Afterworld

by Lynnette Lounsbury

  6

  Dominic’s Hourglass

  198 Minutes

  Dominic went to the orchard the next day. Partly to clear his head of the emotions that had been flooding him and mostly to stay away from Eduardo who had become a shadow by his shoulder, keeping him from another solitary moment with Eva. The two of them had woken slightly embarrassed at the intimacy of sleeping in the same bed, but Eva had kissed him quickly before Eduardo hauled him out of the room for training. He had escaped after an hour, telling the Angel he needed as many minutes as he could earn. He still had the thought in the back of his mind that if he couldn’t win the Trials, perhaps Eduardo might be able to hold off the Nephilim long enough for him to leave the City and enter the Maze. If his Guardian was even allowed to do that. Even so he would be entering with very few minutes. At his last count, he had about 198, which would give him only a few hours and he needed to buy supplies.

  The orchard was full of workers when he arrived, unhurriedly wandering up and down the rows of trees, methodical and unimpassioned. He greeted the few faces he knew with a nod and set to work, finding himself with David once more on his team. It had only been a few days since he had last seen the man, but David was almost unrecognisable. He was skeletal, pallid and the lower lids of his eyes drooped a little, blood-red from the Glass. He grinned and Dom recoiled from the broken-down teeth. He must have been grinding them when he was watching through the lake, wearing them into nubs and shards that were more like an animal’s teeth. Dom wondered how long you had to be doing that before they stopped healing themselves.

  ‘D-Dominic,’ he stuttered, nodding. ‘I haven’t seen you lately.’

  ‘I’ve been around.’ Dom stood on a ladder, picking the thick-skinned, orange fruit that covered the tree and dropping it into his basket. He worked much more quickly than the rest of his team, filling a basket before David could even find the words to finish his conversation.

  ‘Do you want to come to the Glass with me, Dominic? I know you like it too. I have a new way to get there – you can stay for as long as you like. Safe. Very safe.’ He scratched at the peeling skin on his forearms.

  Dom looked down at him. ‘I don’t think there is anything safe about the Glass, David. Besides I need as many minutes as I can get. I have to work.’

  ‘Oh. Oh. I can help you with that, too. I know ways to get many more minutes. That’s why I work here. I get a few and then I go and use them to make heaps more.’

  Dominic doubted that David actually made more minutes, but he was interested in the idea. Gambling? He was an excellent poker player.

  ‘What do you have to do?’

  ‘It’s just using your brain, Dominic. Your brain. You just have to pick the winners. Pick them and win.’ He had finally pulled a basket from the wagon and was teetering up the adjacent ladder.

  ‘Winners? Like betting? What do we bet on? Races or Trials or something?’

  David was surprised. ‘Fighting, Dominic. What else is there to bet on? Just choose the winner. And you get more minutes.’ He tugged at a large fruit, eventually detaching it from the thick stem and placing it gently into his basket. ‘When I have enough, I’m going to go home.’

  Dom had started to back down the ladder. ‘Home? What do you mean home?’

  ‘Home,’ David said wistfully. ‘Back there. If I have enough minutes, I think I can get home.’

  Dominic felt sick as he watched the man pawing at the fruit. At the same time he was fascinated by the idea of the fights. Maybe he could try it once and see if he made any money. He would be careful and only bet a little. It couldn’t hurt. If he worked every day until the Trials he would still have barely enough to claim a whole day in the Maze and if he lost the Trials and had to run for it, he could not risk having to come back.

  He took the half-filled basket David was trying to lower down the ladder, and placed it in the wagon, which was almost full.

  ‘I’ll go with you, David. When are the fights?’

  ‘All the time. Right now. All the time.’ David stumbled down the last rung, landing on his face on the ground. Dom pulled him to his feet. The man’s lip had split open and was bleeding dull, dark blood down his neck. It took a long time to heal.

  Dom lifted the harness of the wagon and rocked it to get the large wheels moving. He was stronger every time he did this, the training was making him more than just fast.

  ‘Let’s go then, man.’ Dom started the slow walk back to the storehouse. ‘Let’s go right now.’

