The World Without Rain

Chapter : 7 The Photosynthetic Failure

"Don't shoot!" Jevan yelled, his hands flying up so fast he nearly slapped himself in the face. "We’re just… highly specialized vegetation!"

The Steel-Grip Warlord tilted his head, the hydraulic pistons in his chrome arm hissing with a predatory, metallic whine. He lowered the massive double-barreled revolver just an inch, his dead eyes scanning Jevan’s swamp-green burlap sack and the forest of plastic forks jutting out of his shoulders.

"Vegetation," the Warlord repeated. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp that sounded like grinding stones. "You’re a cactus."

"A rare subspecies," Jevan stammered, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "Extremely sensitive to sudden movements and loud noises. Especially the sound of large-caliber firearms. It ruins the… photosynthesis."

Beside him, Elangga groaned. The "Inspector" was slowly pushing himself up from the dirt, his red bandana lopsided and a fresh, purple lump swelling on his forehead where he’d kissed the gatepost. He looked at the Warlord, then at his own fork-covered arms, and then back at the Warlord.

"Sector 4 Botanical Division," Elangga croaked, trying to snap into a salute but accidentally stabbing his own cheek with a plastic fork. "We’re here for the… annual soil acidity audit. Carry on, citizen."

The Warlord stared at them in a silence so profound Jevan could hear the ticking of the cooling engine in the massive drill truck behind him.

"Jax," the Warlord said, not taking his eyes off Jevan.

"Yeah, boss?" Toothpick, the guard Jevan had just maced with green smoke, stumbled forward, wiping tears from his bright red eyes.

"Is the heat getting to me?" the Warlord asked. "Or are there two idiots in potato sacks standing in my courtyard claiming to be succulents?"

"They're intruders, boss!" Jax snarled, raising a heavy, scarred boot to kick Elangga. "The skinny one hit me with a wrench!"

"I didn't hit you," Jevan protested, backing away slowly toward the drill truck. "I merely performed an unscheduled mechanical adjustment on your wrist."

"Enough!" the Warlord roared, the sound echoing off the concrete walls of the swimming-pool basin. He raised the revolver, the twin barrels looking like two dark tunnels leading straight to the afterlife. "Kill the cacti. Feed them to the dogs."

"Niskala! Now!" Jevan screamed.

In the cab of the massive drilling truck, Niskala didn't hesitate. She slammed her foot down on the accelerator.

The engine didn't roar. It didn't even purr. It let out a pathetic, wet cough-clack-wheeze and emitted a singular, massive cloud of oily black smoke that smelled like burnt hair and disappointment.

"It’s out of fuel!" Niskala shrieked, leaning out the window and frantically waving a pair of stolen silk underwear—the ones with the golden anchors. "The tank is dry! This thing is just a giant paperweight!"

"You stole my lucky boxers?!" the Warlord bellowed, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple. "Kill them! Kill them all!"

"Tactical retreat!" Elangga yelled, suddenly springing to his feet with the agility of a panicked goat. "Formation Delta! Run for your lives!"

Jevan didn't need to be told twice. He spun on his heel and bolted, his heavy boots skidding on the concrete. The burlap sack was a nightmare, the rough fabric chafing his neck and the plastic forks catching the wind like tiny, useless sails.

"Over the wall!" Niskala yelled, diving out of the truck cab and hitting the ground in a rolling somersault.

BANG! BANG!

Two massive slugs slammed into the concrete where Jevan’s feet had been a split second before, sending shards of stone whistling past his ears.

"My shins! They’re targeting the succulents!" Elangga wailed, his fork-covered arms flailing wildly as he sprinted toward the perimeter fence.

"Shut up and climb!" Jevan roared.

They reached the inner chain-link fence. Niskala went up it like a squirrel, her small hands finding purchase in the rusted wire. Jevan scrambled up behind her, the burlap sack snagging on a jagged metal edge.

"I'm stuck! I'm stuck!" Jevan hissed, tugging frantically at his waist.

"Abandon the foliage!" Elangga yelled, already halfway over the top.

Jevan heard the heavy thump-thump-thump of the Warlord’s hydraulic prosthetic arm hitting the ground as the man sprinted toward them. With a desperate, gutteral yell, Jevan lurched forward, leaving a massive chunk of swamp-green burlap and six plastic forks behind.

He cleared the top of the fence, tumbled over the other side, and hit the sand with a bone-jarring thud.

"The gates are closing!" Niskala pointed.

The heavy iron-reinforced gates they had entered through were slowly grinding shut. If they didn't make it through the gap, they’d be trapped in the killing zone between the inner and outer walls.

"Slide, Jevan! Slide!" Elangga commanded.

The three of them hit the dirt, sliding through the narrowing gap of the gates just as they slammed shut with a deafening, final CLANG.

