In the End (Starbounders) (15 page)

I put the note on Jacks’s pillow and look at Brenna. “Get what you need and meet me in the parking garage at my bike. You have one too, right?” As I ask, I remember she showed me hers the day I got mine. I’d never thought to ask her why she needed one. If she used to be a Scrapper, it makes sense she would have one.

“Yep, and I don’t need to pack anything. It’s not far. I should be back by nightfall.”

“Oh, wait.” I remember Tank and Pete were last at the front wall. “Is there any other way to get out of here besides through the front gate?”

“Yeah, there’s the back entrance, out the garage where our bikes are. But . . . Amy,
what
is going on? Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”

I look at her. “Brenna, has anybody ever wanted to kill you?”

Brenna pauses and then gives me a wicked grin and raised eyebrows that say,
Look who you’re talking to here.
She snorts out a laugh.

“Just every damn day,” she tells me.

Chapter Twenty-three

After the constant noise of Fort Black, the silence on the outside is deafening.

Brenna and I leave the prison without incident. As we make our way through the garage to our bikes, I’m sure we’ll be spotted by one of Doc’s minions. But our departure is quiet, effortless. We unlock our bikes, check the tire pressure, and ride off. It’s not against the rules to leave; when I look up nervously at the top of the wall, the guard just nods and waves to Brenna. It all seems so easy.

Too easy.

We ride across the dusty flats, side by side. Before, this would be kind of a good time—the breeze rustling my hair, the sun beating down on my face. As I listen to the wind whistle in my ears, I can almost imagine everything is like it was Before. It feels . . . free.

“This is fan,” I say with a smile.

Instead of sharing my delight, Brenna responds, “Aw, shit. Look left.”

I swivel my head to where she’s pointing. In the distance, a Florae has spotted us and is making its way over, brought by the sound of our voices.

“So you sure this Florae gadget of yours is going to work?” Brenna says nervously, looking from side to side. Because of Fort Black’s intentionally rural locale, we’re forced to ride in the wide open. Aside from a few clumps of houses, there’s nothing around for miles.

“It will work. I was out here for months before I came to Fort Black and never had a problem.” I was also sure to keep it charged and turned it on before we left.

“I hope it doesn’t crap out now,” she mumbles. I can feel Brenna’s fear through her sudden silence as the Florae lopes toward us, gaining speed.

“Shit,” she says again, pedaling faster. As if that would help.

But at a hundred feet, the monster begins to tremble, its pale yellow-green skin shimmering in the brilliant light. It flinches back and veers away in the direction it came.

“There,” I breathe, slowing down. “See?”

“Holy crap,” Brenna says. “You got any more of those things?”

“No, only the one,” I tell her as she gives me a strange look.

We ride for another half hour. The deflected Florae has given Brenna confidence, and she begins to ask more about me, my past, and my family. Not wanting to reveal too much about my mother, I tell her about my father. All the things I loved about him. How he went on and on about buying organic and not wasting water.

“An eco-nerd, huh?” Brenna says. “Well, he sounds like he was a good guy.”

“He was.” There’s a tug in my chest, but the tears don’t start this time. I wonder, after all this death and sadness, if my tears just dried up. “What about you? Your family?”

Brenna just shrugs. “I never had a family, really. Hey, this car lot’s a little farther out than I thought,” Brenna says, distracting me. We stop to drink some water. I guzzle mine greedily before I hear Brenna curse.

“My water bottle’s got a hole in it.” She holds it up. A few drops fall from a pin-sized hole in the bottom of the bottle and onto the ground, splattering the pavement.

I shake my canteen, but I’ve drunk all my water. “Hang on,” I say. Water’s usually not hard to find, if you know where to look. I stop, flip my pack from over my shoulder, and check my supplies. “I’ve got a filter, but we’ve got to find a source.” I scan the horizon with my binoculars. “There’s a farmhouse over there,” I say, pointing. “Maybe there’s a stream or a well. If you think we have a few miles, maybe we should hit that.”

“You think it’s safe?”

“Safer than you passing out in this heat and me having to wheel your ass around. Let’s go.”

We make our way quickly over the parched, scorched ground, slowing down as we get close to the farm’s gate. Before, it must have been a lovely home. The gingerbread trim is still intact, as is a porch swing, drifting back lightly in the almost nonexistent breeze. But it’s only a shell of a house now. The paint is peeling, and the windows have all been shattered. Trash litters the yard—empty cans, wooden chairs, an old trampoline. Brenna leans over and picks up a pink hairbrush.

