Wasteland (Book Two: The Diamond City Trilogy)

By Patti Larsen

Last Stand is no more and Fresco is left to pick up the pieces. With his damaged brother Daniel stashed for safe keeping, Fresco and the old scientist Medley gather the remaining survivors and do their best to protect them. But the Garbagemen have other ideas, their leader’s goal to capture Fresco and make him one of their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Apr 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781927464014

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Part III: Brotherhood

Chapter One

The gleaming staircase stretched out below him, shining under the brilliant blue sky. The City beckoned, the song swelling in Fresco’s soul. He knew it well, longed for it most of his life. The Diamond City with its polished gemstone streets and multi-faceted buildings, and the crowning glory, the fairy tale castle shining at its heart, summoning him to enter its gates and be welcomed home forever.

He wasn’t alone. Parker stood next to him, her amber eyes and mocha skin so dear. She smiled, perfect white teeth shining stars. She offered her hand. But when he tried to take it, the distance between them grew in an instant. She rushed from him without moving, taken by a chasm of space he couldn’t reach across.

She cried now, blue tears streaking down her face, glowing with their own inner light. Fresco tried to fly to her, saw her mouth forming words, begging him to come to her, but all was silent and still.

Except for the swelling song of the City.

He fought harder. It was working! The gap narrowed, tightened. He could see her coming closer, feel her returning to him. Fresco’s fingertips brushed hers at last. Parker burst into flames, a column of blue enveloping her. She screamed silently in its flickering embrace, her burning hands pleading for Fresco to do something, her eyes begging him to save her. But he couldn’t reach her, not through the flames. He was only able to stand there, at last, to weep and watch her disappear, engulfed by the hungry fire.

When the flames died, he saw her immortalized in a statue of glass, his perfect Parker shining as brightly as the City.

He couldn’t resist. Fresco embraced her, wanting to hold her forever. She felt cold, so cold, leaching the warmth from him. She drew out his soul until he too was pure and perfect sculpture, all hard edges and polished curves. He struggled to move, to cry out, but he remained frozen by her touch. The City sang to him, louder and louder, until finally his frail shell could take no more.

Fresco shattered into a million glittering shards, his scream of horror finally escaping to join the contented melody that destroyed him.

***

He found himself sitting up, an old, faded comforter falling from him to puddle on the floor. It took several heartbeats to still his panic, fed by the dream and his sense of disorientation. For a moment he had no idea where he was or why.

His mind rolled over and everything clicked into place.

Medley’s. Fresco still smelled the smoke on his clothes from the disaster of the night before. The night before… when his refuge, Last Stand, the only place he felt safe since everything happened, was burned to the ground by the Garbagemen, taking all of his friends with it.

It drove him to his feet in an explosion of anxious energy. He needed to act, to do something, anything. His fists clenched as he looked around him, searching for a means to ease the ache inside him, but found only a dusty room full of ancient knick knacks and fading wallpaper.

Acting was impossible outside of the compulsive pacing his feet dragged him into. A curtained window showed him the shining sun, making it worse, not better. Daylight. How dare the world go on when his fell so completely apart?

Fresco spun, dodging a well-worn chair while doing the same with the past. He didn’t want to explore his memories. Doing something would save him from having to think or feel. He didn’t want to accept the truth—the very people who made him what he was casually killed all those kids. All because Fresco was teaching those same kids to free themselves from the blue joy, Wasteland. The drug purposely fed to all the kids before they were turned out into the streets to live or die on their own, without mercy or explanation. He hated the thought they were all one giant experiment, normal with ordinary lives one minute, suffering a psychic breakout the next, betrayed by the people who said they were their parents, cast out with the hunger burning in their veins and no one to help them.

Fresco collapsed back onto the sofa, spinning sideways, socked feet on the short pile carpet, resting his head in his hands. Last Stand was the only place any of them felt safe. The owner, Garris, did his best to get them all clean. And Parker… Fresco’s rescuing angel. She saved his life and that of countless other kids. Like him, she managed to win her freedom from Wasteland, only to be kidnapped by the Garbagemen and taken away.

It was Fresco’s fault. He knew it, felt it in his bones. It dragged at him and made it almost impossible to get up, to function, to want to go on.

If you weren’t such an idiot, said that familiar voice, the sound of his guilt, brought to life with Justin’s personality, if you were more careful, the kids would still be safe, wouldn’t they, buddy? Fresco didn’t want to listen, but his ex-friend’s words of recrimination just kept coming. That’s right. It’s your fault. Yours. It’s all because of you and your selfishness that the Garbagemen showed up. You ruined everything.

