The Ruins Box Set

by T. W. Piperbrook

  Kirby shook her head. “I learned how to operate them. That is all. Most of that knowledge is left in my homeland. But I won’t ever reach that land again. And I wouldn’t want to.” Kirby fell silent.

  Jonas saw something in her face that told him not to ask more about it. “I won’t keep you much longer.”

  Kirby helped him identify several other objects, all of which were decrepit and of no use, after which Jonas made good on his promise, entering a room and emerging with a sack full of round, metal objects, similar to the one on the bottom of the horse’s feet. Now, she was walking down the hallway with a heavier bag than when she went in. Jonas seemed grateful for her knowledge as he escorted her toward the door.

  “As I said, you’ll need to get the horseshoes sized to fit your horses’ feet,” Jonas said, reaching the exit. “Our horses died before we used them. But I think they will be of use to you.”

  “I appreciate it,” Kirby said. She adjusted the rifle and the heavy bag on her back.

  Jonas was a strange man, indeed. Strange, but harmless. Jonas opened the door, ushering her out into a day with more sunlight than she remembered. She shielded her eyes from the glare.

  She was surprised to see several silhouettes in the distance. They were standing next to two of her horses.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, turning around to find Jonas finishing locking the door.

  “Deacon would like to speak with you,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Kirby halted and stepped away from Jonas, confused.

  “I wouldn’t think about reaching for your guns,” Jonas said, giving her a look of warning. “Not if you ever want to see William alive again.”

  Chapter 24: Bray

  Bray opened his eyes to a piercing ray of sunlight. He was lying on a bed of rocks near the stream, using his hands as a pillow. His fire had gone out. He felt as if a horse had trampled him. His joints were even sorer than the day before. His clothes were tacky with dried blood. He’d only meant to sleep for a few hours, long enough to regain some strength, before waking early in the morning and deciding on a direction.

  He was lucky to be alive.

  The soldiers could’ve come for him while he was sleeping.

  Forcing himself to his feet, he grunted and looked around. The forest was as lifeless as when he’d trudged through it the night before, getting as far as he could before darkness hit. He’d built a hidden fire next to a ravine of uprooted trees along a rocky hill, sloping upwards sharply enough that a demon, or a man, would trip on the way down. Turning, he saw nothing lurking there.

  He snatched his knife from the rocks where he’d lain. His mouth was dry; his lips were cracked and cold. Except for his knife, he’d lost everything; even his flask. Scooting over to the stream on the other side of the fire, he stooped and drank with his hands. The water felt good on a throat that had been filled with mucky, dirt-filled river water the day before. His stomach was empty, with a hollow, sick feeling to it. He thought back to the last meal he’d eaten, a quick few bites of leftover game from the meal he’d shared with the hunters. Bastards. They’d known what was going to happen.

  He needed to get some food in his body. He needed to keep moving.

  A noise made him tense.

  He stopped drinking and looked around, certain that he’d awoken to an ambush, or that soldiers had betrayed themselves and were going to attack. He saw nothing but leafless trees, rocks, and fallen limbs poking out of the white, snow-covered ground. An eerie calm had settled over the landscape that he didn’t like. It felt as if eyes were watching him.

  Had an animal heard him and stopped foraging?

  Was it a soldier’s footstep?

  He waited a long time, listening as a cold breeze kicked up and rustled the last of the oak leaves clinging to the trees. After a while, seeing and hearing nothing, he quietly kicked out the fire, then made his way through the forest. Food could wait. He needed to gain more distance from the islands. It was possible that the soldiers had already given up their pursuit and gone back to The Arches, if they’d come after him at all. But there was a chance they’d camped elsewhere, and had picked up his trail. He needed to make progress.

  Bray walked through the forest next to the stream, keeping away from thick patches of snow to avoid more tracks. His breath steamed the air. He walked for what felt like a long while, unable to stop his mind from roaming to the attack, and the moments preceding it.

