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“Most people after the Rise have turned into nomads. They travel the wastelands or the coasts, trying to get by day after day. But others, the smart ones, have built a stable life in the new world. You’ll find merchants, mechanics, hackers, hookers, craftsmen, writers… You just have to find them. They’re the beating heart of humanity. They work their hardest every day to ensure that we do not regress into simple animals.”

Extract of The Wastelands Gazette by Francesca James, 2057.

Luck is on our side, and we encounter no Highwaymen or any of the King’s men as the Firefly flies low over the wastelands. Fyfe exceeds our expectations when he announces, as we reach the ruins of a small town, that he can use inertial navigation. He just requires a starting point to find our way on the map, even without a satellite connection. He informs us that he’ll be able to update his map as we travel, the old-fashioned way.

Jude seems to have a destination in mind. We’re going south of Nevada, near Las Vegas.

He’s inclined to fly non-stop, but the Firefly’s solar panels—as good as they are—can’t keep up. It was built to be entirely recharged after a few days. The solar panels are a secondary source of energy. So, we’re forced to spend the night in the ruins of another small town.

We sleep on our chairs in the cockpit, in silent agreement that we’re safer in here, as claustrophobic as it may be.

And we were right.

It’s in the dead of night that Fyfe announces, “Individuals are surrounding the aircraft. Activation of the safety protocol. At your command.”

Seconds later, a great noise echoes as someone outside hits the Firefly’s hull. Jude swears as more follow. Dirty faces and hollow eyes appear at the windows. Their hands leave prints on the glass. Thankfully, the Firefly is built to resist much more.

Desperate nomads are trying to get in. One even shoots a gun at Jude’s window. The bullet ricochets and disappears into the dark.

“Shall I activate the safety protocol?” Fyfe asks.

Jude looks at me. “What’s the safety protocol?”

But the AI is the one to answer. “The safety protocol will send a powerful electric charge through the entire hull, killing every human being who has their hands on it, and disabling all technology connected to it. It was designed to protect the aircraft from forced entry.”

“Yes,” I say. “Do–”

“Don’t,” Jude cuts me off.

I watch him, brow raised.

“Look at them,” he gestures at the men and women outside. “They’re just starving nomads.”

“They would kill us without hesitation if we stepped outside,” I say.

“Yes. Hunger and despair would do that to anyone. Let’s just go. Dumdumb, take us out of here. Find us a new spot.”

The three remaining aero engines come to life and the nomads scatter like mice.

As we fly away, I can’t take my eyes off Jude.

“What?” he asks eventually, annoyed.

“Why?”

He glares at me. “Why what? Why didn’t I just let Dumdumb kill them? I’m a survivor, not a sicko. And we were never in real danger. Don’t put me in the same basket as you. Now just shut the fuck up and let me sleep.” And he faces the other side.

I’m a sicko without a doubt. Because I would have killed every last one of them for even entertaining the idea of attacking us.

It takes us two more days to reach our destination. But at last, the Firefly lands in front of a wide camp in the middle of the desert, surrounded by a fence made from buses and trucks. A fortress of scrap metal. On top of the wide gate can be read Gears and Giggles in hand painted pink letters covered in dust.

A tall woman with arms thicker than mine walks out of a smaller door with a gun aimed at us. She looks to be in her fifties, with blonde hair graying around the temples.

“Looks familiar?” Jude says, snorting.

“Who’s that?” I ask. “What is this place?”

“Stellan’s mothers live here. Margaret and Jess. They’re the best mechanics, only second to their son. They’re the ones who got me in touch with Perri and Stellan, which led me to live for a time on the Traveling Market.”

He opens the door and exits slowly, hands raised. “Margaret, it’s me!” he shouts.

The woman, Margaret, lowers her gun immediately. “You son of a bitch, Jude. Where did you get a beast like that?” She’s talking about the Firefly.

“Long story.”

“Well, get it inside, away from prying eyes, and you can tell us everything over a drink.”

Once we’re landed in the wide courtyard among the other vehicles, the other woman rushes out of one of the mobile homes. Jess, I’m guessing. She’s black, with short hair and a softer countenance than the other woman. Both embrace Jude affectionately. But Margaret’s attention never strays far away from me, still sitting in the Firefly.

They exchange quick words, certainly about me, because moments later, Margaret follows Jude to me.

I raise a hand to stop them. “Let me try to walk.”

I’m fucking tired of being carried like luggage. I jump down from the Firefly and my legs buckle under my weight. My knees hit the ground hard, and I grind my teeth against the pain echoing through my bones. After a pause, I manage to stand again. But two steps later, I have to concede and let them help me inside. The indignity of it all leaves me wanting to kill someone. Possibly Jude. Luckily, I can feel the electricity nesting in my core, ready to burst out at any moment. A little longer, and I’ll be able to burn him to a crisp.

The shackles and chain around my feet drag in the dust, making it impossible to forget that I’m a prisoner. Jess watches me with something akin to pity and disgust, and I hate it.

