DERBENT

  Will’s breath fogged in the biting air as he trudged forward, each step crunching over a thick blanket of snow. Flakes fell lazily from the gray sky, but the sun—hidden somewhere overhead—offered no warmth. Visibility was poor, the landscape ahead little more than an endless swirl of white.

  Remy grumbled beside him, muttering curses about the trek. His words were half-lost in the wind, but his frustration was clear. Will forced his legs to keep moving. A faint crackling accompanied their march as their tightly controlled fields, hidden underneath their overcoats, met the steadily rising radiation.

  "We must be close," muttered Remy.

  Will stayed alert, and a few minutes later, dark shapes poked through the snow haze. Ahead was a ten-foot-tall chain-link fence, and beyond it, faint outlines emerged through the mist: hundreds of towering smokestacks pierced the sky, belching thick, black plumes into the frigid air.

  “There it is,” Remy whispered, his voice low and tense.

  The wind shifted suddenly, and they were trekking against it. The black smoke blew overhead, and Becca gagged. There was a hiss from her rebreather as she let out a loud sneeze.

  “Crap,” she muttered, covering her nose in a futile effort to stave off the sneezing fit.

  “What is it?” Remy asked, glancing at her with concern.

  “It’s that same smell,” Becca said between sneezes. “That rotting stench from the exclusionary zone.”

  Will frowned as he remembered their first foray into the zone. “It must be the Tower garbage dump. It’s quite close to the settlement.”

  The dump was inconveniently positioned between Derbent and the old capital. Whenever the wind shifted, the acrid odor wafted across the area, making it impossible to ignore, and Becca had always had a sensitive nose.

  “I heard they harvest leftover hydrazene from the dump and use it as fuel,” said Remy, adjusting his own rebreather. “The whole pit must smell like that.”

  Becca scowled, cranking up the filters on her radiation suit. “Lovely.”

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  Will chuckled, expecting Becca to say something cutting, but her sudden exclamation caught him off guard.

  “Hey, look—people!”

  Will followed her pointing hand and squinted. Through the haze of falling snow, dark figures emerged. They moved like shadows against the white, all wrapped in heavy cloaks, their shoulders burdened with snow.

  The trio instinctively slowed, watching the small stream of wandering figures. Will regarded the drifters for a moment before moving to join them. The drifters didn't react at first, but things changed when they passed a few hooded figures in the group. Will felt their gazes—sharp and assessing—giving him and his companions an unmistakable once-over.

  Will’s eyes narrowed, and his hand drifted into his long coat. The hooded figures stiffened, and a long second passed as each group sized the other up. The moment passed, and the one leading the drifters backed down, his party following him.

  “Friendly,” Becca muttered, and Remy snorted.

  Will kept a close eye on the belligerent group, but they didn’t attempt anything. They were busy making their way through the snow. The trek continued unabated as they approached the fence. The drifters slipped through a jagged gap in the rusted links, and the trio followed suit, carefully stepping through the opening. Beyond it, Derbent revealed itself in full, grim glory.

  The mining town sprawled within a colossal crater of immense size—a scar so deep it seemed bottomless. The ancient quarry had long since depleted its surface ore, forcing the miners to dig ever deeper. Now, the town descended in uneven, step-like levels, a chaotic maze of buildings and makeshift supports clinging precariously to the pit’s sheer walls. Each tier housed a patchwork of haphazard constructions that grew messier and more unstable the deeper the levels plunged.

  Buildings leaned into one another like drunks at a bar, held together by little more than hope and prayer. In stark contrast, the factories near the upper levels stood sturdier—squat, industrial giants processing ore by the ton. Mining equipment droned endlessly, and a constant stream of caustic black smoke poured from the stacks, darkening the skies. The mining town’s production churned on, undeterred by the looming threat of riots.

  “Welcome to Derbent,” Will muttered as he followed the drifters toward a set of narrow, uneven stairs carved into the earth, leading to the first level.

  The trio began their descent, careful not to slip on the snow-covered steps. As they reached the bottom, angry voices rose to greet them. The street ahead teemed with people—far more than Will had expected.

  “What’s going on?” Becca hissed, her eyes wide.

  The narrow street was packed. At the far end, atop a makeshift podium, someone addressed the masses, but their words were distorted by the howl of the wind.

  Will focused instead on the crowd, catching snippets of conversation. Angry mutterings swirled around him, and from the broken fragments of dialogue, the picture became clear: there had been another failed attempt to capture the Derbent leadership, and the local forces were gathering for a retaliatory strike.

  The speaker finished their speech, and the crowd erupted. Several gunshots rang out as a few militants fired rifles into the air. The crowd roared in approval and began to march.

  “Well, shit,” Remy muttered.

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