Animal Liberation: The Definitive Classic of the Animal Movement
Author: Peter Singer
Date: 2009-02-24 00:00:00+00:00
Description: “A most important book that will change the way many of us look at animals—and, ultimately, at ourselves.” — Chicago Tribune Since its original publication in 1975, this groundbreaking work has awakened millions of people to the existence of "speciesism"—our systematic disregard of nonhuman animals—inspiring a worldwide movement to transform our attitudes to animals and eliminate the cruelty we inflict on them. In Animal Liberation , author Peter Singer exposes the chilling realities of today's "factory farms" and product-testing procedures—destroying the spurious justifications behind them, a
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Copyright © 2018 by Peter Okafor

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ISBN: 978-1-64434-018-9

DISCLAIMER

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While references might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

LIBERATION

Remnants of Men

BOOK ONE

PETER OKAFOR

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Runner of Rat Town

Chapter Two

Fight or Flight

Chapter Three

Between Scylla and Charybdis

Chapter Four

Seven Laws of an Outlaw

Chapter Five

Like Dog and Bone

Chapter Six

With Friends Like This

Chapter Seven

Two Weeks in Limbo

Chapter Eight

Liberty Is Dead

Chapter Nine

Remnants of Men

Chapter Ten

Fall Behind and Die Behind

Chapter Eleven

At Daggers Drawn

Chapter Twelve

Death and the Matchmaker

Chapter Thirteen

David and Goliath

Chapter Fourteen

City of Glowing Mushrooms

Chapter Fifteen

Death Throe

Chapter Sixteen

Last House on the Left

Chapter Seventeen

Rules of Engagement

Chapter Eighteen

The Third Law of an Outlaw

Chapter Nineteen

Prince of Scavengers

Chapter Twenty

Where Angels Fear to Tread

Chapter Twenty-One

Take a Lesson from the Dead

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Fellowship of Nine

Chapter Twenty-Three

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Chapter Twenty-Four

Garden of Traitors

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Councillor’s Justice

Chapter Twenty-Six

Rat Town Blues

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ill Met by the Jungle

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fever Dreams

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Enemies at the Gates

Chapter Thirty

The Ghost and the Darkness

Chapter Thirty-One

The Ghost and the Darkness Part II

Chapter Thirty-Two

Reddit’s Conspiracy

Chapter Thirty-Three

Judgement Day Part I

Chapter Thirty-Four

Judgement Day Part II

Epilogue

No Country for Heroes

Chapter One

Runner of Rat Town

There were no clouds in the sky, nothing but a grey mass stretching to ends unknown. The last yellow sunshine was seen twenty years ago. He was not born then, but everyone knew the tales of those wonderful rays that would kiss the skin with great warmth.

Those days were memories to some and nothing but a myth to others like Runner. He did not care much for a large ball of fire. All he wanted was to join the well-paid guards of Section 5, and that was the reason he was standing before the first dead body he had seen since birth.

He stood motionless and squeezed his face, covering his nose with his hands to keep the obnoxious smell away. It was the body of an elderly woman half burnt by a fierce radioactive storm that swept beyond the domed comforts of MegaCityOne at an hour interval. A silver handgun sat on the palm of her right hand, and resting on her body was a dead baby with a bullet hole in his head. There wasn’t much investigation to the horrid scene as all connections seemed to be in place.

Runner felt a blunt pain in his heart. He knew that was very much a fate destined for half the poor folks that lived outside the protective dome of MegaCityOne.

His best friend, Troy Decker, hissed. “Come on, Runner. She suffered a better fate than any of us would hope.”

Runner tightened the belt that held his gears around his waist. It was hard to be brave when the entire world wanted a piece of him. It was even harder to survive a world where air and water could cost a man his life savings. No thanks to Reinhardt Reddit, the tyrant that left half the planet at the mercy of radiation.

He raised his hand and gazed at an old wristwatch that had all its silver coating worn out by time, but it still displayed time accurately.

“10:30 AM. Oh my god!” He raised his gaze to the sky. “Oh my god! We have less than five minutes. Move, everyone, move.”

Dust grew in the air like fumes from an exhaust. He inhaled the air, the sour taste unwelcomed on his tongue. He curved his hands over his brow and looked further. In the distance, a large storm of dust was raging forward. Runner turned around to see how many were behind. He waved his hand and shouted at the top of his voice, signaling a crowd of wayfarers to hasten.

Troy grasped the end of his torn beige jacket. “We’ve gotta go, man. We-got-to-go.” He stressed the last words.

“Where is the cargo?” Runner asked, but Troy gave no answer.

Runner seized him by the neck of his jacket. “Troy, where is the cargo?”

“I don’t know . . . I kinda left it behind. You know, the storm and all that shit made me panic.” Troy looked woeful.

“What do you mean you left it behind? That’s our ticket to never going hungry again, our ticket to Section 5 and then to the comforts of MegaCityOne—the paradise in this damned wasteland. You know there are people in that truck. Human beings, Troy . . . human beings.”

Runner took another look at the raging storm. It was like the waves of a restless sea, one of those in the tales of Old Max—his colony’s mad mechanic. The old man had told him once that the storms were poisonous radiation that could melt the skin in seconds. He didn’t know how true that was, but the melting part of the story—that was definitely certain.

“Give me your cloak.” He stretched his arm towards Troy.

Troy pulled his long black cloak and handed it to Runner. “What do you want with it?”

“Just get the others to safety.” Runner threw the cloak on and made sure no part of his body was exposed.

He used a dusty turban to wrap his head and then put on dark goggles to protect his vivid brown eyes.

“Are you crazy, Runner? I know for certain you don’t have any more stash of Sense pills left. You won’t last a heartbeat out there,” Troy spoke sternly.

“Just go. I will see you in five.”

Runner paused for a moment and inhaled deeply. He ran into the growing storm of hot fog and dust. His feet sank into scattered scraps of bricks and metals as he struggled to push forward. The heat was becoming unbearable, and it stung his flesh with a burning sensation. His goggles protected his eyes, but he could barely see the cargo truck that was a few steps away from him.

He managed through the sinking scraps and reached the window of the truck. Everything was covered by dust. He used his hand to wipe the dust off the window and peeped. There were men, women, and children clustered together at one end, awaiting nature’s wrath. Runner slammed his fist on the window, and a man wounded it down.

“What happened?”

“We can’t get our truck to move. We are all going to die here!” the man screamed in confusion.

“Calm down.” Runner urged. “How many do you carry?”

“Roughly forty,” the man answered hysterically.

“Okay . . . okay.” Runner opened the door and pulled the man down from the truck. “You see that storm in the distance?”

The man nodded.

“It will be here in two minutes. Gather everyone together. We can make it to the city gate before that storm hits us. Can you do that?”

The man nodded again and turned around, calling everyone out. They were all a bunch of the big city inhabitants, who—for some reason—had gone out of the city. They knew nothing of life outside the comforts of MegaCityOne. Well, it seemed nature had a lesson to teach.

Runner had survived by guiding passengers through the ruins of the barren waste beyond his home. It paid enough to keep him fed. Before, he never did care. Wealthy folks meant big bucks for him, and that was all that really mattered. But staring at their faces, his heart would never free him from torment if he abandoned them to die.

“Move! Move!” Runner bellowed.

The passengers rushed down the vehicles. They moved like a herd in a stampede, running towards the towering gate of the city. Runner felt the discomfort on his skin grow intense. The storm would hit them soon. He could feel it. He needed to push them to press forward with haste, or they would all die horrible deaths.

With each stride, the gates of MegaCityOne grew closer. Troy had already made it into the city with a few others that had left earlier, and he beckoned at Runner to move faster.

A loud thud sounded. Runner stopped and turned quickly to see an elderly man who had stumbled into a pile of rubble. The poor man’s right foot was caught in blocks of broken concrete. That moment, Runner’s mind was conflicted. He had two choices: help the man and get obliterated or continue onwards to the safety of the domed city.

In a quick decision, he took a step forward. Runner leaned towards him and stretched his hand to reach for the man. The storm was mere inches away.

“Give me your hand,” Runner yelled.

The words had barely left his mouth when he found himself dragged backwards by an unknown person.

“Let him go, Runner. You can’t help him.” He heard Troy’s voice.

Troy pulled him through the gate. The storm engulfed the man, melting his flesh quickly into flakes of red-hot ash. The enormous metal gate slammed shut to prevent the storm from passing through.

Runner sank to the ground on both knees and hung his head in disappointment. People die all the time—he knew that—and the fact that mortality rates had really surged was not a fictional account. For some reason, the death of the man seemed to weigh heavy on his heart.

A hand came upon his shoulder. “I don’t understand why you feel this need to save everyone in trouble. It is not your fault that a man cannot walk outside the dome without his gas mask. It is not your fault that the skies can only manage acid rains. These folks knew the cost of surviving in this world before they set out.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t have.” Runner stood to his feet. “A man risks his life on promises of better days for what? To ensure that his children endure a life of shit and piss? Look around you, Troy. Things can never get better than this. A man would have a better time choosing to ingest poison than living in this sewer pit we call home.”

Troy put his arm over Runner’s shoulder. “It is the life we find ourselves in, my friend. Come, let’s go get our pay from the chief enforcer.”

Finally, something good that could come out of all the despair he had endured. That pay was the light at the end of a tunnel. He could literally hear his rumbling stomach, how deeply it cried for sustenance.

Runner trailed behind his friend as they ascended the stairs of a towering outpost that overlooked the gates of Rat Town. The slum town was his home and one among ten colonies that had become the slums of MegaCityOne. The lingering smile on Troy’s face only proved one thing to be true—the mere thought of a full belly could make a slum dweller happy for weeks. But truth be told, Troy wasn’t the only one that bore that joy. Runner was no different; he was only good at concealing his enthusiasm.

“Guys, guys, guysss . . . ” a voice called from behind.

Runner missed a step and almost stumbled as he heard that voice. In the entirety of Rat Town and even the MegaCityOne itself, only one person made him so tense—Dope “Skittish” Davies. Nothing good ever came from associating with Dope, literally. He was an only child to the chief enforcer, an ideal role model to any aspiring psychopath.

“Here we go,” Troy muttered without turning to look behind.

Runner turned around to face Dope. “What do you want, Skittish?” He had said that, having a good idea what was about to come.

“My father asked me to take care of . . . whatever it is he asked of you,” Dope said, waving his arm incessantly.

Unlike Runner who was of average height and lean build, Dope was a short, burly boy, thickly muscular with powerful shoulders that could intimidate anyone. But Runner knew within all that sinew was a pathetic excuse for a boy who found pleasure in mockery and guile.

“Where is the cargo?” Dope asked, looking around.

Runner knew this was coming. He grimaced at the thought of something far worse. “We . . . ” He glanced at Troy. “I didn’t come with the cargo. I ran into a bit of a situation, and I chose to secure the passengers first.”

“Oooh!” Dope raised his gaze to the sky, putting his hands on his waist. “You’re so not getting paid today.”

Chapter Two

Fight or Flight

“Damn you, Dope!”

Runner surged forward with both hands curled into a fist.

Troy got to him quickly. He threw his arms around Runner’s torso to hold him back. Good thing he did. Three boys and a girl descended the stairs of the outpost and stood behind Dope. They bore fierce expressions and were all dressed in the black military garb of Section 5.

“Calm down, Runner,” Troy whispered to him. “Or we would both leave here with one eye and empty pockets.”

Dope’s strength was the tons of hungry boys and girls who followed him around like the betas of a dog pack. He had bought their allegiances by securing a place for them amongst the well-paid guards of Section 5.

For any inhabitant of the slums, a job at Section 5 was reason enough to sell one’s loyalty. It wasn’t just about the pay, but the constant exploration of the wastelands provided opportunities to loot copper and other valuable scrap metals.

There was no need to press further. Runner’s effort had been stretched thin chasing the dream that was Section 5. Now, as he stood before Dope’s gang, he knew the only thing to do was to retreat with any little dignity he had left. Retreating meant another night spent twisting and turning on his hard bed and listening to the rumbling cries of his stomach.

His hunger he could manage, but how was he going to endure the cries of the two kids that had made him an underage guardian? They had been left to him by his deceased aunt. Desperate for a hot night meal, she had gone into the government’s reserved hunting ground for a buck, but instead took a bullet from the guards. Her burden was now his, and as he lingered before Dope, those thoughts couldn’t have hurt any worse.

Runner’s fist trembled as he stared angrily at Dope. The best course of action was to turn around and leave. Dope would see it as a weakness and jump on every opportunity to cause him misery.

Dope raised his right hand. “Is this what you want?” He opened his palm and set loose tens of credit-chips to fall at his feet.

All that money falling to the ground, it made Runner’s stomach churn at Dope’s folly. He wanted the credits. They were his deserved pay for the day. But a gang of teenage boys and girls was the only thing keeping him from tearing Dope apart. Even if, somehow, he managed to get through them, Dope’s dad was the chief enforcer of Section 5. The man would have the guards hang and cane him till his flesh peeled off.

“Come on, Runner.” Troy pulled one end of his jacket to draw him back. “Let’s go pick some scrap metal and sell it to Old Max. We could at least get five credits for that, enough for two meals.”

Troy and Runner turned away from Dope and began to walk away.

“Are you going to cry, Runner? Are you going to cry for Mommy and Daddy? Oh! I forgot. They have been rotting somewhere in the wastelands for years.”

Dope burst into a loud laughter, expecting his gang to join, but it seemed they didn’t share his enthusiasm and left him to an embarrassing lonely laughter.

Runner tensed and tried to turn, but Troy grabbed his arm. “He is not worth your time. Leave him to his foolishness.”

Troy was not one of the smartest or brightest boys in Rat Town, but he was the best soul Runner has ever known. He was kind and easy going, with a slow reaction to anger and his gentle blue eyes held his attributes in keen.

Both boys made their way towards the gates. In the distance, a large shadow was growing. Runner turned around, and despite having seen it many times, it still managed to amaze him every time. The shadow was cast by the stark walls of the big city, MegaCityOne. A bright artificial glowing light that had replaced the sun, slowly dimmed to give way to a silvery light, a perfect replica of the moon’s beam.

He had never seen the sun or moon, nor basked beneath their glorious beams. But he wished it every day, more than he wished for improved living conditions in Rat Town, his home.

For a moment, he stood still and imagined what life in the MegaCityOne would be like. He wished himself in the shoes of one of its wealthy residents or a son of an elite government official. Those folks had everything despite the limited resources available to mankind growing thinner by the day.

A loud horn bellowed. Guards from Section 5 drew the mighty gates open, and several armoured cars drove in, raising dust in the air. The cars were new designs by the Citadel of Engineering in MegaCityOne to navigate through the radiated wastelands, or so he had been told by Old Max the mechanic.

“I heard that the cost of water has risen in MegaCityOne,” Troy whispered to Runner as they stared at the armed men of Section 5 unloading equipment from the vehicles. “Dictator Patterson tasked Section 5 with the job of finding a freshwater lake.”

“Come on, Troy. Have you been listening to Old Max’s crazy stories again? He is a good source of information, but if you get too comfortable, he will feed you false hopes of paradise and mountains with streams of honey,” Runner said.

“It’s true,” Troy retorted. “They are running short of water in the big city. They said the dams have run dry and you can only get acid rains in the wastelands.”

How is that my problem? Runner thought and then laughed softly. “If only they will all die of thirst so we can go over there and loot their corpses.”

“You can’t mean that.” Troy glanced at him.

“Speak for yourself,” Runner answered.

He caught a glimpse of a girl he knew amongst the guards of Section 5. She was ebony-skinned with creamy cascading hair. Bag after bag, she unloaded the truck where she stood behind a gangly boy with a ridiculously small head and did not seem to notice Runner.

“Rhiannon!” he called.

She raised her head. “Runner.” Her arm went up, waving at him.

Runner slung his makeshift axe across his back and held it tight with a belt that ran over his chest. He took quick strides to reach her.

“Is it true?” Runner’s eyes were afire with curiosity.

“Is it true, what?” she asked.

“That Section 5 is searching for a freshwater lake?” he continued.

Rhiannon sat on the back of the truck. Her hair scattered on her shoulder, and it intrigued Runner the way they adhered to her movements. Troy joined soon enough and rested his back on the truck.

“It is true,” she replied, much to Troy’s delight.

“We are chasing after rumours and myths now. We scoured the wastelands, but there wasn’t a single evidence of water. We even lost three boys in the process. There is something out there in the shadows of the building ruins. I could feel it—the rage. Something took those boys, Runner, but the chief enforcer would not listen. I shudder to think what might become of us all.”

Rhiannon jumped down the truck and opened her arms to hug Runner who received the embrace warmly. She was his best friend too, despite Troy’s nagging comments that she felt something more than that. He knew indeed that love and family were the only things that kept most folks going in Rat Town, yet they were the hardest to come by.

“I need a favour,” Runner spoke softly.

Rhiannon wiped her hands on a ragged cloth. “What is it?”

“We lost our pay because of a misunderstanding with Skittish, and now we need to get some scrap metal to sell to Old Max.”

“In other words, you need to sneak into the wastelands.” Rhiannon supported her hands on her waist. “But you know if I get caught opening any of the small gates for you guys, I will lose my job.”

“Please, Rhee. If not for us, think about those kids at home. We can’t let them cry through the night,” Troy added and Runner nodded.

“I got paid today, hundred credits in all. I can get something for your aunt’s kids.” She sunk her hand in a small bag hanging at her waist.

A hundred credits were enough to last a family for a month, but as much as he wanted a share of it, Runner knew Rhiannon’s family needed every bit of the credits.

“Here, this is ten.” She stretched her hand towards Runner.

He held her hand and closed her fingers on the credit-chips.

“Your mom is sick. Use it to take care of her. We won’t implicate you if we get caught in the wastelands, I promise.”

After a moment of consideration, Rhiannon sighed. “Fine, follow me,” she said.

Both boys followed behind Rhiannon. Their strides were hastened yet careful not to alert a guard that stood high on a watchtower. The wiry man turned around a large watch light to check for trespassers. Rhiannon stopped and the boys did the same, pressing their backs on the side of a car.

“Duck,” she whispered and they obeyed.

Squatting on his toes, Runner peered from the side of the car. Three guards from Section 5 were tearing out posters of a black skull with two daggers crossed over it.

“They are taking off posters of the rebel, Death Throe,” Runner whispered to his friends.

“Yes . . . yes . . . yes, now I remember. I heard the rebel was responsible for the water shortage. He sabotaged water reserve pipelines. Apparently, he was setting it free for the common folks. Didn’t change a thing though. A gallon of water still goes for twenty credit-chips. That’s twice what I make in a day . . . if I work hard.”

“How did you know all this?” Runner asked.

“Old―”

“Max told me,” they all said simultaneously.

“What?” Troy shared his gaze between them. “It’s true.”

The guards passed on, and Rhiannon stood to her feet. “Come on, guys, over there.” She pointed at an abandoned factory.

The three ran towards the building, quick enough to escape the watchtower’s line of sight. Runner slammed his shoulder on the metal door, and it opened easily.

“Wow,” he said as he entered, staring at a large television screen. “It’s been long since I’ve seen one of these.”

He scanned the gadget with his eyes, searching for a power button.

“Everything here is Section 5’s property. Don’t put me in further trouble by breaking anything, boys,” Rhiannon said solemnly.

Runner found and hit the button. The screen came alive, displaying the image of a blonde girl standing behind a podium and surrounded by newsmen from the Citadel of Journalism.

Daughter of Supreme Councilor Peter Patterson has vowed to stand against the menace of the rebel, Death Throe. The government will, hereby, relocate all resources towards . . .

“That’s Olivia Patterson.” Rhiannon pointed at the screen.

Runner turned it off. “More like the princess of MegaCityOne. That girl is just my age, and she got the whole world wrapped under her fingers.” He paused and shared a glance between his friends. “She is real pretty. I bet she would make a decent babe.”

“And what are you going to offer her, eh? Your tattered shoes or that bundle of iron rods you call a bed?” Troy chuckled. “Keep dreaming, my friend. We both know we are going to die long before the big city will be opened to any of the slum dwellers.”

“A boy can dream, can’t he?” Runner’s cheeks flushed with redness.

Rhiannon laughed at both boys and turned around to face a locker. She opened it and revealed a stash of tools.

“Over here, guys. You could use these as weapons. The wasteland is not where you want to be at night, unarmed.”

Runner approached the locker and picked a wrench and a knife. He was quite good at fashioning makeshift weapons, and just seeing both tools, the image of an axe grew in his mind. Yet he couldn’t still resist the thought of burying it on Dope’s shoulder.

Chapter Three

Between Scylla and Charybdis

Runner scattered the tools on a large table. There were knives, wrenches, screwdrivers, nails, tapes, and copper wires. He held the wrench tight and fixed the handle of a knife between a small opening at the head, and then tied it in place with a copper wire.

He weighed the weapon on his hand, but the head was still shaky. Furthermore, he stretched out a tape and wrapped it around the joint of the wrench and knife to ensure its holding strength. Satisfied, he raised his new weapon up, his gaze cast upon it in great admiration. Now it was good. His continuous nods proved that.

“Here.” Rhiannon handed a pneumatic nail gun to Troy.

“Hey,” Runner said. “I don’t think we would need that. I mean, come on . . .”

Rhiannon snatched it away from Troy and bent down to fix it in his bag. “I told you, Runner, there is something out there in those building ruins. I don’t know what exactly, but it won’t hurt being prepared for all uncertainties.”

She continued to browse through the bag. “Gas mask, check! Wristwatch, check! Axe, check! Sense pills, missing?” She looked around.

“I don’t have any more stash of Sense pills left,” Runner admitted and threw his gaze at Troy.

“Me neither!” Troy responded with his hands wide open.

“Those irradiation pills are the only things that keep the air out there from poisoning our system. You would not last ten minutes without those pills.”

Rhiannon searched her pouch frantically. Runner watched her keenly. She was now officially their guardian angel. It was hard to find someone that would go down the depths of hell to make sure their friends were alright. At least not in Rat Town or even the big city itself, and even if some kind of research were to be carried out regarding the high rise of peer gangs rocking the city, the result would end in the fact that loyalty had been enslaved.

Folks exchanged the little free will they had for favours.

Everyone wanted something from you. Nothing was free, not friendship, not even love. Integrity was dead and so-called dignity cast into a fiery pit. To survive the new order of the world meant to shed three-quarters of the building morals of humanity.

“Found it.” Rhiannon smiled, and Runner returned one too.

Rhiannon was not like the typical slum dweller—greedy and fraudulent. Together with Troy, the three of them were inseparable, and he would not trade that friendship even if a knife was placed on his mother’s throat. Okay, that was treading a bit too far. Good thing he didn’t have a mother anymore.

Runner snatched the pills from her palm. “The pills are not even necessary because I don’t think we would spend more than ten minutes in the wastelands. It is just to get a few scrap metals, and that’s all.”

“I’m not stupid, Runner!” Rhiannon snapped. “I didn’t get all this stuff for you guys to pick metals worth five credits. Come over here.” She beckoned at them.

She reached into her pocket and brought out a dusty piece of clothing. Rhiannon placed it on the table. She shared her gaze between both boys and then opened it fully.

“A map,” Troy said.

“Yes.” She nodded. “See here.” She pointed at the map. “We went around this part of the wasteland during our rounds. It used to be an old factory in a place formerly known as Boston. I heard that after . . . you know . . . the big boom! A truck transporting copper coils got hit by one of those storms and now is buried alongside the ruins of the factory. That is where you must go. If you guys are successful, you could find enough copper worth a thousand credit-chips.”

Troy jerked suddenly. “A thousand what?”

“Credit chips,” Runner answered. He turned to the girl. “Damn! Rhee, you’ve been holding out on us.”

“All those while, I wasn’t sure it was true until I checked it out today during our rounds.”

Runner bent down and picked up his bag. He wore it on his back and strapped his makeshift axe on a belt buckled around his waist. He adjusted the black gloves he wore on his hand and gazed at his wristwatch again to make sure it was working. Time was the most important asset in the wasteland. Every slum dweller knew this as the first rule of survival when scrap hoarding—at least that was what they called looting valuable metals from the wastelands.

The fierce radioactive storm hit at every hour mark. The moment a man forgot this…well, there wouldn’t be much of a corpse to retrieve.

“When we come back, I’m going to buy you dinner in one of them fancy restaurants in the big city.” Troy glanced at Rhiannon with a warm smile.

Runner had noticed Troy’s enduring smiles whenever he was with her. Now, that same smile lingered and even his laughter whenever she said things that were not close to funny. Troy had always tormented him with comments of Rhiannon wanting to be more than his friend, but he knew without doubt that Troy’s heart was set upon her.

“Alright. Let’s be about it, Troy.” Runner was ready.

Rhiannon drew both boys together and put each arm over their shoulders in a brief embrace. “Careful out there, guys. Don’t worry, Runner. I’ll watch your aunt’s kids . . . as usual.”

She opened the locks on a small door and tried to open the door, but it creaked and held still.

“It’s just rusty. No one comes through this door, not anymore.” Runner slammed his shoulder on it, and it opened with a bang.

For a moment, they all stood still, hoping that no one heard the sound. Stale air rushed in through the door, and it smelt of old dust. Satisfied, Runner stepped through and was closely followed by Troy. He turned around and saw the door shut by Rhiannon.

Now, they were truly alone and in the most dreaded part of the small world he had come to know, the wasteland. He had been in and out of the wasteland more times than he could remember, but this time, he couldn’t shake off a queer feeling.

Maybe it was because he knew to get to the factory Rhiannon had marked on the map meant to go further than the familiar zone of the wasteland he was comfortable with. One deep breath and he took a step forward.

“Let’s take the path of Karathon.” He pointed at a broken wall that served an opening within the ruins of a tall building.

He opened his map and studied the markings of ‘O’ that depicted safe paths. Karathon, like many other names of passes and paths, was named by a slum dweller named Karathon. Poor fellow must have died not long after his discovery. Not many of them survive. Perhaps it was a good thing they risked their lives marking paths and safe zones for others to enjoy.

Runner and Troy continued into the ruins. All around them were scattered remains of vehicles bleached to their chassis by what was left of nature. The ground was hard and full of broken bricks. Grey bones of unlucky sojourners and scattered useless metals littered around made for a terrible path.

“Do you think I have a chance with her?” Troy spoke to break a long silence.

“Who?” Runner spared him a glance.

“Who do you think, dumbass! Rhiannon, of course.” The boy threw a small stone at his friend.

Runner adjusted his bag on his back and turned to him. “I thought you said she was into me.” He smiled.

“Yes, but you’re not into her, so I don’t see a reason not to try.” Troy hung his head.

Runner faced Troy and continued to walk, but backwards. “I think you have a chance,” he spoke and turned to face his path.

Troy was naïve for asking such a question. Runner knew despite how much his friend cared for her, it would be difficult to get her to set aside her fixation on him. As much as he knew, that was just the way such things work.

They stepped off the last rubble that lined the pass of Karathon and into a graveyard of buildings. Runner raised his gaze to the sky. It was unusual for one to do that when there were no stars to watch or moonlight. All that met his gaze was one big mass of grey blanketing the sky. Everywhere, the light was akin to that of a late evening when the last light was about to die. The wasteland was untouched by the artificial lights of MegaCityOne and thus, clouded by a lingering dusk.

He set his sight on his wristwatch. “11:00 PM,” he muttered. “We must hurry, Troy,” he said to his friend.

“I don’t know why I always feel like I am the last person in the world when I’m out here.” Troy hastened his steps to reach Runner.

They stopped before the ruins of what used to be a supermarket. The doors were all blocked by broken metals and bricks, but Runner knew exactly where he was going. He squatted behind a wall and pressed his hands on it, falling weak bricks in the process. A large hole was revealed on the wall, and he shoved his hand in, pulling a grocery cart from within.

“We can put the coppers in here,” he said.

Troy did not seem to be listening to him. The boy’s eyes and mind were somewhere else.

“Look!” he shouted suddenly, pointing straight.

Runner stood to his feet and joined him.

“Over there.” Troy directed Runner’s gaze. “That’s the factory Rhiannon marked on the map.”

Runner grabbed the cart, ready to speed off to the factory. His sharp ears caught something, a faint rattling among metals and brick. Quickly, he caught Troy by the loose end of his jacket and dragged him down. They hid behind a wall held in solitude by the foundation of a ruined gatehouse.

“Someone is coming,” Runner whispered.

He peeked from the side and saw a familiar face. “It’s Gunner.” He glanced at Troy.

“Which Gunner?” Troy seemed curious. “Gunner the Loan Shark or Gunner the Scrap Hoarder?”

Runner shook his head. “Seeing that we are also looting, it is only fair that it would be Gunner the Scrap Hoarder.”

“Thank god.” Troy breathed deeply. “I owe Gunner the Loan Shark a hundred and fifty credit-chips, and he swore on his mother’s grave to leave me naked in the storm if I don’t pay up.”

“Quiet,” Runner whispered.

He watched as a gang of men crept out of half broken buildings and surrounded Gunner. They were scrawny men wielding crude weapons of crowbars, wrenches, broken pipes, and wood. At first, there was no movement. Suddenly, one of the men snatched Gunner’s bag of metals and cleared him right from his feet. The boy fell with such a loud thud that Runner could hear it from afar.

They raised their weapons and began to pound him. The poor boy’s cries stung Runner’s ears. He cried and cried until the cries died down, then the gang stopped. They looted anything they could find from Gunner’s body and shouted their victory.

“Fucking marauders. Those are Ishmael’s gang,” Runner spoke woefully.

“We can still help Gunner,” Troy said.

Runner turned to him almost immediately. “Are you crazy?” he snarled. “Look, Troy. I know you’re a good guy and all that, but survival isn’t your thing. Those are goddamn man hunters. They only sit around and wait for folks like us to do the looting before coming to beat us to death and steal our shit. Sorry about Gunner. It is a terrible thing what they did to him, but we got to sit here till they go, unless you want to be buried beneath rubbles.”

Runner gazed at his wristwatch again. “Oh my god!” His face puckered to a frown.

“What is it?” Troy shifted closer.

The words could not leave Runner’s tongue. There were only five minutes to the next sweep of the storm and only one hideout to find shelter. But the problem was that the man hunters would also go for the nearest shelter.

Now he was caught between Scylla and Charybdis.

Chapter Four

Seven Laws of an Outlaw

He couldn’t stop staring at his wristwatch. He couldn’t control the woeful thoughts that sieged his mind. He knew, for a slum dweller, his death would come one of these days, but it never crossed his mind that it should be in the wasteland where the love and fellowship of friends had been replaced by the cruel embrace of ash and rubbles.

The storm was approaching fast. Runner watched it and Troy, too, could not help but gaze at the massive gale that swept with death. They watched it for a moment—the way the storm curled around ruined remnants of building structures before swallowing them whole into total obscurity like some magic trick of disappearance. Runner knew he had to choose between two monsters: one which was fast approaching and the other which lied in wait in the form of Ishmael’s gang of man hunters.

After witnessing what they did to Gunner, he couldn’t help but give a little compliment to the government of MegaCityOne. The world was one big pit of shit—everyone knew that—but somehow, there was a little bit of order in the domed city, thanks to the ever vigilant Section 5.

Ishmael! Oh, crazy Ishmael. He was once called the bully of Bug Town. Three years ago, the Rangers of Section 5 put down a rebellion caused by the gang leader. Crazy man he was. To prove the firmness of his cause, he torched twenty trucks transporting food supplies to the big city, causing an uprising that was crushed by the supreme councillor. For a moment, he had almost done what many could not—tumble the dictatorial leadership of MegaCityOne. Well, the enormous amount invested in Section 5 proved useful when the elite sector routed his hideout and massacred a good quarter of his followers.

Things were different now. Beyond the comforts of the domed city, it was only survival that mattered, and here, the only thing Ishmael rebelled against was the virtues of sanity.

“What are we going to do?” Troy glanced at his friend.

“I thought you were the smart one. Figure something out,” Runner answered furiously.

He gazed at his wristwatch again. “Damn it! Eleven minutes till the storm hits.”

“You’re not helping.” Troy’s voice was shaky.

Something struck Runner’s mind—something he had always considered stupid. They were not outlaws, but Old Max always said that every slum dweller was an outlaw. Perhaps he was right, and thus, he set seven rules to guide every man beyond the comforts of home.

“To survive is to blend,” Runner uttered.

Troy stared at him. “What?”

“Remember, Old Max made seven rules to survive the wasteland. The first says to survive is to blend.” A victorious grin grew on Runner’s face.

“I thought you said Old Max’s theories are detrimental to sanity.”

Runner moved along the walls and spied on the gang of man hunters. “Look around you, Troy. This is insanity. We have been living in madness since we breathed the cruel air of this world. Come over here.”

Troy moved along the walls, careful not to be seen.

Runner rose up gently, just enough to have a vivid view of the gang. He estimated fifteen to twenty men in all, dressed in greasy clothing that had not touched the warm waters of a laundry for long. They carried cruel weapons forged by the merging of several dangerous tools together.

He caught two men stealing out for a smoke, his perfect opportunity to test Old Max’s rules and pray he wouldn’t get pounded to death.

“Let’s take them out and put on their outfit. No one will notice since there are a lot of gang members holed up in the hideout.”

“Are you crazy?” Troy chimed in. “They would kill us both, and I . . I . . . I have never killed a man before.”

Runner grabbed Troy by the neck of his jacket. “You see that?” He pointed at the storm that was now closer than ever. “It will melt our skin and turn our bones to ash. Imagine handling all the pain. Do you want that?”

Troy shook his head.

“Then we have to do this. No one is killing anyone; we just have to knock them out and leave the storm to do the rest.”

Runner released him. He undid his makeshift axe from the belt where he had tied it to his waist and crept out slowly. He stopped and looked back to see if Troy was following him and was satisfied to see his friend behind him.

Now, he felt a cold wind on his skin, much to his surprise. It came from the storm that was drawing closer but didn’t seem right. Everyone knew that the first thing you felt was a hot sensation when the storm was approaching, but this was different—cold, unusual, and something no tongue had ever spoken of.

“Did you feel that?” he whispered to Troy.

“Yes.” The boy nodded quickly. “It is . . . cold, real icy.”

“I don’t know what this is, but we need to get out of here,” Runner continued.

He sneaked to another broken wall right next to the men enjoying a smoke and ducked in the protection of its cover. The wind wafted an acrid stench of the smoke towards his nose. Troy joined him, and they rested their backs on the wall. Runner was ready—ready to do what he must to survive—and so held his axe close to his chest. Breath escaped his lungs, and he signaled Troy for a joint attack.

“Hey, boss wants everyone in before the storm hits.” A man approached the smoking duo.

Troy was about to pounce for an attack when Runner dragged him down. “There are three of them now,” he said.

“What do we do?” Troy asked.

Runner pondered for a moment, his face bearing his disappointment. “We stick to the plan,” he said finally.

“What—how do you intend . . .”

The words had barely left Troy’s tongue when Runner sprang from his cover. He swung hard, using the blunt side of his makeshift axe to strike a man on his head. The man dropped down flat and unconscious. Troy jabbed at the second man’s foot, and as the man hit the ground, he unleashed another blow on his head.

“For Gunner, motherf**cker,” he cursed angrily and unleashed another blow to the unconscious man.

“Dude, he has passed out,” Runner said.

Troy stepped back with his weapon. “Look.” He pointed at the third man. “He is getting away.”

Runner saw the man putting more distance away from them. He looked to Troy’s pneumatic nail gun, but the man was too far a target for the nails. There was only one thing left to do: putting his throwing skill that he had used to win a dart throwing competition to a live test.

He held his axe tight and threw his hand back. His target was adding more distance, but it did not deter him. One true swing and the axe left Runner’s grip, swirled through the air, and struck the target at his shoulder. He saw the man slump like a deer brought down by an arrow.

Both boys ran to the man. The blade of the makeshift axe was stuck on the man’s shoulder, and Runner had never seen so much blood escape the human body. The man gasped desperately for breath until he couldn’t anymore, and life fled. Runner felt bad.

“I only meant to injure him.” His eyes narrowed in distress.

“Like you said, it was either him or us.” Troy put a hand on his shoulder.

“We can’t use his clothing. It has been soiled by blood. Let’s take from the others.”

They undid the clothes from the other two and threw them over their own clothing. Luckily, the baseball caps the marauders wore were able to further secure the boys’s identities. Runner grabbed the men’s weapon and passed one to Troy.

“We have to really look like them,” he said and smiled.

A gust of wind forcefully blew the cap from his head, and he ran to catch it. He picked it up and saw a ruined car flung towards him by the storm. He moved away quickly, and it slammed on the ground, scattering stones and bricks. He watched the storm engulf everything, a white violent hot fog creeping upon anything on its path and swallowing it whole. For a moment there, it seemed almost supernatural, and fear gripped him like a nut stuck in his throat.

“Run!” Runner screamed.

He took the lead with Troy following behind and with great strides made for a small shelter that served as a hideout to Ishmael’s gang. Like a surge of sea waves, they crashed into the small room and blended in with the gang.

Runner took deep breaths to recuperate. He stood to his feet and watched the storm pass through. There was literally nothing to see within it, as everything was white and hazy. After a few minutes, the storm passed completely. The vagueness was gone, and everything seemed clear.

He stepped outside and saw something he had never seen before. One of the gang members was still and unmoving as a tree stump. He looked like a statue, petrified while making for safety. Many others came out and joined Runner as he stared at it. They, too, had never seen such a thing.

It seemed the poor fellow was reaching for the hideout when he got caught by the storm. But usually, the storm melts the human skin like an acid would, not petrify it. Runner poked a finger at it, and the frozen man came crashing down like the stones of a demolished building.

“The storm must be changing with different seasons.” He glanced at Troy. “But no one has recorded anything like this. Perhaps this might be a step to understanding nature.”

“Whatever, man,” Troy said. “We need to leave this place now. I don’t feel comfortable with all these creepy dudes carrying knives and broken pipes.”

“Come on.” Runner beckoned.

They walked past several gang members without any hindrance. Even so, the fear that took root in Runner’s mind was not so easily discarded. He held on, walking a fine line between being discovered and getting through successfully. The last they passed were two men fighting over an unequal share of loot.

Finally, they went through without being discovered. Troy took a sigh of relief, and Runner smiled to his fortune.

Troy lifted his hands in the air. “The god of luck must have smiled on us.”

“Luck doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Runner countered. “Old Max’s seven rules really wasn’t a hoax. For once, he had done something right.”

“So, remind me again. What is the second law of an outlaw?” Troy asked.

“Who cares,” Runner said and then paused as he stared at the distance. “An outlaw in need is an outlaw indeed. To survive, four hands are better than two.”

The factory was right before them, and at the foot was a truck, half buried in rubbles.

“Troy,” he called. “I think we are going to need four hands.”

He began to walk towards it with quick steps, and it seemed like if he looked away for a moment, the truck would disappear. No one could seek out copper wires better than Runner. He could sense it from afar. He could smell it, and he could hear it calling to him, for it has been something he had looted all his life.

He knew, without doubt, that there were copper wires in the truck and loads of it. Nothing could have brought him such unimaginable joy for it was worth every risk he had taken. He reached the rusty truck and forced the door open.

There they were—shiny copper wires.

Troy fell on his knees and opened his arm wide with joy. “Oh god! Oh god! These are blessings in abundance.”

Chapter Five

Like Dog and Bone

The journey back home did not seem as tiring as he had expected. His blood coursed with so much energy. Perhaps he felt so alive because he had found enough copper wire that could feed half the population of Rat Town for days.

Troy pushed the cart behind Runner. They looked like happy huntsmen who had hit the largest game in the wild. Runner hung his axe to rest on his shoulder and marched towards the little gate like the soldiers of old returning from war.

Troy stopped suddenly. “My legs hurt.”

He bent down slightly, touching his knees with both hands.

“What? Do you want me to carry you?” Runner laughed. “Stop being a milksop and pull the damn cart. We are almost there.”

Runner ran and climbed atop a pile of metal and bricks that had been melted together by the storm to form a hill. He curved his hand over his brow and stared at the small gate in the distance.

“What’s the first thing you would do when we get home?” Troy gazed at him with a smile sitting on his face.

Runner looked down at his black boots and frowned as a toe popped through a hole on the sole. “Get a new shoe to start with. I know we live in dark days, but damn it! A guy needs some reps. I mean . . . come on, look at my shoes. No wonder I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“You should be glad you don’t have a girlfriend. Look at Gus, the plumber. He hit a major jackpot and apparently . . . fell in love with a redhead. Old fool didn’t know love was a transaction in Rat Town. Now, he cleans sewers in the slums.”

Troy pushed the cart forward and then stopped suddenly.

“But Rhiannon, I don’t think she is like that.”

“Here we go again,” Runner said, “Rhiannon. If you like her that much, why don’t you tell her how you feel?”

Troy shook his head and smiled.

They pushed further until the small gate was near. Runner ran towards it to make way for Troy and the cart. He reached the door and tried to open it, but it was shut tight. He took a few steps backwards and ran with speed, slamming his shoulder on the door to force it open, but it would not budge.

“Rhiannon was supposed to leave this open for us,” he said to Troy who had caught up with him.

“Let me try.”

Troy left the cart and pushed the door to no avail.

Something must have gone wrong. Runner knew this but didn’t want to think much to it. He hoped that Rhiannon was safe, yet that would seem unlikely as she would never leave them stranded no matter what.

There was only one thing to do now, and that meant taking the greatest risk he could imagine.

“We take the main gate,” Runner said.

“What?” Troy bellowed. “We might as well strip ourselves naked and stand in the radioactive storm because Section 5 will have our heads for sneaking into the wasteland.”

“Not if we bribe our way through.”

Troy nodded. “That could work,” he said.

Runner took the lead to act as a scout. It would be better to try to get around without being seen than to bribe a ranger of Section 5—that would be his plan B. He wasn’t new to the art of stealth and thus, crept along the walls.

He gazed at his wristwatch. The storm would not hit any time soon, giving him ample time to do what needed to be done. One more step and he jerked to halt, urging Troy to do the same.

“What is it?” His friend poked a finger at his shoulder.

Runner peeped from the corner and saw a group of boys and girls dressed in the black and grey camouflage jackets of Section 5. They wielded no real or stun guns but carried makeshift weapons. Immediately, everything made sense.

“Dope,” Runner whispered.

“Why would Dope’s gang be guarding the gates?” Troy asked.

Runner shook his head. “He must have found out that we went to loot scrap metal.”

“What do we do, Runner . . . What do we do?”  Troy’s voice trembled. “We . . . we can’t lose everything we risked our lives for.”

Runner stood up and held his axe in his right hand. “Let me handle this,” he said.

He walked out and stepped in front of the gang. Immediately, they saw him. They rallied themselves and stood in a long line. They stood before him, twenty in all, stretching from one watchtower at the end of the large gate to the other.

“Skittish!” Runner shouted.

Dope descended the stairs of the large watchtower, carrying a long, broken pipe in his hand. He wore a brown military vest upon a sleeveless cloth, and his arms hung out, revealing his biceps.

“It is forbidden to sneak into the wasteland without authorization, Runner. You know this very well.”

“I only went to retrieve the cargo I lost so I can finally get my pay,” Runner lied. “I wouldn’t want to incur the chief enforcer’s wrath now, would I?”

Dope laughed hard and long. “Come on, Runner. We both know that’s not the case. My little birds whispered to me a rather familiar song. They said that you went to loot a large stash of copper wires.”

Runner stared at him. Who told him that? Surely, it wasn’t Rhiannon. She would never betray him and wouldn’t even waste her breath on a foolish fellow like Dope. If not her, then who?

“You caught me, Dope. Yes, I went on a chase of foolish rumours, but as you can see, I came back with nothing.”

“Nothing.” Dope laughed again and waved his hand.

Two boys from his gang dragged Troy who struggled to get free from them, while another pushed the cart behind them. Runner charged with such great rage and used his foot to lunge at the boy pushing the cart. The poor boy was sent flying until he slammed on the wall.

Five more came at Runner. He buried his axe on the shoulder of another boy, and the rest fell him to the ground and restrained him. Dust found its way into Runner’s mouth, and he spat it out, fuming.

“Skittish, you coward.” Runner spat his words. “You hide behind this bunch of thugs. Why don’t you challenge me? Man to man. If you win, you take the whole loot.”

Dope’s gang paused and stared at their leader who sat on the stairs. Runner knew he had hit Dope where it would hurt the most—his pride.

“Why should I waste my time on a poor slum dweller?” Dope stated.

“Are you backing out then? Are you scared Daddy isn’t here to protect you?” Runner taunted.

Dope stood up. “Fine,” he said. “Set him free,” he ordered and began to descend the stairs.

“Skittish!”

“Skittish!”

“Skittish!” Dope’s gang carried his name high with their voices.

Runner removed his black jacket and the hide belts that were crisscrossed over his chest. He dropped them on the ground and lifted his makeshift axe. His torso was bare, carrying rippled muscles from years of hardship. The image of a winged woman was tattooed on his back.

Dope stopped before him and pulled his shirt off too. A boy came towards him, carrying something that looked like Sense pills. If indeed it was a Sixth-Sense pill, it spelled trouble for Runner. Despite the pill being used to detoxify the poisonous air of the wasteland, its secondary use was to boost sensory organs, something that had gotten a lot of folks hooked on it.

Runner had used up all the Sense pills given to him by Rhiannon, so he prepared his mind that it wasn’t going to be a fair fight.

He glanced at Troy, who was the only one cheering him, but turned around too late that he didn’t see Dope charging towards him. He tried to counter as quick as his reflex could manage, but Dope picked a handful of sand and threw it into his eyes.

Runner fell on both knees and scratched his eyes. A hard blow came upon his head from the pipe Dope wielded, and he fell flat on the floor.

“Skittish, you cheat!” Runner heard Troy’s voice.

The itching sensation in his eyes began to fade. He opened them and saw Dope lunging with his metal pipe. Quickly, he rolled over, and Dope smashed it on the ground.

Runner trapped Dope’s feet between his legs and pulled back hard, sweeping the boy to fall with a loud thud. He pushed forward to climb upon his opponent but was met with a hard blow on his face. Something rang in his head. His sight went blurry for a moment. His lips broke, and he tasted the iron flavour of blood in his mouth.

The Sense pills must be working wonders. Dope sprang to his feet, full of energy. “Did you like that, little bitch?” he yelled angrily.

Runner tried to stand up, but Dope lunged with his foot and hit the boy hard to fall on the ground. Not satisfied, Dope picked his metal pipe, ready to unleash one final blow. He lifted it in the air, and just when it was about to descend, Runner leapt from the floor, his arms going around Dope’s waist, and down they both fell.

Runner sat on top of the boy. Dope tried to fend him off weakly, but Runner caught his fingers and broke the boy’s thumb, rendering his hands utterly useless. Now, he had free access to Dope’s face, and he unleashed blow upon blow until the face went bloody.

“Stop it, Runner, stop!” Troy tried to drag him away from Dope, but in a fit of rage, he pushed his friend away and continued.

“That’s enough, Runner!” he heard another voice, but this was not Troy’s.

Runner stopped and stood away from Dope. He turned around to see the many eyes fixed on him, but one especially made him feel so ashamed.

“Rhiannon,” he muttered.

Before any other word could leave his tongue, a convoy of military trucks lined up towards the gate. Rangers of Section 5 alighted in tens, wielding sophisticated guns and gears. These were the real rangers. Runner knew this and couldn’t help but think if his life was in danger.

“Are they here to arrest me?” he asked Rhiannon.

She gave him no answer, still disappointed that he had beaten Dope to an inch of his life.

The rangers lined up, and the chief enforcer walked through the twin line escorted by two bodyguards. That moment, Runner knew there was something else going on. The chief opened the door, and a blonde teenage girl stepped down from the vehicle followed closely by a blonde boy who seemed to look a bit like her.

She wore a white shirt and short black skirts; her hair was wavy, and her eyes were covered by dark sunglasses. Folks from Rat Town in their numbers gathered around the trucks, struggling to catch a glimpse of the girl, while a few uttered insults directed at the government.

