Chapter 6: Not Me! Not Today!

Did they see me? I dare not look yet. Hopefully, they’ll attribute the dust cloud around my hiding rock to the wind. The hairs on my arms stand up—the same feeling I used to get sneaking through Eden’s Forbidden Zones. After a couple of minutes, I risk a peek. White turban tails billow in the wind as they rifle through the dead bodies. They haven’t noticed me. Crouching low, I venture to another hiding spot nearby.

It’s a spike bush, dense enough for cover but lethal to touch. Its bark carries a poison they say feels like holding your hand in fire. I’d rather not test that, so I keep my distance. From behind the bush, I count five bandits. They surround the bodies like vultures, like parasites consuming the dead.

Their tow cart stands nearby, supported by two mechanical legs—clumsy but strong. The cart itself has seen better days. They’re common in Coghaven, capable of hauling small loads across rugged terrain, even through sand and mud streams. Like most machines in Thaloria, it runs on a small but advanced steam engine, a remnant of the old world’s technology that survived the Shift.

I weigh my options. I could wait for them to leave, but they’ll take all the water pouches. Water is life out here—without it, we die. I see only two choices: Sneak to the cart and take what I can without detection, or confront them and take the entire cart. But that means a fight.

I’ve been preparing for a fight my entire life, training for the day I can take down Lord Solomon. These bandits would make good practice to test my readiness. But I need to be smart. What if they have a blunderbuss? Or if all five overpower me? If I die, so do Papa and Ambrose. Better to be smart and silent than bold and dead. I decide to sneak in and take what I can carry, avoiding confrontation.

I stay low and make my way to the cart.

Without looking, I reach over and retrieve a couple of water pouches. Two won’t be enough. I reach for more—and recoil as blunderbuss fire tears through the edge of the cart.

Wooden splinters shower my head as adrenaline makes my hand shake.

“Halt!” one of the bandits yells.

I fight the instinct to run. I know I could get away—I’d be moving so fast these plugtails wouldn’t get a single clean shot. But if I flee now, I leave without enough water. I stand and face the bandit as he approaches, blunderbuss aimed at my chest.

“It’s just a girl,” he snickers.

His face is painted white, like the others. They use powder from the calcite rocks found west of Ashen Falls, mixing it with whatever liquid they have—water, spit, sometimes even their own urine—and cake their faces with it for protection from the elements. Being vultures means spending days under the punishing sun, scavenging dead bodies and abandoned equipment. It makes sense, but it makes them look ghostly and strange, like they’re haunting the Dread Wastes. Like they’re already dead.

“So it is,” says another bandit as he licks his white-caked lips. “And she’s all alone.”

“I’m not alone,” I lie, keeping my voice steady. “I got a little ahead of my group. They’ll be here any minute.”

The leader barks out a harsh laugh that sounds like rocks grinding together. “You’re a bad liar, girl. We’ve been watching this area since the airship left. Ain’t nobody around but you and these corpses.”

“Look, I just need a little water,” I tell them, switching tactics. I doubt they’ll negotiate, but it’s worth a shot.

“I understand,” says the first bandit, stepping closer. “But you can’t just take what isn’t yours. You’re gonna have to earn it.”

The other bandits snicker as they step closer. Their bodies are thin and sinewy, face paint cracked and brittle. They walk like skeletons without muscle, as if every joint is pained. The Dread Wastes have stripped away whatever humanity they once had, leaving only hunger and cruelty behind.

“You didn’t earn it. You took it off the bodies,” I argue.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” says the one closest to me. A red rope around his head holds his turban in place, matching the bloodshot red of his eyes. He seems to be doing most of the talking—probably the de facto leader.

“Tell you what, you play nice with us and we’ll give you one of those water bladders.” He slaps the bandit closest to him on the shoulder and they both snicker like desert hyenas going in for the kill.

I know what comes next. I begin to fume. I’ve seen men like this before, back in Coghaven’s darker corners. Men who think they own everything they see, who believe their desires matter more than others’ lives. Men who prey on those they think are weaker.

The leader’s eyes travel down to my proth legs, and his grin widens. “Mechanical legs, eh? Those’ll fetch a good price in Arcmire. The Fat Man always pays well for interesting trinkets.”

Another bandit circles behind me, probably thinking I can’t move well with artificial legs. Their ignorance might be my advantage. I remember Papa’s words from years ago: “Let them underestimate you, Neeka. Their assumptions are your weapons.”

The rage building inside me isn’t hot—it’s cold and sharp, like the knife hidden in my boot. These men are about to learn what it means to underestimate their prey. To underestimate Papa’s daughter.

Not me. Not today.

I stand tall and strong, letting my voice carry across the wasteland. “You have made your intentions obvious, so I’ll do the same. I’m going to take all the water bladders, and if you try to stop me, I’ll take your lives as well. Each. And every. One of you!”

“Oh my, you’re a spunky little thing, aren’t you? I like that.” He tucks the blunderbuss into his waistband and licks his parched lips again. The other bandits spread out, forming a loose circle around me. Their movements are practiced—they’ve done this before. But they’ve never done it to someone like me.

“Let’s have some fun, boys!”

I shift my weight slightly, feeling the familiar hum of the power crystals in my legs. These vultures think they’re about to feast, but they don’t realize they’re not the predators here.

They’re the prey.