“These buildings were empty years ago, when Lincoln and Mason found them,” Cullen said. “But I can’t promise they’re safe now.”
Bray looked on the other side of the buildings. Past them, the hill sloped downward, leading to more forest farther away.
They aimed their rifles.
They saw no shifting shadows behind the buildings’ numerous cracks.
Approaching the side of one of the buildings, Bray noticed one of the walls missing. A piece of angular Ancient stone that had once been the wall lay haphazardly over a pile of rocks, broken into large pieces. Weeds grew over an empty floor. He saw a rock formation in the corner that might’ve been a crude fireplace, at one time, but was now collapsed. He saw no sign that anyone had built a fire recently, or made a bed. In the front of the structure was a door leading out onto the same grass hill, which sloped gently down into the distant forest. The second building had all its walls. In addition to the open doorway, Bray saw a hole in the wall on the opposite side, big enough to see through. It looked like a person had made the opening long ago to keep watch.
“We’ll have visibility here of both slopes,” Bray said. “And our position on the hill will allow us to see if anyone approaches.”
“Good enough,” Kirby agreed.
They sloughed off their bags in the building. William and Cullen agreed to keep watch while Bray and Kirby tended to the arrow in Bray’s leg. Bray chose a large, flat rock near the wall and sat, inspecting the ugly weapon protruding from his calf. The tip was constructed of a long, slender bit of bone. The shaft was made of wood.
“It looks like the arrow tip is barbed,” Kirby said, bending down next to Bray.
“Bastards.” Bray cursed at the dull pain in his leg. “I’d like to stick it in the gut of the man who shot it.”
“It will be tricky to get out, but I should be able to manage.”
“I’ve been shot worse,” Bray said with a grunt. “I don’t think it hit the bone.”
“Still, it is not a pretty wound. This part will hurt. I wish we had found your snowberry.” Kirby smiled sympathetically.
Bray returned the gesture.
After watching her work on the arrow for a while, he looked out the door and down the side of the hill at some thick forest, doing his best to ignore the pain in his calf. They were far enough away that they were out of the range of a bow attack. Still, he didn’t trust anything around them. The fading daylight glanced off the side of the building and shone through the building’s crevices. William kept a vigil next to the doorway, clutching his Tech Magic gun as he glanced in all directions.
“We should probably skip a fire tonight,” Bray said, to no arguments.
Cullen peered from the hole in the wall opposite William. Bray was surprised to find he was still on his feet, and not resting, or passed out from exhaustion.
“You can sleep, after we are finished with the arrow,” Bray offered, feeling more than a little pity for the haggard man.
“I do not trust our safety. I will keep awake,” Cullen said.
“Are you uncertain about us?” Bray asked, taking another meaning from that statement.
“I know you are better than those men.” Cullen nodded through his fear. “Even if that is the only thing I know.”
Bray couldn’t argue.
“Where are you people from?” Cullen asked.
Bray felt as if he owed the man a better explanation, now that he’d earned some trust. “We’re from a township up north.”
“You mean a city?” Cullen seemed as if he was in shock.
“Yes, a place similar to a city. Many people live there. But we are not going back.”
“Why not?” Cullen asked.
Bray recalled the burnings, the heads on spikes, and the war outside of Brighton. “We were hoping to escape some of the violence where we came from. And some of the infected we call demons.”
“Do you have many Plagued Ones?”
“Hordes,” Bray said, with open disgust, until he realized William was listening. Softening his tone, he said, “Enough that our lives are at risk daily. That seemed to be the case most of the way here, until we reached the last city.”
“Like I said, there are fewer Plagued Ones here, and in a few cities to the west,” Cullen agreed. “I am not sure why. Perhaps The Clickers kill them. I do not normally venture there to find out.” Looking from Bray’s wound to the rifle he’d placed next to him, he asked, “Does everyone in your city have those weapons?”
“No,” Bray said, deciding to add, “In fact, I think these might be the last of them. What weapons do you have here?”
“We have knives and swords, things that were passed on.”
“Have you seen many others, besides us? People you don’t know?” Bray thought of how Cullen had seen travelers with guns.
“We usually stay away from those people we don’t recognize. Most have crude weapons, or strange tongues. Some have different clothing. Most are passersby who go through the cities, looking for things to steal. It is why we have learned to stay away.” Cullen studied him. “I could tell you were from far away.”
“How?”
“Your weapons, of course. But you also look as if the sun burned you,” Cullen said, patting his neck. “Normally, we keep to the forest during the day’s hottest hours.”
“We learned that quickly,” Bray said.
“But not enough to heed my warnings,” Kirby muttered.
It was true. During those first few, hottest days, when the scorching weather was new to them, they had gone to sleep with red necks that eventually led to hot, flaky skin. Bray recalled several uncomfortable days of sleeping afterward. It wasn’t enough to warrant complaining, but it was different. Keeping to the forest wasn’t always an option when they were in a new place each day. They still burned, but not as badly as they first had.
“How do your homes look?” Bray asked. “Are they similar to this one?”
