“Wait!” Kirby called.
A sharp-nosed woman splashed ahead of the group and ran up to the bearded man, hugging him. The others joined their men.
“This woman found our sick people in the Isolated Village.” The sharp-nosed woman pointed to Kirby. “She could’ve harmed us, but she didn’t. You need to leave them alone.”
The bearded man watched her strangely.
“The woman has a proposal,” the woman continued.
“What do you mean?” asked the bearded man.
“I heard about the plaguing sickness that has infected your people,” Kirby spoke up. “I have something for you.” Unslinging her bag, Kirby pulled out a small pouch, revealing some herbs. “Inside are plants that will ease your sick people’s pain, and lower their fevers. They might even make them recover.”
The bearded man watched her with distrust. “Why would you help us?”
“Consider it a trade, for safe passage,” Kirby said, keeping her voice even.
The bearded man glanced indecisively at his comrades, including the injured ones.
“How do we know you won’t poison us?” the first wounded man asked.
“They’re rare herbs, from up north,” Kirby answered, taking one out to show them. “We’ve had luck with them. I’m not lying to you.”
The men shifted, deciding whether to trust her. The bearded man’s gaze wandered from Kirby, to Bray, to the dead monster in the water. “Give us a moment,” he said.
For a while, the bearded men and his comrades held a quiet conversation, while keeping watch on Bray and Kirby. After a while, one of them spoke up. “They released us from fear of The Gray One,” a man reminded the bearded one.
Addressing his women, and with the consent of the men, the bearded man made a decision. “A long time ago, we bartered with others, offering protection for safe passage. Those days are long over, but perhaps today, they can return. We will accept your trade to help our people. Consider it a truce, for our skirmish.” Patting his chest in a gesture that, apparently, meant peace, he and his men lowered their guard.
Relief washed over Bray and over Kirby.
Looking down at the dead beast in water, Bray grinned and said, “See, Kirby? I told you water dragons existed.”
Chapter 25 – Bray
With their horses safely secured to a nearby tree, Bray and Kirby sat on the edge of another bridge, dangling their legs off the side, while William explored behind them. Bray surveyed the marshland. Many more miles of the trail had tired him of the dreary setting, but soon, they would reach the end. The mud-slicked men had assured them of that. They’d also informed them of the best places to travel safely and hunt. Of course, they wouldn’t have to worry about game for a while.
Plucking another juicy morsel of food from his bag, Bray asked Kirby, “More Nessie meat?”
“I’ve already told you, it’s not Nessie,” Kirby said with a smile she couldn’t hide. “It’s called an ‘alligator.’”
Bray furrowed his brow. “I like my name better.”
Kirby batted his arm.
“Whatever the thing is, it sure beats an empty stomach,” Bray boasted, patting his belly, which was full of the creature’s fish-like meat.
“It was a lucky kill,” Kirby admitted, keeping her smile. Perhaps she was ready to accept the truth about her legend. Or maybe she was coming around to Bray’s charms, after all.
They spoke quietly for a while, cleaning the mud from their recovered guns and enjoying a welcome reprieve, until William interrupted.
“I’ve got it!”
Bray and Kirby spun.
Holding up a small, four-sided plant, William said, “A four-leafed clover!”
“See, Kirby? It’s our lucky day,” Bray said, popping another piece of meat in his mouth. “Maybe we’ll have more luck, and I’ll find a moose next.”
Kirby laughed; it was a beautiful sound. For too long, they’d been hungry, tired, and worn down.
Maybe things were starting to turn around.
CONTINUED IN THE RUINS BOOK 3
THE RUINS 3
A Dystopian Society in a Post-Apocalyptic World
Book 3 of The Ruins Series
Preface
Welcome to Book 3 of THE RUINS.
Perhaps one of the unexpected byproducts of spending so much time with a set of characters is how attached you can become to them. Bray, Kirby, and William have started to feel like old friends, and I feel like a companion walking next to them.
During the creation of these chapters, I was right there next to Bray, sipping from a flask of snowberry as we talked about the dangers of the twisted men. I sat on a moss-covered log next to Kirby, checking my ammunition as she explained the secrets of Tech Magic. I sympathized with William as he coped with his own personal demons, and mourned the people he’s lost. Some of these chapters stuck with me, long after I shut off my computer.
I hope you feel a similar affection.
Expect many twists and surprises as the characters in THE RUINS get into some of the most dangerous—and emotional—challenges they have seen.
Enjoy Book 3.
Tyler Piperbrook
September 2017
Chapter 1: Bray
“Another ruined city,” Bray said cautiously, as he looked from his perch on the horse down the long, grassy, tree-covered slope, toward the tall, crumbled spires in the distance. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried.”
“If this city is as dead as it looks, we probably won’t find much more than rats,” Kirby said from the back of his steed, which they shared.
“And demons, of course,” William added.
