PLAGUED

By Sydney Beatty

Surviving in the Wastelands is no easy task for 18-year-old Malcolm and his family. The elements of the desert combined with facing the plague and the oppressive Homelands government makes getting by a daily challenge. Water is scarce and the plague is rampaging, and when Mal is pinned between a rock and a hard place, he is forced to go on a daring re-con mission with a stranger to not only save his captured younger brother, but to find out what the government plans to do with people like him in the quickly approaching future.

The fate of the Strays rests entirely on Mals shoulders as he progressively becomes more desperate to not only save himself, but his family and people too. Forced to choose between doing what’s best for the entire nation or to stand for what’s right with those he loves, Mal ultimately must choose between saving the world or saving his friends and family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9781665757096

Sydney Beatty

Home schooled and raised in a Christian environment, Sydney is a passionate wordsmith who has an exceeding love to write. Since age 12, she has been writing for fun and serious reasons, all in which she has never grown tired of doing. Writing and expressing her thoughts in words is the easiest way for her to captivate what thoughts are buzzing around inside her head. Top that off with being home schooled and you’ve got a girl who’s initial creativity and hobby is expanding into hoarding every journal she can find and writing dozens of inspirational short stories and poems. Her passion for writing has taken her to places she could of never even imagined going, and her differing life-style has pushed her to become a self-motivated and driven young adult. Now 18, Sydney still writes with joy and she credits God for the talent in the first place. Forever inspired by the art of story telling, she is spearing to spread her writing career with the world and is ready to leap into a whole new adventure!

Book preview

Copyright © 2024 Sydney Beatty.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY

AMY WILLARD OF AMY MARIE PHOTOGRAPHY,

Wichita Kansas.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-5708-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-5710-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-5709-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024903616

Archway Publishing rev. date: 02/23/2024

CONTENTS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

About the Author

To anyone who supported me, asked me questions, or simply

expressed an interest in reading my book…thank you! You guys

are the reason this is even getting done in the first place. Thank

you for your undying love and support! And to my younger

self; You did it. You finally did it, and I couldn’t be prouder!

ONE

E ven before the bloody sun is over the horizon, it’s already too hot outside. I’ve lived in the Wastelands all my life, and I still never look forward to waking up at the crack of dawn, only to slave away in the sun, trying to drill liquid gold.

Is drilling for the earth’s precious resource when it’s two hundred degrees outside worth it?

To survive, to live, perhaps it is worth it, but it’s hard to find a will to live when your life is all but worthless. I shouldn’t say it like that, my life’s not worthless, I do serve a purpose in life, but it’s all I’ve ever known, and I’m tired of it.

We’re all tired of it.

Living for nothing.

Dying to escape.

Home is wonderful. It’s great living in a metal shack in the middle of nowhere with a haunting reputation of being a ‘‘difficult place to live.’’ The world we live in is rough, the people are ravenous, and living itself is...a questionable practice. History has repeated itself one too many times, and because of that, the story of life—progression—can no longer evolve or continue. It ended with a bang and restarted in the dust.

Nobody remembers what happened, and if they do, they sure don’t like bringing it up.

All we know is how to survive, and that’s all we’ve ever done.

That’s all anybody ever does nowadays.

There is no fun, there is no happiness, just survival, and maybe, hopefully, we’ll live to see a better day.

It’s unlikely though.

Seeing a better day and age to live in is a rare dream to achieve. Our society as a whole is dying, anyone can see that. It’s just a matter of time before we all decide to embrace it and let the elements, and the wrath of death, consume us.

The rising blood in the sky tells me it’s time to get up and go. I don’t want to, but I know I have no choice. We need oil, we need the earth’s bountiful minerals to live. We have to trade something for water, so we give the only good thing the Wastelands produce—oil, natural minerals, ores, and scrap metal. We aren’t in the metal scavenging business; we leave that alone like most Strays. Only the desperate went into the cities of old to get precious metal to trade. Not us Kane’s though, we’re into the oil drilling.

