Boneyards & Badlands: The Complete FTW Series Read online

  Bishop gave me directions to the nearest building I can get in to. The entrances to buildings aren’t locked or guarded any more, he said, because they can’t see the need to.

  People can only get outside after leaving a building because the boneyards are inescapable.

  When I reach the entrance to the building, I find it unguarded like Bishop assured me and breathe a sigh of relief.

  I step forwards towards the doors and a soft ding rings out. The doors part and I’m hit full on with a blast of icy-cold air.

  I’ve never felt air this cold except for in the dead of winter, but since we’re in the middle of summer, this comes as quite a shock.

  Shivering, I step forward into the building. The doors close behind me. I wrap my arms around myself and silently hope the air gets warmer further up.

  On the far wall is a row of metal doors with little round buttons next to them. When I make my way over to them I push on the doors as hard as I can but they won’t budge.

  Frustrated, I kick one of them and a loud gong rings out. My heart almost stops and I instinctively run for the exit in case someone heard, but after a few minutes of peeking inside, it becomes clear no one did.

  When I walk back into the building, I notice there’s a door at the end of the row that looks different from the others. It’s got a glass window and on the other side there’s a set of stairs leading up.

  I pull on this door and it opens, so I walk through. The stairs spiral upwards forever and it’s so dizzying I almost lose my balance.

  I draw a deep breath to steady my nerves and take the first step of the impossibly high stairs. To where, I’m not sure yet.

  After every four sets of stairs there is a number painted on the wall. There still isn’t any indication of how high this goes, but I keep walking upwards until I come across the number ‘21’.

  I must now be further off the ground than I have ever been before. I sneak a look over the railing and my stomach lurches.

  I push myself backwards from the rail and land my on backside. I sit for a few minutes catching my breath and letting the queasiness in my gut subside. Eventually the world stops spinning but I stay where I am to rest a little longer.

  It’s really quiet here on the steps, but if I concentrate, I can make out sounds coming from behind the nearest door.

  Getting to my feet I press my ear up to the door and listen. A noise like hundreds of people talking comes from the other side.

  I steady my nerves once again and pull the door open the smallest amount I can. The scene dazzles my senses.

  There aren’t any lights in the room on the other side of the door, except for what is coming from the hundreds of machines scattered around.

  In front of each machine stand groups of people. Some are pulling on small levers and pressing buttons while others around them shout instructions.

  I sneak my way through the door and pull it closed behind me. Nobody turns to look at me so I guess I’m safe. The darkened doorway works as a good hiding spot so I stand there for ages trying to work out what people are doing.

  After some time it looks like whoever is pulling on the levers is controlling a person on the screen.

  I’m horrified at first when the person explodes, but a few seconds later they reappear on the screen.

  I still don’t know what the point of it all is, but the people are enjoying it based on their laughing and shouted conversations.

  Eventually I gather up my courage and walk further into the room, trying to keep in the dark as much as I can. As I walk past one group the boy closest to me coughs, looks around and his eyes meet mine.

  He coughs again and waves a hand in front of his face.

  “The hell, girl? When was the last time you took a shower? You stink.”

  Embarrassed, I put my head down and press on further into the room, my progress met with further outcries of disgust.

  Hundreds of pairs of eyes bore into my soul and I’ve never felt more out of place in my life.

  I hurry through the crowd of people judging me and find a set of doors. As I get close to them they open with a sigh. Light floods my eyes and I’m momentarily blinded. After the darkness of the room it’s like looking at the sun.

  I squint and keep walking forward, but I’m stopped by a heavy hand on my shoulder. When the man speaks I almost pee myself in fright.

  “Miss, we’ve received complaints about you,” the owner of the hand says.

  My eyes still haven’t adjusted so I can’t make out who they are, and my heart is racing so fast if I look at who it is I might pass out.

  “Calm down miss, we just need your IdentiMe.”

  I can’t talk, I can’t think, I don’t know what he is asking. The only thing I can hope is if I play dumb maybe he’ll leave me alone.

  Suddenly I’m realizing how far-fetched this whole plan is. I don’t even know who it is I’m looking for.

  “Subject is uncooperative. Bringing her in for further questioning,” says the man holding me by my shoulder.

  There’s a sharp electric snap followed by a sudden twinge in my lower back. My whole world turns dark again.

  9 - Royalty

  When I come to I find I’m in a room nowhere near as bright as where I was before. My hands are chained to a table. I’m sitting on a steel chair, and when I try pulling on the chains they don’t budge an inch. Until someone comes along, this is where I’m staying.

  I don’t know how much time passes but the door suddenly bursts open and two large men in matching clothes walk in.

  One of them is holding a rectangular shaped device which from experience contains enough gold to justify the time spent salvaging it.

  He sits down opposite me while the other walks around behind me.

  “What’s your name, miss?” asks the man in the chair.

  I whisper my name so quietly neither of them can hear me.

  “Speak louder!” the one behind me barks, his mouth inches from my ear.

  “E-Echo. My name is Echo. Echo Fox.”

  Both men burst out laughing.

  “Didja hear that, Matt, she reckons she’s royalty!” the man behind me says and bursts into laughter again.

