The Ruins Book 3 Page 6

  "What?" Bray asked.

  "Devices that provide power," she said, realizing that she might as well have been speaking another language. Explaining, she said, "They use the wind to do things without the touch of men."

  "Windmills," Bray repeated, with obvious amazement.

  "There are more buildings behind the wall," William said. "Although it is hard to see them from this distance."

  It was true. The shimmering building was the only one in clear view, at the forefront of the place, whatever it was. Kirby looked for a place one might enter. She was too far away to see a door on the building's sides, but it didn't look like the barricade of boulders covered them. She also saw what looked like a gate in the wall on the building's left side, leading to whatever lay beyond.

  "It is definitely a city." Kirby was robbed of more words. She blinked, as if the gleaming building, the ones behind the wall, and the windmills might disappear, but they remained.

  Perhaps Kirby's golden palace in the clouds did exist.

  Perhaps the stories were true.

  Chapter 10: Rudyard

  Rudyard dragged his finger along the thin, stiff page, following the symbols and pictures with his eyes. Midday sunlight reached through the window of the tall building in which he sat, illuminating the pile of books next to him on the eighteenth floor of the Learning Building. Turning the page, his eyes roamed from one drawing to the next.

  He knew that understanding came with time. All around him, shelves full of books reminded him of the knowledge yet to be gained. The odor of his untouched food wafted from the plate on the grand table across the room, the last plate not yet eaten. Soon, it would lose its heat, and it wouldn't taste as good.

  Tearing his concentration from the books, Rudyard stood and stretched his legs. He had to get back to his duties. He walked to the table, retrieved the plate of food, and brought it back to his desk by the window, careful to slide it away from the books, so he wouldn't damage them. Steam rose from a plate of potatoes, corn, and meat. Spearing a bite with his fork, he shoved it into his mouth. He chewed.

  And stopped.

  Far in the distance, past where the windmills turned, the crops grew in the sun, and the patch of grass led to the forest, something moved through the edge of the trees at the top of the small hill. He watched for a moment, certain that he was envisioning human shapes in the foliage. Or maybe the sun was playing tricks with his eyes.

  More movement.

  Clothing.

  Rudyard dropped his fork with a clatter loud enough to echo across the vast room. He looked behind him, as if someone else might've noticed, even though he was alone. When he looked back out the window, the human figures were gone, but he could still see them in his mind, peering at the building. His home. Their home.

  He ran to get the others.

  Chapter 11: Kirby

  The enormous windmills spun in slow circles, driven by a breeze. A few clouds rolled across the blue sky, pierced easily by the sunlight, some of which cast a glare off the windows of the magnificent building. Kirby couldn't hold her awe.

  "It was a smart thing to build the windmills here. There is a nice wind."

  "Whoever lives here is intelligent," William said.

  "Not like the barbarian tribes we've seen," Bray muttered. "Or the men behind us, if they are still there." He looked over his shoulder, as if he might catch a glimpse of The Clickers, though enough time had passed that Kirby doubted they'd see them.

  "The building is remarkable," Cullen said, wiping his eyes as if he might have dirt in them. "I have never seen anything like what covers those windows."

  "You haven't seen glass?" William asked.

  "Not in that shape," Cullen admitted. "Most has been in fragments, or ground beneath a traveler's boots. I have never seen the sun reflect something so brilliantly."

  "Only the merchants had glass in the windows, from where we came," William explained.

  "Merchants?" Cullen asked, hearing another foreign word.

  Avoiding a more detailed explanation, William said, "The windows were rare." Pointing at a place a few floors up from the bottom of the magnificent building, he noticed something else. "What is that little room jutting out from the rest of the building, without a roof?"

  Kirby stared the distance between the forest and the building, scanning the place where William looked. "A balcony," she said. Seeing another question on William's face, she added, "A place where people stand. And a railing to protect them from falling. Perhaps it is a place to keep watch."

  She regarded the balcony, and the tops of some of the smaller, less grand structures behind the long, extending wall that came out from either side of the building. Farther down from where they stood, a dirt path divided the rows of corn in half, seemingly running from the crops to the building.

  "With knowledge like these people have, they must be intelligent, like you said, Kirby," William suggested."Maybe they can teach us."

  "Or kill us," Kirby warned.

  Staring at the city, it was easy to imagine either of those scenarios. Kirby kept a firm grip on her rifle as she weighed options. They could turn, go back into the woods, and forget what they'd seen. But they would always wonder.

  "I can't say this is the same as the stories you heard at The Arches, Kirby, but it is the closest thing we've found," Bray said.

  "I agree. But now that we are here, I am uncertain." Kirby's face was hard as she looked at the grand building, and those distant buildings behind it. She wished she could see the truth behind the glass windows and the large wall, which seemed to go in an enormous square, and was obviously protecting something.

  "We can turn and go back into the forest, keep looking, but what if there is nothing left to find?" Bray couldn't stop his eyes from wandering over the sights in front of them. "We might spend months wandering from one sleeping place to the next, keeping our eyes open for men like the ones we escaped."

  Cullen said, "I only know half of what you are speaking about. But I have never seen a sight such as this. If you are going forward, I will come with you."