“Think I can trade this for something?” she asks, rubbing her shaved head.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be using it,” I say, grinning. “Hey, let’s stay away from the house. There might be a well back here.”

“Hell no,” Brenna says, walking up on the porch. “Let’s see what else is inside.”

“Brenna, I’m telling you, the place could be—”

Quick as a flash, a figure shoots out the door. Before Brenna can move, the attacker has her by the neck and holds up a rusty kitchen knife. It’s a woman, thin, with dark rings under her eyes.

“Occupied,” she whispers hoarsely. She’s so filthy, it’s impossible to tell her age, but she looks at least as old as my mother. Her hair is plaited in two greasy gray braids.

Brenna yells in frustration and struggles to free herself. The woman holds the knife closer to her neck.

“Be quiet, girl!” she shrieks between clenched teeth. “Do you want those
things
to come? I have nothing to lose by killing you.”

“Except that I’ll kill
you
,” I say, purposefully loud. The volume puts her on edge.

The woman narrows her eyes and looks at me.

“How?” she sneers.

“It will take me exactly one second to take out my gun.” I lay my hand on it at my side.

The woman grits her teeth but holds tightly to Brenna. “What do you want?”

“Water,” I say. “That’s it.”

She looks at me warily.

“I’ll stay right here with your friend while you get it,” she says. “And don’t think about going inside. My man’ll kill you in a second.”

“Well, she’ll kick
his
ass,” Brenna says. “I’ve seen her level dudes bigger than whoever you’ve got back there.”

The woman looks at me again. I notice that her hand is shaking. She’s terrified of us, that we’ll bring the Floraes.

I nod and slowly make my way around the house. The well, like she said, is easy to spot. When I look inside, the water is murky but filterable. “Found it!” I yell.

There’s a grunt from the front of the house. When I look in the direction of the noise, I let out a small breath. The entire back of the house has been burned away. There’s no way anyone could be inside.

“It’s just gonna take another minute,” I call, then silently make my way to the house. Without taking the time to look around, I walk through to the front and rush through the door, grabbing the woman’s arm and yanking the knife away from Brenna’s neck.

The woman doesn’t scream as she tears at me. She’s survived this long by being quiet. But within a second, Brenna has her pinned to the floor. To my surprise, she doesn’t struggle at all. She just lies there, limp, on the rotting porch. Up close her face is red and cracked, her nose permanently red, as if she’s been crying for years.

I check the front windows to make sure there’s no one lurking around. Through one of the downstairs windows, I can see one room that survived the fire. Purple walls and what looks like a poster of a teen star from Before. I can’t help but smile when I realize who it is—Kay, holding a microphone, her eyes shut, her short hair streaked with blue and her body wrapped in a spangled leotard. It’s hard to think of the Kay I know as the same person as this clichéd teen superstar. My eyes dart around the rest of the room. It’s mostly trashed, but I can make out some other items. A broken princess mirror, a canopy bed on its side.

A girl must have lived here, Before.

I return to the front. “There’s no one there. Nothing inside really.”

“Go ahead and kill me,” she says, as loud as I’ve heard her speak yet. “I don’t care anymore.” She stares at us pathetically.

“Why would I kill you?” Brenna asks. “It was just, you know, a misunderstanding.”

The woman turns her empty gaze to the sky.

“Everyone kills everything,” she whispers. I look at Brenna, whose face is carved into a deep frown.

“This your house?” Brenna asks.

The woman nods.

“Kids?”

“Not anymore.” She closes her eyes. “We used to be three, and now I’m one,” she says flatly.

We stare at her, unable to respond to her sadness.

“My husband was bitten, infected. He killed our girl. Ate her. Now I hide in the cellar to keep him from killing me when he wanders back.”

She sits up and wipes her face angrily. “Take as much water as you want. I don’t care. I’m surprised the creatures aren’t here already, with how much of a racket you all are making.”

“Go back to the cellar,” I say. “We’ll leave soon, and you’ll be safe from the Floraes.”

Brenna holds out the pink brush to the lady. “I guess this is yours.”

The woman looks at it. “Keep it.” She turns and walks into the shell of her house.

“Wait!” I call to her, but she hurries into the house and disappears, though I see her peeking through a burned-out window frame. I leave the woman as many protein bars as I can spare on her front steps. “These are for you . . . for the water,” I call out to her.

She pokes her head out of the door. “What’s wrong with them?” she asks suspiciously.

“Nothing. . . . Please, take them,” I tell her.

She bends down and gathers them up in her arms. “Thank you,” she says hesitantly. “I forgot . . . you know. That people can be kind.” She backs away and ducks inside.

