The Ruins Book 4 Read online

  "And if they don't side with us?" Clara asked, not ready to accept the proposal.

  "It is a risk," Bray said. "But I think we have a good chance at succeeding. With two hundred people against the guards, we should be able to make quick work of them. That will dispose of one layer of danger."

  "That is a big chance," Giovanni said, shaking his head. "A mob can turn ugly. A well-conceived plan might turn to chaos."

  "Anything would be preferable to the system under which we live," Kirby muttered.

  A few in the group muttered responses, but no one rebutted her argument.

  "You are talking as if the guards will be standing in one place, waiting for their deaths," Giovanni said. "That is not the case. They have long knives, and plentiful meals that give them strength. It is not as easy as you think."

  "Perhaps if we ambush them in the morning," Bray said, "we can take them when they are half-awake, with full, slow stomachs. Two of us can certainly take one man. Do you know the locations of all their homes?"

  "Yes," Drew said. "We have lived here long enough, and discussed that often enough, to have them memorized."

  A few in the group nodded as they envisioned the scenario.

  "And then what?" Giovanni asked. "Say we take down the guards. We still have The Plagued Ones with which to contend, and The Gifted, who will surely bring their guns and other weapons. They might attack us from the balcony, or even through the gate."

  "By that time, we will have greater numbers," Bray said. "We will have the guards' weapons, as well as our own. We will have a mob that can take a stand in a city surrounded by walls, and filled with houses. We will have the keys to the gates, and the ability to defend ourselves, if The Gifted let the demons inside, or if they attack."

  "And if things go poorly, we will have our escape route," Kirby finished.

  With the proposition in the air, Bray and Kirby waited.

  The group shifted.

  It seemed as if no one wanted to speak first.

  "It is strange talking about these things, after planning for so long," Clara admitted, breaking the silence.

  "For months, we have discussed a plan, but this is the closest we have come to action," said James.

  "All of us are willing to risk our lives for our freedom, but I am worried," Drew admitted. "Hundreds of Plagued Ones are no minor threat, and neither are The Gifted. The slaves in this city are workers, not fighters. Those in our revolt are better suited for battle, but many have no experience. How will they fare, if we become outnumbered?"

  "I am fairly confident we can kill the guards," Clara said. "But Drew has a point about the other threats."

  "Everything about this city is a risk," Kirby said. "We might die at any moment, like some of the others we've watched. We might spend so much time planning that we die before we finish."

  Bray heard a frustration in her voice, born of too many nights of uncertainty, lying in a cell, or even in bed, waiting for the knife at her throat.

  A few of The Shadow People shifted, uncertain, or perhaps afraid.

  "I will not lie," Clara said. "The Plagued Ones still concern me. Perhaps we should give it a few days, before we commit. We can take it to some others with whom we meet."

  "In any case, your plan with the weapons seems like a good idea," Giovanni said. "We can have our people step up our weapons collection. Anything you can get will help."

  "We will make a decision when we meet again," Drew said.

  Chapter 38: Kirby

  Kirby placed the stack of metal in the pile, watching the guards at the doorway. Whirs, scrapes, and bangs echoed across the room. She adjusted the small, rolled-up pieces of fabric she'd put in her ears, which she'd made at the suggestion of Esmeralda's friends. The fabric didn't protect her from all the sounds, but it dampened them. Hopefully she wouldn't need them much longer.

  Hopefully, a revolt would come soon.

  Behind her, Rosita said something over the noise. Kirby turned, taking out one of the pieces from her ear to rid some of the muffle.

  "We received a new batch of sheet metal," Rosita repeated, pointing at a new pile in the corner. "That will keep us busy for most of the day."

  Kirby nodded. More metal meant more scraps, which meant more things to ferret away.

  Picking up a fresh piece to work with, she brought it over to her bench and picked up her shears. She risked a glance at the doorway. Three of the same guards idly chatted, watching some slaves pass. None looked at her, at the moment. The guards were complacent in their duty. Not only that, but they were assured in their power. They lived in a city where most would rather walk in the other direction than confront them. They lived in a city where most were afraid to whisper.

