The Ruins Book 4 Page 15

  "What is it?" Ollie demanded again.

  "It is about my new roommate, Kirby."

  A memory flitted through Ollie's oversized head, followed by a smile. "I know who she is," he grunted.

  "I wanted to give you a warning," Esmeralda said.

  "A warning?" Some anger flitted through Ollie's eyes as he looked from Esmeralda to Fiona. She didn't want to know what might happen if she wasn't carrying the infant. "It sounds as if you want something."

  "I was hoping I might get another month at home with Fiona, if I gave you information."

  "You'd be punished for withholding it," Ollie said, a spark of aggression in his eyes.

  "Which is why I came to you," Esmeralda added quickly. "I knew you'd need the information."

  Ollie looked around, as if someone might be listening, even though they were the only ones around. "Spill what you know."

  "She has been sneaking around lately, mostly with the man she came here with," Esmeralda said. "I think they are planning something."

  "Planning?" Ollie asked, as if the word itself was foul.

  "I think she is up to no good," Esmeralda explained, making an assumption that even a thickheaded brute like Ollie would understand.

  Ollie didn't seem impressed. Looking down at Fiona, Esmeralda felt a pang of failure.

  "Tell me something that will make it worth stepping away from my work," Ollie growled, "or I will send you away. Maybe I will take away your rations." Esmeralda felt sick to her stomach. She hated him. Fiona was the reason she did this. Not Ollie, and unfortunately, not Kirby.

  "Before The Plagued Ones fed last night, I saw her ducking into the flooded house at the end of our row. She skipped dinner." Esmeralda put on a grave expression worthy of the information she gave. "A while later, I saw her meeting the man with whom she was brought here. They are definitely consorting."

  "Probably fraternizing," Ollie said.

  "I am not sure," Esmeralda answered. "But it seemed more sinister than that."

  Ollie's eyes riveted to hers as he made a promise. "She will regret the day she tries anything, if she lives long enough. We have plenty of hungry Plagued Ones to feed, if she steps out of line." Ollie pronounced the words loudly and looked around, as if some others might hear his threat.

  Esmeralda remained quiet, waiting. When it was clear she was done speaking, Ollie wiped some sweat away from his forehead with his large, grubby hands. He looked over Esmeralda, his eyes lingering on the top of her shirt.

  "Can I receive another month of time with Fiona?" she asked, hating the fear in her stomach, hating that she had to ask twice.

  Ollie nodded. "I'll call in a favor with Rudyard and inform the other guards." With a dismissive wave, he said, "Now get out of my sight."

  Chapter 46: William

  The wind blew through William's shaggy hair as he stood in a semi-circle with the other Gifted on the rooftop, all wearing their robes and hoods, all standing with their arms folded. Tolstoy stood in the center of the curved group, holding Barron's ashes in an urn that he had received from the guards. Every so often, the wind blew loudly enough that he projected his voice to the other Gifted, who adjusted their hoods to keep them from blowing off.

  William sucked in a breath of fresh air. He'd spent most of the morning and lunch confined to his room. After a while, Amelia had come for him. He was instructed to keep his distance, but he was allowed out for the ceremony. His gun and ammunition were safely in his bureau.

  He listened to Tolstoy's extolling words.

  "We are here to celebrate the life of our brother, Barron," Tolstoy said, pronouncing each word with clarity. "A brother who has walked among us for centuries, a brother who has transcended all of the beings who have walked the earth before, or will walk after. One of ten chosen Gifted, the founders of New City."

  The Gifted bowed their heads.

  "Most of the world will not know the impact of our dead brother, but we will not forget him. Barron had evolved past a simple human, but he still carried the shell of his former self. His vessel was imperfect, as ours are." Tolstoy met each of their eyes before turning to the rooftop, waving a ceremonial hand over the city. "We bear the scars of our human predecessors, and we are forced to breathe the same air. We are prone to accidents of nature. Barron might be gone, but he has given his life for his work. His life is an inspiration, but also a warning. We must be careful. We must stay alive, to follow his vision."

  A few of the Gifted murmured their agreement.

  Staring at Tolstoy, listening to his pompous words, William wanted to knock him off the roof.

  If they were alone, he probably would have considered it.

  Tolstoy gestured off the rooftop, toward the tall and short buildings in the distance. The Gifted turned their heads, following his hand. "It was Barron's planning that led to the creation of the walls around our city. It was his intellect that led to the development of the machines the humans use to prepare our clothes, and the innovations of our windmills. It was his ingeniousness that created the parts for our lathes. Barron has helped our city run at a greater efficiency than most of the cities before The Collapse. In his latest years, he developed a vision that will carry us into the next phase of our existence, a mission to find more of our people, through his study of flight. We honor his accomplishments by remembering our brother, but also by continuing his work. Barron might not have lived to see the end of our great experiment, but he has contributed in lasting ways."

  The Gifted nodded their agreement. A few shifted, or held onto their hoods.

  "We will mourn his loss, but we will continue. We will follow his ideas until we reach our goal. We will build a grand city of our people, if not in this century, then in the next." Tolstoy's voice grew hard as he held up the urn. "Let us take a moment to honor Barron with a moment of silence."

