The Ruins Book 4 Read online

  Kirby kept her head down, clenching the shears in her hand as she cut with new vigor.

  She risked another glance at the doorway.

  The laughing stopped.

  The guards were on to some new, crude story.

  Ollie was gone.

  Chapter 30: William

  Alone on the stairs, William paused.

  Fear pierced his heart like a stake.

  Traveling down the stairs in the nighttime was fear-inducing enough, but traveling in the daytime provided its own set of worries. He had no cover of shadow, no place to hide, should someone discover him. The amount of time it took to unlock a door ruled out ducking into a room. He would have to go down three flights of stairs to get to Amelia's quarters—three flights of quietly sneaking and hoping no one came out.

  Something else frightened him.

  Tolstoy's room was on the way.

  Tolstoy was probably inside his quarters, poring over his books and his drawings, doing the gods knew what else. Perhaps planning more of his experiments. William's fright became a sickening fear as he looked up and down the surrounding flights of stairs. The stairwell was quiet. He heard nothing, other than the faint hum of a machine from somewhere outside.

  William crept down the flights of stairs.

  Next to Tolstoy's door, he listened for sounds—a footstep, a cough, or the slide of a chair's legs across the floor. He heard nothing. He pictured the large, wooden desk on the far side of the room, with Tolstoy's imposing figure occupying it. Tolstoy was so intent on his work that he was silent. Or maybe he wasn't in there at all. That gave William a frightening afterthought.

  What if he encountered Tolstoy on the stairs?

  He ran through a stream of excuses.

  Amelia left the door open.

  I was looking for breakfast.

  I was coming to your room to ask you a question.

  No excuse seemed legitimate enough.

  He wasn't supposed to be out.

  Soon he had passed the landing and was beyond the doors' sight. William breathed a sigh of relief as he crept past a few more landings and reached Amelia's door. He paused, ensuring he heard no noise, and then worked on the lock.

  Finished unlocking the door, William swung it open slowly.

  Amelia's room was empty. Unlike Tolstoy's, which sported magnificent furniture and an impressive array of pictures and drawings, Amelia's room was simple. The sheets were turned down on her bed. Several pieces of clothing hung haphazardly on her bureau, or dangled from drawers. She wasn't as neat as he would have expected, from someone who appeared so ordered.

  William didn't pause on the threshold. Sneaking inside, he closed the door. On the far side of the room, he saw a small desk that looked to be about in the same spot as Tolstoy's. It seemed as if she didn't use the desk often—only a few closed books sat on its surface. Next to the desk, however, was a square box that resembled the one downstairs.

  Glancing over his shoulder, William tiptoed across the room, past the bureau and the disheveled clothes, and made his way to the box. He bent down, certain that he would encounter resistance and another lock he had to force his way into.

  The box was open.

  It made sense, when he thought about it.

  The Gifted had nothing to fear from each other. And they had little to fear from the guards. Locking their rooms was probably a precaution. High walls, a demon army, and vicious guards repelled their prospective enemies. The slaves were far enough away that they were considered no danger. No one could get to them.

  Until now.

  William opened the box, wincing at the small noise, and peered inside, finding a few small shelves. William frowned as he found an array of objects, no two the same. Taking great care to memorize the location of the objects, he pulled out a few and inspected them. William turned an aged, brown flask in his hand that looked like it hadn't been used in many years. Next to it was a tiny bag in which someone might've collected coins, now empty. William paused as he recognized three letters on each item, all of which were different. He frowned as he noticed the symbols didn't appear in Amelia's name, or even his. Nearby were several strings of jewelry—metals that were in various shapes and conditions.

  William kept digging, sorting through things that looked as if they were keepsakes. He felt a pit in his stomach as he recalled the gun upstairs, and Amelia's explanation of where she'd gotten it.

  Dead people's possessions.

  William's fear almost made him leave, until he spotted a small, metal tin sitting underneath a strange looking flask.

