Westlanders

The Ramshackles unfolded in front of them as they came over the hill. Only one of the towering skyscrapers, which climbed hundreds of feet into the air, maintained its original structure. The rest of them had bits chipped out of them, and a few looked as though their tops had been sheared clean off.

Next to him, Gaiomere had grown tenser with every step they took towards the abandoned city, her hickory brown eyes darting between buildings, her fingers clenched so tightly around her knife that her umber skin looked ashen.

“We’ll just get in and out,” Atlas assured her, unslinging the quarterstaff from his back. “They won’t even know we were here.”

Gaiomere shot him a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “I thought you Obarions believed in fate?” she said.

Atlas frowned. “We do.”

“Then why do you insist on tempting it?”

The closer they drew, the more details of the Ramshackles came into focus. The concrete beneath them was cracked and broken, and springings of weeds shot up from between the fissures. Thick vines and tapestries of ivy climbed dozens of feet up swaying steel towers. Many of the windows in the buildings they passed had been shattered, and graffiti decorated the walls on every side of them.

“Death to the Puppetmasters,” was scrawled in red letters across a brick building, and ten paces ahead, “Resist or Die,” was sprayed onto the pavement.

“It’s like walking through a history book,” Atlas murmured. Gaiomere nodded in agreement.

There was a sudden clatter ahead, and Atlas grabbed Gaiomere’s hand, tugging her into an alleyway and pressing his body against the wall until they were swallowed by shadows.

They stilled, listening. Atlas heart was pounding. Gaiomere stood so close he could feel her trembling. One of her hands tugged at the heart-shaped locket around her neck, the way she always did when she was nervous;the other gripped his so tightly that his fingers tingled.

He held his breath and peeked around the corner. The tightness in his chest unfurled. “It’s just a deer,” he told her.

Gaiomere let out a relieved sigh, and let go of his hand with a sheepish smile.

They continued through the Ramshackles, picking their way over fallen fire hydrants and broken glass. Atlas nerves grew every step that they took. The deeper they went into the city, he knew, the more difficult it would be to make a quick escape.

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen one by now,” he remarked.

“Raider’s gang used to strip them for parts,” Gaiomere explained. “I imagine the other nomads do too.”

Atlas wrinkled his nose, glancing sideways at her. “His gang? Your ex-boyfriend sounds like a thug—”

“He was not my boyfriend!” Gaiomere snapped, glaring at him. “And thug or not, it’d be better of us if his gang was here—he’d have the parts we needed, and his gang would protect us from anybody that wanted any trouble.”

Atlas scowled. “Don’t be stupid, I can protect us just fine.”

Gaiomere rolled her eyes in vexation, but the smile she gave him was almost fond. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered.

They had walked ten minutes more when Gaiomere said, “There!”

Fifty feet ahead of them, lying on its side, was a car, its tires stolen and windows broken out of their frames.

Gaiomere crouched down beside the car, attempting to move the hood, but it wouldn’t budge.

“We’ll have to get it off its side,” Atlas said. Gaiomere gave him a nervous look, and he shrugged. “It’s going to make a lot of noise, but we don’t have another choice.”

It took four tries before they managed to flip it off its side, Atlas bracing his back against the top of the car and pushing off the wall with his legs.

“I’ll keep watch,” Atlas said. Gaiomere nodded, opening the hood and propping it up.

Atlas peered down the empty street. He couldn’t imagine living in a place like this. It was a constant reminder of the First War, and the desolation it brought.

Sometimes, patrolling the deserts in the South, or traversing the forests in the North, he could forget about the wars. But not here. Here, everywhere he looked was a reminder that the Westland had once been teeming with life.

“How’s it coming?” he called to Gaiomere.

“Just disconnected the ground cable,” came her muffled reply.

He glanced back to see her bent over the hood, diligently prying at a slab of metal. She had pulled her hair up into a bun atop her head, and Atlas’ eyes drifted over the arch of her neck.

“Will you hand me the screwdriver in my bag?” she asked.

He passed it to her, and she started to unscrew a metal piece near the headlight.

“Is that the capacitor?”

“The semiconductor,” she corrected, disconnecting the mount and slipping it into her bag.

Atlas realized he had been watching her too long, and hastily turned back to the street, but he could not see a soul in either direction.

“I’m going to have to cut this out, the screw is stripped,” Gaiomere muttered. “Shouldn’t be hard, with the engine gone.”

Atlas started to respond, but froze. He gripped the quarterstaff tighter, his eyes glued to the alleyway on his right, where he’d heard the noise.

“Almost got the resistor,” he heard behind him. “Then it's just the capacitors—”

He heard another noise in the same direction, louder this time.

“Gaiomere…”

“I know, I know,” she said uneasily.

He glanced back and saw her withdraw two tubular objects from beneath the hood and shove them into her bag. She hastily circled around the back of the car, opening the trunk. “I’ve still got to find the capacitors—”

Atlas saw four figures round the corner of the alleyway and he felt his blood run cold.

“Gaiomere, get down,” he commanded.

