Page 17

Claire

O ur days were long and tiring. We covered as much ground on the bikes as we could, through forests and fields, stopping to scavenge for supplies and food when the opportunity arose.

Keeping ourselves fed while trying to move quickly wasn’t easy, but so far, we’d managed.

Our luck ran out, however, when Kimmy took stock of our ammunition supply.

“We’re almost out of ammo,” she said to John, whose brow furrowed with worry. “We can’t keep going without more. We’ll have to make a stop.”

“Where?” Asha asked.

“Little River’s closest,” Kimmy answered. “Last I remember, they were still open to trading with everyone…even if it was mostly gangs.”

John pulled a map and compass out of his pack. He examined the map, biting his lip in concentration.

“What’s Little River?” I asked.

“We passed through a few times while we searched the area for PNCs,” he replied. “Not a place I’m dying to revisit, to tell you the truth.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s a trash heap,” Asha cut in coldly. “And despite what a shithole it is, the people are still the worst part of the place.”

“So you’ve been there?” I asked, a little intimidated by her tone.

“Unfortunately,” she replied, glowering.

John folded up the map and stashed it away but kept his compass out.

“Sadly, unless you can magic more ammo out of thin air, this is what we’ve got,” he said, then turned to me and kissed my forehead. “Sorry, baby. Wouldn’t take you there if I had a choice, but…we need to trade. The area is totally picked clean, and we won’t find ammo for weeks otherwise.”

“Can’t Asha and I stay behind?” I asked, and to my surprise, John pulled me aside.

“I’m not leaving you alone with her,” he said in a low voice, so only I could hear. “I don’t trust her.”

I swallowed. “I’m sure I—”

“No,” he cut in firmly. “I told you; I won’t risk you for her sake. You’re coming with us.”

His stern expression told me he wasn’t going to budge. I nodded.

“It’ll be fine,” I said, sounding surer than I felt. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can. But stay close to me, alright? And try not to make eye contact with people.”

That didn’t exactly sound promising, but I nodded. “What do we have to trade?”

“Ironically, extra ammo,” John said wryly. “Just not for the guns we have.

They also always need food. We’ll stop to hunt on the way.”

He slung his pack over his shoulder and walked over to his bike.

“Do they not grow any food?” I asked as we set off on our bikes. Asha rode ahead of us, Kimmy on the handlebars, chatting away as had become usual for them.

John shrugged. “Sure, but how much is left after the gangs take their cut is debatable.”

“This is a gang settlement?” I asked, my pulse quickening .

“Depends what you mean,” he answered. “Gangs don’t live there, but they control it. The villagers trade almost everything they have to gangs for protection. It’s constantly changing hands, though. Last time we were there, it was held by the Skulls.”

I couldn’t suppress a giggle. “The Skulls? That’s so cheesy.”

John’s lips twitched. “Yeah, well, let’s just say the guys who join those groups aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. But what they lack in brains, they make up for with bullets. So, stay on your guard.”

“Always do,” I said with more conviction than I felt.

We stopped for the hunt, but it didn’t take long. John shot a couple geese, one after the other, before turning to me and Asha with a critical eye.

“If we’re doing this,” he said to Kimmy, “we have to make these two stand out less.”

I raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Asha. To my surprise, she nodded.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “What’s wrong with how we look? We’re dressed the same as you.”

The corner of John’s mouth lifted. “Yeah, but you both have that whole mystical-elf shit going on, and this isn’t a place where you want to be noticed.”

I didn’t really know what he meant, but Asha and I did our best to disguise ourselves under John and Kimmy’s instruction.

I braided my hair and wore the hood of my jacket up, since John said that red hair would attract attention.

Asha did the same as John arranged a scarf I’d knitted around the lower half of my face.

“Good,” he said in approval, then stooped down and grabbed a handful of dirt.

“Hey!” I squeaked as he smeared some on my forehead.

He grinned at my outrage. “Sorry. Hold still, baby.”

I shot him a glare but allowed him to streak more dirt across my cheeks with his thumbs. His touch was gentle, precise, and his eyes narrowed with focus. It was a bizarre moment to yearn for him, but the way he touched me with such care, even during this absurd task, lit my heart like a match.

“There,” John murmured as he finished. “A regular slum dweller, grime and all.”

I laughed. “Gee, thanks. ”

“If it helps, you’re still a beautiful slum dweller.”

