The Ruins Box Set

by T. W. Piperbrook

  “I agree. But now that we are here, I am uncertain.” Kirby’s face was hard as she looked at the grand building, and those distant buildings behind it. She wished she could see the truth behind the glass windows and the large wall, which seemed to go in an enormous square, and was obviously protecting something.

  “We can turn and go back into the forest, keep looking, but what if there is nothing left to find?” Bray couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering over the sights in front of them. “We might spend months wandering from one sleeping place to the next, keeping our eyes open for men like the ones we escaped.”

  Cullen said, “I only know half of what you are speaking about. But I have never seen a sight such as this. If you are going forward, I will come with you.”

  “We should check it out,” William agreed.

  Kirby hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Let’s go slowly. If we see something we don’t like, we’ll turn around.”

  They crept from the forest and toward the dirt path between the crops, which was about fifteen feet wide, moving quietly. Kirby looked behind her at the relative safety of the trees. A gust of wind spun the distant windmills faster, creaking their turbines. The field felt empty, as if they were the only inhabitants, and the place had long been abandoned, even though Kirby couldn’t believe that was true. She eyed the long, swaying stalks of corn. She hadn’t seen crops so high since her homeland. But those crops had fed armies, people intent on pursuing land and bloodshed. Who knew what type of people these crops fed?

  The wind continued blowing. Getting a better view down the path’s center, Kirby saw an endless row of crops, extending for about half the distance to the buildings. Beyond the corn stalks, she now saw shorter crops in uniform rows—what looked like wheat, tomatoes, and several fruits and vegetables. The magnificent building lay at the end of the dirt walkway, lifeless, windows gleaming from the sun’s glare, the wall jutting out from either side. The windmills were about twenty yards from it, diagonally on either side.

  Kirby, Bray, and William walked with their guns pointed low. Cullen hung in the middle, protected.

  “Boot prints,” Bray said, pointing as they walked down the path.

  Unmistakable boot marks littered the dirt path as they continued. Halfway down, Kirby saw other prints, too. She shuddered as the breeze blew again, carrying the scent of soil and corn. And something else.

  “Do you smell that?” Bray hissed, as they stopped.

  Something moved to their left. Kirby snapped her gun toward it. Deep through some of the corn stalks, a naked, wart-covered figure snuck through the tall stems. Another noise drew her attention to the other side of the path, where something else wove between the crops, following them. Kirby caught a glimpse of red, vicious eyes, and sharp, cracked teeth.

  Mutants.

  They froze as creatures padded between the corn stalks, hissing. The spinning windmills creaked and creaked. Kirby aimed her gun, a bad feeling growing worse as she looked over her shoulder, realizing they were closer to the building than the forest. Running was a fool’s hope.

  More mutants than she could count appeared through the corn stalks around them. The snap of a stalk to their left surprised William, who leapt back, losing his hood.

  “Stay back!” he cried, holding up his gun at an encroaching mutant.

  The mutant hesitated, but it didn’t look as if it was listening. It stared around, sniffing the wind. All around them, demons clustered in the corn, not charging, but lingering, waiting.

  “What’s wrong with them?” Bray asked.

  “I’m not sure. But they’re not listening to me,” William said, his fear growing deeper.

  Cullen’s voice ripped away their attention. “Up there.” He raised a shaky hand, pointing at the building, now a hundred yards away. Up on the balcony, high off the ground, a door opened, and six silent, robed figures emerged. They stopped a few feet from the railing, peering out from beneath their dark hoods. The sun’s glare bounced off the magnificent windows, barring a better view. They made no move, or gesture.

  The air fell silent, save the low hiss of the demons and the creak of the windmills.

  Bray, Kirby, and William held their guns level, while Cullen looked as if he might dart in another direction. They watched the figures on the balcony for several silent seconds, sizing them up, looking every so often at the mutants, who hadn’t gotten any closer, but weren’t leaving.

  “We mean no harm,” Bray called across the distance to the balcony, loudly enough that the figures might hear him.

  Kirby realized the guns in their hands contradicted that statement, but she wasn’t about to lower hers. The figures stared at them from beneath their shadowy hoods. They didn’t answer.

  “Perhaps they speak another language,” Bray muttered. Raising his voice, he tried again, “We mean no harm.”

  The figures stared.

  One of the figures walked forward ahead of the others.

  In a deep, authoritative voice betraying old age, the person called down from the high balcony, “Come closer.”

  Kirby looked on either side of them at the lurching, snarling demons, none of which had moved. She wasn’t walking any closer to a mutant’s jaws.

  “Come closer, and you will not be harmed,” the person promised, waving a robed hand.

  Kirby traded a look with Bray.

  “We will likely die if we run for the forest,” Bray hissed quietly. “I don’t think we have a choice but to listen.”

  Kirby didn’t need to question the truth of that statement. With tentative, cautious steps, they approached until they were within twenty yards of the balcony.

  “Who are you?” The person’s voice contained a strange accent, but she could understand him.

  “We are travelers from up north,” Kirby called up. Hoping to solidify their intentions, she said, “We are here to talk, nothing more.”

  The figure looked back at the others. They traded some quiet words.

