Darkness settled over the camp. Scrappers found old hideaways, while the streetpunks cheerfully set up their own place to sleep. Some drove over tricked-out cars, bright with neon, while others made do with brightly-colored tents and makeshift spaces dug out of the scrap. Before any of Agatta’s group could begin constructing their own places to sleep, a big truck rolled up, and the old men and ladies pulled together to put up a set of large, durable tents. Tooly finished the last of the maintenance on Nightmare and stood atop a nearby heap, wiping her hands on a rag.

June walked up beside her and nodded. “How’s things?”

Tooly glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Could be better, could be worse. She’ll run tomorrow, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good enough.” She turned to stare down into the camp. How many had they gathered? Fifty? A hundred? It was better than she’d hoped, but it still wasn’t enough. She clenched her fists. Everyone was relying on her. Her power decided the fight, her and Nightmare. Win or lose, live or die, it all stood in her hands. If Nightmare broke down, that would be the end of this resistance. The end of ever standing up to the Regis Group again.

Tooly coughed. “Those kids have got some wild plans.”

“Like?” June asked, taking a sip of her water.

“Assassinating Laredo Torre.”

June spat out her water. “What?”

Tooly chuckled. “Don’t worry, Arelia already talked Sasha down from that. She wants to see her father. Thinks she can get through to him.”

“Didn’t she already try that?” June muttered.

“It’s her father. She’s not going to be rational about it,” Tooly replied, voice unusually gentle.

June ducked her head. “Yeah.”

Tooly cut a glance at June from the corner of her eyes. “Do you trust them?”

June frowned back. “Why not?”

“Sasha’s from that lab, right? And Arelia is Laredo’s daughter.”

“Sasha has no love for the lab, for one. Putting aside the price on his head, they tortured him, from what I understand. Put him in harness against his will. I don’t think he’s going to help them.”

Tooly raised her eyebrows. “If you say so.”

“As for Arelia…” June sighed. “All else fails, she’d make a good hostage. I can’t deny that’s part of why I’ve let her stay. But honestly? It feels real. I think she’s a kid, is what I think. A confused kid who wants to do the right thing.”

“Mmm.”

Something clattered in the scrap. Both women snapped their heads to stare at it, but when nothing moved, June laughed. “We’re too keyed up.”

Tooly shook her head. She fidgeted with the rag, twisting it in one hand, and stared at the place for a long moment before turning back to June.

June sighed. “One way or another, let’s keep an eye on those two.”

Nodding, Tooly pulled a gasket of some sort out of her back pocket and started polishing it with the dirty rag. “Do my best.”

They stood for a second, staring down at the camp, before June noticed a ragged figure making his way up the pile to them. Tock waved and jogged the last few steps over. He leaned toward June. “We uh, we have any food anywhere?”

June blinked. “Food?”

Tock nodded. “You know, the stuff you eat?”

She shook her head. Food. She hadn’t thought of food at all. The scrappers could hunt rats, but not with so many people around. Agatta and her kind were probably fine, but what about the streetpunks? An army needed food, water, supplies, and she had none.

“I’ll take that as a no?” Tock grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” June said.

Tock shook his head. “We rallied to you. Can’t blame you for not having everything ready.”

“Sure hope Laredo attacks soon,” Tooly commented dryly.

June gritted her teeth. She hated to admit it, but Tooly had a point. Without food, there was no way everyone would stay here on this scrapyard for long. All Laredo had to do was wait them out. They’d get hungry and go home, and there’d be nothing to stop him from rolling over the Block as he pleased.

Dammit. Her thoughts drifted back to the lively streets of the Block just a day ago, the food carts and buzzing businesses. It would’ve been easy to sustain the small army in the scrapyard. Now silence filled the streets, the carts gone and shopfronts abandoned.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

If we could get them back…

Her eyes lit up. “Tock, can you get Agatta?”

“Mad Ag? Thought she hated you.” Without waiting for a reply, Tock trundled away, hands in his pockets.

“You have a plan?” Tooly asked, suspicious.

June grinned. “Maybe.”

Mad Ag clumped to the top of the pile bare minutes later, her one remaining eyebrow already hooked in derision. “What you want?”

June nodded. “A call.”

Mad Ag’s good eye squinted at her. “Can’t you make a call?”

June ignored her. “You know a streetfood guy, yeah? Let him know there’s a hundred-odd hungry people up here.”

“Not gonna work. He’s already scurried off.”

Tooly glanced over. “Fifty creds says he comes.”

Grunting, Mad Ag lifted her comms tablet. She pointed at Tooly and nodded.

The sun dipped down below the scrap. Twilight turned to night, dual moons rising. Mad Ag sat down on the scrap and lifted a cig to her lips. She pointed her false eye at the tip. A laser burned out and lit the cig. Smoke drifted into the sky.

“Ay, what’s going on up here? Is it a party? Hope there’s food, I’m starving.” Naemi crested the pile, Charl at her side.

“Might be soon,” June said.

Naemi crouched down, playing with her pipe. Her red-coated hands clacked against the metal, tap-tap, tap-tap.

“Those’re exo-harness. Custom?” Tooly asked.