The guards followed her. They guarded every single step she took like the last egg of a hungry man determined to keep it safe at any cost.

“What’s this madness, chief enforcer?” The girl removed her sunglasses and gazed at Runner.

He saw her eyes, crystal clear like the waters of an ocean.

“That’s Olivia Patterson,” Rhiannon whispered to him.

Runner was struck numb by her presence, contrary to what he had always said about sticking his knife into any of the supreme councillor’s family he came across. She looked different than the girl he had seen on the TV screen.

“Get him up!” the chief enforcer ordered.

Runner picked himself up and went to stand over Dope. He stretched out his right arm to help the boy up, but as Dope received his hand, he plunged a shiv deep at Runner’s side and blood burst with force.

Runner fell to the ground. Just as everything seemed to fall apart, he heard a loud blast. Half the rangers fell upon each other. The force pushed Olivia Patterson to fall upon him, and his blood stained her white shirt. Everything was in a haze. A large mass of smoke rose and hung in the air over MegaCityOne, urging everyone into a wild panic.

“R-Rhiannon . . .” He couldn’t hear his own voice.

She was lying just across him, and she was not moving. Runner felt weak, and the last words he heard were Death Throe, and darkness followed quickly.

Chapter Six

With Friends Like This

“Hold it . . . hold it tight. Put pressure.”

The voice was faint and desperate. Runner opened his eyes. He could barely see a thing, only the shadows of people moving in the light. All he could hear was that same voice repeating the same words. At first, he thought he was dead and was in that place of abundant milk and honey Reverend Malachi had always referenced to give the poor folks hope in the church at Rat Town.

But if indeed it was paradise, then why did he feel a stabbing pain in his abdomen? Why did the whole place smell of blood and gangrene?

“Put more pressure.” The voice came again.

Runner turned to his right, and a sharp pain stung at his side. The vagueness began to fade. It felt like a veil had been lifted from his sight. He saw someone familiar on a table surrounded by a woman and two men. There was blood everywhere.

“Rhiannon!” Runner screamed and jumped off his bed, ignoring the pain.

He pushed through the woman and her help, grabbing his friend’s shoulder and shaking her. Rhiannon was as still as a log, her face pale and her garb soaked in red blood. One of the men grabbed Runner and pulled him back.

“Why is she not waking?” Runner’s face grew sullen as if he was going to cry, but tears would not fall.

“Help her,” he cried out. “Please help her!”

The men handed him to two rangers from Section 5, and they dragged him out as he kicked and screamed. “Help her!”

Runner rammed his knee on one of the ranger’s groin and escaped the grasp of the other. He surged into the tent, so concentrated on his friend that he had failed to see that there were hundreds of slum dwellers writhing in pain on makeshift hospital beds.

He halted, masked in utter silence, and watched the nurse cover Rhiannon with a white cloth. He couldn’t feel anything. All his senses had gone numb. Blood trickled from his wound and soaked his white vest.

The rangers came back, pointing their stun guns at him.

“It is okay. Let him go. I will take care of him. Let him go,” a voice said, but Runner did not care to see who it was.

He was led to a bed, and he sat down, staring blankly, making no attempt to be aware of his surroundings. The next that came was a flash of light on his eyes.

“Pupil dilations, normal,” the voice said again.

Runner opened his mind to the world, and everything rushed in with an overwhelming force. The moans of patients in pain, the racket of folks arguing with the rangers, and the buzzing sounds of electric generators—all were like a jumble of memories invading his mind. He felt a sting at his side and looked down to see the nurse stitching his wounds.

“Hello,” she said while making her stitches. “I’m Dr. Lysander from the Citadel of Healing.”

Immediately, Runner recognized the name. Everyone knew Dr. Lysander headed the Citadel of Healing. Not that they cared anyway, but even so, she could not be denied the influential figure of being one of the councillors in the governmental hierarchy of MegaCityOne.

“What happened?” Runner asked with a husky voice.

“A bomb blasted from MegaCityOne, causing a chain reaction that got to Rat Town. The rebel, Death Throe, was responsible for it.”

Death Throe, the name sounded in Runner’s mind. He had always respected the rebel and saw him as a heroic figure to the dwellers of the ten slum colonies. Now, the name stirred anger in him. It made his tongue bitter like ash and his mind filled with hatred for all things.

Runner noticed that his right hand was tightening into a fist and the fear festering on Dr. Lysander’s face couldn’t be helped.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I understand.” Dr. Lysander held Runner’s hand and opened his palm. “She was your friend, and you hold every right to be angry.”

Runner pulled his hand forcefully away from her and stood from the bed. “Can I go now?”

Dr. Lysander rose to her feet, and her eyes met Runner’s gaze. Like all from the Citadel of Healing, she wore a white latex overall that stuck to her body like skin, and upon it, a long flowing white coat—which indeed had been implemented by the citadel in memory of healers from the world before the nuclear radiation.

“Mother,” a girl called from a distance.

As she came further, the vagueness that masked her from afar disappeared and Runner saw her clearly. She was none other than Olivia Patterson, daughter of the supreme councillor. Runner’s jaw dropped when he made the connection.

His nurse had all long been the most powerful woman in MegaCityOne, a wife to the supreme councillor. Oh, how rudely he had spoken to her! But why was his head still attached to his neck? It would seem the queen bee of MegaCityOne was not all folks had imagined her to be.

The girl reached her mother, and they engaged in a long embrace. Following behind her was a blond boy, dressed in a long black trench coat. He, too, shared a warm hug with the doctor.

“Who is he, Mum?” Olivia ran her eyes over Runner.

Typical, Runner thought. It was not so long ago that she reprimanded him for his fight with Dope just before the bomb went off, yet she had all but forgotten his face. He couldn’t believe he had spent half his life fantasizing over her, ignoring the best thing to have ever happened to him, which was Rhiannon.

Now she was dead, and his heart was full of regret. What would he say to Troy? Was the boy even alive?

“Olivia, meet Runner of Rat Town. He has been through a lot today.” Dr. Lysander gestured at Runner.

“Runner, meet my daughter, Olivia, and my son, Oliver.” She pointed at her daughter and son.

Oliver stepped forward, smiling, and gestured a handshake. Runner received it, and at that moment, the boy didn’t seem like the arrogant sack of horse shit Runner had thought he was. Olivia remained at her mother’s side, but her eyes . . . her eyes held truths untold for the way they vividly focused on Runner.

Despite being the most privileged kids in MegaCityOne, Runner pitied them and found it hilarious at the same time. They had stepped into the slums comfortably with their philanthropic mother, ignorant of the fact that almost every slum dweller from Rat Town to Bug Town wanted to bury a makeshift axe in their head for just being who they were.

Runner grabbed his jacket from a table. “I will be going now, ma’am. I’ve got to find my friends and make sure they are alright.”

“Come here.” Dr. Lysander opened her arms for an embrace.

Runner felt reluctant to receive it. He hadn’t had a hug from an elderly figure since . . . well, not ever. It was already weird that Dr. Lysander had taken a sudden admiration for him. Now she wanted to give him a hug. He couldn’t tell if she was after something from him, but what could he possibly give her? One thing he knew for certain was that all the good people in the world were dead or had been hammered into insensitive beings by a harsh way of life.

“Come on, Runner. I won’t bite,” she urged.

He finally received her embrace but made sure it was brief.

“Go find your friends.” She turned her gaze to a room where corpses had been kept for a quick cremation. “I will make sure you get her ashes when they are done.”

Runner nodded and walked to the door. He stopped and turned around. “Thank you, Dr. Lysander.”

“Wait!” a voice came as Runner stepped through the door.

He paused and turned to see Oliver running towards him.

“You don’t mind if I tag along, do you?” the boy said, panting from the short distance he just ran. “I-I would like to see what Rat Town looks like.”

“Bad idea,” Runner countered.

Oliver would not turn away. He seemed intent on following Runner. Of course, it was odd that the son of the supreme councillor had come after him without his glorified guards from Section 5, but his safety was the least of Runner’s worries. He just didn’t want to lose that hatred of all the folks in the big city he had held onto for long. It was that hatred that had kept him going all this while. That dream that one day, the rebel, Death Throe, would bring them all to their knees.

Death Throe, the rebel, was all he could think of right now. He hated him more than anything. Not even Dope or Ishmael and his gang had been able to stir such hatred in him. Rhiannon’s death had set him on one path: vengeance.

“I’m sorry. You can’t come with me,” Runner spoke rudely and continued onwards.

Oliver followed. “The Rangers of Section 5 have sealed every route to the slums, but I can show you a safe path you can use to get around.”

“Let me guess, only if you tag along.” Runner glanced at him. “Fine.”

Runner checked his wound. Dr. Lysander had done a great job. It felt like there was no injury there in the first place.

“Where are we going exactly?” Oliver asked.

“To find my friend, Troy Decker,” Runner answered as he walked.

Oliver was trailing behind and took quick strides to catch up. “How are you sure he is not . . . dead?”

Runner spared him a glance. “I’m sure all your life the amount of resources invested in your safety has made safety even boring. No one knows the slums better than Troy Decker. I have seen him survive a pit of shifting bricks that sinks faster than quicksand and even every radioactive storm he has encountered in the wastelands. I don’t think a bomb from a sick rebel will be enough to claim his life.”

“Wow,” Oliver exclaimed. “I have never been to the wasteland. Let alone see a storm. What does it feel like?”

Runner did not answer him.

They walked into Widow’s Street, a place known for its series of shanty malls and haggard shopkeepers. Beyond a half-broken glass, Runner saw boxes of freshly baked bread and no one around to keep watch. He was hungry, but even so, all he thought about was how to get food to his aunt’s kids and tell them that their guardian angel, Rhiannon, was dead.

Stealing was one of the worst crimes a man could commit, and yet it was the crime most frequently committed in Rat Town. Men lost their heads for that, yet most did not care. The way they put it: better to die at the gallows than to be snuffed out by starvation, but he did not share this ideal.

Despite the hunger, Runner walked past it.

“Hey, I know you are hungry. Take some. No one will know. I won’t tell, I promise.” Oliver stood in front of the shop.

Runner shook his head shyly. “No, I don’t want to visit the gallows.”

Oliver went towards the glass. Carefully, he passed his hand through the broken glass and took two loaves.

“Here.” He gave one to Runner.

“You can’t just do that.” Runner grabbed both from him. He stepped into a hidden surveillance line of sight, and an alarm rang loudly.

They both turned to run. Two patrol trucks from Section 5 rode in front of them and blocked their path. The doors of the vehicles sprung open.

“Round them up,” a man commanded.

“He stole them, not me,” Oliver bellowed, pointing at Runner. He showed them his identity on an ambassador’s pass card.

“Forgive us,” the captain said. “Take the supreme councillor’s son back to the visiting camps.”

Runner watched as they escorted Oliver with utter respect to a car. He wanted to tell them the truth, but then again, it was his word against the councillor’s son. A ranger landed a hard blow on his head with a baton and forced him to the ground.

“Take him to the gallows,” the captain ordered.

Chapter Seven

Two Weeks in Limbo

For two weeks, his eyes saw darkness—a darkness that had almost rendered him blind—and all he had for company were mice. Creepy little things would not let him have a sound rest. Runner twisted on the cold floor, but there wasn’t enough space to stretch his legs. He folded both legs and clasped his arms around them.

At least, he got to eat three full meals a day, not that they proved to be the best but they filled his stomach. That was more than he could say for life in Rat Town. Even so, freedom had such a feeling that made a man want to fly.

He had spent most days trying to draw a mental picture of his mother and his father. That way, he kept his mind from wandering into the lair of insanity. Even as hard as he tried, he could not remember their faces and ended up picturing the faces of some random folks.

There was little a man could do in such incarceration. He could lie on his back and stare at the ceiling, but that would require a bit of illumination in the room.

Runner bit his thumb to feel something—anything. He did not want to think of Troy or Rhiannon or his aunt’s kids he had left behind. What does it matter? Everyone knew once you were destined for the gallows, you would never go home again.

A high-pitched sound penetrated the iron doors of his cell―the wailing of a siren.

The sound was like a hundred needles poked at his eardrums. Runner covered both ears with his hands and threw himself to rest upon the wall. Suddenly, the iron door sprung open, much to his surprise.

Gently, Runner stepped out of his confinement. The golden stream of light passing through a glass window on a wall flooded his eyes. It irritated him, but soon, the brilliance faded and his sight accommodated to his environment.

Runner looked to his left. His cell was only one amongst many that stood opposite themselves in a long line, and outside each door stood a boy, a girl, a man, or a woman. Everyone was clad in the all-white overall prison attire.

Standing in front of the cell next to his was a gangly boy. He looked pale and sickly with his hair slapped to his head like it had been drenched by rain. The boy glanced at Runner and stepped forward.

The wailing siren continued, and a voice prompt followed. “Power lock malfunction! Power lock malfunction! Power lock malfunction . . .”

“Freedom!” a plump man bellowed, throwing his hands in the air.

Everyone ran down the long hallway and towards a double exit door that had opened along with the cell doors, except Runner.

The gangly boy paused in his stride and turned back. “Aren’t you coming?”

Runner did not answer. His gaze was set upon a surveillance camera with a red light glistening at the side. He had seen a lot of that in Old Max’s workshop, and something didn’t feel right.

“What do you make of that?” He pointed at the camera.

The boy moved closer to him until they stood at equal shoulder’s length. “Someone is watching us,” he said.

“Yes, you got that right.” Runner nodded. “There are only two reasons someone will want to do that. Either they want to test us or lure us into a trap. Perhaps they have found a new form of execution.”

“What do we do then?” The boy glanced at him

Runner smiled. “Pretend to play their game.”

He ran down the hall, followed closely behind by the boy. The light from a long line of fluorescent bulbs flickered above them. Like some kind of SOS, it seemed to be leading them away from the hall and down a long passageway with tiled walls at each side, white as the day they were painted.

They came upon the last door that had been left wide open and were welcomed by a cold gust of artificially circulated wind. Fake as it may be, it smelt fresh, far better than any he had breathed in Rat Town. He stepped through the door, and his eyes caught the extremely tall and beautifully crafted buildings of MegaCityOne, casting their shadows over the prison yard.

His gaze lingered for a moment, wondering in awe how men could achieve such a feat. He had heard from Old Max that people of the world before built such magnificence, buildings that almost touched the sky, but most of them came crashing and were now part of the ever-growing wastelands.

Faint whispers came from below. Runner lowered his gaze and then he saw it—a garden of tall, green, and flowery plants shaped to form a maze. He heard the voices of the other prisoners, the rustling of leaves, and then an alarm sounded again.

It stopped suddenly, and an unnerving quietness descended. The creak of an opening door broke the silence, and following were loud barks from German shepherds. Behind the dogs followed men clad in black military uniforms, wielding high-powered rifles. The insignia S5 was etched on the shoulder guard of their armour, indicating their association with Section 5, but Runner knew they were no rangers.

Runner dragged his new friend and pushed him to hide behind a door.

“Oh my god!” the boy exclaimed. “I have seen this before. They mean to execute everyone under the pretence of stopping escaping prisoners. That’s what they do when the facility is flooding with guys like us.”

“Talk about population control,” Runner muttered.

The boy began to laugh, and Runner threw a stern gaze at him.

“What?” the boy said. “Can’t you see? We are so fucked. If we go into the maze, the dogs will find us and we will be killed. If we stay here, the dogs won’t need to find us because we are open targets for shooting practice.”

He chuckled again.

Indeed, he was right. Runner knew this, but there was something he knew the boy did not. Runner ran back down the passageway. He walked into the first open cell he found and picked pieces of leftover meals.

“Are you going to throw scraps at them?” The boy stood behind him, his exhaled breath warm upon Runner’s neck.

Runner stood up and went into the second cell.

“No, I’m gathering it for the dogs. We need to give them something else to throw them off our tracks and allow us more time to escape this place.”

The boy smiled. “That could work,” he said. “I’m Jimmy Slim, by the way. My friends call me Slim Jim.”

Runner paused and raised his gaze to meet the boy’s grey eyes. “It wouldn’t matter what your friends call you if we don’t make it out of here.”

“So much for introductions,” the boy said and bent down to help Runner.

They stepped down the stairs and away from the cell grounds. The entrance to the maze stood before them, an enormous mass of greenery and flowers trimmed tall and arched to look like the roof of a cathedral.

Runner heard loud screams in the distance followed by several gunshots and didn’t think much of it. “They will be coming for us soon.” He opened the piece of cloth where he had gathered the leftovers and shared it with Slim Jim.

“Throw them around. The dogs will definitely stop for meats and bones; they can’t help it,” he said.

Slim Jim dipped his hand in his pocket and brought out white pills carefully wrapped in a small waterproof bag. He poured them out on his palm.

“Sense pills.” Runner’s eyes widened. “How did you get those in here?”

“What does it matter? Have some. It will heighten your perception.” Slim Jim placed them on Runner’s palm.

They looked so enticing. Runner wanted some. He had tried them before, and its effect on the body was incomparable. The first time he swallowed a single pill, he ran through the wasteland with the storm right at his back and kept his lead without consequences. It changed his perspective to his environment, but also, it caused him a blackout where he woke to find himself naked and lying in a sewer.

“Thank you.” He nodded. “But my perception is just fine.”

A gunshot fired, missing him by an inch, or perhaps that was what he thought. His legs carried him onwards, and Slim Jim followed. He heard the dogs barking. Slim Jim broke left, and Runner took his right scattering the pieces of leftover meals as he ran.

The barking began to die down. Runner didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he exhaled a rush of air from his lungs. His plan seemed to be working, as he heard no dog barks. Now, the question was where did Slim Jim go?

Someone screamed. He heard the loud shriek, which meant the person was near.

Runner ran towards the sound, along a narrow path with walls of greenery and flowers on each side. He halted suddenly, almost tripping over as he saw one of the guards from Section 5 slamming the butt of his rifle on a girl’s head.

A dog stood beside the man, its teeth caught on the cloth covering the girl’s ankle, dragging her. Another boy jumped upon the guard and began to hit him, fists and elbows. There was something familiar about him, something . . .

“Dope,” Runner shouted unexpectedly.

The boy turned to look at Runner. That moment of distraction saw him flung downwards and kicked on his stomach until he spat blood from his mouth.

“Hey!” Runner picked a small stone and threw it at the guard. “Over here!”

Bad move. The dog turned its attention to Runner. Its ears stood erect accompanied by a growl, and then it charged towards him. The guard shot his weapon. Runner bent to dodge and ran irregularly to confuse the shooter.

“Get her out of there, Dope,” he shouted. “I will draw him off.”

The dog caught Runner by his ankle. Luckily, the animal’s teeth was stuck in his boot. Another shot fired, but Runner was dragged down by the dog, missing the guard’s shot. He used his left leg to smash the dog’s muzzle, and it released him with a loud shriek.

Runner scrambled to his feet and ran down the maze. He didn’t know where he was going, but he was sure his pursuers were not far behind. In his haste, he tried to cut through a small opening in the maze wall and slammed head-on with someone else.

A hand stretched towards him. He looked up and saw Slim Jim staring at him. He grabbed the boy’s hand.

“I found a way out,” the boy said.

“Where?” Runner’s voice held desperation at its climax. “We need to get out of here right now!”

“Follow me.” The boy took the lead.

They ran as fast as their legs could manage. Dog barks sounded behind them. Runner glanced back for a second and saw three dogs leading half a dozen guards towards them. He mustered any strength he could and increased his pace.

A shot fired again. Something grazed his shoulder. He felt a sharp pain, not too intense to make him stop or slow him down, but red blood quickly soaked his white overall. Finally, he saw the exit, a hole at the foot of a concrete wall, leading down a long tunnel.

Jimmy charged into it, waiting for Runner who had three dogs at his heels. All his strength had been spent. He could feel it, like his life had been sucked out of his body. For a moment, he wanted to give up and allow the dogs to tear him to shreds. That way, all the pain would stop. No more worries. No more looking over his shoulder. But he remembered how Rhiannon had died believing their world should not serve as an excuse for who they become, that one step forward was better than two steps backward.

He jumped to reach the tunnels and entered, crawling quickly behind Slim Jim. It wasn’t long before they found the other end, and as he crept out, he stepped into a pool of water, spilling mud all over his white clothing.

Runner stood up slowly, cleaning mud from his face. He opened his eyes, only to meet hundreds of guards standing behind heavily-armoured vehicles and pointing their weapons at him.

A woman pushed through the uniformed men, and following beside her was one very familiar blonde—Olivia Patterson.

“Bravo, bravo. Well done.” The woman clapped her hands. “Both of you are now qualified to serve your government in a programme worthy of boys with your talent. Welcome to the Remnants of Men.”

Chapter Eight

Liberty Is Dead

Water flowed down Runner’s body, washing away the mud as it drained. He hung his head down and relished the warm spray of water on his head. Beside him, several boys and girls washed away their agony with the steamy showers hanging above their heads. Boys and girls showered in one large bathroom with no dividers. He wasn’t surprised. It was the military tradition of Section 5.

“Enjoy the warm waters for it will be your last,” a guard bellowed.

The bathroom was foggy with steam, making it difficult to see anything. Runner turned off his shower and went on to pick a white towel. He dried his body and wrapped the towel around his waist. He walked to a mirror and gazed at his reflection.

His smile was short-lived as his mind was thrown back to the situation at hand. He did not care that his dark hair was messy and was badly in need of a good hair product. Rather, he wanted to know what madness the government of MegaCityOne had next in store for him.

“Everybody, out!” The guard stepped out of the foggy bathroom.

The boys and girls hurriedly moved to the exit, still in shock after being the few to have survived the maze. Runner followed. The fact that he hadn’t seen Slim Jim or Dope still troubled his mind.

“You.” Runner watched the huge guard place a hand on his chest to stop his movement. “Wait here.”

“What did I do?” Runner asked.

The guard stared at him. All Runner saw was a skull mask concealing the man’s face. The sharp footfalls of a heel hammered on the tiled ground. Runner turned around and saw a blonde girl approaching. She was wearing a white sleeved shirt and a short tight black skirt.

“Olivia Patterson,” Runner said boldly. “It is against the law to invade a man’s privacy, city ambassador or not.”

Olivia stopped right in front of him, her vivid gaze ascended to meet Runner’s bright eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. You are not a man. Not yet, at least.” She withdrew from his sight. “As far as I’m concerned, you are all criminals out here.”

“Much cannot be said about your brother.” Runner’s voice rose with anger. “He holds neither dignity nor sense of responsibility. In other words, he is the true definition of a serpent.”

“You speak bold words for a slum dweller. Yet a boy from Rat Town telling tales of dishonour. Funny.” Olivia shook her head with a smile. “You do not strike me like a fool, Runner. So, I’m sure you know the bluebloods of this damned city do as they please, my brother included. I, for one, do not share that conception, but there is little I can do with my every movement monitored by my father.”

Runner walked closer to her. The words she spilled were beginning to feel like music to his ears. Even so, he maintained silence.

“I need your help, Runner. My mother trusts you, and I trust her. So, I believe you, and we can be of mutual benefits to one another.”

Runner was surprised. Two years ago, this would seem like an opportunity forged in heaven, but now, things had changed. He was no longer that boy that wished for a single moment with a pretty girl from the big city.

“What can a slum dweller offer to the daughter of a supreme councillor?” he asked. “I hope I won’t be doing anything that would require pulling my pants down because, just so you know, I don’t do jazz dancing.”

Runner smiled at his joke, but Olivia did not entertain it. She was too damn straight serious.

“That’s tempting.” Olivia sat with half her buttocks pressed upon the edge of a white sink and folded her arms. “I could ask so many things of you, but there is a more . . . pressing issue.”

Water dripping from the faucet soaked her skirt, and she jerked away from the sink. Runner laughed. “I’m sure the supreme councillor’s daughter can afford a dozen of that skirt.”

Olivia stood upright and waved her hand. “I’m sure you are familiar with the name Death Throe.”

With the vagueness caused by the steam dissipating, Runner heard the heavy footfalls of boots, and then a man was revealed as he walked past the tiled walls. He was in a heavy black military vest with a mask of skull over his head.

“Death Throe,” Runner whispered as if a great revelation had been made by him. “You bastard!” He lunged towards the man with his fist.

The man only made a slight reflex sway with his shoulder, and Runner sailed past him. Gliding on the wet floor and off the ground, he slipped. He landed with a heavy thud and was lucky not to slam his head on the floor.

The man went down upon Runner, placing his elbow on the boy’s neck. He went on and drew out a cutlass from a sheath at his back, and Runner saw how it glistened from the reflection of light above.

“You killed my best friend, you mad . . . bastard!” Runner spat.

“That’s enough!” Olivia yelled.

The man released Runner and stood away from him. He put his cutlass back in its sheath and went to stand behind Olivia.

“Listen, Runner.” She bent towards him. “I’m truly sorry for what happened to your girlfriend. But if you want revenge, then you will be searching for a long time because this man over here is only a soldier in an army of rebels. All the rebels conceal their identity behind a mask of skull. I, too, cannot tell who the real Death Throe truly is. Apparently, they believe they are all a single body.”

“What do you want from me?” Runner asked reluctantly.

Olivia went down on her knees and then sat beside Runner on the wet floor, not minding that her skirt would be ruined by the water. She gazed at her wristwatch.

“I have little time left. In five minutes, the enforcers from Section 5 will come for you. Alongside a group of boys and girls, you will be asked to fight for a chance at freedom by joining the Remnants of Men or die at the gallows. I only ask that you choose the former. Do this, and I will tell you where to find your friend, Troy Decker.”

Runner jerked suddenly. “Is he alive?”

Olivia nodded and stood up. Runner grabbed the sinker and helped himself up too. He stretched out his right arm and opened his hand. “Deal,” he said.

Olivia received it and smiled. “Deal,” she replied.

A red light came alive on a lone bulb just above the exit door of the bathroom. A wailing siren followed, and Runner knew they were coming for him.

“The Remnants of Men is about to go live. Escort him back before they find him here,” Olivia beckoned at a guard.

The guard grabbed Runner’s arm and pushed him to move.

“I’m truly sorry about your girlfriend.” He heard Olivia’s voice again just as he reached the exit door.

Runner paused and glanced at her. “Thanks,” he muttered.

They walked through a long passageway, with the walls of each side glowing with a white light. The ground beneath his feet was made of fine metal crafted in beautiful patterns that looked like nets. It did cross his mind, how much he would have sold them at Rat Town if he ripped them off the floor. Such metal would fetch a very nice price.

It also troubled him that the man walking behind him was a rebel disguised as a guard of Section 5. Every step he took came with a fear that the man might draw out his cutlass and cleave his head clean from his neck, knowing that his intentions were of revenge against Death Throe.

Finally, they reached the door to their destination. The guard came forward and opened it. Runner stepped into the large oval hall. Two guards walked to him and dragged him further in. They would not let him put on any clothing, and he remained with the towel hanging from his waist.

He stared at the faces of the boys and girls gathered at the hall, their spirit seemed broken and battered. Amongst them stood faces he found familiar, Slim Jim and Dope “Skittish” Davies.

There were all together, ten boys and girls who had survived the proving grounds that was the maze—out of a staggering fifty.

Runner found it odd that Dope was amongst the prison inmates. He had thought Dope’s dad had quite an influence amongst the powers that be in MegaCityOne, but it would seem the grim man only bullied lowlifes in the slum colonies.

The door opened again, and two guards standing at each side raised their weapons to their chests in attention. The man that walked in was a lion to behold. He was the embodiment of toughness, his eyes fierce like wildfire, and on his large hands, a black baton stood prisoner to his grip.

“Each boy, each girl, every single one of you—each of your pathetic life that draws the air of this grand city belongs to the supreme councillor. For your crimes, you ought to be hung until your neck breaks in two, but the councillor’s mercy has no bounds,” his voice thundered.

The man stepped away to allow another woman to take the front. Runner recognized her. She was the same woman who he met at the end of the tunnel. She was tall, and she wore a white and black striped latex overall that was buttoned to her neck and walked with such grace fit for a queen.

“She looks like a giraffe,” Slim Jim whispered to Runner.

“I haven’t seen a giraffe in my life. I think they are extinct,” Runner said.

“No . . . no, my friend, nothing in the world before is extinct. Not if you have the mind to find it. How do you think I got imprisoned in the first place?” Slim Jim laughed softly.

The woman stood in front of them, and behind her was a large glass that was tinted. It would seem there was an audience watching them from the next room.

“As you all know, the rebel, Death Throe, has taken it upon himself to punish MegaCityOne by sabotaging our water reserves. We are in dire need of the element of life, and it has been confirmed that a freshwater lake lies deep beyond the wasteland. If only the informant had told us the location before he died of radiation burns. . .”

The woman shook her head as if truly she was struck emotionally by lightning of desperation.

“Each one of you will be given a chance to serve your city, escape the fate of a death sentence, and become heroes of the people. We will not force you, but you must choose. The gallows to the left.” The woman beckoned to her left. “The Remnants of Men, to my right.”

The lady began to call the names of the inmates. Runner’s mind was set somewhere else. The map of the assumed location of the freshwater lake was displayed by some kind of hologram. He knew almost every location in the wasteland and always thought it stretched just a few miles away from MegaCityOne.

What stood before him sent waves of fear down his spine. MegaCityOne looked like a tiny island on a sea of radioactive storms and ruins. Runner turned his attention back to the front where almost everyone had gathered to the right with smiles on their faces.

He had seen his fair share of the wasteland, but if the map was true to its measurement, their smile would fade to ash in a few days. No one could survive that far from the city . . . no one. This he knew for certain.

“We are all going to die,” Runner muttered.

Chapter Nine

Remnants of Men

“We are the Remnants of Men,” the captain bellowed. “And by god, we shall survive.”

Runner’s heart stiffened in anger. He was thankful for skipping a date with the gallows, but journeying that deep into the wasteland was no different than putting a noose over one’s neck and praying you don’t get strangled. It was pretty much stupid. Not even the armoured cars of Section 5 would make it that far.

“Guards, get them ready,” the captain ordered.

The guards came for them, but Runner followed the group before they reached him. The doors opened, and they all walked down a long passageway.

Runner hastened to reach Slim Jim. “They say they are giving us a chance of freedom, but we both know that either way, we are dead men.”

“Who knows, we might disappoint them,” Jim replied.

“I’m not trying to be the pessimist, but have you ever been to the wasteland?”

Slim Jim smiled. “No . . . not really. I lived in Capital One with my folks who own Nexus Pharmaceuticals, the producers of Sixth Sense pill. When I made a sinister discovery about the drug, my parents shipped me off to a Section 5 command school in anticipation that my discovery might crumble their contract with the supreme councillor.”

“So, what happened?” Runner’s gaze lingered on him.

“I’m afraid, from there, it was Limbo Penitentiary for me. You see, my parents are quite influential and could have gotten me out of this pit of goddamn shit! But they left me here to rot in hopes that their secret would remain safe. Hmm, they got something else coming.” Slim Jim shook his head.

The guards opened another door to the left and made way for everyone to enter. Runner stepped into the large room, followed closely by his new friend. Large lockers were arranged in a long line down the walls of the room, and another served as a divider cutting through the centre.

The captain stood in front of everyone.

“Pick any locker, open it, and take the gears you find. You have been given every resource required to survive the wastelands. Take your weapons, Sense pills, gas masks, food rations, torches, cloaks, and tents for camping. Dress quickly and prepare yourself for the worst. The city’s ambassador would like to say a few words before you depart.”

Runner opened his locker. The captain’s words did not fall short of truth. The locker had been stuffed with everything he could possibly need out there, far better than the resources he had used while in Rat Town.

He threw on his jacket, gloves, and then went for his boots. They were great, but he needed something more, something suited for the harsh environment. He searched further and found a grey cloak. Runner set the cloak on the floor and held it down with his foot. He caught it at one end and tore it evenly until he made it look like a turban.

Something caught his attention. He turned around to find a group of boys and girls laughing at him for tearing his cloak. They folded theirs and put it in their bag packs. Runner ignored them and continued. The next thing he found were thick wooden baseball bats, wrenches reforged into knives, a torchlight, a box of matchstick, ropes, first aid kit, and cooking utensils tied to his backpack.

“No guns?” Runner raised his gaze.

“Who asks for guns?” the captain yelled.

“There are gangs of man hunters in the wastelands. We need a handgun or something.” Runner raised his voice in reply.

The captain came towards him. “No guns!” he said. “If you don’t like your weapons, then you can throw your fist at them. Understood?”

“Yes,” Runner said.

The captain put his right hand behind his ear. “What? I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, sir!” Runner shouted.

He went back to his locker, picked his food rations and hydration packs, and proceeded to arrange them in his backpack. Finally, he had everything in place. He wrapped the thick turban around his head and carried his backpack.

“Ready to go to our deaths, are we?” Slim Jim smiled.

“I need to get some nails, a barbed wire, and a good knife,” Runner said.

Slim Jim readied his bag. “Why?” he asked.

“I have lived in a place with little regards to any rules, but out there in the wasteland, there are no rules. Everything is out to get you. The very air you inhale is your worst enemy. There are men waiting to kill and loot from your corpse, bogs with acid pools, pile of scraps that can swallow a man faster than quicksand. Then the storms that are becoming unpredictable, but that is just a few amongst many known to me.”

Slim Jim seemed a bit queasy. “You’ve witnessed all that?” he said.

“Came, saw, and conquered, no shit! Almost cost me my life at every encounter.” Runner began to walk to the exit.

At the doorpost, Dope came from nowhere he saw and stepped in front of him to obstruct his path. A sudden life came over the gloom he had borne for long, and his brown eyes burned fierce with a hot temper. He pushed Runner to hit the iron frame of the doorpost and pressed his elbow on his neck.

“I’m here because of you and your stupid friend, but don’t worry, Runner. I made sure he is definitely not having a good time wherever he is.”

Runner pushed Dope’s hand away from his neck, bent over, and twisted it behind the boy. He craned over Dope’s shoulder to reach his ear.

“What did you do to Troy? Tell me!” He twisted hard, and Dope shrieked.

Two guards rushed towards them and dragged them apart.

“Relax boys,” the captain said. “You can wait and tear each other apart when you get to the wasteland. We might be in dire need of water, but there are many more prisoners eager to take your places. Take them to the cable room!” the captain ordered.

The guards marched everyone out to the long passageway. It was getting pretty tiring, and Runner felt his eyes itch for a sleep he had not had since the proving at the maze. He managed to keep his mind from straying towards thoughts of Troy or his aunt’s kids. If he didn’t know better, it would seem he was now missing his home, Rat Town. Shanty as it might be, life was always bustling. The nights were brisk and lights of slum houses ever glistened from above.

He missed the nice warm pottage stew and bottle of cheap dry gin from Mekkel’s bar. There was nothing like that feeling of rushing through a mound of pottage stew after a whole day with an empty stomach. Sure, life was tough in Rat Town, but that was the beauty of it—to earn every day of your life where many had long passed from the harsh world.

The group was halted by the guards, and then another door opened to them. Far at one end sat a petite girl with a pair of glasses sitting on her face. Her hair was auburn and styled to a ponytail and her lips a glossy red. She turned her gaze away from the large computer that stood before her and glanced at Runner.

“Go in,” a guard said.

Runner walked in with his backpack. His eyes were fixed at the large screen of the computer that seemed to be some kind of surveillance.

The girl stood up. “Here.” She came towards Runner, carrying a small round wristband glistening with a red light.

She held Runner’s hand and stretched out his arm before proceeding to place the wristband on his wrist. For a moment, her gaze locked with Runner’s brown eyes and a smile formed on her face. Runner took a good look at the gadget around his wrist. There was something inscribed on its surface.

“Capricorn,” Runner read it out loud. “What does it mean?” he asked.

“It is your call sign and the name of your sponsor. You guys are not the only ones fighting for something. Water is one of the most expensive commodities in the city. Syndicates are fighting for the right to serve as major distributors if you find the freshwater lake. They have taken it upon themselves to reward you upon finding the location.”

“And if I die out there, will they be rewarding me? Apparently, I am already a dead man.” Runner’s gaze was fixed on her. “Capricorn. Not a bad name though.”

“Done.” The girl finished setting everything.

Runner turned to leave. “What’s your name again?” he asked.

She smiled brilliantly. “Angel.”

“You remind me of my friend. She was very good with this tech stuff too.” Runner opened the door. “I will remember your name when I return.”

“You sure are optimistic,” she said.

“Yes.” Runner nodded. “It would seem so.”

“I hope you make it back.” Her voice waned.

Runner stepped out, and the next person entered. He continued down the passageway until he reached the last door. The guard following beside him gestured by shaking his head, and Runner opened the door.

He was met with loud chants and thousands of people behind a stage raising banners that read: THE WORLD IS WATCHING. THE WORLD IS WAITING. Another read: WATER IS LIFE. GIVE US LIFE. And on they went.

Their roars and chants filled the atmosphere. He had never been in front of such a crowd before and was a bit nervous. Soon, the others joined him, all with red glowing wristbands. A girl was escorted to the stage by two rangers from Section 5. She waved her hands as she came closer. Runner watched Olivia Patterson ascend the stage.

She went and stood behind a glass podium.

“On behalf of Supreme Councillor Peter Patterson and the Twelve Citadels of Excellence, I am honoured to bring before the great people of this city, ten volunteers, ten brave souls, ready to brave the great waste that surrounds our city and deliver to us water that would serve for generations to come.”

The crowd went wild, fluttering their banners in the air.

“Volunteers my balls,” Slim Jim whispered to Runner. “This girl is good; I will give her that.”

Runner did not answer him. There was no need fighting his fate anymore. Curses and insults only resulted in an insignificant effect as feather upon shield. His gaze was stuck at the marvellous building that stood far in the distance beneath artificial lights that looked like clouds on the large dome. MegaCityOne. It had always been his dream to live in the city, but he never imagined his first time there would be his last.

“They are valiant, unique, and the best of the Remnants of Men. Today, we say to them, Godspeed!” Olivia finished.

“Godspeed!” the crowd yelled continuously in unison.

The Rangers of Section 5 took over from the guards and led the group away from the stage. Runner took the lead and walked past a series of electrified fences built around an outpost with a large watchtower. The rangers stopped them before armoured Humvees readied to depart for the wastelands.

Faint sounds came from the distance, and Runner turned to see a few women, men, and children heading towards them. Boys and girls from the group ran and hugged their loved ones with tears and moaning. Even Dope’s dad had come out to see his son one last time.

Rhiannon would have been here, Runner thought.

He stood beside Slim Jim and observed since they had no one around who cared for them.

“Hey,” Runner heard a familiar voice.

He turned around, only to be met with a hug from Olivia. She kissed his right cheek softly and forced something into Runner’s hand, out of the prying eyes of the rangers. He felt the paper in his hand and folded it tightly.

“Read it when you have the time. It would explain everything. Good luck, Runner of Rat Town. Much depends on your success, so much that you don’t even know.” She kissed his other cheek and left.

Chapter Ten

Fall Behind and Die Behind

The armoured cars slowly disappeared into the obscurity of a haze in the wasteland. Runner watched them depart with any hope of ever seeing Rat Town again. He stood still, his thumbs tucked beneath both shoulder straps of his backpack. He stole a glance at his group. The boys and girls were thrilled by the unfamiliar atmosphere of the wasteland.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked a big girl beside him.

“Can’t you see, Runner? We are free to go wherever we want. Relax. It’s not like there is anyone to force us to do anything.”

Runner shook his head at her ignorance. “And where exactly will you go, huh? Please tell me.”

Dope walked to Runner and tapped his shoulder. “I’m sure we can manage without you, Runner,” he said and then raised his voice. “Why should we care about the water shortage in the big city? Why should we care about earning our freedom and go back to the captivity of MegaCityOne or, even worse, the slums. I am going to seek a better life out there, and anyone who wants to come is welcomed.”

“Anyone,” Dope said again.

A girl strode towards him, and she was the first and last to join. It seemed the others favoured freedom. They wanted to earn that freedom and go back to their families, or perhaps it was the chance of becoming a hero of the city that urged them away from Dope’s notions.

“Save it, Dope,” Runner said. “You won’t make it half a day here alone.”

Runner turned around and began his trek on a journey he feared more than anything. Slim Jim followed quickly and caught up with him.

“Hey, wait!” a girl shouted behind.

Runner turned around and saw her running to reach him. Beside her was a large plump man, barely keeping up with the girl. He was so fat that it seemed he did more strolling than running. His breasts flapped and slapped on his chest.

“Hey.” The girl reached him. “Runner, right? You mind if we tag along?”

Runner looked over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of her partner. The man was still struggling to make the distance. He knew for certain that the man would only be a burden and slow him down or get them trapped trying to rescue him from a storm he couldn’t outrun, but he could not turn him away.

“Come on,” he said.

The girl gestured a handshake, and Runner received it. She was tall and wore a black hoodie that covered half her dirty blonde hair. She didn’t look any more prepared than Runner. She was carrying a backpack and wore a black boot with a black knee guard.

“The name is Legion,” she spoke boldly, “and this is Big Edd.” She pointed at the plump man.

“What kind of name is Legion?” Runner asked.

She glanced at him and smiled. “What kind of name is Runner?”

“A fair question.” Slim Jim chimed in.

There was a brief episode of awkward silence, and then she smiled again. “Ariel Waters, but they call me Legion. I’m from the 7th Colony or, as you know it, Bad Town.”

He moved his gaze away from the girl and noticed that the others had formed groups of their own. It was a very bad idea. Something Old Max’s laws of an outlaw made clear was that to survive in the wasteland, four hands are better than two. But how could he convince them when they saw the opportunity for freedom as a competition. He ignored them and turned to continue walking.

Runner stopped suddenly. He had been navigating on his own, using the knowledge he had gathered from his experiences at the wasteland. He could lead them a little further past the ruins to Broken Bridge, a once mighty craftsmanship of men that had become nothing but a fading memory.

“Where are we going exactly?” Legion asked. “We certainly don’t have a map.”

Runner remained silent. He had begun to ascend a pile of melted car chassis and broken bricks that had formed something of a hill. Each step he took, a large ruin was revealed slowly overhead. He took the final step and stood on top of the hill. His arms folded across his chest. Before him was what remained of a large bridge fallen to ruin.

“What is that thing?” Slim Jim crept behind Runner.

The bridge was broken in two. One half was visible and stood close to them, while the other was far from his sight and cloaked in a haze. He saw the pile of chassis, a remnant of cars abandoned in a long line by their owners ages ago. They looked grey, dark, and rusted. Even for one who had traversed the wastelands on and on again, he swallowed his saliva in anxiety, knowing that they had to cross the bridge.

“It is the Broken Bridge. I heard it used to be named after a man in the world before. George Washington was his name.”

Runner began to descend to reach the entrance of the bridge.

Slim Jim shook his head. “Never heard of him before.”

Slim Jim and Legion descended the hill and joined Runner at the entrance, but something was amiss. They were short of one person. Runner searched with his gaze and found Big Edd taking his sweet time to walk down the hill. The man walked tiredly, holding his knees at several intervals.

“Come on, Eddy. We got to hurry,” Legion shouted.

Runner understood that not everyone was cut out for such terrain, but the wasteland did not care nor the storm that would soon come for its regular sweep. He gazed at his watch.

“We have twenty minutes before the storm hits. Let’s find shelter.”

He already had one in mind, a ruined building that overlooked the bridge and had its roof still intact. All he needed was to look for planks and broken ceilings to close up any door openings, and they would be safe for the night. He looked to the sky, but nothing had changed. It still was a grey mass, like thick dark clouds blocking any light from the sun or moon from reaching the world.

They went into the shelter and rolled out their tent beds for a rest even though it certainly wasn’t night. Runner lied on his bed, while Legion brought a candle alive with fire. The illumination was enough to force out the darkness in the shelter. She opened a can of baked beans with a spoon and shared the meal with Big Edd.

Runner sank his hands in his pocket and brought out the parchment Olivia had given to him. He unfolded it and read:

Runner,

Forgive my method, as I’m only being careful not to alert my father’s spies to my intentions. A few months ago, I discovered that the Citadel of Healing was running a programme in coordination with Nexus Pharmaceuticals to test the horrible side effects of Sense pills. I’m yet to discover more, but you must be careful as I believe there might be an ulterior motive to the Remnants of Men, beyond finding a consistent source of water. I regret to say that even I do not know if the lake exists, but I pray it does, or God help us all. I have searched the archives at the Citadel of Learning but didn’t find much except that the fallen government of MegaCityTwo once tried but failed in their endeavour. Find the ruins of the fallen city, Runner, and stay alive.

Your truest of allies,

Olivia Patterson

He folded the paper and placed it back in his pocket. Now, he knew where to go next. Everyone knew the sad story of MegaCityTwo. It was a utopian city raised approximately at the time of his birth. Old Max had told him that the city fell when a man named Ribald Hardback decided that life was too good for the inhabitants and destroyed the generators that were the powerhouse of life in the city. Well, another version from a drunk that sat at the foot of his door in Rat Town claimed that Ribald Hardback unleashed a viral outbreak that turned the inhabitants into zombies. Hmmm . . . He might have believed the story if not that the narrator in his drunken stupor had staggered into a marsh of cannibalistic plants in the wastelands and was swallowed whole by a strange vine.

Runner rolled over on his bed. He knew the worst was yet to come, but he only hoped it would be over quickly. He closed his eyes for a nap.

“Arrrgggh!”

The scream was coming from outside. Runner jumped to his feet, his hand reaching for the knives sheathed at his belt. Legion quickly smothered the candle fire with her fingers.

“Help!”

The scream was faint and came in the distant dark. Slim Jim and Legion went to remove the planks that covered the doorway to their shelter.

“Hurry, Jim. Someone is in trouble,” Legion said and pushed the plank from the doorpost.

“Stop,” Runner whispered.

“Why? Someone might be dying,” Legion said and Slim Jim nodded.

“Just hold it there.” Runner stood to his feet. “I know this trick. It is one of many employed by gangs of scavengers to trap scrap hoarders and loot their items, leaving them for dead.”

Slim Jim dropped the plank back in place. “Smart,” he said.

“Believe me, I almost fell for that once, but if not for my friend Troy Decker, I wouldn’t be here,” Runner said and sat on the floor.

Something banged on the plank door violently. It came again and again. Runner tiptoed to the left side of the doorpost and took cover. He held his knife ready at his left breast and placed a finger on his lips to signal the others to be silent.

“Open, Runner. Please open,” a voice came from behind.

“Dope . . .,” Runner muttered as he recognized the voice. “Dope, what do you want?” he shouted.

There was silence, and then a loud banging again. “Please open. They have caught the others. Open . . . open . . . please.”

Runner peeped through an opening between the planks and saw that Dope was alone. He beckoned at Slim Jim, and the boy came to aid him in removing the planks.

“Enter,” Runner said.

Dope rushed in and quickly took refuge at a corner as Runner and Slim Jim closed the door again. Runner turned to Dope and watched the boy quiver in fear.

“The screams. We heard the screams, and then we . . . we went to help, and they just came out of nowhere,” Dope stammered his words.

“Who?” Legion rose to meet his feeble gaze.

“Ishmael. Crazy Ishmael and his gang of man hunters,” Dope replied.

Runner sighed. He knew Ishmael, the bully of Bug Town, and his gang of marauders were going to be a problem but didn’t expect them this soon.

Runner pushed Dope to hit the wall. “You were a goddamn ranger of Section 5. How didn’t you know that this was a trick by the marauders? Now we have to risk our lives and go back for them.”

“What?” Legion jerked forward. “We both know the rules out here. If you fall behind, you die behind. We were given only fifteen days to find the lake. We can’t go back for them. Our food and water reduce with each day that passes.”

“And who are you to decide their fates?” Slim Jim yelled at her.

Within moments, Dope voiced his intents in a counter, and an argument turned into a racket. The noise filled the room, and Big Edd squatted at a corner, covering his ears without uttering a word.

Runner noticed some bottles on the floor. He knew going after Ishmael’s gang with knives and iron bars was suicide on its own. What he needed was something powerful to scatter the gang in a panic, and that was where the bottles came in. Now, he just needed to add spirit from his first aid kit and then a flammable piece of cloth to serve as a wick.