  Turning back to face them, he asked, “How many are with you?” He looked past them and toward the edge of the forest.

  Kirby knew a lie would be of no use. “The four of us,” she said.

  “Are there any more like him?” The man stepped back, raising a slow hand and pointing at William. “Are there any more like our brother?”

  “Brother?” asked William.

  The authoritative man pulled his hood off, stepping to the edge of the railing and out of the glare of the sun.

  Underneath, a mass of warts covered his ruddy skin, obvious enough that Kirby saw them even from a distance.

  William and the others stood aghast.

  The man lowered his hands to his sides. The demons hissed louder, looking from William to the man high up on the balcony. The other figures on the balcony slowly removed their hoods, revealing faces covered with the results of the infection. A woman stood among them.

  “We are all blessed with The Gift. Just like you,” the man boomed.

  “The Gift?” William whispered.

  “I saw you speak with our brothers in the corn. But do not attempt to control them,” the man warned as he cocked his head. “They would not listen, anyway. They are our Plagued Ones.”

  William kept his gun trained on the closest mutant, which still looked as if it might spring from the crops and attack. The man was right: the mutants were clearly obeying his orders.

  “They will not stand down without our word,” the man said. Finally, he pointed at the mutants and shouted, “Be still.”

  The demons relaxed. Their shoulders swayed as they watched Kirby, Bray, William, and Cullen, but they no longer hissed.

  “Are you emissaries?” the man called down to them.

  Bray traded a look with Kirby, Cullen, and William. Before Kirby could tell him otherwise, he said, “Yes. We are emissaries.”

  Kirby swallowed. The man exchanged another look with the others, as if he was deciding something, before waving a hand.

  “Stay wher
e you are,” the man called. “We will send someone down for you.”

  Chapter 12: Kirby

  Kirby, Bray, William, and Cullen watched the robed figures disappear from the balcony. The demons fidgeted, scratching themselves or looking at one another. A few stared at Kirby with hunger. She didn’t trust that a few wouldn’t break from the horde, disobey the man’s orders, and go in for a kill, especially with no one around to stop them. It wouldn’t take much encouragement for the others to join them, once they saw warm flesh and spilled blood.

  She could already see more than enough demons to outlast their ammunition. Since they’d spoken with the man, more mutants snuck through the corn stalks, watching. They’d never outrun an angry horde. They might shoot a few, or outpace some of them, but not all.

  “Do you know what an emissary is?” Kirby hissed to Bray.

  “It sounded as if it wasn’t dinner.” Bray shrugged. “That’s enough for me.”

  “It means a representative,” Kirby explained. “Someone who comes to represent their people.”

  “That’s what we are. Representatives from Brighton,” Bray said with a firm nod. “That should be enough to keep us alive, until we can figure out more about this place.”

  Kirby wasn’t comfortable with his lie, but she’d gotten used to his ways. She knew that he was trying to keep them safe. Looking between some of the corn stalks, she saw a few piles of feces, and some chewed ears of corn. The generous crops could surely feed an army of disgusting demons.

  But the army of demons wasn’t even the most incredible thing.

  These people looked like William.

  For all she knew, the building contained floors filled with bulbous-headed, talking men and women, like Jingo.

  William seemed as if he was processing an illusion. “They were infected, like me,” he said to Kirby, reaching up and touching his head, feeling the warts that created a ridge from his hairline to his temple. “Six of them. My brothers. And sister.”

  William stared at the demons between the corn stalks, running his fingers over the bumps, as if he was convincing himself of the reality around him.

  Kirby turned her attention back to the empty balcony, and the building from which it protruded. She looked along the protective row of rubble and boulders at the building’s base, and then toward the side of the building, spotting a door on the left-hand side, now that they were closer.

  Would someone come from there, or from the wide gate in the wall about ten yards from it? Both remained closed.

  All along the wall, she noticed strange pieces of metal that looked like decorations, tied in several places. She hadn’t noticed them from a distance.

  Kirby was almost starting to think they were waiting for no one when the door on the left-hand side of the building opened, and one of the robed men stepped through. His hood was off, revealing a shock of blonde hair that she had only caught a glimpse of high up on the balcony, through the sun’s glare. He didn’t seem to be the main person who had spoken with them.

  The robed man walked down the end of the dirt path, watching Bray, Kirby, William, and Cullen, seemingly unaffected by so many demons around him. His arms were toned and tan; his robe fit snugly over his frame. Kirby noticed a long knife hanging from a sheath at his side. He stopped at a safe distance.

  “I am Rudyard,” the man said simply. He studied their weapons, their faces, but mostly, William. “I speak for The Gifted. You might say I am the emissary here.”

  Kirby looked up at the empty balcony, and through some of the windows, which seemed strangely tinted. She couldn’t see the strange people; only shadows. Still, she was certain they watched them from somewhere behind the glass.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “This place is called New City,” Rudyard said.

  New City.

  “Thank you for speaking with us,” Bray said courteously.

  “I will not lie. We are bothered by the items you carry, the guns,” Rudyard said.

  “I understand your caution,” Bray said. “As I said when we arrived, we mean no harm.”

  “Where did you get them?”