  "We should check it out," William agreed.

  Kirby hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Let's go slowly. If we see something we don't like, we'll turn around."

  They crept from the forest and toward the dirt path between the crops, which was about fifteen feet wide, moving quietly. Kirby looked behind her at the relative safety of the trees. A gust of wind spun the distant windmills faster, creaking their turbines. The field felt empty, as if they were the only inhabitants, and the place had long been abandoned, even though Kirby couldn't believe that was true. She eyed the long, swaying stalks of corn. She hadn't seen crops so high since her homeland. But those crops had fed armies, people intent on pursuing land and bloodshed. Who knew what type of people these crops fed?

  The wind continued blowing. Getting a better view down the path's center, Kirby saw an endless row of crops, extending for about half the distance to the buildings. Beyond the corn stalks, she now saw shorter crops in uniform rows—what looked like wheat, tomatoes, and several fruits and vegetables. The magnificent building lay at the end of the dirt walkway, lifeless, windows gleaming from the sun's glare, the wall jutting out from either side. The windmills were about twenty yards from it, diagonally on either side.

  Kirby, Bray, and William walked with their guns pointed low. Cullen hung in the middle, protected.

  "Boot prints," Bray said, pointing as they walked down the path.

  Unmistakable boot marks littered the dirt path as they continued. Halfway down, Kirby saw other prints, too. She shuddered as the breeze blew again, carrying the scent of soil and corn. And something else.

  "Do you smell that?" Bray hissed, as they stopped.

  Something moved to their left. Kirby snapped her gun toward it. Deep through some of the corn stalks, a naked, wart-covered figure snuck through the tall stems. Another noise drew her attention to the other side of the path, where something else wove betw
een the crops, following them. Kirby caught a glimpse of red, vicious eyes, and sharp, cracked teeth.

  Mutants.

  They froze as creatures padded between the corn stalks, hissing. The spinning windmills creaked and creaked. Kirby aimed her gun, a bad feeling growing worse as she looked over her shoulder, realizing they were closer to the building than the forest. Running was a fool's hope.

  More mutants than she could count appeared through the corn stalks around them. The snap of a stalk to their left surprised William, who leapt back, losing his hood.

  "Stay back!" he cried, holding up his gun at an encroaching mutant.

  The mutant hesitated, but it didn't look as if it was listening. It stared around, sniffing the wind. All around them, demons clustered in the corn, not charging, but lingering, waiting.

  "What's wrong with them?" Bray asked.

  "I'm not sure. But they're not listening to me," William said, his fear growing deeper.

  Cullen's voice ripped away their attention. "Up there." He raised a shaky hand, pointing at the building, now a hundred yards away. Up on the balcony, high off the ground, a door opened, and six silent, robed figures emerged. They stopped a few feet from the railing, peering out from beneath their dark hoods. The sun's glare bounced off the magnificent windows, barring a better view. They made no move, or gesture.

  The air fell silent, save the low hiss of the demons and the creak of the windmills.

  Bray, Kirby, and William held their guns level, while Cullen looked as if he might dart in another direction. They watched the figures on the balcony for several silent seconds, sizing them up, looking every so often at the mutants, who hadn't gotten any closer, but weren't leaving.

  "We mean no harm," Bray called across the distance to the balcony, loudly enough that the figures might hear him.

  Kirby realized the guns in their hands contradicted that statement, but she wasn't about to lower hers. The figures stared at them from beneath their shadowy hoods. They didn't answer.

  "Perhaps they speak another language," Bray muttered. Raising his voice, he tried again, "We mean no harm."

  The figures stared.

  One of the figures walked forward ahead of the others.

  In a deep, authoritative voice betraying old age, the person called down from the high balcony, "Come closer."

  Kirby looked on either side of them at the lurching, snarling demons, none of which had moved. She wasn't walking any closer to a mutant's jaws.

  "Come closer, and you will not be harmed," the person promised, waving a robed hand.

  Kirby traded a look with Bray.

  "We will likely die if we run for the forest," Bray hissed quietly. "I don't think we have a choice but to listen."

  Kirby didn't need to question the truth of that statement. With tentative, cautious steps, they approached until they were within twenty yards of the balcony.

  "Who are you?" The person's voice contained a strange accent, but she could understand him.

  "We are travelers from up north," Kirby called up. Hoping to solidify their intentions, she said, "We are here to talk, nothing more."

  The figure looked back at the others. They traded some quiet words.

  Turning back to face them, he asked, "How many are with you?" He looked past them and toward the edge of the forest.

  Kirby knew a lie would be of no use. "The four of us," she said.

  "Are there any more like him?" The man stepped back, raising a slow hand and pointing at William. "Are there any more like our brother?"

  "Brother?" asked William.

  The authoritative man pulled his hood off, stepping to the edge of the railing and out of the glare of the sun.

  Underneath, a mass of warts covered his ruddy skin, obvious enough that Kirby saw them even from a distance.

  William and the others stood aghast.

  The man lowered his hands to his sides. The demons hissed louder, looking from William to the man high up on the balcony. The other figures on the balcony slowly removed their hoods, revealing faces covered with the results of the infection. A woman stood among them.

