by Chris Babu
“Everyone follow my lead,” Captain Lindrick whispered. “Our goal is to capture food, and clearly they have some. We get in and get out. These people must be immune to Aeru, but we might not be. We can’t spend too much time making small talk.”
“Whoa, hold on,” Drayden said. “They’re starving and beyond poor. We can’t take their food. We can ask if they’ll share some with us. That way we can find out what they know. How they survived. We’ll scare them to death if we go in with our weapons out. There are children around.”
“We must do it this way for our own protection,” Eugene said. “They could be packing weapons for all we know, and might shoot on sight.”
Lieutenant Duarte jutted his jaw. “Private, you will follow the captain’s orders or I’ll cut your throat myself.”
“Fine,” Drayden ground out.
Captain Lindrick flashed some hand signals Drayden didn’t understand, and Eugene joined the captain and lieutenant up front. Only Drayden and Catrice kept their weapons holstered. Sergeant Greaney remained behind the privates while Lindrick, Duarte, and Eugene advanced toward the bonfire with their rifles drawn. Not running, but walking briskly, semi-crouched, Lindrick took the middle spot and the two other Guardians flanked way out to the sides. The privates followed a good distance back, with Greaney close enough to protect them if necessary.
At thirty yards away, everyone around the bonfire froze. Several people raised their hands in the air and one young boy burst into tears.
A man with shaggy brown hair and a flowing scraggly beard, wearing a weathered tunic, stepped forward with his arms up, cutting off the Guardians before they reached the fire.
Captain Lindrick stopped a few feet shy of him, training his weapon on the man’s face.
The man neither flinched nor cowered, and even smiled, waving one of his raised hands. “We don’t want any trouble,” he said calmly. “We are peaceful people.”
Enough of this.
Drayden marched up, the blistering air near the bonfire searing his skin. He pushed the barrel of Lindrick’s rifle down and offered his hand to the man.
The man shook it, his hand limp.
Lindrick was visibly indignant at Drayden’s insubordination.
“Hi, my name’s Drayden.” He forced a smile. “What’s yours?”
“Marty. Pleased to meet you.”
He spoke weirdly, sounding far different than they did. When he said “Marty” it sounded like “Mah-ty.”
The other Guardians lowered their weapons.
“I’m sorry about that.” Drayden shot the captain a scornful look. “We mean you no harm. We’re from New Amer…New York. We were sailing to Boston and our boat sank. So now we’re hiking there, and we’re unfamiliar with the outside world. We’re in desperate need of food. Do you have any you could spare?”
Lieutenant Duarte scoffed, his expression saying they didn’t need to ask permission; they could take whatever they wished.
“They look like they be eatin’ better than us!” someone shouted from the bonfire.
“John!” Marty yelled back without turning around. He cocked his head. “Sure, friend, we’d be happy to share. But we don’t have much to spare. As you can see,” he tilted his head backward, “we’re barely getting by ourselves. Daisy!” he hollered, never breaking eye contact with Drayden. “Get these nice gentlemen a chicken, a head of lettuce, and a loaf of bread, please. How’d that be?”
“That would be amazing. Thank you. We really appreciate it. Can I ask you a few more questions? I’m just wondering…how are you all alive? You weren’t killed by Aeru.”
Marty shrugged. “No idea. A bunch of us in this area simply didn’t die. Some of the others came from farther away and joined our camp. We do some farming to get by.”
“Do you know if there are people in Boston?” Drayden asked. “And do you ever see anyone else?”
Marty’s gaze started flashing to some of the surrounding houses. “You’re the first people we seen in a while. Don’t know if there’s people in Boston. We used to get harassed by some gangs that would steal our food. There’s clusters of people here and there.”
A pale woman with hollowed out eyes sidled up to Marty, clutching a cloth sack. He took it and handed it to Drayden. “There you go. Enjoy.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Drayden said, the aroma of burnt chicken already making his mouth water. “All of you, thank you. We appreciate your help.”
Some of the survivors held each other, cowering in fear. Others stared, expressionless. Nobody responded, leaving only the sound of the crackling bonfire.
Movement inside one of the nearby houses caught Drayden’s attention.
“Private, time to go,” Captain Lindrick mumbled.
Drayden spun around and sauntered off, joined by the other privates. Sergeant Greaney was already back up the road a bit, anxiously watching the action. Drayden checked behind him.
Lindrick, Duarte, and Eugene were backing away, their fingers on the triggers.
These people shared their food out of fear, not compassion. They clearly could not spare any, and by their own admission, had seen their food stolen before. Who knew how desperate they were to reclaim that chicken?
Once out of sight, Lindrick picked up the pace. “Let’s go, now. Run.”
Running was easier said than done for the privates, with the heavy packs bouncing on their backs. They sprinted until they reached Highway 177, where they huddled up.
“Why did we run?” Catrice asked through heavy breaths.
Eugene had barely broken a sweat. “I think a few people inside a house were arming themselves to try and get that food back. Captain Lindrick and I both saw it.”