  David brightened and then dulled. ‘I don’t have enough yet. I’ll only have twenty minutes. You need fifty to place a bet.’

  ‘I’ll give you the rest of what you need.’ Dom hoped he wouldn’t regret that statement. David ducked under into the other harness and pulled ineffectually beside Dom towards the storehouse.

  When the two of them had collected their minutes – David his three and Dominic forty – they walked down an alley to the left of the square and into a section of the City that Dom hadn’t known existed. David was difficult to follow; the man slowed and sped up at intervals, turning suddenly to speak into Dominic’s face or simply walking too close until they tripped over each other. Despite his apprehension though, Dom felt an odd sense of excitement, an adrenaline that swept his system, setting his nerves on fire. They reached a nondescript apartment building, the same as any black stone building in the City, its edges smooth yet dulled, and its walls dark. As they approached the entrance David leaned down and walked through the narrow hole that appeared in the cobbled stones at their feet. The walkway had vanished and suddenly there were narrow stairs, so narrow that Dom had to squeeze to fit. As they descended, the stairs glowed slightly, a grey-brown fog of light that allowed them to see, which kept them from plummeting into the distant darkness.

  It wasn’t as far as it seemed and Dom could soon hear the muffled sounds of the fights below. His body reacted to the sounds. His blood quickened again and his muscles twitched. He almost pushed David down the last few dozen stairs, and he had to grab the man’s skeletal arm to steady him. At the door was an enormous African man who looked at David with disgust.

  ‘Get out of here, man. I won’t say it again.’ His hand filled David’s chest.

  ‘I have money. I do. I have it this time.’ David held out the handful of minutes Dom had just given him. They rolled around in his palms and the bouncer let him pour them into the barrel next to the door, gesturing him in with amused disdain.

  He turned his attention to Dom and his face lit up. ‘Dominic. You’re Dominic. I’m going to come see you at the Trials, my friend. I’m going to bet on you.’ He leaned close and after hesitating a moment, he put a hand on Dom’s shoulder. ‘I heard you have an Angel training you. So you might have a chance. And it’s about time someone got the best of them Nephi—’ He caught himself and glanced around. ‘I just want to see a kid win. That would be great.’

  Dom smiled tentatively and started to pour minutes from his hourglass and the man stopped him.

  ‘No. Don’t need to pay here, boy. You are my guest tonight, okay?’ His smile was broad and sincere and Dom felt a sudden sadness at the thought that he was this man’s hope.

  ‘Sure. I’m just here to practise.’

  The man’s face lit up even more, almost exploding with delight. ‘You want to fight tonight? I thought you were just going to watch. Let me get the Boss . . .’ His voice trailed off into the darkness and Dom found himself standing alone in the small entrance room with David.

  ‘You’re going to fight?’ David grinned at him. ‘I’ll bet on you. With your minutes!’

  They followed the noise of the crowd and walked through another narrow doorway to an underground cavern that rivalled the gymnasium at his school. In the centre was a rough dirt ring around which stood a circle of armed men who fought back the crowd, a mottled and loud group of men and women who were intent on the centre of the ring. Dom watched the fighters.

  They weren’t big men, just ave
rage people tearing at each other with their hands and kicking with their feet. Street-scrapping. They could have been doctors for all he knew, back in their lives, civilised men who would have never tried to bite off another man’s fingers. Blood spurted and the people shouted. Dom’s feeling of excitement faded. This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to fight, yes, but not in the tragic gutter tableau in front of him. He turned away and found himself looking into the eyes of the ‘Boss’. She was a woman in her mid-fifties, and she was terrifying. He took half a step back. Her green eyes were ringed with more make-up than Dom would have thought possible for an event outside of Halloween and yet she was glamorous in a dangerous kind of way. She had the same long hair as everyone in the Afterworld, swinging around her waist, but it was flaming red and coiled in such tight curls Dom imagined it was several metres long.

  ‘Boss?’ He addressed her as politely as he could in the shout he needed to use to be heard.

  She didn’t seem to shout at all, and her voice had the quality of river stones rubbing together, it vibrated through him. ‘You going to fight, kid?’

