The Ruins Book 4 Page 2

  Tolstoy warns William to cooperate, or his other friends are next.

  Chapter 1: Bray

  "What's going on?"

  Commotion ripped Bray's attention from the door of his small house and into the courtyard of New City.

  A swell of noise greater than he was used to hearing swept through the air as slaves emerged from houses and alleys, moving quickly toward the wide, dirt area with the bonfires, talking in animated tones, speaking more loudly than they would have dared in the fields, the Shucking Rooms, or in the shops on the city's eastern side. Bray stared out the threshold, peering out into a morning that was already sweltering from the heat. He couldn't see past the torrent of moving people. Teddy held a look of nervous confusion on his face as he abandoned his breakfast and went to Bray's side.

  "I would stay here," Teddy warned, in the same cautious tone he always held when something bad was about to take place. "We're probably better off not knowing."

  Bray watched people pour past, creating a wall of bodies in the middle of the courtyard. Most glanced over their shoulders toward one of the paths, chatting nervously. An irrepressible fear took hold of Bray as he looked for Kirby. She had been safe this morning.

  But that didn't mean she was safe now.

  Weeks after losing Cullen to the mob of bloodthirsty demons, Bray could still hear his friend's cries. Cullen's horrified screams had invaded every squalid home, striking fear in the heart of every slave, even those who hadn't lived close to the Feeding Pen. Cullen's corpse had barely resembled a human's when the guards pulled it through the gate. Bits of flesh clung to his tattered, gnawed bones. Cullen's face was gone.

  The Head Guards had paraded his corpse through the streets in a wagon, making sure every slave in every open doorway saw him as they wheeled him to one of the Glass Houses, where he was hastily cremated. No one was allowed to say goodbye—certainly not Bray or Kirby.

  That corpse was a warning to any who dared defying the Head Guards, or The Gifted.

  Bray stretched his stiff limbs. The wounds he received that day had mostly healed, but each yellow and purple blemish on his skin reminded him of the death he'd escaped.

  Was Kirby next?

  Unable to suppress a growing fear, Bray told Teddy, "I'll be back."

  Teddy shouted out another warning, but Bray had already left the threshold, stepping away from the house and joining the growing crowd in the courtyard. Looking right and left, he noticed guards on the edges of the pathways, prodding some of the slower, gawking people. The slaves were anxious, but the guards were strangely eager. Bray followed the moving crowd until he'd reached the back row of what was quickly becoming a circle. Catching the eye of a dirty, skinny man, he asked, "What's happening?"

  Wiping the remains of some breakfast from his face, the man said, "I'm not sure. They told us to gather around the bonfires. That's all I know."

  Some cries drew Bray's attention to one of the alleys.

  His pulse quickened.

  Two Head Guards appeared down the pathway, tugging a shaggy-haired, kicking man. Behind them, more guards manhandled a taller, male slave. Bray tensed as he recognized two of the men from the fields, near whom he'd worked a few times. A few children raced away from the commotion, heeding their parents' warnings.

  Reaching the edge of the circle, the guards pulled the men through the parting crowd and into the center of the courtyard.

  Bray pushed into a crowd several layers deep. A few slaves grunted angrily. One or two gave him scared looks, afraid to cause a scene. Breaking through the mob, Bray took up between a freckled woman and a gaunt man, neither of who looked at him. Ollie and Avery stood in the middle of the open area in the courtyard, brandishing long knives as the guards dragged the wriggling men near them.

  Seeing the weapon in Ollie's hands, the men whimpered.

  Some children who had not run clung to their mother's skirts, or hid behind the men's legs as they waited for a pronouncement, or a scene they wouldn't soon forget. Bray's pulse pounded.

  Ensuring he had the eye of every man, woman, and child around the courtyard, Ollie jabbed a fat, dirty finger at the captive slaves. "Thieves!" he shouted.

  The captive men quivered.

  "These men were caught stealing a loaf of bread from one of our guards, Roberto," Avery hollered, turning to the circling crowd. "They were brought here for punishment."

  The shaggy-haired man wailed, "Let us go! Please!"

  The audience shifted uncomfortably.

  No one helped.

