Bad Seed

The old man brought Finn a thin stew. To please him, Finn did his best to finish it. He managed half.

“That’s it, lad.” Amos said, when the food stayed down. “Keep this up, and you’ll be walking around in no time.”

Finn smiled at the praise. He liked Amos, for all his gruff manners and blustering about shifty surface gangs. He felt safe here, in the old man’s home, amongst the curious pieces of junk and the endless piles of books. Finn also loved that he didn’t have to watch his words like he did with the Blood Wolves.

Amos cleaned up the mess Finn had made and glanced at one of the many clocks dotting the walls.

“You’re worried about your niece,” Finn said, reading the old man’s frown.

Amos collected up the plates and stood. “It’s unlike her to be this late.”

“You think something’s happened?”

The old man huffed. “She probably missed the break in the curfew. Or her mother might have kept her behind.” He glanced at the clock again. “But, if she’s not here at the next shift change, I’ll head out to look for her.”

Yeah, Finn thought, he liked Amos a lot.

A bell sounded down the corridor of the workshop and they looked towards the sound.

“You niece?” Finn asked.

“Unlikely,” Amos said. He stood to answer the summons. “Elsa would never make such a polite entrance.”

***

Amos stared in disbelief at the note. The Keeper’s handwriting danced across the thick paper, summoning him to Haven.

The messenger, a tip-rat in dirty shorts and worn yellow flip-flops, waited for his reply.

“They said it was urgent?”

The boy nodded. “The Keeper’s sent a boat for you, special. You don’t even need a token.”

When Amos glanced at the note a third time the tip-rat groaned, “You’re not going to read it again, are you?”

Amos cleared his throat. “Tell them I need an hour. I’m waiting on my apprentice. She’s late.”

The boy rushed back up Junker Lane to the Alley, his rubber soles slapping the stone. Amos scrunched the summons, ready to throw it away, and thought better of it. He smoothed out the crinkles, folded the letter and pushed it deep into his pocket.

The damn Keeper could wait.

Amos returned to his workbench and picked up his screwdriver. A few minutes later, he pushed away the radio he was dismantling and threw the screwdriver next to it. He stood and paced the room.

A great crash echoed through the junk cavern.

“Amos,” Finn called from the back chamber.

“I heard it, lad.”

Amos retrieved a metal battery torch and his revolver from its secret place high on the bookshelf. He collected a box of ammunition, shaking it to check for bullets. He slid open the cardboard container and removed the two final cartridges. Amos inserted this handmade ammunition into the cylinder and pulled back the hammer. The mechanisms clicked into place.

Taking a deep breath, he eased through the curtain and listened. The junk cavern lay in darkness. Everything seemed normal. Amos pressed the button on the torch. The beam hit row after row of junk. Further along he heard the scrape of metal. Whispered words floated from the rear of the cave. Amos stalked towards the sound.

He reached the final row. A shelf rested on its side, the contents—pots, pans and porcelain—scattered and broken. Amos directed his light to a small fissure high on the rock wall, a ventilation shaft big enough for a person to squeeze through. There were rubber scuff marks on the rock where the intruders had entered.

Amos raised his gun. He didn’t care why they were here or how they’d found out about this tunnel. He would defend his territory against these unwelcome visitors. A shadow flitted in the corner of his eye. Amos fired. The flash of the gun was bright in the semi-darkness, and the sound so loud in the cavern’s confined space he jumped in fright and dropped the torch. It rolled a few feet away, knocked into a crate and turned off.

The dark settled thick around him. Amos saw movement everywhere. Flickering white dots and straight lines danced before his eyes. Gunpowder tinged the air and the weapon in his hand felt heavier now he’d fired it.

Ears ringing, Amos side-stepped. As he moved, he knocked shards of porcelain and banged great fat pots. He winced at each noise until his foot hit the crate. Amos bent. He searched amongst the debris for the metal torch. Relief. His hand grasped the cool cylinder. He clicked it on. A man stood in the beam. Familiar blue eyes stared him down, cold and defiant.

“You!” Amos aimed the gun at the Blood Wolf’s heart.

A white hand knocked it away.

“No, Uncle!”

“Elsa? What are you doing, girl? Get back!”

The Blood Wolf watched them, his expression calm. Amos raised the gun again and his niece put her hand on his arm.

“Don’t.”