  He reached for the items, taking care not to knock anything over as he did.

  He looked at the flask. Shaking it gently, he realized it was filled with some sort of powder. A long tube sprouted from the top, containing some residue that looked like some of the black, ashen material he'd seen in the shells of the gun casings he'd used with Kirby.

  Setting aside the flask, he opened the tin.

  Inside were a handful of balls and some caps. He'd never seen the caps before, and the balls looked different than anything he'd encountered, but they might fit the gun he'd seen upstairs.

  It looked as if the objects went together.

  This must be what he needed.

  He had no idea how to use them, but he'd figure that out later. With a quick glance behind him, he emptied the balls and the caps into his pocket, replaced the metal box with the other keepsakes, and pocketed the flask.

  With everything else back in place, he snuck out the door.

  Chapter 31: William

  Back in his room, William caught his breath. His heart pounded so heavily he thought it might burst through his chest. But he'd done it. He'd found what he was looking for. He felt a burst of elation as he reveled in his accomplishment. But his success wouldn't last long, if he were caught.

  William cocked his head, listening for the sound of fast footsteps. The Gifted might not have been in the hallway, but their presence was everywhere—in the smell of the wooden furniture in his room, in the walls, and in those ominous windows that contained the ashes of the slaves. Looking through the glass, he shuddered as he pictured those dead people forever trapped in the building, doomed to overlook the place in which they'd spent a life of enslavement. He wouldn't be the same as them.

  And neither would his friends.

  With his breathing calmed, William fished the hairpin from his pocket and quickly returned it to its place underneath his bureau. Returning to his bed, he pulled out the small, round pieces of metal and the caps from his robe pocket, as well as the flask. He set out the balls and caps. Each ball had a corresponding cap.

  They must be rounds.

  The rounds were just as magical now as they had been when Kirby had first given him a gun, all those months ago. Looking at them closer, his brow furrowed. The rounds didn't seem as old as the gun. In fact, they seemed as if they had been preserved, or perhaps found later. But that made sense. He considered what Amelia had told him. The gun was several centuries old. Other rounds would've been expended over the years.

  Maybe she had stolen these rounds from somewhere—or someone.

  His eyes roamed over the balls with wonder.

  His face fell.

  William counted seven rounds and caps.

  Seven.

  That wasn't nearly enough to kill ten Gifted. William's heart beat in his throat, as he questioned his success. William had fired guns enough times to know that not every round hit a target. And sometimes, a shot wasn't fatal. He might wound someone, without killing the person. The Gifted might have their wart-covered hands wrapped around his throat before he got a chance to finish what he started. Or they might kill him in some other, horrible way.

  Foiled plans.

  Staring at the small, metal balls, his heart sank. He had taken a risk with no guarantee of success. He recalled the condition of the keepsakes in Amelia's quarters. He had been careful to replace them the right way. Still, even if she didn't
look at them regularly, sooner or later, she'd discover the items from the tin, and the flask, missing. And when she did, William's would be the first name that came to mind.

  Who else would steal them?

  Amelia might not know the specifics of how he managed to get that ammunition, but suspicion would lead to discovery. And then William would die.

  William had the panicked thought that he should slip back out and replace them. But that came with an equal risk of getting caught. William swallowed, picked up one of the rounds, and turned it over between two fingers.

  He couldn't get his mind off the antique, metal gun.

  He wanted it in his hands.

  He had gone too far in his plan to turn back now.

  He would wait a day or so, to ensure The Gifted hadn't detected anything, and then he'd get it.

  Chapter 32: Kirby

  "We are almost done for the day," Rosita said, wiping some sweat from her forehead as she tossed another sheet of finished metal on the pile.

  Kirby nodded as she looked at the doorway.

  The guards were there, supervising, but none of them looked over.

  Ollie was gone.

  Still, she couldn't forget his eyes on her earlier.

