“Did the devices carry them to different cities?”
“I don’t think so.” Kirby frowned as she thought on it. “The underground tunnels always seemed to loop back to one another. That part was always confusing to us.”
“Perhaps it was too much effort to build them that far.” Bray shrugged.
“It is possible.”
Bray halted their steed and he and Kirby dismounted. He tied it next to William’s and adjusted the bag on his back. “In any case, I don’t think we’ll have the answer anytime soon.”
A shout interrupted them.
Bray’s heart hammered as he recognized the voice.
William.
Chapter 2: Bray
Bray spun and aimed his rifle backward, suspecting a trap, but he saw nothing except the quiet, ruined city. The horses adjusted nervously as the shout came again, from deep in the building.
Neither Bray nor Kirby hesitated any longer.
They darted through the building’s wide threshold on foot, sending a few rats skittering. The enormous, damp room was filled with trees and weeds. Sunlight speared through parts of the broken roof, creating alternating bands of light and shadow. Bray scanned the edges of the wide room for threats. Along the walls, he saw the frames of a few dilapidated rooms, now decayed and open, but he couldn’t see everything, and he couldn’t see William. He kicked some dried demon feces as he ran. He inhaled the air for the noxious odor that usually alerted him to nearby demons, ready to chew their flesh.
“William?” he called.
William answered, sounding as if he was in some distant place.
They kept moving through the large room, weaving through some more trees, crossing a distance of a hundred feet before they reached the room’s end, which stopped abruptly at a steep ledge. Rotted, broken stairs descended perpendicularly, away from the center of an overlook high enough to break a leg, or worse. The building extended much farther back than Bray realized. He looked over the edge, as if he might find a crumpled, wounded boy somewhere at the bottom. Perhaps the cry had been a plea for help. All he saw were more trees, brush, and scraps of jagged metal on the lower level of the building.
Much more space lay beyond the stairs.
Beneath the room they’d traveled, there seemed to be rooms Bray couldn’t see, but past the bottom of the perpendicular staircase, going farther back, Bray saw a walkway leading left and right, constructed of Ancient stone. Beyond the walkway was a recessed area—a place where the strange devices called subway trains must have whipped from one place to the next. In the middle was a raised platform, beyond which was another steep area. On either side of the recessed areas, far off to the left and right, were dark tunnels, home to who knew what kinds of creatures. Portions of the ceiling that had once contained glass were broken, allowing some light to seep through.
But there were still too many shadows. And the tunnels—those were dark.
The cry came again—louder, and clearly from the lower floor.
Bray and Kirby descended the stairs carefully, avoiding divots large enough to catch a boot and hold onto it, or trip them and pitch them off the edge. Bray got a better look at the lower level. In a few spots in the recessed areas and the platform, the ceiling had caved completely, leaving mounds of rubble.
Reaching the floor, Bray scanned the walkway left and right.
“William!” he called again.
Another, indecipherable shout echoed to his left.
They followed the source of the voice, crunching over debris, animal scat, and wilted weeds. To their right, the first recessed area where the devices ran was a ten-foot drop, filled with debris. To their left, a solid wall with no doorways presumably hid rooms underneath the large one they’d traveled upstairs. They had gone thirty feet when Bray saw a single doorway on the left-hand wall. Something moved inside a small room, speared with a few rays of diagonal sunlight.
Surprise hit Bray as he got close enough to see William, his hood pulled mostly over his face, aiming his long gun at a person. At the end of the gun’s long tube was a skinny, dirty man with torn clothing.
Bray and Kirby crossed the threshold, holding their guns.
“What’s wrong, William?”
“I stumbled on him,” William said shakily, recovering from what must have been a surprise encounter. “He’s unarmed. Or at least, I think he is. I kept him here while I shouted for you.”
The strange man’s face was covered with so much grime that Bray could see only the whites of his eyes. Tattered clothes hung from his scrawny frame. The man’s eyes darted from Bray, to Kirby, to William. They kept their guns pointed as he held up his hands weakly.