  In the flurry of the altercation and the tense hours afterward, he hadn’t had time to reflect on the details. Now he was putting some things together. He remembered the conversation he’d had with Bartholomew and Jonathan. They’d talked with Levi and Hildebrand before coming to get him.

  They’d mentioned the deer.

  He recalled the expression on Jonathan’s face, some of the last words he’d spoken before the soldiers appeared.

  The deer could’ve fed more people.

  Our people believe in working together.

  By the sounds of it, the hunt had been a test. Perhaps the islanders had made a choice to kill Bray. Perhaps that same choice hadn’t been made for Kirby and William.

  Perhaps they were still alive.

  Were they trapped on the islands? Were they injured and bleeding, subject to Bartholomew and Deacon’s whims? Maybe death was a better hope.

  Bray’s survival instincts told him to get far away from the scheming, lying men who had deceived them. He could head in any direction he wanted, get far from the islands, and carve out a new life in the wild. Perhaps he’d even find a town that wasn’t filled with as many greedy, bloodthirsty men. Maybe he’d even find a group of lascivious women to keep him warm, if he survived that long.

  But he knew that was a lie.

  He couldn’t make that choice.

  Looking at the ground, spotting a few squirrel prints in the snow, he couldn’t help but think of William, and the first days he’d met the boy, teaching him to track in the wild. He thought of the words he’d spoken to William, the last time he’d seen him.

  You’re going to get better, and I’ll be here when you do.

  And the day after that.

  We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.

  Death was the way of things.

  But what if William wasn’t dead?

  Bray stopped as he made the only choice he could, looking over his shoulder.

  Returning to the islands would be a foolish mistake. He knew that, and so did the soldiers. Guards were keeping watch at the bridge, of course, and probably along the island’s riverbank where he’d fallen. But if he were to head farther south, along the mountains overlooking the river, perhaps he could get a view of the second island. Maybe he could even get close enough to see something.

  He doubted he’d find Kirby and William, but there was a chance.

  Worst case, he’d satisfy the voice in his head, whispering that they were alive, and that he could do something.

  Making his decision, he cut south and back west again, using the sun as a guide, making his way through the forest for half a day, until the sun crept higher in the sky, splashing warmth against his face and ridding some of the winter chill. A few times, he saw a squirrel leaping from a tree, chattering as it moved. Occasionally, a bird squawked and took flight. He traveled over hills and snow that was shallower, when fewer trees covered the ground, and then deeper again.

  He walked until he had made his way to the edge of the mountain slope. As he got closer, he saw another range of mountains far off in the distance, assumedly over the river—the ones that he, Kirby, and William had ridden down days earlier, on their way to the islands.

  Reaching a break in the trees, he crouched as he looked down over a steep, snowy slope. Deep in the distance, past several more steep slopes that leveled off and then descended again, a solid mass of murky blackness cut through the landscape. The river. In the middle of the river was one of the islands. He searched for buildings, or people.

  He was too
far away.

  He would need to get closer. That would mean cutting down at least one or more of the slopes, carrying the risk of being seen to anyone on the islands who might get a better view of him as he descended. His plan was foolish. He would never get close enough without risking death. But he couldn’t live without knowing if William and Kirby were dead. What to do? Bray shook his head as he realized neither decision was right.

  Something crunched the snow behind him.

  A sharp metal blade kissed the side of his neck.

  “Don’t move,” someone said.

  Chapter 25: Kirby

  Kirby looked between Jonas and the four silhouettes in the distance. One of them looked like Deacon. The others were holding two of the horses’ reigns, watching her. A horse was missing.

  “Come on,” said Jonas. “Let’s go. Slowly.”

  If she were alone, Kirby would’ve drawn her guns and shot her way off the islands. She would’ve killed these men before they could get close, or tried anything. But they had William, from what Jonas said. She followed Jonas slowly across the yard, looking around her for anyone who might be trying to rush her, but she saw no one else. They had her in a position. They knew it.