  Ollie's looming threat lingered, long after he was gone. At any moment, he might come back and pull her away, to the smirks of the guards and the fearful stares of the other slaves. No one would help her, when he pulled her off to do whatever his greasy hands desired. She couldn't get her mind off the ominous words he had spoken, when she had been in his house.

  I'm not through with you.

  In here, she might have a chance at defending herself, but outside, in an alley or in her home, she was defenseless.

  She thought about what Bray had said about finding an escape plan. A revolt was the ultimate goal. But what if Ollie attacked her beforehand?

  Kirby wouldn't die without a final fight.

  She looked around. Most of the workers finished up their last, hard duties for the day. Soon, they would wind down, take off their work garments, and prepare for an evening of relative freedom. Finished with a long piece of metal, and finding no eyes on her, Kirby swallowed. She looked around.

  This time Kirby didn't stop her impulse.

  She used her shears to make an extra snip. A piece of metal the size and shape of a finger fell into her waiting hand.

  She looked around again.

  No one was watching.

  Clenching a fist around the scrap, Kirby stuffed the sharp metal in her pocket.

  **

  The metal scrap felt like a bomb in her pocket as Kirby took the alleyways home. Every laugh made her turn; every footstep made her think someone followed. More than one pair of eyes seemed as if they fixated on her, even though she doubted that was true. She kept a wide berth as she turned every corner, afraid that hands would grab her and frisk her.

  She might be paranoid, but she had something to hide.

  Protection.

  That's what the metal was supposed to be, once she shaped and sharpened it.

  But right now, it felt like a burden, an easy way to death, if she weren't careful.

  When Kirby returned home from the machine shop, Esmeralda stood outside, hanging laundry. Four other women stood nearby, chatting quietly. Two held babies in their arms, while another held the skinny arm of a toddler. The fourth held Fiona.

  Hiding her nerves, the piece of metal still in her pocket, Kirby said, "Hello."

  The women nodded. One of the women shifted the baby on her hips.

  Noticing Kirby, Esmeralda turned from her laundry and said, "Kirby, these are my friends Marla, Cindy, Louise, and Gayle."

  The women politely smiled.

  "They stopped by for a visit," Esmeralda said. Turning her attention to her friends, she said, "Kirby works in the machine shops. She was transferred from the fields."

  "My husband works as a blacksmith," Marla said, with a knowing nod. "He probably works near you."

  "I was just assigned," Kirby said evasively. "I don't know many people yet."

  The woman with the toddler, Cindy, winced. "I worked there before I had Cecilia. I can still hear some of the clangs when I lie down to sleep. The noises can be loud."

  Marla said, "You'll want to plug your ears with a piece of clothing. That's what my husband does. He says it dampens the ringing he hears at night."

  Kirby nodded, grateful for the tip.

  "We should probably get back," said Marla. "Our husbands will return soon."

  The others agreed. Gayle handed Fiona back to Esmeralda, before shuffling off, motivated by the other slaves returning to their homes. Kirby couldn't recall a time where the people in New City didn't feel the pressure of the guards' schedule.

  With the women gone, Esmeralda smiled. "I washed our bedrolls," she told Kirby, gesturing toward the items hanging to dry as she hugged Fiona. "They should dry by this evening."

  "Thanks," Kirby said, and she meant it. With so much time spent in the metal shop, normal tasks seemed like a tiresome burden.

  Keeping her voice low as they entered the dwelling, Esmeralda said, "We were talking about some of the times we've spent with our little ones. Those moments will be over soon."

  Kirby nodded. "The years go by quickly."

  Esmeralda shook her head. "That is not what I mean. The guards came and talked to us this morning." Esmeralda looked as if she fought back tears. "They will transition us to work duties soon, while the caretaking women watch the kids."

  "I am sorry to hear that," Kirby said sympathetically.

  Esmeralda sighed. "I was hoping I might get more time."

  "I am sure Fiona will adapt to the change," Kirby reassured her.

