by Carrie Patel
She was starting to worry that she and Roman had done exactly that. If Burgevich’s story and Roman’s escape had caused as much of a stir as she expected, it wouldn’t be long before the combined forces of Recoletta and Madina began searching the communes for them.
A dozen apologies, excuses, and questions rose like bile in her throat, but she forced them down. “You asked me for information. What you did with it was your decision.”
Roman leaned forward and squinted at Salazar. “You’re the one that sent the list of demands to Sato, aren’t you?”
Salazar nodded, proud and defiant.
“That makes you one of Malone’s new friends,” Roman said.
“She’s an honorable woman,” Salazar said.
Jane’s stomach squirmed. She buried her face in her glass, lest she give something away.
“But her other friends aren’t,” Roman said, “and that’s who you should be worried about. Not boogeymen from the east.”
Salazar inclined his head. “There’s trouble already?”
“If there isn’t, there will be soon.”
“Puts us in an awkward position,” Salazar said, turning his glass in his hands.
“And the easiest way out of it is to send us on our way first thing in the morning.” Roman’s voice was even, but tension pulsed in his jaw.
Salazar tilted his head. “Some might say we should host you longer. Until our mutual friends in the city stop by.”
Jane bit her tongue and willed herself – and her terror – to remain invisible.
Roman matched Salazar’s stare. “Some might say that. But not a friend of Governor Malone’s.”
Jane took another drink. A long one. She was staring at the bottom of her glass before she realized she’d finished it, and Roman and Salazar were both watching her.
Salazar broke the tension with a sigh that came all the way from his toes. “I’ll have a pair of horses ready for you by first light – assuming Miss Lin doesn’t find herself at the bottom of too many cups tonight. Keep a good pace, and you should make it to Redhill by midday. You can trade out your horses there and ride past the end of the railroad to a village so small even we don’t have a name for it.” He frowned under his heavy brows. “After that, you’re on your own. But you won’t have far to go.”
Jane imagined a horde of faceless men rising from a ruined city and chasing them into a lake that melted her flesh from her bones. Based on Salazar’s expression, it looked like he was imagining the same thing.
Roman nodded. “You won’t hear from us again.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Salazar said, almost laughing. “That’s why you’re leaving the horses somewhere we can get them later.”
Jane picked up her glass before she remembered it was empty.
“You said you’re a friend of Malone’s,” Salazar said. “So consider this a favor to a mutual friend.” He gulped the rest of his ale, watching her and Roman. “And if you’re lying, well, I guess it’s like you said. Better you leave before we get tangled up in your mess. Again.” He cast a quick glance at Jane.
“Thank you for the hospitality,” Roman said.
“Hospitality’s easy. It’s cleaning up after company that’s hard.” Salazar pushed back from the table and his empty glass. “Take your time. Have another drink. Your horses will be ready at sun-up.” He gave them a curt nod and sauntered through the watching crowd.
Jane stared at her hands on the table. She was afraid to move them, lest their shaking give her away.
Then one of Roman’s large and surprisingly soft hands covered hers.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said, quickly enough that it fooled neither of them.
“Do you want to talk? Because we–”
“No,” Jane said. Because speaking about her betrayal would have made it more real, and because she still couldn’t bring herself to put that on Roman’s shoulders, too.
He opened his mouth and closed it again. “I’ll get us another round,” he finally said.
Perhaps it would at least help her sleep.
* * *
The next morning, Salazar was waiting outside with a pair of horses, both saddled and ready. He handed Roman a folded piece of paper.
“If you have any trouble, just show this wherever you stop.”
Jane had never ridden a horse before, though she’d been in plenty of carriages. Her perch on the animal’s back felt higher off the ground than she would have expected and all too aware of her precarious balance.
Arnault set off at a trot, and her mount followed.
The miles passed quickly, and they reached Redhill around midday and changed horses. Jane’s legs ached from the ride, but the groom said they were more than halfway to the tiny village. They hurried on.
Past the railroad tracks, the path was uneven and progress slower. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, and Jane felt a mirrored sense of foreboding welling up inside her. Whatever it was, Roman seemed to have caught it, too – he grew quiet and pensive, his conversation more sporadic.
She’d lulled herself into a silent reverie by the time the last settlement snuck up on them. Salazar had been right – it was barely big enough to be called a town. And the people there were as brusque and reserved as if Salazar himself had ridden ahead with warning of their arrival.
It was no matter. They surrendered the horses, ate a quick dinner, and retired to the room their hosts had cleared for them, sleeping side by side on a lumpy mattress. Roman smelled like sweat, leather, and horses, but it was a comforting reminder of his presence through the night.
Dawn glowed gray in the windows all too soon. Jane knew they were coming to the end of a road without quite knowing what lay there. Dread gnawed at her stomach like hunger, but she also felt a vague sense of relief. Wherever they were headed, they would get there soon, and Jane could leave her doubts and fears about Recoletta behind.