No one stirs in the room as I rise in the darkness. As I feel my way around over the hoarded supplies and materials, I take note that Aaron, the second youngest, is nowhere to be found. Marcy is gone too. I pull on my worn leather boots and trudge into the next room over. Light filters in through the bar windows; they’re never open this early in the morning. Mom must have forgotten to close them last night.

The last and final room in our ‘’house’’ is the room my parents sleep in. It’s not much better than the kids’. When I got to the curtain separating the main room from theirs, an oil lamp glowed dimly inside, and I could hear soft voices.

Mom, you need to rest, you’re ill.’’ That’s Aaron, our walking intellect. Let us worry about Dad and the mining. You can’t come with us today.’’

I enter wordlessly and everyone’s eyes turn to me. Their blue glowing eyes all stare at me like silver-washed moons. Even Mom’s eyes glow in the darkness. ‘’She’s caught a fever,’’ Marcy whispers as she holds mom’s hand.

Her words trigger an automatic response. ‘’Is it the plague?’’

‘’Too early to tell,’’ Aaron says as he anxiously rubs his neck. She was getting those head rushes throughout yesterday though, it could just be sun sickness...the pregnancy probably isn’t helping anything.

I nod slowly. Mom is probably six months pregnant. The girls probably know, but this last kid has been pushing her limits. She’s weaker, and not as young as she used to be. I think all of us kids consistently worry about her health. Dad’s the only one who never seems to care.

It’s funny to think that a bunch of kids are trying harder to keep their mom alive than her husband.

The screeching metal door into our shack tears open, the heavy boots of our father come in, and he immediately finds us in the darkness of the back bedroom. "What’s going on?’’

‘’Mom is sick,’’ Aaron mutters, keeping his eyes low. "She can’t go to the quarry today.’’

‘’Oh, to hell.’’ He grumbles as he goes for his automatic rifle leaning against the half rock wall. ‘’She’s fine. Go get ready, all of you, we leave when the sun’s over the horizon.’’

"Listen to your father.’’ Mom agrees with a huff. She forces herself to sit up, and Aaron and Marcy steady her. ‘’I’ll be fine.’’

Camille and I will come to the mines, Marcy’s voice is as cold as a stone; she doesn’t raise her voice, she doesn’t argue, she reasons. "Aaron is old enough to stay home and look after Mom. Mal and I will watch Camille in the mines, you and Gage can drill.’’ She says steadily, wary of prodding Dad’s temper.

I can’t speak to the man without him flaring up like a caged animal. I am always careful of what I say to him.

Then get them up.’’ Dad orders and Marcy moves instantly. The sun is almost up, we don’t have time to waste.’’ He starts counting ammo shells and he notices me standing there with my eyes glued to Mom.

Malcolm.’’ I recoil and glance his way. Get the truck running; hitch up the trailer.’’ He orders and I obey. I grab my own automatic and throw it over my shoulder, hurrying to get out of the house before some form of hell is unleashed upon us. But I am too late. Dad storms into the main room when two of my four siblings are still yet to be seen. "Where’s your brother and sister?’’

"Probably still in their room,’’ I say absently.

Dad’s scowl darkens. Lazy cusses.’’ He shakes his head and marches into the room, and I shut off all means of emotion as I wait for the worst. Get up now.’’ I hear Dad say, and there’s a quick shuffle. Marcy rushes our youngest sister out the door and away from the commotion right as Dad drags Gage out by his hair.

Gage fights back a scream as Dad drops him on the dirt floor. You get up when I tell you to get up, do you understand me?’’ His shaking voice instantly wakes the whole house. Gage nods faintly, which won’t do for Dad. Dad grabs his shirt collar and shakes him. I said do you understand me?’’

"Y-yes sir!’’ Gage responds as he shoves himself free and kicks up dirt to escape. Dad’s eyes shoot over to me.

"Didn’t I tell you to go get the trailer?’’

I leave immediately. Gage knows better than to stay in bed late, I don’t know why he thought today would be any different. He’s such a bonehead sometimes.