“I will go alone!” Runner yelled.

They stopped arguing and faced him.

“I will go alone, but I need some help to brew a Molotov cocktail.”

Chapter Eleven

At Daggers Drawn

Everyone brought out their first aid kit and began to empty their methylated spirits into the bottles. Runner tore a piece of white cloth and soaked it in the solvent. He forced it into the mouth of the bottle and held it in place with a bottle stopper.

“This is a bad idea.” Legion grunted. “We should forget about them and continue. They made their choice when they decided to stray away.”

Runner glanced at her. “We must look after each other to survive, or else we will all die here.” He took his gaze down and noticed the red light on his wristband flashing. “They are monitoring us through these bands on our wrist.”

“Yes.” Slim Jim examined the band on Legion’s hand. “Cutting edge tech. It has receptors that act like compound eyes and get short-ranged images, thermal sensors, and a life monitor.”

“They expect us to fail and die worthlessly, but we should prove them wrong,” Runner finished.

Slim Jim gathered all the Molotov cocktails they had made and brought it to Runner, making five in all. It was enough for what was planned. The boy turned to leave, but Runner held fast to the boy’s jacket.

“I need to talk to you. In private,” he whispered.

Slim Jim lent Runner his right arm and helped him to his feet. “What is it?” he asked as they walked to one dark corner of the shelter.

Runner looked around to make sure Legion, Big Edd, and Dope were busy making the preparations. He didn’t know if he could trust Jimmy with the warning Olivia had passed to him, but the boy hadn’t proved to be untrustworthy.

“You once told me that your parents owned Nexus Pharmaceuticals.”

Slim Jim nodded.

“And you mentioned that you discovered something sinister about their testing. What was it?” Runner asked.

Slim Jim glanced at him and remained silent for a moment. Runner understood why the boy felt reluctant to spill his secret. They might have built a quick friendship, but trust was something that was hard to give or receive in hard times. There was only one way to loosen Slim Jim’s tongue.

Runner sank his hand in his pocket and brought out Olivia’s letter. “Take a look at this.” He showed it to Slim Jim.

The boy read it quickly and was indifferent. He did not seem surprised and handed the letter back to Runner.

“What is it?” Runner put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Slim Jim slid down with his back against the wall until his buttocks hit the ground. A sudden gloom came over him as if the world was about to end, but the world had ended once before, and there was nothing worse that hadn’t already been done.

“Runner,” he said, “we are all going to die.”

Runner squatted beside him. “You’ve got to tell me what you know.”

He gazed at Runner with the corner of his eyes and then spoke, “Two years ago, while taking a tour of my parents’s company, I stumbled into a testing facility. What I saw, Runner . . . what I saw . . .”

“What did you see?” Runner seemed eager.

“They were men, but they . . . they looked more like . . . animals. It was like their mind was taken from them. I was so captivated at the moment that I forgot I was inside the facility and then one of them came at me. He was pale, eyes red with rage, but too healthy to be a sickly man.”

Runner observed that Jimmy’s hands were trembling, and he held it still to calm him down. “I realize that this is a bad memory, but I need to know, so please continue.”

Slim Jim rubbed his palms together and clasped them over his mouth as if he was cold. “The man caught my neck and tried to strangle me. He was so strong like nothing I have ever seen. Thick red veins grew on his face, mostly around his eyes, and then I grabbed a scalpel from a table and drove it into his neck. Even while struggling with death, he caught my ankle, so determined to tear me apart until guards in hazmat suits came in and incinerated him.”

“So, are you trying to say that there are some kind of killer freaks locked up in secret in MegaCityOne?” Runner asked.

Slim Jim jerked and held Runner by his shoulder. “Can’t you see, Runner? It has something to do with Sense pills. My parents are the top manufacturers of Sense pills and are like besties with the supreme councillor. They kidnap slum dwellers and use them to test their product. I discovered that certain people don’t respond well to the pills, and an overdose or long-term use mutates the human organs.”

“Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” Runner stood up.

“Sure,” Slim Jim said faintly.

Dope and Legion approached with gas masks on their hands. Big Edd gathered the makeshift incendiary and brought them before Runner. For some reason, the plump man had not voiced a single word since they met, and Runner assumed it was nervousness.

Runner drew out a baseball bat from the side of his backpack. He sat down and began to wound a barbed wire around it. He took some nails he had pried off broken doors and drove it in the head of the bat until the pointed ends sprouted through the other side.

No one could tell what he would find out there. Slim Jim’s story of the rabid men and Olivia’s discovery had made him increasingly paranoid. He looked through his weapons to make sure he was prepared for every obstacle he might encounter and then stood to his feet.

“You are coming with me, Dope.” Runner pointed at the boy.

“Why me?” Dope opened his arms in protest.

“I don’t trust you, for one, and you know where the others have been rounded up.” Runner walked towards the doorway.

“I will go with you.” Legion volunteered despite being against the rescue.

“No!” Runner turned to her immediately. “No, you must stay here with Jimmy and Eddy. If we don’t come back in—” he gazed at his wristwatch “—an hour, you must continue without us. Jimmy knows where to go. I know most of us think this freshwater lake is a wild goose chase, but it is imperative that we find it. Our families are out there in the city. I can’t imagine what would happen to them when the water runs totally dry.”

“Okay,” Legion said calmly.

Big Edd and Slim Jim came to the door. Each held the plank at one end and then with a great force, pushed it out of the doorway. Runner and Dope went through and into the cold night.

“Good luck.” Jimmy gestured at Runner with what looked like a half-salute.

Both boys ran into a ruined building with its walls broken and roof falling halfway to the ground. Runner ducked behind a wall and peered from the side. He saw fire in the distance and assumed it was where the others were held. He brought out his gas mask and wore it.

“What do we need that for?” Dope asked. “The Sense pills we have ingested are enough to rid the air we inhale of toxins.”

Runner raised a Molotov cocktail for Dope to see. “There is going to be a lot of smoke when we start throwing this at them.”

With a smile on his face, Dope grabbed the incendiary from him. Runner felt weird that one of the people he hated most in Rat Town was now his partner in ass-kicking. Now, he had been waiting for an opportunity for long, and here it was, waiting to be claimed. He stood up and grabbed Dope by the neck of his jacket. Before the boy could make any move, Runner used his right leg to sweep Dope off his feet, literally, and the boy slammed upon rubbles on the floor.

“By god, Dope, if you don’t tell me what you’ve done to Troy, I will stab you with my wrench knife and let you bleed to death here. Do you understand me?”

Dope nodded with his hands covering his face in fear.

“So, start talking.” Runner placed the knife between Dope’s legs.

“Ishmael’s boys were looking for two slum dwellers that killed two of their own. I figured out it was you and Troy when you went to loot copper wires . . .”

“You sold Troy out to them?” Runner pushed the knife to reach Dope’s testicles.

“Wait . . . wait . . . I’m sorry, okay. I figured if I gave him up, I would have my revenge for what you did to me before the bomb went off in the big city. Unfortunately, not long after they paid me for handing him over, that bitch, Olivia Patterson, came with the Rangers from Section 5 and had me arrested for stabbing you.”

A sudden pain stabbed at Runner’s heart. His mind weighed heavy for leaving Troy to suffer for what they both did. He grabbed Dope and pulled him up to his feet.

“Believe me, if anything happens to him, I will come back and finish this conversation. Let’s go and help the others. After that, you will help me get Troy away from there.”

Dope nodded and then said, “Do I have a choice?” But the look on Runner’s face was all the answer he needed.

They continued onwards, moving lightly so as to not attract unnecessary attention until they had the others in sight. Runner halted, and Dope did the same behind him. They hid behind a barrel that was one of many lit with fire to keep warm in the cold. Runner glanced at his wristwatch to make sure there was enough time before another storm swept.

Satisfied, he peeked from the side and saw the others kneeling down with their hands tied behind their backs. He took his gaze further and found a man standing on the bonnet of a rusted car. He was addressing them.

“Oh, fuck me!” Dope cursed. “It’s goddamn Ishmael himself.”

Runner’s gaze lingered. The man had an unappealing demeanour. His hair was styled to a Mohawk, dyed pink like a punk star, and his jacket bore spikes that seemed like one from those biker gangs.

“You expect us to fight this crazy dude and his gang of fucked up cannibals that call themselves men? You must be crazier than he is, Runner,” Dope said.

“We fight.” Runner maintained.

He moved behind another barrel to listen to Ishmael.

“Someone killed one of my own a few weeks ago, someone among you. Give him up, and I will let you all go. I assure you I’m merciful. Ishmael is merciful. Repent, confess to me, whisper the words to my ears, and I shall forgive, no?”

The group looked amongst themselves, perhaps hoping that someone would come out and say something to save them all. They looked so afraid, and the terrorizing laughter from the gang of men guarding them did not help at all.

“He wants me,” Runner muttered. “I’m the one he is looking for,” he said to Dope in a moment of emotion.

Dope suddenly sprang from his cover and shouted, “He is here! He is here! Let them go. He is here.”

Runner couldn’t believe his eyes. He had expected that from Dope but wasn’t prepared for it at that moment. He rolled on the floor, away from the cover the barrel provided and picked a Molotov cocktail. Quickly, he stood up and lighted it from the fire in the barrel and aimed at the gang of men heading towards him.

They were too close to him, but he threw the incendiary and got three men dancing in flames. He couldn’t reach for another as it would result in burning himself alive along with the enemy. Runner stretched his hand quickly and reached for his backpack. He took out his baseball bat stick and sacrificed his backpack by throwing it in the barrel of fire.

He dived as far away as he could, and the inflammables in the backpack exploded with a loud boom!

Half of Ishmael’s gang were cloaked in fire, but more came at Runner. He swung his bat and buried the barbed head on a man’s face. It stuck, and Runner felt it peeling the flesh as he pulled it out. There was so much chaos and screaming that he could barely see who was who.

“Hey,” someone called from behind.

Runner turned and was met with a heavy blow on his head. He fell to the ground. His sight was blurred, but he could make out the familiar Mohawk on a man’s head. A large foot came at his face, and everything went dark.

Chapter Twelve

Death and the Matchmaker

Olivia Patterson sat on a black sofa, which was definitely not one from the office of the city’s ambassador in Capital One. Thick white smoke curled all around her, escaping from the mouths of rich kids clinging to their hookahs. Behind her, a blonde lady in red sang on a stage, dancing and twirling to the thrill of middle-aged men drowned in ecstasy.

She glanced at a group of boys on her left giggling frequently as call girls imported from the slums sat on their laps and tickled them. On a normal day, it was her job to round them all up and deport them to the slums, but today was different.

She was stoned again.

A pile of Sense pills littered on her table. They had been her escape from the world of false smiling and unwarranted societal expectations. Club Omega was the only place where she was free from the watchful eyes of her father, the supreme councillor.

A few months ago, she had made a promise to her mother and gave up her addiction. But here she was again, and this time, the pills were more than an escape. The matchmaker of MegacityOne had been summoned again. She was a dreadful woman popular for being every girl’s nightmare. They called her the Lady of Love. But how could that be? When the lady had grown grey hairs and yet remained unmarried.

In a fortnight, the matchmaker would announce the ceremony of the matchmaking ball. Every respectable girl above sixteen from the great families of MegacityOne would be matched to a young man of similar interests. A series of interviews was always done by the matchmaker to determine this, and Olivia mourned her lack of choice.

She swallowed another pill and gulped a glass of wine. Most girls had the mercy of not knowing their match until the dance, but Olivia’s had been signed, sealed, and delivered.

“Hey.” A boy bared his perfect teeth in a smile.

She raised her gaze to see in her stupor. Speak of the devil! It was her very own nightmare, Lucan Capricorn, whose father was Gaius Capricorn, the wealthiest man in MegacityOne.

He was the perfect model of a posh kid with blond curled hair and genetically enhanced facial features that made him extremely handsome. Every girl in town loved Lucan Capricorn. They threw their bras and even panties at him as his convoy drove him home from social functions.

“Are you excited about the matchmaking ball?” He sat opposite her, his eyes a glaring sapphire.

She turned her head away to ignore him.

“Look, Olivia. I know this isn’t what you want, but I’m sure you knew it was coming. We have to try to make this work. The ball is in two weeks. After that, there is no going back.”

He tried to reach for her hand on the table, but she withdrew it. She did not speak a single word. Rather, she swallowed the remaining content in her glass in one go.

“Alright, I’m taking you home,” Lucan said.

He stood up and grabbed her arm.

“Go away, Lucan!” Olivia pushed him to stagger backwards and almost fell off her chair too.

She stood up and staggered towards the stage, shoving through tons of sweaty men. She climbed the stage where the lady in red sang to the audience.

“Everyone, Olivia Patterson!” The lady waved her right arm to the crowd.

The chants that followed were exhilarating. Men raised their hands and clamoured, “Sing! Sing! Sing!”

Olivia grabbed the microphone from the lady and began to sway her hips in the golden dress she wore. She put her hand behind her hair and released the pin. Her ponytail went loose and wild, much to the joy of her male audience.

Far at the end of the hall, she noticed a man in black standing by the door. There was something about him that didn’t seem right—something she had observed during her dealings with the rebel, Death Throe.

The man sank his hand in a bag hanging from his shoulder, and as he removed it, she noticed a chemical flask with green content.

“Give us water!” the man yelled.

Boom!

A loud bang went off. It threw her off the stage, and she crashed into the musical instruments.

There was fire everywhere. Men danced, cloaked in flames. Boys screamed for their mothers, and girls reached for the boys in confusion. Olivia crawled on the ground to reach the lady in red. She turned the motionless woman to roll on her side and saw that she was dead.

“Olivia! Olivia!” Lucan rushed to reach her.

He lifted her up from the stage and put her arm around his neck. She heard the sirens of ambulance from the Citadel of Healing. One step after another, she made it down with Lucan’s help. As they reached for the door, her sight began to fail, and the last light left her as if a veil was dropped over her face.

She slumped to the ground, and there was just darkness.

***

Olivia opened her eyes. The smell of sanitary disinfectant told her all that she needed to know. Her head was heavy. Everything was dull and blurry. She raised her head and noticed the blue hospital gown she was clothed in.

“How are you, dear?” a voice said.

Olivia turned her head to her side, and with the vagueness fading, she saw her mother smiling at her. Standing beside Dr. Lysander were two familiar faces.

“Indira, Calypso, you guys are here,” she spoke weakly.

Indira, a tall girl of mixed race, sat on the bed beside her friend and wrapped her arms around Olivia in a warm hug. When she was through, Calypso did the same.

“I will give you guys some space,” Dr. Lysander said and walked towards the door.

“Mom,” Olivia called to her, and she paused. “What happened out there?”

“Let’s talk about it later.” Dr. Lysander nodded and walked away.

Olivia felt her heart skip a beat. Let’s talk about it later was another way to say, You are in trouble. A city’s ambassador was not to be anywhere near Club Omega. Despite the bomb, the supreme councillor would punish her for that.

Fathers and their daughters were supposed to have a special relationship filled with love and happiness, but hers was different. Supreme Councillor Peter Patterson had managed to make the whole city believe he was some kind of lovable dictator. He had created a divine personality by projecting a false image of himself on the screens and billboards of digital buildings.

Only the heads of the Twelve Citadels of Excellence and his family had seen his true face. Olivia knew her father well, and forgiveness was not one of his virtues.

“Cheer up, Liv.” Indira put her finger beneath Olivia’s chin and tilted it up with a smile. “Everything will be fine.”

“How can everything be fine, Indira, when the matchmaking ball is only a few weeks away. I have a boyfriend, and I’m not willing to give him up for some rich jerk,” Calypso spoke angrily.

“I wonder who the matchmaker has matched to me.” Indira giggled.

Olivia shared her glance between the girls as they kept her company. Indira was olive-skinned, and her long black hair was something many girls envied as it richly grew to touch her buttocks. Oddly, she got along with Calypso, her stepsister, who revelled in lipsticks and overdrawn eyeshadows.

“You shouldn’t be sad, Liv,” Calypso said. “We both know who you would be matched to. Lucan Capricorn. I know your dad will make sure of that.”

She turned to her stepsister, her lips opening to reveal a set of white teeth in a smile.

“Yes, Liv. He is not a horrible match at all.” Indira supported the other girl. “You know he was the one that carried you all the way to the Medical Centre.”

Olivia looked pale as a corpse. Even as her friends giggled and fantasized about their perfect match, she did not share their enthusiasm. A few years ago, she would have agreed on a match to Lucan Capricorn in a heartbeat, but things had changed.

The only reason her father would make such demands of her was to ensure he got the support of the Capricorn family, a move to keep his sovereignty over MegaCityOne.

There was something far more important than matchmaking and pretty ball dresses. Many in the MegaCityOne did not know, but there was a storm coming, and when it would sweep, few would survive to tell its tale.

“Olivia! Olivia!”

She snapped from her reverie. “What is it, Indira?”

“Where did you fly to?” Indira waved her hand over Olivia’s sight. “There is someone asking for you at the door.”

Olivia raised her head and saw a red-haired girl in a white lab coat standing at the door with a tablet computer in her hands. She jumped to her feet as she recognized the girl, pulling all the drip tubes connected to her arm.

“You are Angel, right?” Olivia said.

The girl nodded.

“You are in charge of surveillance on the Remnants of Men. Yes, I remember. What is it?” Olivia held her arm.

“It is about Runner,” Angel replied. “The boy from Rat Town who you asked me to keep you informed on his condition.”

“Who is Runner?” Indira and Calypso asked simultaneously.

Olivia ignored them and followed Angel out of the room. “Forgive me. I have been getting a lot of Capricorns lately. So, tell me. How is Runner faring so far?”

Angel raised her computer for Olivia to see. “Take a look at this,” she said.

“I don’t see anything,” Olivia replied.

“Exactly.” Angel stopped and poked her finger on a button to call an elevator. “We kept surveillance on all twelve participants through the wristband given by their sponsors. That way, we could see everything they see, but Runner’s went dark a few hours ago.”

“What?” Olivia was perplexed.

The elevator stopped and opened. Both girls went in, and Angel pushed the button to the last floor. When the doors opened again, she led Olivia to the last room at the end of a long hall. She opened the door, and they went in.

Olivia paused to catch the view. Large screens rested on the walls connected to powerful computers managed by three tech engineers. The screens were divided into several sections, and on each, a different participant of the Remnants of Men was displayed.

“Hey, Angel,” a boy in front of a computer called. “Ratings had dropped since Capricorn went dark. Do you still want to place a bet on him?”

Olivia stared at Angel. “What is he talking about?”

“The entire city has gone crazy about the Remnants of Men. People are gambling on who would survive, die first, or find the lake. Even the Citadel of Entertainment purchased the right to display it as a survivor show.”

“These are human beings, kids who are not so different from us, struggling for their lives,” Olivia yelled. “Show me Runner on the screen.”

“I can’t. Something happened to his wristband. I think he might be—wait!”

Angel tapped her fingers on a keyboard and brought a section of the screen in full view. “Damn!” She slammed her fist on the table. “I thought it was him. I’m sorry, Olivia, but it is only fair to say he is dead.”

Olivia sat down tiredly on a chair with her face buried in her hands.

“I know why you wanted him to live. He seemed like a good guy,” Angel said. “But why do you want him to live so badly?”

If only they knew, Olivia thought, but her lips remained sealed.

Chapter Thirteen

David and Goliath

Day three

Oh god! The smell, the stench . . . It was odious, but nothing he hadn’t smelled before. It was definitely familiar—a miasma of a hundred rotting corpses, something that reminded him of the bad kimchi prepared by Granny Woo in Rat Town.

Runner opened his eyes. Something wasn’t right. The world seemed to be upside down, or was he? He looked again. There were hundreds of human carcasses piled on the floor, and it was then that he realised he was hanging from his feet.

Blood dribbled down his arms to his fingertips. A stabbing pain jabbed at the back of his head, but it was nothing compared to fear that gripped him when he saw human bodies in their numbers hanging dead from what used to be an animal processing line.

Every weapon he had had been relieved off him, but there was one he hid for emergencies. Runner pushed his chest up and stretched his right arm to reach for his boot. There, he drew out a penknife hidden in its sole and proceeded to cut loose.

He fell with a hard thud on the ground. Something snapped and he shrieked, holding his left thumb. Immediately, he pushed the dislocated finger back in place, screaming in agony. Just on the wall, inches to a doorframe, the word slaughterhouse was painted boldly with blood.

“How far have men fallen,” Runner muttered.

He was hungry and thirsty, two of the world’s most powerful enemies in these times. All he saw were butchered corpses like red venison, littering tables and piled in buckets. It seemed like lack of food had made the gangs resort to cannibalism.

Funny how a man can cut through another, forgetting that his own flesh is equally as soft and susceptible as his victim’s.

Runner stood to his feet and limped towards the door. He grabbed tight to the knob, but then he heard a whimper.

“Who is there?” he asked.

Runner flipped his penknife, ready to strike at anything he saw. “You sick creeps! You won’t have me for lunch today. You hear me! I will gut you like a fish before you touch me.”

Something creaked. He heard it coming from an old kitchen cabinet. Slowly, he moved towards it and then opened it forcefully, followed by a lunge with his knife.

“Stop . . . stop . . . please, don’t hurt me.” A young girl curled in fear.

Runner paused and withdrew his knife quickly. He squatted beside her. “What are you doing here?”

The girl gave him an awful stare. Her hair was wet with blood stuck to her skin, and bruises were all over her face. Runner felt a wave of sympathy rush down his heart, and he stretched an arm to help her up.

She caught his hand and bit him hard. He shrieked and withdrew quickly. Heavy footfalls grew behind him. He turned almost too late, missing the blow of a broken pipe swung by a boy. The pipe landed upon the cabinet, smashing the wood to bits.

He couldn’t believe that was meant for his head.

The boy recovered and came with the pipe again. Runner dodged and smashed his elbow on the boy’s nose, leaving him covered in blood. He caught the boy at the back of his neck and held his arm to restrain him. That moment, he recognized a bronze chain around the boy’s wrist, one of two given to him by his friend, Rhiannon.

“Troy?” Runner called.

The boy seemed startled and then turned around in astonishment. “Runner. Oh god! Runner!” He wrapped his arms around Runner.

“I almost killed you,” he said as they disengaged.

Runner couldn’t believe his eyes. He was struck dumb with joy. The little girl came towards him and wrapped her arms warmly around his torso. Perhaps it was her way of saying she was sorry, or she was just so happy to see someone else on her side. She looked no more than twelve years old, and Runner returned her embrace.

“How did you get here, Troy?” Runner asked.

Troy seemed uneasy. He looked sideways, front, and back at short intervals as if he was expecting something or someone.

“What did you say? Oh . . . sorry, the answer to that question is a long story, one I’m willing to share when we are far from this godforsaken place. Right now, Runner, we have bigger problems.”

Runner put both of his hands on Troy’s shoulders. “Calm down, Troy. What do you mean bigger problems?” he asked. “I know Ishmael and his man hunters are searching for us, but I promise, we will all get through this, okay?”

Troy laughed loud and brief. “Ishmael? Can you believe I begged Ishmael, the same man who tried to kill me, to take us with him, but he was too scared to stop for even a second?”

“What do you mean?” Runner asked curiously.

“Ishmael’s gang didn’t do this. At least, not all of them.” Troy pointed at the decomposing corpses piled at different sides of the wall. “The butcher did. He is this man that looks like there is something wrong with him, along with his rabid company. They just went tearing through the gangs after a series of explosions drew them to the camp.”

“You mean the bag of Molotov cocktails I threw into a barrel of fire.” Runner grinned. “That was awesome.”

Troy paced around for a moment and then turned to Runner. “This is not funny. If you had seen what I saw, the lifeless faces of those men, the rage, it was as if their brains had been left in a bottle and corked tight. I saw them tear a man’s limb from his body while he screamed, and then they fought over who gets the best parts of the entrails. Eww!”

Runner felt a sharp pain in his arm. Blood from small cuts on his arm had dried up on his skin, but he still felt the sting of the wound. He shook it off and wiped the sweat off his face with his hand.

“Look, Troy. Even if what you say is true, it doesn’t matter. What we need to do is to get out of here before Ishmael or the . . . whatever comes for us.”

He bent down and opened the drawers of the cabinet, searching for anything handy. He prayed and hoped to find something useful, but all he found were bleached skulls, bone fetishes, and half burnt candles. In a fit of rage, Runner pulled down everything in the cabinet, and it scattered on the floor.

“Sound, Runner. No sound or loud noise, please,” Troy said.

A loud thud echoed in the room. Everyone paused.

Runner gestured at Troy and the little girl to stay back. He strode gently, keeping to the edge of the walls to see what was beyond the doorway. Something squished beneath his shoe. He took his gaze down and saw his right foot deep in human entrails and offal.

He squeezed his face and raised his foot, sticky goo stuck to his shoes. Obnoxious as it might be, he took his mind off it quickly and continued down the dark passage. Finally, he reached a double door at the end, but it was shut tight. He peeped through its glass window and saw what remained of gambling and pool tables.

Runner forced the doors open. There were supplies of food and water left on a table by Ishmael’s gang before they fled. Maddened by hunger, he rushed into the room and towards the table but stopped suddenly. There was something hanging on a broken window. It was a boy from the Remnants of Men. Runner approached him despite the smell and then staggered to a halt.

“Wynn Rivers.” Runner read from the name tag and then took his gaze down to the wristband where a red light still flashed. “Call sign: Helix.”

One half of the boy’s head was on the floor, cut clean by something he did not know, his brain halfway out of what remained of his head. The good thing was that he still had his backpack on him, and Runner relieved it off the corpse.

“I guess we are nine now,” he said as he browsed through the bag’s contents.

Runner picked a bandage and methylated spirit from a first aid kit and proceeded to treat his wound. He took an energy bar from the bag and excitedly peeled it open.

Something creaked behind him as he took a bite.

He turned around and saw a man in a tattered black tuxedo walking away from him. The man did not seem to notice him. Runner stood up and went to reach him.

“Are you okay, mister?” He put his right hand on the man’s shoulder.

The man turned slowly. His face was pale, eyes filled with red veins, and thick saliva drooled down his mouth.

“Holy shit!” Runner reeled backwards.

The man shrieked and slapped his arm on Runner’s chest, sending him to crash on a pool table. He didn’t give Runner ample time to recover and charged towards him like a rabid dog. Runner rolled down the table and allowed the man to crash upon it.

He found a cue stick and stretched his arm to reach it quickly. The man raised the table and turned it over to clear his path to his target. Runner broke the stick in two and scrambled on the floor.

He rested his back to slant on a fallen chair. “Come on!” he yelled at the rabid man.

The man’s face grew fiercer as more black veins gathered around his eyes. He accepted Runner’s invitation and charged with so much force. Runner held one half of the broken cue stick to stand with a pointed end, and the man charged into it. The sharp end of the stick poked into his eyes and came out through the back of his head.

“Yuck!” Runner pushed the man off his body and took shallow breaths. “Now, that’s a new one,” he said and staggered to his feet.

Runner bent slightly with both hands on his knees. Sweat dripped from his face as he breathed rapidly. The ground began to shake suddenly, vibrating everything on its surface. Then he heard it—gigantic footsteps coming towards the room.

It didn’t sound like anything good, but Runner waited to see what was coming. The double door that sealed the room southwards was smashed suddenly from behind, flinging the doors from its hinge.

Runner’s heart skipped a beat and then began to throb faster. The first thing that came through the door was the enormous head of a hammer, and following behind was a gigantic man who stood no less than eight feet tall, wielding a large machete on his other hand.

His eyes, too, were covered in red veins, which also gathered around his eyes. He did not move as his wicked gaze locked at Runner, looking so sure on getting his prey. On the man’s bloodied apron was a black palm print, and the word butcher was written in red.

“Oh god. I can’t do this anymore,” Runner muttered.

The butcher took one step after the other, taking his sweet time to get to Runner.

“Fuck it,” Runner spat.

He turned around and darted through the north door, heading straight to the dark passageway. He saw Troy and the little girl waiting at the doorway.

“Run for your lives! Run for your . . . goddamn lives!” he yelled.

Chapter Fourteen

City of Glowing Mushrooms

Runner stumbled into the slaughterhouse, and Troy shut the double doors immediately. They both went behind a table at the centre of the room and began to force it towards the door.

“Push!” Runner screamed.

Troy pressed his shoulder on the side of the large table, and they pushed it to bar the door. A loud thud went off as the butcher slammed his hammer on the door from the other side. Runner retreated.

They were trapped.

He scanned the room, searching for another way out. There was none. Troy cuddled with the little girl to ease her shivering.

“Hey, you.” Runner brought out his unfinished energy bar. “You must be hungry. Have some.”

“You suck at cheering up a child,” Troy said. “Her name is Angie, and she was a child slave to Ishmael’s gang. Believe me, you don’t want to know what they’ve done with her.”

Runner gazed at the bruises all over her and then passed the food to the girl. A sudden slam on the door made him shudder.

“We need to find a way out of here, or when that door comes down—” Runner pointed at the door “—our flesh would fill the butcher’s bucket.”

Troy left Angie and walked to one end of the room. “There is a way out of here, but you won’t like it.”

“Try me,” Runner said.

Troy bent down and pushed away a pile of bones to reveal a hatch. He held its handle and forced it to open, but it proved too strong.

“Where does it lead?” Runner joined him and grabbed as they combined their strength.

One hard pull and the cover sprang open. An odious stench wafted out of the dark tunnel that ran deep, and Runner covered his nose with his hand.

“I warned you might not like it. I saw Ishmael’s gang use it to dispose of unwanted parts of the humans they cannibalised on.”

Runner spat. “This just gets better and better,” he said. He took a peek into the tunnel and withdrew almost immediately. “God, this stinks.”

“I will go first.” Troy came forward. “When I get down, you send Angie.”

Runner nodded and stepped away for Troy to stand at the edge. He watched as his friend went down a ladder. With each step downwards, Troy grew continuously vague in the dark tunnel. Suddenly, his hand slipped from the ladder and down he went.

“Troy!” Runner yelled.

All he heard was his voice echoing back at him.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Runner glanced behind to find the butcher had broken half the door. The man pushed his dreadful head through the opening he made, but the bar on the door still proved an obstacle. He scratched, slammed, and chewed at the door like a rabid dog. He wanted nothing more than to tear his way in.

The Butcher paused for a moment, and his fiendish red eyes were locked with Runner’s. The way Runner saw it, if he did not find a way out, the Butcher would carve his flesh out slowly for putting him through hell.

“Runner!” a voice came from the black depth.

“Troy,” Runner called, “you are alive.”

“You won’t believe what I found down here. Come on. Quickly!” Troy’s voice returned in echoes of enthusiasm.

Runner grabbed Angie and pushed her towards the tunnel. “Okay, kid. I know it looks scary down there, but you have to be brave.”

The Butcher hammered at the door again, and Runner glanced back in shock. Quickly, he helped Angie down, and she held tight to the ladder.

“Close your eyes, Angie. Just close your eyes and let go. Don’t worry. It’s safe.” Runner brushed her hair.

“I can’t . . . I can’t do it,” Angie spoke for the very first time, and her voice rang with fear.

“Look at me, Angie,” Runner said softly. “Troy is down there. Don’t worry. He will catch you. He won’t let anything happen to you, okay? Now, close your eyes and let go.”

Angie closed her eyes, but she couldn’t let go.

The butcher hammered the second door to break free and then began to push away the table both boys had used to bar the door.

“Angieee!” Runner screamed.

She released her hands and screamed hard as she fell downwards. Runner readied himself to go down the tunnel. As he reached the ladder to set a foot on its steps, the Butcher threw his machete towards Runner. It went clean, tearing the skin of his right shoulder. The machete dug into the wall with force, burying half its length.

Runner lost his footing on the ladder and dropped down carelessly, smashing his head severally on the ladder’s steps as he slid down the slippery tunnel. The room’s light that was visible at the opening of the tunnel continued to grow dimmer as he descended into the depth.

The tunnel vomited Runner into an open space but not without lots of pain and aching. He laid on the ground, his black shirt and cloak soaked in blood from his chest. Troy and Angie rushed to him and knelt.

Runner coughed violently with blood forcing its way out of his mouth. Troy tore his cloth to reveal the wound.

“It’s bad, man . . . It’s really bad.” Troy shook his head.

Runner coughed again and then raised his head to see his wound. His flesh was torn badly, revealing white tissues in his body. Troy applied pressure on the wound with a torn piece of Runner’s cloak to slow down the bleeding.

He put his hand in his pocket and brought out his stash of Sense pills. “Here.” He forced two into Runner’s mouth. “I’m afraid it would heighten your pain, but it would stop the bleeding.”

The pain went down his body as if he was bathed in fire. Runner convulsed, trembling and shaking in spasms. It was like a poisonous sting, sending waves of pain down his nerves to his brains. Troy held him down.

“Easy, Runner . . . easy. It will be over in a moment,” he said.

Angie tugged Runner’s left hand, trying to keep his mind away from the pain in her own way. She tilted Runner’s head and directed his gaze by pointing at something that had been glowing for long. Runner noticed it too. They were in a field of giant mushrooms that formed an umbrella over their heads. The mushrooms glowed light green in the darkness.

Troy smiled. “I have never seen anything like it too. It is like they went through phases of mutation because of the radiation, but then, I’m no scientist from the Citadels.”

Runner’s gaze lingered on the mushrooms, keeping his mind occupied. He knew without proper medication, this might be the very end of his journey. He had beaten the odds, conquered his challenges, but this time, his body was broken. This time, he couldn’t fight his enemy with knives or bats. He smelled smoke and turned to see Troy bringing a fire alive.

“Your wound might get infected,” Troy said. “I need to cauterize it with fire. This is Rhiannon’s kind of thing, you know. I wish she were here. Somehow, she always managed to make everything seem alright.”

The smile on Troy’s face as he spoke of Rhiannon held hope, but Runner knew the truth. How would he begin to tell his friend that the girl he loved was dead and cremated? How would he explain that she was hit by the bomb while trying to stop him from killing Dope?

Troy came with a red-hot knife and a stick. With Angie’s help, he forced the stick in between Runner’s teeth for him to bite on and then smeared the knife on his wound. Runner shrieked so loud that half the world would have heard it.

The scent of burnt flesh was strong in the air.

“Wow, I never knew you could smell this good.” Troy laughed.

Heat from the fire made Runner warm. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He wasn’t out of the boat yet. Troy might have fixed him to the best of resources available, and without the first aid kit, there was still a risk of infection.

He had seen it before, when his Aunt Celia had gone hunting a buck in the artificial wild reserved for MegaCityOne. She was shot by a ranger from Section 5 and left to die in the cold. Rhiannon had luckily removed the bullet from her breast, but for lack of antibiotics, she died from an infection.

Hours passed, his fever began to set in. He felt it burning in him. He was becoming too weak to move his legs or arms. There was only one thing he could do now, urge Troy to finish what he had begun.

“Troy,” he called weakly.

Troy came to Runner and removed his makeshift bandages. The wound reeked of gangrene, and he pulled his face away.

“A lot happened in the weeks you were missing, Troy. I got set up by a city dweller and then imprisoned. That was how I joined the Remnants of Men. Finding a constant supply of water is imperative not just for the big city but for our friends and families back at home.”

“But that’s impossible,” Troy said. “I mean . . . have you seen what’s left of the world? Old Max spoke of large bodies of water in the world before called oceans, but they are far away if they are not yet dried up. We both know how things in the big city work. They probably sent you guys down here as a profitable way of gaining from your executions. Why give them a public execution when they can make good money from your agony? I mean . . . kill two birds with one stone.”

Runner twisted in agony.

“Where is Angie?” Troy looked around.

The light from the glowing mushroom proved a good source of illumination, but even so, darkness still held sway over the night. Light footsteps approached them. Runner raised his head and saw Angie walking towards them with her arms stretched out, and her hands curved to form a bowl.

“What do you have there, Angie?” Troy rushed to meet her.

He looked into her hands. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Bless you, Angie.”

“What is it?” Runner asked weakly.

“Maggots,” Troy said. “Live maggots.”

“Maggots?” Runner seemed confused.

“Yes, we can use them in place of antibiotics. Over here.” He beckoned at Angie.

He pushed Runner to lie still and then collected the maggots in a pouch with perforations to allow oxygen. He placed it gently on Runner’s wound and dressed it carefully to prevent the worms from escaping the wound.

“They would eat out the infected tissues that are preventing your wound from healing. Just get some rest, and in a day or two, you will be good as new.”

Troy finished and then put his hand over Angie, drawing her close to him. “Sweet child, where did you find them?”

Angie pointed with her fingers at the foot of a giant glowing mushroom, far at one end. Troy stood up and stretched his hands.

“I’m pretty sure there are edible worms down there. Let me go find some for us to eat.” He began to walk away.

Runner wondered why he didn’t salivate at the sound of that. Things were now becoming clear to him. Perhaps he should have looked for a way to escape when he had the chance than join the fool’s errand called the Remnants of Men. Now, he had to eat worms to survive.

This is a death sentence, he thought.

Angie came and laid beside him. She put Runner’s arms over her cuddled figure and rested her head on his torso. A few minutes passed, and Runner felt his eyes go dreary.

He shut them and slowly slipped into the world of dreams.

Chapter Fifteen

Death Throe

Olivia stood with her hands clasped behind her back. She watched the skyline of MegaCityOne from a large glass that served as a window to the one-hundredth floor of the Tower of Excellence. From there, she could see huge towers that represented each Citadel of Excellence, bearing digital screens with a looped video that reminded citizens of their councillor’s power.

She turned around and glanced at her mother who was receiving her daily dose of sunless tan.

“Tell me again, Mother. Why do I have to be matched with Lucan Capricorn?” She folded her arms.

“That’s because your father is going to make him a very powerful man in the city. And, dear, your father doesn’t give without receiving. He would need a leash on his new dog, and that would be you. Think of it this way: you get to have everything you could ever want.”

“But I have everything I want.” Olivia lied.

“Well . . . more of everything you could want,” her mother said.

Olivia walked to the machine and raised the cover to open. It revealed her mother in a two-piece swimsuit and scattered spectrums of UV light in the process.

“I’m being serious, mother,” she said solemnly. “I heard rumours that Section 5 is preparing to make a long journey to MegaCityFour in hopes of trading copper coils for tanks of water. Also, a source of mine told me that Nexus Pharmaceuticals are developing a serum that suppresses emotion in an effort to control mob violence and restrict rebel influence. Are they all true, Mother?”

Dr. Lysander rose from the tanning bed.

“Keep your conspiracy theories to yourself, Olivia. The role of the Remnants of Men was another way of not putting all our eggs in one basket. I don’t even believe any of them can make it five days in that hell they were sent to. That is the reason prisoners were used in the first place.”

“They might surprise you,” Olivia countered. “I saw their statistics from the test performed before they left. One in particular . . .”

“Is this about the boy Runner?” Dr. Lysander struggled to fit her skirt around her waist. “Now, I know where this second thought about Lucan is coming from. I liked that kid a lot, Olivia, but sentiments don’t change the fact that Runner is a slum dweller. It is their blood and sweat that keeps our city running. There is a ninety-five percent chance he would die out there in the barren lands, so erase him from your thoughts and look towards Lucan’s coming.”

The tender ring of a bell drew Olivia’s attention to the elevator. It opened and a woman stepped out, carrying dresses of several colours arranged in transparent plastic bags. The woman hung them on a hanging rail.

“Good day, Dr. Lysander Patterson. Here are the dresses as you requested.”

Olivia glanced at her mother, “What is this, Mom?”

“Sit,” her mother ordered.

She sat on a chair opposite the hanging rail and gazed at the beautiful dresses. The woman pushed a mirror and set it to stand beside the rail.

“Come, miss.” She beckoned at Olivia.

Olivia walked lazily to the hanging rail. She knew the drill and began to unzip the white dress she wore. She undid her dress until she was left in her undergarments. The woman picked a silvery dress spread open from the hips downwards. Olivia wore it to match diamond dotted shoes with heels the length of a pen.

“New designs.” Olivia twisted before the mirror. For a moment, she partook in a bit of narcissism as she admired her full rear.

Her mother came behind her and began to remove the pins that held her hair together. “Lucan is going to go crazy when he sees you.”

Olivia did not feel any form of joy or excitement. She remained still as a comb went through her hair.

“Listen, Livy.” Her mother caught her attention with a name that meant she was pleading. “You must try hard to show our hosts that you are the ideal girl for their son. Be courteous, smile, loosen up a bit, and before you know it, the dinner is over. Your father might be the supreme councillor, but with the disastrous state of things in the city, the councillors might vote for a reelection and we need the support of the Capricorns.”

“Is there no other way, Mother?” she asked.

Dr. Lysander made a final touch to Olivia’s hairdo. “Unless you have a way to stop a reelection and sever your match with Lucan.”

Olivia fastened the zip at the back of her dress and stared at the blonde beauty that was her reflection on the mirror. The elevator rang and opened. Olivia didn’t care to see who it was.

“Olivia,” she heard her mother’s voice, “your ride is here.”

She turned around and saw a boy holding a bunch of blue roses in his hands. He was in a white tuxedo with a red bow tie, and his blond hair was dressed to lie backwards. Even without seeing his face, his demeanour and overconfidence told her everything there was to Lucan Capricorn. He leaned forward and kissed Olivia on her cheek and then presented the flowers with a smile. She placed her hand in his and led him into the elevator.

“You look . . . amazing,” he said.

“Save it!” Olivia countered.

Lucan didn’t seem to be stepping back. He sank his hand in his pocket and brought out a small box. He opened it, revealing a gold chain with a glistening sapphire-studded pendant, and proceeded to put it around Olivia’s neck.

“It matches your eyes,” he whispered softly in her ear.

She felt his warm breath on her neck. For a moment, he seemed like a human being. The elevator stopped and they alighted.

“Over here, sir.” A chauffeur guided them towards a black car with tinted windows and armoured doors.

A plethora of photographers, cameramen, and journalists followed them persistently. Olivia was shocked when she saw rangers from Section 5 serving as Lucan’s personal guards.

“Why are they here?” she asked as they reached the car.

“Some zones have gone berserk, rioting for water. I don’t want to get mugged by some lowlife second citizen here in MegaCityOne.”

Olivia went silent as the driver kicked the engine. She couldn’t believe the kind of boy her parents expected her to spend the rest of her life with—someone who thought himself above everyone else. She watched from the window as they went past the Citadels of Excellence. There were twelve citadels in MegaCityOne, and each was overseen by a councillor whose word was law.

Her zone, however, was in the care of her mother. Somehow, Dr. Lysander had managed to maintain order, and people loved her for it. Perhaps it was because she was a mother who understood the importance of care. The driver drove away from the zone and into a broad road.

The car jerked to a halt. Olivia felt it despite its design to absorb vibrations. She saw a blockade in front manned by citizens with crude weapons and banners that read, NO WATER FOR US, NO TAX FOR YOU, and another went, NO REST FOR OUR OPPRESSORS, DEATH THROE IS SALVATION.

“This is the rebel’s doing!” Lucan screamed. “Get them all out of here!” he commanded.

The Rangers of Section 5 stepped down from their armoured trucks and began to shoot tear gas with their weapons to disperse the crowd. In minutes, there was a large mass of thick white smoke curling around them. Suddenly, a bottle of fire came from the obscurity of the smoke and landed on Olivia’s car. Fire burst on the hood and began to spread rapidly.

She opened the door and jumped out, but Lucan was stuck in his seat belt, the smoke choking him. “Help me out of here, please,” he begged her.

For a moment everything seemed to be in place. She wanted to leave him there to die, and she would not have to deal with his arrogant family or carry on with her match. She shut her door, and his screams went numb.

Olivia walked to the other side and opened the door. She felt the heat of the fire, hot on her skin. She reached for a knife on the side of a ranger’s belt and drew it out. With a great force, she tore through Lucan’s seat belt and set him free.

The boy coughed hard and then gasped for breath. He raised his gaze at the chief guard of the rangers. “Kill them all! Kill them all! Kill all of them!”

“What are you doing, Lucan? You can’t kill people who are only reacting to their sufferings,” Olivia said.

“I can and I will!” he shouted. “I hold my father’s position as the councillor to the Citadel of Defence, and soon, I will be the supreme councillor after your father.”

He turned to the chief guard who was reluctant to carry out the act. “What are you waiting for? Kill them all.”

“Hold that!” Olivia beckoned at the chief guard. She stepped in front of the protesters. “If you fire your weapons at them, you will have to shoot me too. Unless you want to explain that to my father, I suggest you put down your weapons.”

The chief guard halted the assault. Lucan charged forward and snatched a ranger’s rifle. He shot at the crowd, aiming poorly. The protesters reacted by sending bottles of Molotovs upon the armoured vehicles of Section 5. Olivia ran for protection. It didn’t matter if she was against the cruelty; an angry mob was a playground for destruction.

In the confusion, someone grabbed her. She felt the strong arms around her figure, and whoever it was definitely had a great brawn. She was thrown into a car, and it drove away immediately.

The car stopped, and someone pulled the door open.

“Nice dress,” she heard a throaty voice.

Olivia raised her gaze and saw a masked man standing in front of her.

“Death Throe,” she called.

“You could have just asked me to come nicely instead of whisking me away like that.” Olivia stepped out of the car and was received by men and women dressed in black outfits with masks of skulls covering their faces.

“I told you that your plan would cost a lot of innocent lives, but you wouldn’t listen.” Olivia supported her hands on her waist as she reprimanded the rebel.

“A small price to pay for our freedom, don’t you think, sister?” The rebel removed his mask, revealing a blond-haired boy.

“Dammit! Oliver, we started this stuff to stop father’s tyranny, but now, you’re so deep into this rebel act that I can’t even recognize you anymore,” she said.

Oliver turned around, and they began to walk towards a small building. “Don’t pretend to be such a saint, sister. Remember, I wasn’t the one that came up with the idea to set Runner up so he can be our game changer even though he doesn’t know. His girlfriend died in that bomb. I don’t think he is going to forgive you when he finds out.”

I know, Olivia thought.

Chapter Sixteen

Last House on the Left

Day five

With morning, even though the sun couldn’t still breach the thick grey clouds, the giant mushrooms folded and their beautiful glow faded.

Runner removed the last piece of clothing that bandaged his wounds. He touched the fresh scar left on his chest and felt a bad sting. He needed more time to heal, but only half a month was given to the Remnants of Men to meet their objective and five days had been wasted already.

It was wonderful how nature seemed to take and give. Somehow, the large caps of the mushrooms merged to form a canopy that protected them from radioactive storms and highly acidic deluge. As much comfort the mushrooms provided, Runner knew they couldn’t stay there any longer, not unless they wanted to eat more edible worms and die of dehydration.

We need supplies, Runner thought.

On the floor, Troy and Angie laid across each other, still entranced by the magic of sleep. Runner squatted before Troy and shook him incessantly.

“Dude, wake up,” he said.

Troy rolled over and rubbed his eyes. “Goddamit, Runner! Leave me alone.” He yawned and curled himself back to sleep.

Runner left him and walked to the foot of a mushroom plant. He bent and dug out one of its slimy roots and walked back to Troy. He lifted his friend’s shirt and forced the slimy root in.

“Snakes! Snakes! Troy, there are snakes in your pants!”

Troy scrambled in fear and jumped to his feet. He reeled backwards, and the root fell to the ground. In Troy’s confusion, he stepped on its slimy surface and slipped off his feet, landing with a thud upon Angie who was sleeping.

The little girl began to sob.

Runner ran to her and put an arm over her shoulder. “Shhh! Hush now.” He used his thumb to dry her tears. “Forgive me, I was just being silly.”

“Yes, Runner, that was a brilliant idea!” Troy yelled. “I mean . . . the fact that I sleep and enjoy a dream of sexy women bringing me glasses of wine in my bathtub is the best recreation I can manage when not running away from fucking butchers with machetes. But then, I wake up, and you know what? I see your face. The same goddamn face that reminds me that I might die in the next hour or minute.”

