Wasteland (Wasteland - Trilogy) (16 page)

This was where the screams were coming from.

Unnoticed, Esther stood in the open doorway, stunned by the noise and activity. Inside, the sobs and shrieks were deafening. Bleary-eyed females, robotic with fatigue, nevertheless moved around the room with purpose, carrying towels, plastic jugs of water, blankets. Although the air was stifling and dense with smoke, one of them tended a blackened fire bowl in the corner of the room, tossing chunks of wood onto the leaping flames.

The crowd parted for a moment and Esther could see what was happening.

Aima squatted in the center of the small room, clutching the edge of the laminated counter. To Esther, she was unrecognizable. Her soaking nightdress hiked up, her monstrous belly suspended over her knees, she was white-faced and gasping, her hair plastered across her face. Two females kneeled by her side, supporting her, and again, she screamed.

Esther, horrified, couldn’t speak.

Aima threw back her head, causing the cords in her neck to stand out like ropes. She strained powerfully, her teeth clenched and her hands white-knuckled on the edge of the counter. Something dark and wet shot from beneath her and was caught by one of the waiting females. At the same time, there was a loud gushing sound, as an eruption of clear liquid and bright red blood splashed onto the dirty tiled floor. Moments later, there was the thin, reedy cry of a newborn. The others closed around Aima, murmuring as they tended to her.

But something was wrong.

One of the girls gasped and another flinched. Something was said in an urgent whisper, followed by a muffled exclamation.

“
No.
” Aima’s voice was faint, but it rose above the clamor. “
No! It can’t be!
”

Esther craned her neck, trying to see what was wrong. But the person closest to her swiveled around, her hands slick with blood and afterbirth. She noticed Esther for the first time, and her eyes blazed with anger.

“Ain’t nothing to stare at,” she hissed. “It was born dead.”

Esther recoiled.

Everyone in the room, even Aima, was suddenly aware of her. Silence fell, and all of the females turned one by one to stare at Esther. Stammering apologies, she stumbled backward out of the room, nearly tripping on the doorsill. When she was outside, the opaque glass door was pointedly pushed shut behind her.

Esther stood alone on the sidewalk, thinking about what she had just seen. She was deeply rattled.

It was not just the sight of childbirth that bothered her, although the violence far exceeded anything she could have imagined. Nor was it her rude exclusion from the circle of women, a secret society that had never wanted or welcomed her.

It was born dead,
the girl said.

Yet Esther had heard it cry out.

Instead of going home, Esther retreated to a darkened doorway where she could see Trey and Aima’s home. There she waited to see what would happen next. She leaned against the side of a building and felt her eyelids droop; she was about to pass out on her feet. She was ready to give up and head home when the door across the street opened, spilling light onto the sidewalk as a figure exited and walked away.

Whoever it was carried something bundled in her arms.

Esther used the tracking skills she had learned from Skar to attempt to follow undetected. Oblivious, her target hurried through the darkened streets, sure of where she was going. Once, she glanced around, as if sensing she was being trailed. Esther melted into the shadow of a streetlamp, and satisfied, the other girl continued.

Onward they walked, the robed girl in front, Esther half a block behind. They reached the outskirts of town, past the Source looming huge and white in the early morning light, and still the female continued. She turned off the road and cut through the land beyond the gaping pits of the Excavation, picking her way across the precarious open wasteland made up of the debris of collapsed buildings.

Occasionally, she shifted the bundle in her arms.

At last, she arrived at what appeared to be her destination. It was a massive oil tower, a giant steel tank set high atop four spiderlike legs. Weather and time had eaten away the letters once painted on its side, and the metal was corroded with rust and rot. A spindly ladder made its way to the top. At its base, the female finally set down her bundle.

Esther stepped out of the shadows. “What do you aim to do with that baby?”

The female started violently and cried out in fear. When she saw who it was, her expression changed to one of utter disbelief.

“You followed me?” she asked. It was Sian, an older girl Esther knew only slightly. “All the way from town?”

Esther nodded. “What do you aim to do with that baby?” she repeated.

Sian shook her head dismissively.

“It ain’t no baby,” she said.

She stepped aside and Esther could see the child. It was tiny, much smaller than she had imagined. It whimpered, then beat at the air with its minuscule legs and arms. The blanket fell away and in the early morning light, Esther could see its sex, which was a misshapen lump, neither male nor female. Its nose was nearly flat, little more than slits in its broad face. Its eyes were far apart, bulging, and lavender in color.

It was a variant.

Esther, stunned, tried to make sense of it.

“So you’re just leaving it out here to die?” she asked.

Sian shook her head with a mixture of disgust and pity. Then with her robes hiked up, she took hold of the ladder and began to climb, an orange T-shirt clenched in her teeth. When she was more than halfway up, she tied it to a rung with a clumsy knot. Then she made her way back down.

“This way, they know,” she said.

“You mean the—” Esther started to ask, but the other girl cut her off.

“The fathers don’t want to know. And the mothers want to forget. So this is how we figured it out with the mutants, long ago. It works out the best for everybody.”

Esther couldn’t take her eyes off the baby. It had found its thumb and sucked on it.

“It’s a secret only the mothers know,” said Sian. She stared at Esther, her voice hard. “And now you do, too.”

Esther headed home, walking down the center of the road that led to town. The sun was already well in the sky and she was aware that she risked being detected by a crew on its way to work. Yet she was too exhausted and confused to care.

She was thinking of all the couples in town and how so few of the females ever managed to become pregnant. Of the few dozen who carried a child to term, most of their babies were born dead.