Naemi glanced up at her and grinned. She held up a hand, turning it to show a flash of skin between the gaps in the harness. “Got it in one. My old man made ‘em.”

“You take care of them yourself?”

The red harnesses gave her a double thumbs up.

“Knew it. Come to my shop once this is all over. They’re inches from death.”

“You insulting my old man?” Naemi snarled. She jumped to her feet. Charl grabbed her by the shoulder, holding her back.

Tooly snorted. “No, only you. Look at those screws, about stripped to death. The oil buildup. The scratches and bumps. It’s a miracle they still run.”

Naemi lunged, swiping with her pipe. Charl barely held her back.

“Are we fighting?” Sasha asked cheerily from behind them.

Mad Ag and Charl both jumped. Naemi immediately yanked free of Charl. He jumped and grabbed her before she reached Tooly.

For her part, Tooly stared back, unimpressed by Naemi’s attack. “You see? Keep that up, and they’ll fall apart sooner or later.”

June sighed and turned slowly. “When did you get here?”

Sasha shrugged.

A second later, a familiar whoosh and blast of hot air rushed by. Arelia dropped onto the pile. “Why is everyone up here?”

June put her head in her hands. “Who knows.”

Arelia frowned for a second, then shrugged. She pointed toward the Block and past it, toward the city. “There’s a lot of cars coming from that direction. A whole caravan’s worth.”

Naemi whirled, on alert, Tooly forgotten.

Tooly chuckled. “Pay up.”

Mad Ag grunted again. A second later, Tooly’s pocket chimed.

Bright headlights cut swathes through the dark night. Adapted to the dark, June had to crinkle her eyes against the light. Arelia was right; it was a whole caravan. From the food trucks and carts in the lead, to the smaller sedans toward the back, nearly a dozen vehicles rolled toward them. The food trucks and carts parked near the entrance. Practiced workers jumped out and began to set up their stalls and storefronts.

The smaller vehicles circled up behind the trucks. They divulged clumps and singlets of people, some with arms full of blankets, water bottles, and other supplies, others turning to their trunks to retrieve their offerings. Although they cast glances at the scrapyard, they remained outside, afraid to enter, but willing to give.

Before long, the aroma of hot oil and fried foods thickened the air. From the scrapyard, the scrappers and streetpunks cut ant trails through the heaps, hurrying after the scent of food. Agatta watched them for a moment before she sniffed and climbed to her feet to join them.

The last car arrived as the first of the scrappers reached the food trucks, a small, familiar pink sedan. June squinted. It couldn’t be… could it?

Marly climbed out of the driver’s seat. She leaned in the passenger seat and hauled out a pallet of water bottles, and laboriously lugged them toward where the other cars had deposited their supplies. Her heels slipped and twisted over the rugged terrain, but she pressed her lips together and pressed on.

Unseen under the water bottles, a pothole loomed in front of her. She took a step, and her foot dropped, dropped, dropped. Her weight tipped forward. Eyes wide, she braced herself.

Strong hands caught her, one around her waist, the other steadying the bottles in her grasp. She looked up and met June’s eyes.

June smiled back. “Thanks for coming, Marly.”

Marly pulled away, blushing furiously, and stumbled again. June caught her a second time, then took the bottles out of her hands. “I’ll take it from here.”

“I—” Marly started, then stopped. At a loss, she stared at the ground, her hands curling into fists.

June set the bottles down in the pile of supplies with a thump. “I understand. It’s the Block, right? Not me. That’s fine. I’m still glad you came.”

“I just don’t want that asshole who stomped on my shop to win, that’s all,” Marly managed at last.

June smiled gently. “We won’t let him.”

Marly met her eyes. The June now was the June she remembered, strong and trustworthy. Not… the dangerous person she’d seen for an instant, back in her shop. Just someone who wanted the best for everyone around her.

For a moment, she saw June the way she’d met her, bedraggled, hair torn and ragged, eyes dead. She’d limped, leg still bandaged where the harness met her thigh. Tooly had to half-drag her into the shop.

Back then, she’d thought June was an addict, or another fool dragged to ruin by Regis Group and dropped into the Block to die. Now that she knew, it all lined up. The timelines, the injury, everything fell into place. And yet, nothing did. How could this woman be the Sole Survivor? How could she have so much blood on her hands, yet care so deeply about this place she’d only lived for a few short years?

Marly didn’t know what to think. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out.

June’s eyes widened, suddenly, and she lunged. Marly ducked, afraid.

“Sasha, don’t you dare! Hey, you! No! Don’t give him that!” June raced across the street and reached out for the kabob of meat in Sasha’s hand.

Sasha’s eyes flashed like an alley cat’s. Clamping the meat in his mouth, he dashed up the nearest food truck with inhuman quickness. Before June could follow, he made an impossible leap to the signpost for the factory across the street and shimmied up out of reach. Metal creaked. Rust and paint flaked down. With a great kick of his legs, Sasha leaped from the shaft to the top of the sign and crouched atop it. Smugly, he gobbled down the meat.

“Dammit, kid,” June muttered.

Marly hesitated, but she couldn’t help herself. She smiled.