Justin drove Fresco to his feet again, back to pacing. The window. The chair. The couch. The circling just wound him up more until his body vibrated with the need to fix what he had done.

Which brought him to Daniel. Fresco didn’t want to think about his Wasted brother. His heart broke all over again, knowing Daniel betrayed Fresco for a few doses of the blue joy. He brought the Garbagemen right to Last Stand. And yet, Fresco’s hot hatred faded. He remembered well the hold Wasteland had over him when he was in Daniel’s place and wondered if he too would give up his brother for a few moments in the arms of the sapphire dream.

Something rattled and smashed against the floor in the next room. His reflexes were so tuned to flight these days, his instincts drove him forward in an effort to run, driving both of his shins into the heavy coffee table

God damned son of a—crap!

Medley’s voice came muffled from the other side of the kitchen door. Rubbing at the sharp pain in his legs, Fresco couldn’t help but grin despite everything. Justin’s nagging voice dimmed and stilled in a sorry echo in the face of his humor, Fresco’s self-esteem returning as it did.

He wasn’t alone. He had help. And no matter the cost, it was time to take the fight to the Garbagemen.

For Parker, he thought. For all of us. No one deserves to live like this. No matter what it takes, I’ll get her back. And I’ll make them pay for what they’ve done. His knuckles ached and Fresco was not really surprised to find his hands curled into tight fists.

He took a moment to fold the blanket he dropped, doing his best, finally setting the messy pile on the corner of the sofa. He felt grimy and desperately needed a shower. After living in filth during his time as a Waster and subsequent stay at Last Stand where being clean was almost a religion, he was acutely aware of personal hygiene. But the shower could wait. There were questions to ask and plans to make with the woman on the other side of the door.

***

Chapter Two

Fresco found Medley in the kitchen, hunched over a broken plate, scooping up the pieces in a worn dishtowel. She continued to swear, her gray head bent, round little body squatting close to the tiles.

Stupid, wretched, moronic— She broke off, though from the scrunched expression on her pale and wrinkled face she was still cursing inside her head.

He fetched some distant pieces without a word and went looking for the broom. She looked up at him and scowled.

Help an old lady up, boy.

He laughed. She always made him laugh. Her faded blue eyes twinkled.

Enough of that. She took his offered hand and grunted her way to her feet. She braced both hands against her lower back. Not what I used to be.

Fresco opened the closet door and retrieved the worn old broom. He swept up the remaining shards of shattered ceramic. I don’t know, he said. I think you’re doing all right. For an old lady.

She giggled, but sobered immediately. Took you long enough to wake up. Thought you’d waste the whole day.

Fresco glanced at the clock above the stove. It was well into the afternoon.

Guess I was tired. Still was, he realized. Bone tired, almost like when he first arrived at Last Stand. He reached out with his power, testing it. His gifts were still there, but it made him dizzy when he tried to use them, the effort starting a shake in his hands and a tremble in his knees. He felt the blood leaving his face, a fine sheen of sweat standing out on his upper lip. He swiped at it with his tongue, body thick and wobbly for a moment before the weakness passed.

Well, that was damned stupid. Medley swatted him with her hand while he leaned against the broom for support. You took a hell of a hit last night when you attacked the Garbageman. You have no idea what it did to you. Don’t be an idiot, boy.

She was right of course. When Strom cornered him in the darkened warehouse and Fresco focused his power on the Garbageman, his power simply ricocheted and turned on him.

Some kind of shielding. It was all he could figure.

You think? She shuffled to the counter, dumping the shards and the dishtowel both into the trash. I’m working with a genius, obviously.

He let her comment go. It was just her way. We need to talk about what happened. Fresco didn’t want to, but it was necessary. From the look in her eyes, she agreed with him.

You want to know what the plan is. Medley sighed and eased herself into a rickety wooden kitchen chair long free of varnish. Fresco took the seat opposite her, tracing the cracks on the surface of the old laminate table with his fingertips. Sunlight streamed in the wide window over the sink, sending dust motes dancing. It was so peaceful he wished they could just sit and not talk. But Medley was already forging ahead.

I can tell you this, boy. We underestimated them. Assuming they didn’t know you were clean. Off the radar. She snorted with great expression. What the hell were we thinking?

Fresco agreed with her. So did Justin, obviously.