  Bastards.

  She advanced within ten feet of the men and stopped, anger creeping in as she realized she’d been tricked. Deacon’s face held a hint of triumph as he appraised her and Jonas.

  “I hope you had a nice tour of our relics,” Deacon said.

  “What do you want?”

  “Jonas told you about William, of course,” Deacon reiterated.

  “I heard what he said.” Kirby stared at him, resentment in her eyes.

  Deacon’s face held no fear as he looked at her weapons. “I won’t be coy. I have several soldiers watching us right now. One of them has your third horse, and William. They’ve taken him away. If something happens to us, my soldier will kill William before you get past this island. And you wouldn’t get far, anyway.”

  “I could kill every one of you,” Kirby said through gritted teeth. “And I could do it before you blink.”

  “You might kill some of us,” Deacon admitted. “But not all. What was that word you used when we spoke before? Ammunition, I believe you called it?”

  Kirby cursed the information they’d given him.

  “You told me you had limited resources. I might not know much about your guns, but I believe what you said was true. There are a thousand people on this island. You can tell me you would kill all of us, but we both know that’s a lie. You and William will die long before that happens.” Deacon smiled as he spoke words he’d obviously been thinking about, probably since they first spoke.

  Kirby looked around, as if she might find William and the missing steed, even though she knew they were out of reach. She nodded through an anger she had learned to control. She’d been through enough negotiations to know how this went. “You want my guns.”

  “Not exactly true,” Deacon said, watching her.

  Kirby didn’t respond. She might be trapped in this man’s game, but she wouldn’t kowtow.

  “I want more than two,” Deacon said, with a look of determination. “I need enough for my soldiers.”

  “I’ve already told you the rest are gone,” Kirby said, annoyed. “Stolen. I have no more. You won’t get them back without an army.”

  Jonas cleared his throat, stepping away from Kirby and walking to join Deacon. “I heard what you said in the building. You have knowledge beyond what our people have. You’re smart. You have more hidden, or you can find a way to make them.”

  “You can show us how,” Deacon finished. He glanced sideways at his soldiers, who seemed just as curious for the answer.

  “If I had that knowledge, wouldn’t I have armed my friends?” Kirby asked with obvious irritation. “I’m a soldier, not a weapon maker. My people were the same as yours. We all had different skills.”

  “Perhaps you lack the resources,” Jonas said with an emphatic nod. “But we have them here. Surely you can figure it out, with your knowledge.”

  “There are components to these weapons that you can’t see, without looking at them. I would never be able to construct them without the materials or the knowledge to put them together. Unfortunately, most of that knowledge died with my people in the fires, or dissolved in the mutant’s stomachs.”

  “A shame,” Deacon said, disappointment crossing his face. “I was hoping for a different answer.”

  Watching his face, Kirby wished she could retract the statement. She might as well be handing over her life, and William’s. She’d never fight her way out, once she started shooting. She might take down these men, and plenty more, but she’d never get past all the guards with her limited ammunition. Deacon was right. He might not know much about her weapons, but he knew enough.

  Kirby was smart enough to know she couldn’t hand over her guns. She glanced down at her jacket, ensuring her grenades were covered, as she’d been doing since she went to the market. They were a last resort.

  But she was in a trap she saw no way out of.

  Jonas and Deacon shared a glance that showed they were on the verge of a decision. Kirby pictured William with a knife or a sword to his neck. He’d be killed, if she didn’t think of something. She’d never get to Deacon and these men, or force them to tell her anything, without risking William’s life. She pictured the people of New Hope—the gnawed bodies littered around the settlement, the people trapped in the towers, fire licking their skin as they drew their last breaths.

  The towers.

  “Wait,” she said, buying time to speak. “There are more guns.”

  “A lie will get William killed,” Deacon warned.

