah's tone is beginning to annoy me, the simpering persuasiveness of it, how he pretends to be aged and wise though I know he's barely older than the kids around me.
I'm not the only one troubled by him, it seems. Stomach full, Chime is clearly not in the mood to be manipulated. “Let's go. Or we leave without you.”
She turns and pushes her way through the Wastes, heading toward me and the way we came. Jeremiah's people fade back from her, eyes locked on her with a sudden desperation that stirs my fear.
“Careful,” I whisper to her on the way by. She shoots me a glare and keeps going, Brick smirking as he follows her, gently bumping me as he passes.
Socrates rises, head hanging, and hugs Jeremiah. “Thank you,” he says. The Waste hugs him back, a look of real regret passing over his old face.
“It's been an honor to meet you.” Jeremiah pulls free and smiles, gesturing for Socrates to follow Chime out.
I wait for him to pass me before turning to go, Beckett at my side, Vander taking up the rear. “Something's not right,” I whisper to them both. “Stay alert.”
Both nod as though unsurprised even as Beckett's gaze falls to the dog.
We're all learning to pay attention to my golden friend.
My sense of direction tells me we've gone the wrong way almost immediately and I catch Beckett's short nod. The calm looms fresh, wraps me up more tightly than ever, my senses now aware of each and every Waste in my vicinity joined with the growing stench of Shambles, as if we near where they are housed. I'm ready to fight, eager almost, just wanting something to happen.
More Wastes appear, feels like we are being herded though they make no move to harm us, smiling, gesturing for us to continue. I catch Brick's frown as he looks back over his shoulder and me
ets my eyes. He's noticed we're off course at last.
I must act and yet there's nothing to do, not without some show of aggression for people who've shown us nothing but kindness. For all I know, they are leading us out another way, a shorter way.
Delusion, really, but I'm unable to act without first being attacked. Knowing it doesn't make me feel any better.
I see the cages the moment I hear Chime's shout of anger, one of the other crew's shriek of fear. And yet I hold back, keep the calm, don't attack.
When I finally see what those cages hold, I find my heart clenching in horror despite myself.
Now I know where dinner came from. And why the Wastes have been so kind to us.
The Shambles aren't the only cannibals here. And now that we've had dinner, it's our turn to be dinner.
We're next.
***
Chapter Twenty Four
My friends and the train crew stand transfixed by the sight of the cages, even Beckett frozen next to me, gazing in real horror at the traps before us. Four of the large metal squares stand side by side, the slats made from scrounged steel, tied together with wire and rope. But the kids inside, the cattle for the Wastes, don't look strong enough to break themselves free even from such feeble attempts to hold them.
In fact, aside from one or two who moan and watch us with terrified eyes, filth covered bodies nearly naked but for scraps of torn rags to cover them, the other handful who lie inside, filthy bodies exposed to the air, look dead.
Brick roars, backpedals, sudden revulsion on his face. His action breaks the spell as he turns, heads toward me only to be stopped by a Waste, a Shamble on a leash driving him back.
“I'm so very sorry,” Jeremiah says in his conniving voice. “But if you would please get in the cage,” he gestures at one empty one, the makeshift door hanging by two strands of wire, “we won't harm you.”
