The Water Wars - Cameron Stracher [44]
I sank to the floor of the carrier. My hands were still tied behind my back, so I curled into an awkward ball, my feet facing one direction, my head and knees in the other. Will sidled up beside me and nudged my shoulder onto his thigh. His ripped trousers still smelled faintly of chemo-wash, the brand our father kept buying even after our mother could no longer do the laundry.
We stayed that way for a long time. The carrier swooped and dipped, crossing the wrecked and forsaken land. Below us were hectares of parched earth, fissured and broken without a trace of green. A dazzling sun illuminated metallic yellows, grays, and blues: mercury, lead, cadmium. The air was dusty and glittered gold with thousands of particles swirling in the wind. I dozed, or thought I did, my mind jumbled and disjointed like confetti.
When the carriers finally stopped, it was late afternoon. The rear doors were flung open, and the cargo hold was bathed in a sudden chill. A lone horn sounded in the distance. It made me shiver. “Where are we?” I asked Will.
“Welcome to Niagara!” said Nasri from the rear steps. “Enjoy the honeymoon!” His laugh was brittle and thin.
I rose slowly and helped Will off the floor. We stood unsteadily, blinking in the harsh light. Nasri scampered into the cargo hold, followed by two of his men who were dressed as if for combat: boots, kev-jackets, pistols tucked in waistbands. He signaled to them, and one of them grabbed Will, while the other took firm hold of my arm.
“Normally we’d get more for you,” Nasri said, squeezing Will’s cheek between his forefinger and thumb. “But your sister here is feisty, and there is that nasty wound on your leg.”
“You can’t sell us!” I said.
“See what I mean?” said Nasri. “Feisty!”
“How much are they paying you?” I asked. “Our father will pay you more.”
“I thought your parents were dead. Besides, we’ve come too far to ransom you back to your family.”
Outside, the horn sounded again, and the men tightened their grips.
“Do not ask for whom the bell tolls…” said Nasri, and then there was that cackle again.
“What’s going to happen to us?”
“You will become quite excellent shimmiers, capable of disappearing into the narrowest hole. Then you will be sold off to mercenaries to fight in the war.”
Will’s face was pale and covered in a sheen of perspiration. He gripped my elbow unsteadily. But he stood on his two feet and spoke in a clear, strong voice.
“You won’t get away with this,” he said.
“But I will,” said Nasri.
“Then you should hope we die here. Because if we don’t, one day I’ll be old enough, and I will hunt you down and kill you.”
Nasri smiled, but his brown eye twitched. “Tough words for such a skinny boy. I suppose I should kill you now.”
“Do it,” said Will. “It’s your last chance.” He stared back at Nasri fiercely.
I couldn’t believe Will was talking to Nasri this way, daring him to kill us. Nasri was just crazy enough to do it—we had already seen him shoot Dr. Tinker. But he didn’t even remove his pistol from his waistband.
“I hope you live long enough to follow through on your plans,” Nasri said. Then he signaled to his men, and they followed him from the hold, dragging us like old luggage.
Nothing prepared me for the scene that greeted us when we stepped from the carrier. If someone had told me we were on the moon, I wouldn’t have doubted it. The land was pocked and cratered, with holes as large as entire canyons. Though the sun was shining, it was through a dusty haze, weak and distant. Giant machines, which at first I thought were buildings, perched beside mountains of rocks and sand. A bone-rattling wind blew, and it carried a stench that was indescribable and yet horribly familiar: a metallic smell, like sticking your head into a venti-unit, or being buried alive. It was the smell of sickness, disease, and death.
Most striking, however, were the children: thousands of them scrambling over the piles of dirt or shimmying