Not firing on all pistons, huh, buddy? So arrogant you thought you could get away with being special and no one would come calling. Fresco drew in air, his breath shaking as he inhaled and tried not to listen. You’re not so special. Unless getting your friends killed qualifies. In that case, you’re a freaking god.

Fresco needed a distraction. Focusing on his questions seemed to help.

Garris? The tall, thin owner of Last Stand was injured in the fire, his hands horribly burned when Fresco found him. But it was the damage to his spirit Fresco worried about most. Garris spent the last ten years caring for Wasted kids after the loss of his own daughter, Gina, to the blue joy. Now, with the destruction of his home and refuge… the man looked permanently scarred when Fresco saw him last night amid the flames and dying. Scarred inside and out.

Don’t know yet, Medley said. No one at the hospital will talk to me.

This meant a personal visit. Fresco wasn’t sure he was up to facing Garris. Not knowing he was the reason the older man’s dream of saving the kids was dead.

I’m pretty sure he won’t want to see me. Fresco shifted in his chair, the very idea making him squirm.

Medley just shrugged. I’ll go alone.

Running again? Justin laughed at him. No surprise there.

It wasn’t that simple, though. As much as Fresco hated to admit it, he had to face Garris.

No, he said. I need to talk to him, too. When we can, I’ll go with you.

You know they’ll be watching him. Her eyes were empty of judgment. He wondered how she could be so free.

And yes, he knew Garris would be under surveillance. But Fresco didn’t care. If only to prove he mattered, the kids mattered. He blinked at the moisture clouding his vision.

Medley shifted in her seat, looking out the window. I’m not sure what to do from here. I have all my equipment, of course. But without kids to test, I’m useless.

Hardly. Fresco tried to make it light, but she scowled at him anyway.

Hush, she said. I know the truth when it hits me in the face.

She offered an out with those words, for both of them. Part of him wanted to quit. It hung between them, heavy and thick and almost palpable. He considered it. They could walk away and let the Garbagemen have Parker. Let them continue to test kids, spread Wasteland to them, continue their experiments. Fresco didn’t need the drug anymore. He was totally clean. He could easily find a quiet place in another state and live out his life in obscurity, never having to worry about it again.

Before the tension in the air could break him, Fresco came to his decision, the only one that mattered. He couldn’t do it. There was no way, not after everything he went through. Besides, he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself from using his power. The first time he exposed himself he’d be forced to run all over again, if for a different reason. There would be no rest for him until this was all over. But it couldn’t be over until they understood exactly what was going on. And Fresco had already thought of a way to get more information.

The quitting energy vanished when he sat forward and smiled at Medley.

I have an idea.

She rolled her eyes, but she was with him, he could feel it. Tell me, braniac. What’s this brilliant plan?

It came to me when I was at Last Stand, just after I freed Parker from her addiction. It occurred to me we were going about it the wrong way. Why wait for the kids to get hooked then try to rescue them? There’s a simpler solution.

She waited, patient, silent. Face blank. He took it as encouragement.

We find the kids first, Fresco said. Get to them before they break out. Rescue them before the Garbagemen can hook them on Wasteland.

Finally, a reaction. She stared at him like she didn’t know who he was. What?

It’s perfect, don’t you get it? We swipe them right out from under the Garbagemen’s noses and teach the kids about their gifts without the blue joy.

Medley collapsed in on herself. Her eyes dropped from his. Won’t work.

He reached for her hand and her mind, but didn’t catch either. He found himself wondering why it was he could never feel her and if she knew more than she was saying.

We won’t know until we try.

Her blue eyes met his again. You can feel them? Her voice came out low, hesitant.

Fresco nodded. I can. And have. I just didn’t realize what I was sensing. It was true. He could feel them all, especially since he got clean. His psychic explorations of the city while he searched for Daniel told him that much. There was uniqueness to them, a flavor he found hard to describe. It was like they were slightly off normal, a little outside it. Just enough for his telepathy to sense.

Still, she hesitated. I don’t see what good it would do.

Are you kidding? Fresco threw himself back against the chair, ignoring the creaking protest of the old wood. We can get these kids off the Garbagemen radar and to safety.

Where? Medley crossed her arms over her chest, every inch of her challenging him. Where exactly is safe, boy? We have no resources. Nowhere to hide. How exactly are we going to save these kids?

Fresco shrugged, refusing to let her beat him down. We’ll find a way. But, Medley, we have to try.

She turned