"Are they behind us?" Jevan gasped, his lungs burning as they scrambled to their feet and began the long, uphill sprint toward the rocky ridge where they’d left Svara.

"I hear engines!" Niskala yelled, looking back. "They’re opening the main vehicle bay! The buggies are coming out!"

The high-pitched, angry whine of modified engines tore through the desert air. Searchlight beams swept the dunes behind them, cutting through the darkness like glowing scythes.

"Svara!" Jevan screamed as they crested the final ridge. "Start the machine! Start the machine!"

Svara was already on the Steam-Scythe 3000, her hands white-knuckled on the handlebars. She kicked the starter, and the scooter roared to life with a desperate, sputtering chug.

"Get on!" she shrieked. "Get on before I leave you to become ornaments!"

Niskala leaped onto the back rack, followed by Elangga, who was still wearing his lopsided bandana and half a potato sack. Jevan vaulted onto the seat behind Svara, his hands locking around her waist.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Svara twisted the throttle. The scooter lurched forward, its copper boiler groaning under the sudden weight. They tore down the back side of the ridge just as the first raider buggy crested the top, its roof-mounted spotlight illuminating them in a harsh, white glare.

"They’re gaining!" Elangga warned, looking back at the three sets of glowing headlights bouncing over the dunes behind them. "They have actual suspension! We have a boiler held together by bubblegum and prayers!"

"I'm giving it everything it's got!" Svara yelled over the mechanical screaming of the engine.

The desert wind whipped past them, cold and sharp. Jevan looked back, seeing the lead buggy close the distance. A raider leaned out the passenger side, leveling a crossbow at them.

THWIP.

A bolt whistled past Jevan’s head, thudding into the yellow biohazard bags piled on the back.

"They're shooting at the trash!" Niskala yelled. "Keep going! Don't let them hit the engine!"

"Jevan!" Svara called out, her voice tight with panic. "The pressure! The gauge is in the red! It’s going to blow!"

Jevan leaned over the side, his eyes widening. The copper wire he’d used to patch the cylinder was glowing a dull, angry orange. The rubber gasket was melting, a thick, black goo dripping onto the sand.

"We can't stop!" Jevan yelled. "If we stop, we're dead!"

"If we don't stop, we're a firework!" Svara countered.

Ahead of them, the dark, skeletal ruins of the Sector 4 outskirts loomed. If they could just reach the narrow alleyways, they might lose the buggies.

But the engine had other plans.

With a violent K-POW, the main steam line sheared off. A blinding cloud of white vapor erupted from the side of the scooter, obscuring everything. The vehicle bucked, the rear tire skidding sideways in the loose sand.

"Hold on!" Svara screamed.

The scooter flipped.

Jevan felt the world turn upside down. Sand, metal, and yellow plastic bags flew in every direction. He hit the ground hard, rolling through the grit until he slammed into a rusted iron support beam of a collapsed shanty.

Silence fell over the dunes, broken only by the dying hiss of the scooter’s boiler and the distant, approaching roar of the warlord’s buggies.

Jevan groaned, pushing himself up. His vision was swimming. He saw Niskala crawling out from under a pile of trash, and Elangga sitting in the sand, staring blankly at a broken plastic fork in his hand.

"Svara?" Jevan wheezed. "Svara!"

He saw her ten feet away, lying still in the dirt. He scrambled toward her, his heart stopping in his chest. "Svara, talk to me. Please."

She groaned, her eyes fluttering open. "I'm going to… kill you, Jevan. I'm going to… slow-cook you."

"Thank God," Jevan breathed.

"Guys," Niskala whispered, her voice trembling. "Look."

Jevan turned. The three raider buggies had skidded to a halt in a semi-circle around them, their headlights pinning them against the ruins. The engines idled with a low, predatory growl.

The door of the lead buggy opened. The Steel-Grip Warlord stepped out, his hydraulic arm gleaming in the artificial light. He wasn't holding his revolver anymore. Instead, he was holding a small, glowing electronic device—a long-range detonator.

"You thought you could just walk into my home?" the Warlord asked, a cruel smile twisting his face. "You thought you could take my maps and my water?"

"We didn't take anything!" Jevan yelled, stepping in front of Svara. "The truck was empty!"

"Oh, I know," the Warlord said, his thumb hovering over the red button on the device. "But you did take something else. You took my patience. And you left something behind in my courtyard."

Jevan’s eyes widened. "The flashbomb?"

"No," the Warlord grinned. "The tracker I planted on your 'succulent' friend while he was unconscious."

The Warlord looked past them, toward the dark, quiet ruins of the hospital further down the road.

"You led me straight to the clinic," the Warlord whispered. "And now, I think I’ll clear the land for my new well. Starting with every single person inside those walls."

He pressed the button.

A massive, earth-shaking explosion erupted from the direction of the hospital, lighting up the night sky in a brilliant, terrifying orange.