He’d never seen anything so glorious.
If they worked the way he’d heard, they’d make all the difference in the fight against the people of Halifax.
Not for the first time, Jonas felt a frustration as he looked around at the rusted pieces of metal on the wall, most of which seemed insignificant in comparison. Perhaps they had possessed meaning to the gods, at one time, but now they were little more than scraps for the forge, hardly good enough to be made into knives or swords, or pots to cook food.
The things outside were different.
They were special.
Even without seeing them work, Jonas knew. He needed to get his hands on them, to figure them out. Those artifacts were more important than the ticking object in his pocket, or any of the other things he spent his life polishing.
Jonas was mulling those thoughts over when Deacon walked back into the building. Having seen him coming, Jonas had moved away from the windows and positioned himself in front of one of the old relics. He stared at the wall, feigning interest in an old, angular object.
“Not as interesting as the objects outside, I imagine,” Deacon said, making it clear he knew Jonas was watching.
Jonas stepped away from the wall, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Interesting, nevertheless,” he responded quietly.
“The strangers are gone,” Deacon said. “They’re careful with the weapons, as I expected. It will take some time to earn their trust.”
“Time we might not have,” Jonas said. “What are you going to do?”
Deacon fell silent for a moment. “The girl, Flora, might’ve been right about the man, Bray. He might be an additional hindrance, rather than a help. I am going to test his skill. I should be able to determine his worth quickly.”
“How?”
“It sounds like Bray will join one of our hunting parties. If he doesn’t go on his own, I will send Bartholomew to reinforce the suggestion.”
“How about the boy?”
“It is too early to broach the subject of his power, but he seems sick enough that I hope they will stay longer.” Deacon thought for a moment. “The girl who brought them here, Flora, has built trust with them. They shared a long journey together. They fought the men from Halifax. Perhaps she is a good resource, as she suggested. She can get information, and keep me posted on them. I can use her to deliver news that I want them to hear.”
“A good plan,” Jonas said.
“We will see what happens. If they don’t cooperate, I will need to make another decision. Once the Halifax men figure out how to use their god weapons, we might suffer an attack.” Deacon paused. “Possibly, even a war.”
“I agree,” said Jonas. “We don’t have much time.”
Chapter 54: Bray
It was mid-afternoon when Bray, Kirby, and William returned to the wooden house. Bray unslung his bag and placed it on the table. He looked around the small, hunter’s dwelling, which was starting to feel like home, or as much like home as any place to a man who was used to making his bed in the wild. He stoked the fire that had burned down in their absence.
“What did you think of Deacon?” he asked, poking the fire’s ashes.
“He reminds me of most leaders I’ve met,” Kirby said. “Charismatic, but with a danger underneath.”
“He was very forthright about the guns,” Bray admitted. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“He told some fascinating stories,” William said.
Kirby said, “As much as I do not trust him, I did not get the sense we are in immediate danger. We are of use to him. He believes we have information that will help him.”
“All we need is enough time for William to recuperate,” Bray said. “Then we can leave, and we won’t have to worry about it.”
“Are you really going to join a hunting party?” William asked Bray as he lay down in his blankets, obviously tired from the short trip.
Bray already felt the pull of hunger after what had been a meager breakfast. “That might be a good idea. We only have a little squirrel left, and I didn’t see much else around. These people will know the best spots for game on the mainland.”
“A rabbit would taste good about now,” William said wistfully.
With a grin, Bray said, “Maybe I’ll get lucky and score us a fat pig.”
“When are you thinking of leaving?” William asked.
“Tomorrow at dawn. Bartholomew said I could meet one of the parties on the bridge, whenever I liked.”
“I wish I could go,” William said with a look of disappointment on his face. “I’d like to hunt something larger than a rabbit.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for that, when you’re better,” Bray promised.
“The hunting trip will help us,” Kirby said. “But we will need food for tonight and tomorrow.”
“I might be able to catch more squirrels.” Bray shrugged.
“Perhaps, or I can pick up something at the market that they were setting up, the one we passed on the way to the island with Bartholomew.”
“Do you think it’s still open?” Bray asked.
“I assume it closes when the sun sets. We still have a few more hours until then.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Bray couldn’t hide his doubt. “These people are interested enough in us already. Being seen in a place with so many people might be a risk. It might give them ideas.”
“If I can find something to trade, it might be worth it,” Kirby said, motioning to the bag on her back. “Maybe I can trade for some of those canned vegetables to sustain us while you are on your hunting trip. If they wanted to find us, they already know where we are. We are in no more danger there than here.”
Bray wasn’t sold on the idea, but he asked, “Do you have anything in that bag that you’d be willing to give up?”
“A few things,” Kirby said vaguely, but she didn’t elaborate.
Bray knew Kirby wouldn’t be dissuaded, if that were what she wanted to do. She was already moving for the door. “Do you want to take one of my horses?” he asked.
