“You will need more time to recuperate,” Bray guessed.
“When will Samron come back?” Kirby asked.
“He told me he will spend time with the other Halifax men, finding others on the island, while some of his men guard us here,” Bray said. “They have much to figure out. He is going to explain his good intentions, but I am not sure what will happen.”
“Nor am I.”
“Most of the islanders are in hiding, though a few have come back for their children,” Bray said. “I saw Jaydra earlier. Samron allowed her in, escorted by his guards. She said a few islanders have talked about venturing into the forest, though I am not certain. With so many dead, there will be many things to clean up. It will take time to determine what will happen here. Samron will need to decide if, and when, he brings the rest of his people here.”
“Everything will settle. And then perhaps things will change again,” Kirby said, a cryptic look on her face.
“You look as if you don’t have hope for the islands.”
“I do not know what to think.” Kirby stared at the wall. “I felt the same way at my settlement. Even when we were safe, it felt as though I was waiting for something to take that safety away.”
“You want to leave,” Bray surmised.
“Perhaps not today, but soon,” she admitted. “I cannot live on another land where I have killed so many.”
Bray looked at William, who had opened his eyes as he listened. “I feel the same way,” William agreed, with a certainty in his voice that reminded Bray of how much he’d been through.
Bray watched them with a decision on his mind.
But it wasn’t really a decision.
They’d go together.
“Once we have rested, we will leave,” he said, closing his eyes for a long moment. “For now, we should take advantage of a warm place to rest.”
Chapter 87: Bray
The air was cold and crisp as Bray rode a horse, with Kirby and William behind on theirs, trotting up the sloping road, across the bridge, and over The Arches. Several guards nodded at them from the sides of the bridge, watching them with a fondness, perhaps even a pride. Halifax men. Bray nodded at the men as they rode past, looking out over the deep, raging water. A few days after the war, a hard winter rain had spilled from behind the clouds, filling the river, washing away much of the blood from the roads and melting most of the snow.
Now, the sun shone.
They trotted in silence over the bridge, past several more guards and through the gap next to the boulders, onto the road that was now mostly melted. Bray looked up and down the road, one direction going past the dam and north, the other south; both to places he’d never seen. His bag on his back was heavier than what he’d come in with—filled with supplies, knives, and ammunition taken off the bodies of dead Halifax men, those who had died before using it in the battle. They’d also found some better saddlebags, which they’d attached to the horses. After taking what they could carry, Kirby had graciously let the Halifax men keep the rest.
She adjusted the rifle slung over her shoulder as she followed Bray’s gaze.
“Any ideas on where to go?” Bray asked.
Kirby looked reflective. “When I was in the forest with Jonas, he told a story,” she said.
Bray didn’t hold back his disgust. “I wouldn’t believe a word he said.”
“I never did, but I believed this story, because it was told by someone else,” she said. “It was a story he heard from one of The Important Ones, a dying old man.”
“What was the story?” William asked curiously, from the back of Kirby’s horse.
“Who knows, it was probably a fool’s hope.” Kirby lowered her eyes. “The old man spoke of a place way farther south, where the devices of the people you call the Ancients still functioned. A place of peace.”
“The Ancients,” William said, with a strange smile at Bray that he didn’t understand.
“Jonas thought it was a delirious tale of a dying man,” Kirby said. “And who knows, he’s probably right.”
“It is a nice story,” Bray agreed.
“Perhaps I want to believe it, more than I think it is true.” Kirby shrugged.
Looking down at the pistol in his holster, Bray said, “If you had asked me a while ago, I never would have thought I’d carry a gun.”
“And I never thought I’d be riding a horse,” Kirby said with a thin smile.
“In any case, it sounds as good a direction as any.” Bray shrugged. “Why don’t we head south?”
“It is too bad you lost your father’s map,” William lamented as he looked at Bray.
Bray smiled as he looked over at William and Kirby. “Perhaps we can make a new one.”
William smiled back at Bray as they spurred the horses, riding down the road.
CONTINUED IN THE RUINS BOOK 2.5
THE RUINS 2.5
A Dystopian Society in a Post-Apocalyptic World
Bonus Novella - Book 2.5 of The Ruins Series
Preface
Welcome to Book 2.5 of The Ruins.
As you will see, some time passes between the stories in Books 2 and 3. This bonus adventure takes place during that gap.
The idea for this story germinated while I was walking on a local rail trail that runs adjacent to a wildlife management preserve. The trail is mostly long and flat, but one specific part rises above the landscape, overlooking a brook on one side, and three ponds on the other. A nasty rain had turned much of the surrounding area to mush, deepening the water, and creating pockets of mud everywhere.
Instantly, I thought of Bray, Kirby, and William traversing this landscape.
Like the other Ruins books, the ideas in this story are partly inspired by history. (In this case, a particular type of weaponry used in some early Roman battles.)
At the moment, we are living under the threat of COVID-19. I hope this bonus novella serves as an escape from all the tension, or at the very least, helps you pass the time!
Enjoy!