I’m greeted by two things as I leave the chaos of the house behind. Sand, and a red sky. No one knows why our sunrises and sunsets are a horrific, bloody red. Strays have little knowledge of science, but that doesn’t hinder us from questioning things. It’s already stifling outside, and I want to die. I know there’s no point in slacking, however, so I scurry to the cave that’s a part of our shack structure and find our massive trailer truck sitting inside right where we left it.

The truck is massive and rusted, it’s the size of a small tank. There aren’t any windows, only metal bars and sheets with holes melted in them to see through. Oil stains the door hinges and the tire axles, and dust rests thickly over every inch of the truck. You can’t stay clean in the Wastelands; there isn’t enough water, so we don’t even bother to try and keep our things, let alone ourselves, fresh looking.

It takes less than a minute to hitch up the same matching trailer that has our oil drums sitting in its back. I don’t have to haul and lift five heavy drills and pickaxes, thank luck, into it, we just leave them in the bed from the last trip to the quarry. I pull the truck out into the open world to see the troops coming to load up.

Dad leads them like a war general. Face emotionless and stiff, and behind him follow my brother and sisters. Gage, the middle child, is irked, as always. His eyebrows are scrunched together, and his lips are pressed into a tight line, forcing his viper tongue to stay quiet. His hair is pulled back into a stubby, dark tail of hair, just like mine. Marcy’s eyes are cold as she and Camille, our current runt, force their legs to work so early in the morning. Camille is holding Marc’s hand, eyes weary from lack of rest, but she does not protest.

Camille doesn’t speak, she never has.

Poor kid doesn’t have the strength too, not after the life she’s lived.

We all fall into our places.

Dad drives, Gage in the passenger seat. Camille’s in the back, Marc and I hold up the truck bed. We can’t risk trouble; we have to keep a close watch on our supplies and our lives.

There are no laws out here, not like there are in the Homelands. We don’t have soldiers keeping the peace, we don’t have laws and holding facilities to worry about. It’s just Strays against each other and the elements. For the most part, people are decent, but that doesn’t mean they are perfect either. If you don’t bother someone else, they won’t bother you…unless they’re looking for trouble of course, then you might have a problem on your hands.

The truck engine’s loud deafening rumble startles the silence around us, and with a quick jerk of the gas, we’re driving further out into the desert.

My sharp eyes turn at the sign of any movement. The animals are retreating from the dawn, trying to catch one last snack before they hide away in the infected cities of old. The coyotes out here are ruthless. They’re the size of a big dog and twice as violent. Some folks say the plague infected them worse than humans and made them rabid. I say they’re animals and are surviving just like us. They don’t have to worry about family though. They look out for themselves despite traveling in packs. They’d eat their own to live another day—it’s barbaric.

We hear their screams as we ride up a rocky road. Off in the far distance, miles and miles away, I see the breaking heads of the old cities. Cities that were swallowed alive by the sand and were only ever trekked by the most daring of people. The dog creatures are howling and cackling as they run full speed back to their metal dwelling. They knew better than to be out this early. They must have gotten carried away with a feast in the night.

They knew we’d hunt them.

I unsling my automatic and pull it back against my shoulder. I steady myself on the bumpy road and line up my sights. It takes one perfect shot to nail one of the dogs right in the chest. It screeches and crashes into the sand, dead. Its pack doesn’t bother to turn back for it. Now with the sun rising, they continue to flee while we make a quick pit stop.

The truck stops, and I wordlessly jump out of the back, slide down the steep sand gorge, and retrieve the animal. It could feed us for a day, we could trade it in the quarry, but we’d find something to do with it for sure. I grab its hind legs and scramble back up the way I came. Marcy pulls it into the truck bed, and I flop in right as Dad begins to drive.

My sister is already digging the shell out of the dog’s pelt. It’s a clean kill, right through the left lung and straight into the heart.

I can’t miss.