“Calm down, Troy,” Runner said.

Troy pointed his finger at Runner. “Oh, you want me to calm down? You want me to calm down? Is it too much to ask for one more hour of good sleep? Is calming down going to change the fact that we are all going to die here? And you don’t want to admit it. Of course, you are Runner, the boy who ran things in Rat Town. You pretend as if nothing can hurt you, but you almost died just two days ago.”

“I survived, thanks to you,” Runner replied.

Troy laughed. “Come on, Runner. You are definitely not that naïve. You and I have seen it all in the wasteland. We both know that I only managed to postpone judgement day. How long do you think we can outrun the storm? How long do you think it will take before one of those freakish things get us? We have no food, no water, and no weapons to defend ourselves, not even shelter. No . . . nothing.”

Runner glanced at Angie, hoping she wasn’t listening to Troy as he killed any hope they had left, but she was.

“Where is this coming from, Troy?” he asked.

“Tell me. Is it true?” Troy spoke as tears welled in his eyes. “Last night in your sleep, you mumbled something about Rhiannon being dead. Is it true?”

Runner hung his head down for a moment. Oh god. He sighed.

“Listen, man. I didn’t mean—”

“Is it true?” Troy cut him short.

After a brief silence, Runner nodded. “She was hit by a rebel bomb blast that got to Rat Town. I’m sorry, Troy. I should have said something since, but I just didn’t know how to . . . say it.”

Troy walked into the plants and disappeared amongst the mushrooms.

“Come on, Angie.” Runner helped the girl up. “We’ve got to search for food.”

Runner smothered the small fire that still burned. He gestured at Angie with a nod, and they began to walk into the mushroom field. He didn’t find it hard navigating through the giant plants, and before long, he stumbled upon a bog.

He gazed at the green waterlogged mire of peat. There were many cars that were half sunken in the bog, and their roofs were visibly arranged in a long line.

“Troy must have come through here,” Runner said.

Angie nodded.

“What do you think happened here?” her soft voice sounded.

Runner took a long look at the pile of cars caught in the bog. “Well, the cars were here before the peat accumulated. People must have seen a great disaster coming, and they screamed and left their cars and shit their pants. Who knows?”

Angie clutched tight to Runner’s right arm. He glanced at her. “Don’t be scared. The roof of the cars makes an excellent bridge to cross the bog. Believe me, I have seen worse. Once, I went in search of valuable metal with my friend Sink. In his greed, he tried to reach for one shining copper wire when the pile of bricks he stood on started to move. Before I could say ‘Sink!’ he sank into quicksand.”

Runner smiled. “Come on.” He lifted Angie up to climb the bonnet of the first car.

Angie reached for the car’s roof and continued to the next. Runner helped himself up and quickly followed behind her. One step after the other, he walked on the car roofs. He stepped on a car that pressed further into the bog and almost lost his footing, but Angie held him still.

Finally, they came to the end of the bog and went down the last car. A loud shriek came from a building ruin in the distance, and then gunshots followed.

“Troy!”

Runner darted towards the building, leaving Angie behind. He rushed up the stairs that stood in front of what seemed to be a courthouse and went past its half standing white pillars stained by years of decadence.

The gunshots stopped.

He stumbled into the door of the courthouse and found a trail of human corpses scattered on the floor. The first thing he did was to go for a chair and break off one of its wooden foot. He gripped it tight and held it to his shoulder. Someone stepped through the door, and he turned quickly.

“Angie,” he whispered as he saw her. “Wait for me there. Let me check this out, okay?”

She nodded in reply.

Runner stepped into the judge’s chamber where half the roof of the building had crashed into. There was a wide opening above, and he could see the grey sky. He opened the next door slowly and stepped over a corpse.

Bang!

A gun fired, missing his shoulder by an inch. Runner ducked at the side of the door.

“Don’t come any further . . . or I will fucking blow your head off!” a woman shouted amidst tears.

Runner peered through the side of the door and saw an elderly woman with a hunting rifle, kneeling beside a corpse.

“Don’t shoot! I’m not armed, I swear it,” Runner said.

Bang!

Another shot sounded, and Runner jerked backwards. “I said don’t shoot.”

“You can swear from the sky to the earth, but if you take one step towards me, there won’t be much of your brains left. In case you haven’t noticed, words don’t mean shit these days.”

Despite her warning, Runner stepped out of his cover, raising his arms in the air. “See for yourself. I’m not armed.”

The woman pointed her gun at him. “You’ve got guts, kid, coming out here like that.”

“Like you said, words don’t mean shit these days,” Runner said. “I’m just looking for my friend. He came this way not too long ago.”

She glanced at the dead man on the floor and tears began to roll down her eyes. Runner stepped towards the corpse to see it closely. A large chunk of flesh was missing from its jugular. It seemed like a nasty wound for anyone to endure.

“He was your husband, right?”

She nodded and began to sob.

“Those freakish rabid people took a chunk out of him when we came across a crater where bodies were being dumped by men in military wear. There were a lot of creeps coming wildly at us as if their minds were infected with another form of madness.”

Runner squatted beside her and pulled off his shirt. “Look at what one of them did to me.” He showed her his long scars. “I don’t know the real cause of their craziness, but I intend to find out. So, where did you come from?”

Angie stumbled into the room.

“I told you to wait outside,” Runner said. “I didn’t want you to see this.”

The woman pushed her hunting rifle aside and moved herself towards her dead husband. She pushed his corpse to roll over, revealing a black recurve bow he was lying upon. She lifted the bow and presented it to Runner.

“Take this, kid. There isn’t much bullet left in my rifle, but I’m sure you can make something of this,” she said. “My husband and I did something very bad. That is why we left our home to come to MegaCityOne. There are lots of men searching for us, and if they find you here, well, you are smart enough to know what happens.”

“What about you? We can’t just leave you here.”

“Take it and go.” She held the bow before Runner.

He took it from her and drew the string to test its strength. The woman tore away the fabric that covered her right leg and revealed a decay that has made her thigh a purplish hue of dead tissues.

“I’m already dead, kid. I caught this when we stumbled into the crater. The radiation there is out of the charts. I hope you have your gas masks because further down the road. Things only get worse.”

Angie went ahead to grab the woman’s backpack lying on a wall opposite her. Runner stood up and held Angie’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

They walked towards the doorway, and Runner turned one more time to look at the woman. “What’s your name? So I can remember you,” he asked.

“Where I lived, they called me Sister Cooper. My name is Sharon Cooper, and I used to be a nun,” the woman replied.

“Kid,” she called, “watch out for the little one. Men these days have a thing for pretty little girls, which is disgusting if you ask me. I don’t know about your friends, but I saw some lads a few days back going towards a sheltered community called the Last House on the Left. Don’t know them, but they wore the same outfit like you.”

Runner gestured a salute and walked through the door with Angie. He glanced at her and noticed her moody expression.

“Is it what she said about men and little girls? I don’t pretend to know what you went through while held by Ishmael’s gang, but I promise you, if any of them try to take you again, I will chop his hands and legs off. We look out for each other, right?”

Runner gestured a high five. Angie’s lips curled into a smile, brightening her face, and she slapped her palm on his.

“Right,” she replied.

“Now, let’s go find . . .” Loud roars of car engines cut his words short.

Runner ducked along with Angie behind a window. He took a peek and found a group of men wielding hunting rifles jumping down the vehicles. They wore tattered jean trousers and jackets of lumbermen with face caps.

There was something else. Something tied to . . . Oh god! It was Troy. They had him bounded and strapped like a dead deer on the car’s bonnet. Runner gazed at his wristwatch. It was almost 4:00 PM. Ten days left, and he hadn’t gotten anywhere yet. The clock was ticking, and so was his chance of freedom.

Chapter Seventeen

Rules of Engagement

Day six

After a long fruitless stare at Troy, Runner retreated behind the cover the window provided. He was out of ideas for a rescue. In every way he calculated, it all ended in their demise. The men out there were just too many for him to take on.

Perhaps it was time to sever all ties. It was true that four hands are better than two, but there was another truth he knew. In the wastelands, four hands could just as easily be dead weight.

Angie tugged at Runner’s shirt.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Look.” She pointed outside the room.

Runner moved with his back upon the walls, making sure no one saw him. He reached the doorframe and took a peek. Outside, he saw what Angie was pointing at. It was a black rat bike, parked behind the hunting trucks, looking dashing in its rugged state.

“Bless you, Angie,” Runner muttered.

He took a step along the wall and stopped again. There were men standing in front of the trucks, carrying hunting rifles like babies in their arms. The way they placed their guns at an unready position, it seemed like the armaments were the most precious things the men possessed. He could easily attack them in their inattentive state, but there was a problem.

Runner was a bad archer.

He sucked at the only weapon available to him. Other ranged weapons like throwing darts, knives, and makeshift axe—his favourite—he could perform magic with. But not the bow. Slowly, he unslung his bow and struggled to nock an arrow on the string.

His hands were trembling. Angie crawled quickly to him and put her hands over his to calm him. She shook her head slowly to stop him, and Runner retracted the bow.

He took a deep breath. “Thank god. I would have fucked this up. I need to find another way.”

Runner stared at Angie, waiting for her to say something. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

She did not answer.

“And here I thought we were bonding.” He smiled.

Hearing the footsteps in the building, he was sure it was only a matter of time before the men found them. What he needed was to find what brought them there before they did. Thus, Runner went down hands and feet, crawling back to find the dying Sister Cooper.

He found her still resting on the wall.

“Sister Cooper,” he whispered.

There was no answer.

Runner crawled to reach her. He tried to touch her, but then he froze. The purplish patch that formed on the flesh of her thigh had grown all over her skin and to her face. An eerie sensation vibrated down his body, causing goose bumps to form on his skin as his gaze lingered on her face.

Half the flesh on the woman’s face looked like it was eaten down to the skull by acid, and whatever it was still ate its way to the other part. Runner backed away from her slowly. He didn’t see her husband’s corpse that was still on the floor and stepped on it. He lost his footing and slammed upon the corpse.

The bow snapped from the force.

Runner rolled over and stood on his knees. “No . . . no . . . no.” He tried to gather the broken pieces.

Something caught his gaze. It was a white paper rolled to the size of a finger and fitted into the hollow body of the bow. Runner opened it and gazed at the words written on it.

Whoever reads this, I must have given my life to prove how dire this letter must reach its destination.

To Bob Davis, chief enforcer of Section 5,

My husband and I have embedded ourselves deep within the fold of the religious militants. They call themselves the Second Coming, and their leader, Pope LongJaw, truly believes he is the thirteenth apostle ordained by God to prepare men for the Second Coming. In his delusions, he has gathered more men that you won’t believe survived this harsh terrain and groomed them in shelters scattered across the wastelands.

I must digress, for there is something else I discovered, something you must now know. We discovered a nuclear bunker believed to have been stocked with food rations and heavy ammunition moments before the world became what it is. The priest plans to purge the wickedness of men by embracing those who would welcome him as their saviour and murdering those who would not. I have the secret to getting into the bunker, but I’m afraid he is after me. You must warn your leaders. Get them to listen, or else, your domes won’t shelter you from the Second Coming.

337744, keep your finger on the trigger.

Your old ranger,

Sister Cooper

Runner’s racing heart only grew with fear as he read. He was tired of everything. It was beginning to dawn on him that the biggest problem was not food or water or radiation but his fellow human beings. In Rat Town, people rob you clean in broad daylight. In the big city, people use other people for testing drugs and turn them into freaks. In the wastelands, people eat other people or murder them to loot their corpse. Oh god! How much can a boy take? Now, another freak has decided to pounce on people’s dying faith and use it to seize power. It just keeps getting better and better.

He heard light footsteps approaching him. Someone was coming. Runner pushed himself towards the wall and rested his back against it. A man in a red lumber jacket and a face cap came through the door with his rifle pointed to shoot. He went past Runner without seeing him.

“Ha,” he uttered as he noticed Sister Cooper’s corpse on the floor.

Runner watched him squat near the corpse as he began to search the dead woman’s pocket. “Where did you hide the code, you traitorous wench?” he said as he searched.

The man was busy, and Runner took a step forward to slip away. His foot hit a brick. The man heard it and turned.

“Hey, you.” He picked up his rifle.

Runner darted through the doorway.

Bang! A shot followed seconds later.

He hid from the man’s line of sight but chose to place his back against a wall to the entrance―a risk he took believing the man would come out any time soon. Just as he guessed, the pointed rifle came through first, and the man followed with his fingers on the trigger.

He didn’t see Runner. As he took another step forward, Runner pushed out of his cover, using his right foot to sweep the man’s legs off the ground. Immediately, a shot went off in the confusion, but it was a stray that hit the ceiling.

Runner pounced on the man, reaching for his rifle in the struggle and forcing the gun to fall far from his grip. The man kicked Runner on the stomach, pushing him off his body, and Runner fell back into the room, right beside Sister Cooper’s corpse.

Instead of going back for the rifle, the man foolishly came at Runner with his hands tightened to a fist. Runner searched the floor blindly, where his bow had broken. He felt an arrow and grabbed it quickly. He laid still on the floor, and the man climbed upon his body, ready to unleash a blow to his face. Runner parried with his left arm and used the right to poke the arrow through the man’s eyes until it came through the back of his head.

Blood oozed from the man’s head and stained Runner’s grey shirt. He pushed the fresh corpse off his body and staggered to his feet. Slowly, Runner turned around, only to see men in their numbers with hunting rifles pointed at him.

Two men made their way through the gathered group of armed men, pushing along Troy and Angie whose hands were bounded behind their backs.

Another man made his way through. He wore a black cassock with a rosary around his neck. He began to clap his hands.

“Pope LongJaw, I presume?” Runner said.

“The last anointed man of faith,” the man added proudly. “I guess I will be bishop of the wastelands now since the Vatican is pretty much in ruins,” the man murmured like a madman.

“You see . . .” LongJaw paused. “Um . . . what was your name again?”

Runner did not answer.

“He doesn’t want to answer.” The priest shook his head and turned to his goon. “Devos, please ask him what his name is.”

The goon walked to Angie and grabbed one of her fingers in his hand. He twisted it, and the girl cried out.

“Stop it!” Troy yelled. “His name is Runner . . . His name is Runner.”

“Runner, is it?” The priest began to walk around. “You see, I like you, Runner. I like what you did to my man down there.” He pointed at the fresh corpse. “You did what was necessary. It was either him or you, and you poked the arrow right through his brains.”

“He was trying to kill me. I had to.” Runner defended. “I apologise for that, but please let us go. We have no value to you.”

“Apologise!” the priest cried out. “Don’t apologise. Never apologise when you do what is necessary.”

Don’t worry. I won’t when I shove an arrow up your arse, Runner thought.

“You see, the wasteland is a jungle; nourishing violence and chaos is its currency. There are no rules of engagement.” The priest continued, “The big guys eat the small guys. The small guys eat the smaller guys. Your governments built the domes to shelter themselves from radiation and pretend to be civilized, but there is no order, not anymore. God has shown me the way, and he wants me to prepare them for a prophetic end.”

“But he wants you to watch over them.” Runner mocked.

Pope LongJaw froze with his finger pointed at Runner. “Exactly . . . exactly. You understand me very well, Runner. He wants them all to embrace me, and I will watch over them till the second coming.”

The priest stalked behind Runner and put both hands on his shoulder. “Will you join me, Runner? If you accept, I will lift you high when I take the big city from those slouch bastards that sent you here to die. If you refuse, well . . . you can still go. I take no offense on what you did to my man.”

Runner pulled away from him. “No,” he said. “I understand doing what you must to survive, but I cannot fathom the need to kill senselessly.”

“Well, then you are free to go,” the priest said and waved his hand for his men to make way.

Runner walked to a man and dragged Angie’s backpack away from him. He picked the broken piece of his bow and set them into the bag.

He stretched his arm forward. “Come on, Angie. Let’s get out of here.”

Angie moved away from her captors who had freed her and came towards Runner. He put the bag on her back and strapped it tight. Runner turned around.

“Come on, Troy,” he called.

The men held Troy still and refused to set him free. He struggled to get free, but the bounds wouldn’t budge.

“You said we could go.” Runner raised his gaze at Pope LongJaw.

“No, no, no, Runner. I said you could go, but it is only fair that I get back a life for a life taken from me. Remember, order, Runner! We will be nothing without it. Now, have you heard of something called quartering? It was used a very, very long time ago before all this shit happened. Forgive my language.” The priest cleared his throat. “This decay we live in has gotten the best of me, but don’t worry, Runner. You are about to witness the reenactment of an art long forgotten. Set it up boys,” he ordered.

The men pushed Troy outside, and Runner followed quickly. Four men jumped on their rat bikes and kicked their engines, while another man strung a rope around Troy’s ankles and then proceeded to his wrists.

When the man was through, he pushed Troy to fall to the floor and dragged the rope along. He attached each of the four strings to each bike and tested the strength to make sure it was tight and strong. He finished and nodded to signal Pope LongJaw.

“You can’t do this to him. Please . . . don’t do this,” Runner pleaded.

The priest gestured with a wave, and the men kicked their bikes to move forward. It stretched Troy’s limbs, and the boy screamed in pain. Another of the priest’s followers came with a bag of weapons. He opened it to roll on the floor, revealing knives, axes, arrows, and a bow.

“I’m going to give you a chance,” LongJaw started. “Your friend is in pain with four strings stretching him out. You have four knives, four axes, and four arrows. Pick any you fancy. I tell you what, if you can hit each string that ties your friend to the bikes and free him, then I’ll be willing to discuss terms.”

Chapter Eighteen

The Third Law of an Outlaw

Old Max always said, “To survive the wasteland, all brawn and no wit could make Jack a dead man.” Unfortunately, as the terms to Troy’s freedom were set before him, Runner needed little of brawn or wit but more of dexterity. He had four of each weapon. If he missed a single target, the rat bikes would stretch Troy until he was torn from each limb.

What an awful way to die.

He gazed at the weapon. Arrows were quick, but he wasn’t an excellent marksman to cut through a target as thick as Troy’s ropes. He was good with knives but preferred them for close encounters. The axes were perfect. They looked strong enough to cut a thick rope, and he always had one during his looting days in the wasteland.

Runner stretched his hand forward and grabbed the first axe.

Pope LongJaw glanced at him and raised his thumb in the air. “Kick it, boys.”

The men kicked the engine of their rat bikes. Two at the front moved theirs to go forward until it stretched Troy’s arms to its limit and the other two at the back stretched his legs. Poor Troy! His cries were loud enough to reach the heavens and even make rocks crack.

It filled Runner with uneasiness, making him doubt his throw. Nonetheless, Runner took position paces away from Troy. His hands trembled and grew loose with sweat. He pushed a leg forward and, with one true swing, released the axe. It struck the first rope and broke it in two.

“Bravo!” Pope LongJaw screamed, and his men exchanged subtle nods of approval amongst themselves.

Runner put his hands over his face in relief. Mostly, he was happy to have reduced Troy’s pain, but it wasn’t over yet. He grabbed the second axe, moved to position, and swung it. The axe cut the rope holding Troy’s left arm, and his body slammed on the floor.

Troy’s arms were now free, but both legs were still tied to two rat bikes.

The priest clapped as he came towards Runner. “You are one of a kind, but now the rules have changed. You now have five minutes to free his legs, or the bikers will take him on a ride, dragging him throughout the wasteland.”

Runner turned around hurriedly and grabbed the third axe. He moved himself to position. His heart raced as he glanced at his wristwatch. Slowly, he steadied his breath, but it wasn’t working. Beads of perspiration formed on his face. He was not calm, and the clock was ticking.

He threw his arm forward and released the axe. It went past its mark, missing the rope by an inch and buried its head in the soil.

“Yeesh! That’s not good.” Pope LongJaw stared at Runner.

There was only one axe left with two ropes to cut. Runner closed his eyes in disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Runner, but you’ve got to admit this is like a movie with a good opening and a bad ending.” The priest put a hand on Runner’s shoulder. “Your remaining two minutes will serve nothing now. Drag him, boys!” he shouted.

“Wait! I can still do this.” Runner held tight to the priest’s fabric.

“I’m sorry. It is not possible anymore, and I must keep my word.”

The men kicked their engines and moved the bikes. Troy caught a half-buried pillar and wrapped his arms tight around it. His legs were stretched to maximum length, and he screamed, “Runner!”

Runner saw what Troy was doing. He did not just see his friend in pain, but he also saw an opportunity open to set him free. The bikers were pulling the rope hard, and Troy countered by holding the pillar, risking an unimaginable pain. All Runner needed was to sever the link, and destruction would follow.

Quickly, Runner grabbed the last axe. The ropes were stretched waist high. He swung his right arm and sent the axe swirling. It cut through the first rope and then slowed down and fell halfway towards the second. The force was not enough.

“Hold on, Troy. Anytime now,” Runner muttered.

The last rope tore away from the second biker’s pull, the knockback forcing the bike forward with such force that it ran into the first biker.

A loud bang followed and fire rose in the air, scattering pieces of the bikes’s parts everywhere. In the confusion, Runner ran towards Angie. “Come on. We got to go,” he said.

Runner glanced at Pope LongJaw, who was recovering from the explosion. He grabbed Angie, and they ran towards a man on a rat bike. Runner quickly bent and picked a handful of sand. As the rider turned to look at them, he threw the sand into the man’s eyes and shoved him off the bike.

“Get on,” Runner said as he mounted it.

He smiled as he saw Troy limping towards the fourth rat bike and helped himself to its empty seat. He signalled his friend with a nod, and with Angie seated behind him, he kicked the rat bike’s engine to a loud roar. The bike surged forward, scattering dust as it moved.

“Get them, you dimwits! Shoot them off those bikes if you must.” Pope LongJaw’s voice grew faint as Runner’s bike put more distance between them.

His heart warmed to see Troy at his side, riding a rat bike. Runner glanced backwards. There, Pope LongJaw’s goons rushed into their trucks armed with hunting rifles.

“They are coming for us,” Angie said as the wind blew her dark hair backwards.

“Someone once told me that all brawn and no wit could make Jack a dead man. To survive the wastelands, a man must keep a sharp mind. I noticed that there is an increased delay in storm sweeps as you go further into the wasteland. Out here, it comes every five hours, and it is due in twenty minutes. I’m sure LongJaw doesn’t know this.”

Runner guided the handle and broke left. He was heading for the Broken Bridge, where he parted ways with Legion and Slim Jim. He felt Angie’s arms tightened around his torso as she maintained a steady position at his back.

The ground of the wasteland was hard earth. The spiked tyres of the rat bike moved with ease through debris and sand. Runner felt comfortable on it, and if not for LongJaw’s goons that wanted his head, it would have been one hell of a ride.

In the distance, he saw the gatehouse that had sheltered his group not far from the Broken Bridge. The storm was coming. He felt the heat on his skin despite being far from it.

“Troy.” Runner glanced at his friend who rode by his side.

He gazed at his wristwatch and turned to face Troy again. With arms stretched forward and hands opened to five fingers, he signalled five minutes to his friend.

Troy nodded and hit the throttle, increasing his speed.

Runner glanced backwards and saw the hunting trucks coming at them, but there was something behind. A storm loomed in the distance, like a large wall of an ocean wave. It came with dreadful speed. Some of the trucks behind him had abandoned their chase and scattered in all directions, searching for safety.

“Hold tight, Angie,” Runner whispered.

Angie tightened her arms around his torso. The storm was coming faster. Runner squeezed the throttle and surged forward, guiding the bike to scale an inclined building ruin. The bike smashed through a wooden plank covering the doorway and into the gatehouse.

Troy made his way in moments later. Runner dismounted. Quickly, he relieved Angie of her backpack and searched inside. He pulled out a gas mask.

“Come closer.” He beckoned at the little girl.

She came towards him, and he put the gas mask over her face. In the wasteland, your gas mask was your brother, your best friend, and your girlfriend. One never parted with it, and Runner knew this, but Troy didn’t have his. He never went with one when Dope sold him out to Ishmael’s gang.

The storm was coming. There was no time to find any. Runner undid his gas mask from his belt where he had tied it. He stretched his arms towards Troy.

“Take mine,” he said.

Troy refused.

“Take it,” Runner insisted. “I smashed the wooden plank that covers the doorway. There is nothing stopping particles from the storm from getting in here. You need it.”

“What will you do?” Troy asked.

“I will find something else. Just take it.”

Troy grabbed the gas mask from Runner and proceeded to wear it over his face. Runner pulled his grey shirt and placed it on the floor. He drew a knife from the side of his belt and tore his shirt to form a long piece.

He wrapped it over his head like a turban until it covered his nose and forehead. Loud screams outside drew his attention, and he ran to a window. Slowly, he pushed open the rusted bars and peeped.

A man ran foolishly ahead of the storm, even as his comrades were burnt to crisps. The storm was an inch away from the man, but his grey lumber jacket was caught in flames. He was running to reach the gatehouse and was getting close. Runner thought of helping him. Too late, the storm swallowed him whole.

“Close your eyes, Angie,” Runner said. “You don’t need to see any of this.”

It was a dreadful sight. The storm ate the man, burning off his skin as it formed ash particles that drifted away with the wind. With great force, the storm smashed past the gatehouse. It felt like being caught in the belly of a large monster. There was darkness everywhere and frequent hot sparks that looked like the fire from welding metals.

It smelt like ash and also had an odour that made no sense. Runner felt the heat in the room coming in from the open doorway. He put an arm around Angie and pushed her gently to rest on his body. In a few minutes, the dull light of the wasteland grew again, and the storm was gone.

Troy walked outside and Runner followed, dragging Angie along.

“Pope LongJaw isn’t gonna be happy,” Troy said and then turned to Runner. “He is going to dedicate the rest of his miserable existence searching for you.”

“Well, if you follow the facts, they lead themselves into the storm. I just acted as the diversion. He is welcome to try, but he won’t find me.” Runner smiled and glanced at the grey sky.

He sank his hand in his pocket and brought out the letter he found in his bow.

“Troy, I need you to do something for me,” Runner started. “What we’ve seen here is only a fraction of Pope LongJaw’s men. He has an entire army of hungry men who are frustrated with their living conditions and have decided to follow the priest. They call themselves the Second Coming.”

Troy took the paper from Runner. “What do you want me to do?”

“Ride back to Rat Town and find a way to get to Olivia Patterson . . .”

“Are you crazy?” Troy snarled. “You want me to go back and . . . and Olivia Patterson? Section 5 will put a bullet in my brain before I get ten paces towards her.”

“Listen, Troy.” Runner seized him by the neck of his jacket. “Pope LongJaw and his militants are not going to stop until they get into MegaCityOne. I, for one, don’t care about the big city, but my aunt’s children, your family, Old Max, and Rhiannon’s parents—they are worth every risk we’ve taken so far. This is where we part ways, my friend. It is better this way. You must get that letter to Olivia and tell her it is from me. She would know how to handle this, alright?”

“Okay.” Troy nodded.

Runner noticed the tears welling in Troy’s eyes. It wasn’t easy parting with a childhood friend, knowing he might never return again, but it was the right thing to do. The dangers they faced were growing worse.

“Take Angie with you,” Runner said.

He sank on one knee before the little girl and brushed her hair with his hand. “I promise, we will see each other again,” he said.

“You cross your heart?” Angie’s voice came as tears streamed down her eyes.

Runner crossed his hand on his chest. “I cross my heart.”

He stood up and went to get a rat bike. Angie came to him with her backpack and presented it. Runner took it and buckled the straps over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered and then turned to Troy. “It’s been one hell of an adventure, but this is where my true journey begins, my friends.” Runner kicked the engine to a roar.

He squeezed the throttle and zoomed off shirtless without looking back.

Chapter Nineteen

Prince of Scavengers

Day eight

For a whole day, he rode without a break. He wanted nothing more than for everything to be over. But with every minute, every second that passed, it only became clearer that there might be no freshwater lake, and all the sacrifices had been for nothing.

Every stream he had encountered was dried up; the rivers were contaminated. Whatever happened to destroy the world must have been so devastating that after three decades, water bodies were still undergoing what the scholars from the Citadel of Science called a radioactive decay.

Runner sped through a long line of dead trees. He glanced at them. What a sight they made. The trunks had the colour of red earth. Each stood tall, almost leafless and surrounded by a sinister quietness that he almost lost control of his bike. They were once a conglomerate of different species that formed a massive forest, but now, it looked like they never recovered from a wildfire that swept ages ago, or so it would seem.

No birds to whistle sweet melodies. No squirrels to rustle tree leaves. The only wind that swept came with death. Nature was truly ill.

He rode past the last tree at the forest border and squeezed the throttle to slow his rat bike down. Something was gnawing at his stomach walls. It was the great enemy—hunger. No food or water had touched his tongue for an entire day, but he had to go on.

Runner sank his hands in his pocket and brought out the map each member of his group was given. He placed it on the dashboard of his rat bike and opened the map.

“Where are we now?” he said to himself.

He traced the lines on the map with his index finger, “University of . . .,” he muttered and looked up.

In the distance, he saw a large structure with half its body hidden amongst other smaller structures. On one half of the roof, he could see the bold word UNIVERSITY. But the rest, like every other thing, had washed away with time.

The hot, airless atmosphere began to grow cold with a sudden breeze. It wafted an odious smell towards Runner’s nose. He had grown too familiar with dead bodies that he could tell there was one around. Runner twisted his neck, scanning in all directions with his eyes.

“Found you,” he said with his gaze cast upwards.

It was the body of a middle-aged man. He had hung himself from a rail, and his lifeless feet dangled mid-air. He was in a brown trench coat with a red band around one arm, etched with the symbol S5.

“What brings a ranger of Section 5 to this place of death?” Runner muttered.

Something hung from the man’s neck. Runner moved closer to see. It was a small board with the words DEATH IS SALVATION scribbled in blood.

Runner spat. “I thought rangers are supposed to be tough.”

No one travelled that far from MegaCityOne, not even to loot copper wires. Runner stared at him for a moment. He drew a knife from the side of his belt and cut the ranger loose. The body fell on the ground, raising dust in the air.

“Forgive me,” he said and began to remove the trench coat from the corpse. “I’m pretty sure I need this more than you do.”

He stood up and wore the dead man’s shirt over his naked torso. “At least, there is no blood on it,” he said and then proceeded to wear the trench coat.

Runner gazed at the insignia of Section 5 on his arm and nodded. He always wanted to be one of them, but now he would settle for their outfit. He mounted his bike and continued towards the university.

He guided his bike to move slowly through an abandoned street with empty building ruins that loomed like giant walls at each side. The eeriness was unsettling. There was not a single soul to be seen, not even rats to nibble on leftovers. What was he saying? If there were leftovers, he would fight the rats for a chance to partake and pacify his biting stomach.

For a moment, he thought of lying flat on the floor and pretending to be dead. Maybe one or two greedy vultures might spot him and descend. God knows he would have one of those repulsive creatures for breakfast in a heartbeat if, at all, there were any left in the world.

His rat bike jerked to halt. Something was wrong. Runner kicked the ignition; it jerked forward again, and the engine died.

He slammed his fist on the dashboard. “You couldn’t have chosen a much better time!” he cried.

Runner came down from the bike and squatted beside it. He stretched his arm and reached for a long tube strapped beside the saddle. Slowly, he drew it to stretch out and then stood up.  He stood out amongst the towering building ruins. It felt like he was the last man on earth. Well, if he didn’t find fuel for his bike, he would truly be the only man amongst the ruins.

He strode towards one of the several abandoned cars left on the desolate street. If there was one thing he was certain of, petrol didn’t expire easily. Most folks were always struck with bewilderment at the amount of fuel still in the tanks of abandoned cars. But as he stood in front of the first car he found, its covers were left open, which reminded him of the other part where most cars had been robbed of theirs by marauders and sojourners like him.

In a flash of anger, Runner slammed the cover close and strode to the nearest car he could find. Like the first one, the opened covers told him everything he needed to know. He went past three more and then he found a black SUV that looked intact.

He opened the cover and pushed his tube in, but then he realised he had nothing to serve as a container. His gaze strayed to an open building that looked like a garage. It was dark in there, and the silence was unsettling.

Scattered bits of concrete cracked beneath his feet as he took careful steps towards the garage. Runner stopped suddenly. He was discouraged by the stark darkness that cloaked the garage. He walked back to his backpack and took an empty water bottle whose content he had drained a long time ago.

He bent beside the car and used his mouth to suck out the petrol until it flowed freely into his bottle. Something creaked. He gave into his paranoia and turned around to see a young girl standing with a dirty doll in her grip.

Runner used his right hand to wipe his face and then looked again. Was he indeed seeing things clearly? The girl had five limbs. Five limbs. Three arms on her body, two on the right, and a small stunted arm on her left. Her clothes were dirty and her hair grey from . . . whatever the hell she had been exposed to.

She opened her mouth to smile, and there were only three brown teeth gathered at one end.

Runner felt his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his knife. He wasn’t sure if she was violent like those rabids he encountered at the slaughterhouse. She seemed calm, even when he reached for his blade. He didn’t know what to make of her, but she did not look like rabids who suffered the effect of experimentation on Sense pills.

He went on one knee and stretched an arm towards her. “Hey there, little . . . creepy . . . girl. Where is your daddy?” he said.

The girl began to swing her doll. She turned and looked into the dark garage.

A large man jumped out of the darkness, charging towards Runner with a mallet in his hand.

“Oh, fuck me!” Runner fell down, sitting forcefully with his buttocks pressing upon pieces of broken concrete.

The man’s head was irregularly large with bloodshot eyes, and he limped as he came, which didn’t account for much speed.

Runner found his footing and jumped on top of his bike. He opened the tank and quickly poured the petrol. The man was approaching fast. There was no time. Runner pulled the bottle and pressed it to constrict, pouring the remaining fuel into the deformed man’s eyes to slow him down further.

He hit the bike’s ignition, but there was no response. He tried it again and again and again, and finally, it roared to life. The man was upon him. Runner supported one leg on the ground and used the other to kick the man backwards.

The man fell on the earth. Runner turned to look forward. More and more deformed humans were trooping out of abandoned buildings.

He squeezed the throttle, and the rat bike surged forward, speeding through them. “So long suckers!” he yelled. “You won’t have me for dinner today.”

After a moment, he glanced back and saw that they did not even try to chase him. He wondered why. Perhaps he had intruded their sanctuary. Who knows?

Minutes passed, and his bike strolled into a street that led to the university. He halted the rat bike and turned his head left to gaze at a half standing signboard. It read, Welcome to the Last House on the Left.

He was pretty sure that if he raised the board to stand upright, it would be pointing at the university. Happily, he kicked his engine to start and rode onwards.

As he approached gently with his bike, he observed the sinister vista of abandoned ruins. Something perforated the tyres of his rat bike. The sudden pull flung it to tumble. He landed with his back on a half-buried pillar.

“Damn it!” he cursed.

His bike laid metres away with smoke rising from its engine. Runner helped himself up. He took a step forward and felt something soft under his foot. He ignored it, but as he tried to walk away, a rope caught his ankle and dragged him to hang from his feet. His hands dangled in the air, and everything was upside down.

“Mutant! Mutant! We caught a mutant! We caught one!” a voice cried with enthusiasm.

From his inverted view, he saw a young dark-skinned lady leading a group of men towards him. They were armed with knives and axes. They seemed eager to hack their presumed mutant to pieces.

“Wait . . . wait! I’m no mutant, I swear. I swear it!” Runner screamed.

“Wait,” another voice said.

It sounded familiar, but the owner was hidden amongst the crowd. “His name is Runner, and he is a notorious scrap hoarder.” A girl in a black cloak shoved through the crowd.

“Legion.” Runner recognized her. “Thank the heavens, it’s you. Can I have some food?”

Chapter Twenty

Where Angels Fear to Tread

He hated canned foods. There was nothing better than chewing a roasted meat to the bones or devouring a bowl full of hot soup. But canned foods, they were cold and always reminded him that the world had turned to shit.

Runner shoved a spoonful of baked beans into his mouth. It wasn’t what he wanted, but beggars can’t be choosers. So, he forced them down his throat and swallowed a mouthful of water. He was a slum dweller. He knew it did not matter how bad a food might taste as long as it filled his stomach, which was all that mattered.

Legion had led him into a tunnel below the university. A terrible air lingered down there, stale but harmless. As he sat on the floor, scrapping for more beans he apparently hated, the grim faces of weary watchmen lingered before him.

Legion had told him that the men served as watchers to Last House on the Left. All day long and terrible nights, they manned their outposts, eyes keen on mutants who strayed towards their home. Their fingers were always on triggers, ready to repel those they considered unclean, but mutants were not the only problem down there.

Runner threw away the empty can and raised his gaze to the sound of light footsteps ahead. Legion was coming in the company of a woman and a man. She seemed to have let go of her black cloak and, instead, wore a white vest and black leather pants that revealed her shapely figure. Her dirty blonde hair was set loose to scatter at her back, and her eyelashes seemed like they were thickly darkened by eye pencils, or maybe that was her natural look. He could not tell.

“Come on,” she said, stretching an arm towards him. “The mayor wants to see you.”

Runner grabbed her arm, and she helped him up.

“Mayor?” Runner said as they walked. “What happened, Legion? You have a mission to complete. Where is Slim Jim or your friend, Big Eddy? Why are you with these people?”

“These people saved my life, okay!” Legion snarled.

Runner turned around to stand opposite her and began to walk backwards. He stopped suddenly, boldly using his right arm to clutch around her torso and restricted her mobility.

“Tell me everything you know,” he whispered far from the ears of their escorts.

Legion felt reluctant and struggled to free herself from his grasp, but he would not let go.

“I know you are hurt by whatever happened, but I need to know,” Runner insisted.

She stopped and grew calm, her eyes wet with tears.

“After you left, we continued down the Broken Bridge and caught up with the others. They told us you were dead. Ishmael found us again; we fought, but most of us were injured and scattered. They caught Big Eddy. Slim Jim managed to escape, but I don’t know where. I was only left alone because they thought I was dead. That bastard, Dope, saw them coming, but instead of warning us, he lied he was going to fetch some wood for fire and he never came back.”

“How many were taken?” Runner asked.

Legion wiped tears from her eyes. “Only Eddy. He was fat and slow, but he was a nice young man, and I promised him I would have his back. They sold him to slavers heading for somewhere called Cranefields.”

She paced about in unease. Runner grabbed her by the arm, and she leaned upon him, settling her chin on his shoulder as she tried to tame her tears. He wrapped his arm around her and brushed her hair gently.

“We will find him, I promise you. We will find him,” he said softly.

Legion pulled herself away from his shoulder. She looked like a dreamer forced to snap into reality. “Just so you know, I don’t always cry like this. I reserve my tears for people of—”

“I know,” Runner cut in. “Tough girl, right?”

Her lips curved into a smile, and she began to walk down the tunnel. Runner followed her quickly.

“Section 5, huh?” She gazed at the red armband on his trench coat.

Runner raised his arm and glanced at it. “Kinda looks good on me. The owner isn’t going to need it anytime soon.”

The watchmen in front of them rolled away a large round stone to reveal the exit of the tunnel. Runner stepped into the open space. The atmosphere was brisk. All around him, people carried on with their lives. Children jumped around, throwing balloons in the air. Marketers shouted at customers to trade by bartering.

“Welcome to the Last House on the Left.” Legion smiled.

She continued down and Runner followed. They went past a few stalls. Something wafted towards his nose. It smelt so good, and he followed the scent with his gaze. It settled on a man that continuously turned a cooking spit over a fire, roasting chunks of meat arranged neatly on the rod.

“What are you looking at?” the man said grimly. “If you touch it, you buy it.”

“Don’t be such a dick, Alistair,” Legion said and then turned to Runner. “Come on.”

Runner followed her. He noticed that armed watchmen stood guard at every corner, watching as folks went about their business. The whole town was one big underground shelter with a mighty roof of thick concrete cast above them. Numerous light bulbs of several beautiful colours were attached to long strings that were crisscrossed above and lighted the entire shelter.

In a way, the shelter reminded him of Rat Town, not with the concrete roof, but the life that went on there. Legion led him to a checkpoint. She exchanged subtle nods with the watchmen, and they let her through.

“If I’m right”—Runner began—“you have been with them for a few days. How come you know everything, and they allow you wherever you want?”

She glanced at him and smiled. “I was born here, Runner. I grew up here, but then moved to the Bad Town, the slums of MegaCityOne.”

“I know where Bad Town is. What about your folks?” Runner expressed his curiosity, even though he did not expect an answer.

“Where are anyone’s folks? They are either dead or packed up and ran away one night when they discovered that you were just a big problem in a bad world. But mine found their deaths while fending off mutants. That’s why I’m very much welcome here.”

Legion began to climb a stair and stopped when she reached a door. She knocked in three successions. A burly man opened the door.

“Ariel Waters?” the man said.

“Yes.” Legion nodded.

“Come in. The mayor has been waiting for you.” He gestured towards the room.

Runner followed behind Legion as they stepped into the large office. There was a woman sitting at the far end, behind a round wooden table. She stood as she saw them and picked her eyeglasses from the corner of the table.

Her eyes were fixed at Runner. He didn’t find her gaze intimidating despite her hulking figure. She was a big black woman with a kind face, not to say that Runner was a good judge of character but she looked far more decent than most authority figures he had met.

The woman gestured with a handshake. “Mayor Wiggins,” she said.

Runner received it to show formality. They disengaged, and she just stared at him. It felt awkward like he owed her a large sum of money when he did not. Perhaps it was his trench coat with the armed band of Section 5 that made her uneasy.

“Ariel told me you are Runner from Rat Town and you’re part of her group sent to search for a freshwater lake.”

Runner glanced at Legion and then returned his gaze at the mayor. “Yes, it’s just as she had said. I believe if I can get to MegaCityTwo, I will find the clue to its location.”

The mayor laughed briefly. “I must admit when she first told me, I almost laughed my teeth out. There is no possible way to find a freshwater lake. Every river, stream, and lake are all contaminated, but she also told me what you did to that fool Ishmael and his gang. And also, Pope LongJaw . . . well, that one I find hard to believe.”

“It’s true.” Runner jerked forward.

“Kid, Pope LongJaw is the most dangerous man on this planet since Reinhardt Reddit. You expect me to believe you fought him off on your own?”

Runner felt his blood boil from her unintended mockery. “Look, ma’am, I’m not here to argue about my unfortunate encounters. I would be grateful if you could assist me in finding the ruins of MegaCityTwo.”

Mayor Wiggins walked back to her seat and sat down. She seemed distressed and pulled her eyeglasses from her face.

“Runner, huh? I don’t know why your name sounds familiar. I can assist you in finding MegacityTwo, but what do I get in return?”

An awkward silence followed. Runner looked to his left, right, and then searched for answers on Legion’s brightened face but found none.

“I have nothing of worth to offer you, but if I am successful, I know without doubt that your town could use a bit of fresh water. It doesn’t seem like you are doing any better than MegaCityOne.”

The mayor clasped her hands together and focused her gaze on Runner. “Tell you something, kid. Let’s save our water problem for later. Two days ago, my daughter went down the tunnel at the other side of the shelter and hasn’t been found since then. If what I heard about you is remotely true, then I will give you all the assistance you need if you agree to help me find her.”

“Sorry.” Runner turned his back on her. “I can’t be your daughter’s knight in shining armour. I have less than six days to find that lake, a little time to find something that’s beginning to sound fictional.”

“Wait!” the mayor called.

Runner stopped and turned around.

“I haven’t finished,” the woman said. “This shelter we live in holds what remains of the inhabitants of MegaCityTwo.”

Runner’s ears had caught what they had been longing for, and thus, the mayor had him in her pockets.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“MegaCityTwo was built underground to protect its inhabitants from radiation. An experiment from our Citadel of Science to contain radiation and reverse effects went wrong, causing another nuclear explosion that buried half the city. The survivors are all that you find here, and the rest are either dead or severely mutated.”

It was all starting to make sense to him. The reason why the watchmen stood guard all day and night, why radiation levels were higher in these parts, why he never saw any mutants around MegaCityOne. The Last House on the Left was just an extension of MegaCityTwo, and they were standing right on top of the real city.

“Well, it seems the paths to our goals are the same. Give me the resources I need, and I promise to find your daughter if she is still alive, of course,” Runner said.

The mayor gestured at Legion with a nod.

“Follow me.” Legion beckoned at Runner.

“One more thing,” the mayor shouted as they reached the door. “I didn’t want to say this, but you seem like a nice kid, so I will come clean. Unless you can find volunteers, I’m afraid you will be taking this journey alone. For a good reason, not even the watchmen would go into the ruins to find my daughter. Let’s just say there are things you might not want to meet down there.”

“I have seen worse,” Runner replied and continued down the stairs.

“Well, you would rethink that statement if you make it out alive.” She sat back on her chair.

Legion led him to another room. She pushed a large metal door to reveal a stash of weapons. Runner’s eyes lingered on them. He had this sudden feeling like it was a birthday gift waiting to be unwrapped.

The first he went for was a compound bow and then knives curved like scimitars. He arranged the knives into sheaths scattered on the length of his belt. Legion stuffed his backpack with water, energy bars, and more canned foods. She walked to him and strapped the backpack on his back, buckling it over his shoulder.

“What about you? Aren’t you coming?”

She shook her head. “I’ve given up on freedom. I will make my home here and banish all thoughts of MegaCityOne.”

Runner turned around and grabbed her hand. He felt her fingers warm in his grip. “I can’t do this without you,” he said softly.

Chapter Twenty-One

Take a Lesson from the Dead

It had always bugged her that she had not seen or touched her father for five years, except when he barked his orders from a large screen. Yet she had done everything he wanted and never asked too many questions.

With her fingers pressed upon a table, Olivia stared at a map that was set before her. Just across the table, stood her brother, Oliver, caught between two of his bold followers. This time, he did not wear the mask that so named him Death Throe, for he was in the company of those he trusted.

“Did you know that Sense pills are the most manufactured product in MegaCityOne?” He raised his gaze slowly until they locked with his sister’s.

“Of course,” Olivia replied.

“There is a factory in every slum colony: Rat Town, Bad Town, Flea Town, Bug Town, Mole Town . . . I can keep going. They suck the lives of those folks and pay them meagre wages. But the most troubling news is the fact that father has approved for it to be tainted with constituents that can keep people dull for days—an effective way of stopping water rioters.”

Olivia stood upright and crossed her arms over her breasts. “We must tread lightly on this. Sense pills are the only thing that detoxifies the harmful air we breathe outside our dome, despite its secondary uses. If we go too hard on it, we might end up collapsing our entire society.”

“Sure, sister,” Oliver muttered.

“What’s your plan?” she asked.

Oliver exchanged glances with the followers at his side. “Blow up the factories at the slums. Life is hard enough for those folks without big city dwellers using them for slavery.”

“Your plan sucks,” Olivia said.

“What?”

“Yes, you heard me. Your plan sucks.” She supported her hands on her waist.

She walked to a dark corner of the thick concrete hideout building. Large fancy fluorescent bulbs lined the ceiling of the room, but the light did not reach there. Oliver followed her as she had intended. She caught his jacket and dragged him towards her.

“I love you, brother, but this thick head of yours is going to get us all in trouble.”

Oliver opened his arms in contention. “Then what do you suggest, Olivia? What wisdom from that powerful brain of yours do you intend to share with me? After all, you have been the one doing the fighting, while I sit in the office of the city’s ambassador drinking coffee.”

She caught his finger and tweaked it.

“Aw!” Oliver screamed.

“Save your sarcasm for the dimwits that follow you. I’m here so you don’t do anything stupid or get Father suspicious. You remember the punishment for treason, don’t you?”

“Okay, okay,” Oliver said. “But we have to do something about this, maybe warn the people about the Sense pills.”

Olivia walked to the table and picked up Oliver’s mask. It felt like it was staring back at her. The horrible look it bore. The infamous skull that represented the face of a dead man. It was a symbolic mark of anonymity that fed off the anger of its wearer. Olivia circled her gaze around everyone in the room.

“Seven people had worn this mask before you, and all seven of them died doing what they believed in. Throughout those times, they were successful because they . . .”

