By this point, we'd come over a rise and could see the source of the stench. Spread out before us were dozens of mounds of garbage that seemed to stretch for miles. A large fence surrounded the place, but it was pocked with holes and fallen sections, like the people who created the landfill had even given up on it.
Icarus motioned ahead in a wide, sweeping gesture. "Welcome to the Book Mountain."
"Book Mountain?" I said. "More like Trash Mountain."
Icarus's eyebrows twitched with annoyance. "Under all that trash is one man's greatest treasure."
"Saga?" I said, repeating the name they'd mentioned.
"Only rebels get to call him by that name," Dare said. "You will call him 'The Scribe.'"
"Do you even know what a book is?" Icarus said, his tone insulting.
I frowned at him. "Of course." Although I hadn't seen an actual book in years, I still hadn't forgotten how precious they were to my mother. Our little apartment was filled with rickety bookcases made from cinder blocks and wood. Mom used to leave paperbacks all over the house so she'd never be more than an arm's length away from one of her precious books.
The rusted metal gates were covered in pits and flakes of paint. A drunken sign hanging from the top warned trespassers to keep out.
I rolled my eyes. "That gate wouldn't keep an infant out."
A smile lifted the corner of Icarus's mouth. "Don't let it fool you. Saga has plenty of booby traps throughout this place. Keep your eyes open and be ready to duck and roll."
The gate screeched a warning but offered no other resistance. Beyond it, as far as I could see, were mountains of trash. Rusted out cadavers of automobiles, wheel-less baby carriages, old clothes waving in the breeze like flags of surrender. Hills made of plastic bottles and used diapers. Aluminum cans, cereal boxes, containers made of something Icarus called Styrofoam. After years spent in the sterile halls of the dormitories and the crisp, modern palaces of the Troika's leaders, this pit of rot and decay was a shock to the system. A morbid museum documenting the consumption habits of pre-war humans.
As we passed a tall pile of shoes, Icarus stopped and started digging. I looked down at my feet. By that time, the shoes the Chatelaine had given me were meager scraps that barely covered my feet. The places where they'd worn away were covered in weeping blisters and cuts from two days of walking. Still, I hesitated to dive in like Dare and Rabbit did the instant Icarus gave the nod. Rabbit emerged from the pile with a victorious whoop. He had a boot in each hand. The set didn't match--one was black, the other brown--but they appeared to be the same size. Without hesitation, he kicked off his threadbare sandals.
"Damn," the kid said. "Too big." He glanced around. Seeing that Dare was in the process of putting on some she'd found, his gaze shot to me. "Here." He thrust the prizes toward me. I hesitated. The kid frowned at me. "What's wrong?"
"Miss Priss probably thinks her tender feet are too good for second-hand shoes." This came from Dare. Hers matched, but that's about as much as they had going for them.
I avoided her too-knowing glare and grabbed the boots from Rabbit. "Thanks, kid."
They were still warm and gritty from his feet. I ignored my natural urge to recoil and shoved my foot in all the way. It was only when the leather cupped my heel that I realized the damned things fit like they'd been made for my foot.
"Ha! Look at that," Rabbit said, beaming.
I glanced down at our feet. Mine with the mismatched but well-made boots and Rabbits bare and covered in dirt and blood. Shame washed through me. This kid had never in his life known the luxury of new shoes. I smiled at him. "Let's find you some now."
"Here, buddy," Icarus called from across the pile. He tossed a pair of scuffed wingtips across. The kid looked like he'd been handed gold. "Wow, thanks Ick!"
I raised my brows at the nickname and received a grimace in return. "Put them on quick. Saga's waiting."
#
A couple of minutes later, Icarus led us to a pile of old cars. I glanced around, expecting a pack of junkyard dogs or a swarm of bats to attack at any moment. Even among the mountains of trash, we were way too exposed for my liking.
Ignoring my worried glances, Icarus took his time finding a stone from the red dirt. Once he found a specimen he liked he sucked at his teeth while he squinted at the pile. A split second before I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing, he threw the rock at the rusted hood of a blue car about halfway up the pile.
Just when I was ready to call bullshit, a small mechanical sound reached my ear. Like small gears grinding. An instant later a headlight from a red car lower on the stack broke away from the car's frame. It rose up on a telescoping rod and once it reached about twelve inches up, the top portion flipped over to reveal a camera's eye imbedded inside.
I raised my brows and shot Dare a look. She shot back a shit-eating grin. Then she mugged for the camera and gave it a wave. Icarus just stood with his legs braced and his jaw tight, which from what I could tell was his relaxed stance.
A red light blinked to the right of the eye, but no voices came from the cars and no armies appeared from the surrounding trash piles. Instead, another mechanical sound followed by a whoosh of air escaping some sort of airlock sent a puff of rusty dust up from the trunk of a large sedan.
Icarus motioned a hand toward the yawning trunk. "After you."
I considered suggesting he go fuck himself, but paused. We'd come to this place so I could be tested. Something told me to balk at going in first would earn me a failing grade before I'd even crossed the threshold. So instead of arguing, I raised my chin, adjusted my canteen on its shoulder strap and took a purposeful step toward the dark void.
"Watch your step," Rabbit warned. "That first one's tricky." The helpful suggestion earned the kid a knock on the shoulder from Dare. He shot her an annoyed look as he massaged the tender spot. "What? We don't want her to die before Saga gets his hands on her."