“Who are you?” the man asked in a thin, ragged voice.
“Travelers, passing through,” Bray said vaguely.
“Please don’t use the weapons on me.” The man’s eyes were full of fear as he studied the guns. He clearly spoke their language, and he understood the danger of Tech Magic. But Bray didn’t trust him.
“Are you with others?” Bray asked.
“The rest are dead.”
Bray glanced around the small room, and over his shoulder, expecting to find more raggedy corpses. “The rest?”
“I didn’t see anyone else,” William confirmed.
Hearing William speak again, the man returned his attention to him. He dragged a hand over his dirt-stained eyes, as if he might clear an unsettling delusion. “I’ve never seen a talking Plagued One.”
“Plagued One?” Bray asked.
“He has the lumps.” The man pointed at William’s face. “He’s infected.”
“He’s infected, yes. But he’s no demon,” Kirby assured him. “His name is William. He won’t harm you, any more than Bray or I, unless you force us to. I am Kirby.”
The man quaked in fear.
“What is your name?” Bray asked.
“Cullen.”
“What are you doing here, Cullen?”
“Hiding.” Cullen’s lips trembled as he spoke the words. He looked around. “From them.”
Bray and Kirby scanned the small, battered room again, as if they hadn’t noticed someone the first time. The room was empty.
“The Plagued Ones, you mean,” Bray said.
“Not them. The ones who dragged my brothers away. The ones who killed them.”
A fear stabbed Bray’s gut. “Men?”
“If that’s what you call them,” Cullen said, looking as if he might scurry past them and into the tunnels, if he didn’t have guns pointed at his face.
“Are they still around?”
Cullen swallowed, more fright in his voice. “I’m not sure. But you won’t get far, if they see you. You won’t leave the city.”
“We saw no one outside,” William said.
Bray frowned. No rational man would lurk in tunnels in such filth. The man was clearly on the brink of starvation; perhaps he was delusional, too. Whatever the case, Bray didn’t like the feeling he was getting.
“We should get back outside,” he told Kirby and William quietly. “I don’t like leaving the horses alone.”
“Horses?” Cullen picked up on the word.
“You know what they are?” Kirby asked.
“I’ve heard rumors of people riding them, but I’ve never gotten close enough to try.” A hope burned in Cullen’s eyes. “If you have horses, perhaps you can outrun them and escape. And you have those metal weapons to protect you. You have to take me with you.”
Bray traded an apprehensive glance with Kirby.
“I can help you,” Cullen promised.
“It looks as if you need more help than us,” Kirby said. “When did you eat last?” She appraised Cullen’s scrawny, filthy figure.
Cullen’s eyes looked far away. “I’m not sure. I find whatever I can. I mostly keep to the shadows, looking for puddles, or wounded rodents. The rainwater in the tunnels keeps me alive. Sometimes it makes me sick.” His eyes darted around the corners of the room. “Please con
sider my offer. I do not want to die here.” Cullen looked as if he was a man chucked in a foaming, spitting river, looking for a hand to pull him out. “I only wish to leave this city. I can show you a way out. After that, we can part ways. I will not follow you.”
Bray traded a deciding look with Kirby.
Delusional or not, the man was clearly on the road closing in on death. “We will take you as far as outside to talk, but that is all we can promise,” Bray said. “If you try anything, we will kill you.”
Cullen nodded. “I understand.” He sucked in a pained breath as he stood on brittle bones that looked as if they might snap.
“Walk ahead of us,” Bray reinforced, already second-guessing his decision to take this man anywhere. The man must be delusional.
They fell in line behind Cullen, keeping their guns aimed as they stepped out from the room onto the walkway next to the tracks. Bray saw nothing suspicious, and he certainly didn’t smell anything as they returned through the alternating bands of light. Soon they returned to the area filled with debris, with the steep staircase in the center, leading perpendicularly up to the looming upper floor that recessed farther back to the entrance where they’d come in.
Cullen paused, trembling.