Cullen looked around. “They are made of stone, yes. We have used them for years. We keep them up. We use the rocks we find in the forest, and things we can safely pull away from other, fallen buildings on the outskirts of the cities. We only move if we have to.”
“Do you have animals?”
“A long while ago, in the days my parents were alive, we had goats. Most died. Even if we found some more, we don’t have a good enough way to protect them.” Cullen shook his head. “They make too much noise. The Plagued Ones hear them, and they come feast. To have them is to risk our lives.”
Bray grimaced as Kirby finished what she was doing. “Okay, I finally have the arrow out,” she said, setting the offending weapon on the ground, pulling out a flask and bandage. Bray looked down at the bone-tipped shaft, which contained too much of his blood.
“If they had shot you at closer range, this would’ve been worse,” Kirby said. “I think you will heal.”
Cullen seemed as if the conversation had expended the last of his energy. In the time they’d talked, he’d sunk lower in his position against the wall. Every so often, he glanced out the hole, or looked cautiously out the front door where William watched, unwilling to give up his obsessive scanning.
“We will keep watch, if you want to rest,” Bray said.
“I am fine,” Cullen said, as his eyelids fluttered.
In a few more moments, he was asleep.
Chapter 6: Bray
Bray inspected his bag, taking a mental tally of the remaining supplies. The metal objects called magazines were too few—enough that he didn’t want to speak it aloud. Glancing up, he noticed William had stepped outside the doorway. Every so often, William switched his rifle’s aim, keeping a close eye on the distant tree line. He was intent on his vigil. Or perhaps some part of him thought he would see the horses again. Bray needed to talk with him about that.
Speaking softly so as not to wake Cullen, Bray looked over at Kirby, who was keeping watch out the hole in the wall, and said, “William’s upset.”
Kirby looked at him. “I do not blame him for missing the steeds.”
“Travel will be slower without them,” Bray admitted. “And we will not have the height advantage.”
“Unfortunately, true.” Kirby sighed.
“I am not convinced we aren’t being hunted,” Bray said. “We should leave at first light, in case.” Looking over at Cullen, who was bent over, asleep, and around at the rubble-strewn house, he said, “Stone houses. Knives. Crude bows. No animals of which to speak. It is not the golden palace of which your people told stories.” Bray shook his head. “I’m starting to think there is no great city, no last great civilization, only barbarians scavenging the ruins of crumbled cities.”
“Do you wish we had stayed at The Arches?” Kirby asked.
“No.” Bray was adamant. “If this is all we were meant to find out here, then so be it. I’ve already traveled beyond any place a Warden has explored. I have stories, even if they won’t make it back to the grizzled tavern keepers in Brighton.”
Kirby smiled thinly. “They’ll be disappointed.”
“Let them be.” Bray shrugged. “I do not regret anything I’ve done. And I do not regret meeting you.”
He smiled warmly. Looking behind them at the dilapidated, rubble-strewn house, Bray said, “We will have to clear a spot in the rubble to sleep on. Take your pick. I’m going to speak with William.”
“Okay.” Kirby smiled back. “I will let you know if I see anything.”
Chapter 7: William
William gazed down the long, sloping hill, lit golden by the last of the dying sunlight, as if Spirit and Blackthorn might come running up it. When he sniffed his hands, he could still smell a hint of leather from their bridles, and he could still see a bit of dung on his boot on which he’d unwittingly trodden yesterday. He knew they weren’t coming back. He was more likely to see swaths of sharp-toothed, vicious men, come to kill him and his friends, than his horses.
Good. Let them come, he thought, gritting his teeth.
Maybe they could taste the end of his Tech Magic gun.
William clung to his anger, because it was easier than guilt.
He hated himself.
Too many had died because of him. He might not have handed over the horses to those vile men, but he’d left Spirit outside of that building, which had caused Bray and Kirby to leave Blackthorn. The horses might be roasting over a bonfire right now, gristle between sharp, uncaring teeth. They’d died for nothing, just like the demons at The Arches, or the demons at the battle of Brighton. They’d died because of him.
Just like mom.
Tears slid down William’s cheeks as he stared down the quiet hill. Reaching up to smear them away, he brushed the warts on his face. He was a monster. A bruised, smudged boy who had no business being around anyone. He was all the things that the people in Brighton said about the demons. Too many had died to protect him. And for what?
Cullen’s first reaction of fear would be shared by anyone William met. No one would accept a demon-boy. They might say they did, when they were sharing meals or hiking next to him. But they’d sleep with an eye open, faced in his direction. They would look at him strangely when he said the wrong thing, thinking he’d gone mad. They would never fully trust him.
William was destined to become a person to be feared and reviled. An abomination. A paltry hood wouldn’t hide the infection on his face. And nothing would stop the infection from taking over his mind, if that was what the gods intended. He might be lucid now, but he could still hear the whispers.
Who knew when intelligence turned to madness?
Sure, there was the man named Jingo they’d met all those days ago in the Ancient City, the one who had lived through the spore’s insanity. That man was more intelligent than almost anyone William had met. But William had hung his dreams on too many falsehoods to believe he might be the same. None of his dreams ever came true.
Only nightmares.