  Hopefully, that complacency would cost their lives.

  Shearing off a long strip of metal, Kirby curved inward, making an angled cut. She left a shank-sized scrap at the end, cutting it off separately and placing it on the table. She repeated the action. With two pieces set aside, Kirby glanced at the guards. One of the guards, a dark-haired man, watched her, foiling her immediate plans.

  Averting her eyes, she picked up all three scraps and walked them to the bin.

  Dammit.

  The shank in her boot moved slightly with each step, reminding her of the danger she was in by carrying the contraband. Rosita smiled as she passed, working her way through a large, stained piece of metal. Finishing her cut, she joined Kirby and dumped some scraps.

  The guards stepped out of sight.

  "I'll be glad when this project is over," Rosita said, tossing a few pieces of metal in the bin. "Too many days of cutting the same thing have me longing for something else to do."

  Kirby nodded, removing one of her plugs.

  Rosita clapped a gloved hand on her shoulder. "Some who start here struggle. You have taken to the task."

  "Thank you," Kirby said, returning her smile.

  "We will finish the project in a shorter time than I planned," Rosita said, walking away from the bin and toward her workstation.

  Replacing the plug in her ear, Kirby turned and took a step.

  She rammed into a thick, meaty stomach.

  A blubbery body shoved her backward, cornering her against the bin.

  "Where are you going?" Ollie boomed, pinning her.

  The three guards from the door stood behind him, laughing.

  "I told you I'd be checking up on you," Ollie said. With a regretful frown, he said, "It seems as if you've been doing a little too much talking."

  He looked sideways at Rosita, who stood by her workbench, watching with fear.

  Kirby's eyes flicked to her boot, but Ollie had her pressed tightly. She couldn't bend down more than an inch. She frantically checked her surroundings, looking past Ollie and his guards, toward the rest of the machine shop. The whir of a few last machines stopped, as a few people set down their hand tools or pieces of metal, or held them in the air in surprise.

  She had no clear path.

  Even if she could make it around an obese man, the guards trapped her.

  Ollie made sure all eyes were on him as he leaned in close, making a show of his authority.

  "Remember what I told you about making me happy?"

  His eyes narrowed.

  Kirby had no room to throw a punch.

  She had no room to do anything.

  Ollie raised a hand, as if to caress her. Kirby leaned back, recoiling as far as she could against a bin that wouldn't bend, or move. She could barely get back a knee. But she had to. She wouldn't let him touch her.

  Ollie surprised her with a punch from his other hand.

  The unexpected blow landed hard, catching Kirby in the face, knocking her sideways as Ollie stepped back and let her fall. And then she was face down on the ground, between the bin and his fat, enormous boots. A delayed pain hit her as blood rushed to her swollen eye. Ollie kicked her ribs, rolling her against the bin.

  She blinked, reaching for her boot.

  "I t
old you I'd pay you back for what you did."

  The guards laughed.

  This was the end.

  She reached for her shank, wondering if she'd have the coordination to stab him in the leg before he stomped her to unconsciousness, or the guards cornered her.

  "Stop!" a voice screamed, over the din of laughter and Ollie's thunderous bark.

  Kirby looked up to find Rosita wedged between them, her chin upturned in defiance.

  "Stop, I said!"

  Ollie's face twisted with surprise as he gauged an unexpected threat. "You want a beating, too?"

  One of the guards cut in. "She seems a little too chatty, as well. Maybe she needs a reminder to focus on her work."

  Rosita stood her ground, staring at Ollie through the fear on her face. Kirby's fingers grazed the end of her shiv. She paused as she thought through an unintended consequence.

  Rosita might die, if she fought.

  "We have work to do," Rosita said, with a voice she was trying to control. Jabbing a finger in the direction of the sheet metal, she added, "Rudyard will be angry if we don't finish this pile."