Olivia paused, distracted by a girl that panicked into the room. She was breathing heavily and trying to speak at the same time. Olivia reached out to her and put a hand on the girl’s chest.

“Easy . . . take a deep breath again.”

The girl recuperated and stood straight. “They found us.”

“What?” Oliver barked.

“Spectres of Section 5, under the command of Lucan Capricorn. They’ve found our hideout.” The girl bent and supported her hands on her knees.

“Your boyfriend, Olivia.” Oliver turned to his sister. “I will teach him a lesson he will never forget. Gather everyone!” he bellowed.

Olivia grabbed his shirt to restrict his mobility. “These are spectres, not rangers. They are well organized and have the power to end anyone’s life they deem to have broken the law. It is no coincidence that Lucan brought them here. His father is the Councillor to the Citadel of Defence, and he wants revenge for the humiliation he suffered at the hands of the protesters.”

With a wicked grin, Oliver snatched his skull mask from his sister. He opened a locker and picked a grey sophisticated bow with arrows tipped with explosive arrowheads. He picked two machetes that reflected the light of the fluorescent and sheathed them at his back.

“You never asked the real question here, how did they find our hideout?” Olivia said.

Oliver leaned forward and pecked her on her right cheek. “I would hide somewhere if I were you, sister.”

He stormed out of the room followed by a few boys and girls that were part of his rebel band. A few minutes later, a boy stumbled into the room. He was tall with powerful shoulders and short dark hair. In his hands, he carried a black recurved crossbow with a scope.

“Are you okay?” His brown eyes traced her figure.

“Who are you?” Olivia stepped backwards.

She studied him carefully, noticing his silver earring. He was indeed from a wealthy family to spend so much on an unfathomable fashion.

“James Wednesday.” He gestured a handshake.

Olivia did not receive it, and they both shuddered as the room shook from the effect of a blast outside.

“You might not know me ’cause I just joined yah brother recently, but he asked me to get you safely awt of here.”

Her eyes ran all over him again. She did not trust him completely yet; he made her uncomfortable with his masculine demeanour. She took her gaze to his bulging biceps and down to the fitted grey shirt he wore that wrapped down his rock-hard abs.

This is stupid, she thought, ashamed at her unnecessary attraction to the boy that stood before her while her world was crashing down. The ground shook again, and a fluorescent bulb detached from the roof smashing into bits on the floor.

“Things getting bad enough for yah?”

“Sure.” Olivia nodded. “But my brother. I can’t leave him to fight alone.”

James walked towards her. “Yah brother will be fine.”

He walked to the end of the room and bent down to the foot of a wall. He slammed his hand twice on the wall and nodded. With a glance at Olivia, he pulled down a moveable wall, proceeded to unfasten a latch, and opened a door to a dark tunnel.

“Come on.” He beckoned. “Yah brother said yah must get to the council and stop yah boyfriend.”

“He is not my boyfriend!” Olivia snarled.

She followed him into the tunnel, staying close as he navigated through the darkness. Constant bombardment on the walls shook the tunnel, and she almost stumbled, but for James’s quick reflexes, he caught her and held her until she found her footing.

“Thanks.” Her voice was faint.

James reached to the side of his belt and brought out his torchlight. He turned it on, but the light grew dim and died.

“Give it to me.” Olivia stretched her arm forward.

He handed the torchlight to her. She waved it and hit it on her hand. The light blinked in response, and she tapped the head again. This time, it came alive with a bright light that flooded the tunnel.

“Sometimes, it just needs a soft touch.” She smiled.

He returned one and then turned to continue down the tunnel.

“Why?” Olivia asked.

James glanced at her. “Why wat?”

“You seem like you came from pretty much a well-to-do family. You have little or no reason to leave your comfortable life and take up the Liberation flag with my brother. So, why did you do it?”

He broke into a brief laughter. She hardly saw his cheeky grin in the darkness.

“Rebellion here, rebellion there. No one wants to do wat they’re told, and this is the price we pay for disobedience. We are hunted down like animals with the hunger to impose the councillor’s justice.”

He shook his head as if regretting his choices and turned to face Olivia. Their eyes locked in a heated moment of soul-searching. He sat down on the floor, and she did the same.

“Like everyone, I, too, want freedom. My folks are wealthy wata merchants who came to the big city a few months ago. They bribed the matchmaker to match me with Lolly Gallywata.”

“Lolly Gallywater?” Olivia seemed astonished. “Red-haired stone-cold bitch! She was in my sixth-grade class at the citadel’s command school. She always wears a smile like she was stung by bees on her cheek. The girl’s as mean as the beard that sprouts from her chin. Eww!”

James chuckled and almost choked.

“Easy, tough guy.” Olivia crawled to reach him and patted his back. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, and his lips curved to a smile that brightened his once tightened face. “I had someone back in MegaCityThree, my forma home. She waits for me right nah, but the laws of the council would nat hear of it. People here don’t even know that other MegaCities exist. They think the whole world is decaying with little or no one left.”

“Are there?” Olivia glanced at him.

“There are over twenty MegaCities in this region. The wasteland is vast, but at certain points, yah find huge domed cities or small sheltered colonies. I know this because I travelled as a wata merchant. Beyond the great seas, folks say that there are places where the sun can shine upon yah face, and new worlds are growing, but I’m not certain.”

Olivia hung her head, and blonde strands of her hair fell loosely over her face. “I have someone out there in the wastelands. I feel like I have sent him to his death, and the guilt is eating me. You know, at first, it was hard to let him do our dirty job. I mean, he was a slum dweller, expendable but for a good reason.”

She raised her head and threw her gaze across to James. “You must think of me as a monster.”

“Nat really.” James shook his head.

“I didn’t know him very well, but there was something about him, something that makes his face haunt my dreams. I feel like we—” Olivia paused and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”

James pushed his body up and staggered to his feet. “Tear gas. They’ve found the tunnel. We gat to get out of here, nah!”

He stretched his arm and drew Olivia up. His gaze went to their front and then backwards in wild panic. There was no one there, but she could hear footsteps coming towards them. James removed the belt that hung his crossbow over his shoulder and stretched the bow towards Olivia.

“Make it count, or we both die,” he said.

“What? I have never shot an arrow in my life.” Olivia stepped backwards.

“It’s easy, princess,” he said and edged closer to her. He reached his right arm over her shoulder and held her hands steady on the crossbow. “Point and shoot . . . point and shoot. Easy, right?”

Olivia nodded, unsure of her aim.

James began to hurry towards the exit, and she followed behind him, her grip loose on the crossbow like any other amateur. The footsteps were approaching faster. In her heart, she prayed for it to be Oliver. She knew this day would come like it had met every other rebel leader that wore the mask that named them Death Throe.

Her heart raced like the nonstop thumps of the city’s geothermal generators. What would happen if she was caught by the spectres? That would be worse than dying. The councillors would force her father to hang her in front of the entire city. It would be broadcasted on digital screens, the penalty for treason and terrorism.

“We are here,” James said.

Her heart eased to a great calmness. James forced the latch and opened the door. A blow landed on his head from the butt of a rifle. He fell on the floor, and a Spectre aimed at him. Olivia raised the crossbow and shot an arrow. It went past its mark and landed bluntly on the tunnel wall.

James slammed his foot on the Spectre’s leg to disconcert him. “Olivia, shoot him! Shoot him now!”

Olivia shot another arrow, and it grazed the Spectre’s arm, tearing through the black military garb he wore. The Spectre raised and aimed his rifle at her.

“Your Death Throe has been captured, and you shall join him soon.”

He took a step towards her. She panicked and fell on the ground, struggling to fit an arrow in the crossbow. His face folded to a fiendish grin, and then something struck into his head. Blood spurted upon her shirt as she gazed at the huge machete stuck in the Spectre’s head.

The man slumped to the ground, revealing a blue-eyed boy behind, and it certainly wasn’t James Wednesday.

“Who are you?” Olivia muttered as the blood pooled towards her.

“Troy Decker,” the boy replied and gasped for air. “Runner sent me, and believe me . . . it wasn’t easy tracking you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Fellowship of Nine

No one wanted to risk their lives and go down the underground ruin that had been known as MegaCityTwo. It was not cowardice that stayed them, but the walls of the city still held horrible memories that were fresh in their hearts. Runner had not been there to witness the fall of a growing utopia. He was only a toddler then, but now, he must delve into a place that all men feared.

His bow was strapped at his back, just at the side of his backpack. Knives were readily sheathed around his belt, and his gas mask hung at one end. He tried to summon a smile, but his efforts were futile.

He was scared.

With little luck, he had made past several obstacles, but this time around, his heart was soaked in fear. He raised both hands and gazed at them; they were shaking. No luck in the world could save him from the perils beneath the ground he stood, not if he went alone. There was safety in numbers, but he had no one, not even Legion.

“Runner, are you okay?”

Runner nodded without as much as a glance at Legion. She put a hand on his shoulder and grasped his quivering fingers together.

“You know, you don’t have to do this. You can stay here with me. We can make something of this life here in this shelter. Look around you. There is peace, love, and life.”

“You don’t understand,” Runner said. “I have been on my own since I was seven, squatting with Troy and his mom. We watched her succumb to her wounds because there was no antibiotic for treatment, just like my aunt before her, and then it was us against a broken world. We stood by as many good people died because they lacked simple things like water, first aid, and medicine . . . so, this is not about my freedom or wanting to be a hero or finding water for the big city. I have a plan that would change the lives of every slum dweller, and that is why I must endure till the end.”

Legion smiled. “Turn around. I got something for you,” she said.

He turned around and saw some familiar faces. There were many gathered before him, and he was confused. He glanced at Legion.

“Volunteers from the Remnants of Men and a few from this shelter,” she said.

“How did you—” Runner paused and turned to Legion. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“All I did was draw them here, and they heard what you said. So, it was all you not me.” She smiled again.

A grin formed on Runner’s face even as he tried to hide it, but then his gaze settled upon someone unexpected.

“Dope!” Runner pushed through the small crowd.

“Look, man. No hard feelings, alright?” Dope took quick steps backwards.

Runner got to him and grabbed him by the neck of his grey jacket. He pushed Dope to stagger backwards, and as the boy recovered, Runner’s fist landed on his face. Dope fell on the floor, and a few boys gathered around Runner and held him still.

He knew his actions ruined any sense of leadership he had established, but he did not care. He was red with rage.

“Okay, okay. I’m cool . . . I’m cool.” Runner raised his hands and wiped the dust off his jacket.

There were seven original members of the Remnants of Men. Runner recognized them by the flashing wristbands on their wrist. The rest were sheltered locals, and some had begun to leave.

“Listen. I know this is a difficult thing to do, but if we are successful, it means enough water to last everyone for decades,” Runner shouted.

“Where are the rest of us?” a gangly boy asked.

Runner gazed at the tag on his shirt to see his name.

“Jonny, right?” Runner pointed at him. “Jonny Johnson. You are the one they call Razor.”

“Yeah,” the boy answered. “Call sign: Libra,” he added.

“Don’t be proud of your call sign. It is the name of your sponsors, and all they want is for you to find the location of the lake, then they will abandon you. They are all in for themselves alone, the lot of them.”

Runner circled his gaze around them. If they couldn’t be inspired to delve into the dark city, then he would unite them in common hatred, and nothing better than the big city authority figures.

“Wynn Rivers, call sign: Helix, is dead. I found him, brains scattered all over. He was killed by a goddamn butcher, and for what? To please men who held his life in little regard. Fat Eddy Chen was captured and sold to slavers, but we have not forgotten him. Slim Jim is missing but . . .”

“But not lost,” a voice sounded from the crowd.

A boy shoved through the gathered group. His face was smeared with black soot and his grey shirt torn halfway diagonally with one half of his chest bare.

“Jimmy . . . what the hell happened to you?” Runner stepped towards him.

“Good to see you too, Runner.” Slim Jim’s arms were wide open.

“Nah . . . no hugs,” Runner joked.

Slim Jim shrugged his shoulders and turned to receive Legion’s warm embrace. When they disengaged, he went on to shake hands with the rest of the group.

“You didn’t answer my question, Jimmy,” Runner said.

“What do you think, Runner? I spent most of my life in a Section 5 command school, picked up a few things from the rangers.”

Runner sniggered.

Mayor Wiggins came towards them in the company of her watchmen. Runner’s face brightened at the thought that they were some kind of reinforcement. It would lower the risk they were about to take and even save a lot of lives. Most people showed little or no fear when in great company, safety in numbers and all that crap. Well, it didn’t matter if it was all a load of bull’s crap as long as they were willing to go down there.

The mayor stepped in front and faced the crowd.

“I know most of you here are moved by your quest for freedom. Some of you believe it is your path to find the water you seek. Others just don’t want to be called cowards, but all the same, I say thank you for this bravery. Most of my people would not go down there, not even for their mayor’s daughter. I cannot promise you gold, silver, or credit-chips, but I would owe you a debt of gratitude if you bring my sweet girl safely back to me. Thank you all.”

She walked to Runner, her face bearing a sullen pout. “I’m sorry, but I cannot force the watchmen to go with you, and they will not go down there of their own accord.”

The mayor beckoned, and a young girl came towards her. She was tall and slender, wearing a grey cloak with a hood over her head, but Runner could see the strands of red hair straying away from the obscurity.

“Sara Summers,” the mayor introduced her. “She is our most trusted scout, a good healer, skilled in combat, and most of all, a great guide. She knows the ruins, having been there once or twice, and she will guide your party. This is the best I can do for you, Runner of Rat Town.”

“Thank you,” Runner muttered.

He turned to his party. “Let’s move out!” he shouted.

Sara ran to the front and walked beside Runner. They exchanged awkward glances and never said a word. She led them past the stalls whose marketers had emptied in fear of being asked to join the expedition.

Runner caught their faces as he walked. Women snatched their children off the streets and hid inside their tents. The men stared wide-eyed, sitting around barrels of burning fires and warming their hands. Perhaps they laughed at the foolish bunch that would delve into a place where angels fear to tread.

The group halted. Four watchmen came and rolled over a large stone that sealed the tunnel to the underground ruins. It was time. Runner stepped in front. A smile grew on his face as he set his gaze upon each member of the Remnants of Men.

“Remove your dog tags,” he ordered.

They stared at him, confused, but Slim Jim removed his and brought it forth. Runner took it and nodded. The next was the gangly boy Jonny Razor, and after him, others began to comply.

Runner’s right hand was filled with tags. He gazed at the names and began to call them out. “Jimmy Slim, Jonny Johnson, Toad Cooper, Marq of Mole Town, Big Sylvia . . .”

His gaze fell on Dope. The burly boy reluctantly pulled off his chain tag and handed it to Runner.

“Dope ‘Skittish’ Davies,” Runner said and was distracted by a voice in the distance.

Legion came running towards the group. She reached them and shoved her way through, removing her tag and handing it to Runner.

“Ariel Waters,” he said and then removed his own chain. “Runner of Rat Town.”

Runner gave the chains to a member of the watchmen. “Much of our lives we’ve been given nothing. The world called us slum dwellers, only fit to eat the scraps that fell off tables of our betters, only fit to die for them to live in comfort. But today, we make a stand not for them but for our friends and families to endure. Take our tags to the mayor. Tell her we are the Remnants of Men, all of us living in this shattered world. They called us lawless, unfit for society, but we go to our deaths to quench the world’s thirst. Tell her to hang them at the centre of her town, and it shall serve a constant reminder that few went where many feared. Let them remember us, and perhaps they shall grow courage of their own to stand against the Second Coming.”

The group had begun to make their way into the tunnel. Runner inhaled and breathed out deeply. He tried not to think of the many things that waited to waylay them and strode into the tunnel.

The watchmen pulled the large stone. Slowly, the light outside died until there was only darkness in the tunnel. Everyone turned on their torchlights, flooding the hollow room with bright white light.

As the group’s guide, Sara Summers led the way. Her cloak and hood made her look like a silhouette in the light. Runner noticed the way she maneuvered past obstacles like rocks and fallen bricks. It was like her feet barely touched the ground. Her skill was present in her tracking, and so was her ability to remain silent even when others spoke so loud to undo the eerie quietness that filled the wide tunnel.

“Wait,” the girl spoke sharply.

Runner hurried to the front along with Legion and Dope. He guided his torchlight to see ferns and stunted plant life he could not recognise stretching down the dark distance. The plants bore shades of red, blue, yellow, black, and several other colours caught in something that looked like a bog.

“What is it?” Dope asked.

“It is the end of the tunnel,” she said.

“Well then, let’s march right into the ruins and find the damn freshwater lake and be out of this creepy place.”

He turned to face the group. “Come on, guys.”

“I wouldn’t be in a hurry if I were you,” Sara said. “I have been here before, and there were no reeds and ferns. Wait for me to check it out.”

“Are you guys seriously gonna listen to this girl? What can she do that I can’t?” Dope shook his head and began to laugh loudly.

“I would listen to her if I were you,” Runner added.

“Fuck off, Runner. Who made you the leader?” Dope replied angrily.

Runner jerked forward, but Legion put her hand on his chest to restrain him. Scrawny-looking Jonny Razor strode forward, not minding what they argued over. He stepped into the plants and opened his arms wide.

“You see, there is nothing to fear, you wimps,” he said.

For a moment, Runner hoped something would snatch him into the darkness and teach him a lesson, but nothing happened. The bog was not deep, and the plants reached the height of his knees.

“Satisfied?” Dope said.

The group began to leave the tunnel.

Runner stopped suddenly when he saw Sara standing silently and circling her gaze all over the place.

“Stop!” the girl screamed.

“What?” Jonny turned around.

A green vine curled around his ankle and threw him off his feet. Jonny landed on the ferns, screaming. Runner ran forward, but the vine dragged him towards a cluster of large weird reddish plant life. Runner jumped and caught his right hand. The force pulling Jonny was too strong, and his screams echoed in the ruins.

His hand was slipping away slowly. Runner tried to hold on, but it slipped, and the vine raised Jonny and threw him in the air. Something pushed through, squeaking loudly as it forced its way through other plants. It was a large plant, pink and onion-shaped.

Jonny was falling. The mouth of the plant opened like a very large jaw. He sank in, and the plant’s jaws snapped shut.

“Oh, fuck!” Dope put his hands over his mouth.

Jonny’s hand forced its way through the plant’s mouth. Runner saw it and charged towards the plant, ignoring the dangers. He caught the boy’s hand and pulled. It was a fight he was losing, so he pulled out a knife with his left hand and stabbed continuously on the soft pink surface of the plant. All that came was sticky goo spilling all over him.

The vines began to crawl towards him. He wouldn’t let go. They wound around his ankle, tightening hard, and pulled him to fall. He stretched his left hand and slashed the vine with his knife, but more crept towards him. Suddenly, someone pulled him backwards as he watched the remaining of Jonny’s hand being swallowed.

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it, I swear,” he muttered.

Legion and Slim Jim pulled him to a safe distance.

“What the fuck was that?” Dope turned to Sara Summers.

All eyes seemed to be upon her.

“Carnivorous plants,” she said. “And there are loads of them down here.”

“What?” Slim Jim folded his arms and pushed his head forward. “I have seen Venus flytraps and pitchers. This doesn’t look like one.”

“No, you haven’t seen anything like this in your life. These plants are mutated in ways you can’t imagine. Everything down here is mutated, and this is nothing compared to what you’re about to see. What? Were you expecting to find milk and honey down here?”

“And then they were eight,” Legion said ruefully.

No word could leave Runner’s tongue. He just sat on the floor, hands clasped about his knees, watching silently.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Runner trailed behind the group. His spirit was broken. Even as much as he didn’t want to show it, Jonny’s death hurt him deeply. But what was he to do? Fight a freakishly large carnivorous plant? He had never felt this way before. His legs were heavy. His head ached like there was a drummer in there, pounding continuously.

He felt guilty for urging them to come with him when he was very sure that a good number of them would never see their home again. Sacrifices had to be made. After all, he might be the one to have instigated the plan to go down the ruins, but what guarantee could he give that he, too, would make it back alive?

Legion turned around. “Are you okay back there?”

Runner nodded as sweat sprinkled off his face.

Everyone stopped suddenly. Runner raised his gaze at them, wondering why they halted.

“Oh my god! You’ve got to see this, Runner. Hurry,” Legion said.

Runner followed quickly and halted as he reached Legion. He craned his neck over her shoulder, and his eyes widened in bewilderment. They were all standing at the foot of a long and mighty bridge, supporting their figures on a handrail that ran horizontally. He shoved through them to see clearly. The bridge ran across a great chasm in the earth and connected to a large city at the other end.

He removed his hand from the handrail that supported him and descended the platform.

“Where are you going?” Dope asked.

Runner turned to him. “You can stay here if you like. I’m going down there.”

Dope ran to catch up with him. “Wait . . . wait. You don’t really expect anyone to cross this long-ass bridge, do you?”

He ignored Dope and continued towards the bridge. Sara Summers followed as the guide, and soon, the others joined, trailing behind. Runner stopped before something that looked like a tollgate. The bar was blocking him from entering the bridge.

“How do we get past it?” someone asked, and he did not bother to see who.

“Is that a joke or some kind of queer rhetorical question?” Runner said.

He detached his backpack from his back and threw it towards Slim Jim. “I will go with Sara first. If the bridge is safe to cross, we will come back and let you know.”

“I’m coming with you,” Legion chimed in.

“Fine.” Runner sighed.

He walked to the bar, wrapped both hands around its cold round steel, and hopped over. He landed on the other side and looked around.

“My bag, Jimmy,” he said.

Slim Jim threw over his backpack, and Runner caught it on both arms. Sara and Legion jumped over to meet up with him.

“If we are not back in—” Runner gazed at his wristwatch “—twenty minutes, then we are probably dead. Maybe we might get lucky this time and get eaten by some kind of weird spider mutant instead of a carnivorous plant.”

“That’s not funny.” Legion threw a stern gaze at him.

“We best get going,” Sara urged.

Buildings of towering heights loomed in the distance, caught in the great silence that lingered in the ruins. There wasn’t even as much as a squeak, but something else caught Runner’s eyes. There were trails of abandoned cars lined down the bridge. Everything looked as new as the day they were abandoned.

Not a single shattered glass. Not a pile of dirt on the bridge’s road. Not even an ash from a nuclear explosion. Something didn’t seem right.

Runner moved stealthily past several cars, being careful to let sleeping dogs lie. He could not tell what was out there nor could he see any daggers in the dark. The seed of fear sowed by Jonny’s demise still lingered in his mind, and he would rather not see another person eaten by a carnivorous plant.

He turned his gaze behind to see Legion and Sara duck as they followed him. “What exactly happened here?” he asked.

Sara exchanged glances with Legion and then turned to Runner. “Are you asking me?” She pointed at herself.

“Who else?” Runner replied.

“I don’t know the details, but the story goes that the foundations of MegaCityTwo have been laid even before the big . . . boom.” Sara moved her hands in opposite directions to demonstrate.

“You mean they knew what was going to happen?” Legion added.

“It is an underground city. What do you think?” Sara’s voice grew intense. “I could bet you twenty credits that they were somehow involved in the current state of things. Apparently, they basked in their technological advancement. After the fallout, they believed they could reverse the effect. Well, as you can see, it’s obvious how things turned out.”

“I have been hearing a lot of they. Who were they? It still doesn’t explain why the roads and cars look tidy.”

“Look, Runner, I’m just your ill-fated tour guide. Good luck figuring that out.” Sara continued past him.

She walked down to the end of the bridge, and at some point, Runner could barely see her amongst the cars. He glanced at Legion and then sprung to his feet, darting forward. He went past the cars and only stopped when he saw Sara at the end of the bridge.

She raised her hand and waved at him. “Tell the others it’s safe and clear,” she shouted.

Runner turned and waved his right arm at Legion, signalling her, and she, in turn, gestured at the others to follow.

In moments, Dope led the rest of the group onto the bridge. They dawdled past the cars, looking like labourers who had gone days without food. He could see that there was no more fighting spirit left in them, not Slim Jim nor the large girl they called Big Sylvia. Even Dope, whose mouth ran like water from a faucet, had been silent for long.

Runner stood alongside Sara and Legion, staring at the end of a towering gate that blocked them from entering the city.

“How can they call this a ruin when everything seems to be intact? It looks like its inhabitants just . . . vanished and left everything.”

Sara’s sharp eyes caught something at the far end of the wall. Runner followed with his gaze, and it settled on a broken wall with bricks scattered at its foot.

“Come on.” Sara pulled down the grey cloak that concealed her face, revealing a reddish-brown hair that fell on her shoulders.

She ran down the line of the wall, and Runner followed, keeping up with her swift strides. As she reached the felled bricks, she jumped over a stunted structure that remained of the wall without pausing.

Runner admired her agility and flexibility. She seemed like a true survivor to him. He followed her, jumping over the broken wall to the other side. He unslung his bow and held it on his right hand.

“Careful, Sara. We don’t know much about this place,” he warned.

The cracking sound of stones beneath boots urged him to glance backwards. Dope and the others made their way over. Runner turned his sight to the buildings that stood close to them. They were square, stunted, and paled in comparison to the glass towering buildings that loomed far in the distance. It looked like those that sprawled through a slum.

He walked away from the group, his gaze cast upwards, studying the different structures. He had no need for his torchlight, as light flooded the city from an artificial source that lingered above.

The geothermal generators must still be running, he thought.

Up above, there was no dome like the one that sheltered MegaCityOne. All he could see was a stark darkness that he believed to be raw earth.

He felt a warm breath on his neck and jerked suddenly, turning to see Sara standing behind him.

She raised her brown eyes at him.

“MegaCityTwo ran a caste system unlike your society that is divided mainly between the rich city dwellers and poor slum dwellers. Theirs was divided into four castes, and the lowest dwelled in this ugly buildings standing before us.”

“Doesn’t sound that different to me,” Runner said.

Dope walked past him, accompanied by Marq of Mole Town and the stout boy, Toad Cooper, so named after a childhood disease that left him with an unnatural leathery skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Runner strode in front of him.

“Look at this big city, Runner.” Dope opened his arms wide. “The dumb people left everything intact. Can you imagine the loads of credit-chips we could find in drawers and credit safes?”

“So what? You’re just going to walk in there after you saw what happened to Jonny? We don’t know what’s in there.” Runner pointed down the streets. “It is best if we let sleeping dogs lie.”

Dope turned around to face his company. “Boys, what do you think? Should we make ourselves rich or cower in fear like Runner?”

“I say we loot what we can.” Marq glanced at Toad, who nodded.

Dope moved closer and put his arm over Runner’s shoulder. “You heard that, right? I’m for the goodie-goodies of this city. You can stay here and . . . well, you have the company of two pretty girls and a big dumb one.” He glanced at Big Sylvia.

With those words, Dope went down the street holding a wrench knife on one hand and torchlight on the other. His backpack was carried by Toad, while Marq followed, prepared to share the burden when Toad tires. That was the Dope Davies Runner knew. Somehow, he still managed to play the alpha male and had those boys entranced by a symbiotic need.

Slim Jim dashed past Runner.

“Hey,” Runner called, “where are you going?”

“I’m sorry, Runner, but he has a point,” Slim Jim said.

“What?”

“Look, man, I’m for finding the water and all those shit, but a boy got to be prepared that things ain’t gonna turn out great. I gotta stuff my bag with as many valuables as I can manage, and you should come too.”

For a moment, Runner thought of joining him. He might be right. Being an experienced looter himself, he could tell there are a lot of valuable things to find in the city. Just like he had a good mind for looting, so did he have one that could tell when things didn’t feel right, and that feeling had clouded his mind since he stepped upon the bridge.

“I can’t stop you,” he said.

Slim Jim tucked his fingers beneath the straps of his backpack and dashed onwards.

Runner turned around and began to walk back to the wall. He saw a fire burning, and from the smoke, he could tell it was quickly lit from papers and carbon materials. Sara and Big Sylvia sat around it, eating their canned meals.

He turned away and made for an abandoned shed that looked like a workshop. Slowly, he opened the door to a dark room and proceeded to remove his backpack. His back ached and he frowned, pulling off the trench coat he had retrieved from a ranger’s corpse.

He held each end of his grey t-shirt and pulled it off his body. The cool air rubbed upon his naked torso, and it felt good. Runner stretched one arm and hit a switch on the wall. The lights turned on, and someone screamed.

His eyes fell upon a girl, naked and clutching to her clothes that had been drawn quickly to cover her breasts and groin.

“Ariel . . . sorry. Legion, what . . . what are you doing here?” Runner hung his head to stare downwards.

“What does it look like?” She raised her voice.

“I didn’t see anything,” he said solemnly and turned around, hurrying to the exit.

“Come on, Runner. Don’t be a stranger,” she said and allowed her clothing to fall down freely.

Runner turned around and faced her. He took gentle steps backwards. “You are not wearing anything.”

“It’s obvious. So, what do you think?” Legion put her hands on her waist.

Runner almost choked from the air that he sucked into his lungs. His blood was boiling in his veins, and a weird feeling grew in his stomach and struck him mute. He took time to calm himself; his eyes set upon Legion’s naked figure. She was offering him something that could be the best night of his life, and as much as he wanted to hold on to his sense of morality and decline, it was just too difficult to refuse.

“Nice tits,” he muttered.

Legion frowned and picked her clothes to cover her body. She walked towards Runner and slapped him on the cheek.

“A girl takes her clothes off for you, and all you say is nice tits?”

“Well, what do you want me to say? It is nothing I haven’t seen before,” Runner protested.

Her gaze narrowed as she threw a look of disappointment. “Thanks for making me look like a slut,” she said.

“Quiet!” Runner put his hand over her lips. He wrapped his hand around her waist and drew her to one end of the wall.

“You are such a tease, Runner.” She smiled in anticipation.

Runner put a finger over his lips. “Shhh!” He glanced outside. “Did you see that?”

“What?” Legion said.

He directed her gaze with his finger, pointing outside the door. There, a man dressed in a workshop coverall wandered aimlessly, staggering here and there. He was severely disfigured with an uncanny large head that looked too big to be supported by his neck.

The man staggered to a turn and faced Runner without seeing him. His face revealed a severe mutation that was the merging of two heads on one body. He looked like conjoined twins but deadly with the kitchen knife on his hand.

“Mutant,” Legion said.

“Don’t make a sound. Just let him pass,” Runner whispered. “And put on your clothes slowly. We are going to be fine as long as we don’t make any noise.”

Runner gently reached for his bow at the side of his backpack. He was about to draw out an arrow from the quiver when he heard someone yelling.

“Run! Run! Run!” He recognized Dope’s voice.

The mutated man followed the sound, staggering like a demented bull. Runner reached towards the door and peeped outside. Hundreds of mutated men and women trooped out of different buildings. Their numbers grew continuously, and all staggered towards Dope’s voice.

“Dope has killed us all.” Runner put his hands on his head.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Garden of Traitors

Legion’s hands were shaking.

“Legion, Legion . . . Ariel!” Runner shouted.

She snapped back to reality, and her vivid brown eyes went up, staring at him. Runner placed his compound bow before her and set the quiver at its side.

“Listen, I need you to cover me. I will make my way across the street to warn Sara and Big Sylvia. Don’t shoot unless they start coming after me, okay?”

Legion nodded, but her expression was blank. It was obvious that her mind had strayed to thoughts unknown to him. Runner felt her face with his hands.

“We’re gonna be fine, alright?”

She jerked backwards, pulling her face from the soft touch of his hands. “Do you seriously believe that? There are freaking . . . hundreds of them, Runner.”

“I know.” Runner nodded. “We will get the others and go back through the bridge.”

Runner brought his gaze down to her fingers that were shaking nervously. He grasped them together and raised his gaze to lock with hers.

“I have never been scared of anything in my life”—Legion began—“except for mutants. You don’t know them like I do, Runner. I’m sure most folks in MegaCityOne have never seen a mutant before, but I will tell you something. Mutants don’t bite and eat your flesh, no . . .” She laughed wearily.

“What then?” Runner seemed curious.

“They like their victims alive. They chop off the parts they like while their victim screams, and then cook them like civilized people. That’s exactly what they did to my parents. I know I should be screaming for vengeance and all that shit, but I don’t fancy getting cooked, do you?”

Runner found himself shaking his head.

“I don’t blame them,” he said. “They probably took to cannibalism because of the harsh conditions of life in the wasteland. Imagine being a mutant in this world where normal folks find it hard to survive. So, you think we should leave the others and make a run for the bridge?”

“I don’t like it any more than you, but we can’t take these mutants on our own; there are too many. Forget about the freshwater lake, Runner. Think about your life. It’s worth more than what your supreme councillor values it, you know.”

Runner took a peek through the side of the door. He looked to his right. There, a few mutants loitered around. Hundreds of them had gathered at the door of a mall in the distance, banging, hitting, and scratching at the door. He had no doubt that Dope and his company had barricaded themselves there, and he felt sorry for them.

To his left, there was nothing, only the smoke from Sara’s fire hanging in the air. She was camped just a couple of paces adjacent to the bridge. He could get there quickly and warn her, but the problem was that mutants were fast on their feet.

Every mutation in the wasteland was an effect of radiation. Most he had encountered around his home were not the aggressive bloodthirsty demons folks thought them to be. They were just malformed people. The worst he had seen were rabid men affected by an over consumption of Sixth Sense pills, but everything was different here. MegaCityTwo did not seem to be affected by radiation, and so the question remained: Why so many aggressive mutants?

Runner withdrew and squatted to reach Legion. He picked the bow he had placed before her and hung his quiver at his back.

“What are you doing?” Legion asked.

Runner sighed. “Stay here,” he said. “I’m going for Sara and Big Sylvia. I can understand abandoning Dope, Toad, and Marq, but Sara? No way. She volunteered to serve as our guide when she had nothing to gain. I have no reason to abandon her.”

He stood up and ran to the door, resting his back at the doorpost. Legion sprung to her feet and followed him.

“I’m coming with you since you have a death wish,” she said.

A smile formed on Runner’s face. He looked from the side of the door. “I count three bogies. How do we handle them?”

“Go for their heads,” Legion said.

“Why? Won’t they die without headshots?”

Legion gazed at him. “Not really. A headshot won’t give them the chance to scream.”

“Headshot it is, then.”

Runner reached for an arrow from the quiver at his back. He drew it out and nocked it on the string of his bow. With three fingers, he drew the string backwards to his cheek, but he was aiming at a wall opposite to him.

“Aim at the mutant, Runner,” Legion urged.

“Not yet,” Runner said. He breathed in. “There are three of them out there. I have to hit three targets as fast as I can. If I miss a single mark, their screams will draw the rest of them out here.”

“So, don’t miss,” Legion said.

Runner retracted his bow and lowered it downwards. His heart was beating so fast like it was going to burst out of his chest. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Everything went numb and trapped him in a realm of deafening silence—a vivid manipulation of his mind.

Something rang in his ears, a high-pitched sound. He could see Legion’s lips moving but couldn’t hear a single word she was saying. It was as if he was suffering from a concussion, but everything was projected from his mind. He was afraid. He was scared of failing. If they all died there, he would be responsible for their fate. Every survivor would know that he led a few brave people to their demise.

There was no victory in that. The only winners would be those who sent them out to these desolate lands. In a place of death and decay, inhabited by the hopeless who had no future or even a dream of one, their sacrifice would never inspire bravery. No one would remember them.

All that stood before him and his goal were deformed crazed casualties of the world before. Should his dreams die because he was unable to summon the courage to go against the merchants of death? Rhiannon would curse him from her grave. She had always been his strength, pulling him to the right path in a shady world where every child was moulded to a malicious being. If he gave up too soon, her death would have been for nothing.

Runner inhaled deeply and exhaled to calm his nerves. Every sound or noise rushed into his ears with an overwhelming force.

“Is that a panic attack?” He discerned Legion’s voice.

“I’m not invulnerable as you think me to be. Everything I have worked towards is about to come crashing down, so yes, it was a panic attack. I’m not afraid to admit my fears; nevertheless, I must face it. Take the bow.”

“What?”

“I said take the bow.” Runner passed the bow to her. “I can hit a target with a bow but not as good as I can with a pair of wrench knives.”

He drew out two wrench knives from the sheath at his belt. His back rested gently on the doorpost, and he crossed his hands over his chest with the hilts of his knives tight in each grip. The third knife was still in its sheath, but he knew what he had to do.

He steadied his breath and closed his eyes to focus with his ears at the erratic footsteps of the staggering mutants. His eyes opened, and he pushed out of his cover. His hands lunged free, releasing the knives, and stabbed into the heads of his targets.

Two bodies dropped simultaneously, alerting the third mutant, but Runner’s fingers were quick as a wink. Barely aiming, he drew free the third knife and threw at the mutant, stabbing his neck.

The deformed man slumped to the ground and struggled in death. His screams were bubbles of air because the knife sank into his windpipe. Runner walked down the street and drew his knives out of the corpses. He cleaned them on the tattered clothing worn by the mutants and placed them back in their sheaths.

Legion crept out of the shed with a bow in her hand.

“Where did you learn to throw that good?”

“Have you ever been to Rat Town? Most boys feed by winning knife throwing games.”

Runner ran back to the shed and picked up his backpack. He strapped them tight over his shoulder. “Come on, we need to get going.”

“I prefer bows,” Legion said.

“Good for you,” Runner retorted. He looked behind him to see the mutants still trying to break through Dope’s barricade.

“I’m out of here.”

He ran down the street, heading straight for the smoke that rose from Sara’s fire. His decision to abandon the search for water weighed on his mind, but he knew it was the right thing to do. To him alone, persisting in the search was worth every risk, but not everyone was as determined as him. If he should insist that they continue with the search, then he was no better than the authorities that condemned them to their fates.

The acrid scent of smoke wafted past his nose. He was near. Ducking behind a barrel that stood in front of an abandoned garage, he peeked over cars on the lane to make sure the next road was clear.

Legion caught up with him, gasping for air after a stressful scamper. She closed her eyes and held her bow to her chest.

“It’s clear,” Runner whispered.

He stood up and went past the cars, heading towards Sara’s camp. There, the fire was still alive and warm, but there was no one. Runner searched every inch of the large space and found nothing, not Sara’s backpack nor even a clue as to where she went.

Something wasn’t right.

He pulled out a bottle of water from his hydration pack, opened the cover, and pressed the bottle to spray water on the fire, smothering it. He had barely fitted the bottle back in its pack when someone climbed on his back and dug sharp fingers in his flesh.

The fingers clawed down his back. He grabbed the hand quickly. Soft long curly hairs lashed upon his face like tendrils tingling on his skin. Immediately, he knew it was a girl.

“Sara!” he screamed.

She stopped struggling at his back and came down. “Oh, fuck! Runner, I’m so sorry.”

Bloodstains remained on Runner’s trench jacket. Legion came to him with a bandage as he stripped his torso bare. She poured methylated spirit on Runner’s wound, and he closed his eyes for sharp sting to fade away. She began to dress his wound with a bandage.

Sara’s face paled. “I’m so sorry. I panicked when I saw them—a lot of them—and ran to find safety with Big Sylvia.” She glanced at the large girl beside her.

Runner shared his gaze between them, but the large girl only returned a conspicuous smile like she did every time she was being stared at. Big Sylvia had never spoken to anyone since they began their fruitless task. She had been mute since birth, and they all knew that.

“So, what’s the plan?” Sara asked.

“We’re abandoning the others and going back the way we came,” Legion answered.

Loud screams drew their gaze northwards.

Someone was running towards them, or was it . . . Dope? Runner looked again; it was definitely Dope, and he was not alone. Toad Cooper and Marq were at his side, and they came at an incredible speed.

“Mutants!” Sara yelled.

Runner’s fingers reached down to the knives at his belt, and Legion nocked an arrow on her bow. There were hundreds of mutants a few paces behind the fleeing trio, and they were leading them right towards the group.

“Do something, Runner. Do something!” Dope’s voice could be heard much closer now.

Runner’s fingers trembled at the hilt of his knife. He was confused whether to leave Dope to his fate or help him.

“We got to go. Now!” Legion screamed.

“They are too close. They will follow us through the bridge, unless . . .” Sara paused.

“Unless what?” Runner asked.

“There are explosive devices placed under every bridge that connect the city to the tunnels. They were set as a failsafe to prevent hostile entry, only to be activated at that gatepost over there.” She pointed above.

“Inside this city?” Runner said and began to jog forward. “How am I supposed to cross over when the bridge is destroyed?” He stopped.

Sara hung her head. “That’s the problem. You have only a few seconds after it’s been activated. That’s barely enough time to make it back to the bridge. I’m afraid the person that activates it is as good as dead.”

“You can’t, Runner.” Legion followed him.

Runner glanced forward to see Dope and the group of mutants had made it to the workman’s shed he had been hiding before. Just a few minutes more and they would all be overwhelmed by mutants.

“There is no time, Ariel.” He held her hand. “You guys will have to continue without me.”

He darted towards the guard post and halted as he reached the door. He glanced sideways and saw Dope and Marq halting to catch their breath at Sara’s camp. He was curious as to why they took time to stop when their lives were on the verge of being snuffed out by mutants, and then his gaze pulled back to the mutants behind them.

Someone was screaming. He saw an abandoned shoe inches away from the mutants who had clustered together like ants upon a crust of bread. A hand pushed through them, and it was quickly severed by a large deformed man wielding a rusty axe. Blood sprayed upon the walls of nearby buildings accompanied by loud screams.

“Farewell, Toad Cooper,” Runner muttered.

He glanced at Dope and Marq. “Get to the bridge, now!”

Toad’s capture served as a diversion for the mutants. Runner hurried up the stairs of the post. He walked into the control room. There were so many buttons, so many that it left him confused for a moment. His gaze struck upon a lonely red button on a yellow box. He pushed it despite having doubts, and a voice prompt began counting down.

“Ten . . .”

“Nine . . .”

“Eight . . .”

Runner turned around and hurried down to the doorway. He made it out and darted towards the bridge. With the ragged growls behind him, he was sure there were mutants following, but he ran as fast as he could. The bridge would explode at any time. He stepped upon it, a few paces behind Dope who was heading towards the end.

Boom!

An explosive went off behind him, following consecutively as they were arranged from one end to another. The force pushed Runner to the side of the bridge, and he tripped off the handrail. Dope stretched his hand and caught Runner.

The bridge was unstable. It shook erratically as the explosions grew aggressive.

Runner looked down and saw the great chasm enveloped in darkness. “Don’t let go,” he said.

Dope’s face squeezed from the strain his arm was subjected to. “Sorry,” he said.

He let Runner loose, but the explosion tore through the bridge forcing him down the chasm along with Runner. They plunged deep down into the darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Councillor’s Justice

The matchmaking ball was one day away.

Bright lights shot from firecrackers sprinkled across the night sky, spreading in colours of blue, red, yellow, and orange. It came from every zone in MegaCityOne, a celebration at the eve of the memorable event.

The lights flashed across her eyes as she watched through her window. It would have been completely heavenly if she didn’t know that it was a façade of sheer beauty, concealing true ugliness. It was a mask worn by the government of MegaCityOne—used to deceive young unmarried girls between the ages of seventeen to twenty-five and rob them of true happiness.

Most boys never complained or showed signs of dissatisfaction. Secret lounges and sex clubs sprawled the zones of MegaCityOne. The way they saw it, getting matched to a girl they knew nothing of was a small price to pay to be bequeathed the inheritance of both families.

Olivia walked to her wardrobe and pulled out her new garb. She stood in front of her mirror and began to dress. Her match to Lucan Capricorn was the last thing on her mind today. Oliver had been captured by the Spectres of Section 5 and the Council had gathered to draw his sentence.

Despair reigned unchallenged in her heart. Its evidence was projected by her expression, an obvious frown slapped upon her face. It was that feeling of falling down an endless hole of darkness and gloom. It made her feel like true happiness was far from her reach, a light at the end of the tunnel that no matter how far she reached out, the light seemed to move further away.

She styled her blonde hair to a braided bun. Her dress was a white flowing garment with a round neck, tailored to fall down like an inverted V. She stared at the mirror.

“You can come in now,” she called to the boys standing guard at the doorway.

Troy led the way in, followed by James Wednesday.

“Wow,” he said. “You look . . . mature.”

“That’s the idea,” Olivia replied.

“Wait, what do you intend to do?” Troy asked.

“What do you think? I’m going to appeal to the twelve councillors and convince them to free my brother.”

James lifted the curtains at the doorway for Olivia to go through. He followed behind her with his crossbow strapped at his back.

“Listen, Olivia.” Troy hurried to meet up with her. “I told you why I risked my life to reach you. There is a mad man out there that calls himself Pope LongJaw. He has an army of bloodthirsty scavengers heading for MegaCityOne.”

Olivia pressed a finger on her temple. “This is just too much to take. I don’t know what to do, Troy Decker. I’m sorry. I need to help my brother.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You probably think Section 5 can handle a simple wasteland piece of trash, but I know what I saw out there. Your kind lives . . .”

“My kind?” Olivia’s brows furrowed.

“Yes, your kind.” Troy continued, “You big city folks don’t know a single thing about the desolate ruins beyond your large walls. You don’t know or care that life goes on out there. But I will tell you this. There are more people out in the wasteland than there are in MegaCityOne, and Pope LongJaw has united them with just a common purpose, survival.”

“Yah know, he is right, Olivia. I have seen my fair share of the wasteland, and those folks that live awt there hav been surviving deadly storms and radiation. They are desperate and tougher than yah know.” James folded his arms.

Olivia set her hands on her waist. “What do you want me to do?”

Troy sank his fingers in a pocket at the side of his bag. He drew out a small piece of paper and showed it to Olivia. “This was a message from a Sand Sister . . .”

Olivia shared her glance between James and Troy, looking confused.

“One of the older female rangers from Section 5 tasked with gathering information by traveling deep into da wastelands,” James explained.

Olivia opened the piece of paper and read through it. “What does she mean by Second Coming?” Her gaze lifted and locked with Troy’s.

“The point is they have a nuclear bunker stocked with food rations, arms, and ammunition, enough to give Section 5 one hell of a fight. Pope LongJaw is coming. He will hit the slum colonies first, murder the men, young, and old alike, and do whatever he likes with the women. When he is done, he will proceed to MegaCityOne.”

“Have humanity degraded thus far?” Olivia’s face went bleak.

The paper dangled from the tip of her fingers and fell on the floor. James walked close to her. He sank a knee on the ground and picked the paper.

“LongJaw’s a mad cunt!” James snarled and raised his gaze at Olivia. “Forgive my language,” he said.

“No, no. He deserves it,” Olivia countered.

“Do you know what it looks like out there in the wastelands?” Troy pointed westward. “The nights are dark beyond blackness. With morning, the day grows grey like the whole world is covered in ash bearing an overcast sky. Within the building ruins, when a man thinks he has found shelter, he sits and lights his fire, only to be dragged into darkness by mutated freaks. Say what you want about Pope LongJaw; his methods might be cruel, but his idea is noble.”

Olivia and James stood motionless, staring at Troy.

“Dude, easy,” James said.

“I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry. I’m just . . .” Troy touched his forehead with his hand.

A woman came in through the doorway. She was clad in a military jacket and a skirt belted at her waist. A boat-shaped cap sat on her head, and she clasped her hands at her back.

“Olivia Patterson.”

“Yes,” Olivia answered.

“I’m here to escort you to the Citadel of Justice,” she spoke boldly.

She stepped sideways, standing with her chest raised up as if she inhaled and held her breath. Olivia thought she looked more masculine than most men she had encountered.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Spectre 451, ma’am,” the woman bellowed.

“Well, Spectre 451 or whatever, do you know where they’re keeping my brother?”

“Sorry, ma’am, I cannot say,” she replied.

Olivia heaved.

“Lead the way then,” she said, staring back at James and Troy. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You have to try at least. There are so many women and children in the slums. You must help them,” Troy urged.

The Spectre walked Olivia down a long hallway. They descended a staircase, and two guards opened a door that led them outside. The night was unusually cold, or was she feeling the chill of her own fears? Everything was crazy outside.

