The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 45

With everything appearing well in hand, I retrieve Gus' portable radio from the airship and head into the camp in search of a bed. My feet drag in the soft sand, kicking up clouds of dust in my wake. I smoothly maneuver my way through the tightly-packed crowd, my shoulders angling instinctively as I make my way into the hastily-assembled shanty town.

Someone points me in the direction of the spare beds and I push my way into a sloping, sand-coloured tent, collapsing into the first available cot without bothering to remove my Enforcer's uniform. Darkness takes me almost instantly and I resign myself to the nightmares that will surely follow.

When I awake, the light has shifted from a tarnished orange to a bright white. It must be after noon. I sit up, blinking in confusion.

I didn't dream. After the acts I committed down at the Irrigator, I thought for certain that I was condemned to a lifetime of uneasy sleeps, but there was nothing. No fear, no isolation, just a deep, restful unconsciousness. How is that possible?

I shake my head and swing my legs out of the low cot, rubbing my eyes as I slip through the flaps of the tent and re-enter the rabble.

The infirmary is easy enough to find. I follow the flow of traffic, listening with a kind of detached indifference to the snippets of conversation around me. Everywhere, people are talking about the fifty prisoners returned from Babel. There are stories of having found long-lost friends and relatives, and the newfound prospect of deceased loved ones being alive and only days away from rescue.

As I allow myself to become absorbed by the crowd, I come to realize that the motivation behind this upcoming battle is not so different from the injustice that drove our people to fight against the King. Our pickaxes have been replaced by catapults and our ragtag group of Miners have been joined by battle-hardened Wasters, but the sentiment is still the same. What drives us has always been the same.

Hope. We fight because we have hope. Hope that our dead can be be brought back to life. Hope that what was lost can be found.

The people around me aren't afraid. They're ready.

The infirmary looks to have been expanded hurriedly, with several sand-coloured canopies in various states of repair sheltering the crammed-together beds. Healers, both Waster and Miner, rush back and forth, smoothly dodging the visitors and patients. Several more volunteers speak with the scores of friends and relatives hanging by the roped-off entrance. Despite the haphazardness of the scene, the mood is spirited. Everywhere, people are laughing and talking animatedly, and I can see contented smiles on even the most emaciated patients.

Jaron and Luca are hunched over a bed at the far end of the room. Noah is sitting up between them, looking tired but happy. The telltale bunching has disappeared from Luca's shoulders and Jaron's sharp eyes never leave Noah's face. I catch myself staring for longer than necessary at the reunited family, feeling a strange mix of happiness and jealousy.

"Kay!" Someone calls my name and I tear my eyes away, looking for its source.

Jules waves her hand, gesturing me over to the entrance of the infirmary. I shoulder my way up to the front of the line of visitors and duck under the rope. At once, Will's sister appears in front of me and pulls me into a hug, drawing back to examine my head for any injuries.

I swat her away. "I'm fine. I would have come sooner if I needed medical attention."

"No, you wouldn't have." She says and draws me over to a relatively-quiet corner of the tent. "Kay, where's Will? No one can give me a straight answer."

"He's fine." I tell her and she visibly relaxes. "He isn't hurt and he isn't a prisoner. He stayed behind voluntarily."

Her dark eyebrows rise nearly to her hairline. "He...what?"