  "We are all blessed with The Gift. Just like you," the man boomed.

  "The Gift?" William whispered.

  "I saw you speak with our brothers in the corn. But do not attempt to control them," the man warned as he cocked his head. "They would not listen, anyway. They are our Plagued Ones."

  William kept his gun trained on the closest mutant, which still looked as if it might spring from the crops and attack. The man was right: the mutants were clearly obeying his orders.

  "They will not stand down without our word," the man said. Finally, he pointed at the mutants and shouted, "Be still."

  The demons relaxed. Their shoulders swayed as they watched Kirby, Bray, William, and Cullen, but they no longer hissed.

  "Are you emissaries?" the man called down to them.

  Bray traded a look with Kirby, Cullen, and William. Before Kirby could tell him otherwise, he said, "Yes. We are emissaries."

  Kirby swallowed. The man exchanged another look with the others, as if he was deciding something, before waving a hand.

  "Stay where you are," the man called. "We will send someone down for you."

  Chapter 12: Kirby

  Kirby, Bray, William, and Cullen watched the robed figures disappear from the balcony. The demons fidgeted, scratching themselves or looking at one another. A few stared at Kirby with hunger. She didn't trust that a few wouldn't break from the horde, disobey the man's orders, and go in for a kill, especially with no one around to stop them. It wouldn't take much encouragement for the others to join them, once they saw warm flesh and spilled blood.

  She could already see more than enough demons to outlast their ammunition. Since they'd spoken with the man, more mutants snuck through the corn stalks, watching. They'd never outrun an angry horde. They might shoot a few, or outpace some of them, but not all.

  "Do you know what an emissary is?" Kirby hissed to Bray.

  "It sounded as if it wasn't dinner." Bray shrugged. "That's enough for me."

  "It means a representative," Kirby explained. "Someone who comes to represent their people."

  "That's what we are. Representatives from Brighton," Bray said with a firm nod. "That should be enough to keep us alive, until we can figure out more about this place."

  Kirby wasn't comfortable with his lie, but she'd gotten used to his ways. She knew that he was trying to keep them safe. Looking between some of the corn stalks, she saw a few piles of feces, and some chewed ears of corn. The generous crops could surely feed an army of disgusting demons.

  But the army of demons wasn't even the most incredible thing.

  These people looked like William.

  For all she knew, the building contained floors filled with bulbous-headed, talking men and women, like Jingo.

  William seemed as if he was processing an illusion. "They were infected, like me," he said to Kirby, reaching up and touching his head, feeling the warts that created a ridge from his hairline to his temple. "Six of them. My brothers. And sister."

  William stared at the demons between the corn stalks, running his fingers over the bumps, as if he was convincing himself of the reality around him.

  Kirby turned her attention back to the empty balcony, and the building from which it protruded. She looked along the protective row of rubble and boulders at the building's base, and then toward the side of the building, spotting a door on the left-hand side, now that they were closer.

  Would someone come from there, or from the wide gate in the wall about ten yards from it? Both remained closed.

  All along the wall, she noticed strange pieces of metal that looked like decorations, tied in several places. She hadn't noticed them from a distance.

  Kirby was almost starting to think they were waiting for no one when the door on the left-hand side of the building opened, and one of the robed men stepped through. His hood was off, revealing a shock of blonde hair
that she had only caught a glimpse of high up on the balcony, through the sun's glare. He didn't seem to be the main person who had spoken with them.

  The robed man walked down the end of the dirt path, watching Bray, Kirby, William, and Cullen, seemingly unaffected by so many demons around him. His arms were toned and tan; his robe fit snugly over his frame. Kirby noticed a long knife hanging from a sheath at his side. He stopped at a safe distance.

  "I am Rudyard," the man said simply. He studied their weapons, their faces, but mostly, William. "I speak for The Gifted. You might say I am the emissary here."

  Kirby looked up at the empty balcony, and through some of the windows, which seemed strangely tinted. She couldn't see the strange people; only shadows. Still, she was certain they watched them from somewhere behind the glass.

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  "This place is called New City," Rudyard said.

  New City.

  "Thank you for speaking with us," Bray said courteously.

  "I will not lie. We are bothered by the items you carry, the guns," Rudyard said.

  "I understand your caution," Bray said. "As I said when we arrived, we mean no harm."

  "Where did you get them?"

  "They came from across the ocean." Kirby pointed east, to the right of the building and in the direction of the coastline, which she assumed was a distance away. "My people made them. But these are the last of them."

  Rudyard nodded. He inspected the weapons in their hands. Looking up at the balcony where people had been, he gave some signal they couldn't interpret. "We know what those weapons are. We even have some of them, though we seldom see people carrying them. They upset The Plagued Ones. Which colony do you represent?"

  "Brighton," Bray said without hesitation. "A colony up north." He nodded over his shoulder.

  "You wish to trade."

  Bray reinforced his lie with a nod. "That was our hope."

  "Are you here on the recommendation of another colony?"

  Perhaps reconsidering another falsehood, Bray said, "We are explorers in search of resources. We discovered this place on our own."