Drayden had noticed something as well, though it may have been nothing. “Better safe than sorry,” he said. “But I don’t think those people were about to start a firefight with all those kids around. They were scared, and relieved we didn’t take everything.”
“Which we should have done,” Duarte said.
“No, we shouldn’t have,” Sidney snapped. “Those people are starving, and they have children to feed.”
Just because their group was stronger didn’t mean they should abuse that power. They didn’t, and they procured the food they needed without sacrificing the dignity and needs of the survivors. It felt gratifying to be right, and to do the right thing. However, Drayden deflated when he opened the sack. One miniature burned chicken, a moldy loaf of bread, and a tiny head of lettuce were inside. He let the sack flop down by his side.
“We’re going to need more food.”
One sign read “Fred’s Tire Repair.” Shuttered businesses lined portions of Route 6, a wider road than Highway 177. A broad section of tall grasses divided two lanes heading east and two heading west. It was badly overgrown as well, with towering bramble and trees sprouting up through the asphalt.
“Eventually, we’ll reach a little city called New Bedford,” Drayden said to no one in particular. He’d already studied this part of the map, though once in New Bedford, he’d have to sneak a peek at it again. “We should be able to make it there before dark.”
Drayden’s mind raced as they walked. The discovery of that colony had sweeping implications. One sent a tingle down his spine. His mother might be alive. The villagers they’d discovered may have been born with a natural immunity to Aeru, or perhaps some regions were miraculously spared. The other possibility? The Aeru bug no longer existed. With nothing left to kill, the bacteria may have died off.
He was no doctor or scientist, so this was all amateur speculation. He hadn’t thought too much about Aeru since they’d been on land. Whatever its status, they might be at risk despite receiving the vaccine. Still, there wasn’t anything they could do about it. Worrying about Aeru wouldn’t make them any safer, so he vowed to block it from his mind. One less thing to st
ress over.
They had encountered survivors within the first few hours of their land trek. Sure, it could have been dumb luck, and they’d bumped into the only other people on the planet. That was improbable, though. Marty even said scattered groups existed. Small communities, albeit struggling, were reproducing and growing. Given the vast number of people exiled from New America, they could all live in a village somewhere too. Like in the Bronx, where the exiled were all discarded. But if that were true, why had they never been seen?
Drayden recalled what Kim had said about the Bureau controlling the information. Citizens were always told that no exiled people had been seen again. What if they had, and the Bureau lied about it? It was conceivable they’d attempted to reenter New America many times, only to be rejected or shot by the Guardians who manned the walls. If those exiles lived outside the city, they would constitute a considerable assemblage of people eager to take down the Bureau. There was his potential army.
Drayden’s excitement grew. He needed to bounce these ideas off someone who could reason through it, although he couldn’t reveal his secret objective. He slowed until Catrice and Eugene caught up to him. “Catrice, do you realize what this means? Finding those people.”
“Yeah, people are alive. Maybe lots of them. They’re immune to Aeru, or it’s gone, or something. It’s pretty incredible.”
“Yup. You know what else it means?” Drayden pressed his hands together, as if in prayer. “My mother may be alive.”
“She might be. All the exiles could.” Catrice carried on, unfazed.
That was it? His mom might be alive. The person whose exile eventually led him to risk his life in the Initiation. Whose exile convinced him to join a team of revolutionaries out to topple the Bureau, though Catrice wasn’t aware of that part. That was all she had to say?
“Holy cow,” Eugene said. “That’s awesome, Dray; you’re right. You know what? On our return trip, we should search for her. I can help you.”
Drayden was floored. He squeezed Eugene’s shoulder. “Would you do that? Thank you, Eugene. Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do.” He mumbled, “At least someone cares my mom might be alive.”
Catrice shot eye daggers at him. “What do you want me to do, a cartwheel? Congratulations, your mother might be alive. I barely ever had parents. I haven’t a clue what it’s like to care if they’re alive. Okay?” She folded her arms and sped up, storming ahead of him in a huff.
Drayden and Eugene looked at each other. Eugene made a face.
“You got a real way with the ladies, Private,” Lieutenant Duarte said from behind them.
When Catrice was out of earshot, Eugene slung his arm around Drayden’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. Let her cool down. Something real bad must have happened with her parents. I’m sure she’s happy for you. But it must bring up some painful memories for her.”
Again, leave it to Eugene to be the voice of reason. If he actually were angling to steal Drayden’s girlfriend, he was an incredible actor. He was also becoming a friend, despite Drayden’s own warning to Charlie not to blindly trust the kid.
Drayden gulped warm water from one of his bottles. The Catrice situation aside, a more pressing issue demanded attention. They had enough food for a meager meal tonight, and still had some in their packs, but not enough for three additional days of hiking. Not even close. Add in the exertion of twenty-mile hikes and starvation was on the table.
CHAPTER 17
Drayden’s feet were numb from walking. Besides his blisters, which were red-hot.
At any moment he could roll his gimpy ankle. His neck and lower back ached from the heavy pack. His knees throbbed from twenty miles with the extra weight. How could they possibly walk all the way to Boston?