I’m a great shot, and I can’t miss. Not even if I wanted to because I knew I’d be knee-deep in trouble if I let a meal get away. I learned that once the hard way, and never again did I let food get away from me like that. That’s what I get for being the oldest. If I mess up, we all get it, and it’s great.

I’m seventeen, I think.

Maybe?

I don’t know for sure, but if I wanted to, I could walk out of my family’s life right now and never see them again. Never have to worry about them or their wellbeing. Never have to get yelled at for coming home without a kill or not getting enough oil and loot for a trade run. I’d never have to look out for anyone, only myself.

It runs in Stray blood to only want to look out for oneself. Not many families make it out here, and the few that do are...rough, to say the least. Most people live in groups, but they are not families. I can’t leave mine, not with Dad.

I want to go, don’t get me wrong. I want to be free but every time I think about it, think about leaving in the night and starting a new life for myself, guilt grabs at me because I know my siblings and mother would be left for dead.

They depend on me...I can’t leave them, even though I want to.

I can’t abandon them. They’re helpless without my defense.

Marcy’s nimble fingers fish the bullet out of the dog and she stuffs it into her pocket. Little crimson droplets bleed through the already dark pocket spot in her pants. She doesn’t even notice. We’re all filthy; living like animals and smelling worse than them too.

Our drilling tools rattle and clank under our feet as we get closer and closer to the quarry. All around us, dirt paths begin to merge into one big thunder road. Different armored trucks drive to and fro the many cracks that had split open the earth. Some people even have horses pulling and heaving their finds.

There aren’t any friendly faces to be seen. Scowls rest on every scavenger’s lips and their jaws are set tight, never to utter a kind word. We drive past a dozen metal cranes that are hammering away at the earth as they hum with energy. They’re drilling the oil out of the ground, ever hungry, ever needy. We aren’t the kind to mess with the drills. We do our work manually. We don’t need to mess with people with more weapons and manpower than us.

Instead, it’s into the common man’s land.

The quarries run like dry rivers; deeply carved and winding they go out into the desert. There are miles and miles of them around us. Caves sit at their bottom, caves that lead deep into the earth where a rare coolness can be found, and there in the dark, we mine and search for our own spoil. If we Strays want to, we can all build our homes down there, and some do if they so please. My family has never found safety within the earth’s crust. Too many dangerous people live down there, and we can’t afford to fight people for all we have.

The sun is just rising over the horizon, and I can see deep shadows snake through the land. The canyon is half-washed in the morning light, half cast in shadow. Some people are filing out of the gorge on a steep road, others are rushing down.

We fall in line like any other caravan and file down into the earth; the search begins.

Finding a cave to head down into is one thing, finding a place to secure the truck is another. You must be careful where you place your things, or else you might not get them back.

Dad navigates through the packed quarry, driving at a slow pace to avoid catastrophe. Others are not so careful, recklessly bumping into other people’s vehicles, and scaring the heck-fire out of passersby.

Marc and I keep a close eye out for anyone following too close for comfort. For the time, we’re fine. We’re left to our schemes.

Dad finds a nice, tucked-away overhang in the canyon walls before we stop driving and lock down the truck. We chain the tire axles so they can’t spin, and we kill the engine so she can’t start. All there’s left to do is leave and hope that no one is crafty enough to steal our one good piece of transportation.

Gage and I unload the drills, which are two handmade tools. I helped Dad make them a long time ago, and they had never failed to pound through thick aluminum ore and iron. Dad and Marcy unhitch the trailer cart and together they start pulling it down into a wide-mouthed cave like two slaving horses. Camille shouldn’t be here, she’s too little, too innocent, but here she is following right next to Marcy.

She’s a lost puppy most days, never one to have a home, only ever following those she loves most. Her little feet keep up with our much larger steps, and her silver eyes glow as we descend into the darkness. I don’t know how she does it, but she’s braver than all of us kids combined.

I admire my sister for her bravery, but bravery doesn’t get you far in the Wastelands. You can act all big and bad, but that never amounts to anything if you don’t use it. You have to have bark and bite out here; if you don’t, then you’re done for.