  Dom nodded.

  ‘You’re on. A famous name is enough to get you some pretty good odds, so I hope you ain’t pathetic.’ She rubbed her hand, adorned with talon-length nails, along his arms and felt his chest. Dom struggled not to recoil from her cold touch. ‘You seem like you’ve got a bit of form.’ Her eyes narrowed to snake slits. ‘Okay. You get one thousand per fight if you win, nothing if you lose. You also get anything you bet on yourself.’ Her finger poked harshly into his chest. ‘Obviously you can’t bet against yourself. You throw a fight, I remove your arm and keep it here. Then they don’t heal.’ She gestured to a tank full of thick viscous liquid and a half-dozen dismembered arms. Dom shuddered in disgust. She grabbed his face in her hand, turning his chin to meet her eyes directly.

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know your value either. If you start to look stupid, I’ll have to stop the fight. The Nephilim will collect me if I diminish one of their fighters. Get him out there, next fight. Against Randy first – he’ll likely win that one.’ She let go of Dom’s face with a sickly smile and stalked off into the crowd, which parted like water to let oil slide through.

  Dom turned as quickly as he could to find out how to make a bet and saw David trying to get through the crowd. Following, he noticed the heads of the people he passed turning towards him and murmuring, a sound that spread rapidly through the crowd until it became a buzz. The fight in the ring was over and fresh dirt and sand were being thrown over the blood that had turned it to mud. The crowd was ready for the next fight. Dom heard the Boss talking to the crowd and he pushed harder towards the small booth he could see up ahead.

  His satchel and hourglass bumped against dozens of people as he passed and yet nobody reached for it. He wondered again at the strange rules of the Necropolis. People could hurt, maim and tear each other to pieces, but they couldn’t steal from each other – at least not time. They could certainly steal dignity. He watched as three men pulled the twisted and torn body of the losing fighter past him, screaming in pain, blood dripping from his mouth as he waited to heal. He put his hourglass on the small counter and looked at the shrunken little man behind the bench.

  ‘All of it – on me,’ Dom said.

  ‘To win?’ The man sniggered at him, a gold tooth snagging the outside of his lip.

  ‘Of course.’ Dom waited for the man to empty his minutes into a barrel and hoped he had not just lost everything he owned. He closed his eyes and let his instincts tell him what to do – yes, he had done the right thing. The times called for strange, extreme action.

  He heard the Boss shout his name and the crowd roared. Only a handful of days ago, he would have been mortified to hear it, to know that they were all watching him, but he felt only vaguely nervous. And if he was willing to admit it, thrilled.

  The bouncer appeared beside him and took him by the arm – shoving a path through the crowd until they reached the men who kept the ring clear. The tall man shook his hand and looked down into his eyes. ‘I am Ay. I am proud to meet a boy. And a brave one.’ Then he shoved Dom into the centre of the circle and the cries of the crowd became shrieks for blood.

  A small man with dark skin and long matted hair stood on the other side of the ring, his eyes red and bloody from the Glass. His hands were out in a fighting stance like the claws of some sort of wildcat. He circled towards Dom. Dom loosened his shoulders and let his mind find the part of him that thought like an Angel. He saw in the memories he had acquired with the skills that Eduardo had fought very few humans. It would have been too pathetic a battle for him to bother. Dom stepped forwards, his palms open, but tight. Randy gave a yawp and leaped towards him. It was an agile leap, high and fast, designed to land him directly over Dom. Dom felt the wind whistle with the force and speed of the move. But Dom was too fast and he swung back onto the ground and lay flat until the man landed, off balance astride him. Wrapping his legs around the man’s torso, he flipped him onto his face in the dust and pulled his head backwards into a headlock. The crowd screamed for him to cut his victim’s throat – to bite it out. Dom wrapped an elbow around the man’s neck and pulled tight. Randy went limp in a few seconds. Dom let go and stood over the body – the unconscious dead. The crowd gave a half-hearted cheer.