  The Gifted tilted their heads, staring at the roof of Ancient stone. William followed suit, pretending as if he were mourning, while his thoughts ran dark. He recalled when he'd first met Barron, in The Library Room, and the few conversations he'd had with him before his friends were enslaved.

  That first day in New City held a magic he couldn't forget.

  But each of those memories was overshadowed by Barron's coldness as he stood next to William on the balcony, gripping his arm and forcing him to watch the snarling, writhing demons, pulling out Cullen's insides in the Feeding Pen. Barron's word from that day came back to him.

  "The Plagued Ones fight for food. They are always hungry."

  Barron said those words as if they were fact, but they weren't always true.

  The Gifted's demons fought each other, but not all demons did.

  William knew the demons' instincts better than anyone, because he had lived among them. He had spent long days learning, hunting, and sleeping in their presence. The demons obeyed when he spoke with them, but they also helped each other survive.

  The demon army fought for food because their owners starved them.

  The Gifted ordered them to keep close to New City, allowing them only meager scraps of corn and the animals they could hunt close by. Most of the animals in the nearby forests, or around the walls, had long been killed and eaten. William had seen the hungry looks in the demons' eyes as they chased the remaining small prey through the cornfields. They yearned for more.

  Staring at The Gifted, watching them bow their heads in solemn reflection, he wondered if perhaps there was meaning in Barron's death, after all. Maybe Barron's cold words on that day had given William another answer.

  Maybe he could show The Gifteds' demons another way.

  "Brothers and sister," Tolstoy said, as he opened the small urn and threw the ashes into the wind. "May Barron's ideas, and his intelligence, live on."

  Perhaps the demons had always been the answer.

  **

  "Come in," William said, responding to a knock at his door.

  The same, stony-faced guard entered, balancing a tray of food for his dinne
r. William remained in bed, tucked under the covers, as he watched the guard enter. Sucking in a breath, William hacked his way through a noisy cough before the guard got within a few feet of him. Reacting to Amelia's warnings, the guard set the tray on one of the bureaus, keeping his distance.

  "I'll leave it here," he said.

  William nodded and touched his throat, as if he was unable to answer. Out on the stairwell, through the open door, he saw another guard waiting. He'd already heard them bringing The Gifted dinner, followed by dessert a while later. They followed the same schedule as always.

  William was an afterthought, or at least it seemed that way, now that he was sick and no longer among them as much.

  Without another word, the guards shut and locked the door. William listened to their footsteps recede down the fifteen floors to the bottom, before looking over at the food on the bureau.

  Meat, potatoes, and corn.

  Fighting the hunger in his stomach, he rose from the bed and walked over to the food, but he didn't eat it.

  Chapter 47: William

  William crept through the moonlight toward his doorway, holding his full plate of food. When everyone was asleep, he snuck out, made his way to the third floor, and unlocked the door.

  Inside the room, William veered toward the northern balcony.

  He opened the glass door and looked out, searching for guards on the floors above and below before stepping through it. More than likely, they scanned beyond the building's perimeter, or behind the wall. Or perhaps they weren't looking at all. It was a risk he had to take.

  The fresh air felt good on his face as he stepped to the railing and peered over.

  Something skittered in the shadows, near the building's base three floors down.

  Sucking in a nervous breath, William hissed, "It's okay. I'm here to help."

  He heard rustling through the cornfields as more shadows emerged to investigate. A handful of demons congregated underneath the moonlight, looking up at him.

  "I know you're hungry. I brought food."

  An anticipatory hiss echoed from below him as William picked a piece of meat from his plate, aimed, and tossed it. More hissing came as the demons scrambled for it. Teeth tore and chewed noisily. William looked up and down the face of the building, but he heard nothing other than the demons.

  Picking up another piece of meat, he reared back and threw it. More shadows came to join the others, hissing with a new sound. Pleasure. They wanted meat, not corn.

  Of course, they did.

  And he gave it to them.

  "Have some more," he said, making sure the demons heard his voice as he threw down the rest of his meat and potatoes, feeding them.

  Chapter 48: Bray

  "I've been thinking about your idea with the Feeding Pen, and storming the tower," Kirby said to Bray, as they snuck along the alley, heading out of the inhabited part of the city under the moonlight. "I think it might work."

  Bray reached over, squeezing her arm. "Hopefully The Shadow People will feel the same."

  They fell in step together, looking over their shoulders, as the lights behind them receded and they traveled into deeper shadow. The dirt path on which they walked was littered with stone and debris. All around, a few hooting owls reminded them that animals roamed the dark alongside them, walls or not. More than once since they had that first meeting, Bray considered that a brave demon might skirt over the wall and run out screeching from the shadows, like those few had years ago when they ate Teddy's daughter.

  "I had a dream about William the other night," Kirby whispered, when they were far enough away that most of the lights behind them had disappeared. Nostalgia crept into her throat, as she said, "We were riding on the horses, in that valley past the canyon, where the grass rose really high. Do you remember stopping there?"

  "We had lunch there," Bray whispered back. "There were so many rabbits, William said we could live there forever. He said that we'd die before we ran out of them."