The path faded to a patch of trampled grass, and the shape of the land changed underfoot. Dark, smooth scales of ancient roads rose and sank beneath the dirt. Jane got the feeling they might be crossing an old bridge, but whatever had been under it had long since dried up. The last hint of the path disappeared, and they picked their way through the trees.
Then they emerged, and Jane gasped aloud.
A city of rust rose in the distance. Defiant beams and girders rose from crumbled heaps of stone. Streets wider than any in Recoletta wound like rivers between islands of rubble. Whatever strange, massive verandas had been here were mostly scattered chunks, but even the fragments that remained standing dwarfed any building Jane had ever seen.
Roman took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“That’s from before the Catastrophe,” she said.
He nodded.
She took in the unreal proportions of the remains on the surface. As large as the verandas were, she wondered how much bigger it might have been – might still be – underground. It was enough to make her forget about Freddie, Malone, and Ruthers for a while.
They kept going, approaching the dead city without quite walking toward it. It swallowed the horizon in a way that left Jane feeling that she could turn around only to see it rising behind her.
“Is it dangerous?” she asked.
“Not any more.”
The texture and shape of the ground changed. Jane looked down and saw crumbled stone and twisted metal poking up from the grass and realized that, even here, she was walking on the bones of the ancient city.
She wondered what else lay beneath her feet, and quivered with horror and wonder.
They continued this way for several minutes, the dead city looming larger and surrounding them by degrees. Roman barely gave it a passing glance, yet she felt his anxiety in the gentle pressure of his thumb on the back of her hand and in the cool dampness condensing in his palm.
If Salazar was to be believed, the end of the world lay ahead.
The land before them flattened out. S
omething like glass shimmered on the horizon.
Roman laced his fingers through hers.
They drew closer, their steady steps belying her racing pulse. Her animal brain figured out what she was staring at several seconds before she found words for it.
“That’s water,” she said.
And more than she had ever seen. Jane had heard of lakes, and she’d glimpsed natural ponds and pools on her overland journeys. But she instinctively understood that the expanse before her was something else entirely. It was alive with movement. Foam-flecked waves surged and grabbed at the land. Its vast surface swelled and undulated, and Jane tried to imagine what manner of monster or machine could disturb it so.
“This is the sea,” Roman said, as matter-of-factly as if it were a tunnel, or a railcar, or anything else a person might expect to see on a morning walk. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but…”
But she had dodged his every attempt, had shut down his revelations for fear of making her own.
“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand back.
She remembered the tapestry in his apartment, the broad sky over rippling hills of blue.
Jagged silhouettes blurred the distant horizon. The sight of land was an unexpected relief. “It must go on for a hundred miles.” The words sounded ludicrous even as she said them.
“Thousands,” Roman said. He looked back at her, waiting for the information to sink in. “This is just where it begins.”
Not the end of the world, then.
Jane examined their surroundings. There was nothing but the sea, the ancient ruins, and the trees staking their claim in between. “I thought we were going to the vault.”
He nodded. “To get there, we’ve got to cross it.”
Jane heard herself laugh. “How?”
“Salazar said his eastern men passed this way days ago. They should be out here somewhere, scavenging.”
Yet everything about the landscape, with its crumbled skyline and hungry sea, felt dead. “How are we going to find them?”
“Oh, I expect they’ll find us.” A tremulous note of dread shook his voice.
Jane took these last quiet moments to scan it all – the ancient city, the forest, and the stretch of land beyond – trying to memorize these last details of home one last time.
Not long after, Jane heard a buzzing noise. Something was moving, racing from behind a speck of land in the middle distance. The term “boat” sprang to mind as yet another thing that she’d read about but never understood. It sped toward them, looming larger than any carriage.
Shouting voices rose over the thrum and spray. The people gathering at its front had the stiff, ready posture of men and women preparing for action.
Roman held both of her hands and turned to face her. “In a few moments, they’re going to take us with them. At some point, they’ll probably separate us and ask us questions – who we are, how we knew they were here. Tell them everything, only do not mention my surname, and do not mention the vault.” He gazed at her long enough to make sure she understood.
Suddenly, Jane regretted all the opportunities she’d let slip to hear his answers, his explanations, and even just the comforting sound of his voice. Of course, then she would have spent the days of their journey dreading the waterborne monster bearing down on them now.
“Roman–”
“You’re strong, Jane. You survived in Madina. You’ll find your way here, too.” He tightened his hands around hers. “The crossing should take around three weeks, depending on the route and–”
But she couldn’t bear the thought of an indefinite separation with her guilt unconfessed. “I need to tell you something,” she said. “Before we left Recoletta – before I knew Malone released you – I may have made a mess.” She told him as quickly as she could about her escapade with Attrop, her final tell-all to Burgevich, and what it might mean for Malone and for Recoletta.
He listened and said nothing, and by the time she was done Jane couldn’t bring herself to ask him whether he forgave her, or whether what she’d done could be forgiven.