They’d been hiking on Route 6 for a few hours. Lately, their surroundings had become more commercial and industrial. They passed an old pizza restaurant, a furniture warehouse, and a car dealership with an overgrown lot of rusted vehicles.
The car dealership might be worth a shot. Even though the cars outside were scrap metal, the ones inside might be in decent shape. Um, no. On second thought, that was a stupid idea. No chance they would still work.
The group marched up a gentle slope that seemed to go on for miles. Once at the top, the region grew residential. Abandoned homes dotted the area, and side roads branched off from Route 6, which was less overgrown. The following blocks became more commercial again, with stores clustered in long buildings. An intact sign read, “Harve’s Shoe Box.”
Wooden poles lined the streets every hundred feet or so. Black cables of varying thickness hung from them, coiling on the ground like snakes. Further along, decrepit homes and businesses were bunched ever closer together, as they would be in a city.
“I think we’ve reached New Bedford,” Drayden said. “But we’re not in the main section yet.”
“When we reach the main part, we’ll find shelter and set up camp,” Captain Lindrick said. “We’ll eat the food we have, then start fresh in the morning.”
They reached a major intersection with a wide street called Rockdale Avenue. Past that the road narrowed, with buildings hugging the streets, like in the Palace. Except the structures here, mostly old bars and restaurants, were tiny and in ruins. Vegetation grew over everything, including the buildings.
Drayden recalled one of the lowly Dorm occupations back home—clearing weeds from sidewalks and streets. That task was never complete.
A few blocks past Rockdale Avenue the city returned to residential. Diminutive homes bordered the street, bundled close together. While shoddy, some appeared livable.
Lieutenant Duarte, leading the pack, stopped short and extended both arms. Everyone froze. He touched his index finger to his lips and pointed up to the left. A black plume of smoke rose a few blocks away.
Drayden noted the street sign read Beech Street.
“Listen up,” Captain Lindrick whispered. “We don’t know when we’ll find another camp. We need to go in and get more food. Everyone follows me, the lieutenant, and the corporal, and we go high-ready again. Sergeant Greaney will stay behind the privates.”
The other privates looked at Drayden.
No. This was his mission. These people out here weren’t the enemy; they were survivors—poor ones. They’d struggled and suffered, with only their human spirit sustaining them day to day. They didn’t deserve to be robbed, or even scared. Overpowering the survivors didn’t make the Guardians strong. Showing compassion did. Civility might inspire the survivors to aid them in other ways, like giving advice. His chin up and chest out, Drayden stepped up to Lindrick.
“Captain Lindrick, I’m in charge here. We did it your way last time and nearly caused a group heart attack. These people out here are weak and starving. They’re harmless. We don’t go in heavy or high-ready or whatever. We go in light, I guess, with our weapons lowered. We may come out of this with less food, but we’ll leave with our dignity, and they’ll keep theirs. They may also help us.”
Captain Lindrick spun around and spat, murmuring something before turning back red-faced. “Fine. You want to be in charge? You think this is a game, where things are fair, and there’s rainbows and ice cream for people who play nice? Fine. Let’s do it your way then.”
Lieutenant Duarte glowered at him. “Captain.”
“No, no, Private Coulson has been begging to play leader all day. Let’s give him what he wants. Then see if he still wants it.” Lindrick stretched his arm forward, palm up, inviting Drayden to lead the way up Beech Street.
“Thank you,” said Drayden. “And when I say we do it my way, we do it my way. Nobody’s weapons raised.”
He strode up Beech Street as dusk settled over New Bedford, Massachusetts.
Everyone followed up the short block, and they reached an intersection with an unmarked street, and homes on each corner. The bonfire raged a few b
locks ahead, but nobody seemed to be around it.
He crossed the unmarked street and continued. Halfway up the next block they passed a white house on their left and two brown houses on their right.
Something whizzed by Drayden’s head. The wind from it kissed his face.
What the…?
“Get down!” Duarte screamed.
Drayden squatted and several more rocketed over him, right where his head had been.
Arrows.
Gunfire erupted behind him. A hand grabbed his shoulder, yanking him back.
Drayden lost his balance and fell backward onto his backpack, twisting his injured ankle. Sharp pain exploded up his leg. He cried out.
“Behind the house!” someone shouted.
His head spinning, Drayden scrambled to his feet and hobbled through the pain toward the white house.
Catrice and Charlie sprinted ahead of him. Arrows zipped all around them.
Deafening gunshots rang out. Duarte and Lindrick stood their ground in the street, firing at the second brown house on the right, pounding it with bullets. They backed up but continued to shoot.
Drayden made it behind the house, his heart pounding, and knelt beside Catrice, Charlie, and Sidney. With a trembling hand, he drew the pistol from his hip.
Arrows flew wildly. Eugene and Sergeant Greaney stood at the edge of the structure, pumping ear-splitting rounds from their rifles.
“Cover!” Lindrick yelled.
Eugene and Greaney slithered back into the street on their stomachs. They blasted steady shots at the same brown home, while Lindrick and Duarte backpedaled faster in the direction of the white house.
