than I’d ever seen since leaving the underground. They were dressed in tattered, faded pants, colorless shirts, rarely of one piece, sewn together from a variety of different sources.
For the first time, I realized what a commodity clothes were, and how much I had taken them for granted living underground. All Bunker residents had standard issue, wear resistant pants and shirts, along with camo and warm weather gear for recons. If anything needed to be mended, there was the spare material to do so.
These people had no such luxury. They had whatever they found, or inherited it.
It wasn’t just the clothes I noticed. The men had long, thick beards, and intense, dark eyes. The faces were gaunt and hardened, faces that were well beyond their years. There was little beauty left in the women, unless they were young. The harshness of life had taken it out early.
No one said a word to us. There was no greeting or welcome. There was just calculation in their eyes, wondering who we were, whether we were dangerous, whether we could be taken advantage of.
It was nothing like I had expected. These people were scraping to get by. I wondered if it was just the harsh environment and lack of resources, or the city’s leadership. Either way, if this was the best a walled city had to offer, then maybe I didn’t want it.
Then again, my hungry stomach disagreed.
“When can we eat?” I asked Makara.
“Just let me talk, and try not to get in the way.”
We at last came to the oasis itself. There were palm trees around it, but they were shriveled and long dead. The whole thing was more like a pond than a lake. Buildings crowded around it, made from the same wood and sheet metal I had seen earlier.
All in all, the total population of the town might have been a thousand people.
One side of the oasis was completely bare. In the failing light it was hard to tell, but that might have been where the crops were.
A hooded figure stood, back to us, on the shore of the oasis. I knew this to be Ohlan, because two guards stood by him with rifles, facing toward us. He turned at our approach, lowering the hood. He, unlike the other people I had seen, was well-fed and his face clean-shaven. He was balding, with a ring of gray hair. He had a wrinkled face, in which was set a pair of sharp, blue eyes. There was a toughness to him. Not the kind of toughness that comes from the hardships of life, but the kind of toughness that comes from inflicting hardships on others. I immediately did not like him.
“Elder,” Makara said. “I thank you for this audience.”
She knelt on one knee. I was shocked that Makara was kneeling to this guy who seemed to cover my soul in slime just by looking at him.
I felt I was expected to kneel, too. So I did. For Makara.
“No need for formalities,” Ohlan said. His tone was cursory, and from it I deduced that there was, in fact, need for formalities. “Not between friends.”
“Thank you, Elder,” Makara said.
The guard who had escorted us stood by and watched like a hawk.
Now, Ohlan looked at me. I gazed for a moment into his cold, blue eyes before turning away as if burned. The eyes were shrewd, and seemed to catch everything I was in a moment. A contemptuous smirk played on his lips before he broke into a pleasant smile.
“Welcome, Makara of the Lost Angels.” He looked toward me. “And who is this?”
“His name is Alex. He was alone, in the Wastes. He’s with me now.”
“Ah,” Ohlan said. “The Wastes seem not to have yet chilled your heart, Makara. Perhaps there is a reason for this…adoption?”
“He was helpless. He is the only survivor of Bunker 108.”
Ohlan flinched a bit. He quickly recovered, turning to me. “108? So Chan is dead?”
I stared at him, confused. What did he know of Chan? Of us? Apparently, Chan had more ties to the outside world than he had let on.
I swallowed my pride at having to answer this man. “I’m afraid so.”
Ohlan’s eyes narrowed. “An interesting development. How did it happen, if I may ask?”
I didn’t want to tell him. But Makara and I needed him, as much as that hurt. He had control of this town and the food that would feed me tonight.
“A sickness,” I said. “I barely escaped and would be dead if not for Makara.”
“A sickness?” Ohlan considered. “Yes. There have been rumors of a new, wasting death. Agonizing. Bodies have been found over the last few weeks in the desert, bloated, ripped. The Blights ever spread.”
Ohlan turned from me and back to Makara.
“Yes. I remember you. And I don’t remember you. You are not the little girl who was Raine’s own. You have changed. You were so happy and carefree, then.”
“I had the luxury to be.”
“Indeed. The City of Angels is no longer that. And the Angels are dead, and the cruel Wastes are now even crueler. You have hardened.”
“I have become what I must.”
“Indeed.” Ohlan gave a coy smile. “Even so much as to take from others, I hope? You have not joined with the locusts of the east, have you?”
I had no idea what Ohlan was referring to, but then I realized he was talking about the raiders, and Raider Bluff.
“I became what I had to become, after Raine died,” Makara said. “To survive.”
“You should have come here first, Makara. You know I would have taken you in. But you didn’t come. Are the walls of Oasis not sufficient for you? There was safety here, and family. But you chose another path. You became a raider.”
Ohlan’s eyes seemed to dance. Makara looked afraid. I felt protective of her. But what could I do? I was just a kid, and Ohlan was a powerful man.
“You said…family?” Makara asked.
“Oh yes. Did you not know?”
“Know? Know what?”
Ohlan smiled. “Your brother, Samuel. He was here.”
Makara’s eyes widened. “Samuel? Samuel,
Makara’s hands shook from either nerves or excitement. I just hoped Ohlan wasn’t lying. If he was, I was going to wring his neck, armed guards or not.
“He’s gone, now,” Ohlan said, turning around. “Samuel came here almost two years ago, thinking to find you here. But he did not find you here. He stayed on. About a year ago, he left to live in Bunker 114. Your brother has a brilliant mind, and Dr. Luken, the head of Bunker 114, wanted Samuel to help him with his research. Three weeks ago, Samuel returned from 114, intending to live here. He refused to say why, but apparently he had a falling out with Dr. Luken. It was only a few days later that we received a distress call from 114. Then, nothing. All of our transmissions have been met with silence. A few days later, Samuel led a patrol to 114 to find out what happened. He was supposed to have been back by now.” Ohlan shook his head. “We have not heard from him since.”
“Where is Bunker 114?” Makara asked. “We will leave immediately.”
“114 is not far – it lies in the heart of Cold Mountain, about fifteen miles northwest.”
“And he never returned?” Makara asked.
“No,” Ohlan said. “After losing so much, I cannot risk more men and resources. In fact, I couldn’t get anyone to go even if I wanted to. The widows still mourn the loss of their husbands. You can hear them weeping, in the night. And it’s been such a cold, dry year. The crop is pitiful. Worse, those men had weapons and supplies with them, things that cannot be replaced.” Ohlan sighed. “If only I could get them back.”
“We will go,” Makara said. “We will bring them back.”
I looked at Makara, and looked at Ohlan. He gave a small, satisfied smile.
“Makara, I do not want to give you false hope. We have not heard from them since the day after they set out. Your brother…”
