The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 43

My arm is yanked violently as Will spins me to face him. I stumble, nearly falling as I struggle to find my footing. I look up, my field of view obstructed first by the solidity of his chest and then his steely gaze as he forces my eyes into his.

"It's all right." He murmurs softly. "We're all right."

I blink and his familiar features gradually swim back into formation. The crack of the whip sounds again and I twitch violently, my heart catching in my throat, threatening to choke me. Will refuses to release my arms, pinning me in place as I struggle to regain hold of my thoughts.

It's all right. We're all right.

It's all right. We're all right. I repeat the words over and over until they begin to make sense.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood. Oh gods, it's everywhere, the sight of it, the metallic smell of it, caught in my nose and staining my hands. Keep it together, Kay. Focus.

I jerk my head in a tight nod and Will's grip on me loosens. With a superhuman effort I shut my ears to the sounds around me, breathing heavily as I follow him through the maze of bruised and unwashed bodies. I am vaguely aware of moving past an occasional Enforcer standing guard over the prisoners. There is something odd about the Babelonians down here, a kind of robotic disassociation that I can't put my finger on in my addled state. I keep my eyes averted and concentrate on Will's movements. It's all right. We're all right.

Finally, Will slows his pace and looks back at me, a tense expression drawn over his dark features. I swallow once, nodding my acknowledgement as I fight the urge to peer around him.

Instead, I slow my breathing and smoothly scan the perimeter, my practiced eyes picking out the position of the two nearest Enforcers. Now that I have regained some semblance of self-control I am able to focus on their movements, furrowing my brow in confusion as the pieces begin to fall into place.

These Enforcers aren't men. Or women. And yet, somehow, they are completely indistinguishable from us.

I spin slowly in place, picking out no less than six whip-wielding, mechanical imposters.

My heartbeat echoes inside my head at a maddeningly slow pace. Think, Kay, think. Is this even possible? What are they?

The Enforcer's faces are human. Their arms and legs appear human. Their torsos would seem human if not for the gigantic, conspicuous metal gear grafted onto their chests and protruding prominently through their black uniforms. The piece of tech reminds me acutely of the spoked wheels used to lock the doors of the L levels. I can't help but picture the gears as part of a larger mechanical skeleton hiding beneath the Enforcer's robes.

Something is ticking in that chest yet somehow I know instinctively that it isn't a heart.

Their faces are blank, devoid of emotion as though they are caught in the tides of a deep trance. As I watch, one of the female guards looks abruptly towards a fallen prisoner. The skinny boy scrabbles at the ground, desperately fighting to rise to his feet as the Enforcer slowly and smoothly raises her whip into the air.

And that is when the tenuous grip I had on my self-control finally, perhaps inevitably, splinters and breaks.

No.

Time slows to an impossible crawl. As I look on in horror, the Enforcer's face slowly begins to morph and change, the features realigning until the woman's blank stare begins to resemble someone entirely different.

No.

The whip reaches its peak, the worn leather tip glinting horribly in the shred of torchlight right before it begins its ominous descent. I am vaguely aware of moving forward, my body relaxing into a smooth, strong stride as I close the distance between us.