  Of course, they couldn't.

  Cocking his fat head to the side, Ollie said, "We all know thievery isn't tolerated in New City."

  The other guards looked on in stern silence.

  "Please!" the shaggy-haired man cried. "We didn't do anything wrong!"

  Ollie's face creased in anger.

  "Roberto saw you thieving," Avery cut in. "Do not lie."

  Regret crossed the shaggy-haired man's face as he silenced. Ollie crept closer, holding his knife up to the scared man's throat.

  With an obstinate bark, Ollie said, "Lie again, and I will cut your throat."

  The shaggy-haired man's eyes grew wide.

  Looking from the slaves to the crowd, Ollie projected his voice. "Roberto, why don't you tell the crowd what you saw, so everyone can learn the same lesson?"

  Speaking loudly enough that even those in the back rows could hear, one of the bearded guards, evidently Roberto, stepped from the edges of the crowd and held up a loaf of bread. "My family was out back, doing laundry. When I returned from my duties, I found the tall slave guarding our doorway, while the other pulled our bread from inside. They waited until our door was unlocked to rob us."

  The shaggy-haired man shook his head in denial as he saw and heard the damming evidence.

  "I chased them through the alleys and tackled one of them," Roberto said. "Freddy and Ryan got the other." He motioned to a few other guards, who nodded sternly.

  "You would risk your lives over some bread?" Avery asked.

  A silence fell over the courtyard as everyone waited for an answer. Feeling the weight of the accusation, the tall man cleared his throat and spoke up. "We were hungry. We only received half our rations last week." He looked between Ollie, Avery, and the other Head Guards, avoiding Roberto's eyes. "When we asked Roberto, he said we wouldn't get any more until next week."

  "A shortage," Roberto grunted, with a firm nod.

  A few guards chuckled. None in the crowd laughed. Sensing no good would come from an argument, the tall man quieted.

  Growing impatient, Roberto pointed at the tall slave and his shaggy-haired friend. "They are obviously thieves. Let's gut them."

  "We're not going to gut them," Ollie told him.

  "Throw them in the Feeding Pen, then," Roberto argued. "It will save us a few ears of corn."

  "Ollie and I have another idea," Avery said, stepping forward and exchanging a knowing glance with Ollie. "We talked about it on the way. Perhaps a different sort of punishment is in order."

  "What kind of punishment?" Roberto asked, growing impatient.

  Avery said, "If they are as hungry as they say, we will allow them to prove it."

  Recapturing the attention of the entire crowd, Ollie said, "They can have their bread. But they will have to fight for it."

  "Fight?" Terror sparked in the shaggy-haired man's eyes and the tall man's mouth fell open.

  A smile crossed Roberto's face as he caught the gist of the idea. "I like that. It might even be worth my loaf of bread."

  Avery nodded, proud of his idea. Stepping forward, capturing the attention of the entire audience, he announced, "The only way out of this circle is through each other's blood. The two thieves will fight each other to the death for the food they stole. If either one tries escaping, they're feed for The Plagued Ones."

  Stepping next to Avery, Ollie warned, "Anyone who tries helping them will join the loser in death."

  Gasps filled the crowd. C
hildren buried themselves further in their mother's skirts.

  Returning his attention to the two men, Avery said, "When we release you, you will fight. Neither of you will leave until one of you dies."

  Roberto dangled the bread higher, showing the crowd, and then tossed it onto the ground near the captive slaves' feet. The bread rolled to a stop, covered in dirt. Horror crossed the slave's faces as they realized the finality of their sentence.

  Forcing defiance through his fear, the tall man stuck out his chin and said, "I will not fight. You will have to feed me to The Plagued Ones first."

  Avery's eyes narrowed in anger as he heard a retort he wasn't used to. "You will fight him, or we will torture you both. He will die first, so you can watch."

  The tall man opened and closed his mouth, stuck between horrific choices. "I will allow him to win, then."

  "If I sense either of you are not fighting, Roberto will gut you both," Avery said, making a show of turning the long knife in his hand. "And then no man will keep his life."

  "Neither matters much to us," Ollie grunted. "In fact, we'd enjoy it if you didn't cooperate."