  Confused, I look at the man in the chair, Matt, for an explanation but he’s too busy laughing. Instead, I lower my head and study the tabletop.

  “I’m sorry,” I say not looking up. “Can I go now?”

  “Go?” says Matt. “No, you may not. We need answers first, namely who you are, why you’re not carrying your IdentiMe, and why you smell like you’ve been sleeping under a corpse.”

  “Please, I told you my name, and um, I guess I lost my... IdentiMe.”

  I’ve no idea what an IdentiMe is, but I sure as hell don’t have one. My only hope is they buy my lies, but I’m getting the impression they do this for a living.

  “No matter, we took a swab from your cheek while you were unconscious. The DNA results will be in soon and then we’ll know who you really are,” says the man standing behind me.

  “Care to tell us your Zees-Bufa?”

  “I’m sorry, my what?” I say, the confusion clear on my face.

  “Where you’re from?” asks Matt. “You know the drill: Zone, Sector, Building, Floor, Apartment: Zees-Bufa.”

  I shake my head and study the tabletop again. Tears are forming in my eyes and I try to force them to stop.

  “Who the hell is this girl?” asks the man standing behind me.

  “No one, apparently,” Matt replies.

  An urgent knock comes from the door which opens and another man pokes his head through.

  “Results for you, Sir. You’ll want to read them real quick,” he says waving a folder.

  Matt stands and takes it from him, and the man peeking through the door disappears and closes it behind him.

  “Well then,” says Matt, opening the file. “Let’s find out who you really are.”

  His eyes scan back and forth across the page. He wobbles slightly an
d drops the folder on the table.

  “Matt? Who is she?”

  Matt looks at the man standing behind me like he’s seen a ghost.

  “Cut her loose. Right now, cut her loose. Get her the hell out of those cuffs!”

  The man behind me does as he’s asked but keeps asking, “What’s going on, who is she?”

  Matt doesn’t answer, but instead taps a few buttons on the device he’s carrying.

  “Yes, boss?” says a lady’s voice.

  “Libby, get in here now!” Matt shouts then throws the device onto the table.

  “Matt, who is she?”

  Matt looks at the man who has just unchained me from the table.

  “She really is a Fox. She’s Jameson T. Fox’s daughter.”

  That has to be a mistake, or some weird attempt at being funny. There’s no way I can be related to Jameson. He’s the head of FTW. It’s impossible.

  My mind races in a thousand directions, thinking over all the events of my life. Every joke anyone has ever made about my name. Could it be? Did my family know the truth about me?

  Before I can process the fact I’m possibly the daughter of the man I’ve spent my life despising, the head of FoxTech Worldwide and the single most powerful man on the planet, all hell breaks loose inside the little room I’m sitting in.

  When the door next opens a lady dressed in similar clothing to the men walks in and asks what is going on. Matt fills her in then helps me to my feet.

  “This is Libby,” he says, his voice many degrees warmer than it had been. “She’ll be taking care of you until we can sort this out. Libby,” he turns and addresses the lady directly, “take Miss Fox here and get her cleaned up. Get her into a shower and a new set of clothes. For the love of God do not take your eyes off her.”

  Libby takes me by the hand and with a, “Come on, sweetie, you’ll be safe with me,” leads me from the room and through a maze of people and tables.

  The room I’m taken to is white and shiny. One wall is made entirely of little doors and while I’m looking at them Libby tells me I won’t need a locker. She’ll keep an eye on my stuff.

  She walks me over to one of many smallish cubicles set against the opposite wall, and when I enter she closes the small door behind me. I look back at her over the top of the door.

  “Pass me your clothes when you’re ready, then press the blue button,” Libby says from the other side of the door.

  My mind is still numb from the shock of only minutes ago. I comply without thinking and hand my clothes and boots over to her.

  “I’ll be right over there,” she says pointing to a bench in the middle of the room. “Press the blue button when you’re ready.”

  I mumble a thank you to her then look around the small cubicle I find myself in. Other than the blue button there isn’t anything else in here. I’ve no idea what it will do but press it, anyway.

  It dings softly when I press it, and small nozzles appear as if from nowhere on the walls. I close my eyes tightly because it’s all I can think to do. There’s a whooshing of air and I peek through one eye.

  From each of the nozzles a white powder is being sprayed at me, covering me from head to toe.

  I run a hand across my stomach and I’m shocked. When the powder falls away it leaves only clean, bare skin. I don’t ever remember being so clean in my life.

  I rub my hands across the rest of my body and more of the powder falls away. The nozzles keep pumping out a fresh supply so I’m being continually re-coated.

  I’m not sure how to make them stop. Am I supposed to press the button again? Before I can experiment the nozzles stop by themselves.

  A few seconds later they start up again but this time they’re only blowing air.

  The white powder that’s left on me is blown away under the intense pressure and within a few seconds not a single trace of it is left on my skin.

  I look at my arms, my legs, my stomach, any bit of visible skin and can’t believe how clean I am.

  I run my fingers down my arm and across my face. My skin is smoother than it’s ever been. It’s so weird.

  “I bet that feels better,” Libby says, standing on the other side other door again.