She was bruised. Even in the torchlight, he could see the purple smudges at her scalp. Dirt and blood covered her skin, and her shirt was torn and damp.

“Your face. Did he do this to you? Did he hurt you?”

“It’s not his fault,” she said.

“You sneak in here, beaten up, and expect me to believe this surface scum had nothing to do with it?”

“I expect you to trust me when I say he’s not to blame.”

Amos’ resolve wavered.

“Please Uncle. I’m cold and tired. He’s not here to hurt us, he just wants Finn.”

Amos lowered his weapon and held ups his hand in defeat. “Fine. Damn nuisance, this whole situation. I’ll be glad to be rid of it.”

He led them back through the cavern, grumbling under his breath, and paused at the red curtain. Amos held out his hand to stop them.

“You’re here for the boy,” he said to the Blood Wolf, “and that makes me glad. But he’s been ill and needs his rest, so don’t be stomping around making all sorts of noise and causing him stress.”

His piece said, Amos slipped through the curtain. His niece follow, close on his heels.

“Uncle, I—”

“Not now, Elsa. Go clean yourself up first. It upsets me to see you like that.”

She hesitated. Her eyes flicked to the gun still in his hand.

“Go on. I promise not to hurt your friend. It’d be a waste of my last few bullets, anyway.”

Elsa’s face told him she wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not, but eventually she left for the small bathing room. Amos didn’t miss the way the Blood Wolf watched her as she crossed the workshop and disappeared into the alcove. He saw the interest there and Amos’ irritation grew.

Amos cleared his throat, drawing the Blood Wolf’s attention. “I imagine you’re impatient to see the boy. That iswhy you’re here, isn’t it?”

The Blood Wolf nodded.

Amos pulled back the curtain to the sleeping alcove. “I’ll give you two time alone. Don’t take too long. As I said, the boy needs his rest.”

The Blood Wolf slipped inside. Amos dropped the curtain, allowing them a measure of privacy.

***

Noak took a deep breath and entered the sleeping room. He was terrified of what he’d find behind the curtain and avoided looking at the bed. He took in the oak chest, the modest writing table and the tall wardrobe. There were no other furnishings, and Noak concluded the room was rather bare for a man who hoarded junk for a living.

“You must be really angry,” Finn said behind him. “Since you can’t even look at me.”

“You’re right.” Noak said. “But I’m angry at myself, not you.”

Noak feared Finn’s injuries were worse than he remembered. He wasn’t sure he could bare seeing Finn hurt again, the guilt was bad enough already.

Noak did look though. He pivoted and studied the small form on the bed. A light blanket concealed the worst cuts, but Finn’s arms rested on the covers and his stitches stood out, even in the dim lamplight.

“Well, there’s nothing for it,” Noak said, lowering himself onto the stool beside the bed. “Let’s see the rest.”

Noak peeled back the blanket and felt his already simmering rage grow stronger. So many cuts. So much pain for one tiny body to endure.

“I wish I’d killed them,” Noak said and let the covers fall back into place.

Finn stared at the ceiling, shame coating his features. “And I wish I’d never come here. I wish I’d listened to you.”

Noak exhaled. “No, it’s my fault. I filled your head with stupid stories. I made this place sound like a paradise.”

“You did do that. Why?”

Noak shrugged. “I wanted you to have somewhere you could escape when things got bad, even if it was only in your mind. I never thought it would go this far.”

Finn’s lip trembled. “Was everything you told me a lie?”

“They were all true stories, just…edited, I guess. I removed a lot of the sadness and loneliness I felt growing up in Haven and gave you only the joy and adventure.”

Tears filled Finn’s eyes and Noak felt he was the worst person in the world.

“Please don’t cry. I already feel terrible.”

Finn’s voice cracked. “I really wanted to believe we’d find help here, Noak. I wanted Haven to be the answer, but it isn’t. We’re still stuck with Cohen, and the Leashworms, only now I’ve made things worse. You should have left me in the Guardhouse. I don’t deserve to be alive. I’ll never be strong enough to lead. I’ll never be as good as you.”

The tears fell fat down Finn’s cheeks and the boy scrubbed at his eye sockets to stop the flow. Noak pulled Finn’s hands away from his face before he could tear his stitches.

“Hey, hush now,” he said. “Come on. You made the wrong decision, that’s true, but you made it for the right reasons. That’s important too.”

Finn choked down another sob. “We’re never going to escape Cohen, and it will all be my fault.”