  Tears rolled down the shaggy-haired man's face as he said, "Give us some other punishment. Anything. I will clean the Feeding Pen. I will forfeit my rations."

  "Your families will already forfeit your rations for a week," Avery said, to the moans of a few scared, scraggly women who broke through the crowd, wailing their pleas.

  "Let them go!" one of the women cried, reaching for the captive men in the middle.

  "Shut up!" Ollie barked, forcing her to be silent.

  "Please!" the shaggy-haired man cried. "Punish us, but not our families!"

  "If you are strong enough to beg, you are strong enough to fight," Avery said matter-of-factly.

  Without another word, Ollie and Avery walked to the edge of the circle, as if they were officials in a sack race, or a hay game. They signaled the guards, who let go of the prisoners. Slowly, the guards backed to where the nervous spectators watched.

  Left alone, the two slaves stared at each other a moment. Neither traded angry words. Why would they? They were clearly friends who had conspired in a transgression. The shaggy-haired man smeared tears from his eyes.

  Trembling, he told the tall man, "I will not fight you."

  "Nor I you." The tall man looked from his unwilling opponent to the guards who had released him. Of course, their pleas were pointless.

  Bray clenched his fists hopelessly, as if he might help. But everyone in the crowd heard the guards' warnings. They would die if they assisted. The wailing women pleaded to the guards, but the guards threatened them into silence.

  A few of the slaves on the edge of the circle stepped forward, waiting expectantly, shifting from foot to foot.

  The combatants stared at each other, not moving, not fighting.

  "Give us a show, forest-dwellers!" yelled Roberto. "Spill each other's blood!"

  "Fight!" yelled another guard.

  A few women held their hands over their mouths. Reluctantly, the two slaves raised their fists.

  "Get on with it!" a third guard yelled, losing his patience.

  Ollie and Avery watched the petrified men in amusement.

  Feeling the pressure of a horrific death, the tall man took a step toward his friend. He raised a fist.

  "I'm sorry, Gabe," he said.

  "I understand, Jonah," the other said. "We will do what we have to. The gods will know the truth."

  The slaves on the edges of the circle looked on with growing anticipation.

  One of them, an elderly man with long hair, was unable to control his nerves any longer. He took a risk and yelled to the tall man, "He is much smaller than you! Kill him and be done with it, so he doesn't suffer!"

  A wrinkled crone, inspired by the first man's words, yelled, "Do it quickly!"

  "Fight, fight!" the guards shouted, encouraging the crowd to participate.

  The old man and the crone joined the chant. Bray looked around as a few more chimed in. A stringy-haired woman pumped her fist in the air. A middle-aged man cupped his mouth and shouted. Perhaps they yearned for an escape to the monotony of their lives. Or perhaps they wanted an end to the bloody spectacle that would plague their nightmares.

  Among the chanters, Bray saw a few with twisted, bloodthirsty expressions.

  The chant strengthened as all of the guards raised their voices, staring at the crowd and encouraging more participation.

  "Fight, fight!"

  Slowly, the chant rolled from the tongues of the guards to more slaves, until most in the front rows screamed along, driven by the shouts of their neighbors.

  Bray swallowed as the chant grew louder and louder, echoing off the walls of the courtyard and the small houses.

  The tall man—Jonah—swallowed a lump in his throat. He cocked back his fist, regret in his eyes.

  "Kill him, you weak son of a bitch!" Roberto shrieked above everyone else, taking a taunting step.

  Hearing those words, Jonah's face changed.

  He turned.

  He ran toward Roberto.

  Roberto's mouth dropped as his taunt backfired and became a fight for his life. Jonah crossed the courtyard, threw his weight into a tackle, and knocked the surprised guard to the ground before he could draw his knife. Cocking back a fist, he punched Roberto. Blood sprayed from Roberto's face as Jonah broke his nose. More Head Guards ran to help, but Jonah had the advantage of pent-up rage, and surprise. He flung back his arms, cracking several of the other guards in the face, sending them flying before they could control him. Blood dripped from his swinging fists and he shrieked in rage.

  The crowd's response grew louder.

  Some cheered. Some hissed.

