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“The mutants aren’t inherently bad, as many people like to think. The King is an example of that. Alastair was raised in the market. He’s the product of his time, definitely. He can seem cruel in his choices, especially when it concerns the safety of his people. But never truly heartless. His love for the kingdom his fathers left to him is what motivates every action. The mutants are powerful, but they’re also inherently humans. Who they have become depends entirely on their upbringing and what life has dealt them. And let’s be honest, their start in life was already a bumpy ride. You throw gifted children to the caprice of the world, and you’re surprised when they turn into monsters. Humanity owes them an apology. Or, at least, a place among us.”

Extract of a handwritten journal, by Thomas MacKoy, 2056.

The Hoover Dam is less than a thirty-minute flight from the hot spring, so we wait for nightfall before leaving. But barely ten minutes into our journey, Jude points to a vehicle making its way through the dark wastelands. It’s a massive RV built on giant wheels, pulling a trailer that was made for livestock before the Rise. And there is someone inside, gesturing frantically to the sky—to us—with a lamp.

A red flag flaps in the dry wind. Highwaymen going back to their new base.

“Dumdumb, land in front of that RV,” says Jude.

I keep the burning questions in check as Jude pulls out his gun. We fly straight to the ground, and the RV swerves to avoid crashing into the Firefly. But a vehicle that size isn’t easily stopped, and it tips to the side. The windows explode with the impact. The trailer is dragged to the ground behind it, leaving a deep trench in the dust.

Jude is immediately out of the aircraft, gun raised. I follow.

A man is trying to pull himself out of the driver’s window. Jude pulls the trigger, and he dies instantly. More people scream from inside the RV, but he ignores them as he walks to the trailer. It’s upside-down now. An old man with a beard is hanging from the bars. He’s covered in dust and grime.

“Gandalf, you old geezer,” Jude says. “Are you okay?”

“Jude! You couldn’t have thought of a better way to rescue me than almost killing me in a car crash?” retorts the old man.

“Sorry. I didn’t know it was you in here.”

One bullet is all it takes to break the lock keeping the prisoner inside, and the old man climbs out with Jude’s help.

Banging noises and gunshots erupt from the RV. The survivors inside are trying to get out. I walk to the vehicle and put a hand over the frame. I send a strong electric charge through the entire RV. Anyone touching metal will be stunned for a few hours. From the silence that follows, it’s safe to say that it worked.

Jude offers me a slight nod.

“How did you end up in that cage?” he asks the old man. Then to me, he says, “Gandalf is an old friend. One of the first traveling merchants of the new world.”

“I’ve been careless,” answers Gandalf. “They caught me three days ago in Utah. I’m getting too old.”

“Why?”

“Why am I getting too old?”

Jude chuckles. “No. I think I’ve got that figured out. Why did they capture you? Why not just kill you and take your things?”

Gandalf smooths his long beard and shrugs. “They found me near the river in Utah. They couldn’t find my hovercar, so they took me instead. For questioning, they said. They were taking me to their new leader. I’ve heard that your parents are dead. I wish I could say that I’m sorry, boy. But you know I’m not.”

Jude sighs. “Yeah. Don’t waste your breath.”

“Although that new leader seems to be worse than your family,” Gandalf continues, limping away from the wreckage. “The Highwaymen have been hunting us more than ever before. And they’ve now launched a few attacks on the Traveling Market. The King is on edge.”

“I bet he is,” says Jude. “Let’s go. We can get you back to your hovercar in no time.”

He helps the old merchant walk to the Firefly.

“I always liked you, boy. You were always my favorite of your whole family,” jokes Gandalf, patting Jude’s back.

“I clearly don’t understand why,” says Jude with a smile. “My brothers and sisters are a delight.”

Gandalf cackles. “Where did you get this aircraft?” he asks as we help him inside. “What a beauty!”

Jude points at me. “I stole it from him.”

The old merchant finally seems to notice me. He straightens his round glasses—one of the lenses is missing—and stares at me for a long time.

“I haven’t seen you for years, Oliver,” he eventually says. “You’ve grown big. Well, most of you mutants grow like weeds.”

I gape. “Have we met?”

Gandalf sighs as he relaxes on a chair at the back of the Firefly. “Yes. When you were younger. How’s your father?”

“Dead,” I say.