Noak clasped Finn’s hand in his own.

“We’ll beat him,” he said, forcing as much conviction into his voice as he could. “Maybe not for a time yet, but we’ll succeed in the end. Alright?”

Finn hiccupped and nodded. “Alright.”

***

Amos was sorting through a pile of junk for repair when the Blood Wolf returned to the workshop. His niece had yet to emerge from the bathing alcove. Without her, Amos and his unwanted guest found themselves in a somewhat awkward situation. Either they ignored each other, or they made meaningless conversation. Amos was happy with the former choice, but it seemed the Blood Wolf found the silence uncomfortable.

“Thank you for seeing to Finn’s wounds.” He said, moving before the fireplace. “I see no sign of infection.”

Amos accepted the youth’s begrudging compliment. “We wouldn’t be very good Junkers if we couldn’t sew straight.”

“Sewing cloth is not the same as sewing flesh though, is it?”

Amos agreed. “If you must thank someone, you should probably thank my niece. She did most of the work.”

The young man’s eyes sought out the bathing alcove

“It seems I have another reason to be grateful to Elsa.”

For a second, the Blood Wolf’s guarded expression wavered and Amos caught another more dangerous one. It left a twisted feeling in his guts. The young man faced him and caught Amos’ dislike.

“Say what you have to say, old man.”

Amos might be a little afraid of these Blood Wolves, but he wouldn’t back down on the topic of his niece. “You’re smart, I know that much at least from our interactions. So, I know you’ll listen when I say, she’s not for you.”

“Spare me the lecture.”

“When I’m sure you’ve got the message, I will. Until that time…”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” the Blood Wolf said with a glance around the workshop. “I know my place and it’s not here.”

Amos sank into his chair and took out his pipe, needing the familiar action to calm his nerves.

“I’m concerned for my niece,” Amos said. He lit the tobacco. “I don’t like that she’s been pulled into this mess.” He cupped the warm wood and breathed in the smoky scent.

“She brought herself into it. I didn’t force her to do anything.”

Amos took the pipe from his mouth and waved it at the Blood Wolf. “I know my Elsa well. She’s cautious to the point of seeming cold. She questions everything she does and takes every small mistake to heart, another tiny stone she adds to an ever-growing pile of guilt. The only reason she would ever think to help someone like you is if she thought she was getting something of great value in return. I want to know what you promised her.”

“Then you’ll have to ask Elsa,” the Blood Wolf said. “Our bargain is between the two of us.”

“If I don’t know, I can’t protect her.”

The Blood Wolf lifted his chin. “Perhaps she doesn’t need your protection. Elsa seems quite able to take care of herself.”

“Ah, but you don’t know what she’s up against. The stakes are high for her.”

“As they are for me and Finn.”

“Then I think it’s time we were honest with each other. Has she told you what she is?”

The Blood Wolf glanced away. “She’s told me nothing.”

Amos wasn’t surprised. “She’s Bad Seed.”

The Blood Wolf’s brow creased as if he was trying to remember something.

“Bad Seed?”

“Invisible. Reviled, scorned, rejected. A person without rights.”

“Her tattoo…”

“Marks her as an outcast.”

“Why?”

Amos shifted and the leather chair squeaked. “She was selected to travel to a place we call the Farm.”

The Blood Wolf’s face darkened on the word.

“You’ve heard of it?” Amos asked.

“No,” the Blood Wolf said. “Finish your story.”

Amos continued, “It’s a haven on the surface, a place where the next generation can start again. It’s a privilege, but a non-negotiable one. Her mother, my sister, had lost her husband the year before. Elsa was her only child and…anyway, the reasons are not important. Helena chose disgrace, so they could be together.”

“So, Elsa was thrown out into the darkness, and you named yourself her protector.”

“To my shame, I have very little power, even as a Citizen. In the city, I am considered something of an eccentric. They tolerate me because I entertain them with trinkets from the surface.”

“And you think they’ll punish Elsa if she’s caught?”

“Son, this crime you’ve committed, attacking the Guardhouse, is one of the worst. If she were a Smoker, she might get off with a branding, but Elsa is Bad Seed. Out here, in the Darkzone, that label marks you as the lowest of the low. If Elsa is caught there will be no assumption of innocence. They won’t fine her, or even take the price from her flesh, they will kill her—without trial, without hesitation and without compassion. That’s what it means to be Bad Seed.”