“That’s right,” she said. “Keep your hands right there.”
The woman grasped a shotgun. The weapon looked bigger than she was, the stock jammed into her bony shoulder, her finger hovering over the trigger.
“You here to barter?” the woman demanded.
Elle blinked. Her breath came shaky. She slowly nodded.
“What do you have?” she continued.
“Um.” Elle cleared her throat. She didn’t have anything of value. Nothing. “I’ve got food. And… well, that’s it.”
The woman stared at her. Elle stared back. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Elle’s hands started to shake. Her gun was hidden just under her coat, holstered in her belt. She could reach it fast, if she had to. The katana on her back would not move quickly enough against the woman’s shotgun.
“You were watching us,” the woman said. “You planning to steal stuff?”
“I don’t steal other people’s stuff,” Elle replied. “I was just looking for supplies.”
The woman kept the shotgun trained at Elle’s chest.
“Please,” Elle said. “Just let me go.”
The woman’s arm began to shake from supporting the weight of the gun with her forearm. “If you’ve got goods to barter,” she said, lowering the barrel of the weapon, “you can come inside and look around. But then you’ve got to be on your way.”
Elle nodded.
The shotgun was now pointed at the ground, and Elle’s fingers twitched.
Grab your gun and make a run for it, she thought. Or…
The woman took several steps forward, limping. Ragged, muddy boots scraped the ground. “Come on,” the woman said. “We don’t have a lot, but it’s probably more than you got in your pack.”
She tromped past Elle, hauling the shotgun over her shoulder. Elle raised an eyebrow. Should she follow her? She thought of her empty canteen. Dehydration was deadlier than going hungry for a few days. Maybe she could barter for something valuable…
Elle cautiously followed the woman into the store. The woman opened the door and stepped inside, into the shadowy building. Elle paused at the threshold, taking a deep breath. A dark, slumped figure sat in a chair in the back, snoring loudly. Rows of shelving were stacked with produce boxes and plastic jugs of water.
Elle stepped inside.
“How do you stay alive?” Elle whispered. “Don’t people try to take this stuff from you?”
“Tried and failed,” the woman replied. She walked behind the main counter. About a dozen packs of cigarettes were beneath the protective glass. “If you know the right people, the wrong ones stay away and let you mind your own business.”
Whatever that means.
“What about Omega?”
“Like I said, if you know the right people, you can do what you want.”
The store smelled of wet dirt and rotting feed. Odd, considering there were no animals in sight. Elle walked straight to a small aisle of metal shelving. There wasn’t much left here, except a few thin blankets and containers of sealed crackers.
“I need water,” Elle said.
“What have you got?”
The woman leaned over the counter, and it occurred to Elle then how young she actually was. She couldn’t be older than twenty. Her skin was pale, eyes sallow.
“I’ve got a map,” she shrugged.
“A map is useless to me,” the woman replied. “Got food? Bullets, maybe? Everybody wants bullets.”
Elle had bullets. A limited amount, and she wasn’t about to trade those for anything. Even water. Ammunition was almost more precious than food.
“No,” Elle said. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have anything I want, then,” the woman said. “You’d best be on your way.”
The snoring figure in the back of the store choked, coughed, and continued snoring again. Elle looked at the small jugs of water. Her parched throat and bloody, cracked lips wanted them so bad.
“Hey, you’re not one of those kids what got picked up by the Slavers, are you?” the woman asked. There was suddenly fear in her eyes. She backed up several feet from the counter.
“Slavers?” Elle narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t heard of them.”
“You’ve never heard of…” the woman trailed off, raising an eyebrow. “You come from the South?”
“Los Angeles,” Elle replied carefully.
“That would explain the clothes.” The woman gave Elle a once-over. “You should be careful, girly. They’re everywhere, looking for lone travelers. Picking them up, one by one.”
“Who?”
“The Slavers.”
“Who are the Slavers?”
“You’re from L.A. right?” the woman says. “You’ve got big gangs down there. We’ve got Slavers here. They round up the weak ones and take them off.”
“Where do they take them?”
“The desert.”
“Why?”
“How should I know?” she shrugs. “Why do people enslave each other to begin with? Power, I guess. There’s a rumor going around that there’s something big in the desert. Something the militias can’t stop.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Nobody really knows.” The woman shakes her head. “They’re dangerous though. Better be on the lookout for them. They dress like local militias, draw people in. And then they take you.”
Elle shuddered.
And then she thought of the overturned jeep and of Pix’s dead, bloody body. The haphazard golden star spray-painted across the chassis of the charred vehicle. Militia, she’d thought. Now… she wasn’t so sure of that.
“Where exactly do the Slavers take their prisoners?” Elle asked.
The woman pushed a greasy strand of hair behind her ear.
“You don’t want to go there,” she warned.
“I didn’t say I was going there.”
“I can tell.” The woman placed her hands on her hips, exhaling heavily. “Who are you looking for? It’s written all over your face, girly.”
Elle blinked. “I’m just asking a question.”
“The desert. San Jacinto Mountains,” the woman replied. “You know. By Palm Springs and all that. Pretty much abandoned, so I’ve heard. Slavers took it over. The real militia doesn’t have time to worry about what’s going on in a dried-up area of California and Omega sure as hell don’t care, either. So it belongs to the Slavers.”
A bolt of electrified adrenaline shot through Elle’s body.
So that’s where Jay, Georgia and Flash had been taken. No wonder she’d lost their trail. They weren’t in Los Angeles. They weren’t in the Central Valley. They were in the desert.
“How far is it from here?” Elle asked.
“A few hundred miles, at least.” The woman raised an eyebrow. “Don’t go, girly. You’ll wind up dead.”
“Thanks, but I can handle myself.”
Elle swung her backpack around and dug down, reaching for her map. She pulled it out. It was a crude depiction of the California Central Valley and the highways running in and out of the southern area of the state.
“That won’t do you any good,” the woman said. “Here.”
She reached under the counter and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Elle took it. It was a bigger map — a detailed one.
“I don’t have anything to trade for it,” Elle replied.
“Just take it.” She smiled. “And the name’s Sienna, by the way.”
Elle nodded, but she didn’t offer her own name. It didn’t feel right.