  She hands me a large, fluffy white thing over the top of the door.

  “Put the robe on for now, we’ll have some fresh clothes along for you any second now.”

  I slip my arms through the sleeves and tie the cord around my waist. It’s incredible, like the softest thing I’ve ever touched. I never want to take it off but I can’t imagine it being too practical.

  It’d snag easily if I tried crawling through a garbage stack wearing this.

  I sit with Libby on the benches in the middle of the room and wait. It’s obvious she’s nervous around me. Her mouth twitches like she wants to ask me something but she doubts herself.

  I’m about to tell her she can relax and talk to me, but we’re interrupted by another lady who brings in bags of clothes. Libby thanks the lady and she leaves, not once looking directly at me.

  The bags are filled with clothes that look similar to what everyone’s been wearing since I woke up in that room.

  “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now,” Libby says showing me the bags. “I’m sorry but we don’t have any underwear we can give you, and,” she looks through the clothes I took off earlier, “you don’t have any either.”

  “Thank you, it’s fine. I’m sure they’ll be lovely,” I say to put Libby at ease.

  Besides, I’m not actually sure what ‘underwear’ is, so I won’t miss it.

  She turns and looks away from me while I open the bags and pull out the clothes inside. I find some that look like they’ll fit me and pull them on.

  The shirt is a lovely dark-blue color with an emblem over my left breast which reads “FTW: PD”.

  I’m familiar with the type of pants. Reuben, Nimah’s husband back at camp has a pair. He calls them “jeans”, but they’re in much worse condition than the pair I pull on.

  Libby tries to hand me a pair of boots but they are flimsy, nothing like ones I own. I tell her I’d prefer to keep my own, and she blushes a little and agrees, putting them down.

  “I like your hair,” I say to Libby and am a bit embarrassed when she blushes even further.

  In the boneyard the only people with hair as long as Libby’s are the rats. They don’t care about anything, they let their hair and nails grow long and disgusting.

  The rest of us, we try to keep ours short. It’s less hassle that way. Libby’s is so neat and clean and glossy I want to run my fingers through it just to feel what it’s like.

  A soft knocking breaks my attention. The same lady as before is standing at the door, waving frantically at Libby to bring me.

  “What’s going on?” Libby asks as we approach the door.

  “He’s coming down in person,” the lady replies.

  “Who is?”

  “Her father. He’s coming in person. Quick, he’ll be here any second.”

  Libby’s eyes go wide, and she hurries me from the room and along a hallway.

  The next few minutes pass by in a blur. Everyone around me is freaking out. Things are being tidied and cleaned and swept and wiped by everyone.

  After a few intense minutes of all this it suddenly ceases, and a hush falls on the room.

  The doors on the far end burst open and two huge men dressed all in black march in. Anyone in front of them moves immediately out of their way.

  Following along a short distance behind them walks a man confident in the power he wields.

  His face is familiar to everyone on the planet, even us down in the boneyard know Jameson T. Fox when we see him.

  I’ve found his picture many times while hunting through garbage. Standing there in person, he’s a lot taller than I had thought.

  An old man, much older than anyone back home, approaches Jameson and salutes. Jameson doesn’t salute back and the old man turns and makes a summoning motion to Libby
to bring me across.

  As we walk the short distance across the room, my breathing becomes heavier and my head spins. Libby must sense I’m about to collapse and catches my arm as I stumble.

  The last thing I remember as I’m lowered gently to the floor is Jameson T. Fox looking at me, his expression unreadable.

  When I come to, I’m lying on a leather seat inside an aircar. For a moment I’m afraid I’m back in the boneyard, waking up after dozing off in the middle of a stack somewhere.

  As my eyes adjust, they focus on Jameson T. Fox sitting opposite me which makes it clear I’m not.

  As I sit up, he looks at me realizing I’m awake.

  “Hello, Echo. I’m Jameson Fox. According to your DNA, I’m your father.”

  “Yes, they told me you were but I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Me either and let me tell you there isn’t much that can surprise me these days.”

  Jameson watches me from his side of the aircar as if pondering the oddest thing he’s ever stumbled on. I stay silent because truthfully I’m unsure what to say.

  My mind is still reeling from everything I’ve learned. While Jameson continues to stare at me I look out of a window and immediately regret it.

  When I’ve watched aircars from the ground their movements through the buildings always looks so graceful, but the one I’m in is racing past all the others as if its life depended on it.

  Finally Jameson breaks his stare.

  “Where have you lived all of your life? I can’t understand why you wouldn’t have pinged in the system long before now.”

  “You really don’t want to know,” I say and take a sudden interest in my boots.

  I’m having a hard time keeping eye contact with him. My emotions are running all over me at the moment.

  For as long as I can remember people have told me this man is the devil, that he’s the reason we’re locked in the boneyard, but at the same time I’ve finally found someone who is real family.

  “Quite the opposite I assure you,” he says. “Our system knows who and where everyone on the planet is at any given moment. The fact you’ve gone, what, fifteen maybe sixteen years,” he pauses and I confirm my age and he continues, “sixteen years undetected is frankly astonishing and alarming.”