I stare after her for a while, sad, but Brenna calls to me and breaks my trance. We stay just long enough to fill up our water bottles. Then, after bleakly surveying the ruined landscape, we get on our bikes and slowly ride away.

I’m quiet for a long time. Brenna, seeming to sense my mood, doesn’t bother to talk until we’re a few miles away.

“She’s been out there a while,” Brenna says. “It’s hard to remember, isn’t it? That Florae are people. We’re so glad when they die, but those are ex-humans that get blown away.”

I don’t say anything. Actually, it
isn’t
that hard for me to remember. Because my mother started it all. Because I was forced to kill a Florae that used to be a friend.

And this is what Jacks doesn’t understand. Or Rice. Or anyone, really. I don’t have the luxury of starting a life in Fort Black. Or New Hope. Or anywhere.
We used to be three,
that woman said. Families have been torn apart because of what my mother did. I owe it to them to try to stop the cycle—to stop whatever Dr. Reynolds is pulling now.

But first thing’s first. I have my own family to think about. And Brenna’s helping me get closer.

“Hey, there it is,” Brenna says, pointing to an old strip mall next to the abandoned highway. “That’s where the mechanic’s shop is. . . . Dwayne said there were plenty of gassed-up cars.”

We pedal faster toward the strip mall, containing the auto shop, an old frozen yogurt shop (judging from the remains on the plastic chairs and tables, clearly a site of a huge Florae attack), and a sporting goods store, thoroughly looted. My pulse speeds up as I see the parking lot filled with vehicles. We drop our bikes, running from car to car. Most have keys in the ignition, but the gas caps are all hanging open. The fuel has been siphoned. There are plenty of cars but no gas to get them going.

“Shit,” she says, slapping the open door shut. “They got to this one too.”

I kick the tire of the car nearest me.

“Sorry, Amy,” Brenna calls from the last car in her row, and the last one on the lot. “I didn’t think a Scrapper would have gotten all the gas already. I wonder how he carried it back? He was really on top of that shit.”

I manufacture a smile. “It’s okay. I appreciate your help. I guess I’ll just go on from here on my bike. Are you going to be able to— What are you doing?”

Brenna has pulled a knife and is running straight at me.

I blink, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing, but there’s no mistaking the look on her face. She’s trying to kill me.

No, not Brenna.

She can’t be working with Doc too. But they wanted me away from Jacks, and Brenna just coincidentally showed up to help. Is she going to kill me out here, where no one will ever find me? Or was this just an elaborate trick to get my emitter? She always admired my synth-suit and asked what other gadgets I had.

Well, I won’t give it up without a fight.

I’ve been too slow to grab my own knife when Brenna is upon me. Except she flashes past. I whirl just in time to see her tackle a man to the ground. I get it now—but there’s no time to feel guilty for thinking she’d betrayed me. She needs my help subduing the man on the ground.

Except she doesn’t. By the time I’ve tossed my pack aside, Brenna already has him in a chokehold and has pushed his head to the side with a bone-wrenching crunch. She releases him and he slides to the ground, his head bent at an impossible angle. I swallow my horror and compose myself. I recognize him, despite his mangled appearance. Pete. Tank won’t be far away.

“We should go,” I say. “Now.”

“Why was he trying to kill you?” Brenna asks, unmoving.

“I don’t know—habit? He and Tank have had it in for me since I got here.” I frantically scan the auto yard. Tank could be hiding anywhere. I don’t have time to explain everything to her, and even if I did, it wouldn’t help her any. She still has to live in Fort Black. The more she knows, the less safe she’ll be there. “I didn’t think they’d follow me outside the walls.”

They’re guards, not Scrappers. How did they make it out here without the Floraes finding them? They must’ve followed us close enough to be protected by the emitter. I’d have seen them, though. Had they just gotten lucky, riding in the wake of the emitter?

I look down at Pete. “Tank must be here, too. He’s . . .”

“Right here, cupcake.”

I turn to find Tank standing ten feet away, a rifle leveled at me. His nose is swollen, his face purple. He looks like a monster, not a man.

“If you fire that gun,” I tell him, “the Floraes will find you and they’ll kill you.”

Tank harrumphs. “We’ve been trailing you since you left Fort Black and you two haven’t shut up once. I don’t see what all the fuss is about with the Floraes. If it’s this easy to avoid them, I could be a Scrapper. It ain’t that hard.”

It’s pointless to reason with him, so I try to pull my gun, but Tank doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. I’m on my back before I hear the crack of the gun echo through the air, pain exploding from my chest where the bullet hits my synth-suit, the wind knocked from my lungs.