Wasteland by Lindsay Leggett
(Flight #2)
(Flight #2)
Published December 7th 2013
Genres: Science Fiction, Young Adult
Genres: Science Fiction, Young Adult
Wasteland, the next book in the FLIGHT trilogy, takes place a few months after the ending of book one.
Trapped in a cell and experimented on, Piper Madden’s only hope is remembering Asher. Then, Elder Corp President Rupert Elder gives her new orders: to be a leader in a war against the Harpies. Without a choice, Piper must obey Rupert’s commands or suffer from paralyzing and painful Nanomachines. But the war is just beginning, and Asher has gone missing. The resistance is slowly building, and the upcoming war will be larger and bloodier than anything seen since the Devastation that ruined the earth. Throughout all of this, Piper remembers the time before she ran to Ichton, when David was alive and her hope in Elder Corp was still strong.
Purchase:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/
{Excerpt}
BEFORE
Dust
slides past my feet on the wind as we trudge through the wasteland. Both Essa
and I are completely suited in anti-rad gear, and every step seems like we’re
travelling on an alien planet.
Surrounding
the main entrance to Central and the guard tower is nothing but dead earth;
pale and wispy, patterned with the petrified remains of what were once majestic
trees.
Off in
the distance there is a hint of green; the Fresh-Air Compounds Elder Corp is
building for the rich; areas enclosed with filtering glass so that only pure
air can exist within. They look like massive snow globes, though I doubt I’ll
ever see the inside of one.
Beside
me, Essa huffs impatiently.
“Why
didn’t we ask for a buggy or something? This wind is unreal,” she complains.
“And how
are we supposed to remain hidden while driving a cart around?” I counter. Sweat
is already building inside my suit. The hot sun glares at us, defying us for
coming above ground.
Our
plans are haphazard at best. We couldn’t let anyone know where we were going or
why, and our search is going to be worse than trying to find a needle in a
haystack; we have an entire world to explore.
But we
trudge along, and soon enough Central Tower is no longer in sight; we are alone
in the wild.
“Have
you been up here before?” I ask. I motion for Essa to stop, to take a break
beneath the shade of a massive rock. She shakes her head.
“No,
I’ve only done VR Mods. I’m sure you’ve been up here like a hundred times,” she
remarks. I burst out laughing despite myself.
“You
think they let just anybody up here? It costs the Corp a fortune.” Seeing her
hurt expression, I add, “I’ve only been up here once or twice, and never as far
as we are now. The tower has too many defense features. Even the most feral of
Harpies know they don’t stand a chance.”
The shade
is glorious after the scorching walk, and the sun is finally starting to set.
I’d forgotten how blistering the real sun is; underground the temperature is
always perfect.
“Look at
that,” Essa murmurs. I follow her gaze to the horizon. The sky is illuminated
in pinks and reds and dusky purples. The colors explode and melt together; a
tapestry of the death of the sun. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I guess
we really can’t replicate everything,” I reply in a whisper.
We move
onward, silent from nature’s embrace. My mind tumbles through thoughts and
images: Tor, David, the Harpy I’d let live. Shards of guilt shoot through my
stomach, but there is no such thing as going back to the past; I know that, at
least.
Night is
just starting to darken the sky when I hear it; the slightest of noises. I
raise a hand to halt Essa in her place, and motion for her to keep quiet. I
close my eyes to let the sounds travel to my ear.
There is
the crackle of fire; something I’ve only heard once or twice in real life; the
crunch of sand as feet dance through them; the whoosh of twirling fabric; the
giggling of a small child, then the hushing back to near-silence.
I
gesture in the direction of the sounds with my eyes, and Essa follows my lead.
Ahead of us there is a rocky crag, and my senses tell me that the beings are
beneath, half-hidden in the shelter of the rock.
Our
suits make only the slightest of noise as we creep forward to the apex of the
rocks. Just as the crackling of the fire becomes loud enough, we drop to the
ground, crawling across sharp rocks and slimy algae.
My heart
beats like crazy as we reach the tip of the rock. The scene is probably fifty
feet below us, but my mind races as if it’s mere inches away.
A Harpy
family.
They
surround the fire, their wings hanging gracefully above them. The children are
both girls, who wear twirling skirts as they dance about the fire. The father
is garbed in a shaggy shirt and slacks, while the mother remains seated on the
ground, skirt spread around her as she skins some meat that I hope to hell
isn’t Human.
What the
hell are they doing living so close to Central? And why is there just one
family? All of our studies have shown Harpies to travel in large groups, with a
hierarchy of alpha and beta males and females. This family is entirely
different. They don’t look vicious; they look... happy.