Or at least that was what everybody was told.

Now it seemed the truth was both simpler and more complex. Her suspicions had been right, all along: Variants weren’t animals at all, but humans. That the mothers of Prin kept this secret was something she couldn’t have begun to imagine.

Still brooding, Esther walked home down the center of the street. Although the sun was visible above the horizon, it was too early for anyone else to be out. She was not aware of the bicycle until it had pulled up beside her. The rider in robes and dark glasses jumped down, removing the scarf that covered its face.

“Esther.” It was Eli, his face flushed and eager. “I saw you from my window and wanted to talk.”

She smiled back politely and he fell into step next to her, pushing his bike. They walked like that in silence for a few moments. He seemed to want to say something, but each time she looked at him, he merely blushed.

“Esther,” he began again.

When she glanced at him, he cleared his throat. Then he awkwardly reached over and, to her shock, took her hand. His skin was rough and dry; his palm seemed the size of a dinner plate. She stared at him, uncomprehending.

“We known each other a long time,” he said. Esther could see her distorted reflection in each of his sunglass lenses; she looked confused and exhausted. “And you got to know how I feel about you. I guess what I’m saying is, I want to be . . . I was hoping you might think about me becoming . . . your partner.” He finished in a rush, his face red.

Esther was speechless.

Yet why should it be a surprise? At fifteen, Esther was past the average age for partnering. Still, she could have three or four good years ahead of her. And Eli had always been kind and generous. In a town that treated her like an outsider, he had never made any secret of his affection for her. And even she had to admit, she may have encouraged him by asking favors.

Now Esther stared at him critically, as if seeing him for the first time. Eli was not tall, but he was strong and healthy. He had thick, wavy hair, a nice smile, and dark brown eyes. His voice was deep and pleasant, and he was a hard worker, dependable and considerate. She could do a lot worse than to become his partner.

Yet she felt nothing beyond an acknowledgment that he was a good catch. Was that reason enough for her . . . or for him, for that matter? Was she so wrong to expect something more from a decision she would have to live with for the rest of her life?

Eli had stopped talking and seemed to be waiting for her to respond. Yet Esther found her thoughts were not on the boy in front of her.

She was thinking of Caleb.

Esther pulled away her hand. “I can’t tell you right now,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Eli stared at her, clearly disappointed. Then he tried to smile.

“Sure,” he said with forced heartiness. “I can understand that. A girl needs time to think this kind of thing over.”

As she walked away, stiff with self-consciousness, Esther could feel Eli’s eyes following her before she heard the sound of his bicycle heading off. But she was still rattled.

If she were paying more attention, she might have noticed that although the sun was well over the horizon, there were no other townspeople outside, on their way to work. Instead, the streets were empty. It was not until she entered her building and crossed the empty storefront to reach the stairs in the back that she noticed that something was odd.

Esther paused. The building around her felt different somehow. Every nerve ending in her body told her that.

Her first thought was of her sister. Esther hesitated at the foot of the stairs, her hand on the banister.

“Sarah?” she whispered.

And with that, they were upon her.

Two townspeople lunged down the stairs and sprang at her. Although startled, Esther was able to leap backward and avoid their grasp. But she was not prepared for the two others who now rushed in from the street, blocking her escape. One of them seized her by the arms; another struggled to bind her wrists behind her back with an elasticized cloth cord that had black metal hooks at each end. Esther struck out, kicking and punching, but she was only one against several and was quickly overpowered.

“What are you doing?” she screamed. Her mind was whirling; was she being punished for finding out about Aima’s baby?

No one answered. Rafe walked in, his expression unreadable.

“Rafe!” she screamed. “Help me!”

But a vile-tasting rag was stuffed into her mouth. Esther couldn’t speak; she could barely breathe. The last thing she saw across the room was Sarah, clinging to the doorframe, her hand to her mouth. Her face was white with shock and anguish.

With arms tied behind her, Esther was dragged from the building and down the street. When she stumbled, she was yanked back up by her elbows. It was a long, hot walk.

When the group stopped, they were in the middle of what had once been a large lake on the outskirts of town. The ground under their feet was dusty red clay, baked hard by the sun and littered with trash. The shoreline was edged by dead willows and more than a few dozen motorboats that balanced lopsidedly on their hulls, long since drained of any gasoline. A rickety bridge spanned the narrowest part of the lakebed, cinching it like a belt.

The five people who surrounded her were identical in their reflective sunglasses and face scarfs. Only Rafe spoke.

“You know why you’re here,” he said. “We got word you left your work detail. You got anything to say?”

Esther swallowed as the realization sank in: It wasn’t about the baby after all. The situation seemed so unreal that only the pain of the rubberized cords biting into her wrists told her this was not a dream. “It was Rhea, wasn’t it?” she said in a low voice. “She hates me and my sister.”

“It don’t matter if she hates you or not,” said Rafe. “Was it true what she said?”

“I worked hard on the Harvesting. You could ask anyone else who was there.”

“You’re not answering the question,” Rafe replied. “Did you leave your work detail or didn’t you?”

When she didn’t answer, he nodded his head. “That was what I thought.”

Esther glanced at the others in open appeal. They must have been thinking what she was: that no one in Prin had ever been Shunned for anything less than illness or a serious crime. Never for something as minor as skipping work detail. Rafe was just following Levi’s new rules without thinking, and for that, Esther found him more contemptible than ever.

Two of her neighbors refused to meet her gaze. It was clear that none of them was going to help her in any way, to speak in her defense or ask for mercy.