Bray looked over at William, who sat alone on the horse next to them, which they’d decided to call Spirit, after the courageous battle at The Arches all those months ago. They’d kept the name Blackthorn for the other steed. It seemed as if those events had happened in another lifetime. Many miles of traveling south had worn down their hopes that they might find anything like the city of which Kirby had heard in the stories, a city where the Ancient’s Tech Magic was preserved, a place where they could be safe. A handful of times since leaving The Arches, they’d seen small bands of barbarian tribes in the forest, whom they’d mostly avoided, but they hadn’t seen any significant number of people.
They saw plenty of twisted men, though.
The demons were everywhere, hunting and lurking. For the most part, they avoided them. Occasionally, the twisted men surprised them, and William yelled some words to drive them away. Bray appreciated the boy’s power. He just wished it hadn’t come at the price of pain.
Ever since leaving The Arches, William’s condition had worsened. Each night, when they bedded down in a crumbled building in some destroyed city, or in the forest, William scratched at his knees and elbows, as if he might claw the infection away. Every time they stopped at a body of water, William gazed at his reflection, as if he might see something different than the warts that had appeared on either side of his forehead. William’s appearance was growing closer and closer to a demon’s. He insisted on wearing his hooded jacket, even though they hadn’t felt the sting of the cold in many months. Sometimes, Bray wondered if finding the miraculous city from the stories was the only thing driving William on.
Several days ago, William had asked to ride Spirit by himself. The request didn’t sit well with Bray or Kirby, but they’d allowed it. Bray pitied the boy.
Reaching up, instinctively pulling his hood tighter around the row of calcified, bumpy warts on the side of his head, William said, “You’re probably right about the rats being the only things we find. I don’t hear any demon cries.”
“Maybe we’ll find some animals we can hunt,” Kirby said hopefully.
“Or a stash of snowberry,” Bray said with a wry smile. “I’m beginning to forget what it tastes like.”
He glanced over at Kirby. In the months they traveled, other things had changed, as well. As he and Kirby spent more time to
gether, sharing blankets, protecting each other, and dividing up game, they had developed a deep affection for one another. Neither of them spoke about the times their hands and bodies met in the night, amidst the distant shriek of demons, in between their watches. Neither spoke about the looks they shared while consuming their meals. For a while after leaving The Arches, Bray’s advances had become a routine, and Kirby had deftly avoided his passes, but each routine contained a truth that neither could deny.
Eventually, they stopped denying it.
They didn’t profess their feelings the way someone might in a fairy-tale story, but Bray’s emotions for Kirby surprised him. She was hardened, jaded by war, but she had a resilience he had never encountered in another woman.
He felt for her the way he had felt for William’s mother. He still missed Ella, but his bond with Kirby felt stronger, because of the length of time they’d spent together.
William, for his part, accepted their closeness. Or perhaps he was too preoccupied with his condition to notice.
In any case, Bray couldn’t picture Kirby leaving in another direction.
Spurring his steed, Bray rode his horse next to William’s down the hill. Lush, overgrown grass swayed with the wind, caressing the horses’ flanks. The sun shone brightly through the tops of the foliage. William adjusted on Spirit’s saddle, pointing out a group of tall, stalky trees with long, straight stems. “More of those strange trees with leaves only at the top,” he said.
“They seem to be unique to this southern region,” Kirby said.
“And some of those strange fruits we’ve been eating,” William said, gesturing toward another tree on the hill. “It looks like the demons took most of the fruits from the lowest branches.”
“If we don’t see any danger, we’ll come back and pick some,” Bray promised, wiping sweat from his brow.
From her perch behind Bray, Kirby said, “The temperature will get even hotter, the farther south we ride.”
“You’ve said that before, and I certainly don’t miss the cold temperatures,” Bray said. “But how can you know?”
“It is the same way in the land I came from,” she answered. “The sun shines brighter on this portion of the earth. I am not sure why.”
Bray had long ago accepted that Kirby had knowledge outside of what he’d learned in Brighton. Although some of her stories seemed extraordinary, he saw evidence of her knowledge all around. He trusted her.
“Perhaps if we ride farther south, I’ll win my wager.” Bray grinned.
“You still think you’ll find the edge of the earth.” Kirby was amused.
“If I do, you owe me my horses back.”
As they got farther down the hill, which was situated on the city’s western edge, they got a better view of the city. Bray chose an indirect path, hoping to avoid the obvious roads, and to locate any threats before they were upon them. Overgrown grass sprouted around the towers. The buildings were tall, looming, and spaced at even distances. Weeds snaked and climbed around them, poking from the dark recesses where windows had been. The city seemed as dead as it had when they’d first seen it from the top of the hill.
They aimed their horses through an overgrown path between two edifices on the edge of the city’s middle, keeping their Tech Magic guns drawn, even though there was nothing at which to aim them. Through the buildings, Bray saw a pockmarked road that might have belonged in any other city. Small trees and bushes jutted out wherever the stone had cracked, devouring a place that had probably once been grand, but had now fallen to ruins, like so many others.
“It is strangely quiet,” Bray said.
“Perhaps there are fewer demons this far south,” Kirby suggested. “Though I am not sure why.”
