The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 33

"We will go directly South. To the river." Jaron's deep voice projects off the walls of the tube station.

"The tunnels don't run south from here." A Miner woman calls out.

"We walk aboveground." The chief gestures to Rowan, who drops the heavy satchel she has been lugging around. Kneeling down to unload its contents, she pulls out several tightly-rolled spools of Waster fabric, enough to cover the backs of each Miner.

"You are all Wasters now." Jaron continues as the half-dozen remaining Miners step forward to receive their disguise. "When you dress like a Waster, you travel like a Waster. Fight like a Waster. Think like a Waster."

I sit off to the side, honing my dagger and listening to Jaron with one ear. He explains our route and stealth tactics as he strolls through the depressingly-diminished crowd. The Wasters help the Miners into their outfits, their actions rushed compared to Ayana and Sera's careful dressing of me only a few days previous. I am grateful for the overall sense of urgency. Rationally, I know that I need to remain with Jaron and the soldiers but it is taking a great deal of self control to keep from sprinting to the surface and straight towards Will.

"Sharpen that any further and there will be nothing left." Luca appears next to me, leaning back against the wall as he peers downwards.

I turn the dagger over in my hands, testing the blade, watching with a kind of detached fascination as a small trickle of blood works its way down my finger. I release a breath through my teeth, my focus moving from the crimson smear to Luca's concerned eyes beyond.

Last night I came to a decision. Despite Jaron's best intentions I know that without Will, this scouting mission teeters on the fine edge of failure. Our commander's calm, measured strategy was our greatest weapon against an invisible enemy and now we run the risk of attacking impulsively, guided by our emotions.

I won't allow that to happen. I can't allow that to happen. Will's life is at stake. The responsibility of bringing him home safely falls to me. I can no longer afford to be bullheaded, I can no longer risk acting alone.

Lowering my bloody hand I tear my eyes away from Luca and back to the few remaining soldiers. The Wasters mill about, helping the Miner men and women dress in the sand-coloured fabric while Jaron walks back and forth among the group, vocally outlining our route in exhausting detail.

I sheathe my dagger, wiping my cut finger on my thigh and making to stand, accepting Luca's hand as he pulls me to my feet.

The Waster brothers are my greatest asset now. They are the only ones who can help me get Will back. We have to trust one another, play off our unique strengths and make up for each other's weaknesses. I now understand just how desperate they are to get Noah back. The ache I feel at missing Will consumes me, a death grip on my heart that refuses to let go. It is a feeling I share with both Jaron and Luca, as well as every person in our party who has ever lost someone they care about to the war or the airships.

There is no greater anguish than unknowing.

There is no greater motivation than vengeance.

Swaddled in our Waster disguises we file one after the other back up the stairs, emerging into the beginnings of dusk. I walk at the head of the group with Jaron and Luca, followed closely by Rowan and the dozen remaining soldiers.

The Miners' footsteps shuffle heavily through the sandy expanse at we head south, gradually softening as they become accustomed to the new environment and imitate the silent movements of the Wasters.

The sky darkens, disguising us further. We stick to the dunes, weaving in and out of the crooked path bordered by sandy mountains. I force myself to walk in sync with the others, drawing steady breaths while continually reminding myself to be patient, that Will's safety depends on me using my brain and not my heart.