After carrying myself and a forty-pound drill for what feels like hours in the dimly lit cave, Dad finally picks a place for us to start our week’s work. We are away from the other miners, alone in our own echoing corner of the earth. He and Marcy set the cart trailer down. His grey eyes glance over us all as he lights an oil lamp overhead. "Well, get to it.’’ His gravelly voice rings against the walls, and we don’t waste another second.

A sharp pull of the motor sends my drill shaking violently as I press it hard into the rocky wall. Dad takes the other drill and goes away down the path, taking Marcy with him. Gage and I are left to keep an eye on Camille while we work. She tries to swing a pickaxe, but she’s not strong enough. After a few invalid swings, she gives up and stares blankly at Gage and me.

The day has hardly begun, and it already feels like I’ve been here for a week. My arms are sore, despite doing this every day of my life. My eyes are tired of being jolted around my skull and I want a break, but I persist. Gage flakes out before me. I know because Camille leaves me and sits on the dusty ground behind me with our brother. I decide to take a minute for myself too, I haven’t gotten anywhere anyway.

Gage is drenched in sweat despite being in the cool earth, and so am I. I press my back against the jolting wall and huff to catch my breath. Any luck?’’ Gage asks me as he rubs the dirt and grime from his face. I swear I found an iron patch, but it was just granite.’’ He slouches against the foot of the cavern wall; Camille plays absently with his fingers.

Nothing,’’ I say. Just rock.’’

I hate this,’’ Gage mumbles to himself. I hate life.’’

"You say that every time we come down here,’’ I reply flatly.

And I mean it every time,’’ He says. I’m sick of this life and never getting anything out of it. All this work and for what? Barely enough water to get us through the week.’’ He shakes his head and pulls his hand away from our sister. Damn inflation. They think they can get away with raising trade demand. I swear I’m going to make every one of those Shiny’s sorry for all the hell they put us through.’’ He shakes his fist at the open air, annoyance presses in his tone. Hear that, you soft-skinned Stiffers! You can kiss my—!’’

Gage, shut up,’’ I warn as I pick my drill up again. Dad’ll kill us if he finds out we’re having a break.’’

He can’t tell a truck engine from a scream, and you know it.’’ Gage grumbles back as he copies me and takes up his pick. He swings, and the ceaseless ring of metal striking against rock hums in my ears. He’s gotten worse,’’ He says and I nod.

I know,’’ I say, thinking back to earlier when he had dragged Gage out of our room. Are you okay?’’ I think back to the way he’d grabbed him.

I’m fine,’’ is all he says, and I nod. At least he didn’t boot me or something.’’

A soft whimper comes from my sister, and I feel her rest her head against my arm right before I go to pull the motor string. I frown at her, and she frowns back. I don’t know what she wants exactly, but something in me wants to comfort her. I don’t know how to though.

What can I say?

What can I do to make her feel better?

We live in hell; there’s not much I can say to make her feel better.

Every time I try to help, I tend to make things worse. So ultimately, I just try not to help anymore, and I leave things as they are. Camille continues to stare at me, and I just sigh. Stay back.’’ I lightly push her away. Help Gage collect the ore,’’ I tell her, and without a trace, she goes behind me to Gage who’s aggressively swinging at the wall in front of him.

My head rings as his axe hits the stone. With each swing, more hate is beaten into the wall, and with each throw, he becomes a little less vicious. I know the feeling. I want out too, I want an escape, but there is nowhere else to go. All we have is the endless desert. We can never live where the green exists.

We’ll never see the endless forests filled with towering evergreens that touch the sky. We’ll never know the soft touch of grass on our bare feet, or breathe in the fresh, cold mountain air. We’ll never know the wonder of turning a tab and having unlimited water flow out for us without ever drawing to an end. There is such a place as this, but Strays will never be permitted in it.

This land; it’s only a dream to us.

Something we can only envision in our heads.

The Homelands.

We’ll never know the comfort of that place.