  More than one cheered for Jonah.

  People stepped forward as they saw a crack in the system that had contained them.

  But that crack wouldn't last long.

  "Pull him off!" Ollie shouted, anger taking over his face as he raced toward the spectacle, his blubbery stomach shaking.

  More guards caught hold of Jonah's arms, flinging him off and stomping him. Jonah's hands flew up to protect his ribs and stomach, but a well-placed kick knocked one of his teeth from his mouth in a bloody spray. The guards gave him a few more stomps and kicks before Ollie intervened.

  "Enough!" Ollie screamed. "Let him go!"

  The Head Guards looked up in surprise. Roberto got to his feet, wiping stringy drool from his face.

  "I want him dead," Roberto hissed, through a mouthful of blood as he pointed.

  "And he will be," Ollie said confidently. "But I will gut his friend first."

  The shaggy-haired man—Gabe—stood fearfully across the courtyard. His face paled. A merciless grin crossed Ollie's face as he took a menacing step.

  "You will be tortured, because of what your friend has done," Ollie announced, making sure all in the crowd could hear, as he raised his knife. "Those are the rules. Your friend has opted not to fight."

  "Please," Gabe said quietly, his voice quivering as he backed up against the crowd.

  Ollie took another lumbering step.

  "Give me another chance," Gabe pleaded.

  "Jonah has made his choice for both of you. The fight is over," Ollie said.

  "No, it's not."

  With a primal scream, Gabe darted past Ollie and toward Jonah. Catching on to what was happening, the guards stepped back.

  Still on the ground, Jonah flung up his arms, but not in time to deflect Gabe's vicious pounce. Gabe landed on top of Jonah, punching again and again, knocking through Jonah's defensive arms and striking his face.

  Gabe's war cry grew louder.

  He wasn't doing what the guards asked.

  He was fighting for his life.

  The crowd's chant resumed and more people stepped forward.

  "Fight! Fight! "

  The elderly man pumped his fist. The wrinkled crone clenched her hands. The bloodthirsty few cried louder than the r
est, creating a wall of noise.

  The guard's smirks grew wider.

  Madness took over Gabe's face. It seemed as if the fight had cracked the last of his sanity. The wails of two hysterical, pleading women were lost underneath the chanting crowd as bones cracked and blood flew. With horror, Bray saw tears pouring down Gabe's face as he punched and punched, and Jonah's pleas turned to gurgles.

  The gurgles ceased.

  The crowd in the courtyard fell silent.

  Gabe's flying fists stopped.

  Looking around at the crowd and the guards, he found enough sanity to scream, "Is this what you wanted? You wanted him to die?"

  Ollie looked from Avery to Roberto.

  "I have done what you asked!" Gabe continued, weeping.

  Ollie grunted. "So be it. You have earned your life."

  Avery said, "Roberto, give him a beating to compensate for the bread he stole. Then send him to the cell."

  Chapter 2: Bray

  The crowd dispersed in a tangled, disorganized rush. Women herded children back through the alleyways. Sturdy men and women helped some of the elderly, who walked with their heads down, mumbling. Bray could see their remorse in their sagged shoulders, or in their eyes, as they scurried back to breakfasts they wouldn't eat. Most had stayed only long enough to watch Gabe dragged to the cell, but only because the guards ordered them. A few people—the men and women with bloodlust in their eyes—scurried away quicker than the others, ashamed of what they'd done. Long after the chants had faded, the majority of the slaves realized what the guards had known all along—the slaves were in no better position than Jonah, or Gabe. They lived their lives in slightly bigger cells than the one to which Gabe was dragged, waiting for the day they were pulled to the Glass Houses, like Jonah's body would be.

  Bray had no interest in any of it.

  He needed to find Kirby.

  Moving against the flow of the crowd, he scanned the clustered, dirty faces. Seeing the battle made him desperate to verify that she was all right. For all he knew, she was in some hidden danger he couldn't see.

  A few guards lingered at the mouth of the alleys, herding the slaves back to their homes. Some of them held the long, sharp knives they usually carried at their sides. Bray wanted to pull those knives from their hands and ram them into their bellies.