-Tyler Piperbrook
April 2020
Chapter 1 - Bray
“Demon soup.”
Bray drew his sword, leaned down from his horse, and dipped it into the brackish sludge. He couldn’t see much of the demons’ remains, but he could smell their rotten flesh in the muck beneath his horse’s hooves. Every so often, a jagged piece of bone floated up from the viscous brown mud, tricking him into thinking it was alive, or a half-chewed head bobbed to the top, then rolled and sank. Behind him, Kirby and William surveyed the scene from the back of the other steed.
“The mutants are starving, like we are,” Kirby said, clutching the rifle slung around her neck. “They’re slaughtering each other to eat.”
“How do you know?” William asked.
“Most of the barbarian tribes use their leftovers; they don’t leave bones behind,” Bray explained.
William nodded. The boy didn’t question him. As always, he listened attentively and learned.
Bray looked around at the yellow, tree-filled marshland through which they now traveled. He wished a luscious rabbit would leap from the brush and into his lap, offering up its juicy meat. It’d been about a month and a half since they left The Arches—the last large settlement in which they’d spent time—and his gut was snarling. In the past few days, all they’d seen were a few scrawny hares, squirrels, and demons. He wanted a satisfying meal as much as he desired a warm, inviting woman.
“Maybe we should’ve eaten that last group of demons.” Bray grimaced at his own suggestion, watching a bone float from the muck, disturbed by his horse’s slogging hooves.
“No,” William said, a faraway look in his eyes. “We can’t.” He wrestled with his thoughts. “I know they’re not my brothers, but I don’t think I could eat one.”
Of course, Bray had only been making a morbid joke.
The infected men were as grotesque as they were dangerous. The fungal warts that littered their bodies and their putri
d stench were enough to turn any man’s stomach. In the time he’d traveled with Kirby and William, they’d come across far too many of them.
And one day, Kirby and William would become like them: vile, twisted creatures devoid of all human decency.
The knowledge of his companions’ infection resurfaced every time he watched them sleep, wondering what he would do when he treaded this foreign land alone.
Thankfully, their infection was still at bay.
“In any case, we have to find food soon, or my stomach will eat itself.” Bray turned sideways, giving Kirby a salacious grin. “Even Kirby is starting to look delicious to me.”
Kirby rolled her eyes.
Replacing his sword in its sheath, Bray gripped the rifle he had slung around his neck, reining his mount through mud that splashed up on its flanks, while Kirby and William followed close. Every now and again, the horses snorted, clearly tired of the terrain. They needed rest. They’d traveled in this yellowed muck too long.
Bray surveyed the land ahead of them, searching for higher ground, but the mud lay thick in every direction. Overhead, ominous, gray clouds darkened the sky.
Hoping to distract from the increasingly gloomy mood, he asked his companions, “Did I ever tell you about Nessie?”
“Another one of your pub women?” Kirby made a face.
“No.” Bray laughed. “She’s a legendary animal among us Wardens. Or used to be, when I lived in Brighton.”
William listened intently.
“As you know, we Wardens believe that killing a deer is bad luck. But this creature isn’t a deer; she’s…something else.” Bray lifted his chin, drawing his companions into his tale. “According to the few men lucky enough to have seen her, Nessie is twice the size of a normal deer, with enormous, powerful antlers.”
Kirby frowned. “Female deer don’t have antlers.”
“This one does,” Bray said convincingly.
Kirby looked as if she might argue, before giving up.
Continuing, Bray said, “Some say her horns are wider across than a man’s height. If any man were to get close to Nessie, she’d gore or trample him.”
William opened and closed his mouth. “By the gods…”
“Only a few Wardens and hunters have seen her in the north,” Bray kept on. “The people in Brighton used to place bets on who might spot or kill her. Most think she can’t die.”
“Have you glimpsed her?” William asked.
“If I had, I’d be the hero of a Brighton pub.” Bray smiled good-naturedly.
“Where has she been spotted?”
“Way up near Brighton. Even the demons haven’t been able to take her down. They say that just getting close to her would be a danger. She’s without a doubt the most perilous creature in the north.”
“It’s too bad we are in the south,” William lamented.
They fell silent for a moment, lost in their thoughts, perhaps thinking of how far they’d come. Too many miles stood between them and anything they knew. They’d all made the decision to leave Brighton behind, but every so often, nostalgia struck Bray and William.
After a few more moments of riding, Kirby laughed.
“Wait, did you say your people called the creature Nessie?”
“That’s right,” Bray affirmed.
She chortled.
“What’s so funny?”
“The creature you describe sounds like a moose, but the name you gave her is from a fictitious story that the people in my homeland tell our children.” Kirby made no effort to hide her amusement. “‘Nessie’ refers to the lady of Loch Ness.”
“Loch Ness?” Bray tried pronouncing the strange words. “What is that?”
“It’s a body of water across the ocean, close to where I lived,” Kirby said. “They say Nessie—the monster of Loch Ness—is the last of her kind, a remnant from some strange creatures that lived thousands of years ago.”