Imagining something you’ve never seen before isn’t easy. You have to take people’s word for it and pray that one day, you’ll see their words for yourself. Maybe one day I’ll be lucky enough to see a blade of grass, but I know better than to hold my breath.

Walls separate us low-lives from the high and mighty, and luck only presents itself when it’s feeling generous.

Perhaps it has nothing to do with luck. To some, it might be a game of chance, but it doesn’t matter whether it’s either of those things. At the end of the day, whether you are blessed or born a Stray, death is inescapable, and that’s just a fact. We all die: rich, poor, old, and young. Death’s coming, and we all know it, especially we Strays.

It doesn’t matter what you do. It doesn’t matter how much you trade, how much water you get, or how much oil you drill up. It doesn’t matter if you are a Civil on the Boarder or a Stray. Whether you are living your best life or the worst, everyone has to be conscious of one thing.

No matter who you are, you always have to look out for the plague.

The cities of old reek of it, some more than others but all the cities are contaminated with the deadly sickness. It’s less common inside the walls of the Homelands and the Borderlands, but it’s not extinct. You can still catch it, even in there, the ‘‘safest place in the world.’’ The plague is what ruined us all, it’s what rules our desert world, and it’s what controls our entire nation’s government. They fear the plague. Our mighty Director Maxwell Driscoll is scared of a little virus, and why shouldn’t he be? If you get it, you’re done, and doomed to die a slow and miserable death. There’s no way around it.

No one is safe, not even our beloved Director and his Shiny soldiers.

Even though we live in the Wastelands, we have never been struck by death’s fingers—that doesn’t make us lucky, just smart. Scavenging the bottoms of the mines and making it out alive says a lot about a family. It means we know what we are doing. We can fight, we can scratch and scream through each day and night and act like it never happened, and all for what?

Nothing.

We are just surviving.

For what though?

I have no clue.

I guess at the end of the day, Strays are just animals.

Eating to live, living to go on, and nothing more.

Camille, stop getting your hands in the way, I’m going to nail one of them on accident.’’ Gage stops swinging his pick to catch his breath, then he mutters, Then we’d have another problem to deal with.’’

"Two,’’ I tell him, and he groans to himself.

Don’t remind me.’’ He swings hard at the wall, and I hear clumps of ore crumble and crack at his feet. Are you just going to let me do all the hard work, or are you just going to stand there and look pretty?’’

"Shut up, Gage,’’ I grumble back as I go to start drilling at the cavern wall again. Before I can even grab the draw string, a rigged boom runs up and down the entire shaft. The whole tunnel shakes and the dust unsettles with the rumble. No one moves, everyone in the system is frozen.

The earth, however, is not. It’s the opposite.

"Out! Out! Out! Everyone out!’’

"Gage, take Camille and get the trailer out,’’ I snap as I grab my rifle and bolt down the beaten path.

"But—!’’

"Chamber collapse!!’’ Someone screams as they run past us.

No, I’m going after Marcy.’’ I don’t even turn around. I let instinct take over and my feet fly down the steep sloping path. The darkness only deepens, but I see a few remaining lights flicker through the thickening dust. The walls shake and the floor splits as I run towards the rising sound of breaking earth. Marcy!’’ I scream into the chaos as more Strays run past me. I fight to get through them to find my sister. "Marc!’’

Mal!’’ She yells and I know she’s close. Help!’’

The tremors vibrate through my entire body and catch myself against the shaking wall. Through the dust and falling rubble, I see Marcy panicking by a collapsed shaft tunnel. Dust clings to her face and tears sting her eyes, but she fights to hide it as she rapidly digs into the fallen earth. Half of Dad’s body is trapped under loosened gravel and unstable rocks.

He’s unmoving while my sister digs to save him.

"What happened?’’ I question, and she speaks in rushed, choppy sentences.

Dad found an oil pocket, but when he started drilling to siphon it, the walls gave way—’’ Her teary blue eyes burned like a hell storm into my soul. Help me!’’ She pleads. "H-help me!’’ Her hands move like animal claws. I want to help her, but my body refuses.