Two mobile homes and an RV have been put together to create a spacious home. They grow a few plants indoors and the air inside smells so different from the wastelands. Green and fresh.

They drop me on an old chair. My back and ass get swallowed by the cushions. This chair will be a bitch to get up from.

Jess offers a glass of something that looks like beer to Jude, and surprisingly, she gives me one, too. From the way Margaret watches, I think she disapproves. She’s obviously Stellan’s biological mother. Not only because of her looks, but because she’s as grumpy and suspicious as her son.

“Thank you,” I say to Jess with a smile.

Jude raises an eyebrow at me, as if surprised I can actually be polite. I glare at him. I’m a killer, not a douchebag.

“How are the boys?” Jude asks. “We had to…leave the market in a hurry again.”

Margaret lets out a guffaw. “You have balls to even go back there. If the King got his hands on you…”

Jude shrugs. “To put his hands on me, he needs to catch me first.”

She shakes her head.

“The boys are okay,” says Jess. “You know they have the King’s favor. But try not to be the reason why that changes.” She gives him a pointed look.

Jude looks a little ashamed. “I really needed a hacker, and Perri is the only one I trust with this job. I need the aircraft’s AI to obey my command. It’s dumb as fuck and only obeys…him.” He points at me.

A sudden realization hits me.

“What’s my name?” I ask him.

“Sparky?”

He tried to kill me in Bunkertown. Then he dragged me to the aircraft, and we’ve been traveling for almost a week now, and he doesn’t know my name. I’ll fucking kill him.

“Oliver,” I say between clenched teeth. “My name is Oliver.”

Jude grins. “What a boring name for a mutant.”

Margaret and Jess tense. Oh, so he didn’t tell them who I am exactly.

“They named us in alphabetical order,” I say. “I was born to be the letter O, and they couldn’t think of something more original.”

I don’t know why I’m even explaining it…

Jude’s smile widens, holding my gaze.

“So, I’m guessing you’re not here just to say hi,” Jess says, as if sensing I was a heartbeat away from launching myself at him and cooking his brain in his skull with my electricity.

“One of their aero engines is missing a blade,” provides Margaret. “Bullet impact, judging by the damage.”

She must have noticed it when we landed in the courtyard.

“Courtesy of the Highwaymen,” Jude says.

“They’re still looking for you?” Jess asks.

He shrugs. “I don’t think they’ll ever stop. But this time they didn’t know it was me. They were aiming at the King’s men. We just happened to stand in the middle.”

So, he has beef with the Highwaymen, too. Why doesn’t it surprise me?

“It’s a fairly easy repair,” Margaret says. “It won’t take long. But I—” She stops talking abruptly, and tilts her head, listening. “Hide, now,” she orders.

There is noise coming from outside.

I drop to my knees as Jess urges me to crawl under the table. Jude tries to hide behind a shelf, but too late. A man enters the room, holding a gun. He’s squat, in his late thirties, with dirty ginger hair and a beard.

“Oh, look who’s here,” says the newcomer, smiling at Jude. “My fucking little brother.”

Two more men and a woman enter. They have the look of hardened but healthy travelers. The red patches sewn into their clothes are enough of an explanation. They’re Highwaymen.

And I recall that the group of aggressive nomads are led by a family of six brothers and sisters. Redheads, all of them. I’ve had skirmishes with one or two during my time in the wastelands.

Jude’s family, apparently.

“Malcolm, you don’t raise a gun in my house!” bellows Margaret.

The Highwayman, Malcom, retorts, “I do as I fucking please, Mag. Now, you should have called me as soon as my weasel of a brother came back. You know I’ve missed him very much.” A few of his front teeth are broken and his smile looks disturbing.

Jude’s eyes are glued on the gun aimed at his forehead.

There is a lot to unpack here, and it gives me a headache.

I rise to my feet slowly from the half-crouch I’ve been in since they entered. The woman—a dirty-looking thing with a shaved head and piercings—walks to me and kicks the back of my knees without warning. I fall to the floor hard and taste blood as I bite my tongue. I see red.

“Do you know, little Judy,” continues Malcolm, “that mom and dad are dead?” From the shock registering on Jude’s face, I don’t think he knew. “Which means no one will care if I shoot a bullet straight through your pretty face. Oh, I’ve been dreaming about it for years…” He nudges Jude’s nose with the gun. “The others will be so jealous that I’m the one who got so lucky.”

I should be enjoying this. If he shoots Jude, my number one problem is gone. They might kill me after, but I would die knowing the little fucker was dead.

I share a glance with Jess from where I’m lying on the floor.

She moves closer to Malcolm and starts talking. “Come on now, boys. You’re family. Isn’t it past time you stopped hating each other so much?”

While they are all distracted by her pleading gestures, I crawl closer.

“Over my dead body,” says Jude.

“That can be arranged…” his brother says.

