Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
For a long while, Lara lay awake. The shock and fear of having a bot enter her home lingered for hours after its departure. Every sound—every creaking board, every distant coyote howl, every clang of the chimes—could’ve been a sign of the bot’s return.
Exhaustion eventually claimed her.
She awoke from a fitful sleep, more tired than before, to find the gray light of dawn seeping through the edges of the doorway.
Lara sat up on her pallet, plucked the canteen off the floor, and studied it in the dim light of the coming day. Her payment. Payment for a bot spying on her, violating her home, and destroying what little safety she’d felt here.
Will it come back?
Her arm tensed, and she struggled with the urge to throw the container against the wall, to batter it into a dented, useless clump of metal.
But the bot was gone, and the canteen was hers. A valuable item, regardless of its source, no different than the pitcher she’d given Gary and Kate. Despite her anger, she couldn’t bring herself to throw away something useful.
Though she wanted nothing more to do with bots, there was no changing last night’s events. What was done was done.
Lowering the canteen to her lap, she brushed her fingers over its worn canvas covering. All the bot had asked of her was a dance. No threats, no demands. It hadn’t even reached for its weapon. Not that it would’ve needed one…
She’d been surprised to see someone at her door.
Her eyes had fallen on his face first, and she’d been unable to ignore how attractive he was.
His strong jaw, those defined, sculpted lips, those intense green eyes…
But when the lantern light had reflected on the metal of his hand, cold fear had flooded her veins.
How could she forget that night, not long ago, when she’d learned what bots were truly capable of?
Lara shook her head, thrusting the thoughts away. She tossed the canteen onto the blankets and pulled her boots out from beneath the crate, pausing to examine them. To call them worn would’ve been an understatement. The threading was unraveling, and the thin leather showed signs of tearing.
She should’ve traded with the local leatherworker while she’d had items to spare. He knew how to piece footwear back together.
After tugging the boots on, she knelt beside the pallet and reached under it to retrieve her sheathed knife. She stood and strapped it to her thigh. It wouldn’t help against bots, but bots weren’t the only threat around here. Desperation could make humans do horrible things.
After braiding her hair, Lara wrapped her head with a swath of cloth, leaving a portion loose to cover her face. She tucked the canteen into the fabric tied around her waist, picked up her bag, and stepped outside, sliding the makeshift door back into place behind her.
Not that it mattered. If someone wanted to steal from her home, there was nothing stopping them. She always kept her few truly valuable belongings with her.
The morning sky was yellowish gray, and the air was already warm. The sun blazed through the haze on the eastern horizon. It would be another hot day.
Other people were stirring as she followed the cracked dirt path southward.
Some of them were covered up, like Lara, ready to head out of town to scavenge.
The seamstress had opened the panel on the front of her shack, already working with precise, delicate hands on someone’s clothing.
Hal, the cook, had his fire pit going, with thin strips of meat sizzling on the grill over it.
The food smelled delicious, but Lara didn’t have anything to barter with. She wouldn’t give up the canteen for a few mouthfuls of food. It was worth more than that.
She hurried along, ignoring the twisting pain in her stomach. Outside their shacks, people sat quietly, staring at passersby.
Lara didn’t meet their gazes. She was too close to becoming like them—folks who didn’t want to deal with the bots and had chosen to give up instead.
Many of them were missing fingers or hands, result of Warlord’s justice, and their eyes were dead.
Too much like those mechanical monsters for Lara’s comfort.
If you didn’t want to trade scrap or something more…personal to the bots for food, seeds, and goods, you had to work even harder to survive. Why bother, when death was so likely?
“Lara!”
She cast a sidelong glance at the man approaching her and somehow kept herself from walking faster. She’d hoped to be gone before he woke up so she wouldn’t have to deal with him.
“What do you want, Devon?” she asked, continuing toward the water pump near the center of the settlement.
Devon fell into step beside her. “A ‘good morning’ wouldn’t hurt.”
“Good morning, and goodbye. I have work to do.”
“You wouldn’t have to if you let me help you.”
“I don’t want your help.”
He caught her elbow, forcing her to stop. She glanced at his hand, eyes narrowing, and then glared at him.
Devon smiled. “It’d be better than digging through shit every day, hoping to find something to trade for some food.” He leaned closer, gaze dipping. “I have plenty to share, Lara. Your body will fill out in no time.”
It wasn’t unusual for women to latch onto men who could provide.
Devon grew some of his own food, owned a chicken, and had connections in the market.
He wasn’t bad looking, either. Long, wavy blond hair that fell thickly down to his shoulders, rich brown eyes, and strong features.
Likely the cleanest man in the district.
Many women had cozied up to him and had benefitted from it.
“I’d be a gentle lover, Lara,” Devon whispered, brushing a finger along her jaw.
Lara would not be one of those women.
She yanked her arm from his grasp and stepped back. “I’d rather starve.”
“Oh, come on! What are you trying to prove? Why not take what I have to offer?”
“Why not be your whore, you mean?”
“Better than being a bot-banger like your sister.”
Lara flinched, gritting her teeth. Fists clenched, she turned away from him and walked to the water pump.
“You won’t get another chance, Lara!” Devon called as she rinsed and filled the canteen. “You’re not the only woman worth looking at here.”
She screwed on the cap and bit her tongue. Rage burned in her chest, mixed with shame. Everyone knew about Tabitha. Why wouldn’t they assume Lara would trade her body for food, too?
Didn’t you?