This could be a chance.

Maybe luck is favoring us today.

Malcolm!’’ Marcy wails as a boulder crashes down behind us. I kill the voice in me that wants to abandon the man we call Dad, and I join in her frantic digging. Hurry, hurry!’’

Just dig!’’ I tell her as I use both my arms to start throwing dirt and loose rocks off him. His knees are still buried in the loose earth, but I can hardly see straight as my body’s buzzing so much. We have to go.’’ I grab Dad’s belt loop and throw my weight into pulling him free. He too pulls away and the second he’s free, we scramble up the way we came.

I can hardly see, and Marcy and I haul our half-conscious father through the crumbling tunnel. The paths are shifting and collapsing, and dragging a half-alive man doesn’t make our escape any better. "Where do we go?’’ Marcy hacked and sputtered.

There isn’t time to speak so I press on. I recognize the room we stumbled into and it’s half full of rock. I take a sharp turn and lead up a different way. There’s no time to think, no time to act; we just have to move! We’re tripping all over ourselves, stumbling blindly on sand and dirt. Tools that had been neglected amid the panic trip us up as we try to escape our doom. The dust chokes us as we make vain tempts to inhale, but hope strikes my chest when I see light glowing on the path above. "There! Go! Go!’’ I’m pulling my father and sister, leading them to freedom out of the clasp of death!

The air outside hits me in humid, sticky waves. It’s not the welcome I want, that’s for sure.

We fall out onto safe ground, heaving and gasping to live a moment longer. Shakes run up my legs like the quake is somehow inside of me, and I pull away from Dad to try and collect myself. Strangers’ faces pass by, paying a great deal of attention to us, but doing nothing about helping. Groups reunite as they count their losses, and everyone clears out of the now-ruined cave.

It is a shame. There is no way in the world that everyone got out of that collapse. The loss of resources and supplies too...it’s devastating. Not only for us but for others too.

Had Gage and Camille gotten the trailer out? Never mind that, had they gotten out? Were they out?

My body begs me to lie down and catch my breath for a minute longer, but I deny that wish and I stand shakily. Gage?’’ I hack up a cloud of dust and rotate in a circle, searching for my younger siblings. Gage? Camille?’’ I yell over the rise of the crowd, and I hear a reply.

Here! Malcolm!’’ Gage bursts through the crowds with Camille in hand. They’re both layered in brown, murky dust. The only visible color is that of their eyes. Here.’’ He coughs and we rejoin each other. My little sister immediately crashes into my side and buries herself into my shirt, whimpering. Her brittle fists quiver and jerk as I bring myself to gently pat her back.

You’re okay,’’ is all I can manage to say, and my gaze meets Gage’s. You are okay, right?’’

Never better, He says sarcastically. "I’m not going to be digging dust out of my lungs for the next week,’’ he says, and I know he’s fine. I grip his shoulder, and without another word uttered, pull away from him and my sister. She shivers like she’s cold, and Marcy appears and pulls her close, hugging her like any good sister would.

I’m not very good at...making people feel better. It’s not natural to me to...help.

Protect and defend maybe, but help? That’s a different story.

Gage, are you alright?’’ Marcy takes one of his arms and examines it for any scrapes. No one’s hurt? We all got out of that in one piece?’’

"Looks like it,’’ I tell her as I scan the scene. Everyone’s breaking apart and returning to their business. If there are losses, there’s nothing anyone can do or say to help it. Daylight is wasting and there’s no point in mourning. We don’t have time to grieve out here. In survival, there is no such thing as time to grieve or recover. You must act, and if you don’t, you die.

An inaudible grunt comes over my shoulder, followed by a light curse. The trailer...’’ Begins Dad as he comes stumbling over. His entire figure is off balance and shaken from trauma. He limps on the right leg, but he still moves as swiftly as ever. Nothing can keep that man down; as long as he’s alive, he’s going to work. He’s going to rule with his iron fist and make all who are under him just as miserable as he is. Where the hell is that trailer?’’ He questions hastily, eyes pinned on my younger brother.

