The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 11

We walk inland for another half an hour before Rowan signals for us to stop. She crosses to a great sloped dune and runs her hand over the side of it, upsetting the sand there and causing small trails to cascade down the hill over her fingers. I wrinkle my brow, uncomprehending as I watch her reach her arm further into the sand. She suddenly pulls aside an earth-coloured fabric hidden below the surface, revealing a dark entrance carved into the side of the dune.

My mouth drops open and for a moment I forget to move forward. Someone, presumably Snake, shoves me and I fall back into step, staring up at the entryway as we pass beneath and marvelling at its clever disguise.

"Where are we?" I ask, my annoyance with Snake forgotten. My voice carries in the strange space, bouncing off the walls and low ceiling.

Snake grunts and gestures at the wall, bringing my attention towards a faded mosaic. It is a strangely familiar design; white lettering placed over a red circle. I squint in the dim light, concentrating on reading the worn-out signage.

"Pic dil Cir." I straighten and look to Snake. "What does that mean?"

His lip curls. "It means you must stop asking so many questions."

I roll my eyes and follow the group towards a wide staircase. My vision gradually adjusts to the dull light and I can make out the chipped and dingy tiles covering the floor and walls, their faded colour speaking of once being vibrant hues in red, green and blue. We descend single-file down the stairs. The steps are treacherously well-tread, as though people have been using them for hundreds of years.

I nearly stumble, realizing suddenly that we are inside of a pre-Burn building. The Burn and subsequent drought destroyed everything above the surface but hidden beneath, remarkably, this relic has managed to survive. Panic turns to fascination as I whip my head this way and that, gaping over the ancient artwork and craftsmanship. As we descend the low murmuring of many voices draws me back to the present and I straighten my shoulders, focusing on the back of the Waster in front of me.

We reach the bottom of the stairs and Snake grabs my arm, pulling me along roughly. We break off from the group and my head swivels, trying to take in everything around me. I don't know what expected to find once we finally reached the illusive Waster camp, but this underground village certainly wasn't it. We are walking through a tiled, low-ceilinged room, broken up by individual hand-crafted houses constructed of scrap metal. People move in and out of the roughshod huts, shooting us curious glances as Snake hustles me along.

Vibrant conversation echoes off the walls around us and the delicious smell of cooking meat wafts past my nose. A group of children linger behind us, their eyes stretched wide in fascination. This underground cavern, hidden so cleverly beneath an inconspicuous sand dune is actually the home of a vast community of people, every one of them cheerfully carrying on with the minutiae of daily life. Who would have thought that all this could exist just below the surface of the Wasteland.

Snake leads me down a back staircase. It is darker here, with only the odd torch to illuminate the ruins. Through the gloom I can barely make out a tunnel disappearing into the wall ahead of us. For a moment my heart catches in my chest and I prepare to fight in case Snake tries to drag me inside, but luckily we stop short in front of a narrow door. Snake pulls it open and a shiver runs down my spine at the sound of rusted hinges. An ominous darkness stares back at me from inside the small room, no bigger than a closet. Without a word Snake shoves me inside and I stumble forward, barely managing to catch myself against the far wall. At once the door slams shut behind me, coating me in an all-encompassing nothingness.

My breathing is heavy in my ears as I listen for the sound of Snake's retreating footsteps. Once he is gone I test the door, unsurprised when I fail to locate a handle.