The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 17

I spend a hushed night huddled with the Wasters on the platform of the station Luca calls "North Lam". Guards are posted at either tunnel entrance as well as the stairwell to the surface, men and women standing stiffly with eagle-eyes trained on the gloom.

My shoulders ache with the tension of the last few hours. I run a hand over the back of my neck, attempting to alleviate the tightness in my muscles as I grimace slightly. I am sitting slumped against a wall, trying to ignore the low grumbling in my stomach. All I've had to eat today is that hare I shared with Luca and there won't be anything more until tomorrow. It has been decided that we will spend the night in the tube station and venture out at daybreak. Hopefully Jaron will have shown up by then.

I glance down the length of the platform, catching sight of Luca speaking earnestly with a group of men and women. I can't make out what they're saying but they appear angry, their pointed weapons never far from hand. One of the men is gesturing with his bow towards the stairs while Luca runs a hand nervously through his knotted hair.

I am so intent on watching the scene that at first I don't notice Cade coming to sit with me. His long body folds elegantly as he settles, ever calm and silent.

"They think we should have stayed and fought." I remark, keeping my eyes trained on the argument.

He sighs softly. "Many do."

"But why? You saw the gas for yourself; we didn't stand a chance against it."

"They are saying that there was enough time to get aboveground and attack the airships before they reached us." His response is passive, almost reasonable.

I am about to respond with a retort but something about Cade's presence gives me pause. My brow furrows as I consider the possibility. In the heat of the moment I only considered flight but now I see what our rash reaction has wrought; misplaced families lie scattered across the platform, small children huddled next to their parents, some visibly shivering in the dank air.

Thinking back, I remember the panic I felt at seeing the ominous marking signifying Pic dil Cir on the stolen map. I recall talk of gas and the sight of the cages, row after row of constricting wood and steel. When Luca and I raced across the desert all I could rationalize was finding a way to get every innocent person out of the camp and as far away from the airships as possible. There was never a moment when I contemplated another option.

Maybe we should have stayed. It would have been dangerous, yes but by fleeing we denied the Wasters a chance to defend their home. We left the enemy airships to roam freely, following the course of any number of maps. How many more lives have we placed in danger by running away from battle?

"I didn't even consider staying to fight." I admit softly, whether to myself or Cade I can't be sure.

"Why should you have? What you wanted was to protect us. They might not show it, but we are grateful to you." I glance towards the older man, noticing a twinge of sadness cross his features. "It is Luca that they are angry with."

"Luca's wanted to protect them as well." I point out.

"Luca's heart is in the right place. I don't disagree with his decision." Cade raises his eyes to the gathered refugees. "We are alive and I give nothing but thanks for that."

"So what's the problem?"

"To some, Luca has shown weakness. Wasters believe that there is a time to fight and a time to die."

I bite the inside of my lip, thinking. The Wasters arguing with Luca have stalked away leaving him alone next to the tracks, red-faced with fists clenched.