Jade, Daughter of the Wasteland by Stephen Andes

Author:Stephen Andes [Andes, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Apotheosis Press
Published: 2022-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

We walk into the Anti camp, and it's alive with children running after one another. Women are tending fires for the midday meal while kids play games nearby. A tired-looking mother chides a child who keeps hitting his sister. Men and boys are at work building a house. Some are shirtless and their ruddy skin glistens with sweat in the high-skyed sun. I almost forget that this is not a typical survivor's camp, it is so like the ones my family and I moved around in more than ten years ago. Except there are only white people here. And somewhere around here must be where the Twitchers I saw corralled last night are kept. I scan the grounds and don't see any signs of the makeshift cages. They probably moved them inside after the cleansing.

Smoke from a campfire blows across my face as Valerian talks with a young man around our age, possibly a little older. He's got long hair like Valerian, also shaved on the sides. Tattoos on both temples. The smoke from the cooking fire brings with it the smell of sizzling meat on an open grill.

I shift attention over to where they held the bonfire last night, where they burned alive the Twitcher and the man they accused of being a race traitor. There's almost nothing there. No smoldering pile. No ash, really. Just a dark patch on yellowing grass. The association—between the sizzling meat I smell that makes my mouth salivate and a ritual human sacrifice—horrifies me even as my stomach growls in hunger. I look around and hope that Valerian lets me have a plate of food.

The confusion and desperation I felt a few minutes ago pale in the light of a new possibility I hadn't considered. What if Mason is good at pretending? If Valerian is my brother--and I believe he is...want to believe he is--then I rationalize that he'd have to be good at pretending to fit in. To survive. He's been raised in a place and among a people who clearly have their own creepy vision of reality—one that is all white with no room for anyone else.

That idea fills me with hope—that the crazy prince is simply feigning his madness. But to what end? I can't answer that, and confusion once again rolls in like a storm cloud. Am I fooling myself again? How would I even know...?

A tap on my shoulder behind me. I spin on my heels, slightly startled, and register that it's just a girl. She's got blond pigtails and freckles. Eight or ten years old. She avoids my eyes but just nods and hands me lunch. As soon as she sets it in my outstretched palms, she sprints back to a woman standing by one of the fires.

I decide to skip the meat on my plate. The images from last night make the small piece of what might be steak on my plate powerfully unappetizing. I devour the veggies and the potatoes. Valerian finishes talking with the young man and is pleased to see me eating.

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