Wasteland (Wasteland - Trilogy) (2 page)

Laughing and chatting, the two headed back down into the relative coolness of the building. They argued over what should be the new starting point: the abandoned steel tracks several miles down the road, or the dried-up lake on the far side of town? But as they approached the ground level, Esther’s face froze and she made an abrupt gesture at her friend, who stopped in midsentence.

Skar heard it, too: a faint thread of faraway voices.

In the distance, heading off the main road and turning into the asphalt lot, were three figures on bicycles. One was pulling a red wagon; from where she stood, Esther could even hear the faint clank of its metal handle. They had clearly seen Esther; had they seen Skar? The trio was headed to the parking garage, straight toward them.

Esther and the variant shared a quick glance, and Esther gave a nod. Without speaking, Skar crouched low and slipped away, disappearing behind a row of parked cars.

Esther waited a few moments. Then with fake casualness, she sauntered to the edge of the wall and looked down. She was trembling and her heart was pounding, but her actions revealed nothing.

Within seconds, the three were clustered below, gazing upward at her. From their expressions, Esther could tell they didn’t notice Skar and she felt some of her tension ease.

Yet she had to make certain they didn’t come up to where she was, where they might see her friend. No variant was safe since the attacks. She rested one hand in front of her on the low wall and gazed down at them.

It was impossible for Esther to tell who they were. Indoors and away from the burning rays of the endless summer, the three wouldn’t resemble each other at all. Yet at that moment, they were nearly identical, dressed the same as everyone in Prin except Esther: swathed in filthy sheets, with towel headdresses hanging down their necks, scarves masking their lower mouths, and thick cotton gloves protecting their hands. The billowing folds were belted close to their legs, in order not to get caught in the spinning gears. All three wore dark sunglasses. In the wagon, Esther could see two empty plastic bottles, coiled rubber tubing, and a crowbar.

The three were on their way to a Harvesting.

There were three jobs in Prin—Harvesting, Gleaning, and Excavation—and they were assigned by a lottery held every two weeks in the center of town. Everyone over the age of five was required to attend and, once given a job, expected to work every day from sunrise to sundown. The rules had always been strict but they had become much tougher of late: Not to show up resulted in a Warning filed by the team Supervisor, which Esther had incurred at least four times in the past year.

One more and she risked Shunning. And Shunning from town meant certain death.

Two of the three jobs were grueling but mindless: the Excavation and the Gleaning. The few times she had deigned to show up for an assignment in recent months, in order to placate Sarah, Esther had opted for one of those two. But the Harvesting—a search through the outlying areas to find the most tradable commodity, gasoline—called for real concentration. It was by far the single most important job in town and one that had grown only more difficult and time consuming as the years went by.

When Esther had drawn the Harvesting as her assignment at the last lottery, she’d cursed her luck. Then she ignored the task and instead headed to the overgrown fields and vacant lots to play with Skar.

It had taken the rest of her team this long to find her, and their fatigue and frustration were obvious. She had to be careful not to provoke them: There was too much at stake, for both her and Skar.

The biggest figure called up to her. “Look who’s here,” it said. Although they were cloaked, Esther had no trouble recognizing who was speaking by their voices. This one was Eli. At fifteen, he was the oldest and was therefore Supervisor of today’s expedition.

“Where you been?” shouted another, revealing herself to be a girl called Bekkah. Shorter and younger at eleven, she acted as second in command. “We been looking for you!”

“I showed up the first day, and you guys had already left,” Esther said from her perch, trying to sound sincere. She knew that from a hiding place behind her, Skar was listening too.

“Right,” said the smallest and youngest. This was Till, and his tone was sarcastic.

Esther knew this boy the least and, as a result, feared him the most. She turned beseechingly to Eli.

Her appeal was not lost on him. Eli was well aware that after two weeks, their work detail was almost over and had been unsuccessful. The two others in his team were on the edge, ready to vent their fury on any target. He had to keep them at bay.

“Let’s go up there and get her,” Till said.

Eli held up his hand. He exchanged a look with Esther.

In spite of himself, Eli smiled; he couldn’t help it. For some reason, he had always been attracted to Esther, despite her utter irresponsibility and almost total lack of female affect. He couldn’t explain why, even to himself. His eyes still holding hers, he gave a dismissive wave to the others. He tried to sound cold and unfeeling.

“Let’s go,” he said. “She ain’t worth the trouble.”

He remounted his bike, looping around to head back out to the main road. For a moment, the other two were angry and confused; then, resigned, they got on their bikes. Bekkah made the turn with difficulty because of the wagon. Only Till couldn’t resist a parting shot.

“Looks like you got off this time!” he yelled back over his shoulder.

Eli stopped at the edge of the parking lot.

“Better get back to town,” he called to Esther, meaningfully. “You ain’t safe alone out here.”

“I’m not afraid of wild dogs,” she said.

“I don’t mean dogs.” He spat before he took the turn.

Once they were gone, Esther expelled a long breath. She was surprised to find that she was trembling and even a little sick. Why?

Was it because Eli had done her a favor, meaning she was now indebted to him? True, he had often seemed sympathetic to her in the past, and she had never minded. He had always been kinder than the others, and not as close-minded. Yet now that she had asked for his help, and he had given it, they were linked, somehow, in a way they hadn’t been before . . . and Esther was not at all sure how she felt about that.

In Prin, Esther and Eli, not to mention Sarah, stuck out for being single. Nearly everyone got partnered when they reached fourteen. By seventeen, they were considered town elders, and by nineteen, they were dead. That was the longest anyone managed to escape the disease; it was everywhere there was water, carried in the rain, lakes, streams. Couples spent their short lives together at meaningless and backbreaking jobs, often toiling side by side, and all for just enough food and clean water to survive. Esther was already fifteen, a year past the age of partnering. Was this really all she had to look forward to?