  A thought greater than Ollie's amusement crossed his face as he heard the name. Looking over his shoulder at the guards, a smile crossed his face. "I think she just threatened me with Rudyard."

  "You think Rudyard gives a shit what any of you slaves say?" one of the guards taunted.

  "I know that he wants these done for The Learning Building," Rosita said. "Leave us be, so we can finish. We won't talk again."

  Ollie looked from Rosita to Kirby, contemplating something. Kirby held his gaze in defiant hatred, afraid to make a move for the shiv, or any move, lest Rosita be punished.

  Kirby fought the screaming blood rushing to her face, and the adrenaline that told her to move, to fight, to stab. Rosita stood her ground, keeping her face even, even though her legs shook.

  "Please go," Rosita said.

  Ollie eyed her for a long moment, looking as if he was torn between choices.

  With a snort, he lumbered away, under the chuckles of his guards.

  Kirby's breath heaved as she recovered her wind, getting to her feet. She clapped her hand over her puffy, swollen face.

  "Your eye," Rosita said, with a regret in her face that showed she blamed herself.

  "I'm fine," Kirby swore, anger overtaking her pain.

  As soon as she got home, she would make sure her shiv was sharp.

  Later, when dinner was done and darkness set in, she would find Ollie and plunge it into his neck.

  Chapter 39: Kirby

  "By the gods," Esmeralda exclaimed, clutching Fiona in fright as she surveyed Kirby's face. "What happened?"

  Kirby looked behind her, through the doorway, as if Ollie might be there. But Ollie was long gone, probably shucking off his boots and waiting for his wife to cook his meal. He would be out of the house at some point, though. After feeding the demons and having dinner, the guards strolled the streets, sipping their flasks and chatting with their friends. She would find him, and shove her shank through his neck.

  Realizing Esmeralda waited for an answer, Kirby couldn't help the anger in her voice, as she said, "It is nothing."

  "You were beaten," Esmeralda said, crossing the room to study Kirby's swollen, painful eye.

  Kirby looked away. She didn't need to confirm the obvious.

  "Who did this?" Esmeralda said.

  "Does it matter?" Kirby spat, with more venom than she intended.

  "I am sorry. I just—" Esmeralda stepped back, clutching Fiona.

  Kirby regretted her misdirected emotion. "It was Ollie."

  "I knew it," Esmeralda said, as if she might have prevented something. "I knew when he came looking for you…" Esmeralda couldn't speak the words.

  "He hit me," Kirby clarified. "That is all he did. And all he will do."

  She clamped down on more threats.

  Instead of dragging Kirby through a painful memory, or more questions, Esmeralda moved to the hearth. "What do you need? Let me get you something. A wash bucket, some water…"

  "I'm fine," Kirby said, hating the lie.

  Of course, she wasn't.

  Her stinging, sore eye screamed her story to anyone who saw it. Her injury would be another violent incident to talk about around the bonfires, or over meager bowls of supper, until a new, fresh event took its place. But it would never end—not for Kirby. Ollie would keep after her until she died, or worse—at least in her opinion—she wound up like Esmeralda.

  Kirby couldn't think of dinner. She couldn't think of washing up.

  All she thought about was revenge.

  Forcing herself to sit and collect her violent thoughts, she watched Esmeralda scurry around the hearth. Kirby felt guilty for lashing out at Esmeralda, who bore the guilt of her attack, without reason.

  Fiona stared at Kirby over her mother's shoulder. Someday, she would be subjected to the same torment—things even a mother's warnings couldn't stop.

  Everyone in New City would suffer, until the day something changed.

  Kirby couldn't guarantee the success of a revolt.

  But she could guarantee one man's life would end.

  Reaching under her bedroll, she found the stone she'd used to sharpen the blade, tucking it into her pocket while Esmeralda's back was turned. A moment later, Esmeralda brought her a flask.

  "Here you go," she said, lingering nearby as Kirby drank.

  The lukewarm water felt strange as it went down Kirby's throat. It felt as if she were living her last moments.