A few scared birds took flight as they approached. A nervous squirrel skittered away through some weeds. Riding out from between two tall, looming monoliths, they entered the street. Bray looked up and down the empty road. A few flattened bushes next to a building spoke of a deer’s resting place. Demon footprints imprinted the mud in various places, but none seemed fresh. Bray smelled no foul odors, and he saw no boot prints.
Turning left, they rode through several debris-strewn streets, filled with metal that would’ve been worth more than a few meals in Brighton. Rats scuttled through the overgrowth; chipmunks ducked back into holes. For a while as they rode through the city, the towers looked the same—tall, with an equal number of windows on each floor, constructed of the same type of Ancient stone, like houses stacked on top of one another. As they kept going, they found roads with shorter, plain buildings. A crumbled bridge ran overhead of one road, slanted sideways, as if it might pitch to the ground, with plants growing from gaping crevices.
“You’ve never explained how they made bridges like that,” William said to Kirby as he pointed at it, and they trotted underneath.
“Perhaps I can explain it to you tonight, around the fire,” Kirby offered.
“I’d like that,” William said.
They passed cautiously below, looking at the mounds of dirt hanging from the bridge’s underside.
After clearing it, William pointed to a building a hundred feet past it. “That building looks different.”
Bray followed his gaze. A large structure about the height of several Brighton homes sat at the road’s edge. A half-circle of Ancient stone curved over the entrance, with ornate, weathered carvings etched into the beams. Bray studied the designs at the front of the building, but time had worn away most of their features. The building’s ceiling, which sloped back from the entrance, was mostly solid, but had a few obvious holes, and probably more that he couldn’t see. Through the building’s gaping entrance, he saw some more of the same, strange trees.
He saw no signs of life.
“I’m going to check it out,” William said, riding ahead.
“Wait,” Bray called.
William looked back at Bray to argue. “We haven’t seen evidence of anyone traveling here in a while. No fresh demon tracks, or scat. I know how to take care of myself. I’ll be fine.”
Bray hesitated. It was hard for Bray to accept that William wasn’t the same, scared boy he had encountered in the woods outside Brighton all that time ago. He yearned for independence, like most kids his age.
“Be careful,” Bray said.
“I always am,” William assured him as he trotted off.
Bray and Kirby watched him go.
“I’m worried about him,” Bray said, as they followed slowly behind.
“He’s certainly proven himself,” Kirby said. “But I’m worried, too, about his condition. I’ve been watching him closely. Most of my people in New Hope showed signs of deterioration: warts on their back, their knees, or their spine, like the ones I have. But none of us had warts on our faces.”
“He’s progressing more quickly than others,” agreed Bray, with a solemn nod.
“He reminds me of Jingo, the man we met outside of Brighton all those months ago.”
“You mean the smart demon?”
“Yes,” Kirby said. “We met him on separate occasions. I met him with the group I was with, and you met him in the Ancient City.”
“I remember. I almost killed him, before I killed William’s mother,” Bray said, looking away before the memory could sting him again. “I’ll never forget that day.”
Kirby nodded gravely. Returning to her original point, she said, “Jingo kept his faculties, even though the spore afflicted him. In fact, he was smarter than anyone I’ve met, before or since.” She stared off into the towers as if she’d given the matter a lot of thought. And why wouldn’t she have? Kirby was infected, too. She had as much to lose as William.
“Do you believe Jingo was really three hundred years old?” Bray asked.
“I believe he was telling the truth. He was extremely intelligent. But William is, too.” Kirby lowered her head, clearly thinking about her own fate. “I have long ago accepted that the spore will turn my mind to madness—whether it is
a year from now, or several. I do not share William’s intelligence, or his gift at speaking with demons. Perhaps his special gifts—and his appearance—mean there is hope for him.”
Breaking from what often became a morbid mood, with no good answers, Bray asked, “Is that another of those tunnels you told us about?”
He pointed past the building where William had entered, toward a wide, weed-filled depression that ran in a straight line underneath another bridge and continued as far as the eye could see. A few trees grew diagonally from that pocked, hole-ridden crevice.
“Yes,” she answered. “Part of the place they called a subway, collapsed, like most of the ones we’ve seen. It extends throughout the city, most likely.”
Bray nodded as they rode their horse over to the building where William had tied his. He still had trouble picturing the objects Kirby had described, which she called subway cars, carrying people from one place to another at speeds far faster than horses. He couldn’t fathom why people would build some of those structures underground, where nasty things might live.
“I don’t know if I would travel in one of those tunnels, if I lived in the days of the Ancients,” he said, not for the first time. “I’ll take a horse—and the warm sun on my face—over a device like that, any day.” Bray smiled.
“If the cities were as crowded as the stories tell us, you wouldn’t travel as quickly.”
Bray looked at the place where William had entered. “I wonder what significance this building had?”
“It was probably the train station, where people went inside,” Kirby explained. “Sometimes they entered above ground before descending to the devices below that ran in the tunnels. They say these underground devices carried more people than you can imagine. So many people lived in cities that they needed them to get from one place to another. At least, that is what our stories say.”
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