  “They came from across the ocean.” Kirby pointed east, to the right of the building and in the direction of the coastline, which she assumed was a distance away. “My people made them. But these are the last of them.”

  Rudyard nodded. He inspected the weapons in their hands. Looking up at the balcony where people had been, he gave some signal they couldn’t interpret. “We know what those weapons are. We even have some of them, though we seldom see people carrying them. They upset The Plagued Ones. Which colony do you represent?”

  “Brighton,” Bray said without hesitation. “A colony up north.” He nodded over his shoulder.

  “You wish to trade.”

  Bray reinforced his lie with a nod. “That was our hope.”

  “Are you here on the recommendation of another colony?”

  Perhaps reconsidering another falsehood, Bray said, “We are explorers in search of resources. We discovered this place on our own.”

  “Interesting.” Looking at William, Rudyard said, “We have never seen another Gifted One, outside of those who live here. You must excuse our fascination, but we would like to speak with you.”

  William nodded.

  “Come with me, and I will take you to a place where we can talk further.” Without another word, Rudyard turned, making it clear they should follow.

  Bray exchanged a deciding glance with Kirby and the others before they walked after him. They kept their guns at their sides. On either side of them, the mutants watched from the corn, shifting from foot to foot. A few scratched at the warts on their bodies. Kirby couldn’t recall a time she’d been in such close proximity, without swinging a knife or firing a gun.

  “Is all this food for the mutants?” she called ahead, hoping to get more information about what they were walking into. Past the corn stalks, she got a closer view of other vegetables preceding the building.

  “The Plagued Ones, you mean?” Rudyard assumed.

  “Yes,” Kirby said, noticing he used the same term as Cullen.

  “It is for them, and the other people who live here.”

  “I don’t see anything besides demons,” Bray said.

  “The rest are safely in the back. Protected.” Rudyard watched them. “We are done with the day’s work. We prefer to work before the midday heat sets in, as I assume your people do.”

  “True.” Kirby knew the same was true of farmers in her homeland. She looked up at the magnificent building, which could easily hold a large population. And that didn’t count the other, crumbled buildings behind the wall, which could easily house more. Hoping for more answers, she asked, “How many live here?”

  “Enough that we can accommodate them all,” Rudyard said vaguely. “Come. There will be time for more questions, if you agree to the terms of our discussions.”

  Cutting through the surface pleasantries, Kirby asked, “What are they?”

  “In the ground level, we have a room to lock up your weapons.” Rudyard nodded as he looked over his shoulder. “We do not allow weapons in The Learning Building.”

  “How do we know we are safe, and that we will get them back?” Bray asked.

  “Surely you emissaries know the risks,” Rudyard said with a knowing glance. Probably hoping to assuage their concerns, he added, “This is a place of peace. We Gifted believe in violence only when it is absolutely necessary. We defend the land we have, but we do not delight in war.”

  A few of the demons snarled at them with rotten, cracked teeth.

  Rudyard continued. “In any case, you can see the protection we have here. We have enough Plagued Ones to ward off any enemy’s army, probably even a few armies. While you are a guest, you can travel unimpeded. But know you are being watched.”

  “We appreciate your hospitality,” said Bray simply.

  Chapter 13: Bray

  Rudyard led them toward the do
or on the left-hand side of the building. Bray got a better glimpse of the wall jutting out from its sides, extending for a long ways. At some point, it appeared to end, presumably turning at a perpendicular angle and walling off the city. Along the wall, he saw a few bins that looked as if they might hold compost, along with a closed gate about ten yards away. Turning his attention to the building and the door, Bray studied the barricade along the base of the front—chunks of heavy rock that would take more than a few men to move. The edges of the building were cracked in a few spots, but the building was notably intact. Bray marveled at the array of windows on the upper floors, which caught the sun in such a way that he wondered if it was a different type of glass. Even up close, he could barely see through the dark shade of it.

  Catching his stare, Rudyard said, “I can see the glass fascinates you. We construct it here, among other things. Many wish to trade for it, to adorn their buildings. The coloration on it allows us to see outside, while the people outside cannot see in. It is helpful for keeping watch, among other things.”

  “It is a rare sight,” Bray noted.

  “Perhaps something to keep in mind, if we decide to trade.”

  Bray looked at Kirby. Judging by her expression, she was equally impressed.

  “The building is in remarkable shape,” Kirby commented.

  “We maintain it using pieces of some of the more disheveled buildings beyond the wall, to the south of our city,” Rudyard explained. “Much of the old city was destroyed by a large storm many years ago. The foundations of many of those buildings weren’t salvageable, so we took what we could and concentrated it on this building, and the others behind the wall that we could protect and build.”

  “A worthy goal,” Bray flattered.

  “Considering what is out in the wild, we are fortunate,” Rudyard said.

  Reaching the thick door on the building’s side, Rudyard opened it to lead the way. Bray was surprised to find several uninfected men standing in the room, waiting, or perhaps keeping guard. They nodded at Bray and the others as they walked in. One of the men was burly, with chiseled features and dark hair. The other was taller, with light blond hair and freckles. Both of them had sun-gilded skin, and wore serious expressions.