Susan Kim - Wasteland

The variants had always lived far from town, shunning the ways of Prin and its people. They dressed oddly, not bothering to shield themselves from the dangerous rays of the sun. Rather than work, they eked out a meager living from hunting with feral dogs. Occasionally, they foraged for food and bottled water amid the wreckage of the outlying buildings and homes of Prin. The variants’ way of existence was a harsh and dangerous one, where one’s next meal or drink of water could result in sudden sickness, pain, and death. Their life expectancy was even shorter than that of the people in town.

In the best of times, the townspeople looked down on the variants as shiftless and dirty and called them the ugly word “mutant.” Lately, after the rash of strange, isolated variant attacks, the feeling had grown from one of contempt to that of terror and even hatred. No one knew this better than Esther and Skar, who chose to spend their time together far away from the judgmental and fearful minds of Prin. Esther believed the variants weren’t a separate species like damaged snakes or wild boars; she believed they were human somehow, yet spurned for their differences. But she had never dared mention this to anyone.

The life of the average townsperson was one of mindless labor rewarded by the occasional treat of something new: a piece of clothing that wasn’t filthy, a wristwatch with a shattered face, a pair of sunglasses. Rather than stoop to such a level, the variants had created their own society high in the mountains, with its own rules, customs, and rituals. There they lived freely, without the need for labor or commerce. They existed without apologies, and with pride. And for that, Esther secretly loved them.

“That’s three times in a row,” Skar now said. “Do you want to try again?”

“Sure,” said Esther. “Only let me catch my breath first. And this time, give me a head start or something.”

Skar’s smile broadened. “What fun is that?”

Laughing and chatting, the two headed back down into the relative coolness of the building. They argued over what should be the new starting point: the abandoned steel tracks several miles down the road, or the dried-up lake on the far side of town? But as they approached the ground level, Esther’s face froze and she made an abrupt gesture at her friend, who stopped in midsentence.

Skar heard it, too: a faint thread of faraway voices.

In the distance, heading off the main road and turning into the asphalt lot, were three figures on bicycles. One was pulling a red wagon; from where she stood, Esther could even hear the faint clank of its metal handle. They had clearly seen Esther; had they seen Skar? The trio was headed to the parking garage, straight toward them.

Esther and the variant shared a quick glance, and Esther gave a nod. Without speaking, Skar crouched low and slipped away, disappearing behind a row of parked cars.

Esther waited a few moments. Then with fake casualness, she sauntered to the edge of the wall and looked down. She was trembling and her heart was pounding, but her actions revealed nothing.

Within seconds, the three were clustered below, gazing upward at her. From their expressions, Esther could tell they didn’t notice Skar and she felt some of her tension ease.

Yet she had to make certain they didn’t come up to where she was, where they might see her friend. No variant was safe since the attacks. She rested one hand in front of her on the low wall and gazed down at them.

It was impossible for Esther to tell who they were. Indoors and away from the burning rays of the endless summer, the three wouldn’t resemble each other at all. Yet at that moment, they were nearly identical, dressed the same as everyone in Prin except Esther: swathed in filthy sheets, with towel headdresses hanging down their necks, scarves masking their lower mouths, and thick cotton gloves protecting their hands. The billowing folds were belted close to their legs, in order not to get caught in the spinning gears. All three wore dark sunglasses. In the wagon, Esther could see two empty plastic bottles, coiled rubber tubing, and a crowbar.

The three were on their way to a Harvesting.

There were three jobs in Prin—Harvesting, Gleaning, and Excavation—and they were assigned by a lottery held every two weeks in the center of town. Everyone over the age of five was required to attend and, once given a job, expected to work every day from sunrise to sundown. The rules had always been strict but they had become much tougher of late: Not to show up resulted in a Warning filed by the team Supervisor, which Esther had incurred at least four times in the past year.

One more and she risked Shunning. And Shunning from town meant certain death.

Two of the three jobs were grueling but mindless: the Excavation and the Gleaning. The few times she had deigned to show up for an assignment in recent months, in order to placate Sarah, Esther had opted for one of those two. But the Harvesting—a search through the outlying areas to find the most tradable commodity, gasoline—called for real concentration. It was by far the single most important job in town and one that had grown only more difficult and time consuming as the years went by.

When Esther had drawn the Harvesting as her assignment at the last lottery, she’d cursed her luck. Then she ignored the task and instead headed to the overgrown fields and vacant lots to play with Skar.

It had taken the rest of her team this long to find her, and their fatigue and frustration were obvious. She had to be careful not to provoke them: There was too much at stake, for both her and Skar.

The biggest figure called up to her. “Look who’s here,” it said. Although they were cloaked, Esther had no trouble recognizing who was speaking by their voices. This one was Eli. At fifteen, he was the oldest and was therefore Supervisor of today’s expedition.

“Where you been?” shouted another, revealing herself to be a girl called Bekkah. Shorter and younger at eleven, she acted as second in command. “We been looking for you!”

“I showed up the first day, and you guys had already left,” Esther said from her perch, trying to sound sincere. She knew that from a hiding place behind her, Skar was listening too.

“Right,” said the smallest and youngest. This was Till, and his tone was sarcastic.

Esther knew this boy the least and, as a result, feared him the most. She turned beseechingly to Eli.

Her appeal was not lost on him. Eli was well aware that after two weeks, their work detail was almost over and had been unsuccessful. The two others in his team were on the edge, ready to vent their fury on any target. He had to keep them at bay.

“Let’s go up there and get her,” Till said.

Eli held up his hand. He exchanged a look with Esther.

In spite of himself, Eli smiled; he couldn’t help it. For some reason, he had always been attracted to Esther, despite her utter irresponsibility and almost total lack of female affect. He couldn’t explain why, even to himself. His eyes still holding hers, he gave a dismissive wave to the others. He tried to sound cold and unfeeling.

“Let’s go,” he said. “She ain’t worth the trouble.”

He remounted his bike, looping around to head back out to the main road. For a moment, the other two were angry and confused; then, resigned, they got on their bikes. Bekkah made the turn with difficulty because of the wagon. Only Till couldn’t resist a parting shot.

“Looks like you got off this time!” he yelled back over his shoulder.

Eli stopped at the edge of the parking lot.

“Better get back to town,” he called to Esther, meaningfully. “You ain’t safe alone out here.”

“I’m not afraid of wild dogs,” she said.