“Leading a horse through a crowd doesn’t seem like a good idea, or a practical one,” Kirby said. “The horses are tired. I could use a walk.”
“Maybe you should hide your guns, when you go,” William suggested.
“I’m not sure that will work for my rifle,” Kirby said with a thin smile, gesturing to the large gun on her back. “But I’ll do my best. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Chapter 55: Kirby
Kirby’s breath misted the air as she walked along the dirt path. She glanced at the trees and houses around her, thinking she might see soldiers, but she saw none. A woman carrying several buckets walked past her, smiling reservedly. A few children stopped whatever game they were playing to watch her walk.
Kirby wasn’t foolish enough to trust the islanders, but at least they were leaving her alone to her thoughts.
She wound with the trail over root-covered ground and past copses of trees. With so many days spent fighting, or tracking William, she hadn’t had a moment to herself in a while.
As hesitant as Kirby was about the islands, she could get used to a place with no mutants lurking in the trees, lusting for her flesh. It was nice to live without one of the threats she normally faced.
The island had its problems. She recalled what Deacon had told them. The people of Halifax were a looming threat. And what if a horde of mutants as large as the one that attacked Brighton attacked here?
She might not be forced to fight others’ wars, or battle other slaves, but the threats would never cease.
Kirby longed for a place of peace—not a place surrounded by walls, or bridges, or stockades, but a place where she could live the rest of her life without having to use a knife, gun, or grenade. She’d once accepted that she’d meet her end in a mutant’s mouth, or die in one of the wars that seemed to follow her.
But she hadn’t given up on her fooli
sh hope of a golden palace in the clouds.
Perhaps one day she’d find it.
Whether that was with or without her current companions, she didn’t know.
She was worried about that, too.
She couldn’t get her mind off one of the conversations she’d had with William. He’d expressed his fear about losing his capacity to make choices. Kirby had that same worry. If she were still with William and Bray, would she harm them?
In recent weeks, she’d learned some things that made her question whether the infected all went insane. There was a possibility some infected got smarter. But was that a hope she could count on?
Kirby was infected. More than likely, the spore would twist her mind, much as it had twisted the minds of the people in her settlement. She recalled several of the faces of her fellow settlers as they’d torched New Hope’s walls. They had seemed so rational, so calm, even in their insanity. They thought that by burning the walls around them, they’d find freedom. Instead, they found death at the hands of the mutants, or burnt themselves to death in the fire’s flames.
Putting those unresolved thoughts aside, she walked until she reached the island’s main road. Looking left, she saw some of the tradesmen’s houses. To the right was the section of the road they’d taken earlier to the second island, winding through the trees.
Following a few women who were heading up the road with large, empty baskets, Kirby crossed the road and entered a path that led to the eastern half of the island. One of the women glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of Kirby, and said something to the woman next to her. The second woman whispered and looked over her shoulder.
Kirby kept her head down and kept walking.
Chapter 56: Flora
Flora kept within the trees behind Kirby. Her initial plan had been to visit the strangers and get information she could relay to Deacon. On the way, she’d spotted Kirby walking alone.
Perhaps she could learn something by keeping out of sight.
Kirby had no particular reason to suspect her of anything. Flora had done her best to ingratiate herself with the strangers, in hopes that her proposal to Deacon would be accepted. By earning the strangers’ trust, she hoped to earn her life and another chance at fulfilling her duties to The Arches.
Earlier, Bartholomew had found her fishing on the river in one of her usual spots, and relayed a message from Deacon.
Keep track of the strangers. You are to report their whereabouts and any information to Deacon.
Deacon’s message meant he’d seen Flora’s usefulness. And usefulness was a way to avoid death.
Perhaps she was on the way to greater things, after all.
Thanking the gods for her luck, Flora crept from tree to tree, heading down the path. It seemed as if Kirby was heading in the direction of the market. She hid not only from Kirby, but also from the two women walking ahead of her. The last thing Flora needed was someone to strike up conversation, or give away her position.
Her task might be the only thing keeping her alive.
Chapter 57: Kirby
Kirby followed the women with baskets until she saw a clearing in the distance. A large, wooden structure sat in the middle of a field, supported with beams and with no walls. A slew of islanders mingled underneath. Inside were numerous crudely constructed tables, or blankets that had been set up inside on the ground to form aisles. The people were bent down, perusing various wares, or talking with the people kneeling or sitting behind the objects on display. Others were outside, looking at objects they’d obtained as they surrounded several fires. The two women Kirby had followed wove into the crowd and disappeared, heading toward some particular blanket or table of interest, or perhaps trying to get away from Kirby.
Based on Bartholomew’s conversation about the population of the islands, Kirby guessed a large portion of the islands’ population was here.
Most of the people wore thick coats, pants, and boots. A greater number than Kirby might expect wore scars of battle on their faces. Guards stood in several places outside the large wooden structure, identifiable by their rigid posture and their strict attention to the people. A few caught sight of Kirby, making no moves to mask their stares.