Bray inspected the upper floor. The height looked even more considerable from down below. Jagged pieces of stone stuck out from overhead at all angles. Beams of light illuminated the silhouettes of many trees, and even more shadows on the upper floor. Any one of them could be an attacker, lying in wait.
Hearing nothing, Bray told Cullen, “Walk.”
Cullen gave them a nervous look, but he ascended first. Bray went up the steps after him, followed by William and Kirby. Cullen’s breath came in ragged gasps. More sunlight hit Bray’s face as he peered through some of the trees on the higher level, catching the first glimpse of daylight at the building’s front entrance, but he couldn’t see the horses yet. A small animal he couldn’t observe clicked as it wound through the brush on the floor above them.
Cullen seized with fear.
“What is it?” Bray whispered.
“That noise,” Cullen said, pointing a bony finger.
“A squirrel, running away,” Bray guessed.
Cullen hissed, “It’s not a squirrel. It’s them.”
“Who?”
“The Clickers.”
Cold fear prickled Bray’s nerves as another click echoed through the building from somewhere above them. A second later, another, louder click answered. A shadow darted from one tree to the next on the upper floor. A horse whinnied. An arrow whistled by Bray’s face, hitting the stairs nearby.
William cried out.
Bray thrust his gun up as several man-sized shadows emerged from around the trees, pointing bows. In a spear of daylight, Bray saw a man’s face, a mouth open to reveal sharpened, jagged teeth. He recalled those strange, monstrous men he’d seen with his father, on the fringes of the campfire all those years ago, up north. He’d thought his eyes tricked him.
They must not have.
Something much worse than death was waiting for all of them.
“They’re coming!” cried Cullen. “Run!”
Bray fired a few rounds, hitting the ancient stone and scattering the men. But more were coming. He might have a Tech Magic gun, but they had the advantage of high ground, and they clearly knew the area. A well-placed arrow would pitch him off the steep stairs.
Cullen struggled to get past Bray and rushed downward.
Outside, the horses squealed.
The men ambushed us, Bray thought angrily.
Bray turned and fled down the stairs, following Cullen, William, and Kirby. Arrows flew past, striking the ground below. Bray kept a fast pace, avoiding holes in the stairs that would send him sprawling. He’d just reached level ground when an arrow struck the back of his leg.
He cried out, falling into a limp. “Filthy dirt scratchers!”
“Come on!” Kirby shouted, turning behind her as she fired several shots at the upper level to protect him.
They barreled down the walkway, heading in the direction of the room where they’d found Cullen.
From somewhere outside, the horses squealed.
Chapter 3: Cullen
Cullen ran next to the strangers. He couldn’t push away the images of The Clickers’ jagged, sharpened teeth, or their cold, merciless eyes. What little, broken sleep he’d gotten was plagued with memories of those men.
And now they were back, come to drag him away.
“Let’s hide in the room!” the talking Plagued One named William cried, as they fled.
“Not a good idea,” Kirby answered. “Our ammunition won’t last forever. They’ll trap us.”
Ahead of them, the walkway ended at a solid wall. To the right, the recessed area went into one of the pitch-black tunnels.
“Down here! Into the tunnel!” Kirby yelled, veering toward the ledge over the first recessed area. She got close, bent, and turned to lower herself.
The drop from the walkway was about ten feet—enough to roll an ankle, or snap a bone. Cullen knew how easily an unseen piece of metal could cut or impale. He’d been in the tunnels long enough. Kirby dropped successfully.
“I’ll help you!” Kirby cried, turning and reaching up to Cullen.
He stared at her hand for a moment before he acted. Cullen wondered if this was his end. Perhaps the woman was a ghost, come to collect him and bring him to his final resting place. Or maybe the Plagued boy was some twisted god, sent to judge or punish him. And who knew what the man named Bray was here for? The clicks of the men snapped him to reality.
Cullen allowed Kirby to help him down.