Citizens had gathered with banners that bore the words FREE OUR KNIGHT, and another that was written YOU CANNOT KILL A LEGEND; DEATH THROE LIVES ON.

Their chants were a racket that consumed the atmosphere. She raised her gaze to the sky where thousands of white sky lamps propelled upwards by hot-air balloons, each painted with the symbol of a skull mask. It gave her hope and warmed her heart. Perhaps the council would recognize the symbolic gestures and free her brother.

Spectres of Section 5 began to beat the protesters with batons and drive them backwards. The woman led Olivia to the front of the council’s Hall of Truth. Just as they passed a pool at the front of the building, she caught sight of a great statue depicting a bearded man that held a scale in his hands.

It was the sculpted figure of Peter Patterson, the tyrant she called her father. From her perspective, he was no different than Reinhardt Reddit, the man they were told was responsible for turning the earth to a nuclear wasteland.

They walked up the stairs to the court’s façade and went past its pillars that were the colour of bone. The main door looked like an awfully large gate. It was wide open with spectres at each side, vigilant as a hawk. Spectre 451 escorted Olivia into the room and then stepped away.

There were so many men and women gathered at the court, separated in rows by descending staircases. She walked through the middle of the gathering, her steps muffled by the long red carpet that lay beneath her feet.

She approached a podium at the centre, flanked by six councillors at the left, another six at the right and then a large screen that projected the image of her father, Supreme Councillor Peter Patterson.

The councillors were seated on a higher ground that overlooked her. Each had a microphone set at the front and two spectres standing guard behind.

An orator walked to the front of the gathering. “Olivia Patterson, as the city’s ambassador, you’ve been brought before the council to appeal on behalf of your brother, the traitor masking as the rebel Death Throe.”

“Speak,” a councillor said.

Olivia felt her hands trembling. She had spoken before a large congregation time and time again, but now she read into every contemptuous gaze cast upon her. She felt them snuffing all the confidence away from her. Her heart throbbed faster. Her blood boiled in her veins, and her skin grew prickly.

She closed her eyes to remind herself why she was doing this and then opened them as she ascended the podium.

“As a first citizen of MegaCityOne, it is my right as much as it is that of my brother to be given an advantage in matters of justice. Our fathers before us believed in equality amongst humans, something that has been missing from our society . . .”

“Do not speak to us of our ancestors!” a councillor snarled. “They were not here to see the world become a vault of madness. We built this city—this dome—with our blood and sweat, and by God, we shall protect our legacy.”

“But . . . but . . .,” Olivia stammered.

“But, but what?” another councillor bellowed. “The punishment for treason is death. Your brother was responsible for sabotaging our water reserves and thus, indirectly triggered a water riot in all zones of MegaCityOne. My son died in that riot. My only child!”

“Listen to me, you fools!” Olivia shouted. “An army of outlaws are heading this way, led by a delusional man called Pope LongJaw. This piece of paper was given to a Remnant of Men by a Sand Sister requesting with her dying breath for it to be delivered to Bob Davies, the Chief Enforcer of Section 5.”

She raised the paper for them to see. Her mother, Dr. Lysander, acting on authority as a Councillor to the Citadel of Healing gestured at the Chief Enforcer. The man went down to Olivia and took the piece of paper.

“It’s genuine. I had dispatched the ranger a few months ago to a colony in the wasteland,” the man said.

Everyone began to throw gazes at each other, seemingly restless, but trying not to panic.

A man she recognized as Councillor Gaius Capricorn stood to his feet.

“How can it be? Our surveillance proves the Remnants of Men are dead or have abandoned their fight for freedom and embraced the wastelands. We have no hope to restore our water supply, but we must kill any thoughts of uprising by answering treason with blood and then teach the savage LongJaw why his kind is destined to be waste dwellers.”

“Glorious councillors”—Olivia began—“I pray you give my brother a chance to pay for his misdeeds. Let him serve at the frontlines against the outlaws and then live out the rest of his days in the wastelands.”

“A considerable option well stated,” Dr. Lysander added with a smile.

Olivia felt a warm relief to see her mother back her up. She might be a single councillor amongst many, but no mother would want to watch her son die. In a way, everything seemed to be settled despite the outcome of the court’s judgement.

Peter Patterson cleared his throat on-screen. “We shall put it to a vote.”

There was a long uncomfortable silence, and then the orator came to the front. “We have six votes from Councillors Lysander, Flavius, Wednesday, Slim, Felix, and Goldfinger, all in favour of an exile.”

He paused for a moment. “Another six votes from Councillors Capricorn, Bells, Whitestone, Gallywater, Rose, and Claudius, all in favour of an execution. So, at an impasse, we await a last vote from Supreme Councillor Peter Patterson.”

All eyes turned to the image of the supreme councillor displayed on the large screen. Olivia couldn’t be any happier that the last vote fell to her father. He might seem the cold man at times or so distant from his children, but surely, he wouldn’t sacrifice his only son to maintain his firm authority.

A silence descended on the large hall. The supreme councillor was taking his sweet time to come to a decision.

The man cleared his throat again. “As the head of this great city, a father to all, not just my children, a keeper of peace, and an acolyte of justice, I vote . . . execution.”

“Nooo!” Olivia screamed and fell on both knees.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Rat Town Blues

The darkness was absolute. His arms were opened sideways, and the air rushed past them. Ironically, he had always wanted to try skydiving, and now he got his wish. The swoosh sound of fast-flowing air filled his ears. He shut his eyes and counted as he plunged into unfathomable depths.

With every depth covered, a scream rose like a whisper, low but sharp. Someone was falling above him—someone who could never keep his mouth shut, even when in the company of nothing but darkness and wind.

Death awaited him at the bottom of the chasm. He knew that. As much as he tried to block every thought or image that simulated his collision with rocks at the chasm’s end, they came anyway and tortured him with fear.

Runner was still falling, and Dope was still screaming. He knew at any moment his head would be crushed upon a rock and his bones grinded to dust. Perhaps he should scream like Dope Davis. That would be a relief.

Images of his home replaced every thought in his mind that bred uneasiness. The slums weren’t the filthy, nasty, pile of zinced buildings people imagined them to be. He remembered when old folks gathered around warm fires and told them stories of the world that had come before. A time when men drank coffee and read newspapers, a time of holidays and great festivals, a time when people carried umbrellas and cursed the sun for its torturous beam, a time when they ignored their mother’s goodbye kisses and jumped into school buses. Oh, they would sigh! How much they regretted taking those things for granted.

The air suddenly grew cooler, and Runner snapped out of his reverie. The bottom was near. He felt it. One quick twist, he pushed his body to dive downwards so his head would hit the rocks first and give him a quick death.

There was something glowing below. With another depth covered, he saw them clearly. Thousands of glowing plant life, and then he noticed something like a mirage.

“Water!” he screamed.

In a heartbeat, his hands plunged into the cold liquid and his body followed. He held his breath too late and water found its way into his lungs. Runner sank deeper in the river. He could see almost everything underneath, brightened by the light of numerous glowing aquatic plants. He stretched his arms and legs and pulled a stroke underwater. Slowly, he moved his body to an upwards position and used his arms to propel himself upwards until he pushed his head out of the water.

His mouth went open as he gasped for air, nearly choking himself to death. His body floated on the water, and he recuperated by breathing in and out.

The current of the water was pulling him backwards. Suddenly, something vague sprang to the surface.

“Help me!” a voice cried.

He swam closer to see clearly. Someone was struggling with the current and splashing water all over.

“Dope!” Runner yelled.

He swam with quick strokes of his hands, pushing through the currents to reach Dope, but the boy sank downwards. Runner took a deep breath and dipped himself under the water. He saw Dope plunging downwards with bubbles rushing off his mouth. Runner continued onwards until he reached the boy. He put Dope’s arms around his neck and propelled himself upwards.

Both boys hit the surface and gasped for air. The current of the water plunged them backwards with so much force that within seconds, Runner and Dope found themselves deep in water again.

This time, the water moved rapidly, carrying them along. It forced them into a hollow cave, dark and unsettling. Runner tried to swim against the currents, but it came too strong and pushed him further in. He couldn’t see anything, not Dope, not even what was ahead.

With great force, the water flushed him out of the cave and he found himself going down a waterfall that exited into a large lake.

He sank into the water, going deeper and deeper. In a moment of resolution, he summoned his strength and swam upwards until he reached the surface.

A warm sensation came upon his face. It felt good—really good. Something was odd. The surface of the lake was silvery and beautiful, and green plants resided at its bank. The air was warm, the day was bright . . . bright? He raised his gaze quickly to the sky and was briefly blinded by a bright light.

He covered his eyes and winced. Slowly, he curved his hands above his brow and looked up again.

“What the hell is that?” he muttered.

The sky was blue with chunks of white clouds scattered all over. Just at the corner of a large cloud, a bright yellow ball of light peeped shyly. Runner’s gaze lingered; he had never seen anything like that before, and it intrigued him.

A flock of birds flew past his gaze, and he watched as they went into a nearby forest of huge green trees. Runner brought his gaze down and saw something floating on the water.

“Dope,” he muttered.

He swam to the boy and pulled him out on the bank. Dope was not breathing.

Runner knelt beside Dope’s body. “Wake up, Dope.” He slapped his cheek, but there was no response.

He put his hands on Dope’s chest and began to push down, forcing pressure on the lungs.

“One . . .”

“Two . . .”

“Three . . .”

There was still no response from Dope. He used his fingers to force Dope’s mouth open. “Fuck it. I have to try,” he said.

Runner leaned downwards and used his mouth to force air down Dope’s lungs. He stood up and began to push down on Dope’s chest.

“One . . .”

“Two . . .”

“Thr—”

Dope coughed violently, forcing water out of his mouth.

“Easy, man!” Runner said.

Dope lifted his torso. “Get—” Cough . . . cough . . . “Get your—” Cough . . . cough . . . cough . . . “Get your hands away from me!” Cough. He panicked.

“I just saved your life, dickhead.” Runner cursed in anger.

He rose to his feet.

“What the hell! Why is everywhere so bright, Runner?” Dope scrambled to his feet.

Runner raised his gaze to the sky. This time he got a good view of the whole firmament. The blue sky only stretched a few miles further and before being bordered by the dull grey sky that hung over the wasteland.

“I think that is the sun,” he said.

Dope’s eyes were upwards. “I have never seen the sun in my life. I can feel it on my skin, Runner. It’s . . . warm. It feels good—really good.”

“Good for you,” Runner said as he walked to the bank.

His feet sank into pebbles as he scanned the silvery water for any sign of his backpack.

“Hahahaha, hahahahaaa!” Dope laughed, raising his arms in the air. “Water and sunlight. This is good. This is really good. We are heroes, Runner. You and I, we are going to be welcomed back to the big city with drums and trumpets. Our tables would be filled with the healthiest food. We would be given villas and matched to any girl of our liking.”

Runner shook his head as his search came futile. He squatted on the bank and watched Dope fool around. He stood up and reached his hands down to his belt. His fingers felt the knives still sheathed, and he took a sigh of relief.

“You know, Runner.” Dope walked towards him. “I only followed you underground to laugh at you after you failed. I actually thought going down there was the stupidest idea ever. But I got to say, I’m glad I did. We’re partners now, you know.”

He punched Runner lightly on the shoulder. Runner’s gaze narrowed, focused on him.

“Dude, relax,” Dope said. “By the way, how did you learn how to swim? There are no rivers in the wasteland or Rat Town.”

Runner took a step forward with his finger pointed at Dope. “All you did in Rat Town was bully scrap hoarders and take their profits of hard labour away. How would you know of any other thing? Of course, your dad made you his quartermaster in charge of the ranger’s welfare, so why not abuse your status?”

Dope charged forward, using his hands to push Runner, forcing him to stagger backwards. Runner wrapped his hand to a fist and surged forward. Dope tackled him quickly from the waist and grasped him tight. Runner used his elbow and unleashed several blows on Dope’s back. When the burly boy grew weak, Runner forced his knee upwards to knock Dope’s mouth.

The hands around Runner’s waist came loose, and Dope staggered backwards with blood on his lips.

“You can’t beat me!” Runner yelled. “You’ve never been able to.”

“You think you know everything, Runner,” Dope voiced angrily. “You think you endured a hard life, but mine is no better than yours. You had no family, but everybody loved you in all the slum colonies. You were that boy that fixed their broken machines, did their plumbing, and carried their cargoes safely across the wasteland for no charge.”

Dope paused and took quick breaths.

“As for me, my father despised me. His dream was for me to one day be a councilman, dabbling in politics in one of the great citadels. I had no patience for such things, and when I confronted him, this is what I got.”

Dope pulled his wet shirt off. On the well-built muscles at his back, scars scattered all over, a remnant of injuries sustained from a whip.

“His words exactly were: ‘The repulsive plants survive the harshest conditions. That’s why you find them in deserts and wastelands.’”

Runner turned away. “So what? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? You dropped me into the chasm!”

“And then I followed. Should I bake a pie or cry because I dropped you?” Dope opened his arms in protest.

Something rustled in the forest.

“Quiet,” Runner whispered and bent low.

“What?” Dope said.

“I said quiet. Bend down before it sees you,” Runner said.

“What!” Dope turned from side to side.

Runner focused his sight on a buck that had strayed from the forest. It was large and brown with white spots on its body. The animal nibbled on a green stalk, not knowing that two hungry fellas were about to descend with the fury bred from hunger.

Dope went down, and Runner crept forward slowly. His hand reached for a wrench knife at his belt, and he drew it gently.

He held the knife at the pointy end and aimed at his target.

An arrow came from nowhere he saw and went into the buck’s jugular. The beast fell on the ground, writhing with death throes. Blood gathered around the arrow as the buck gave up on its struggle.

“That was well aimed.” Runner seemed surprised.

“It wasn’t me,” Dope replied from behind.

Men on horses galloped towards him. They halted in front of both boys, the hooves of their horses digging into the pebbles at the bank. The men wore thick black furry coats, and their heads were shaved—all of them.

“I think we just found our ride home,” Dope said as he stepped forward.

“Wait,” Runner urged.

Something didn’t feel right.

He noticed the markings on their faces. They were painted in dual lines and bore distinct colours of blue, red, white, and black. It was not until he saw the ropes at the side of their horses that Runner was certain that he had seen them before.

“Goddamn slavers! Run, Dope, run!” Runner dashed backwards.

Beads of sweat rolled down his face as he ran to the riverbank. A scream urged him to halt, his feet digging into the soft earth. Runner glanced back, only to see Dope caught in a rope knotted around his torso. Atop his great black steed, a large man threw a rope at Runner.

As it reached for him, Runner inhaled deeply and dived into the water.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ill Met by the Jungle

Unable to hold his breath any longer, Runner propelled himself upwards. His head pushed out to the surface of the water, and he drew in air. Curiosity led his gaze to the bank, but the slavers were gone. Runner swam towards the bank. He stood to his feet on shallow bed and waddled through the water.

Something caught his eyes at one end of the bank. At first, he thought it was Dope, but as he strode forward, he saw his backpack lying half-soaked in water.

He sat beside it, tired and unhappy. His dark hair was wet and slapped to his face, his trench coat was lost in water. All that was left on him was a grey t-shirt slapped to his chest and muscled abdomen, black trousers belted around his waist, and black boots on his feet.

All were wet and uncomfortable.

The day was growing dim. It came odd to him, and he wondered why. His gaze lifted to the sky. The sun was sinking westwards, spreading crimson rays on white clouds. As it lost itself to the sky, the day grew dimmer, and it began to look like the atmosphere in the wasteland.

“This is not good,” Runner muttered.

If darkness was indeed coming, he could not tell what would follow. The jungle that stretched before him was an unknown territory, uncharted by none he knew. It was the one thing that scared him the most—the unknown. The coming darkness did not scare him, not when he had grown comfortable with the dangerous terrain of the wastelands.

He could track in the dark, but the idea of following the slavers into clusters of trees and shrubs did not seem like a good one. Old Max had taught him many things even if sometimes they found themselves on contradicting perspectives. Many thought the old man had gone crazed, talking to the engines that filled his workshop, but Runner knew he was the oldest living man to have survived every bump and bruise caused by the wastelands at seventy years old. The man had taught him to swim in the wide and fast flowing drainage outlets from MegaCityOne.

Runner walked to the entrance of the forest. He grasped the branch of a tree and chopped it with his wrench knife.

It served a long stick on his hands, but he set it down and began to sharpen the end with his knife. He fashioned the wood to look like a long spear and then stood to his feet. He was ready to continue, but there was something he didn’t want to admit to himself.

He was lost.

To find his way back home, he needed to go in the direction of the slavers. He was tired of fighting, tired of struggling, and tired of surviving. Home was the only thing in his heart. He had no will to go against the slavers, but he needed one of their horses and a path home.

Runner bent down to look at the tracks left behind by the slavers, but it was impossible in the dark. Normally, tracking in the wasteland was quite easy when he followed footprints on dusty paths to stay clear off gangs and marauders, but here, it was different. The woods smelt different. The chirping insects and glowing flies distorted his senses. The darkness did not help either, and it left him confused.

In a brief flash of anger, Runner buried the head of his makeshift spear into the soil. The woods were different. The air there was clean, and its scent was a combination of flowers’s fragrance and weeds. No smell of death and decay that filled the wasteland. The sound of flowing waters, the chirps of insects, and the soft earth beneath his feet—all calmed his nerves as he listened. He walked to a green plant stalk and broke a fleshy branch.

All he had to do was to break through the barriers that obstructed him, and so he set out to do so. One thing he was sure about tracking was that while vision was important, a calm and combined sense of smell, taste, and hearing all came together to create intuition. But first, he needed to overcome the darkness and learn the landscape.

He brought the fleshy branch to his backpack and set it down. His hands went into the bag, searching for resources he had gathered from the Last House on the Left.

“Found you,” he whispered.

He drew out the oil reserved for fuelling the woods that heated his cooking spit. The next he went for was a roll of toilet papers.

“Oh god.” He sighed.

The paper was wet from being soaked in water, and that proved to be a setback. Runner grasped the end of his grey t-shirt and pulled it off his body. The shirt seemed to have dried up a bit, and so he wound it over the tip of the fleshy branch to serve as a wick until it looked like a Q-tip. He soaked the head with the oil and then sunk his hand in his pocket.

His matchstick was wet.

Runner held the box in his hand and slammed it angrily on the floor. He walked to it and stamped his foot upon it again, again, and again until it was flat on the ground. He was tired of everything, frustrated by the life he was born into. Why couldn’t he sit on a beautiful night and dine on exotic meals like other kids in MegaCityOne? Why couldn’t he lie upon a soft bed on a cold night and cuddle tightly to soft pillows? Why couldn’t he stand upon the city’s highest tower, mourning lost loves and dream of better kisses to come?

Must he wake up every day to a bundle of rods he called his bed? Must he fight every day to survive on a meal a city dweller would feed to his dog? If he had the power to change his fate, this would be the time. Perhaps that was what he had been fighting for—to change his fate and that of many others. The lake was the key to everything, and for that, he must make his way back. He must survive to the end. The lake would change everything, but it all came down to him. What must he do?

A piece of rock stood a stone’s throw away from him. It looked like gravel, but he did not care. He picked it up and drew a wrench knife from the side of his belt. Holding both on each hand, he walked over to the fleshy branch he had attached to a wick and then squatted before it.

He struck his blade on the rock, but there was nothing. He struck again, this time harder than the first, and a fleck of fire dashed away but missed the oiled wick. Runner held tight to the stone. He raised his knife and struck harder, and tiny sparks of fire scattered like one from a welder’s rod. It caught the wick and it came alive, bright and burning.

Runner had his torch, and he lifted it up with a smile on his face.

There was no time to waste; he was hungry. It was either to eat the canned foods in his backpack or go in search of game, but he hated canned foods. Perhaps there was a way to kill two birds with one stone.

Runner used the light from his torch to see the shrubs and undergrowth. He noticed the broken plant stalks made by a forceful entry. It was definitely the way the slavers must have gone through, and he followed the trail southwards.

The undergrowth made mobility difficult. The woods were not a thick jungle of clustered trees and shrubs. Rather, it was filled with hardwood and grassy undergrowth scattered all over. He found it difficult as he had never encountered such terrain, but he endured nonetheless.

His backpack burdened his back and sometimes got stuck on a tree branch, and then he would turn to pull it out. The torch lit his way through the woods. It seemed to be dying. Runner stopped. He had lost the trail. He shivered from the cold air that kissed the skin of his naked torso. His eyes scanned the shrubs, searching for footprints or broken stalks, and then he heard it.

Grrraaawr!

The loud roar echoed repeatedly behind him. It reawakened his senses. Runner turned side to side, pointing his torch in every direction. He didn’t see anything but darkness where the light did not touch.

The roar came again. This time, he could feel the sprinkles of saliva on his neck. Runner turned as quick as the fear that grew in him and was met by the slash of a paw across his torso.

He fell on the grassy earth, writhing in pain. A flesh wound in the form of five claw marks sat across his torso, a laceration that bled slowly. The wound was the least of his problems. Runner gazed at the animal with such fright. He knew this animal—a bear, such as one he had seen in captivity.

It was a great brown bear that stood on both feet. Its roar bore anger, or was it hunger? He could not tell. One thing he was certain was it fell to kill or be killed.

Runner crawled away with both hands and feet. The bear was surprisingly fast for its weight, but Runner escaped another swipe of its paws. He crawled faster past the protruding roots of trees, and something pierced his knee. He winced, letting out a loud shriek. His hands went underneath his knee, and he felt the stone that had pricked him.

He raised his gaze and saw a cave with water streaming down the mouth. With a quick glance backwards, he saw the bear gaining on him. Runner stood to his feet, carrying his torch and makeshift spear. He ran towards the cave, and without noticing, he stepped upon a slippery stone and lost his footing.

Bam! He landed on the ground with his back and could swear he heard something snap.

His finger was dislocated. God! He couldn’t believe how much pain that came from such a small thing. The bear growled as it came towards Runner, charging on all fours.

“Fuck it!” Runner spat.

He grasped his dislocated finger. In one quick twist . . . one sharp pain, he pulled it back to its place. “Awww!” he screamed.

He could hear the ground around him trembling from the bear’s movement. It was close and too late for Runner to make an escape. Runner crawled to the wall of the cave. His eyes went upon his spear and an idea grew in his mind. He did not need the strength of ten men to kill a large bear. Rather, he needed the strength of the bear to be the agent of its own demise.

The bear was a stone’s throw away from him.

His heart was pounding so fast in his chest that it felt like bursting out. Runner picked his makeshift spear. He wedged the blunt end at the angle where the wall of the cave touched with the floor, and as the bear came upon him, it charged into the sharp end, driving the tip of the spear right into its neck. Warm blood trickled upon Runner’s hand as he listened to dying moans of the great animal.

Life fled slowly from it until its eyes were wide open and throes was heard no more.

Runner crawled away from under the animal’s furry body. His racing heart calmed, and he inhaled deeply like he was going to finish all the oxygen in the world. He couldn’t believe that his idea worked out perfectly, even when it was a leap of faith he had no choice but to take.

He would have been dead by now, another piece of meat to feed a wild animal. No amount of karma could help anyone survive that far from his home. But it seemed nature wanted him to succeed. Perhaps nature had chosen its champion, or what it wanted was a liberator.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fever Dreams

The little boy ran into a room dimly lit by a dying lantern. A rabbit hung from a rope slung over his shoulder, and at his back, a quiver rested beside a bow. His face was wet with sweat, and his hand trembled from fear.

“Come here, you little piece of shit!” An elderly man staggered into the room.

His thick black beard was mixed with grey streaks of hair, and his eyes bore his drunkenness in keen. The man flipped a penknife and stood behind a large table that separated him from the boy.

“Give me that rabbit, Runner,” the man said.

“But I want to trade it for food; it is all I have left,” the boy replied.

The man climbed upon the table, pushing forward to reach the boy. Runner ducked and crawled underneath it to the other side. He stood up and shook the table. The man lost his balance and crashed to the ground.

“You bastard, I’m going to flay you alive. I’m going to remove your teeth while you scream. That rabbit belongs to me. Give it to me or pack your things and go live in the streets.”

“Whatever, you worthless loser! I’m tired of seeing your ugly drunken face anyway. You want my rabbit so you will gamble it off in Mekkel’s bar, but you won’t have it.” Runner stepped backwards slowly.

The man scrambled to his feet and charged forward. Runner turned around to take off, but his feet got stuck on a cable that ran down the floor, and he fell to the ground. He tried to crawl to safety, but the man sat upon him and unleashed several blows on his face.

“I told . . . I told you I will skin you alive, you stubborn piece of . . .” He unleashed another blow.

Runner encased his head in the protection of his hand to defend himself from the blows. The man did not shy from tussling with a boy of eleven, but Runner understood the way things were. Tired of taking the blows, Runner sacrificed the protection of his face and instead used his right hand to reach for a knife at his belt.

He drew it and stabbed the man on his thigh. Blood spurted and the man screamed hard. In a fit of anger, he seized Runner by the throat, keen on choking the boy to death, and it seemed to be working. Runner struggled to breathe as the hand tightened further. Something struck upon the man’s head with a loud thud, and he pulled away from Runner.

Runner’s gaze went upon a green-eyed ebony-skinned girl with dark wavy hair. She was standing over him with a bat on her hand.

“Are you okay?” she muttered, staring at Runner.

The man recovered. He grabbed her suddenly and pinned her on the wall. “I’m going to show you what we do to pretty little girls like you.” He reached down his waist and unbuckled his belt.

Runner stood to his feet. He charged forward and leapt upon the man’s back. “Leave her alone, you pervert!”

The man shook his back persistently to unbalance Runner and throw him off. He stretched his hands backwards to grab him, but Runner reached for his head and, with a hard bite, tore half his right ear. The man screamed. There was so much blood. Runner spat the flesh as he fell on the floor. He picked the bat and slammed it on the man’s head, sending him to fall unconscious.

“Let’s get out of here.” He glanced at the girl. “He’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up.”

They both ran out into the streets of Rat Town. The girl led the way and took Runner past stalls of butchers, marketers, and noisy barterers. They stopped at the foot of a small shed.

“Is he your father?” the girl asked as they sat down.

“No.” Runner shook his head. “He is just some weird dude that lets me sleep in his store room if I pay five credit-chips a month.”

“What about you parents?” the girl asked again, looking straight into Runner’s eyes.

He smiled sadly. “I don’t know. I lived with my aunt until she was arrested by rangers for hunting in the government’s reserved wilds a few months back.”

“Sorry.” She hung her head. “You can stay at my place if you want.”

Runner nodded. “Sure, if it’s no trouble.”

“My name is Rhiannon.” She gestured for a handshake.

“Runner,” he replied. “Runner of Rat Town.”

***

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Runner felt a sting from a slap on his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes to blurred faces looming over him. They were hardly recognizable, but he picked up paints of blue, white, and red, then there was someone . . . familiar.

“Rhiannon?” Runner muttered.

“No, it’s Makiki, motherfucker!” a voice replied.

The butt of a knife grew larger as it zoomed in on Runner, and then a heavy blow landed on his head knocking him back to utter darkness.

***

Runner opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the beautiful sunlight piercing through the tree leaves. Birds whistled from the branches above, and the wind sailed gently past him. He looked to his left. There were men wearing leaves and bone fetishes over their grey cloaks. They had oval faces with clay smeared all over their skin.

He turned to his right. There, the men carried the bear he had killed on a long pole resting upon their shoulders. Quickly, Runner glanced above and saw his feet and legs tied to a pole carried by four bulky men.

“What da . . . Let me down!” Runner yelled.

He wriggled hard, but his hands and feet were tied tightly. His heart began to race rapidly. The first thought on his mind was that they were cannibals, but that would seem illogical as they lived in a forest teeming with animal life.

“Hey! Hey! Where are you taking me to?” He glanced around.

The men marched onwards through thick shrubs and undergrowth, past thin-leaved conifers and shallow streams whose stones were visible from the bed. They hummed a song in a rhythm unknown to him. Runner gave up struggling. His muscles relaxed as he hung like a deer from the long pole. His wounds itched at his torso. He wanted to scratch it badly, but it was impossible.

“Can I, at least, take a piss?” he shouted.

The men did not answer him.

Runner hissed, and then he felt a cold wave of fear down his body. They were approaching something that looked like a village, but Runner barely concentrated on what was ahead. How could he? Something else caught his attention. Something made him nervous. The path that led to the village was lined with poles, and on them were tens of headless men tied upside down.

Runner noticed the clothing on the dead men. It was thick black outfits that seemed to be made from animal pelt, and it looked exactly like those worn by slavers. As they moved further, he saw the separated heads mounted on pikes. His heart raced continuously. He was sweating on his face and on the palm of his hands.

He felt so cold despite the warmth in the jungle. All he could think was what the clay-skins wanted with him. Do they kill for fun? Or perhaps it gave them joy to watch headless men hanging from poles.

One of the men stopped before the corpses. He unzipped his pants and laughed as he pissed at the foot of a pole.

“I fucking hate slavers. You gotta admit they look kind of cool without their heads.” The man laughed briefly. “They think they are at the top of the food chain, but they made a mistake coming this way. Out here, we are the top dogs. Our leader, Makukku, made sure of that.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Runner bellowed.

They set him down at the village square. All around him, he saw houses built like tents and more clay-skins camped around fires, skinning their hunts. Smoke rose from a great fire built quickly beside him. For a moment, he thought he was about to be roasted for food, and then he heard a loud thud as something hit the ground.

He saw the large brown bear he had killed lying lifeless beside him. Three men came with knives, and he was so glad it wasn’t meant for him.

Two hands grabbed his shoulder suddenly, dragging him forward. His boots left a long trail of marks on the soil. A double door opened, and they pushed him in. Runner rolled on the floor and then found his footing. He stood up slowly, scanning the room with his eyes. There were stuffed animals’s heads displayed on the walls, and at corners. It looked like a horrible attempt at taxidermy. A large fat man sat on a chair at one end. He wore a wolf pelt with the head of the animal serving as cowl, and a necklace of small animal skulls hung around his neck.

“So, you’re the one who killed the bear we’ve been tracking for days?” His voice sounded like a rumble of thunder.

Runner shuddered.

“Makkuku?” he said weakly.

“Yes, I’m Makkuku, the king here in this jungle where we are free from the laws of your governments and the ridiculousness of your domed cities.”

“Have you been to the wastelands?” Runner asked.

Makkuku chortled. “I have travelled everywhere. I have seen it all, even your desolate land where the sky is forever grim and allows not a single light from the sun, but you are not asking the right question. So, tell me. What do they call you, little man or bear killer?”

“Runner,” he answered. “They call me Runner. Why does no one know that there is a lake, a jungle, and even sunlight here? Why is this place not on any map I know?”

Makkuku stood up from his seat and came down a short step. “I’m guessing you saw the headless slavers on the poles. Our home is our treasure. The jungle, the lake, and the sunlight—they all belong to us. We cannot allow any outsider to bear such glorious news away from our borders.”

“So, you kill them all. You kill all who have seen the sun or lake.” Runner began to step backwards.

“I’m sorry, little man, really. I was so impressed when I heard a boy killed a bear that weighed five times his size, but I can’t risk your government storming into our lands and claiming our treasure. Take him away,” Makkuku ordered.

The men grabbed Runner’s hands.

“I’m doing you a favour, Runner. An army of wastelanders are storming towards MegaCityOne. The bigot, Pope LongJaw, made me an offer too, tempting me to join him. I want to protect my treasure and my people just like any man would. I hope you can understand, little man. You will be safe here, and one day, you will thank me for saving your life.”

“No, please!” Runner screamed. “I can make you a counter offer, please!”

They led Runner outside and threw him into a dark cage. It stank of dried urine, and straws of hay prickled his bare skin, making him uncomfortable. He touched his torso with his hands and felt the scar left by the bear’s claws. Turning on his side, he tried to position his legs for comfort, but instead, he poked on something soft.

“Mind your feet, friend,” a voice rose eerily in the darkness.

Runner knew that voice. It was something he could never forget. “Dope?” he whispered.

“Runner,” the voice returned. “Holy fuck! I was already planning how I would bash your skull with a stone for abandoning me to the slavers.”

“Runner, is that really you?” another voice sounded.

“Who is here with you, Dope?” Runner asked.

“Fat Eddy Chen and . . . Ishmael,” Dope answered.

“Crazy Ishmael? You are here with a goddamn cannibal.” Runner charged forward in the darkness, but Dope held him back.

“Listen, Runner, we have a plan to get out of here. We need Ishmael,” Big Eddy said.

Runner paused for a moment. “You do remember he was the one that sold you to the slavers, right?”

“And then these clay-motherfuckers rescued us,” Dope snarled, “only to be thrown back in a cage. I will kill them all when I get out of this shithole. I will kill them all, I swear it.”

“Easy, Dope,” Big Eddy whispered.

“So, what’s this plan of yours?” Runner asked. “Pope LongJaw is heading towards MegaCityOne with an army of rapists, murderers, and hungry men, just as I predicted. We have to do something.”

“No, not an army. Legions of them,” Ishmael said. “LongJaw came to my sanctuary and enticed my gang of man hunters with promises of riches. Those traitors beat me to an inch of my life and then sold me to slavers.”

“What did they—”

“Quiet,” Ishmael whispered. “She is coming again.”

Runner looked outside. A young girl was coming with a bright lamp on her right hand. On her left, she carried a tray of food. As she came closer, the illumination grew brighter, and Runner saw the faces of his companions.

“Open the cage,” the girl ordered a guard at his post.

He opened the cage.

“You can leave now,” she said and the guard left reluctantly.

She bent down and leaned towards Runner. “You must be hungry. Have some food.”

Runner raised his gaze at her. She was clothed in a garment of wool tied around her breast and waist, and her black hair fell like a waterfall.

“Thank you,” Runner whispered.

“Can I check your wound?” She put her hand on Runner’s torso. “I’m sorry you have to endure this. My Da is a good man. He just doesn’t want anyone to take away everything he loves.”

“I understand.” Runner nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of meat. He shook his head. “Who would have thought bear meat tastes this good? But . . .”

All of a sudden, Ishmael put a string around the girl’s neck and tightened it hard. She choked violently and struggled to get free. Runner reached forward to knock Ishmael away, but a hard blow came upon his head and he dropped to the ground. He saw Dope looming over him through blurry sight.

Runner heard the girl convulsing as Ishmael strangled harder. Her feet shook persistently, and then it calmed. Her body dropped to the floor, vibrating in spasms, and then Runner saw the light go off her wide-open eyes.

“The things we do to survive.” Ishmael breathed heavily.

Dope knelt beside Runner. “I hope you can understand, Runner. We did what we had to do. It was either them or us.”

Runner’s hands tightened to a fist in fury. They just murdered Makkuku’s daughter—an innocent girl—but it was too late to throw blame around. He had to escape, or it wouldn’t matter who did the deed when the clay-skins found out.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Enemies at the Gates

There was a time he could tell that someone was going to die. This time, it was different. He felt it as a sudden uneasiness tickling down his body. It was natural to predict a death in Rat Town because it had achieved such rising infamy. It was bound to happen as a mauling in the wasteland, poisoning by radiation, execution by a ranger, starvation, dehydration, or infection from a wound.

Troy leaned upon a handrail. His decision to stand guard at a watchtower that bordered the large gate of MegaCityOne gave him an aerial view of the wasteland. Every moment, he hoped he would see Runner returning with the Remnants of Men, or Rhiannion returning in one of those military trucks with the Rangers of Section 5. God! How much he missed her. To see her face after a hard day’s job was always the best part of his day. Every passing minute reminded him that she would never walk through that famed gate and now his friend, Runner, might have shared her fate.

A young boy, no older than him, manned the tower’s great search-light, turning it around to keep watch. Meanwhile, an older ranger sat at a corner, puffing white smoke from his mouth, and a half-burnt cigarette rested between his fingers.

“I would kill for a drop of water on my tongue,” the old ranger said grimly.

“Tell me about it,” Troy replied.

The younger ranger turned the search-light heedlessly. “This job sucks,” he hissed.

Troy rubbed his hands together and exhaled an icy breath. It was a cold night. He was thirsty, and so were half the slum dwellers since it was proclaimed that a gallon of water should be consumed per family in a day.

All he wanted was to be on his warm bed, but since news of LongJaw’s coming went viral, no one had been the same. A faint light grew in the distance. Like an oasis surrounded by a desert, it was overshadowed by darkness, but Troy knew someone was coming.

“Hey, Bravo.” He tapped the young ranger’s shoulder. “Turn the light over there.” He pointed westward.

The young boy did as he was told, and Troy looked downwards. Someone was trying hard to send a message across to the tower. He could only see a vague figure, and the words echoed in the dark.

Troy turned to his company. “Everyone, quiet.”

He listened again.

“Open the gates . . . open the gates!” He heard the voice clearly.

“Marq?” Troy muttered.

He turned to the older ranger. “Tell them to open the gates. The Remnants of Men are back.” He leaned on the handrail. “Open the gates!”

Troy used a long ladder at the back of the outpost and slid down the watchtower. His feet landed gently on the hard ground, and he ran towards the gate.

The rangers had opened the gates, and a group of weary boys and girls walked in lazily.

“Marq of fucking Mole Town,” Troy bellowed. “I never thought I would see any of you again.”

Troy locked him in an embrace. His eyes scanned the group, searching excitedly for Runner, but he did not see his friend.

“Where is he? Where is Runner?” Troy asked.

The roar of engines sounded behind him. He turned around and saw two military Humvees marked with the insignia of Section 5. The vehicles halted, and the doors opened. Rangers cleared slum dwellers from the path to allow a man to walk through. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and wore a military vest over it, and a face cap rested on his head.

Most folks knew him as Dope’s dad, as the boy never failed to remind those that crossed him. He was Bob Davis, the Chief Enforcer of Section 5.

The man strode with commanding footsteps and halted before the group.

“Identity?”

“Ariel Waters, 7th of the Remnants of Men.” A girl stepped forward. “Call sign: Legion.”

The chief’s gaze lingered on her. “Welcome back home, Legion,” his deep voice sounded.

He circled his gaze around them. “You beat the odds in a place of death and decay. I hope to report the success of your mission to the supreme councillor.”

“That would be a wrong deduction, sir,” she spoke loudly.

“You did not find the lake?” the chief asked sternly.

She paused, looking at all the hopeless gazes of hundreds cast upon her.

“There is no freshwater lake. There never was. We spent the lives of so many, searching for a figment of imagination. Jonny Johnson, Wynn Rivers, Toad Cooper, Big Eddy Chen, Dope Davis—” Legion paused and wiped the tears that filled her eyes “—Runner of Rat Town. They all died for nothing.”

Troy felt a sharp pain through his heart as he heard Runner’s name. There it was—the news he feared to receive. He always told his friend that their body was just a sack of blood, meat, and bones. There was only so much it could take, but Runner never listened. He always had to be the brave one and never thought of the consequences.

Gone are the days they looted copper wires in the wastelands. Why must life always get so complicated? Why couldn’t its simplicity endure forever? It was better when all they had to worry about was their next meal, when they dreamed of gaining passes into MegaCityOne or played the bravest adventurer with Rhiannon.

The Chief Enforcer cleared his throat. “Come with us. Your fates will be decided by the Council.”

“Hold on,” Legion said. “You have bigger problems.” She sighed deeply.

“What?” The man turned around.

“An army of marauders are just an hour from reaching our gates.”

“You mean LongJaw’s band of rapists and murderers?” he asked.

“I think so.” Legion nodded.

“Sound the alarm! Sound the alarm! Enemies at the gate! Sound the alarm!” a young ranger shouted from the top of the watchtower.

Slum dwellers went into a wild panic. Troy watched as the rangers mobilized themselves. The Chief Enforcer barked his orders, and the rangers carried them out. They opened up the door of an armoury located at the foot of the outpost.

Rangers flocked behind the gates with their weapons held in their ready grips. Others attempted to calm the mass of fleeing slum dwellers, leading them to Gate-Two that served as an entrance into the metropolitan area of MegaCityOne.

“You.” The chief pointed at Troy. “Gather every male, young and old, that can wield a weapon. Get them here now!”

“I’m not a ranger, sir,” Troy countered.

The chief tore out a badge that bore the insignia S5 on the shoulder of his military uniform and threw it at Troy. “You are a ranger of Section 5 now.”

Troy pinned the badge to the shoulder of his jacket. He began his descent into the bowels of the slums, running past shops that had been left unoccupied by their scared owners. He saw a group of scrawny looking men looting valuables, jewels, and canned foods.

“Hey, hey, the fight hasn’t even started!” he yelled.

The men fled as they saw the badge on his shoulder.

“That’s right. Run, you goofballs!” he shouted.

Troy continued onwards, and then he halted suddenly. A large crowd had gathered at Gate-Two that led to the safety of the big city. They were screaming, pounding, cursing, and begging to be let in. The guards at the watchtowers that stood at each end of the gate turned deaf ears.

War or not, they would never let anyone in without a pass card. The supreme councillor would never risk a surge in the population of his big city. Troy knew this for certain. He watched a man step forward and raised his hand to calm the crowd.

“The rangers are not enough to protect us. We need the spectres. Let the councillors send the spectres to crush the madmen at our gates. We pay our taxes, don’t we?”

“Yes!” the crowd bellowed, raising their hands in the air.

“Are our lives worth less than those in the big city?”

“No!” the crowd bellowed.

“Are our children inferior to those in the big city?”

“No!” the crowd bellowed.

“Let us through or send the spectres to protect our children, our farms, and our factories,” the man cried out.

“Let us in!”

“Let us in!”

“Let us in!” the crowd chanted.

They hauled big stones and threw them at the guards at the gate towers.

“This situation is hopeless,” Troy muttered.

Sooner or later, the guards would shoot them all at the gate, and no questions would be asked. It was just the way things were. The supreme councillor’s word was law, nothing anyone could do to change that. He thought of getting a message to Olivia Patterson, but even the poor girl couldn’t save her twin from her father’s wrath.

A group of rangers ran past him on a path that led to smaller gates which he had used to sneak into the wasteland with Runner.

“Bravo,” he called to the young ranger. “What’s the news at the gates?”

“Traitors have left the small gates open for LongJaw’s armies. We are heading there now,” the young ranger replied.

“I’m surprised it took so long for someone to cut a deal with the enemy and save his own skin. I might have thought people aren’t getting shittier in Rat town.” Troy laughed.

“We . . . we . . . we’re so fucked!” another ranger stammered.

Troy ran to catch up with them. He followed the rangers through a large metal door that led into the guardhouse of a small gate. The Lead Ranger leaned to reach a surveillance computer and checked on the gate.

“They are swarming in. We need to hold them off and give the chief time to set up guns at the main gate,” the ranger said.

“But we are going to get support from the spectres, right?” Bravo asked.

The Lead Ranger hung his head down.

Troy gazed at the young boy. “There is no support coming. The rangers are the only line of defence allocated to the slums. Once they’re breached, I’m afraid not a single Spectre will leave the big city to help us.”

“But my Pa and Ma are here in the slums. They can’t just die like that!” Bravo yelled.

“Seize your balls, Bravo,” the Lead Ranger snarled.

Troy put his right arm over the boy’s shoulder. “You see, all the helicopters and big guns are in the big city. They left us to fight with bows and arrows, but we will survive this. We have survived worse things than this because we always work together, right?”

“Not really,” Bravo retorted. “It has always been every man for himself in the slums. No one gives a shit about his neighbour.”

“Smart boy.” Troy sighed. “Well, let’s do away with that mentality today because if we don’t, we’re all gonna die horrible deaths.”

“Brothers!” the Lead Ranger bellowed. “This is it. We fight and die together.”

“God! This is not going to end well,” Bravo muttered.

Troy studied Bravo carefully. He was only fourteen, and his hands were trembling terribly. He was sweating in the cold, and his body was vibrating.

The boy raised his gentle brown eyes at Troy. In him, Troy saw a reflection of himself, a kindred spirit. He was no different than Bravo, as both of them just wanted to live peacefully in a shattered world.

“I have never been in a battle before,” Bravo said weakly. “I don’t want to die.”

Troy remained silent. Nothing he could say would make a difference now. It was too late. He could hear the roar of LongJaw’s marauders mere paces away.

“Stand your ground, rangers!” the leader bellowed. “Stand your ground! We must hold on as long as we can.”

Troy grabbed young Bravo’s crossbow and fitted a bolt in it. He glanced at the boy. “You have to be fast. All the guns are with the rangers at the large gate. Do the best with what you have. A simple slip and you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

The young ranger nodded and took his crossbow from Troy.

“Here they come!” the Lead Ranger shouted.

The first wave of men came from the corner. Troy used the butt of his crossbow to punch a scrawny man on the stomach. The man did not seem to feel any pain, and his mouth opened in laughter, revealing a set of jagged brown teeth. Troy studied the man quickly. Armour made from a weathered car tyre and metal bracers protected his body.

On his left hand, the man carried a makeshift shield forged from a wheel’s rim. He jabbed the shield on Troy’s face, and the boy fell to the ground. Blood dripped down his nostrils.

The man lifted his axe to finish his opponent off. Troy always hoped that despite the low life expectancy in the slums, he would die on his bed at an old age, but as he watched the blunt axe aim for his head, all he could think was how much pain he would endure before he died. Suddenly, an iron rod pushed through the man’s belly, spilling blood on Troy’s face.

Troy watched the man drop dead like a withered leaf, and behind, young Bravo stared at the bloody rod in his hands.

“I just killed a man,” Bravo cried.

“It is okay, Bravo,” Troy said as he stood to his feet. “Thanks for saving my life.”

He picked up the boy’s crossbow and handed it to him.

“Come on, let’s help the others.”

LongJaw’s men were trooping in continuously. Five rangers engaged them in combat as they did their best to defend the door. Troy grabbed the surveillance computer and pushed it to the floor.

“Help me,” he said.

Bravo held one end of the table, and together, they pushed it to fall on its side, giving them cover. They both squatted behind the table, and Troy aimed his crossbow at any marauder he saw. He shot them down as they charged like crazy men, bolt after bolt. Young Bravo made sure the crossbow was reloaded after each shot.

Despite the effort, the marauders were still swarming in. Troy watched them cut down three rangers. The other two retreated and jumped behind his table for cover.

Troy aimed at a large man charging forward. His fingers pulled back the trigger softly, and the bolt escaped into the man’s head, forcing him down in a pool of blood.

“We can’t keep this up for long. We will all die!” he shouted at the Lead Ranger.

The Lead Ranger remained silent. Troy noticed the poor ranger’s pale face, he was afraid, and it was obvious as much as he tried to conceal it. The ranger circled his gaze at all his comrades.

“We have our orders. We must hold them off even if it means our death.”

Troy grabbed him at the neck of his black trench coat. “Listen, man. We can withdraw and ask for more rangers to support us. Even if we die here, there is no victory, not even pyrrhic. They would walk past our corpses and pillage the slums, do you want that?”

The ranger’s gaze lingered on Troy’s. For a moment, he looked to be coming to his senses, and then he stood up aggressively.

“We figh—”

An axe hacked into his head with so much force, splattering blood upon Troy and his company. Bravo squirmed. “Oh god! Oh god! I don’t wanna die,” he cried.

Troy peeped from the side of the table and saw the man that threw it leading a group of marauders. They were charging furiously towards them.

“We are finished,” he muttered.

Chapter Thirty

The Ghost and the Darkness

There was nothing worse than running with no sense of navigation. But Runner ran. His feet plunged into a murky pool of water. He jumped out without so much as a pause and continued to run. Each step he took, the image of Makukku’s daughter grew in his mind. It was as vivid as the trees he ran past, watching Ishmael strangle her with the chain of his necklace, over and over again.

Hot anger surged in his chest, accompanied by a voice begging him to punish them. His heart, his muscles, and every inch of his body screamed to dispense justice, eagerly planning out torturous pain to mete out to Dope and Ishmael. But there was something far more pressing. The tribe’s chief, Makukku, would be on their trail anytime soon.

Runner stopped and looked to the sky. The orange spread of sunlight upon the evening clouds almost lost him to his gaze. It was the second sunset he had seen in his entire life and probably the last if he didn’t make it out alive.