Gandalf nods. “Good. He was a good customer, but I can’t say that I liked the man.” He closes his eyes. Exhaustion is etched on every corner of his wrinkled face.

Jude shares a look with me before rummaging through the aircraft to find a bottle of water for the old merchant.

If Gandalf dealt with my father, it means that we met before I killed him. I was a teenager. I remember seeing a few traveling merchants over the years. Sergeant Kang always found things to trade in exchange for their goods. Once or twice, we even worked as mercenaries to help a few of them trade with difficult communities. I never paid close attention to any of them. They were just a part of the wastelands’ landscape.

My father told me where to go and what to do. I was never allowed to be anything other than a dutiful soldier. I didn’t learn how to think for myself. Not before that fateful day with Aurora.

Before falling asleep, Gandalf gives us the coordinates of where he left his vehicle, the said hovercar.

“Dumdumb, we’re making a quick detour to the following coordinates,” says Jude, followed by the long string of numbers.

“Understood,” answers Fyfe.

From the frown nestled between Jude’s eyebrows, it’s evident that he’s annoyed by the detour. He just wants to go to the Hoover Dam and learn about his parents’ killer.

“We could leave him with supplies somewhere safe,” I say.

Jude shakes his head. “Gandalf is an old friend and a valuable ally. He’s one of the most respected merchants of the Traveling Market. I want to make sure he gets back to his hovercar safely. The dam will still be there when we come back, and Marika can wait one more day.”

It takes us a few hours to fly to the coordinates. By then, the Firefly’s solar power is almost depleted, and I have to give it juice.

Jude whistles as the gauge indicates a full recharge again.

“That’s why it was kept hidden for me,” I say, “before you stole it. With me on board, it can almost go on forever as long as you feed me.”

Jude snorts. “Aren’t you a handy little monster?”

I glare at him, and he offers me a grin.

The sun rises over the wastelands as Gandalf pulls out the invisible tarp covering his hovercar. I stare in awe, and some long-forgotten memory resurfaces from when I was younger. I remember an invisible floating car. We must have met when I was no older than ten. Back then, I thought he was a wizard from one of the old books I used to read when my father had his back turned.

We set up camp for the day near the river, hidden at the bottom of the canyon. Gandalf pulls out another tarp, this one paper-thin but larger. We tie it between the Firefly and his hovercar to provide shade. The wind is slightly cooler near the river. The water level is high; it must have rained up north, at the origin of the Colorado.

Once we’ve set a table and chairs on the sand—Gandalf has quite the equipment in his hovercar—the old merchant pulls out enough food for a feast.

“Let’s eat!” he announces.

There is canned meat, pickled vegetables, beans, jerky, and, to our surprise, frozen fruits.

“Where did you get those?” Jude asks, biting into a strawberry.

Gandalf chuckles. “I don’t kiss and tell. A good merchant always keeps his best providers a secret.”

I was already impressed that he had a functioning fridge in his hovercar. It’s small and fits in a wooden compartment he has built over the passenger’s seat.

The two men exchange stories while we eat, and I listen. They’ve known each other from the time Jude lived on the Traveling Market. After eating, the old merchant pulls out a bottle of whiskey and puts it on the table.

“A thank you gift,” he announces, “for saving me.”

Jude grabs the bottle and takes a sniff of the liquor. “I won’t say no to that.”

Gandalf brings three mugs out of the back of his hovercar.

“I’ve heard that you went back to the market,” he says. “You’re a crazy, boy.” He laughs good-heartedly. “The King is enraged that you managed to slip between his fingers again. He put a price on your head.”

Jude smiles lazily. “Oh, yeah?”

But as soon as the merchant has poured the honey-colored liquid into his mug, he drinks it all.

I prefer to sip my own. I don’t know when I’ll be able to taste good liquor like this one again.

“What’s the price over my head?” Jude asks. “What am I worth?”

“A spot on the Traveling Market,” Gandalf says, pouring him another glass.

The Traveling Market is one of the safest places to live, even with the threat of the Highwaymen. Its dwellers are protected by the guild of merchants, and they’re at the center of the trade routes. They never lack anything.

Jude’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit. He really wants me dead.”

The old merchant nods. “Dead, yes. But he said, ‘preferably alive.’”

Jude snorts. “Or maimed. For the hell of it.”

“And you,” I say to Gandalf. “Don’t you want a spot on the Traveling Market?”