On the walkway, Bray and the Plagued boy made loud noises with their metal weapons. Cullen heard a pained cry in the distance as one of The Clickers fell. When Cullen was safely down, Kirby assisted the others in getting to the ground. Bray grunted as he landed, contending with the arrow in his leg and clearly in pain.
They ran in the recessed area through patches of sunlight, but up ahead was darkness.
Instinct warned Cullen against dangers in the tunnel. Most of the tunnels were filled with large, rusty pieces of debris. Sometimes the metal was shaped like a large tube, blocking the entire passage. Occasionally, the long pieces of metal that extended one behind the other were crumpled and twisted, creating a hazard that could cut, or impale.
A few times, The Clickers had spotted him, but he’d evaded them by slipping into the slimmest, grimiest hole he could find, staying still until they left. A few times, he wondered if they had seen him, and were savoring a kill. But now they had three more people to chase.
Far behind them, footsteps slapped the floor as their attackers leapt from the walkway to the tracks.
Just before the blackness of the tunnel engulfed them, Kirby found his sleeve.
They entered.
Cullen ground his teeth together to distract from the pain of too many blisters on his feet, caused by the holes in his boots. His clothes barely hung on his body. His stomach was a hollow, empty thing he couldn’t remember filling. The men behind them had given up on arrows. Perhaps they were saving them for the end of a trap. Or maybe they’re tiring us out, like wounded, cornered animals.
They moved as fast as they dared, their boots crunching over objects they couldn’t see. Every so often, Cullen heard the scrape of Kirby’s, Bray’s, or William’s rifles along the wall as they got too close to the sides of the tunnel, or a burst of noise as one of them used their weapons. Every few feet, one of his comrades slowed, avoiding some fresh, new obstacle, stretching the human chain. Cullen looked over his shoulder, finding nothing but dark. They’d never lose the men. Each time he thought he’d avoided them, they returned. Each time he slept, he awoke to the voices of men on the hunt. The Clickers wouldn’t rest until they found and slayed them all.
A piece of metal scraped Cullen’s calf. He cried out in pain.
“Are you okay?” Kirby whispered.
“Fine,” he breathed, with no time to assess further.
Distant light drew their attention. Getting closer, Cullen saw a large, gaping hole in the ceiling that he recognized, about thirty feet over their heads, where the road above had collapsed. “I know this part of the tunnel,” he said, instinct taking over for fear.
“Is there a place to get out?”
“There is a long device up ahead,” he remembered, thinking. “Or at least, the remains of one.”
“A train?”
“Is that what you call it?”
Kirby asked, “Where is the next exit?”
“Much farther.” Cullen shook his head as a memory returned through his haze of fear. “I might know another way out, through the object you call a train.”
An arrow skidded past them on the floor. Cullen waited for the cry of one of his companions, or a new, stabbing pain in his back, but neither came.
They reached the large area of sunlight. On the edge was the hulking wreckage of which he’d spoken. The rotted, tube-like device occupied most of the tunnel—a giant, looming behemoth. Time had eaten away most of its bones, sparing only the strongest metals. Through a gaping, rusted hole in the front, more debris than Cullen could see clearly lay inside. The object went further than the eye could see, curling into the darkness. Last time, he had almost gotten bitten by some vicious, small animal he couldn’t see. Who knew how many creatures were inside? But too many predators chased behind.
“There is a way out through the device,” he told his companions. “We’ll need to go inside.”
They lost hold on each other, moving quickly and crossing the last fringes of sunlight.
When they reached the large object, Cullen rounded the right-hand side, found a familiar step on a piece of metal eaten by rust, and boosted himself inside. The others followed. Through the rusted empty frame of the front window, Cullen watched The Clickers emerge into the far edges of the sunlight, a hundred feet from the train. A few arrows thudded into the metal, sending rippling echoes through the tunnel. Bray, Kirby, and the Plagued boy used their metal weapons through the front of the object, knocking down a few of their attackers. Cullen looked around. He’d forgotten how many holes in the object’s floor might catch a foot. Too many Clickers chased them. They’d never escape. They’d never—
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