She didn’t allow herself to look back as she hurried south, unsure of whether she was fleeing Devon or the truth.
Her heart finally slowed when she passed the last shacks on the outskirts of town and stepped onto the road leading to the southside ruins.
A few other scavengers were already out, moving in different directions along some of the other paths.
She knew them all by name, though they kept their faces covered.
Scavengers typically gave each other a wide berth.
Conflicts weren’t worth anyone’s time, but that didn’t mean they were unheard of.
The wind whipped at her clothing as she returned to the site she’d scavenged the day before. Finding the pitcher had been encouraging. Perhaps, with hard work and a little luck, there was more to discover there.
Lara paused at the spot, turning to study the desolate landscape again.
Dark clouds dominated the southern horizon.
Between the ruins and those distant clouds lurked the endless Dust. People talked about the scrap that could be found out there, buried in the sand, scrap that only dustwalkers went to find.
But they were an odd lot. Tabitha had called them crazy, and Lara agreed.
The sun bore down on her, casting its sickly yellow glow through the haze.
There wasn’t any more time to waste. Lara crouched and dug through the rubble, working till her hands ached and her fingers were raw, stopping twice to pluck splinters from her skin.
Old paper crumbled in her hands, and every gust of wind blew dirt into her face.
The day wore on, uncaring for the struggles of mankind.
By afternoon, her sweat, blood, and pain had only earned her a few more bits of rusted metal and some cracked plastic.
Combined with her haul from the prior day, it would put food in her belly, but not much.
Sighing, she pressed the cloth of her headwrap to her forehead to soak up some of the sweat.
She picked up a rectangular object to move it aside. A shard of glass fell from its bottom, clanking on the slab of concrete below.
Lara turned the item over. It was a wooden frame holding a photo, which was obscured by a cracked pane of glass. She shook the shards onto the ground and examined the image.
There were two people in it, a man and a woman.
He was dressed all in black, save for a bit of white showing beneath his coat and the blue cloth tied in a bow at his neck.
He gazed at the woman tenderly. And she…
she was stunning. Her blonde hair hung in ringlets down her back, shining like gold, her pale skin was clean and unblemished, and her lips were painted a vibrant red.
She wore a crisp white gown, decorated with delicate patterns and little white beads.
The woman’s smile was radiant, and her eyes sparkled.
Lara wasn’t sure how long she stared at the picture; it was a timeless moment, and everything else fell away around her. The beauty and joy captured in the photo left her speechless.
And it had been buried, forgotten, for countless years.
A drop of water landed on the photo. Lara’s eyebrows fell in confusion. She raised a hand to her cheek, only to find it dry. Another drop struck the beautiful woman’s face. Lara looked up. The black clouds were overhead now, and a strong wind blew through the ruins.
“Damn,” Lara rasped. She stuffed the framed photo into her bag to keep it safe. It had no value, but she couldn’t just leave it out here to be destroyed. This harsh world had already taken the people in the picture, but Lara could at least protect the last memory of them.
She quickened her search, discovering a couple crushed cans—a small victory.
The sporadic rain suddenly became a downpour, falling sideways in the strong wind.
Blinking moisture from her eyes, she slung her bag over her shoulder.
She’d have to hurry back to town. After a long dry spell, the first rain was always the worst, and the roads wouldn’t be able to handle the excess water.
As she carefully made her way through the debris and back toward the path, a metal sheen caught her eye.
Lara paused, narrowing her eyes and turning to find the source.
She spotted it in a heap of rubble. Before she could lose sight of it again, she climbed onto the pile, testing her footing on the loose debris, and pulled the object free.
She didn’t stop to examine it until she was on solid ground.
Lara tilted her head. It was a small box, fitting neatly in her palm.
One side was discolored and deteriorating, but the metal band around its middle was surprisingly clean.
Turning it, she found the hinge along the back side and opened it.
Lara released a long exhalation, and for a moment, her lungs refused to fill. When she caught her breath, she laughed and bounced on her feet. “Holy shit.”
Nestled within upon a patch of dark fabric, untouched by the sun and weather, was a ring. The band was gold, with a clear stone inlaid atop it. It was precious metal. A tiny, seemingly insignificant trinket that could nonetheless keep her well-fed for weeks.
Tentatively, she ran a finger down one of its smooth sides.
“It’s real,” she said with a laugh. “It’s really real.”
The rain pelted her, stinging even through her clothes, but Lara grinned. For the first time in a long while, things looked good. She’d nearly forgotten what hope felt like.
Swinging her bag around to her front, she walked toward the road. As she opened it, her foot caught on some debris. With a gasp, she fell, feeling something tear in her boot as she landed hard in the water rushing along the side of the road.
Lara’s heart stopped. She watched the box fall from her hand, watched the ring tumble out of it, watched the water sweep the bit of gold toward a cluttered storm drain.
“No!” She scrambled on hands and knees, ignoring the dirty water splashing in her face and the pain of rubble cutting into her skin, but she wasn’t fast enough. The ring disappeared amidst the trash and muck gathered around the drain.
“No!” she screamed again, leaping at the gutter. She dug through the mud, tossing aside jagged chunks of concrete, tufts of dead grass, and scraps of wood and cloth.
“No, no, no. You can’t do this to me!” She pounded her fists into the flowing water, hitting the drain beneath it. Between the foamy, murky runoff and the rubble, it would be impossible to find the ring.
“You just can’t.” Her voice broke, and she hung her head.