The strangers had caught sight of him and were hastening over.

“Lookie, boys, we got a new friend,” taunted the boy on the far left.

Atlas watched them carefully, his mind whirring. They could not be much older than he was, and they didn’t appear to have guns on them. Still, he knew he could not take all four of them.

“What are you doing here?” asked the fellow on the right. “This is occupied territory.”

“Just came to collect some supplies.” Atlas said, adding, “I apologize, I wasn’t aware the area was occupied—”

“He wasn’t aware!” crooned the shortest of the four. They snickered and advanced closer. Their grins were relaxed. It was as obvious to them as it was to Atlas that they had every advantage here—they had the numbers, and they knew this territory far better than he.

The tallest approached him, stopping in front of him, so near that Atlas could smell his stale breath. “Who else is with you?”

“Nobody,” he lied unflinchingly “I came alone.”

The boy smirked, jerking his head towards their gear on the ground. “That’s an awful lot of weapons for one person,” he remarked. “More weapons than hands—now that doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“It’s just me,” Atlas repeated. .

The boy lunged, but Atlas forced him backwards. He slammed the gnarled end of the quarterstaff into the boy’s head, and he collapsed with a groan.

The other three surged forward. Atlas dodged the short one’s punch and knocked him backwards, but then he felt his head split in pain as one of the others punched the side of his face. He staggered backwards, managing to stay on his feet, even as dots danced in front of his eyes.

He pointed the sharp end of the quarterstaff towards the two that remained on their feet as they closed in on him, but before they could launch another attack, the roar of an engine exploded through the air.

A car came flying around the corner, its tires screeching against the pavement.

The car squealed to a stop in front of them, and four young men climbed out. But before Atlas could even focus on the new arrivals, he heard pounding footsteps, and realized there were more approaching.

The two boys who had been about to attack him pulled their comrades to their feet and clustered against the wall of the building with alarmed expressions.

“I thought we told you that you were not assigned the role of welcoming committee,” drawled the young man who had gotten out of the driver’s seat. He had tousled black hair and a thick beard. “All new arrivals go through us, Benemitch—”

“I—I know!” stammered the short one. “I’m sorry—it was just—we didn’t recognize this one!”

The bearded man turned, his eyes shrewdly flickering over Atlas’ face. “No, I don’t know this one either. Where are you from, stranger?”

“South of the Pass,” Atlas said honestly. “I’m just passing through. I really didn’t know this area was occupied…”

From his peripherals, he could see the others circling them. One of them had snatched Gaiomere’s bag from the ground and was going through it.

“Yeah, see, thing is. I don’t believe you,” the bearded man said with a belabored sigh. “Everybody comes here with the same excuse. I’m growing tired of having to kill liars—”

“Wait!”

Gaiomere leapt out from behind the car. Atlas wondered if she didn’t notice the menacing way the strangers surrounded them, or that several of them had guns slung over their shoulders, because when she emerged from behind the car, she was beaming.

“I thought I recognized that voice!” she said. “Hey, Koda!”

The bearded young man blinked, recognition dawning on his face. “Gaiomere?”

She gave him a dazzling smile. “The one and only.”

He laughed, pulling the girl into a headlock. Atlas started forward, until he realized that the man—Koda, she’d called him—was just ruffling her hair. Several of the other Renegades came forward, greeting the girl companionably.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” Koda said.

“That’s what happens when you leave someone for dead,” Gaiomere said waspishly.

Atlas wanted to pull her aside, to ask her what was going on. Was this an ally tribe who just happened to be in the area at the same time? But no, Koda had made it sound like they had some sort of arrangement with the four young men who had first found them.

Koda waved off her snark. “C’mon, Gaiomere. You know we gotta follow the boss's orders.” He glanced back towards Atlas.“So who’s your friend?”

Before she could answer, Atlas heard the sound of heavy boots clunking against the ground. In an instant, the chatter silenced.

“Maybe my memory is failing me,” said a cold voice. “But I was under the impression that I sent you here to dispose of the new arrivals.”

Several of the boys stepped aside, clearing the path for a tall, blonde young man with piercing blue eyes.

“Figured you’d want us to keep these ones alive,” Koda said with a grin.

The blonde boy’s eyes flickered first over Atlas, and then Gaiomere. The corner of his mouth pulled up into the faintest smirk.

“Wouldn’t be the first time he tried to kill me,” Gaiomere muttered.

The smirk broadened. “Come on, now. Is that how we greet old friends?” He glanced sideways at one of his lackeys, whose gun was hitched over his back. The boy immediately spun the gun around, so that the barrel was pointing directly at Gaiomere. The other gunmen did the same, and Atlas’ heart jumped in his chest. “We could be enemies...but I know you don’t like how I treat my enemies.”

Atlas glanced at Gaiomere. Her face was tense, and it looked as though she were battling with herself. Finally, she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and mumbled, “Hi, Raider.”

He snapped a finger, and the gang began to disperse, bellowing out cries and whoops as they went.

Raider turned back to the two of them with a feral grin. “Hey, Mere-Kat.”