He could have put drugs in the bottle of whiskey and be waiting for us to fall unconscious or dead. Then he could send a radio signal to his little friends in the market.

Gandalf offers me a wrinkled smile. He’s missing half his teeth. “I’ve been a member of the guild since the day it was founded. I always had a spot. But I prefer to be out there.” He gestures to the wastelands and beyond. “There’s so much to see and explore. The world is beautiful, even now. Especially now.”

“The market might be the beating heart of the trade routes,” says Jude. “But Gandalf IS the trade routes.”

The old merchant cackles. “Well said, boy. Well said.”

Shortly after, he announces that he would like to rest and lick his wounds. He retires to his hovercar.

Jude is now on his fourth mug of whiskey. I’m only at my second. The sun is high in the sky, and the wastelands are quiet. Even the animals have found places to hide from the relentless heat.

Jude is playing with his gun. He’s trailing the barrel over his calf. His eyes are feverish as he looks over at me. He’s drunk.

“Why did you steal from the King of Merchants?” I ask. “You were lovers.”

This question has been haunting my mind since our mad flight from the Traveling Market. If he were the King’s paramour, he could have had the best life. All the luxuries that can be had in our harsh new world could have been at his request.

Jude smiles lazily. “That’s the reason, isn’t it? We were lovers. We were getting close. Too close for comfort. And I panicked. He was asking questions about my life. My past. He was getting impatient to dig deeper. It was only a matter of time before he learned about my family. Even then, the Highwaymen were already a thorn in his side. Alastair is… strong, to say the least. He’s leading the guild with a powerful grip. What would he have done to me as soon as he realized I could be working for his enemies?”

“Were you?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Of course not. You know that I hate those fuckers. I was just there for a good time. But I’m a survivor through and through. I know how to fight, and I know when to run. So, I stole a car and food, and I ran before he could catch me unaware.” He takes a sip of his whiskey.

“Did you love him?” I ask.

Even though it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t be asking that. Not to my captor.

Jude’s eyes float toward me. “The only love I know is tough love. And no one wants that.”

It’s not an answer. Annoyance surges through me, taking me by surprise.

Jude gets off his folding chair and drops to his knees in the sand between my legs. The gun is still in his hand, but it’s pointed to the ground. He grabs the front of my Hawaiian shirt and pulls me to him. His kiss is urgent and wet. He tastes like spices and smoke. Like whiskey. Need rises from my core, and electricity travels through my veins, ready to lash out.

When he finally stops kissing me long enough to breathe, his lips are red. But his eyes are glassy, and he drops his head over my thigh, sighing deeply.

“You’re dead drunk,” I say.

He doesn’t answer.

I push him off me and lay him down on the sand. He’s already asleep. I could take his gun now and kill him. Be done with all this. I would let the old merchant live. And with some luck, he might even take time to burn Jude’s body.

“All I know is tough love, too,” I tell him, caressing his sweaty ginger hair. “Ask Helios.”

He was the only one who ever loved me, and I hurt him over and over again. I hunted him down and tied him naked to a wall when I finally got my hands on him in Bunkertown. I don’t think it can even be called love, tough or not. I’m as bad as my father.

Jude snores in the sand, and I pour myself a mug of whiskey.

When night finally falls over the wastelands, Gandalf is the first to wake. He finds me sitting on a rock near the river.

“I’ll be going now. Twilight is my favorite time of the day to travel. Tell Jude that I say thank you again,” says the old merchant.

He’s slightly limping. He seems too old to survive the desert, and yet I have no doubt that he will.

“He’s still out cold?” I ask.

Gandalf cackles. “From the empty bottle you left on the table, I dare say he won’t notice my departure.”

“I’ll help you break camp,” I say, rising.

We gather the tarp and roll it. Then put the folded chairs and table back into the hovercar. Meanwhile, Jude sleeps the sleep of the dead in the sand.

Right before climbing inside his hovercar, Gandalf asks me, “Do you miss your father?”

My answer comes quickly enough. “No.”

Why would I? He was a nightmare on Earth; cold and heartless. I would prefer to spend years alone in the wastelands than relive the years I spent with my father.

Gandalf offers me another one of his toothless smiles. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he says. “Take good care of him.” He gestures toward Jude before disappearing inside his hovercar.

I sit near my slumbering captor and wait for him to wake. The gun lies half-buried in the sand.