And right as his finger is about to pull the trigger, I get a hold of his naked leg, just above his boot. I let the little electricity I’ve been building up cross over from my body to his. It might be a small percentage of what I usually have in store, but it’s more than enough to kill a man.

The gunshot echoes in the room, the bullet flying close to Jude’s face. Margaret and Jess act before the Highwaymen have time to understand what is happening. Jess uses one of her kitchen knives that had been laying on the kitchen counter to slice two throats, while Margaret crushes the last one’s skull with a monkey wrench that somehow ended up in her hand. Those two women didn’t survive this long in the new world for no reason.

Malcolm convulses for a moment longer. And when I finally let go, having spent everything I have on him, he crumples to the floor in a smoking heap.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” says Margaret. “What a mess.”

But she has barely finished her sentence when Jude grabs Malcolm’s gun and is pointing it at me.

“Since when have you been able to do that again?” he asks me, face uncharacteristically serious. “Since when have your abilities come back?”

I sigh. “Enough to kill you? A day or two.”

I don’t see the point of lying. He would see right through me.

Jude holds my gaze for a moment that stretches for eternity. His finger is on the trigger. Even if I had some juice left, he would kill me before I could reach him.

But surprisingly, he lowers his gun, never breaking eye contact.

“How long will the repairs take?” he asks Margaret.

“I can finish it tonight. Then you can leave before sunrise.”

“Thank you.”

Jess comes to my rescue and helps me back onto the couch. Her wife watches us warily. As if I would kill the only woman in this room who is showing me basic decency.

“We can get rid of the bodies and their vehicles at night,” Margaret says. “There is a canyon south of here. With some luck, it’ll take them a while to find them. The coyotes will take care of the bodies before that. Come, help me carry the table.”

Jude takes the other side, and they pull the heavy table aside. Margaret rolls the thick carpet, revealing a wide trapdoor.

“Our underground shelter,” Jess explains to us. “We’ve built a reinforced bunker. It helps when an old god walks by and ravages our camp. It happened a few times over the years.”

Now I understand why they’re still here, standing tall in the middle of the wastelands.

They unlock the trapdoor, and there is a second one below, this one made of metal. They push the bodies down the dark hole. They make a heavy noise as they hit the ground below. Jude kicks his dead brother in the face and spits on him before dropping him. There was really no shared love between them.

Jess sighs. “My poor carpet. I just replaced it.”

There is undeniably a lot of blood on it.

“Sorry,” Jude says.

The woman shakes her head and rolls the carpet with the help of her wife before dropping it into the bunker below with the corpses.

“Come now,” says Margaret to Jude. “We need to move their vehicles and cover them with tarps. In case someone else comes snooping today…”

She makes sure that Jess has a gun pointed at me before leaving.

Jess sits on a chair at a safe distance in front of me. I grab my beer, which, mercifully, has survived the fight. Or, should I say, the execution. I dare say there wasn’t much fighting on their side.

“Are you part of the Highwaymen?” I ask.

Jess shakes her head. “Oh, hell no. But we do work for them from time to time, and so they don’t bother us. We repair their vehicles and find them the parts they need. They’re assholes, but they have their uses. We’re dead in the center of their range of action, which means rarely anyone comes here. And they warn us of the old gods’ movements as best as they can.”

“And Jude?”

“As you have guessed, he’s somewhat estranged from his family. They’ve been hunting him for a while. We’ve known him since he was a teenager. He found refuge here when he finally managed to escape their clutch. We sent him to the Traveling Market, with our son and his friend Perri, to give him a shot at survival.”

I’m not sure why she’s offering me Jude’s story so easily. I doubt he would like that. Which is exactly why I didn’t stop her.

“Love the shirt, by the way,” she says with a knowing smile.

My disgust must have been obvious on my face, because she laughs.

They tie me to a bus in the courtyard to keep an eye on me while the three of them work on the Firefly. Margaret was right, the repairs were done in a few hours. By nightfall, we eat a quick dinner before heading out into the wastelands to get rid of the two vehicles and the four bodies. The two women ride in different cars, Jude and I in the other. It takes us an hour to get to the canyon they had in mind. We drive the two vehicles with the corpses down into the dried-out river. They crash below and the noise echoes in the canyon. I hope there isn’t an old god lurking in those parts.

We all climb into Jess’ truck to get back to Gears and Giggles. Jude and I sit in the back.

We’ve been driving for an hour in silence when Jude says quietly, “He used to lock me up in the trunk of his car when I was a kid.” He’s talking about Malcolm. “One day, he forgot about me. Or maybe he just pretended to have forgotten. I spent an entire night crying in that trunk. When the sun rose in the morning, the heat became unbearable. When my mother found me, I was almost dead. My father thrashed him, and his dislike for me grew into hate. Things got worse after that, but I learned how to watch my back.”

Our childhoods, I realize, might not have been much different. I was the scientists’ plaything; he was his brothers and sisters’.

“I should have made him suffer for longer,” I say.

Jude smiles, his eyes on me. “Yes. You should have.”