Free Apocalypse (The Wasteland Chronicles, #1) by Kyle West Page B

is some
weird way to make it up.”
    I didn’t want to talk to her, and I wanted
her to stop talking to me. Yet she did have a point. I knew nothing
about surviving out here. Going with her would give me something to
do, even if I hated her guts. Hate was better than emptiness. It
would give me a reason to go on.
    “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”
    She nodded, and seemed a bit surprised at
that answer.
    “I figured we might make for Oasis. It’s a
walled settlement, so if I can get you in there, you’d be safe.
It’s run by a man named Ohlan, who I’ve met. You might be able to
buy your citizenship there with your share of the batts.”
    “Do we have enough food to make it?”
    “Just what we have in the pack.” She hoisted
her own pack on her shoulders. “You have a name?”
    If I was stuck with her for the next few
days, I supposed names might be useful.
    “Alex Keener.”
    “Makara Angel Neth.” She nodded toward the
mouth of the cave. “Come on. If we’re fast enough, there’s a place
I know where we can shelter before sundown. Keep an eye out. I
can’t look everywhere at once, and Raiders can be thick in this
area. It’s cold today, so most of the rats will be hiding in their
holes. That’s good for us. If we hurry, we might make Oasis
tomorrow.”
    Makara headed for the mouth of the cave. I
followed her outside.

Chapter 13
     
    By the time we got going, I realized I was
hurting more than I’d thought. Everything ached, especially my
stomach, which hadn’t had food in a while. There was not much
water, either. Makara gave me some of her share. I accepted, even
if I didn’t want to. As we walked, I munched on some of my granola,
fighting back the urge to down all of it.
    Makara was always busy scanning the horizon,
ducking at random moments. I had no idea what she was so afraid of.
We were clearly the only ones out here on this cold, dismal
day.
    The clouds were spooky-looking – always the
color of blood, casting the whole bare earth in crimson light.
    “What kind of name is Makara, anyway?” I
asked.
    “It’s Khmer. It’s the first month of the
Cambodian year. I’d like to think it means a new beginning.”
    Despite myself, I became interested. “Are you
Khmer?”
    “On my father’s side, yes. My mother was
American, and so am I, for that matter.”
    “How are you American? You’re a
Wastelander.”
    “I was born here, kid. That makes me
American.”
     
***
     
    We stopped around noon to eat. She handed me
some sort of sticky, bread-like substance wrapped in tin foil. It
wasn’t bad.
    “What’s in this, anyway?” I asked.
    “Rice, mostly.”
    “It tastes good.”
    Makara gave a sideways smile. “Hunger is the
best seasoning. I’d rather have a hearty stew on a day like
this.”
    We were up again soon, and walking. We were
in the wilderness, nowhere near a city. Makara had taken us far
off-road, thinking that if we were being followed, it would be
harder for her former raiding group to track us. Flat plains spread
before us, containing nothing but rock and sand cast red by the
baleful sky. The bareness of the land had a nightmarish beauty to
it.
    The dry cold seeped through clothes and skin,
penetrating bone. As I suppressed my shivers, Makara walked on with
gritted teeth, bare-armed, oblivious to the elements. She wore
desert camo pants and a plain black tee shirt. Her jacket was tied
around her waist.
    “So are we anywhere close to L.A.?” I
asked.
    “L.A. is about eighty miles west. Fights and
gang wars all the time. Not much can survive thirty years.
Eventually, L.A. will be completely dead too. Not like it was ten
years ago, when Raine was alive.”
    “Who was Raine?”
    She didn’t answer, but kept walking. I
shrugged, and didn’t ask again.
    No more words were exchanged. I could tell
Makara wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Fine by me – so did
I.
     
***
     
    We walked the rest of the day without
incident. When the red sky darkened, Makara led us