Woo-wooo-wooo!

A horn blast sounded in the distance.

“Oh god!” Runner looked back.

Dope and Ishmael caught up with him, and Big Eddy ran lazily towards them.

“You know what that means right?” Dope said as he supported his hand on his knees, drawing quick breaths.

“Headhunters,” Ishmael added. “We can’t outrun them, not with the sun setting. This is their home; they know everywhere like the back of their hand.”

Runner cleaned the sweat on his face. “What do you suggest we do?”

Dope turned backwards to stare at Big Eddy who hadn’t still made the distance. “We drop dead weight,” he replied with a deceptive smile.

“Nice one.” Ishmael nodded.

“No way.” Runner waved his hand to show disapproval. “I promised a friend I will bring back Big Eddy alive. You are not going to use him to distract the hunters.”

Dope walked towards Runner. He masked his square-shaped face with a stern expression and flexed his muscles to intimidate Runner.

“There are two of us here, and you are alone. You don’t have a voice here, Runner.”

Runner walked closer to him. His torso was bare—having lost his jacket in the water—and lined with a long scar across his chest and five claw marks across his stomach.

“You have finally grown some balls, Skittish,” Runner said.

Both boys locked their foreheads together, and Runner pushed Dope to stagger backwards.

“Easy, boys. The enemies are back there. We need to work together.” Ishmael separated them.

Runner turned away. “We are not using him!” he yelled.

Big Eddy finally reached them, panting heavily. “Wha-what . . . is going on . . . guys?” He fell to the ground with a loud thud, breathing heavily to recuperate.

Ishmael turned to Runner. “We are using him. It is the only chance we have, and if you don’t like it, then I will have to kill him myself.” He demonstrated with a finger slicing the surface of his throat.

Runner remained silent. He still remembered what Ishmael did to him, Troy, and especially, Angie. If not for anyone, he must seek justice for Angie. He promised her he would make good memories to replace the horrid ones burnt into her mind. It was about time he kept true to his words.

The evening was growing dimmer. It presented a problem for the rest of the party, but to him, it was just another day in the wasteland. The darkness never dulled his senses. Rather, it made them sharper.

“Which way, Runner?” Dope asked.

Runner looked to his left. He remembered Makukku had said they were trying to trap the big black bear he killed in the woods. The clay-skins had brought him eastwards which meant they used that path to avoid the traps. The traps were certainly westward, a perfect opportunity to offload his burden.

“We go west.” Runner pointed.

“Are you sure?” Dope asked again.

“Stay here if you like.” Runner walked to Big Eddy and lent him an arm.

The fat man held Runner’s arm and was drawn to stand on his feet. Runner led the way, jogging forward, and they followed behind him. He knew his deception had put them all in danger and tried to be watchful of his environment.

If the bear traps were the typical leg-holds with jaws capable of holding down such a large animal, it was sure to rip through a man’s ankle. Runner tried not to think of it. If anything, Dope and Ishmael deserved a lot worse than that. Ishmael’s atrocities with his gang of man hunters had put him on the top of Runner’s elimination list for long, the mauling of Gunner a turning point to that decision. But Dope, his evils were restricted to an annoying amount of insanity. Now, he was fast becoming inhuman.

Runner walked slowly, his feet pressing softly upon dried leaves. He heard it, the clattering hooves of horses galloping towards them.

“Headhunters,” he whispered.

“Run!”

Runner sprang to his feet, right into a forest full of traps. He had led his company into hell, but he did not care, for if the woods were a lake of fire, then Makukku was the devil himself. The man would not stop until their heads decorated his pikes.

“You killed my daughter, Runner. I will find you, I promise! I will find you, I swear it!”

In a short break to catch his breath, Runner hid behind a tree. He looked back and saw the fire from torches, illuminating the way for Makukku and his headhunters. The tribe leader’s words echoed in Runner’s head, and he shuddered.

“Oh god,” Dope muttered. “We should have stayed in the cage. We shouldn’t have killed that girl. He is not going to stop until we are dead. What should we do, Runner?”

“Why are you looking at me?” Runner tapped his chest. “And what do you mean by we exactly? If I remember correctly, it was yours and Ishmael’s doing.”

“We are all in this together,” Ishmael said. “When he catches us, he is not going to ask who did it and who didn’t.”

Ishmael might be crazy, but he is right in this, Runner thought. There was only one thing he could do to escape the nightmare. Runner looked back again. The headhunters were following their trail, and they would not do so unless they were certain the bear traps were not on that side of the woods.

Runner looked around. He needed to kill two birds with one stone. He had to force the headhunters into the part of the woods where the traps were laid and leave them an outstanding gift.

“Follow me,” Runner said.

The undergrowth in the woods grew as tall as his ankle. They were mostly a combination of brownish dead leaves and green weeds. A pale light cast its beam slowly, illuminating the night in a silvery hue.

Runner took his gaze to the sky. Beyond the feathery shadows of tree leaves, a bright pale sphere the colour of ash peered behind a dark cloud, and around it, thousands of tiny lights glistened like diamonds in the night sky. It was beautiful and pristine.

“Wow, the moon and stars,” Runner muttered to himself. “I wish Troy and Rhiannon could see this.”

A hand came over his shoulder. “It must be the moon. I have never seen anything like it in my life,” Dope said.

Runner pulled the hand away from his shoulder. “Let’s keep moving,” he said.

His back was arched as he bent low to navigate the woods. With great keen, he watched the undergrowth, studying them carefully to mark where there were traps. It was quite easy. Places where leaves and grasses rested untamed showed there had been no disturbance whatsoever. But places where grass gathered sparingly showed signs of trampling by an animal or human. He avoided them subtly, trying not to alert Ishmael to his deception yet leading Big Eddy along.

The clattering hooves of horses were growing closer and so were the lights from torches. Runner hastened his movement, and Big Eddy tried to keep up.

Something creaked behind. Runner turned back and saw Ishmael on a standstill.

“Fuck me!” Ishmael cursed.

Runner took his gaze to the gang leader’s foot and noticed it was standing on a trap. If he took another step forward, the serrated jaws of the trap would snap on his ankle.

“Oh, shit! You got to help me, Runner,” Ishmael cried.

Dope knelt towards him, trying to figure out how to help his new friend. He reached his hand for the side of the trap.

“Don’t touch it!” Ishmael snarled. “You have to find and disarm the levers.”

Dope raised his head as the horses drew nearer. He shook his head. “I can’t . . . I can’t find . . . I don’t know how to. I’m sorry.”

He stood up and walked to join Runner.

“Come on, Runner. Get me out of this, and I will get you enough men to fight LongJaw. I will give you anything you want. I have a lot of food supplies stashed in the wastelands. I have credit-chips, a lot of them. Anything you want, Runner, anything. Just get me out of here, please.”

Runner shook his head and retreated. “No,” he said. “The world would be a better place without you, Ishmael.”

The voices of the headhunters could be heard nearby. Runner turned around to leave.

“You’re not a killer, Runner. Don’t leave me here,” Ishmael cried.

A suppressed laughter escaped Runner’s tongue. “No, I’m not. I don’t have to do anything but watch you die,” he said and escaped into the woods.

A few paces away from Ishmael, he heard the trap snap, and a loud shriek rose in the air. Runner stopped and turned back to watch. A group of horsemen surrounded Ishmael. The poor man begged in pain, but another horseman charged forward on his steed, cleaving Ishmael’s head with an axe.

“Holy shit!” The words escaped Dope’s lips.

Runner turned his eyes away.

“Look, Runner, I know we’ve had our differences, but we need to work together now more than ever.” Dope shared his gaze between Runner and Big Eddy.

“Run, Runner, run. I’m darkness. I’m death, and I shall have your head soon enough!”

Makukku’s voice always threw them into panic. It urged them to run further into the woods, but they were getting nowhere.

Big Eddy ran to a halt, breathing heavily. “I can’t take this anymore. I can’t.” He rested his back on a tree trunk.

“You have to endure, Eddy.” Runner walked to him. “Makukku is right about one thing. He is the darkness that threatens to consume us. One we brought on ourselves. We might not have killed his daughter, but we’ve done things as worse to survive the cruel world we were born into. I will get us out of here, I promise.”

“How do you expect to achieve that?” Dope joined them. “The woods stretch as far as I don’t want to know. There is no escaping this place.”

“I thought I was misleading Makukku, but it turns out he has been driving us deeper into the woods.” Runner hung his head downwards. “But there is one way we can get out of this. The clay-skins respect strength. I saw it in Makukku’s eyes when he heard I killed a bear. I need to get rid of Makukku if we are ever going to survive this.”

Dope burst into a tremendous laughter and then paused, staring at Runner.

“Don’t let all that stuff about beating your darkness get into your head. Makukku relieved Ishmael of his big head with one swing of an axe. How do you intend to fight that?”

“I need bait,” Runner said.

“Who?” Dope asked.

Runner pulled his elbow and struck Dope hard on his mouth, knocking him down in an instance.

“You,” he replied and dashed his fist on Dope’s head, knocking the boy unconscious.

“Take your shirt off.” He turned to Big Eddy. “Hurry.”

The plump man pulled off his black shirt and handed it to Runner.

“Help me lift him up,” Runner said.

Big Eddy held one end of Dope’s arm, and Runner held the other, lifting him to rest his back on a tree. Runner tore Eddy’s shirt and used it to tie Dope’s hand behind the tree.

“Wake up, wake up!” Runner slapped Dope to consciousness.

Dope opened his eyes. “What the hell is this, Runner?” he snarled, throwing his gaze around nervously.

Runner stepped backwards. “Like I said, you shouldn’t have killed Makukku’s daughter.”

“It was Ishmael, not me.” Dope struggled with the ropes.

“Now,” Runner said, “I want you to scream as loud as you can.”

Chapter Thirty-One

The Ghost and the Darkness Part II

“Don’t leave me here, Runner!”

“Runner! Runner!”

The voice grew faint as Runner made his way further into the woods. He tried to convince himself that Dope deserved his fate. The boy was a necessary sacrifice to draw Makukku’s attention away from him, but he knew he had sentenced Dope to a fate worse than death, and it tortured his mind with conflicting thoughts.

“Come on, Eddy. Come on.” Runner beckoned at the plump man. “I can hear running water. We will soon be out of here. Just keep moving.”

Eddy was tired. It couldn’t be any more obvious as the man’s face was squeezed like a knot, his eyes shut tight, and he drew in hard breaths. Supporting his hand on a tree trunk, he shook his head and arched his back slightly.

“Please, I can’t go any further . . . I can’t.” He kept breathing rapidly.

Runner turned around and walked back towards Eddy. As he pushed through a cluster of tree branches, its leaves itched at his skin. He reached his hand forward and wrapped Eddy’s arm, putting it around his neck.

“Get up, man. We got to keep moving.”

He helped Eddy to stand on his feet, and slowly, they continued onwards. They went past a few trees, and Eddy fell on the ground again.

“Come on. Get up, Eddy!” Runner raised his head in frustration.

“I’m sorry,” Eddy said.

Runner pointed forward. “It’s just a few more walks, Eddy. You can make it.”

“Please, Runner. I’m not a fool.” Eddy hung his head in despair.

“What?”

“I know you’re trying to help, but please, let’s face it. There is no way out of here. Even if we make it to the lake, then what? You don’t know the way back home, and I don’t.”

“We will find a way, I promise. We always do,” Runner replied.

Big Eddy laughed. “Do you know what I did back in the big city? I repaired broken things, from plumbing to wristwatches and surveillance equipment. It was enough to ensure my survival in a city of great expectations. I always followed a set of rules to keep safe in our volatile society, and one of them was that I must always look out for myself. I never did anything for anyone.”

Runner sat opposite big Eddy, resting his back on a tree trunk.

“Don’t beat yourself up. The rule applies to everyone, not just you. People have forgotten how to care for each other.”

“But not you, Runner,” Eddy chimed in. “You have not forgotten, have you? When I traded the gallows for the Remnants of Men, I thought I had a true chance to be free. When I saw my competitors and you, I said to myself, what chance does a sixteen-year-old kid—”

“Seventeen,” Runner cut in.

“Seventeen-year-old kid stand in this extremely dangerous wasteland I have heard so much bad shit about. But then, you went back for the others when they were captured by the man hunters. For the first time, I believed and I was ashamed for never having done anything for anyone.”

“Where are you going with this?” Runner asked.

Big Eddy stretched forward his left hand, and Runner saw the wristband around his wrist flashing with a red light.

“Your band is active.” Runner stood up.

Eddy nodded. “It has been active all along. They have been watching our entire actions, stupid, smart, and violent. But I deactivated it for a while to hide it from the slavers that captured me. Now it is active again. This is my gift to you. Let me meet my end knowing I did something for someone.”

The clattering hooves of horses grew in the distance. Runner cast his gaze far in the night’s blackness. He knew they were coming, and it definitely proved Makukku was not satisfied with his offerings of Dope and Ishmael.

“Come on, let’s get going.” Runner stretched his right arm towards big Eddy.

The man refused his assistance and remained on the floor.

“Come on!” Runner screamed.

“You go on, Runner. I will try to hold them off as long as I can and pray that help comes for you. The Remnants of Men was about a freshwater lake, and you found it. Now, it’s time you find freedom.”

Runner squatted, his eyes dead with gloom. “Freedom!” he said. “Who are we kidding? After everything I have been through, I don’t believe the Remnants of Men was about freedom. Was it worth the life of more than half our company? I saw life go out of the eyes of those boys and girls. Forgive me if I choose to believe there must be something more than freedom.”

Eddy laughed again. “I will tell you why I was imprisoned, and you will understand better, but I don’t believe I have the time. Remember, if you make it out of here, they will make you look like a hero. They will slap your face on the digital screens of the tallest buildings. They will try to change you, but always remember why you were here. It’s all about freedom. Do not remove one shackle only to replace it with another. Now, get out of here.

“Go on!” Eddy yelled.

Runner lingered on, standing over the plump man like a tree that had withstood years of obstinate winds and hailstorms.

“Go on . . .” Eddy’s voice mellowed to a cry.

“I can’t. I have a lot of deaths on my head. Please don’t ask me to add yours to the list.” Runner stretched his arm forward again.

“You will have to,” Eddy said.

He pulled the leg of his pants upwards until it reached his knee. Runner studied him carefully and then saw a sharp stick that had punctured into Eddy’s ankle. Blood clotted around the wound, and the stink proved it was not a recent injury.

“When?” Runner’s voice was a whisper.

“An hour ago.” Eddy pulled down the leg of his pants. “It is already infected. I can never make it out of here, but you can. You found the water. People will see you differently now, and how you use that power is up to you. Go on, my friend. Let me do what I can for you.”

Runner grabbed Big Eddy’s wristband, the red light flashing like a firefly in his hand. He looked ahead of him and saw the fires from torches in the dark distance. His gaze strayed to Big Eddy again, reluctant to leave him there, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

It was all about the freshwater lake. It was all about freedom. It was all about a little glimmer of hope in dark days. Runner turned away from him and took a step forward yet couldn’t help but glance back at his friend.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“It was a hard fight, Runner. It still is. Now, run . . . go!”

Runner jumped a log of wood that lay on his path and began to run towards the lake. He ran through shrubs and thick ferns, past large oaks and tall cedars. His feet plunged into the puddled water, wet and slippery, but he continued, running and heaving as sticks and twigs snapped beneath his feet. He ran like his back was on fire and frequently turned to see if his pursuer was gaining on him.

The fires from the torches were not far behind, and the hooves of the horses tormented him with waves of fear. He knew they were gaining on him. He heard their voices and, in confusion, tripped on a fallen branch, forcing him to fall against a tree. He pulled himself away from the rugged oak and touched his shoulder to feel the warm blood streaming from a cut.

“Anytime now.” Runner glanced at the flashing wristband.

He raised his gaze ahead and stumbled onto the grassy shore of the lake. Quickly, he halted, standing in front of the dark body of water. The wind curled around his skin, cool but not exactly comfortable with the men chasing him behind.

He heard the clattering and turned around to see the clay-skins charging their horses to jump out of the woods. They came further and rode in circles around him. Beads of sweat gathered on Runner’s face, dripping down his naked torso.

“It was a bold move, Runner. Sacrificing your comrades like that,” a voice said.

Makukku, Runner thought as he recognized the voice that had haunted him.

The large man was on a black horse. He urged it to trot forward until he reached Runner. There was something tied to the side of his horse. Runner noticed the ropes tied to the hair of something he believed was someone’s head. Bile rose up his throat in bitter anger for he knew his friend was certainly dead.

“I did not kill your daughter!” Runner shouted.

Makukku came down from his mount. The bones that adorned the large man’s clothing rattled as he walked forward with an axe on his hand. His steps were menacing like a lion prowling towards its prey. He threw the axe, and it landed at Runner’s foot.

“Pick it,” the man uttered grimly.

Runner bent down, stretching his arm to reach for the axe. He paused and glanced at the river. His task was completed; there was no use fighting anymore. He was tired of fighting nature, fighting its cruel inhabitants. All he had to do now was survive. It all comes down to survival, doesn’t it?

He went past the axe and picked a handful of dust, throwing it at Makukku’s eyes. The large man reeled backwards, giving Runner ample time to make a turn and head towards the river. Arrows darted past him in a terrifying swoosh, and then he heard it.

They heard it too. Everyone paused, raising their gaze to the night’s sky. There, black helicopters made their way towards the bank with great speed, flooding the lake with their bright lights. They hovered around for a moment and began to make their descent on the banks.

The horsemen dragged Makukku back into the woods as the man screamed and shouted curses upon Runner.

Spectres of Section 5 descended the aircraft. They came towards Runner with high-powered rifles in hand.

“Identity!” a Spectre shouted over the noise from helicopter blades.

Runner glanced at Eddy’s flashing wristband, and then raised his gaze to meet the Spectre. “Capricorn,” he said.

The Spectre glanced back at the lake with a smile. “Great job, Capricorn.”

Two medics came with their first aid kit, and one of them—a woman—wrapped a blanket over Runner’s shoulder.

Even at his journey’s end, the taste of victory was a bitter ash. The anger in his heart was like none he had experienced. It felt like a blacksmith’s furnace blown to the highest temperature. His face was blank, adorned by mud, dirt, and broken twigs caught in his hair. Somehow, he took comfort that it was over, but the horror had been branded on his mind.

“Okay, let’s get you home.” The woman put on a dainty smile.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Reddit’s Conspiracy

His eyes were shut tight in sleep, but in truth, his mind was bombarded with images of death and pain. There was blood, so much blood. He saw his hand covered in the red liquid. He felt it on his lips—the iron taste, harmless yet foreboding. Faces formed from darkness and smoke, taking shapes of those he had known: Dope, Jonny, Toad, Eddy, and Wynn. They looked so sad. Their dour gazes hinted at betrayal as their hands clenched their bleeding hearts. What do they want from him?

What do they want from me?

What do they want from me?

Runner opened his eyes. He felt someone’s fingers running down his torso and grabbed it with his left hand. He jumped down from the hospital bed, his right hand going for the throat, pushing so hard until he pinned the person on the wall. He saw the strands of blonde hair on his hand and smelt the sweet fragrance of perfume.

A hand slapped weakly on his wrist. “Run . . . Runn . . . Runner!” The voice struggled.

“Let her go. Let her go, Runner,” another voice followed.

The vagueness faded from his mind, and he saw himself pinning Olivia Patterson to the wall. He pulled his hand away, quickly and stared at her in confusion. His hands were trembling. Runner wobbled as he tried to move. He lost his footing and almost fell but for Olivia’s quick grasp to his arm.

She helped him to sit on the bed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said.

Olivia sat beside him on the bed and grasped his fingers together. “It’s okay. You were heavily sedated to help you rest.”

Runner studied the room. Observation had grown to be a habit to him. Everything was completely white in there—the soft sofa that stood opposite him, computers that monitored heart rate, drips hanging above him, the walls, cabinet, and even the pants he was wearing. He noticed a girl sitting at one end, eyes vividly set upon him and hands glued to a tablet computer. He recognized her immediately. How could he forget the red hair, ponytail, and sexy geeky eyeglasses?

“Angel.”

She raised her gaze at him, and her lips curved to a smile.

“I thought you might have forgotten me,” she said.

Runner smiled. “I told you I was going to make it back, didn’t I?”

She smiled again and buried her head shyly. “You know, I was kinda out there with you most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Halfway through,” she said. “Until the explosion, of course.”

“She was in charge of surveillance,” Olivia added.

“Right.” Runner sighed.

Olivia’s eyes were on his torso. She studied them with great keen. Her face shifted between myriads of expressions as she looked at his scars as if they held a certain mystery.

“It must have been really bad out there,” she muttered.

He stood up from the bed and pulled out the drip tubes attached to his arm. Gently, he walked across to a table where some clothes rested in neat folds. He picked a white vest and wore it over his torso.

“Alright,” Runner said. “I did what you asked. I joined the Remnants of Men. I found the damn freshwater lake. Now, it is time you hold up your end of the deal.”

“What would that be?” Olivia rose to her feet.

“Death Throe.” Runner stepped closer to her as his eyes locked with hers. “I have not forgotten what he did to my friend. Her ashes lay scattered in the sewers. She did not deserve that fate. Tell me who he is, and I will hold your end fulfilled.”

“You still don’t get it,” Olivia said.

Runner grabbed her arms with his hands and pushed her towards his chest. “You have no idea what I endured to get here. I must tie all loose ends. I have to.”

A woman came in through the door, accompanied by two spectres from Section 5. They halted halfway through, and the spectres snapped to attention holding their rifles to their chest.

“Forgive me, Ms. Patterson. We are here to escort Capricorn to debriefing,” the woman said.

“Just a minute.” Olivia smiled. She leaned forward to reach Runner’s ears. “It is not safe here. I promise to tell you everything soon,” she whispered.

Olivia turned around and walked towards the door, the heel of her shoes clattering on the floor. Angel followed quickly, scampering like an overworked secretary.

“This way, Capricorn.” The woman gestured to her left.

Runner dawdled forward. The moment the woman’s eyes were off him, he reached for a scalpel lying on a table beside him. He couldn’t help it. Somehow, he did not feel complete without his knives or any weapon. He reacted in reflex to any sudden movement by anyone he encountered, be it a gesture, a flinch, or a sneeze. He was always on alert. The growing paranoia and mistrust had him on the edge, ready to stab anyone who made a silly move.

Partially satisfied with his hidden weapon, he followed as the spectres led the way. The woman turned around frequently to see if he was still behind her. Runner did not like her eyes. They looked a bit bizarre, made silvery by contacts. He never did like spectres either. Always thought they were overrated, holding their heads high and walking like robots. It was a good thing though, since he would have no second thoughts when it came down to stabbing their eyes with his blade.

“Are you okay?” The woman turned around for the sixth time.

Runner ignored her and scanned the passageway they walked, noticing the long lines of fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling and extremely white walls. Citadel workers walked up and down, busy as bees in their white lab coats.

“This way.” The woman pointed at a small room with tainted glass serving as an extremely large window.

Runner entered the room without hesitation and was directed to a seat behind a table. The room was cold, forcing him to shiver momentarily. Soon, two men entered the room and joined the woman. The first was a wiry man, dressed in a white suit with the sigil of goat’s horn embroidered in gold at the pocket on his left breast. The other was a fat man with a flowing garment that suited his figure.

They both sat on a seat in front of him, while the woman lingered at their side.

“These are Councillors Gaius Capricorn and Flavius Slim.” She pointed at them respectively. “They are here to serve as witness to your evaluation.”

Runner remained silent, staring at both men boldly.

The woman cleared her throat. “As you know, four of your original members returned unaccomplished. Unfortunately, they would be facing execution at the gallows.”

“Exe—what?” Runner leaned forward.

“I’m afraid due to their failure, their original sentence has been reinstated,” she said calmly.

“You can’t do that!” Runner slammed his fist on the table, drawing the attention of spectres standing guard at the doors.

“Enough said,” Gaius Capricorn chimed in. “We are here for you, Runner. What’s your last name again?”

“I don’t have any,” he replied.

“I see.” Gaius glanced at the lady, and she continued.

“In our first section of this debriefing, we would like to know of your encounter with the rabid men. How was your experience with the big oddity?”

“You mean the Butcher.” Runner raised his voice. “Are you fucking kidding me? The guy killed Wynn Rivers, tore him in half. But what do you care?”

“Answer the question, Runner,” the woman said.

He charged up from his seat. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Sit him down,” the woman ordered.

The spectres left their posts and marched towards Runner. They grabbed his arms and forced him to sit on the chair. One of them reached for the handcuffs at his belt and chained Runner’s wrists to the handles of the chair.

“Answer the question.”

Runner shook his head reluctantly. “I found the Butcher to be an extremely difficult opponent. His size and strength made him impossible to be defeated, and in such situation, the best course of action was to vacate the premises.”

“You mean run the other way?”

“If you put it that way.” Runner turned his face away.

The woman nodded in satisfaction and scribbled some words on her pad.

“Are you responsible for the deaths of your comrades: Dope Davis, Toad Cooper, and Eddy Chen?”

“Partially,” he answered.

Gaius gazed at Runner. “No need to panic. What you did out there was impressive. You showed real quality, leadership, strength, and true character—everything we have been searching for.”

“I found the lake, didn’t I? I want the freedom you promised me. I want my slate wiped clean.” Runner waited eagerly for their answer.

All he wanted was to get out as fast as he could and warn his friend of their imminent fates.

“The lake was a prerequisite to something greater,” Gaius said. “Did you really believe that a simple water crisis would topple a government as great as ours? We could have ordered Section 5 to scour the wasteland at any time and find the lake even if it meant their deaths.”

Runner’s face was masked with disbelief. “What do you want from me?”

“The world is changing, Runner. In a fortnight, MegaCityOne would announce the commencement of an annual culling, our new programme to separate the dregs of society from those who are resourceful. Twenty MegaCities all over a ruined world competing for a place in a utopian paradise, a new world vision of the great Reinhardt Reddit, and we want to be ahead.”

“Reddit? Everyone knows Reddit is dead. What have you guys been eating?” Runner’s face puckered to a frown.

“Says who?” Gaius Capricorn said softly. “Reinhardt’s vision was to create a better world from utter destruction. Some of us still believe in that vision, and to do that, we need you.”

The woman began to walk in circles around him.

“The Remnants of Men was devised for a purpose which it served well. We wanted to build someone whose character could inspire and command respect from the masses, someone who’s able to think fast and act regardless of any personal feeling, and that is you, Runner.”

Gaius Capricorn leaned forward.

“I want you, Runner, to carry our symbol for the culling. Represent strength—” he raised his fist up “—and character. When we unveil you as the saviour of the city tomorrow, you will be loved by all. Carry the hopes of an entire MegaCity to the promise of a new world. You will be rewarded with wealth, a place amongst our elites, and matched to any girl from the great families you choose.”

Runner raised his gaze to meet the councillor’s.

“Hmmm . . . did I get your attention there?” The bearded man smiled.

“So, let me get this straight,” Runner said. “You want me to be the symbol of mass murder so you can realise your dream of a utopia? You’re crazier than I thought.”

The councillor stood up angrily. “We are not asking, Runner. This is not your choice, but ours to make for you. We will leave you to search your mind for a while.”

They all walked out of the door, leaving the spectres at their guard posts.

Runner scanned the room, searching for anything he could use to set himself free. He reached his right hand towards the scalpel he had hidden in his shoe, but it was out of his reach. He sighed and hung his head.

“Can I see him?” Runner heard Olivia’s voice.

He turned to the door and saw her standing before the Spectre.

“No unauthorized entry.” The Spectre’s voice was firm.

“I’m Olivia Patterson. I can go anywhere I want.” She tried to force her way through, but the Spectre blocked the path.

In a moment of confusion, a muffled shot went off and stung the Spectre on his neck. Within minutes, the guard fell with little control and slipped into unconsciousness. Olivia walked over the body, followed closely by Angel and a boy with a crossbow whom he did not recognize. She picked the key from the Spectre and removed one of the handcuffs.

“There are two,” Runner said.

“Yes.” Olivia stared at the second handcuff. “I can see that.”

“No, I mean there were two guards at the door.”

Olivia turned immediately to see the second Spectre arriving at his post.

“What?” The Spectre raised his rifle.

The boy lifted the butt of his crossbow to knock down the Spectre, but his move was anticipated. The Spectre dodged wittingly, kicking the boy on the stomach, and sent him to crash on the wall. Angel moved bravely to interfere. She charged forward with the small tablet she always carried, raising it to hit the Spectre.

He saw her coming and landed a heavy slap on her face with the back of his hand. Angel fell on the hard floor, and her eyeglasses flew far to another end. The Spectre released his rifle to hang at his side and drew out a stun gun from a holster.

“Come with me,” he said.

Olivia took careful steps backwards. Runner struggled with the second handcuff, trying to force it off the chair.

“Runner, he is going to shoot me!” She stretched her voice.

“I’m almost . . . free,” he said.

“Runner, Runnerrr . . .”

Runner stopped immediately. He lifted his leg and drew out the scalpel from the side of his boot.

“Duck!” he screamed.

Olivia bent down, and Runner lunged with his freed arm. The scalpel left his grip, moving as fast as a bolt of lightning. It struck the spectre’s right eye, and the guard responded by putting his hand over that eye. His screams filled the air. Blood streamed down his hand, and he went into a fit.

In his convulsive spasms, the Spectre shot thrice. A stun bolt hit Olivia, and she fell into a seizure. Runner raised the chair he was handcuffed to. He jumped and slammed it on the Spectre, knocking him out for good. He picked the key from the Spectre’s pocket and freed his left hand.

“Are you guys okay?” He glanced at the Angel and the boy.

“Yes,” the boy replied.

“Who the hell are you?” Runner asked.

“His name is James Wednesday,” Angel said as she reached towards Olivia.

“She is out.” James shook his head.

Runner knelt beside Olivia. He used his finger to curl back a strand of her blonde hair in place. She was like a sleeping baby, bearing no burden of the world. He put one arm under her head and the other under her legs and lifted her up.

“How do we get her to wake up?” He turned to Angel.

“Smelling salt,” Angel replied.

Runner carried Olivia to the door. “Come on, guys. Let’s hurry and get some.”

He opened the door and saw the evaluator coming towards the room with a team of spectres. Quickly, he ran down the passageway heading for the elevator. The woman saw them and increased her pace.

Runner noticed that the way split into two more passageways. He moved Olivia’s head to rest comfortably on his chest and used his finger to push the elevator button.

“Take her to my lab on the last floor downwards. I will go with James and distract the spectres,” Angel said.

Runner nodded. “Be careful.” He pushed the button as the elevator doors closed.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Judgement Day Part I

Like a fox with its tail on fire, Runner charged into the room, leaving the elevator’s door to close behind him. He set Olivia on a table beside computer monitors and hardware. He scanned the room, searching intently for the smelling salt.

“Found you,” he muttered, pointing at a fridge with a transparent glass.

He opened it and picked a small bag the size of a finger from a box. Standing before Olivia, he brought it close to her nose and broke the bag. A gaseous substance escaped into the air, releasing a foul smell. In half a second, she snapped awake, looking as confused as a man in a dream.

Runner raised his fingers up. “How many fingers can you see?”

“Oh, please.” Olivia sat upright on the table. “I’m not that gone.”

“Good.” Runner nodded.

He reached his hands towards her thigh to raise her black skirt up, but Olivia grabbed his hand quickly. She threw an awkward gaze at him.

“Seriously.” Runner returned a solemn stare. “How much of a pervert do you think I am? I just want to see if the stun caused any burns on your skin.”

She withdrew her hand, and Runner pushed her skirt a bit upwards. “These things can leave a bad mark on your skin.”

“Is that how you got that scar across your chest?”

Runner paused and glanced at her. “Honey, that scar was nothing short of a nightmare in the wasteland. I can write an entire book about it.”

He picked up a salve and massaged it gently on her skin.

“You know,” Olivia started, “if you ever need . . . if you ever want to talk about your . . . you know, your experiences out there to anyone.”

“You mean like a shrink?”

She stroked her neck slowly. “I just want you to know I’m here to listen if you ever feel like . . .”

“I’m fine.” Runner stretched his hand to drop the salve on a table and paused. “You know what? I have a question for you, Olivia Patterson. Were you in on the plan to get citizens to agree and participate in a culling? Is that the real reason you asked me to join the Remnants of Men?”

“The what?” Olivia jumped down the table.

“Councillor Gaius Capricorn said he wants me to stand in front of the masses and represent their symbol for a culling. He said the resources available are diminishing rapidly and there are hundreds of wastelanders migrating to the slums each day.”

Olivia folded her arms across her breasts. “So that’s what they wanted all this while. He wants to get rid of the slum dwellers and then maintain firm control over MegaCityOne. He has control of the spectres; he can force a culling on the masses in the big city, but to prevent any form of rebellion, he needs it to be voluntary, and that is why he needs you.”

“Why?”

“With the Remnants of Men, the council has made you into a saviour of the city. Imagine standing alongside Gaius Capricorn before an entire mass of people cheering and idolizing you. They will do anything, even agree to the culling, believing that is the right thing since their hero supports it. That is the symbol, the icon the councillors want.”

“Not if I refuse to stand with them.” He turned away and walked towards the computers.

“Runner,” she called softly.

He glanced at her.

“Right now, there is trouble in the slums. Pope LongJaw has it under siege.”

“What?”

A light bell ring sounded, and the elevator doors opened. Runner picked a stapler from the table and ran to hide with his back on a wall a few inches towards the doorway. He raised it up, ready to strike.

Angel came through, and he stayed his hand. James followed seconds later.

“We lost them.” The boy breathed deeply.

“Guys, listen to this.”

Angel picked a TV remote from the table and pressed a button. A large TV screen came alive, displaying the image of a man and a woman in colourful clothes covering news for the City TV.

The age of thirst is finally over. Several zones in the city’s capital are brimming with life at the discovery of a freshwater lake, but the question remains: Who is this young hero responsible for saving so many lives? With the annual matchmaking ball about to commence, it couldn’t be more important . . .

Runner snatched the remote control and switched it off.

“People are dying in the slums, and they’re talking about a fucking matchmaking ball? A lot of friends from my company died horrible deaths searching for water for people that will never know their names. I have to get to the slums.”

He turned to walk towards the doorway, but Olivia held fast to his vest. “You can’t. They’re searching for you, and there are blockades at every gate bordering the slums.”

“She is right,” Angel added.

Runner paused, placing his hands to rest on a table. “There must be a way out.”

James laughed. “You’ve never lived in the big city, have you? Everywhere is monitored and tightly guarded by fucking spectres. Law and order, the councillors say.”

Runner tapped his finger continuously on the table as all eyes seemed to be on him. He searched his mind intently. There must be a way, he thought. There always is.

“You said the spectres are stationed at the gate bordering MegaCity and Rat Town. What if we opened that gate? What if we let the marauders through? Surely, the spectres would be forced to defend their city.”

“Wow, that’s a good idea,” Olivia said. “But the problem is getting the gates opened. Like James said, there are spectres stationed everywhere.”

A stark silence descended on the room as everyone threw glances at each other. Runner walked to Angel. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this, but I’m going to need your help.”

She moved backwards and sat on a table with half her buttocks pressed on it. “What do you need?”

Runner smiled. “Gears for one. Throwing knives, gas explosives, a gas mask, a Spectre’s uniform, and a compound bow for stealth. Most importantly, I need you—” he pointed at Olivia “—to come with me and operate the gate controls.”

“Fine,” she answered and walked to Angel.

The red-haired girl presented her tablet computer to Olivia reluctantly. “This will get you through security,” she said.

Olivia let loose a dainty smile that brightened her face. “Believe me, I would have preferred for you to go with Runner, but I would move more freely without suspicion from spectres. Don’t worry. I know my way around these tech stuff too.”

“Hate to break it to yah, bro, but all da weapons are in the armoury which is up there.” James pointed upwards.

Runner sighted an emergency fire axe at the side of the door. He walked towards it and then stopped. He removed his white vest, wrapped it over his hand, and smashed the glass with quick but great force.

The glasses came shattering on the floor, leaving Runner to pick the red axe freely.

“This will do for now.” He turned to Angel. “Go and attend the matchmaking ball. Take Gaius’s attention away from us while we try to open the gates.”

He began to walk towards the doorway and was followed by Olivia.

They went into an elevator, and he pushed the button to the next floor. Runner’s gaze lingered upon Olivia, but she shyly threw hers towards the floor as if burdened by guilt. He did it purposely to make her uncomfortable; that way, her mind would not stray to the true danger their task held.

“You know, I always wanted to get a pass to the big city,” he said.

“Why didn’t you?” Her eyes lifted towards him, vividly portraying her curiosity.

“Things changed.”

“So, where would you rather be if this was going to be your last day in this bitter world?” Olivia leaned on the metallic wall of the elevator, a smile lingering on her face.

“Definitely not here,” Runner replied. “What about you?”

“Since we are fantasizing, I would want to have one long passionate kiss from someone who truly loves me.”

A brief silence enveloped them. Runner drew closer to Olivia. He felt her breath warm on his skin. She remained still as he pushed his head forward as if he was reaching for her lips.

“What are you doing?” Olivia moaned as her breathing grew heavy.

Suddenly, he reached his hand into her hair and picked out a small shard of broken glass. “You’ve got something stuck in your hair.”

The doors opened, and they stepped out. Olivia led the way towards the gate control tower. It was just a quick walk over a bridge that connected the Citadel of Defence to a large tower that overlooked the gate to Rat Town.

Runner could see the rooftops of houses from the glass windows at each side of the bridge. The city lights that flooded MegaCityOne was like nothing he had seen before. The door to the gate control tower was visible in the distance, and there were no guards.

“This is odd,” Olivia said.

They increased their pace and made their way to the door. Runner halted. His gaze fell upon a key card lock at the side of the door.

“Alright, Olivia, do your magic.”

Runner moved aside, and Olivia came forward with Angel’s tablet computer. She rigged some colourful wires to the door that only confused him and tapped a few keys on her computer. In a moment, the door beeped and sprung open.

Runner entered gently, axe tight in his grip and facing downwards. He walked into a room with so many buttons and computers that he wouldn’t even know where to start. Olivia came forth and began to work through it.

A glimpse from the room’s transparent window and Runner saw both sides of the gate from his higher ground. A team of spectres in their black military garbs guarded the gate from inside the city. While on the other side, thousands of slum dwellers seemed to be slamming their fists on the gate. There was a huge smoke hanging over Rat Town.

“Angie,” Runner muttered woefully. He wished for nothing more than to see the little girl’s face again.

He glanced at Olivia. “Hurry that up. People are dying.”

She continued to press the buttons on the computer. “What are you going to do? Kill them all?”

“No, just LongJaw, and I’m pretty sure he can’t wait to kill me too. Long story.” Runner wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“There are ten gates that connect all ten slum towns to the big city. If I push this button—” she pointed at a yellow button sitting on something that looked like a box “—every gate will be opened to the big city. Are you sure you want this?”

“Never been so sure in my life.” Runner nodded.

Olivia stretched her arm and then she paused, her face masked with fear of what was to come. With little reluctance, Runner slammed his fist on the button, and a wail of siren followed. A red emergency light began to rotate at the roof of each watchtower at the sides of the gate and a voice prompt followed from the room.

Emergency, emergency. Main gate opening, main gate opening. Emergency, Emergency . . .

Runner lifted his axe and smashed the voice box to pieces.

The gate lifted free, forcing the spectres to move backwards in confusion. Hundreds of slum dwellers charged into MegaCityOne in an unforeseen stampede. Spectres were forced to raise their guns at the poor folks, but then loud roars from LongJaw’s marauders drew their attention. A firefight followed. Spectres dropped ill-equipped marauders dead in their numbers, but they were still coming from every corner of the slums.

“My god.” Olivia watched from the window. “This is better than a movie.”

Runner smiled. “We did it!” He raised his fist.

“Runner,” she called suddenly. “I don’t think the spectres are winning.”

He walked to the window to watch and saw someone familiar. It was a man in a priest’s cassock, accompanied by two crudely dressed wastelanders who had just shot dead a group of spectres.

“LongJaw,” Runner whispered.

A sudden surge of anger possessed him, filling his heart with red hot rage. Runner used his axe and smashed a part of the window to break free.

“LongJaw! LongJaw!” he screamed.

His enemy looked up and saw him.

“What is wrong with you, Runner? They are coming here.” Olivia ran to one end of the room.

Runner positioned towards the door to the bridge. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I want to set a trap for him.”

Olivia ran to him, and he held her hand, leading her towards the door. He opened it and halted unexpectedly. Armed spectres were coming towards him in the company of Gaius Capricorn and Dr. Lysander.

Runner moved back into the room and shut the door tight. He walked to a table at the centre, placed his shoulder at its side, and pushed it across the floor to bar the door.

“Oh my god.” Olivia panicked. “My mom is with them.”

Runner walked to the second door and leaned on the wall beside it. His axe was ready in hand, and he was trapped. A team of spectres was heading towards one door, and LongJaw was coming towards the other. He could hear the mad priest’s footsteps, one after the other, menacing with a promise of death.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Judgement Day Part II

The world was about to change. He could feel it like the last breath about to flee from a dying man, desperate to leave him nothing but a corpse. At that moment, he was akin to a figurehead, granted so much power yet not able to wield any. He was a hero of the people—a power any councillor would kill for—but even as he was trapped hopelessly with nothing but an axe in hand, he couldn’t help but feel like a fly in a spider’s web.

It was all about choices, and there were so many waiting to be made. If it was his life alone hanging in the balance, it would have been easier to pick a choice. But poor Olivia sat in a corner, wondering why her mother was part of a plan to exile people with unwanted traits under the pretence of saving humanity.

The choice was clear to Runner. Open the door to the left and surrender to the councillors. More than anything, they wanted him alive, as he was their most valuable creation since the building of the domes to protect MegaCities. The second was a bit nasty. It involved opening the door to his right and surrendering to LongJaw, but that would earn him a barrage of beatings and probably rape for Olivia.

“What are we going to do?” Olivia crawled from one end to reach him.

It was quite an easy decision for Runner. Pick neither. But this was not the wasteland where there were a myriad of ways to escape an enemy. They were stuck in a tower a few paces from the Citadel of Defence, crawling with spectres and fighting marauders.

Runner brought his gaze down at her.

“If I surrender to your mother and Gaius Capricorn, it’s like handing them missiles to fight opponents wielding swords. I am the last thing they need to steal away any remaining right from the masses because loyalty gained from reverence is far more dangerous than one given with reluctance. That is exactly what they want in order to promote a cull.”

Bang! Bang!

Olivia stood up, overwhelmed by a rush of nervousness, and held tight to Runner’s shirt. The door at the left was being forced by the spectres, but his bar was holding strong. The footsteps grew closer. LongJaw would be reaching the door at his right at any moment.

The repercussions were clear. What was left of liberty was about to be murdered by the councillors. Innocence was long dead, freedom, a fleeting dream once mustered by daydreamers. His victory in the Remnants of Men gave him power, an access to the hearts of many and a power to influence multitudes. Liberation was the only thing remaining, and if Runner should die, it would die with him.

“I’m not so sure my mother is with them. Let me talk to her,” Olivia said.

“Yeah, Olivia, go talk to your mother. She looked really happy to see you. I will just shut the door behind you and stay here.”

“Right?” Olivia sighed.

“Are you blind? This shit is real. Be ready. That door will open anytime soon.”

Runner felt his grip tighten harder around the handle of the axe.

Bang!

The door sprang open. Runner lifted his axe to his shoulder’s height and smashed its head into the stomach of the first man to step through. Drops of blood splattered on Olivia’s face, and she screamed. The man fell on his knees as his bowels were forced through a large opening at his abdomen.

LongJaw charged upon Runner, forcing him to fall on a control board. He raised his fist to unleash a blow on Runner’s face, but the boy dodged with his left hand, using his right to grasp the man’s jaw. In his struggle, Runner saw the third marauder caught in a scrimmage with Olivia.

He freed his hand from his opponent’s jaw and reached for a hunting knife on the man’s belt. LongJaw did not notice it. Runner wrapped his fingers around its hilt and drew it out. He jabbed quickly at LongJaw’s thigh. The man let out a shriek, and Runner pushed him off his body.

As quick as a breath inhaled, Runner flipped the knife over to hold the pointed tip. He aimed at the scrawny marauder tearing down Olivia’s clothing and released the knife. It struck the man’s head right through his ear, and he slumped dead in a second. A pool of blood gathered around his head.

Runner crawled quickly to Olivia. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Olivia’s eyes widened as if she saw a ghost. She pointed behind Runner. He turned around and was knocked down by a hard blow on his head.

Runner lay flat on the floor. He managed to open his eyes, but they were still recovering from the concussion. LongJaw loomed over him with the axe in his grip. The man caught Olivia by her hair and dragged her to kneel before Runner.

“You scallywag,” he said. “I should have killed you when we first met, but not to worry. All in good time, Runner, all in good time.”

He began to laugh and cleaned the blood that gathered around his lips. He kicked Runner on the stomach and limped backwards from the pain on his punctured thigh.

“Do you know how long it took to plan this? How many minds it took? How many sacrifices had to be made? I had lost dozens of men to the storm before I found a way into this city, but you had to open the gates, Runner. You just . . . just had to, didn’t you?”

LongJaw stood up and positioned himself beside Olivia. The vagueness that clouded Runner’s sight faded, and he saw a long cable running right beneath LongJaw’s feet. The man was standing on it, but he was more interested in taunting his captive.

“You know, before I became a priest, I was a butcher. Not the kind that hacked meat from animals, no, no. I worked in a shelter where I had to snuff out the life from folks dying of radiation poisoning. There was no cure to help those miserable fellas, and no one wanted to do the dirty stuff, so they gave it to me. I did not complain. Somehow, I knew I was bringing them peace. I killed them and hacked their corpses into smaller pieces to help them pass through the sewer.”

Olivia sobbed lightly.

“Oh no, sweetie. Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing. Just close your eyes. When I’m done with her, Runner, I will find that little girl of yours. What’s her name again? Angie. Yes, Angie.”

LongJaw raised the axe to deliver a blow on Olivia. Runner quickly grabbed the cable beneath the man’s feet and drew it hard. LongJaw lost his balance. He slipped and slammed on the floor with a loud thud.

Runner charged towards him. The priest tried to reach for the axe, but Runner trampled on his hand, crushing LongJaw’s fingers beneath his boot. The man screamed as the pressure on his fingers increased.

“How does it feel?” Runner’s voice rose with a hint of anger.

He held the priest’s right arm and raised it up to reveal his armpit. Runner readied his knife. His aim was to plunge it right into the man’s armpit, to cause him much pain before death as he had done to others. He lifted the knife to strike.

Bam . . . bang!

The table that barred the door to the left was sent flying to one end. The door sprung open, and spectres trooped in with fingers on their triggers. Gaius Capricorn and Dr. Lysander Patterson followed behind.

LongJaw looked at Runner with so much dread in his eyes. “Gaius! Gaius! Don’t let him kill me. Please, I did as you asked.” His voice cracked with fear.

“Dim-witted wastelander. I should have known you would fuck this up,” Dr. Lysander said.

She snatched a gun from a Spectre’s holster and shot once. A burst of blood from LongJaw’s head splattered upon Runner’s face. The boy flinched in surprise as the priest’s warm hand slowly slipped from his grip.

“Mother!” Olivia cried.

“Stay out of this, Liv,” Dr. Lysander said. “You have no idea how much I’ve sacrificed to get here. Come with me, Runner. I will not harm you, I swear it.”

“Because you need me.” Runner stepped backwards.

“Yes, I need you, but if you don’t come, I’m going to shoot her.” She pointed the gun at Olivia. “And then her.”

Runner watched as the boy James Wednesday dragged Angel into the room and pushed her to fall on the floor.

“James, you too?” Olivia’s gaze narrowed in gloom.

“What? Do you think of me as a fool? I’m your mother. I knew from the very first day that you and your brother were the very head of the rebel group, Death Throe. I asked James to keep an eye on you. He would do anything to further his family’s goal to join the council.”