It’s...’’ The words stick in his throat, and he takes a step behind me. It’s um...it’s in there.’’ He admits sheepishly and he can’t even get a word in to defend himself.

You stupid cuss! That was our life, that was our way of making trade and you left it in there?!’’ He howled furiously. His fists are white with rage, and he winces in pain as he presses on to get to Gage. You should have gotten it out! That had all our supplies in it!’’ He bursts like a bullet on impact, and I feel the same fuse in him go off in me.

"It was too heavy!’’ Gage defends.

"That’s not an excuse!’’ He argues and my temper grabs hold of my tongue.

"You’re seriously mad at your son for saving himself and his sister rather than a damn hunk of scrap metal?’’ I’m not taller than my Dad, just right at his height. I get right up in his face, and he isn’t afraid to get up in mine.

"Don’t you take that tone with me, boy! How do you expect us to get water now? Will you go into another mine and tear that ore out of the ground with your hands? Maybe carry some oil to the walls with your damn hands?’’ He shoves me, and I shove him right back.

"Stop thinking about surviving for two seconds and think about your family! Your children, your wife! We’re not your slaves! We are your children!’’ I yell with clenched teeth.

"And it’s my job to keep you alive, you sand-eating Scab! When I say something is important, it is. That trailer was important to keeping all you Stiffers alive, and now we’ve lost it all, no thanks to you!’’ He yanks Gage forward with a quick jerk, so I grab his arm and push him off my brother.

Dad doesn’t like that very much, and like a hammer hitting an anvil his fist smashes into my face and I go flailing backwards. My cheek stings and I hiss as the waves of pain ebb away. Dad’s temper is still hot and now he focuses all his attacks on me. "Listen to me—!’’

I do listen to you!’’ I cut him off. That’s all I ever do is listen!’’ He swings again and all I can do is block with my arms. His fist misses my face, but it still juts into my shoulder. Dad bristles and his face is wild with heat. Tension grows under his skin and his muscles flex warningly. His fist collides with my chest; all I can do is keep my arms up. He’s pushing me, throwing me back, and trying to get me to snap back at him. If I wanted to, I could blow out his kneecaps and leave him for dead in the quarry...

I want to fight, I want to scream, but I just take the beating.

I only make things worse when I fight back.

I can win, I can easily throw my father over and win; kill him if I want, too, and maybe get some help from Gage but...

I would be left to take care of my family.

I would be left to take care of Mom.

What would she think?

She wouldn’t even know me anymore. She loves Dad for no damn reason, and despite his iron fist and wicked temper, despite his demands and lack of affection, she still chooses to love him. She still chooses to work like a slave for him, even when she’s with child. Dad is bad to Mom, he is bad to all of us, and I can’t find one good reason to love him.

What does Mom see in him that’s worth caring for?

With one more brute push, I fall back on the ground with a thud. I’m sore, not terribly but the aches of the blows are still sinking into my flesh. The bruises will set in by nightfall. "You’re something, Malcolm. You disrespect me and everything I’ve ever done for you! What’s it going to take to get through that thick skull of yours that all I’ve ever done has kept you and your brothers and sisters alive?’’ His temper is still hot like coals, but he’s no longer screaming like a banshee.

He spits and rubs his scruffy jaw. Sweat runs down his buzzed scalp and his brow. His mind is a storm of hate, and he is letting it all out on me. It’s great being the oldest. You’re the human punching bag, and what makes it worse is that you don’t care if you’re being beaten, so long as it’s you and only you. If he so much as raises a hand at Marcy, Camille, or my brothers...you best believe I’ll jump in there to intervene.

My job is to protect them...even when they do stupid stuff that they probably deserve to get in trouble for.

You don’t touch my family.

Hurt them once, I’ll shoot you twice.

"I can’t even look at you.’’ Dad’s words break through my misery, and I see him limp away. He passes my brother and sisters, all of whom are clumped together in a defensive circle. He stops not far from them, and he spits again with a shake of his head.