  "She has no choice." Esmeralda looked at Fiona with guilt in her eyes. "And neither do I. One thing is certain: I will miss her during the day."

  Kirby nodded empathetically. She didn't know what was worse—living through suffering conditions, or adapting to them. Esmeralda wiped her face as she held her child.

  Hoping to distract her from a depressing mood, Kirby asked, "Do those women live close?"

  "A few," Esmeralda said. "Marla and her child Jayden live two rows to the north. Cindy has the toddler named Cecilia. She lives a few rows behind us. Gayle and Louise are from farther back in the city. Last year, we had a few more infants nearby, but they moved."

  "Moved?" Kirby asked. "I did not think we had any choice as to where we lived."

  "We don't normally. Caitlyn and Jeremy switched to a house on the eastern part of the city, when heavy rain collapsed their roof, flooding their house and damaging the walls. The rain changed the stream near the house, so it floods every time it rains. It was an unlucky accident. The guards decided to move them rather than repair it. Their old house is the corner house at the end of our row." Esmeralda's eyes grew reflective as she pointed.

  "It sounds as if you know the people here well," Kirby said.

  "I have some free moments, in between caring for Fiona." She shrugged. "I notice things. Of course, I will not have that luxury much longer."

  Kirby felt sympathy for Esmeralda. But an idea percolated, as she listened to Esmeralda talk. Perhaps the flooded house might be a place where she and Bray could meet.

  Chapter 33: Kirby

  Kirby ducked into the small, dank house under a caving roof. Piles of rubble lined the floor. What was left of the ceiling was lined with cracks, allowing moonlight to seep through the dwelling. Her feet splashed into a few long-standing puddles as she crept far enough inside to be concealed by the house's fractured walls. The place was damp, but it was safer than meeting in an alley, or in a dark corner where others might see. The shadows around it kept the lights from the other houses at bay. She saw no one near.

  After a little while, a lone figure came down a perpendicular alley and ducked inside to join her.

  "Bray," she whispered.

  "Where did you find out about this place?"

  "Esmeral
da mentioned it," Kirby said. "It flooded a while ago. She doesn't know I'm here, of course."

  "How was the machine shop?" he asked.

  She could hear another question in his voice. He wanted to know about Ollie.

  "Ollie didn't bother me," Kirby said. "I saw him once, but he left me alone."

  She could feel Bray's relief bleeding across the dark space between them.

  Pulling the piece of metal from her pocket, she held it in a bit of ambient light. "I was able to take this."

  Bray's eyes widened as he imagined danger. "Did anyone see you?"

  "If someone saw me, they would've pulled me away," she said, trying to reassure herself as well as him.

  "Do you think we'll be able to get more?" Bray asked.

  "I am learning how things work," Kirby said. "The guards keep an eye on us, of course, but there are opportunities. I think I can get some more pieces out and away."

  Bray nodded, but she saw the concern on his face.

  "This is not the first time I've done something like this," Kirby assured him.

  Bray shifted in the darkness as he kept watch out the small, dank building and Kirby stuck the metal back in her pocket. Determining that no one walked nearby, he said, "I spoke with some of the Yatari today."

  "The people who build boats," she remembered.

  "I traded some information. I think I have that escape route I was hoping to figure out."

  Kirby's spirits rose as Bray described what had transpired with the men, along with the information he had traded. For a moment, she forgot about some of the other dangers of the city, as she listened to some of his inspiring words.

  "How far is this mountain pass?" she asked.

  "Less than a half day's walk," Bray repeated.

  "At a faster pace, it would take less time to reach it," Kirby said, excitement in her voice. After a careful thought, she added, "Though, if mutants follow us, it won't matter if the area is free of them."

  "Probably true," Bray said.

  Kirby fell silent a moment as she imagined two hundred slaves fleeing through the narrow pass. "I am trying to picture a worst-case scenario, in which we are forced to use this path. Having steep hills on either side might make it difficult to flee. Or to fight."