Runner turned to Olivia. His face grew grim, and his knife slipped from his grip.

“You killed my best friend Rhiannon?”

He took gentle steps towards her like a predator cornering a scared prey. Olivia scrambled backwards. He caught her by the arm, and his hands went upon her throat. Olivia choked as Runner’s hands tightened around her throat.

He could see his hands grasping harder, but he was not thinking clearly. His mind was vague with thoughts he could not fathom.

“Let her go, Runner. Do it now!”

Runner removed his hands, and Olivia inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

“What do you want from me?” Runner hung his head in despair. His will was broken, shattered to a million pieces.

Dr. Lysander lowered her gun.

“Everything is not what it seems, Runner. The geothermal generators are dying; our domes cannot hold for long. Soon, there won’t be enough resources for everyone. I want you to stand before the masses and convince them that this is a new age where the right to live belongs to the fittest. I want you to stand by my side as we announce this new programme to keep our society functioning.”

Runner remained silent for a moment. “I will do it,” he said, “but first, I want to meet the supreme councillor.”

Dr. Lysander exchanged an awkward glance with Gaius Capricorn.

“He is dead,” Gaius said. “Supreme Councillor Peter Patterson has been dead for five years now. Dr. Lysander has headed the Council since then, but because of his hold over the city, our technicians have kept his image alive and we communicate to the people through his voice.”

“You killed my father and sentenced your son to death?” Olivia said amid tears.

“Sacrifices have to be made. You will understand that someday,” her mother replied.

“It’s time to go, Runner,” Gaius said.

Runner walked to the mirror and watched the view of the slums from there. He saw all he would give up if he went with them. How many was he willing to sacrifice? Little Angie? Troy? His aunt’s kids? What if they were deemed undesirable by the proposed culling and exiled from the city? Was he willing to risk that?

Runner scanned the room as quickly as he could. He saw the half-broken window of the tower house, the long cable extending from the roof of the control room, and LongJaws’s knife lying beside it. That moment, a vivid simulation of a perfect escape formed in his mind.

Olivia sobs died down. She reached for a crossbow dropped by a dead marauder and pointed it at her mother.

“I won’t let you take him, Mother. I won’t let you corrupt him into a sadistic creature like yourself. The council can find another puppet to serve their interest.”

Gaius pulled a gun and aimed it at her. The spectres did the same.

“Lower your gun, Gaius,” Dr. Lysander ordered. “She is my daughter. She won’t shoot me.”

“I swear if you don’t let him go, Mother, I will put a bolt in your chest.”

Runner bent down slowly as their attention was focused on Olivia. He picked the cable and began to wrap it over his arm.

“Put the bow down, Livy.” Dr. Lysander took a step forward.

Olivia shook nervously and pulled the trigger mistakenly. The bolt hit her mother on her shoulder. Immediately, Gaius responded with a shot, and a trail of smoke left the barrel of his gun.

“Don’t, Gaius!” her mother screamed too late.

Runner charged towards Olivia as she was heading for the hard floor. He put his arm around her waist and held the cable tight.

“Hold on,” he whispered to her.

He ran forward, dragging Olivia along.

“Stop him!” Gaius bellowed.

Runner held fast to Olivia and charged through the large half-broken window of the tower. Pieces of broken glasses were left on his trail. A cold rush of wind went past him as he swung along with the cable, going down the tower. In a moment, their feet dangled a few inches above ground level. Runner released his hand and fell on the floor with Olivia.

He laid her to rest on her back and studied her in keen. Blood grew continuously on her abdomen. Runner tore her clothes to reveal the wound. He put his hand to apply pressure, but it did no good.

“Hold on, Olivia. Just hold on.”

Quickly, he pulled his shirt off, folded it, and pressed it upon the wound. In a few seconds, it soaked with blood.

Olivia put her bloodied hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Runner. I only wanted to help. I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

“It’s okay.” Runner put his finger over her lips, his eyes filled with tears.

“It hurts so much . . . It hurts so much.” Olivia coughed, and blood dripped down the side of her mouth.

“Just hold on, Olivia. We will get through this, and I will show you the stars, the bright warm sun, and the moon. I have seen them all, and you can see them too. All you need to do is hold on.”

Tears rolled down the side of her eyes. “I have always been too shy to admit this, Runner, but if I would ask anything of this world, it would have been a lifetime with you.”

Her voice lowered to a whisper.

“Just hold on.”

Runner put his fingers between hers. She grasped them tight with a smile, and then slowly, her grasp loosened until her hand fell free.

He buried his head upon her warm body in grief. “I promise you, I will make them pay.”

He heard the footfalls from heavy boots of spectres descending the stairs of the tower. Reluctantly, Runner stood away from Olivia’s body. He walked past a trail of corpses left by LongJaw’s war and escaped into the night.

Epilogue

No Country for Heroes

Mekkel’s bar was not the nicest place to be, but so was everywhere these days. Half of Rat Town had been left in ruins by LongJaw’s marauders. Buildings were torn down; smoke ascended from shacks and workshops. Children cried and their mothers consoled them. Rangers of Section 5 laid down their weapons and used their trucks to dispose corpses left on the streets.

Runner made his way past a group of rangers, executing what was left of LongJaws marauders. He was in a grey trench coat with a hood that concealed his face. He reached for the door to the bar and walked in.

The air reeked of smoke. It came from the cigarettes on the lips of disheartened slum dwellers as they puffed away their melancholy. He made his way across to the bartender and sat on a seat.

“Hey, Mekkel. One glass of the good stuff,” he said.

The bartender grabbed a glass and a bottle of Juniper gin. “Runner, is that you?”

Runner pulled down his hood. “Yeah, it’s me, Mekkel.”

“Man, you’re a fucking legend. The news is everywhere. Everyone knows you found the darn lake. You saved a lot of lives, my friend.”

“Yeah, tell them to keep it to themselves if they value their heads. Those guys in the big city can fuck you up, wherever they want and whenever they want.”

Mekkel poured the drink in the glass, and Runner swallowed it in a gulp.

He dropped the glass on the table. “I don’t know what’s next for me.”

“Celebrate, my friend. We defeated LongJaw. Long live Rat Town and drinks for everyone.” Mekkel raised a glass.

“Long live Rat Town! Long live the slums!” the crowd in the bar shouted, lifting their glasses.

Runner was surprised to see how fast the air of depression that clouded the bar gave way to boisterousness. Free drinks could surely do that. He turned his gaze to a television hanging at one end of the bar.

“Turn the volume up,” he said.

Mekkel pressed a button on the remote.

It’s now official. Supreme Councillor Peter Patterson has been confirmed dead. The great leader was found in his office, murdered by no other than the saviour of the city, Runner of Rat Town. Evidence shows that the leader was shot with a crossbow during a personal meeting to congratulate the so-called hero, but he had managed to deceive us all.

Council representative and wife of the late leader, Dr. Lysander Patterson, promised to personally reward any citizen that captures the boy in this picture with fifty-thousand credit-chips. All sightings should be reported to the nearest Section 5 command.

“My god,” Mekkel said. “That’s a lot of money.”

Runner scanned the room quickly to make sure there was no one after him. He returned his gaze to Mekkel and saw the man reaching under the bar for his rifle.

“Don’t do this, Mekkel,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Runner. This is Rat Town, and times are hard.”

Runner’s gaze settled on the empty bottle of gin resting on the bar. He grabbed it quickly and broke it on the table, drawing the attraction of others in the room.

Mekkel’s hands reached his gun.

“Please don’t.” Runner shook his head gently, holding the broken bottle at its head.

Mekkel drew the gun as fast as he could, but Runner was quicker. He leaned forward and jabbed the glass into Mekkel’s neck. Blood spurted, and the man grasped his neck quickly. In a few seconds, he slumped on the floor.

Runner turned around to see every eye upon him.

“Sick bastards,” he muttered.

He jumped over the table and headed towards the door. A large hairy man reached for his coat. Runner charged through the door and escaped his grasp, leaving his coat behind. He ran into the streets, shoving through moving men and women and bystanders.

Runner broke left and ran into an alley. He stopped to catch his breath.

His nightmares began with just two loaves of bread. Now, it was obvious that his entire life had been mapped out by someone else. Everything was planned—from his sentence to his inclusion to the Remnants of Men. He wondered what else had been planned for him.

A hand came upon his shoulder. Runner turned around, using his elbow to jab on a boy’s stomach and then pushed him to hit a wall.

The boy put his arm over his stomach. “Jeez, Runner, how did you get this violent?”

“Troy? Oh my god, Troy,” Runner said happily.

He opened his arm and, with much enthusiasm, embraced his friend.

“I thought you might have become compost fertilizer for a lucky plant in the wasteland,” Troy said as they disengaged.

“Don’t count on it,” he replied.

Troy’s gaze fell upon Runner’s hand. “Why is there blood on your hand?”

“It’s Mekkel’s blood, not mine.” Runner hid his face in guilt. “I kind of . . . like, stabbed him, you know.”

“You stabbed Mekkel?”

“No, I kissed him, moron. What do you think? He tried to kill me, and I stabbed him with a broken glass.”

“What the hell, Runner! What did they do to you out there?” Troy’s eyes widened.

Runner turned around and saw a familiar face. Legion was standing behind him. She walked quickly to him and embraced him too.

“Wow, I’m glad you guys aren’t dead,” he said.

Legion put her palm on his cheek. “I knew you would make it. You can tell me all about it later.”

She walked to Troy and put her arms around his neck, pushing his head towards her lips and kissed him hard, much to Runner’s surprise.

“That was fast,” Runner said.

“Yeah, I know right. She saved my life, like for real, Runner. I thought I was going to die when wave upon wave of marauders were coming at me, and then she came.”

“The building collapsed, and we were both stuck there for hours,” Legion added with a smile.

Runner glanced at Troy and then Legion. He walked to the girl, caught her by the arm, and dragged her to one end of the wall.

“Are you trying to get back at me or what? Troy is my best friend. You want me to believe you just . . .”

“Just what?” Legion replied. “He is a nice guy and I like him. Look, Runner. You are a good guy and you have a lot on your plate you need to sort out.”

Runner’s mind strayed to thoughts of Olivia and his face paled. For a moment, he thought of telling Troy the truth about Rhiannon’s death, but the new smile on his friend’s face was all he had ever wanted. He knew how hard it was to smile in the slums, and he would not take that away from him.

“We saw the news, Runner. Did you do it?” Legion asked.

“No.” Runner shook his head. “But Olivia is dead. LongJaw cornered us and . . . and . . . forget about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Troy said. “She didn’t deserve that. She was a good person, which is a rare quality in this town, and she really liked you a lot, my friend.”

Runner sighed. “The feeling was mutual.”

Troy put his hand on Runner’s shoulder. “There is someone who wants to meet you.”

“Who?”

“Come on, we will show you.” Legion beckoned.

She opened a door to an abandoned factory on the left, and Runner entered, followed by Troy. It was dark inside. Legion overtook both boys and opened another door. Runner stepped in and saw his old company: Slim Jim, Big Sylvia, and Marq. They were standing beside large computer screens that displayed images of several zones in MegaCityOne.

He was confused.

“What’s going on, guys?”

Troy pushed forward an old man in a wheelchair into a beam of light that streamed from a florescent bulb. He looked to be in his seventies with a bald head and a long white beard. Runner knew him as Old Max, the mad mechanic. Soon, he was joined by Bob Davies, the Chief Enforcer of Section 5, and another man in expensive Citadel clothing.

Runner stepped backwards in confusion, fearing they were there to arrest him.

“It’s okay, Runner. They are friends,” Old Max said.

Apart from Troy, there was no one Runner trusted more in Rat Town, and so he calmed his racing heart.

“Runner,” the third man called. “My name is Councillor Goldfinger, and I’m here to help.”

“How?”

“I’m sorry for the way you were treated after everything you went through, but not all of us in the council share the same ideal,” the man said.

“So what?” Runner shrugged his shoulders. “I’m supposed to believe you’re one of the good guys?”

The man walked in front of the computer screens. “Dr. Lysander Patterson is the most dangerous person in this world, and many of us in the council believe she has to be stopped, but we need your help.”

Runner shared his gaze between Old Max and Bob Davies. “You guys think I’m some kind of hero. With little luck, I barely survived the Remnants of Men. There is not much I can do.”

“They killed my son, Dope,” the Chief Enforcer said, “just because they wanted to build a symbol in a plan to eliminate our homes. I cannot say I was the best father, but he was my only boy, my only child. Right now, there is a division in MegaCityOne. The Rangers of Section 5 demand to know why they were left to fight LongJaw alone.”

“People don’t know this, but even now the council plans to use any means necessary to eliminate the slum. They believe with the slum gone, there would be enough resources for the big city for many years to come. That’s half a million people, Runner.”

“What do you want?” Runner opened his arms.

Old Max came in front of him.

“The fight is just beginning. We have a ship waiting to take you across the ocean to the domed city of New London. We believe Reinhardt Reddit has taken residence there. We want you to find the tyrant and kill him. Do this, and the councillor would make sure you get the freedom you so well deserve.”

“So, you want me to journey across a toxic sea, sneak into New London, and what? Shoot the nightmare of every person in this world. Am I missing anything?”

“No.” The councillor shook his head.

“I’m not an assassin,” Runner protested. “I can’t just kill a man.”

“When you get there and see what they do to the people, believe me, you will have all the motivation you need. Reinhardt is Lysander Patterson’s greatest ally. Do this for us, and we will take care of the rest,” the councillor said.

Old Max dragged Runner to a dark corner. “You are right. You are not an assassin. You’re just a kid who deserves as normal as life can be in a shitty world, and we have no right to ask this of you. I have known you since your mother brought you to this world. You are a survivor. That’s what you are, and that’s why we need you to do this. Right now, we are all fighting for our very existence. New London is an urban jungle, and finding Reddit might be the most difficult thing you have ever done.”

Runner pulled away. “When do I leave?”

“Now,” the old man replied.

Troy came forward and pushed a button. A large gate opened up to a garage. He walked in and came out pushing his rat bike.

“Whoa, you still have yours. I lost mine in the wasteland.” Runner admired the motorcycle.

“Runner!” an ecstatic voice called.

He turned around and saw a little girl running towards him. “Angie!” He sank on one knee to receive her in an embrace.

Runner ran his fingers down her hair. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

She settled her head on his shoulder. “Are you going away again?”

“Yes,” he answered, “ but you are coming along this time.”

She pulled her head away from his shoulder and gazed at him with a smile. Legion and Slim Jim came towards Runner with a backpack and a belt arranged with sheathed weapons. He took the belt and buckled it around his waist before proceeding to grab the backpack and a gas mask.

Runner climbed the rat bike and squeezed the throttle.

“Come on, Angie,” he said.

“Are you sure you want her to come along? You know, we are now her family here in Rat Town. You can leave her with my mum.” Troy glanced at Angie.

“I’m not gonna leave her behind this time. I will keep her safe, I promise.”

Troy lifted Angie and helped her to sit behind Runner on the bike. She wrapped her arm around Runner’s torso and held tight.

A large truck drove by and stopped. Legion popped her head through the window. “Hop in,” she said.

Troy went around and opened the door on the other side. He settled in comfortably and Legion kicked her engine.

Runner glanced back at them. What was left of the Remnants of Men was about to follow him on another path to death and darkness.

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ONE

DAY 1

The trail of green slime worked its way down her face, moving steadily closer to her mouth. Like when you passed an accident on the highway and you knew you didn’t really want to see any dead bodies, but you still found yourself looking anyhow, I couldn’t pull my gaze from the horror unfolding in front of me.

The oblivious mother was at the other end of the cart, throwing groceries onto the belt as fast as her arms could move. Strapped into the seat, the blonde-haired toddler clutched a stuffed pink elephant that was missing an eye and watched me with equal fascination as I showed her. Big blue eyes lit up with curiosity when I shifted my overloaded shopping basket to my other hand.

The thick snot inched closer to her upper lip. I eyed it, not sure if I should say something to the mom. Moms didn’t like unsolicited advice, right? Especially from twenty-year-olds who had never changed a diaper in their life.

My inner conflict was solved when the girl’s tongue swept out and the green streak disappeared.

Holding back the urge to gag, I looked anywhere but at the kid.

The store was packed.

Why did I always manage to come do my shopping at the busiest times?

You would think I would learn not to shop on a Friday night. The lines were long, resulting in the painful wait behind the snot nosed kid I was currently experiencing.

A large red sign hanging over the pharmacy advertised flu shots. Glancing back at the girl, I wondered if I should fork over the cash and get one. I never had before, but I really couldn’t afford to miss any work, and the news stations were calling this year’s flu an epidemic.

The line wrapping around the pharmacy counter was what finally convinced me to skip the vaccine for now. I’d already suffered inside this grocery store long enough for one day and that line looked like there had to be dozens of people in it.

Finally, enough room appeared on the belt for me to put my groceries up. Flexing my shoulder, I tried to rid myself of the soreness that my heavy basket had caused. Thankfully, the mother was now blocking my view of her sick daughter.

After a few more minutes spent reading about the new president’s policies—policies that had the country melting down—on the tabloids strategically placed at eye level, it was my turn.

“Thank you for shopping with us today. Did you find everything okay?” the bored cashier mumbled as she began scanning my things. She didn’t even look up.

“Sure, I…” I trailed off. The woman didn’t actually care and wasn’t really listening. Not that I blamed her.

How many times a day was she forced to repeat that idiotic greeting?

I swiped my card and picked up my bags, stepping into the steady flow of shoppers leaving the store. Out in the packed parking lot, I found my ten-year-old Honda and jumped inside. All I really wanted to do was get home, put my food away, and curl up on the couch in my comfy pajamas. Netflix was calling me.

The house I shared with my roommate was only a few minutes away from the store and in no time, I was parking my car. The short driveway barely had enough room for both of our cars so I parked carefully because I didn’t want to bump her car again.

Once done, I lugged the bags up the sidewalk and through the unlocked front door.

“Evie!” I put one armload down long enough to twist the lock behind me. “You left the door unlocked again!”

My roommate was pretty good, as far as roommates went but she frequently forgot to lock the door behind herself, which was a pet peeve of mine.

“Sorry!” Evie’s head of red curls appeared at the top of the steps. “I was thinking about what to wear tonight. I must have forgotten.” She ducked back out of sight.

Sighing, I carried my bags to the kitchen and dumped them on the small table. Evie was never going to change, and I’d figured that out at some point during the nearly two years we had lived under the same roof. Restocking my shelf in the fridge with my purchases, I tossed the balled up plastic bags in the trash and headed upstairs. An oversized pair of ugly flannel pjs, a bag of chips, and binge watching my favorite pair of brothers were my only plans for the night.

Evie darted out of our shared bathroom, still putting an earring in her ear and I jumped back to avoid a collision.

“Sorry!” She smiled brightly at me. “What do you think?”

Wearing a slinky black dress that barely covered her backside and sky-high heels that I would be guaranteed to break an ankle in, Evie was dressed for a good time.

“Going out with Austin?” For once, she was dating a guy that I actually liked. Evie’s usual type was jerk.

“Yeah. He’s taking me out for our second month anniversary.” She flashed her dark lined eyes at me and grinned.

“You look great, Evie. Have fun.” As I was talking, I noticed a Band-Aid in her upper arm. “What’s that?”

Noticing the direction I was looking at, Evie gasped. “Oh! Thank goodness you noticed. I forgot.” Reaching up, she pulled the Band-Aid off. “I went and got a flu shot today over my lunch break.”

“I almost got one today too, but the line was too long.”

“Yeah. I was almost late clocking back in. It took so long. At least, now I shouldn’t get sick.”

Three loud knocks on the door downstairs cut our conversation short. Waving goodbye, she rapidly bounced down the steps and I heard the door open. My room was the last door in the hall, and I walked there as I heard her happily greeting her boyfriend.

The next couple of hours were spent drooling over Dean and stuffing my face with junk food. I was sprawled out on our lumpy couch, almost asleep, when I heard the sound of the front door opening. Pulled from my food coma, I sat up far enough to see who was coming in over the back of the couch. Only three people had a key: Evie, me, and our landlord. But it never failed to make me nervous when someone came in the door. You could never be too careful.

Austin appeared, an arm around Evie’s waist as if he was supporting her as they came into the room.

“Here you go.” He helped her into the recliner.

Awake now, I sat up all the way. “What’s wrong guys?”

“Evie’s not feeling so great.”

“I’m fine. I’m just feeling a little dizzy.” She swayed a bit as she attempted to smile at me.

Evie didn’t actually look fine. Her normally pale skin looked even more washed out, except for her flushed cheeks.

“You don’t look fine, Evie. Maybe we should take your temperature.”

She waved my suggestion away. “No. Don’t worry. I just need to sleep this off. Must be that danged flu shot. That’ll be the last time I get one of those.” She looked up to where her boyfriend was still hovering next to her chair. “Help me upstairs?”

The two of them slowly made their way up to Evie’s room. I was awake now, but no longer in a Netflix kind of mood. It wasn’t like my friend to get sick.

I picked up the mess I’d made in the living room and ran into Austin as he came back down the stairs. He left after soliciting a promise from me to keep an eye on Evie for the night. Not that he needed to ask; I planned to check in on her anyhow. But it was nice to finally see Evie with someone who was concerned about her.

Up in my room, I put away the basket of laundry that had been sitting by my closet for three days. Then deciding to check on Evie before climbing into bed, I crept to her door and opened it as silently as I could. I didn’t want to wake her up if she was asleep.

Covered with a pile of warm blankets, Evie shifted restlessly but appeared to be sleeping. After sneaking a glass of water and some Ibuprofen onto her night stand, I quietly closed her door and went back to my own room.

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The First 30 Days
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Chapter One

The sun beat down over me, making sweat drop onto my sticky pink tank top. I bent over in the back seat of my beat-up orange Gremlin, placing the last of my boxes inside. Swiping my blonde hair out of my face, I stood upright again and turned toward my parents. Mom, as usual, looked beautiful even with tears in her eyes; it made the blue in them pop out. My dad stood next to her like a strong pillar. His stone gray eyes that I had inherited softened at the sight of me.

“It’s okay. I’ll be back here for holidays before you know it,” I said before wrapping my arms around the both of them. Mom hugged me back tight, almost too tight.

“I know. It’s just my baby is headed off to college! I’m so proud of how you turned yourself around last year. Now, look where you are. You’ve been accepted to Arizona State University! You can call day or night, okay?” my mom said as she held my face. Chuckling at her antics, I nodded, or at least moved my head the best I could while she held my head captive.

“I know, Mom. I love you both, but if I’m going to get there by nightfall, I need to leave now.” We lived in Tuba City, Arizona. It was a nearly four-hour drive to Phoenix, and I had a late start. I was going to leave this morning with my one and only friend, Gavin, but I wanted to wait to say goodbye to my dad too since work kept him late. Gavin had gotten accepted to the same college. We were both pretty excited.

It’s funny because before my junior year, we weren’t really friends. In fact, I think he used to hate me. But one day, I said something that made him laugh. That was that, and now we’re all but attached to the hip.

“Goodbye, Kiddo. Drive safe, and watch the needle so you won’t overheat.” My dad always talked about getting a better car, but I was living off a student income, which meant I had next to nothing in my bank. Pretty standard as far as college life goes. I was lucky to get a scholarship even though it did surprise me since there were other students that were more qualified. I was told the reason was I volunteered quite a bit these last two years.

Saying goodbye one more time, I hopped into my car and sped off to my future.

***

I stood outside of the campus with my mouth agape at its size. Students walked up and down the designated sidewalks, not too bothered by the blistering heat. I had to stop twice on the way here so my car didn’t overheat, and I was pretty sure a few of my CDs melted in the back seat since it smelled like burnt plastic. I had texted Gavin a while ago that I was thirty minutes out, so when I saw him walking up, I wasn’t surprised. He grinned when he saw me, showing off his green braces. His wire-rimmed glasses glinted in the setting sun, making me squint my eyes. Without warning, he picked me up and spun me around in three quick circles. When he set me down, I had to look up since he was significantly taller than me.

“Hey, Miss Always Late!” He teased and picked up a box that I had set outside of the car. I was right about some of my CDs. They might as well be used for some sort of abstract art for all the good they were now. I playfully scowled at him before picking up my duffel bag and swinging it over my shoulder and picking up another box. I had one more on the ground, so after a second, I placed the box in my hands down and placed the smaller one on top of it and picked them both up. I was determined to make it just one trip.

“Thanks for the help. I guess I’m in dorm 118. Do you know where that is?” I asked, huffing a bit at the big load I was carrying. I laughed tiredly as Gavin scooped the top box out of my arms and onto his box. “Thanks,” I said distractedly.

“No problem, and yeah, I know where it is. Just across the courtyard where I’m staying at. Do you have a roommate?” He huffed alongside me. I nodded, still taking in all the sites around me.

“Yeah, but she’s not going to be here until the end of the month. At least that’s what my paper says. Who’s your roommate?” I swear I could feel myself baking as the sweat on my forehead sizzled.

“His name is Hayden. You might meet him later, but I’d give him a wide berth if I were you.” The warning in his voice rung clear. I gave him a puzzled look.

“Why?” I asked, perplexed. Gavin, although he looked a little nerdy, wasn’t known to stand down.

“He’s bad news. In the minutes that I’ve met him, I got that vibe from him. He smelled like pot and has a bad attitude.” I felt bad Gavin had to be stuck with a roommate like that. I hoped mine wasn’t like that.

“Hopefully, it will get better. And if not, I think you can switch if someone is willing.” I tried to be helpful, but at hearing him snort in disagreement, I knew I wasn’t.

“That’s the problem! Anyone I talked to today told me to stay away from him. No one likes him! And when you’re near him, you get this weird feeling like you need to stay away.” I felt a little offended that he would say that since I went through a similar thing growing up.

“Maybe he’s like me? Everyone tried to stay away from me growing up.” Before I could say anything else, he snorted out a loud laugh.

“No way! You were little miss popular growing up!” We always argued on how my childhood was. I distinctly remembered being alone a lot in school, but who knows since it was so long ago.

“Whatever, can we please just head inside where hopefully it’s air-conditioned before I become buzzard food?” I complained as sweat started to sting my eyes. I was sure I looked really attractive.

“You got it. We just need to go through this building here.” Gavin directed us into a building that thankfully had an AC on.

***

“Do you think you can get me some numbers while you’re living here?” Gavin spoke as another cute girl walked past. I shook my head and chuckled.

“Oh no! We are not going down that road again! Last time I tried to set you up, Amanda didn’t speak to me for a month!” I laughed as we reached my dorm room door. I had to set the box and bag down to fish the key out of my pocket in my jean shorts before I could open the door. My classmate Amanda was a cute shy girl. Gavin still didn’t realize why taking her to see a museum that had a spider collection was such a bad idea.

When we walked in, a smile lit up my face. It was small, but it was mine. Two beds on opposite sides of the room were no bigger than a twin but still looked comfy. A desk laid under the two tall beds like a little cove, and I could see the engravements on the wood from where I stood that came from past students. There was only one fairly large closet near the door with a large bay window on the far wall looking out into the campus. Overall, it looked like freedom, and I could feel my heart racing at all the new possibilities. “I felt the same way seeing my dorm for the first time this morning,” Gavin said after seeing I was speechless.

“It feels great…C’mon, let’s set these down, then I want to explore.” Gavin nodded, and I quickly chose my bed by the far wall. I wasn’t sure how loud my roommate would be, but I knew I had quiet footsteps so I wouldn’t wake her when I came in late, which was why I chose the farthest bed. Gavin placed my boxes on my bed before we walked out. Locking the door behind me, I placed the key back into my jeans pocket and smiled up at Gavin. “Show me around!” I ordered playfully. He laughed through his nose, shaking his head before gesturing me to follow him.

The common area was amazing! A lot of the walls were glass so you could see outside, while the solid walls were white and had a chic designer feel. Colorful couches splashed personality to the open area while lighting fixtures gave the room a warm feel. Paintings that littered the walls also gave off that quirky vibe, but it meshed well with everything.

“This place is amazing! I can tell I’m going to like it here,” I spoke with a smile. Students were either messing around or studying dutifully in a quiet corner. Gavin nudged my shoulder for me to continue to follow him.

“I believe the cafeteria is this way. Follow me because I’m starving,” he said while rubbing his stomach. I rolled my eyes at him since he was almost always hungry. It really wasn’t fair since he could eat an entire pizza by himself and not gain an ounce.

“I doubt it, but I’m hungry too. Have you had the food here yet? Is it any good?” I asked, watching my steps so I didn’t bump into anyone. Suddenly, a horde of students brushed past us, and all I got from the murmuring is the word fight. Gavin and I paused before he stopped a guy who was running.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked quickly.

“That guy Hayden again.” The unnamed guy took off after that. Gavin paled slightly and shook his head before taking my arm and towing the both of us in the opposite direction. I had to nearly run to keep up since his legs were so much longer than mine. Puffing slightly as we got outside, I pulled out from his grip.

“Can you slow down?” I asked with slightly labored breath. The heat was like a smack in my face, like a living breathing thing that was suffocating me. Gavin wouldn’t listen though, so I had to run slightly ahead and stand in front of him. “Can you stop?” I asked exasperatedly.

“What?” He huffed. “Can’t I be a little peeved that my roommate whom I’ve only met once is in another fight? Why did I have to get stuck with the campus bad guy?” I had to bite my lip to stop the threatening smile coming over my face.

“Peeved?” I clarified with a slight snicker. I saw a faint blush take over his cheeks, but he shook it away.

“Well, I am! What if this guy decides to kill me in my sleep? Then what?”

I rolled my eyes at him and shook my head. “I’d miss you terribly,” I spoke with a mock pout. He pushed my shoulder some before he started walking again, this time at a more reasonable pace.

“I’m serious though! You know me. I’m not one to just back down, but it doesn’t mean I go looking for trouble.”

I got where he was coming from, but I think he’ll be fine. “You shouldn’t worry too much. You’ll be okay if you just stay out of each other’s way. I know it will be hard since you’re basically living with one another, but it will work out. You’ll see.”

He sighed and reluctantly nodded. I heard a rumbling, sound making me look down at Gavin’s stomach. I laughed and poked him before stepping away. “I think we should feed the beast before it consumes everyone in its path.” I joked.

“Hardy har har.” The sarcasm in his voice was thick and made me laugh. After a few more minutes, we were able to find the cafeteria and grab something to eat. I got a fruit salad and a bottle of tea while Gavin opted out for a huge burger.

“So what’s your schedule?” I asked with my mouth full of grapes. Gavin shot me a disgusted look playfully before throwing a napkin my way.

“First off…close your mouth, and secondly, I have Math and Science on Wednesdays and Thursdays in the morning while English and Photography are on Mondays and Fridays in the evening. What about you?” he asked, still inhaling his burger.

“And you think I’m disgusting?” I asked, eying the large amount of mustard on his chin before throwing the napkin his way. “I have English and Art Mondays and Tuesdays in the afternoon, while I have Literature 101 and Math 102 Thursdays and Saturdays in the morning. Man, we’ll have, like, no classes together! How am I supposed to survive?” I asked, sulking into my fruit. I felt Gavin pat my back awkwardly before clearing his throat.

“You could always make new friends? Besides, we’ll see each other on the weekends.” I rolled my eyes at the idea. He knew I wasn’t great at making friends but stayed silent anyways. I didn’t feel like arguing over something as small as that. Sitting back against my seat, my eyes drifted around the large and loud room. Mindless chatter provided a void to fill the silence in my mind, but as I sat there letting my gaze drift from one student to the other, I began to feel the small tug on my heart missing my parents. I tried to shake it off, but it persisted. After all, this was the first time I would be away from them. My eyes shot to Gavin as he placed his hand over mine in comfort.

“I’m fine.” I lied, wanting to be stronger than I felt. What kind of an eighteen-year-old can’t make it a day without missing her parents? I felt like a little girl again, and I didn’t like it. Pulling my hand back from under his, I looked elsewhere knowing if he really pushed, I would spill everything. I heard him sigh, but he didn’t say anything else. Instead, we both sat quietly observing our fellow peers thinking to ourselves.

***

“Thanks for helping me out today,” I said with a grin, looking up at Gavin. He shrugged carelessly and pushed up his glasses since they were perched on the tip of his nose. We were standing outside my door room as fatigue and tiredness washed over me. I could hear the call my bed was singing to me, making my hand twitch to fling open the door and answer.

“No problem. Oh, I almost forgot! I got you something.” Gavin dug into the pocket of his jeans before pulling out a whistle on a rope. I quirked an eyebrow in question.

“A whistle?” I asked, a little perplexed. It was a little strange. It’s not everyday someone gives you a whistle. Gavin shook his head and sighed.

“It’s for your safety. I kind of figured we wouldn’t get to see a whole lot of each other like normal, so I got you this. If you get into trouble, blow it so it will scare off anyone who’s trying to hurt you,” he explained, making that imaginary light bulb go off above my head.

“Ah, okay. Thanks, Gavin!” I took the whistle and wrapped the rope around my wrist a few times to keep it there. I saw his ears turn red from my gratitude, making me chuckle. I patted his arm and said, “Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He nodded, giving me the ‘go ahead and head off to bed’ signal. I turned and opened my door before shutting it behind me. It was eerily quiet in my room, causing the slight loneliness to seep back in. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was off, but doing a quick survey of my room, nothing seemed different. Shrugging it off, I got out my cell phone to check the time. I saw a text from my mom.

Love you, sweetie. Be safe and call us tomorrow after you’re settled in.

Part of me wanted to call now just to talk, but I bit back the pressure building behind my eyes and got undressed instead. I had to start acting like an adult, and calling my parents within hours of seeing them because I was homesick didn’t exactly scream ‘adult.’ Pulling on an oversized sweatshirt, I untucked my blonde hair and settled in bed before drifting quickly to sleep.

***

“Run…faster!” A voice echoed like the wind that whipped around me. I knew I was scared, but not why. In fact, I was downright terrified as I gasped for air. My eyes squinted, trying to find where the voice was coming from, but all I saw was an empty street.

“Run!” it yelled again, making me whimper. I felt helpless tears threaten to spill as I choke.

“Where?” I screamed, knowing this voice was trying to help me, but I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. They were coming for me. Who? I didn’t know, but I knew they were bad…very bad. Suddenly, I saw a movement on the far street corner. A man with black hair stood under a desolate street lamp. The shadow marred his face so I couldn’t see who it was, but I knew he was the source of the voice. My feet felt like lead, but I pushed harder to run toward him. I was struggling while he stood there waiting. Why wouldn’t he help me?

I screamed when cold, claw-like hands wrapped around my torso as I was halfway there. It was pulling me away from the stranger. They were too strong! I couldn’t break away! “Help!” I screamed so loud my throat felt raw. I was getting farther and farther away from the man on the corner. I could feel through the hands that grabbed me that with them came certain death.

“Not fast enough…” I heard him just over the howling wind while I was being dragged back into the shadows.

***

“No!” I sprung up in a cold sweat. I could feel my head throbbing fiercely in time with my heartbeat. Stunned, my eyes saw it was just getting light outside. With my hands shaking, I wiped away the remaining sweat from my forehead and got up, knowing I couldn’t fall back asleep after that. I was in shock. That was the first dream I had in years. I always thought it was odd I really never had dreams, and I’m not talking about the ones you can’t remember, but I literally wouldn’t dream of anything. It was always black, and tonight, I had one, and not just a dream but a nightmare. Something didn’t settle right in my gut, but all I wanted right now was to shower off the grime I felt on my skin, and possibly wash away the images assaulting my mind.

Grabbing a random white t-shirt and a pair of blue yoga pants, I also got the necessary bathroom needs such as towel and shampoo. When I quietly padded down the hallway barefoot, I noted it seemed ghostly. Not a soul in sight and the only sound that could be heard was the slight hum of the lights and the AC combined. My heart was still beating slightly above normal from the nightmare that I experienced while my palms were still clammy. Trying to shake it off, I sped up my walk at a brisk pace. My eyes jumped from wall to wall, thinking the creatures in my dream might possibly pop out suddenly. I felt relief wash over me when I made it to the public shower but had to laugh at myself for acting so paranoid. If anyone were awake now and saw my state, they’d think I was mad.

I sighed deeply when the warm water cascaded onto my skin. My eyes closed as I could almost feel my tension melt away. I grabbed my coconut-scented shampoo and began the process of cleaning not only my body but my mind as well.

“She’s becoming immune…” A crackly almost nonexistent voice rung through the air. I gasped and turned around to face the curtain that blocked me from view. My heart was back up to full speed. With a shaky hand, I peeked from behind my barrier and let go of the breath I was holding.

Another girl around the same age was on her phone as she brushed her hair, still in her pajamas. She felt my eyes on her, making her look up in the mirror to meet my gaze.

“Oh! Sorry. Did I scare you? I thought you heard me come in…No, Jackie, not you; this girl who’s in the shower.” I realized she now was tuned back into her previous conversation on the phone.

“It’s okay. It just freaked me out for a second,” I replied quickly and turned off the water in my shower before grabbing my towel that was hanging on a hook just outside the stall. Once I had wrapped myself securely, I stepped out and gave her a small smile. She grinned back through the mirror, showing off a perfect set of white teeth. She then stopped brushing her red curls and promptly told Jackie that she had to go and finish getting ready.

“Hi, again sorry for the scare, but my name is Jojo, but most people call me Joe.” Her name fitted her as she seemed very chipper even this early in the morning. I took out my toothbrush with a friendly smile and looked at her through the mirror.

“Cali, and it’s fine. I was just being a scaredy cat.” Before I could stop myself and just brush my teeth, a question blurted past my lips. “What did you mean, ‘She’s becoming immune?’” I felt slightly mortified that I would ask a question that was clearly none of my business, but it was like my mouth filter went on the fritz. I quickly began to brush my teeth, hoping that would keep my mouth busy enough to not get me into any more trouble. I saw Joe cock her head in question.

“I never said anything like that,” she answered before grabbing her stuff and leaving. While she could move perfectly, I was, however, more or less frozen. If she never said that then…No, she could be lying. But why would someone lie about that? I spat the excess toothpaste into the sink and rinsed my mouth out, inwardly cursing myself.

“Get a hold of yourself,” I grumbled out and proceeded to get dressed. After I was done, I decided to go back to my dorm to really unpack my things. My fingers combed lazily through my hair since I left my hairbrush in my room. Unthinkingly, I paused outside my dorm room thinking something was lurking behind the door.

I nearly wanted to hit myself for being childish.

Groaning under my breath, I flung the door open after I unlocked it, but quickly flicked the light on. My eyes swept over everything. I was satisfied when nothing seemed out of place. Unconsciously, my hands were balled into fists, prepared to fight if the need showed itself. The glint that came off one of my bracelets caught my attention, making my eyes look for the source of light since I knew my ceiling light wouldn’t be bright enough to do that.

It was then I noticed that the sun had really started to rise above the large city. Bright colors were blended into a mixture of brilliant oranges, reds, and yellows. The sight stole my breath and reminded me of home. On the rare occasions I was up before the sun back home, I loved to sit outside and watch it come up from the valley hills. The painting nature was working before my eyes gave me the comfort I needed at the moment.

It must have been another five or so minutes before the colors dulled into a sky blue. I sighed before going back to unpacking. I was sure Gavin wouldn’t be up for another four to five hours since it was still extremely early. I bent over to retrieve my iPod dock and pushed play on a random song before getting to work.

This was going to be a long day.

If you enjoyed this sample, look for

Intertwined
on Amazon.

Chapter 1

No Rest for the Wicked

Tung huddled in the darkest corner of the executioner’s dungeon, trying to ignore the bone-chilling coldness, which was draining his life away. Violent shivering was his body’s last-ditch attempt to generate enough warmth to stay alive, but the icy stone floor sucked heat away faster than he could produce it. Standing might be warmer but after the beatings, the cold, and next to no food, he couldn’t find the energy to get up.

He had to get out of this place. Escape or death, he didn’t care which anymore. Anything was better than the wretched existence he’d suffered for the last thirty days.

He tried prying open a tiny crack in the heavy wooden door, and his fingertips bled and throbbed with pain from his futile attempts. He knew it was hopeless, but what else could he do? Maybe dying was a better option. Maybe it was the only option because he was due to be tortured to death the very next day. Roll on death, it couldn’t come a moment too soon because being wet through, bruised, starving, and parched had sapped his will to live. Yes, roll on death.

Dark, dank, and putrid were the words an unscrupulous property merchant might have used to glamorise this miserable dungeon. No words were nauseating enough to describe the true horror of this dreadful place. To be fair though, it wasn’t all bad. At least, the green slime, which oozed like pus from small cracks in the walls, added some colour to the drab greyness. But the green slime tasted vile. He’d tried it twice in vain attempts to get some sustenance, but each time, within a matter of seconds, a rancid stream of vomit erupted from his guts, adding to the stench of the cell.

Fighting the fatigue, he forced himself onto his side and prayed to the gods for sleep, but how could anyone sleep in this frightful place? Hands over his ears, he tried to shut out the sounds of the torturers’ hammers smashing bones, the metallic clunk of ratchets on the racks, and the anguished screams which echoed forlornly down stone corridors. Rank stenches crept under the door to assault his nostrils, the acrid stink of flesh seared by white-hot branding irons overwhelming the other odours of human sweat, urine, and excrement. Wails of despair reverberated inside his head. Did these evil tormentors never rest?

By some miracle, his brain dragged his tortured body into an uneasy slumber. Praise be for the gift of sleep, at least he still had this last sanctuary. His nightmares replayed his pathetic life as his subconscious tried to figure out how he’d ended up in this pitiful mess. The work of the devil, no doubt—with a little help from his fiends.

The dreams relived his sixteen years of poverty and the daily struggles to find enough food to survive. His mother had battled relentlessly to try and stop his father from drinking and gambling away whatever meagre wage he had earned, but she’d been drained dry by the futility of her efforts to turn beer money into food money. Most of the time, the family went hungry, and to add real injury to insult, a beating was the reward for anyone daft enough to complain.

Tung doted on his mother, so it broke his little heart when, just before he turned twelve, the will to fight for her kids deserted her, and she deserted them. She had either died or run away. He never discovered which.

Without anyone shielding him from his father’s drunken wrath, the beatings increased in regularity and harshness. His childhood descended into a nightmarish hell of torment and deprivation. To make matters worse, he’d heaped a couple of cartloads of guilt onto his tiny shoulders because he couldn’t protect his little sister from the torrent of paternal abuses. His father only brought pain into their lives; no support, no money, and no food. Tung had become the man of the house, and stealing was his only option to put meals on the table.

As he drifted in and out of sleep, his memory reconstructed his first theft—an event destined to determine how the rest of his life would play out.

☼☼☼

He was a mere child, and his victim was a giant of a man whose purse bulged with gold and silver coins. He’d watched the man for weeks and resented how he seemed to have an endless supply of money to waste on fripperies. Resentment was to become an enduring theme in his life; resentment sprinkled with an unhealthy dusting of jealousy, spite, and bitterness.

The sight of a fat man buying a gaudy hat at an up-market market stall wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, although something about this fellow piqued Tung’s interest. He followed him for the rest of the day and on many occasions after that, creeping in the shadows, always ten steps behind.

A pattern emerged. The man moseyed around the market and then feasted in the tavern before visiting the big house where all the ladies lived. Now there was a mystery. Why did so many pretty ladies live in that place? It boggled his tiny imagination. What did they do? One thing was for sure, they enjoyed a steady stream of gentleman visitors, so they weren’t short of male role models, unlike the young Tung who desperately lacked someone to set his moral compass. His father wasn’t even a good example for the devil to follow. Actually, maybe the devil could have learnt a thing or two from him.

On the day of his first heist, he tailed the man to the alehouse. Through grimy windows, he watched him devour mountains of meat and drink tankards of bubbly, brown liquid. The more he drank, the more careless he became, and on this particular evening, a lot of tankards were being downed. Tung watched and waited.

As the evening drew to a close, the man wobbled out of the tavern. Staggering and stumbling, he took his usual shortcut through the dark alleyway, which ran along one side of the tavern. Halfway down the alley, Tung sprung. He raced past the man at full speed and grabbed the purse dangling from the man’s trousers. Unfortunately, the purse didn’t break free, so Tung’s body came to an abrupt halt while his feet kept running, flailing into the air. A ridiculous and hilarious sight for an uninvolved bystander, of which, in that deserted alley, there were, of course, none.

Tung’s momentum and aerial acrobatics broke the leather tether, and the purse tumbled to the cobbles, spilling its contents everywhere. The shock, aided and abetted by ten pints of ale, upended the victim, so he too lay sprawled on the cold stone, flapping around like a beached whale. Man and boy gawked at each other, and, for an eternal split second, neither knew quite what to do. The man’s glazed eyes gazed at Tung in bewilderment. Tung seized the moment, and the purse, and sprinted off into the darkness.

He ran and ran until he was as far away as his little legs could carry him, and then he ran some more. His ears throbbed to the hammering beat of his heart. Would it burst through his chest before or after his lungs exploded? He had to stop. He had to hide. A pile of rotting sheep carcasses dumped in the market square provided the perfect spot. He wormed his way into the middle of the woolly mound and collapsed in a heap, sucking in lungfuls of rancid air.

He caressed the soft, brown leather purse. It wasn’t bulging anymore, having selfishly emptied itself at the scene of the crime. Damn it. His shaking fingers explored every corner of the purse and there, hiding right at the bottom, was a single lepton. It was the lowest denomination of all coins, but it had some value, albeit tiny.

“Yes, yes, yes,” shouted Tung, starting to plan his celebration. “I’ve found my calling.”

☼☼☼

The cell door burst open without warning. His dreamlike memory panicked and fled into the ether. The night’s silence vanished as the rusty hinges squealed and screeched. A grey-bearded old man was catapulted into the room. He double-somersaulted across the stone floor and crash-landed upside down on top of Tung.

The old man screamed as he bounced off Tung and smashed heavily onto the floor. Tung screamed as he exploded into wakefulness. The guards yelled as they slammed the heavy wooden door.

“You’ll fester in hell for this, you snivelling toadies,” the old man bellowed at the now-bolted door. The door didn’t reply. He shouted a few more obscenities before noticing someone else was in the cell.

Tung watched the old man’s face redden as embarrassment spread across it. The man adjusted his position to a semi-upright slouch, brushed the worst of the dirt off his robe in an undignified struggle to regain his composure, and cleared his throat.

“I’m Madrick.”

He straightened his back as he spoke. He waited for a reaction, but his opening line had been met by a silence stony enough to make any mountain justly proud.

With blank eyes, Tung stared at the stranger, mouth agape. Surely, this couldn’t be happening?

The old man placed a bony hand on Tung’s shoulder and shook him. To his horror, Tung realised this was a real nightmare and not a dream.

“I’m Madrick,” the old man repeated. “I’m the Royal Wizard, as appointed by the King himself.”

Tung’s exhaustion left him barely able to form a response, but somehow, he managed. He punched Madrick hard, square on the forehead.

Bang.

How do you like that, old man?

Madrick fell backward, the look on his face revealing the pain, which jarred every nerve in his head, yet he still didn’t take the hint. He rubbed his bruised brow and prodded Tung with his foot.

“I may be able to help you escape from this dreadful place but only if you listen very carefully to what I have to say.”

Madrick straightened a little more, his eyes brightened, and a small smile curled across his lips.

Here comes a story, thought Tung, and he was right.

If you enjoyed this sample, look for

Dark Tidings
on Amazon.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Thank you so much for reading Liberation! I can’t express how grateful I am for reading something that was once just a thought inside my head.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the book. Please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads because I just love reading your comments and getting to know you!

Can’t wait to hear from you!

Peter Okafor

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Okafor Ugo-Peter is an avid scribbler of speculative fiction with a passion to educate and entertain through his work. He holds a degree in Mechanical Engineering from Coventry University. Liberation, his debut offering, weaves his experiences of greedy leaders, lies and corruption, deplorable living conditions, and the low value placed on human life, during his stay in Asia and Africa.