  The body was dragged from the ring before Dom could even catch his breath and a new opponent was announced. This time the man was no weak Glass addict. He had light skin and his hair – yellow blond – was braided into a high, dirty Mohawk that trailed like an animal skin down his back. His eyes were clear and ready to fight. He moved like a boxer, his hands ready, his feet shifting lightly. Dom held himself the best he could. He came up to the man’s chin and was half his weight. The man threw the first punch. Dom was very quick, his instincts sensing the trajectory of the fist, but the strike was still fast enough to graze his cheek slightly. Dom swung his feet, landing on his hands to hold himself as he swept at the man’s legs. He hit hard, but the man was solid as a rock and he barely stumbled, swinging his fists downward like a hammer. Dom slipped out of the way, rolling and tumbling as he had with the Nephilim, consciously trying to slow his movements down to meet the different pace of the human. He tried the pressure hits that had worked so efficiently on the other race but they were met with mild grunts from the human and nothing more. Apparently Nephilim were much more sensitive. Dom kept moving, trying to tire out his opponent, but he realised that it was futile unless he figured out how to take the man down – he just wasn’t strong enough to defeat him. The man watched him warily, his eyes confident, but his manner ready. He thinks he can win but he’s scared, Dom thought. What is he scared of? Dom let the thought hang for a moment and it slowed him. A heavy punch landed on the side of his chest, cracking his ribs and knocking the breath from his body. He felt a rib cut through the thin wall of his lung and he coughed up a spurt of blood. Instincts from the last days of training took over and he took a dancing step back, cleared his mind completely of everything but the injury, and let it heal. The pain, he pushed to the side, watching it, but refusing to touch it or taste it. He just let it be. He healed in a few moments and leapt back at the man, who had clearly felt the damage his fist had done and was stunned by the speed of Dom’s recovery. Dom landed a fast, hard blow on the man’s temple, splitting his eye open and drenching his face in blood. It was a minor wound and an unimportant hit, but it showed Dom what he needed to see. The man was afraid of pain.

  Dom spent the next few minutes inflicting as many injuries as he could. A kick to the knee, the groin, a punch to the kidneys, the throat, the ears, all of them minor yet painful and he saw the fighter recoiling from the pain, swimming in it like mud until it clouded his mind and he had forgotten Dom completely. Dom used the moment to kick at his legs again, this time knocking him to the ground. He leapt onto the man’s back. Swinging his legs around his opponent’s throat he tried the same movement again, strangling him. The man was stro
ng, but he was caught in the morass of pain and he couldn’t get his movements into synch. His arms flailed and Dom pounded his shoulders until he finally went limp. He was greeted with more enthusiastic applause this time, but it was still peppered with the shouts for blood.

  The Boss was in the ring before he could even unravel himself from the man underneath him. With surprising strength she wrapped a bony hand around his wrist and pulled him to his feet, raising his arm into the air.

  ‘He’s making it seem too easy ain’t he, people?’ Her voice was low, but it carried and the crowd quieted to hear it. ‘Will we spice it all up? Throw in a bit of the house special?’

  There was a roar. The air was dank and breathing it was making Dom feel a little slow. He looked at the faces around him, Glass addicts most of them, their eyes red and occasionally dripping thin, watery blood. He had a deepening desire to leave, a desire that was building to a sense of panic. This place was full of misery and he was making it worse. He turned to the Boss and spoke in a voice only she could hear.

  ‘I’m done. That’s all for me. Put in another fighter.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sweetheart. They need a show and all you’ve done is a bit of housekeeping.’ She kept a tight hold on his wrist and Dom cast about for an escape route, ready to twist out of her grasp. The guards were ragtag and might have been drunk, but there were many of them and he would have trouble getting through the crowd. He glanced up at the low roof, but it offered nothing, just the same sheer, black stone. The crowd stared back at him, watching in fascination. They were old and worn, the people down here, most of them in their forties or fifties when they died. He knew why he must seem so young. Even with the softening effects of death, they were wrinkled and pocked with age and unhappiness. The faces were not friendly, no one was going to help him escape.

  The Boss raised her voice a bit. ‘Does anyone want to see some animals?’