“What kind of animal is Nessie?”
“Some say she is a water dragon.”
“A water dragon?” Bray scoffed. “I’ve never heard of something like that. I think your people are confused.”
“Your people were the ones who thought guns were ‘Tech Magic,’” Kirby shrugged, looking down at the rifle in her hands.
“There’s no need to reiterate how my people had no guns, and your people had no horses,” Bray said.
“True, but it sounds like you are conflating a moose with a mythological creature.”
“How do you know Nessie isn’t real?” Bray asked, testing her.
“I just know,” Kirby said.
Swallowing his ego, he asked, “What do you know about these creatures you call ‘moose?’”
“Not much, other than what I told you. They are huge, powerful animals that resemble deer and have giant antlers. We didn’t have any in my homeland, but it is rumored they existed there many years ago,” Kirby said. “They are one of many animals I have never seen, but of which I’ve heard stories.”
“So Nessie—my moose from the north—might be the only one left.”
“If you want to call her Nessie, I won’t stop you. In any case, talking about your northern moose will not solve our problem of hunger, now that we are in the south.”
“And neither will talking about your water dragon.” Bray smiled back.
Kirby waved a dismissive hand, while William looked through the trees.
Stroking his burgeoning beard, Bray proclaimed, “One day, I’ll find Nessie, and you’ll see that my stories are true. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even find your water dragon.”
Kirby laughed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
**
They traveled through the marsh for most of the morning, finding no sign of edible plants or game, pushing the horses further than they intended. At midday, the horses were traveling slower, dipping their heads, making it clear they didn’t want to trot much farther through their wet surroundings.
Searching for drier, easier land, Bray finally spotted an incline through the trees. Pointing it out to Kirby and William, he said, “Let’s head that way.”
They steered their horses in that direction, climbing a rocky, mud-slicked slope that challenged the steeds, finally reaching a summit with thick vegetation. A long, straight path ran north and south, covered in weeds and grasses. On the other side, Bray could see an equally steep slope. Halting their horses, they dismounted and tied them to a tree that grew at the path’s edge. The animals grazed while the riders sipped from their flasks.
Bray stretched his legs. As much as he appreciated riding, it was good be on the ground again. “I wish we’d found this high path earlier,” he said. “It would’ve saved us trouble.” Studying the trail in both directions, he asked Kirby, “What is this path?”
“My guess is that this was built by the people you call the Ancients to run the machines called ‘trains,’” Kirby said, pointing far into the distance, where the path nearly vanished. “They constructed raised beds like these for them to run, in order to navigate the terrain. However, I don’t see any remnants of the metal tracks they would’ve used.”
Bray nodded. It was still hard for him to believe that the Ancients simply left those precious metals in the wild, where anyone could pilfer them. Obviously, the “tracks” had been stolen.
Speaking of trains always fascinated him. Envisioning the enormous, metal monsters roaring over the trail all those years ago, he felt a prickle of awe. Each story Kirby told of the past fascinated him more than the last. As much as he quipped with Kirby, he trusted her.
He looked over at William, who had spotted something by his boot and bent down to study it. “What is it?” Bray asked. “Another of your medicinal herbs?”
“A patch of clover,” William said, sorting through a cluster of round-edged plants. He plucked one up.
Bray grinned. “A four-leafed one?”
William shrugged. “No, but I’m going to keep looking. My mother always told me they were ra
re.”
“I remember doing the same thing as a child,” Bray said. “I never found one. I think they are as rare as moose.”
“We’ll see,” William said with a confident smile.
“Maybe you can find some more herbs to add to our stock,” Kirby said hopefully, patting the bag on her back.
“Maybe.”
Bray grinned at William’s attentive searching. William had been through so much that Bray often forgot he was a boy, still growing and learning. Leaving him to his diversion, he walked a dozen steps with Kirby toward the path’s western edge, surveying the equally dreary landscape.
Moss and mud grew on the downward sloping bank. Beyond it, swaths of the same dark-colored trees broke up the flat, muddy ground. The area was as desolate as the one on which they’d journeyed. He saw no obvious signs of game, or shelter. Disappointment washed over him.
“At least we found a place to ride easier,” Bray said.
One of the horses snorted and stamped.
Bray tensed. He scanned the marsh below, noticing how quiet everything seemed to have turned.
Down near the bottom of the slope, thirty feet away, a pair of white eyes peered out from behind the trunk of a tree, staring directly at him.
Chapter 2 - Bray
“Don’t move,” Bray hissed.
He didn’t need to tell his companions twice. Kirby and William immediately hushed. The second horse lost interest in the grass it’d been gnawing, becoming as distracted as the first. Slowly, Bray’s hands moved for the rifle slung around his neck. He studied the dark tree trunk and the man peeking from behind it. Dirty, mussed hair stuck up from a bandana tied around the man’s forehead. His face was filthy and bearded. It looked as if he’d rolled through the sludgy liquid around him.
Or had purposely covered himself in it.
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