  “I’m not lying,” Kirby said, and she wasn’t. “The stash of guns I had is gone. That is true. But there are other guns, trapped in some of the towers with the bodies. Most have probably burned beyond functioning. But your blacksmiths might be able to fix some of them.”

  Deacon and Jonas stared at her silently, trying to determine a truth from a lie.

  “I doubt the Halifax men got to all of them. I think I can make them work.”

  “What of the ammunition you spoke about?” Deacon asked.

  “There are brass casings in my settlement, remnants of the guns’ ammunition. They litter the ground there. They can be reused. They had no use to me, at the time, but between my knowledge and your people’s, I’m sure we can make them work again.”

  Kirby kept her face hard. It was a stretch that could turn into a truth, if she needed it to. Or at least buy her enough time to come up with another plan. William’s life counted on it. Kirby tensed, waiting for a verdict that might mean a battle she wouldn’t win.

  Deacon looked to Jonas. Jonas looked back.

  “If I have the components here, and the example of her working weapons, we might be able to figure it out,” Jonas said with a shrug. More quietly, he added, “I don’t see as we have a choice. The Halifax men will be coming.”

  Deacon stared at the pistol on her hip. “How many guns might be at the settlement?”

  “Dozens, I would guess,” Kirby said. “Perhaps more. My people had lots of guns, and many were buried in the towers with them. It will depend on how many we can pull out, and what condition they are in.”

  Deacon seemed pleased. He beckoned to two of the three soldiers. “Ruben and Heinrich will accompany you. So will Jonas. You will ride out to the settlement and bring back as many guns as you can find, along with these casings.”

  “Should we bring more men to carry them?” Jonas asked.

  Deacon shook his head. “I have a group already at the settlement, or perhaps on the way back. I sent them with Flora’s directions. Ruben and Heinrich know the course they took. You will meet with them, and direct them to the guns. If you come across the soldiers and they are empty-handed, let them know my wish is for them to accompany you. Kirby can show them where to look for the guns, and the objects called casings.”
/>   “Will do, sir,” Jonas said.

  Deacon looked at Kirby. With a stone face, he said, “If you are not back in three nights, William will breathe his last breaths on the island.”

  “Three nights?” Kirby asked, pressing for more time.

  “Flora told me the settlement is a night away.”

  “It is a night and part of a day to get there, that is true,” Kirby said. “But we will need time to dig the guns from the rubble.”

  Jonas and Deacon exchanged an unreadable glance. “Four nights, or he dies,” Deacon said finally.

  “Plenty of time,” Jonas said with a definitive nod to Deacon. “We can meet the men, and bring back whatever we find.”

  With the edict spoken, the soldiers named Ruben and Heinrich started preparing the horses. Kirby felt a swell of anger at seeing how quickly they had taken over the animals. The third soldier kept a quiet vigil next to Deacon.

  “Shall I go, too?” he asked.

  “No. You will pick up after the horses,” Deacon said, motioning to the straw the animals didn’t eat.

  The soldier frowned, but he obeyed.

  Kirby clenched and unclenched her hands, still not certain she could refrain from pulling her guns and killing these men where they stood.

  “What about her guns?” Jonas asked Deacon, pointing at Kirby’s weapons, looking as if he might walk over and take them himself. Kirby tensed at the request she’d been expecting. She couldn’t comply. And she wouldn’t let them take her grenades.

  Deacon looked between Kirby and the weapons. “Keep them, for now.”

  Jonas paused in mid-stride. “Keep them?”

  Kirby furrowed her brow.

  “I would like the demonstration you denied me,” Deacon said.

  Confused, Kirby looked for the nearest trees, which were farther toward the island’s coasts.

  “Not there.” Deacon shook of his head. “Here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the soldier kneeling next to the hay. The yard fell silent as Heinrich and Ruben stopped tending the horses. Even Jonas looked shaken. Picking up on the quiet, the kneeling soldier looked up, dread crossing his face.