The man sets the dials to autopilot, and leans over to me. I need to honor my side of the deal, while stalling as much as I can. I allow him a light peck on my cheek. He does this softly and with more respect than old Stiles. But when his hands reach for the front of my cloak, I clear my throat loudly, and swerve away. “Not so fast,” I mirror from earlier, with Stiles. “We have time to … enjoy.”
My toes curl in their boots as we pass over skeleton-shaped formations of Skull’s Wrath desert. Under the full moon, and even with Depot Man’s glider lights, I can only see the eerie caps of the skulls glowing red.
He shifts over toward me, his big belly grazing the steering wheel. Beyond his shoulder, I see a sign of a life on the ground. Hope bubbles up cautiously.
Outlines of a large, rundown compound flicker in the burgundy shadows and a smattering of vehicles parked at all angles, next to uneven sections of a pliable, sagging roof.
“Let’s land now, please,” I beg.
“But we haven’t even started,” he protests. His hand moves to the fold in my cloak.
“Let’s explore outside!” I bray, “There’s a settlement there. Can’t you see it?”
“That place? Some crazy ex-cult lady runs that.”
“A member of my … Fireseed group?” I venture.
“No, the ZWC—Zone Warrior Collective. They did a bunch of breaks across the northern border. The head of it was the one who killed Professor Teitur.”
“What?” The professor Teitur? Varik’s father? The original Founder who planted the first crop in the desert? “The man we worship and pray to bring us back our Fireseed, down from the sky, to feed our people? That one?”
“Lady, you’re even nuttier than the woman I’m talking about. What is it with you cult people?”
“I don’t even know what a cult is!” I explode.
He looks at me sideways. “It’s a bunch of crazies who make up a fairy tale and get a loony guru to lead them and keep the fairytale going. Especially you Fireseed people who worship a flipping flower.”
I gape at him. The creep takes advantage by clamping his bumpy lips on mine. I try to wriggle away but he weighs a ton.
From the corner of my eye, I see my brother’s arm thrust forward, dragon toy in hand. He stabs the man in the neck with its pointy tail. I release a yelp of shocked laughter.
“You sunnofa …” Depot man rubs the wound, but then grabs me, smearing his blood on my cloak.
I yank back my head and fake a gag. ”Let me out or I’ll be sick all over you. I’m serious, please let me—” I don’t even have to fake it this time, because this whole experience on top of Stiles is truly nauseating.
“You freak, why’d I let you talk me into this?”
When I gag again the guy makes a sudden, lurching landing that makes me temporarily forget my heaving stomach.
He opens the door. I stumble out just in time and retch onto the sand. It could be that meat. God knows what that actually was—month-old boar from Restavik? My brother follows and slams the door behind him.
The guy hovers for a few terrifying minutes, probably weighing his options. There’s no way we can outrun his glider and if he decides to come get us, he’ll be much less friendly this time. He swerves down. “Get in!” he yells. “You can’t stay here in this desert.”
“I told you, I’m sick. And I need to visit this settlement, I need to talk to these folks.”
An out-and-out lie.
He looks doubtful, and I realize that he’s not all bad after all, worried about leaving us here. “Suit yourself,” he mutters and slams the door. Finally, his glider begins to whir and he’s off, dumping his troublesome cargo.
I wipe my mouth, and peer through the murky darkness ahead. Thorn is already running ahead. I clamber after him.
Chapter 3
The compound is ramshackle but any shelter is better than none. Hurrying toward it, I see a clutter of melded structures, some side-by-side, and some built atop each other, like a child’s crude sandcastles. The compound itself is smaller than ours at home, but there’s a huge, oblong tent-like extension on the front about four times the length of the complex. Flags flutter in the dark, attached to the top of what I see now is a series of clumsily attached tarps. We’re walking toward it, but I can’t see what’s under this makeshift tent. Could it be something the people here want to protect? Or hide? Like cannibal’s cauldrons?
I’ve caught up to Thorn and taken his hand. We move closer with caution. I figure the desert folk don’t get many unannounced visitors. They’re surely armed. I only hope they’ve been fed. If I think about it any more I will die from fear, so I turn off my mind as best I can.