“Always the charmer,” I replied wryly.

“Just trying to live up to my reputation as a gallant gentleman,” he said with a shrug, making me laugh again.

“You’re good, Ash,” Kimmy said decisively, backing away from Asha.

Asha’s cheeks were slightly flushed under the dirt that Kimmy had applied, and her eyes lingered on Kimmy’s hands. She met my eye, then instantly looked away, her expression almost bashful. I resisted the urge to smile as we mounted our bikes again.

We followed the remains of a lonely road.

In contrast to earlier, John was quiet and serious, and I tried to adopt the same attitude, even if my stomach was churning with nerves.

After about an hour, we coasted downhill towards a tall wooden fence, stretching around a tiny village situated at a fork in the old road.

One path led into the village, while the other continued through the woods.

The fence around the settlement was rotted in places and half-haphazardly thrown together, with planks jutting out in odd directions and bullet holes dotting them.

There was an opening where an exceptionally tall, hulking man stood, leaning against a post and cleaning his fingernails with a knife.

I didn’t know why he bothered, since his nails were black with grime and by the stench of him, he was unfamiliar with the concept of soap.

He was armed with a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

Despite the chilly autumn air, he wore a shirt with torn-off sleeves, baring large, muscular arms with a messy tattoo of what looked to be a feather.

Most peculiar of all, he wore a black eyepatch over his left eye.

Asha’s bike slowed ahead of us, and John followed suit beside me. He frowned at the man with the eye patch, and I gave him an inquiring look.

“He’s new,” he said in a low voice. “Let me handle this, okay? And when we get inside, stick together.”

I nodded. I had no desire to talk to Eye Patch, who could’ve squashed me like a bug, given half the chance. Fear bubbled just under the surface, but I was determined to keep it under control.

John led the way to the entrance. Kimmy and Asha flanked me on either side, linking arms with me, and I kept my eyes trained on the ground as Eye Patch towered over me .

“Your business?” he said to John in a deep, gravelly voice.

“Trade,” John replied, keeping his tone even. He held up his game bag in demonstration.

Eye Patch barely looked at him. Instead, I felt his gaze on me, Kimmy, and Asha.

“Fine,” Eye Patch said after a moment. “Market’s open. You trading in feathers today?”

John frowned briefly in confusion, but quickly forced his expression back to neutral. “Not today.”

I felt a shudder go through Asha beside me. I glanced at her, and her eyes betrayed a deep-seated fear that I’d never seen from her before. My pulse quickened.

“Alright. Head in, then, but leave your bikes here.”

John hesitated. “They’ll be gone in seconds.”

Eye Patch shrugged. “Yeah, probably. Not my problem, man.”

“I’ll stay here and keep watch,” Kimmy cut in.

“You sure—?” John looked conflicted.

Kimmy nodded. “It’s fine.”

Reluctantly, we left our bikes with Kimmy and entered the village, but not before Eye Patch gave me an unabashed once-over, a lewd smile on his face.

I tried not to shiver. John stepped between us, guiding me forward with a hand on the small of my back and shooting the doorman a death glare.

Asha stuck to my other side, and we followed a dirt path from the entrance towards the centre of the village.

The village itself was nothing more than collection of crumbling Old World structures.

Some of them were only cement foundations, hastily supplemented with poorly constructed wood walls, mud bricks, and straw roofs.

They looked like a decent wind would blow them all over.

The most intact house, at the end of the path, still sported a massive hole in the side, which had been covered over with a partially shredded plastic tarp.

Worse, though, were the apparent residents.

Two children played beside a stream that ran the length of the settlement, where the water reeked so horribly of sewage that my eyes watered.

A young woman with deep lines of exhaustion on her face looked on, soaking her legs in the water.

To my horror, they were covered in open, bleeding sores.

Meanwhile, a painfully thin older man hunched over the stream to fill a waterskin, the corpse-like pallor of his complexion slicked with sweat.

“The water is polluted,” John muttered, seeing my wide eyes.

I tried to school my expression into indifference but barely managed it.

Amongst the patchwork of human misery that surrounded us, there were more men like Eye Patch at the entrance—men who looked relatively healthy and fed, all sporting the same strange feather tattoo.

They exuded an air of menace, shooting us unfriendly looks as we passed, and I tried not to meet their eyes.

“This is what I was told the Wasteland was like,” I said in a hushed voice. “I expected it to be bad after what you said, but…”