Dawn breaks with the roar of an engine.
I jolt awake, heart pounding. Scavengers don't have engines. We barely have fire.
The sound grows louder. Closer. Metal grinding against metal, belching smoke into the pale morning sky.
I crawl out of my hole, ribs protesting. My face is still swollen from yesterday's beating. Every breath hurts.
But I have to see.
The vehicle crashes into the ruins like a steel beast. It's massive, cobbled together from rusted scrap and spiked metal. Four enormous wheels churn through the sand. Blades jut from the bumpers, sharp enough to cut a man in half.
Behind it, six creatures thunder forward. Giant birds with thick legs and muscular bodies. Riders sit atop them, dressed in scraps of metal and bone, weapons strapped to their backs.
Excavators.
Diggers.
My pulse quickens.
The vehicle screeches to a halt, smoke pouring from its exhaust. A fat man climbs out, leather jacket slick with oil, pistols holstered at his waist. He's huge. Maybe 150 kilograms. In the Shatterlands, fat men don't exist.
Unless they're powerful.
He lights a cigar, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Fuck me, we finally found some scavs." His voice is rough, cruel. He looks us over like we're meat. "Alright. Let ole Slyfox have a look at how many of you poor bastards are still alive."
The other scavengers surge forward, desperate.
"I'm willing to work!"
"I only need half a strip of carrion each day!"
"Pick me!"
They push and shove, fighting each other for his attention. Pathetic. But I understand. They're starving. They'll do anything for food.
Slyfox pulls his pistol and fires into the air.
The shot echoes like thunder. Everyone freezes.
"Silence. SILENCE, you dirty fucking scavs! I'm not here to employ your sorry asses. All of you, shut the fuck up right now!"
We slink back. Silent. Afraid.
He lowers the gun, grinning. "I have credible information that a group of sweepers are active nearby. It is very likely that they might hit this place at any moment. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Terror ripples through the crowd.
Sweepers. The word alone is enough to kill hope.
They're mutant bandits. Cannibals. They sweep through scavenger camps and leave nothing but bones and blood. They corral us like pigs, rip the meat from our bodies, smoke it for later. They break our bones for decorations, squeeze out our fat for lamp oil.
"Today, I'm going to choose a few dozen strong scavengers to form a squad with us. We'll be responsible for providing you with weapons to help you fight back against the sweepers!"
No one moves. No one speaks.
Fight the sweepers? That's suicide.
"Useless pieces of crap. You'd rather wait for death than try and make a fight out of it?" Slyfox spits into the sand. "Who will be the first volunteer? After we beat the sweepers, I'll take him with me when we leave this place!"
My heart stops.
Leave this place.
I step forward before I can think. "I'll go!"
The riders burst into laughter.
Slyfox glares at me. "Can you even lift up our fucking weapons? Just fuck off!"
"I want to go fight the sweepers!" I meet his eyes, refusing to back down. "If I can survive the fight, you need to fulfill your promise and take me away from this place!"
He studies me, something unreadable in his expression. "Do you really want to leave that much? Staying alive matters more than anything else!"
"I want to be a digger. I don't want to be hungry anymore, and I don't want to be taken advantage of by anyone any longer."
More laughter from the riders.
"Staying alive in a crazy era like this one ain't easy. Living with honor and dignity is even harder. D'ya think you'll never go hungry again or never be taken advantage of again once you become a digger? What a joke!"
Slyfox raises his hand to dismiss me. Then he pauses, looking into my eyes.
He slaps himself on the head. "Fuck me. Fine. I'll give you one chance. If we wipe out the sweepers and you make it out alive, I'll give you a chance to join us, the Tartarus mercenaries."
"You seriously letting him in?"
"He's just a fucking scav!"
Slyfox fires another round into the air. "Shut your fucking mouth. You aren't exactly a fucking noble either! I'm the fucking boss here. What I say goes!" He turns to the rest of the scavengers. "Even a brat like him has the balls to fight. What are the rest of you afraid of? If you go fight the sweepers, I'll give you each two pieces of bread and a bottle of water. If you don't go, I'll let you have a taste of gunpowder!"
Food wins. It always does.
The scavengers step forward. Twenty. Thirty. Enough to fight.
Or enough to die.
"Send this batch over right away. The others can wait here. You there. Kid. Get in the car with me!"