The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 13

I spend the remainder of the evening trying to keep a low profile. I toss and turn on the flimsy mattress, listening to the continuous rise and fall of various conversations taking place outside my shack. The Wasters with their strange, lilting accents gossip and joke with one another, the steady hum of their voices lulling me in and out of consciousness.

I rest in fits and starts; constantly brought back to abrupt awareness by sudden bursts of panic- either from a noise outside my unlocked door or the beginnings of drifting into a nightmare.

I sigh and roll onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut tight. My muscles remain tensed, refusing to release me from a constant state of alertness. Despite Jaron's assurance that I am a welcome guest in his camp I can't help but be wary of the ugly looks I've received since arriving here. Not even in my days of masquerading amongst pampered ladies did I ever feel like such an oddity. To these people I am at best a curiosity and at worst a murderer.

My instincts and fight response grapple tiredly against my stressed mind and body until I finally drift into an uneasy sleep.

Something sinister brushes against my back. My breath comes in short bursts as I twist and turn in place, searching wildly for the source. The smell of vomit and blood greets my nostrils; giving me the briefest warning for what is to come.

The whip falls abruptly, tearing me open. I scream, once again unable to make a sound. Great, wracking sobs tear through my chest as the whip lands again and again, the heinous sound of snapping leather piercing the otherwise silent dungeon.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I know that I must wake up but the constant bursts of pain render me unable to form a cohesive thought, unable to do anything but scream and writhe.

The whip pierces my shoulder and I jolt upright, gasping and choking.

A dark figure stands over my bed, tall and stooped as he draws his hand away. With shaking hands I grope for my dagger, blinking sweat or tears out of my eyes before I realize who it is.

The old man from my dinner with Jaron, Cade, waits patiently for me to gather my bearings. My heart still pounds heavily in my chest and I can't help but be grateful to him for bringing me out of my nightmare. I swallow bodily, wanting to speak but incapable of discerning my conscious thoughts from my subconscious memories.

"It's all right, take your time." Cade's rough voice is soft in the dim light. "When you're ready, come join me for a cup of tea." I see a flash of his white teeth before he steps outside, disappearing around the corner of the shack.

I push my hair back from my face, willing my mind back into motion. My scars still tingle with the memory of the nightmare. My tunic has slipped down my shoulder and I finger the marking left from the King's blade, frowning at the rough sensation beneath my fingertips.

Something catches in my throat and I stand abruptly; the prospect of a cup of tea with a strange Waster suddenly incredibly appealing compared to sitting alone with only my scars and memories for company.

Cade is waiting for me outside. Wordlessly I fall into step next to him as we walk into one of the dark tunnels branching off of the main space and emerge in another, smaller area with fewer of the clapboard shacks.

In the centre of the room is an enclosed booth, its shoddy exterior speaking of being an original relic from the days when the tube was used by our old civilizations. Cade leads me to the booth and gestures me inside, pulling a sheet of metal across the entranceway to give us some privacy.

"Please, sit."

I glance around the small room, noting a neatly-made bed pushed up against one wall and a small stack of cushions against the other. I select a cushion and sink down into a seated position, resting with my back against the metal wall and watching Cade as he busies himself over a small gas stove. A worn, threadbare rug has been laid out across the floor and the warm, herbal aroma emanating from the tea gives the small space a cozy feel. My eyes nearly drift closed again before I start, my heart pounding with the remnants of my latest nightmare.