As if in answer, he leaned down and kissed her.
When he pulled away, the boat was almost upon them.
It swerved as it reached them, and a group of six men and women splashed into the shallows. They each held something high over their heads.
Guns.
Jane stood perfectly still as a woman with a dirty blonde ponytail approached, her shotgun pointed at them.
“Perdido?” the woman asked. “Disoriented?”
“Just waiting,” Roman said. He might as well have been discussing the weather.
The woman grunted. “Pakay?” Her fellows spread out around them. Jane heard two of them behind her, muttering in their strange, half-intelligible language.
“We’re seeking passage to the Continent.”
The woman looked at Jane for the first time. “Depend on the segundos. No promessas.”
“We’ll take our chances,” Roman said with a confidence Jane wished she felt.
The woman nodded to the others from the boat. “‘Vestigate ‘em.”
Jane felt hands on her shoulders and stiffened.
“Calma,” said a voice behind her as its owner raised and straightened out her arms. Two strong hands ran along her arms, torso, and legs with a thorough but professional efficiency. It was over before Jane could get flustered enough to blush.
Roman was receiving similar treatment while two of the other boat people disemboweled their bags. They found the guns – Roman’s and the one Petrosian had given her – and set them aside.
When the men and women were satisfied, they led Jane and Roman toward the lapping water. Toward what Salazar had called “the poison lake.”
But it couldn’t be poison, because she had seen these men and women jump into it before, and now they were wading deeper and scooping up big handfuls of the water, rubbing them over their necks and faces.
Even so, dread shivered in Jane’s stomach when she stepped into the waves.
Or maybe it was just the cold.
She waded deeper, until the water reached her thighs, gasping with each step and each splashing wave. With mounting terror, she realized that she didn’t know how to swim.
“Ablute,” said the man next to her. “Purify.” He was splashing water onto his chest and ladling big handfuls of it onto his head, rubbing his bare skin vigorously.
Jane understood that she was expected to do the same, so she did, suppressing the urge to shudder at what amounted to taking a cold bath with a handful of strangers.
Evidently, it wasn’t enough. Someone grabbed her shoulders, and before Jane could protest, dunked her backwards into the water. It was just enough warning for Jane to close her eyes and hold her breath.
She was pulled back up, panting, and found herself staring into the eyes of the woman with the ponytail.
“Grace ee bendictions,” the woman said, pulling Jane back to her feet.
Jane tasted salt on her lips and spat into the water.
It was up to her shoulders by the time they reached the boat. She held her fear in check with deep breaths, bracing herself against the waves that sloshed into her face and threatened to pull her off her feet. She was suddenly grateful for the ponytailed woman’s hand on her arm.
The people waiting on the boat lowered a rope ladder and hoisted Jane, Roman, and their sodden captors into the boat and distributed blankets. Once they were all aboard, ponytail hauled up the rope and the boat sped away.
Jane stood at the side of the boat and gripped the rail with one hand and Roman’s arm with the other. Even with the blanket around her shoulders, the breeze was cold enough to leave her shivering. Still, the cold was a welcome distraction from the discomfort building in her gut. She kept her gaze fixed on the dead city as they sped by. The ruined buildings stretched on even longer than she had imagined.
Then, they ended, and she saw nothing but distant miles of flat sea.
Jane
heaved her head over the railing and vomited.
She felt Roman’s hands on her neck, pulling her hair away from her face. When she was done, he put one arm around her shoulders.
She gazed into the sea beneath them. Muddy green and so deep it was opaque. A spray of water splashed her face, and she flinched.
Even though her stomach was as empty as the horizon, Jane felt another wave of sickness roiling inside her.
“It helps to look at a fixed point on the horizon,” Roman said.
“There’s nothing,” Jane said, and the realization washed panic over her.
But he pointed over her shoulder.
She turned. The mass on the water was too far away to be more than a dim shape, but it spread across the horizon like the islands they’d left dwindling in their wake.
“Salvage,” Roman said. “The city of ships.”
Jane leaned over the railing and vomited again.
* * *
“Asi you pass aki,” the interrogator said.
Jane nodded. She was all out of words. All that remained was to see if he’d bought them.
“Tu companyero with the injured face, who ess?”
“I told you, Roman’s a bureaucrat who was working for the wrong side. Not important enough to spare, just important enough to punish,” she said, keeping her voice carefully even.
“No, who ess pa’ you?”
Jane hesitated. She’d been so busy – first trying to free him, then running with him – that she hadn’t had much opportunity to consider who they were to each other besides collaborators.
“I guess it’s complicated,” Jane said.
He gave a dry laugh. “Always ess. Ee what can you realize?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“If you stay, you gotta function. Make labor. So, what can you realize?”
Jane understood what he was looking for. “I can clean,” she said. “Purify.”
His grin was so sudden it was startling. “In that caso, bienvenido to Salvage.”
Chapter 11