  Kirby laughed softly at the memory. "Perhaps we should have stayed."

  "There is no way to know where our choices lead," Bray reminded her.

  "Still, it is nice to dream," Kirby said, voicing a rare, sentimental thought.

  Bray nodded. "Perhaps one day we can return there."

  A noise in the dark made them halt.

  They halted and waited, looking in all directions. They'd reached an intersecting alley running east and west. A rat skittered through the darkness somewhere in front of them, finding a nearby hole and hiding. A bat fluttered its wings, leaving its perch.

  A light appeared in the distance.

  "Is that Drew?" Bray hissed, peering past too many shadows.

  "The people we are meeting do not use torches," Kirby warned.

  Bray swallowed as he looked behind them. Before they could make a move, two more torches sprang into view, forty feet behind and closing.

  "More lights," he said under his breath, as Kirby spun and looked.

  "And down there, too," Kirby noticed, pointing west down the intersecting alley.

  With no choice but to go east, they headed that way, down the only clear path.

  They skirted through the alley, their breath heaving as they ran out of sight of several of the torches. The bobbing torch behind, however, was still in view, and pounding footsteps in other directions told them the other people were converging. Dark, foul-smelling buildings surrounded them. The moon illuminated part of the pathway, but too many objects remained hidden in long, dark shadows. More rodents scurried from harm's way.

  They picked up as much speed as they could. The dark doorways and windows around them looked like pits of inky blackness, ready to suck them in and hold onto them. Bray's leg scraped against a jagged piece of stone, hard enough to draw blood. He bit back his pain as the footsteps behind grew louder.

  "Over here!" a close voice yelled.

  More shouts echoed from other directions.

  "Guards!" Kirby hissed.

  "If they see our faces, it won't matter if we escape," Bray warned. "They will drag us from our houses as soon as we return."

  They took another alley, keeping ahead of the shouts and the lights. Tall buildings loomed above them. Bray wondered if they could come up with a story that would save them from death. The gods knew he had told enough tales. But he doubted the guards would listen.

  Everyone knew this area was forbidden.

  He couldn't stop thinking of the warning The Shadow People had given them about those who had tried escaping.

  They fed them to The Plagued Ones, while the rest of the city watched.

  A shout drew his attention to an intersecting alley, where a guard careened around a corner, pointing his finger.

  "I've got them!"

  Bray tripped over another piece of stone he didn't see.

  He fell.

  He hit the ground hard, losing his breath. His hands scraped gravel. Jagged rocks scraped his palms as he pushed off, trying to regain his feet, but not before the guard caught up. Bray cried out as the man reached down for him, latching on to his boot.

  "We've got one of 'em!"

  Bray lashed out, kicking the guard backwards and knocking the torch from his hand. The man grunted and fell.

  "Come on!" Kirby urged, reaching Bray's side and pulling him up and away.

  More guards caught up to the first, cursing as they turned a nearby corner and fell in line behind him. Bray could see the glow of their torches in his peripheral vision. He scanned the distance for the interior of the city—proof that they were headed the right way.

  "We need to get back around other people," he hissed. "We need to blend in."

  They raced down a dark, shadowy path between broken monoliths, until another group of lights blocked their path.

  Shit.

  They were cornered.

  Bray thought back to what Clara and the others had told him about Ashville. The guards stayed away, unless they chased someone. Bray and Kirby ha
d been vigilant about sneaking out, but they must've been followed.

  There was no time to contemplate how it happened.

  Reaching out, he tugged Kirby's shoulder as they darted down a skinny alley branching off from the alley down which they ran. They skirted around a few hunks of broken, ancient stone. With no other choice, they headed to a doorway to hide.

  Something clattered to the ground near Kirby.

  "Dammit!" she hissed, as she lost something.

  "What was that?"

  "My shank!" she replied.

  "Leave it!" Bray said, as the shouts behind them grew louder.

  They ducked inside the building.

  Footsteps echoed closer.

  Bray clutched Kirby's sleeve, holding her close as they found a spot in the rubble and crouched.

  Shouting men slowed their footsteps, passing within a few steps of the place into which they'd ducked, moments ago. Torchlight penetrated the fringes of the doorway. Bray smelled the stink of the men's clothing, heard their ragged breaths as they slowed down.

  "They're around here somewhere," a voice said, with certainty.

  Ollie.

  More guards' thundering footsteps beat the alley.

  "Check the buildings," Ollie barked. "They must've hid."

  Bray glanced behind him, looking for a break in the darkness that would signify a place to run, or hide. The room was pitch black. A single kicked stone would give away their position. Bray listened as the men started entering doorways. His clenched fists wouldn't go far against so many men with knives.

  They had to move.

  He tugged Kirby's arm, leading her further into the darkness as they padded gently over a floor they couldn't see. They got only a few steps before a torch splashed light through the doorway.

  Bray only had a moment to look around before a greasy-faced man stuck his head through the doorway, holding his torch and his long knife.

  Spotting Bray and Kirby, he yelled, "In here!"

  Bray and Kirby moved a few more steps, but the room was full of large chunks of cracked stone, and a set of stairs that led nowhere. The windows were caved in. They were trapped.