  "Maybe he is done with you," Esmeralda said, unable to sell those words to herself.

  Kirby nodded, her thoughts focused on the man she wanted to kill.

  "Some food in your stomach and some rest will do you good," Esmeralda said. "They will help take your mind off what happened."

  Kirby couldn't stay put any longer.

  "I'm going for a walk," Kirby said, trying to hide the bitterness in her voice.

  "A walk?" Esmeralda seemed surprised.

  "I need to get out," Kirby said, standing.

  "But The Plagued Ones will come through soon," Esmeralda worried. "The guards do not like us out of our houses until after they eat."

  "I'll be back in time for dinner," Kirby said, feeling sorry for another lie.

  She was sorry for a lot of things.

  But Ollie would be sorry, too.

  Kirby walked from the house, her shank jabbing into the side of her boot. She kept down the alleyway, passing houses full of chattering children, filthy parents, and workers washing up. She looked over her shoulder once, feeling another wave of guilt as she saw Esmeralda at the threshold with Fiona, watching her disappear into the crowd.

  Chapter 40: Bray

  Bells rang in the courtyard.

  A couple of worried slaves jogged back to their front-row homes, just ahead of the feeding. The clangs increased in volume as the snarls grew over the wall, and the guards prepared to open the gate. Bray looked over at Teddy, who stood next to him at the doorway, along with a slew of other people staring from their houses across the dirt courtyard.

  "I heard about your meeting," Teddy said softly, under the din of the demons and the guards.

  "The leaders are worried," Bray said. "It is hard to tell if they will commit. The twisted men concern them."

  Teddy nodded. Of course, he understood.

  The front gate creaked as the guards opened it, allowing the first batch of filthy demons into the courtyard. The slobbering, wart-covered creatures paraded across the dirt, streaming toward the open gate at the other end, where guards rang the bells and shouted orders, luring them into the Feeding Pen as if they were a herd of cattle. A few demons looked sideways at Bray, obviously preferring a man's flesh to a pile of corn, but none deviated.

  Watching the hungry, twisted men, Bray asked, "If a revolt starts, what do you think The Gifted will do?"

  Teddy mulled it over. "The Gifted view us as replaceable. They value ou
r work, but they do not value us. I saw it on their faces when they killed those slaves. If it comes to it, they might send The Plagued Ones in to kill all of us." Fear lingered in Teddy's eyes. "It is probably the reason for the hesitation you heard in the voices of The Shadow People's leaders."

  "They certainly raised that concern," Bray said.

  "Our people will fight, but I'm not sure what the rest of the slaves will do. If we are overrun and people flee, a revolt will quickly become an individual battle for survival."

  "What if we barricade the gate?" Bray asked.

  Teddy looked over at the gate, and the twelve-foot-high wall to which it connected. "Rudyard has mostly kept up the wall through the toil of the slaves, but there are places where the wall has crumbled—especially in the back of the city. I fear The Plagued Ones could get over, as a few did that time with my daughter. If not, The Gifted have weapons that can surely break parts of the wall down. Or, at least, I suspect they do."

  Bray nodded. With as many devices as The Gifted had, he didn't doubt they could figure out a way to let the demons inside.

  He watched the batch of demons finish traipsing through the gate and into the pen. The guards stopped ringing the bells and quickly swung the Feeding Pen door closed. From over those high, wooden walls, Bray heard the gnashing of teeth and the cries of hungry demons.

  The guards relaxed.

  Looking among their faces, Bray noticed, "It seems as if the guards rotate their duties."

  "They do," Teddy confirmed.

  "Do they have a single set of commands for The Plagued Ones?"

  "Not really. Mostly, they just urge The Plagued Ones from gate to gate. I think the words are secondary to the bells," Teddy said with a shrug, looking at a few of the guards. "The Plagued Ones line up before the guards even let them inside. You can hear them over the wall, preparing for dinner. They are trained."

  "That's what I've seen, too," Bray observed, watching the guards herd the first batch of demons out of the Feeding Pen.