As she got closer, people traded whispers and looked in her direction. Some unabashedly stared. The attention spread as more people caught wind of her presence. Kirby had already pulled her jacket down over her pistol and her grenades before she left, but she couldn’t do much about the rifle, part of which hung out of the bag on her back. She wouldn’t leave it behind.
She suddenly felt as if she were back in the arena, forced to fight in her homeland while a crowd of people gawked at her from the sidelines. She understood the islanders’ caution, but she wanted to be away from the attention. She thought back to Bray’s warning.
“Being in a place with so many people might be a risk. It might give them ideas.”
She reached the edge of the wooden structure, nodding as she passed a soldier.
The soldier didn’t react. She kept going into one of the aisles, hoping to conceal herself in some part of the crowd that hadn’t noticed her. She walked until she reached an area where most were engaged in conversation. None looked at her. Some leaned over tables. Others sifted through baskets, or held up items as they discussed what they should trade. She caught fragments of conversation as she kept walking.
“A rabbit fur for a jar of pickles?”
“I’m not looking for tomatoes today.”
One woman pointed away from her blanket. “If you’re looking for shoes, you’ll have better luck with Lucy down on the end.”
Kirby kept walking until she came across a blanket covered in glass jars like the ones they’d seen on the road earlier. All of the jars were clear and lined up by the color of the vegetables inside. The tops were made of wood, sealed with some kind of clear substance. She looked from the jars to the woman behind the wares, who was sitting on an overturned pushcart. The woman had dark hair and a sun-beaten face. It was hard to determine her age. Her expression, filled with hope when she first saw a customer, turned to fear as she saw Kirby, her strange coat, and the top of the rifle hanging out of her bag.
“Is that beeswax?” Kirby asked, pointing to the clear substance holding the lid of the jars to the glass.
The woman nodded, fixated on Kirby. “That’s how we seal ’em.”
Kirby picked up a jar of peppers and looked it over. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten fresh vegetables. Ever since her settlement had been overrun, she’d been subsisting on a diet of mostly animals, doing whatever she needed to keep from starving.
The woman watched Kirby as if she might run off with the jar. Feeling uncomfortable, Kirby set down the peppers and looked over some jars of green beans, corn, and potatoes.
“Do you have something to trade?” the woman asked, perhaps considering asking her to leave.
Kirby looked over her shoulder, noticing a few of the guards walking in her direction, pretending they were patrolling, but obviously observing.
Kirby slowly removed her pack, opening it so she could sift through the interior. “I might have some things to trade,” she said. “I’ll just need a moment.”
She looked through a few knives, mostly taken from the bodies of her dead people, and a few pouches that she’d been hoping to refill with dried meat and fruits. She also had spare ammunition, which was running lower than she liked. She looked behind her, noticing the guards passing by. They stopped a few layers of people behind her and talked in low tones.
Turning her attention back to the bag, she hesitated as she passed over a small, metal object. The woman leaned over, catching a glimpse.
“What’s that?” the woman asked, her curiosity getting the better of her fear.
“A gift from a friend,” Kirby said, stuffing the metal object underneath some pouches.
“It looks as if it might be something to trade,” the woman said.
“It’s sentimental,”
Kirby said. “Of little value to anyone but me.”
“Perhaps I’ll consider a deal on the vegetables, if you let me see what it is.”
Kirby hesitated for another moment before pulling out the small, silver circle. Most of the memories of her homeland had been tossed long ago. She had no relatives, no one to mourn her, if she were to die tomorrow. But this one thing she’d kept, probably because it was small enough to carry.
A man named Gerald from New Hope had given it to her. She still remembered the moment. They’d been sailing to the new land, leaning over the edge of the ship and watching the clear horizon and the endless blue water. It had been days since they left their homeland, a place they considered hell. They were grateful to be alive. Their conversation had settled into a lull when Gerald had pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Kirby. Whether it was the hope of the future or the beautiful view in front of them, she wasn’t sure, but he’d told her to keep it.
It was a gift from his mother, he’d said. A present before he was shipped off to war, after someone had discovered he was infected and reported him.
Gerald had assured her he expected nothing in return. Kirby had reluctantly taken it.
A week later, Gerald had died. Perhaps he’d known death was coming, or perhaps he wished to pass the token on to someone who would remember him.
The woman looked Kirby up and down, studying her jacket, the rifle, and her face, probably comparing what she’d heard to what she was seeing. “Where did you come from?” she whispered, looking around at a few other people, who had already noticed them and stopped trading.
“A settlement to the south,” Kirby said. Hoping to avoid further questioning, she added, “Not so different than here.”
The woman nodded, but she still held a look of fear and distrust.
“This is what you wanted to see,” Kirby said, holding up the round, metal object in her palm.
The woman’s eyes widened as she stared at the silver circle. “What does it do?”
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