Too many mornings, William had woken up first, thinking about setting off with his horse, or just his bag. But he stopped before he did it. He recalled how Bray and Kirby had showed up after the battle of Brighton, or how they’d come for him during the battle of The Arches.
If he ran, they wouldn’t stop looking for him.
He might get away, but they would keep searching.
And they might die following him.
Somehow, staying with them was protecting them, or at least that’s what William had convinced himself. Or maybe he was a lonely, infected boy, scared of dying alone. Damn his curse.
He’d stay with Bray, Kirby, and Cullen until they had to make the decision to kill him. Movement behind William startled him. He turned to find Bray approaching.
“William? Are you all right?”
William pulled his hood tighter, hiding his tears. “I’m fine,” he said, as he turned.
“You’re upset about Spirit and Blackthorn.”
William nodded without answering.
“I know you miss them,” Bray said. “But it isn’t your fault.”
William touched the side of his face, feeling the rough edges of his warts through the fabric of his hood.
“If it didn’t happen then, it might’ve happened some other time,” Bray assured him. “Those men followed us. They snuck up on us. They might have been watching us longer than we know. You can’t feel bad about what happened.”
“I know,” William said quietly, avoiding Bray’s eyes.
“Why don’t you go inside and get some rest? I’ll keep watch.”
William nodded, then went back inside the stone building.
Chapter 8: Kirby
Morning sunlight crept over the long, sloping hill, sneaking through the cracks between the house’s patchwork stones, illuminating William’s, Bray’s, and Cullen’s sleeping figures. Kirby envied their rest. She had spent most of the darkest hours tossing and turning and thinking, certain that attackers would creep from the forest. During her nightly watch, the moonlight canvassed the hill, but it hadn’t penetrated the tree line, or anything past it. Too many shadows seemed to be moving in every direction of the dark forest. Occasionally, she’d heard the screech of a mutant, but none came close. Now, standing at the doorway, with dawn on the horizon, she was grateful for the light, and a chance to move farther away from the strange men who had taken too much from what little they had.
To what?
Kirby wasn’t certain.
Maybe crumbled, rubble-strewn houses like the one in which they’d spent the night were the best hope. Would it be easier to accept that this was their fate, find a half-ruined house, and fix it, defending the land the best they could?
Looking at William, she knew things wouldn’t get easier. The warts were spreading faster than he was growing. He would spend too many years battling off danger to enjoy what little was left of his childhood. Maybe it was time to find a place from which they didn’t have to depart each morning, before the earliest birds broke into song.
Looking at the house in which they’d rested, she didn’t hate it. A place like this might be good enough to keep for a while.
Perhaps not this house, but another.
Bray cracked his eyes, sitting up. “I’m alive,” he grumbled. “No thanks to the savages who attacked us. I guess I’ll find breakfast.”
“I already found some,” Kirby said, holding up a rabbit in her hand that she’d caught, after the sun broke.
“I knew there was a reason I brought you along.”
Kirby smiled. “How is your leg?”
“It is sore, as I expected,” Bray said. “It will heal and become a scar, as with most wounds. Until a wound kills me.”
“Hopefully you will be old and grizzled before that happens.”
“I think you would miss me, if I died,” Bray said with a grin.
“Perhaps.”
Kirby padded over to William. He had fallen asleep with his back to the others, next to a pile of rocks he’d cleared. His hoo
d was pulled firmly over his face. His gun lay beside him. Crouching, she patted his arm.
“William?” she whispered.
She backed off a step, waiting for William to reacquaint to where he was. He rolled and looked at her with a clarity she only saw first thing in the morning, before the horrors of his past and the pain of his condition caught up to him.
“Are we safe?” he asked.
“We’re safe,” she assured him. “How did you sleep?”
“Okay.”
He turned so he wasn’t facing her. Movement behind her caught her attention. She was surprised to find Cullen awake and looking at her. The thin blanket they’d lent him lay next to him, unused. His hair stuck up at odd angles. He scrambled to his feet, scurried over to the door, and peered out into the emerging sunlight. Kirby regarded him. They hadn’t spoken about how long Cullen would stay with them, but as long as he provided another set of eyes to keep watch, and another set of hands to help with things, she had no intention of forcing him to leave. Besides, she felt sorry for him. He had lost his brothers, his home, and the land with which he was familiar. He was more similar to her than she first realized.
Cullen’s clothes were so loose it looked as if he might shrivel inside of them and disappear. Parts of them hung off in tattered strips of fabric that looked as if they might tear away at any moment.
“We should find you some better clothes,” Kirby told him.
Cullen glanced down at his naked, filthy skin. “I didn’t think I would live long enough to care. Maybe we will find some on the way.”
Hearing the conversation, William sat up and said, “I have an extra shirt.” He dug through his pack, pulling out a spare garment he’d taken from The Arches. “It is a little large for me.”
Slipping on a piece of clothing that didn’t fit perfectly, but fit well enough, Cullen said, “Thank you.” He glanced at William, trying not to stare, but obviously having trouble. “I hope you aren’t offended by what I said about you when we met. It’s just that I’ve never seen someone talk with your condition.” Cullen pried his eyes away from William.
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