When she was old enough to rebel, Esther began breaking curfew and spending more time with Skar. At first, people in town treated her with condescension, as an oddball. Now, they viewed her as a pariah, a freak. And Esther had been fine with that. Being an outsider made her feel strong, even invincible. But lately, she found she was often beset by a strange sadness.

She would always love Skar. But despite Esther’s efforts to embrace their culture and learn their ways, the variants themselves still refused to accept her as one of their own. Her one trip to the variant camp had been a disaster: She was treated coldly, with suspicion and hostility, by the rest of Skar’s tribe. Esther hoped that one day she would be welcomed as the ally she was; but after so many years, she had yet to even meet her best friend’s brother.

The town of Prin wasn’t home, either. She fit in nowhere.

Esther knew how she really felt.

She felt alone.

Maybe there could be someone else to be
truly
close to,
she thought. Or maybe there could be something bigger to be a part of—what, she wasn’t really sure. A little while ago, Esther would have laughed at the idea. But she wasn’t laughing now.

“Are they gone?”

Hearing her friend’s voice, Esther snapped to attention.

The variant girl now crept from behind a row of parked cars and stood by Esther with fists clenched, tense and ready to run.

Esther brushed aside her own concerns, to put her friend at ease.

“We’re fine,” she said, nudging Skar in the side. “Now let’s see who makes it to the tracks first.”

Eli and the others rode their bikes single file down the main road heading away from Prin. He led them past the hulking, plundered ruins of buildings on the edge of town, places that still had names, meaningless words they didn’t know how to read:
STAPLES, HOME DEPOT, THE ARBORS NURSING HOME, STOP & SHOP
.

Eli pedaled slowly, so Bekkah could keep up. He was careful to steer around the broken glass, discarded bits of machinery, and chunks of dirty plastic that littered the pavement beneath their tires.

They avoided detritus left by the periodic rising and retreating of floodwaters: bleached-white shells and stones, the rotting remains of a rowboat. There were other things that must have been swept away by the dank waters: a rusted hunting rifle; a blond wig that had become a filthy, tangled mop; a safe deposit box with the top torn off and the dust of long-dead crabs inside.

Ahead, the road became a bridge, passing over a much larger avenue underneath.

Eli stopped as he considered where to go.

“We already checked over the bridge,” commented Bekkah, as she pulled up alongside him.

“Yeah,” said Eli. “But we didn’t go down
there
.”

He pointed, and Till swallowed hard.

“Are you sure,” he muttered, “we have to?”

Eli shrugged. “We been out here two weeks and ain’t got a drop. There’s no place else to check. Come on—it’ll be fine, and maybe we’ll even be done today.”

The others seemed reassured. Eli pretended to look at ease as they glided down what had once been the on-ramp to the northbound lane of the interstate.

At times, the deserted road was almost impassable with fallen trees, downed streetlights, dead power lines; but the three managed to find a way through. Both sides of the highway were overgrown with heavy, tangled undergrowth that in some areas spilled past the shoulder and onto the road itself, and in some places obscured the aluminum barriers once built to muffle the sounds of traffic.

“Nothing so far,” Eli called over his shoulder. He was talking too loudly, he realized, from nervousness.

He was on edge in case they saw a body.

Although none of them talked about it, they all knew that people with the disease were Shunned, sent from town on this highway to die; that way, it was said, they wouldn’t contaminate the others. No one knew exactly where they ended up. There were rumors in town of a Valley of the Dead, a mass grave filled with the remains of innumerable children, although such a place had never been seen. Some thought it was no more than a bedtime tale told to frighten the little ones.

Eli was not sure he believed the story, but he worried they would see or smell remains on the road or off to the side.
Which would be worse,
he wondered:
if the body was fresh enough to be recognized or too rotted to identify?
The smallest ones would be the worst, he decided, and skeletons of any size.

“Hold on! Back up!” Till yelled.

They slowed down. Sure enough, they could see something peeking out from a dense tangle of vines, brush, and litter, close to the highway wall, where no one would have searched.

“Yeah,” Bekkah said. “Looks good.”

It was a dark green car, compact yet roomy, with an incomprehensible word framed by a steel circle on the front grill:
VOLVO
. The three pedaled onto the curb, then got off and walked their bikes through the clotted grass of the shoulder to reach it. With difficulty, Till pulled the wagon as well.

Bekkah fished out a steak knife hanging from her belt on a nylon cord and sliced away the vines and branches that strangled the car. Working methodically, she cleared away a space on the left side of the vehicle, above the back tire.

Eli took the crowbar from the wagon and flipped open the small metal panel in the side of the car. Then, with a few yanks, he pried off the cap to the gas tank. Till handed him the tube, and Eli snaked it down into the tank, feeding it inch by inch.

In the hot sun, the others watched his expression. Moments later, Eli smiled as he felt the end of the line hit gas.

“A decent amount,” he said, relieved.

“Good,” Bekkah said. “He was mighty mad last time. Wouldn’t hardly give us nothing.”

“He’s been like that for a while now,” Eli said.

They were talking about the one they worked for, the one who lived on the outskirts of town. The boy called Levi.

Levi lived in a kingdom of sorts, in that he saw himself as a kind of king. Yet his home was more of a fortress, as the windowless building was massive, guarded, and impenetrable. It was nicknamed the Source because while no one in Prin had ever ventured inside, it was quite literally the center of life; the townspeople would soon die without it. It was powered by the only electricity any of them had ever seen, electricity generated by the countless bottles upon bottles of gasoline everyone in town spent so much of their lives searching for.