For a
moment it’s like I’m watching a vid-screen; a documentary about the idyllic
life of nomad aliens on another planet.
But then
Essa’s foot slips—only an inch—but I know the sound is enough to break the
silence.
Immediately
the mother Harpy snarls, and her face contorts to a wicked, ugly glower as her
gaze searches for us.
“Let’s
move,” I whisper.
My body
takes over; no room for thought or speculation. We leap from the crag, gravel
and rock spilling beneath us. Essa pulls out her pistols and as soon as she
lands, aims for the father Harpy’s head.
Her
first shot misses, but her second is dead on, burrowing into the forehead of
the Harpy. His angry scowl remains as his body withers and crumbles into dust.
The bullet cap clinks as it lands on
a slab of granite.
On my
end, I face the mother. Immediately it’s clear that she’s the leader of the
family. She lunges for me, her gray wings shaking and her sharp teeth bared.
I dodge
her attack, grabbing a dagger from my boot and lashing out at her, but I miss.
She cackles as she glides just shy of my blade, and her wings lift her into the
air.
A quick
glance sideways confirms that one of the children is dead, and Essa is
combating the other, chasing her across the dusty ground.
I sheath
my dagger and pull out my crossbow from my back holster. I’ve only got one
chance at this before she leaves her child behind and flies off into the night.
I steady
my footing and nock a bolt. She darts back and forth, almost in a figure-eight
fashion.
How am I going to do this?
But then
her child cries out in fear, and for just a moment, the mother Harpy lets her
guard down, eyes searching for her baby.
I take
my chance and release the bolt. It sinks in just to the left of her heart. She
wails once she realizes what has happened, and tries to pull the bolt out from
her chest.
She’s
too late, though. The poison from the bolt has already activated in her blood
stream. Her cry is cut off as her body disintegrates, showering ash over us
from the sky. I exhale in relief, then Essa’s voice sounds.
“Piper,”
she says. I look over to her. The remaining Harpy child is in front of her,
eyes wide with fear at the sight of her family’s deaths. She does not run or
growl or attempt an attack. She cries. Tears run down her cheeks. Essa eyes me,
showing me she’s completely unsure of what to do.
We both
just stare at the child. I’ve never seen any Harpy—child or otherwise—cry
before. Something like pity moves in my chest, but I know I’m not allowed to
feel that.
But
there is something I can do.
I walk
toward her slowly, ready to strike even though all she does is stare at me with
tear-filled eyes.
“Where
are the others?” I ask simply. She whimpers, but Essa holds up a readied
pistol. She’s old enough to know what that means.
“We
left,” she replies. Her voice is light and soft, like cotton candy at a
carnival.
“Why?” I
continue.
“Mama
and Papa don’t—didn’t—like them. We’re different from them.”
“Where
are the others?” I repeat forcefully. She sobs, sniffles, then points east.
“That
way. That’s where the others live. There are lots of them. Please let me go,”
she says. She’s given us all of the information we need.
An
encampment is set of east of the Harpy capital. I look at Essa, who returns my
gaze pleadingly. She can’t do it. I can tell that much.
I sigh
deeply, then rush up to the girl, snapping her neck. I know she’ll only be
unconscious for seconds, so I whip out my dagger and slit her throat. She fades
away in my arms, her dust carried away by the wind.
After
that, there is only silence beyond the crackling fire. I answer before Essa has
a chance to ask.
“She
didn’t feel anything. She was unconscious.” Still, Essa shivers, holding
herself.
“I
couldn’t do it. I’m sorry, it was just the look in her eyes,” she murmurs. I
stand up and place a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“It’s
never easy to kill a child. Even a Harpling,” I confide. She nods as we gather
ourselves for the night, but her gaze remains far off into the night sky.
“We’ll
sleep here tonight. You take first watch. You never know if there were others,”
I say.
I leave
Essa to her thoughts as I lie down beside the fire. Secretly, those young eyes
are still staring at me, still pleading for me to let her live.
I fall
asleep with her delicate voice just bouncing around through my mind.
AUTHOR BIO:
Nearly every writer struggles to put together
information about themselves, perhaps because we’re so used to
detailing the lives and ways of others. For the most part I am a writer,
editor, photographer, and all-around artist living in the wilds north
of Toronto, Ontario. I thrive on the juxtaposition of beauty and grit,
enjoy urban crawls, indie everything, and time well-spent in the woods.
Author Links:
No comments:
Post a Comment