The noise echoed off the front row of houses and in the alleys between.
Bray looked up from his bedroll, staring through the doorway while the same sounds he’d heard while sitting in his prison cell repeated. Somewhere over the surrounding walls, demons snarled.
Teddy explained, “Time for The Plagued Ones to feed.”
Bray stood and walked to the threshold of his new house, looking out over the courtyard. Several Head Guards stood by the gate in the wall, through which he’d come earlier from the fields. They shook some metal bells that produced a high-pitched clanging sound. Each noise incited the hissing, shrieking demons on the other side, which seemed as if they might climb over the gate.
Bray looked left and right. All along the doorways that lined the front of the settlement, more slaves watched nervously. A few young children scurried deep into the dwellings.
Teddy pointed across the courtyard, toward the fenced-in area. “That’s where they feed them.”
A few hundred feet away, the gate was open. It was the first time Bray had seen inside. The fenced-in area was comprised of thick wooden slats, built close enough together that they allowed no light to escape. Inside, through the open door, Bray saw piles of fresh corn. A few slaves rolled empty wagons from inside, fear in their steps. The guards stationed at the gate of the fenced-in area held similar bells, but they didn’t ring them yet.
“The men inside are tasked to clean out the Feeding Pen. They take out the dried dung and refill the pen with fresh corn. Usually those who are punished do it,” Teddy said nervously.
“I’ve heard a little about it,” Bray said, recalling the conversation he’d had with The Gifted in the shimmering building, and the things he’d pieced together.
The men with pushcarts veered away from the Feeding Pen entrance, heading up the path that led between the first rows of shop buildings and out of sight, probably to return the wagons somewhere. The Head Guards at the Feeding Pen watched them go, before signaling across the courtyard to the Head Guards at the front wall gate.
All started ringing their bells.
The guards at the front of the settlement opened the gate.
A stream of twisted men poured inside.
Bray’s stomach clenched as nearly a hundred naked, screeching demons filled the courtyard, trampling over the dirt and bringing their stench. A few defecated, or urinated. More than a few demons eyed the slaves hiding in their houses, but most were focused on the open gate at the other end, where the latter guards rang the same bells, ushering them forward and into the Feeding Pen.
“The bells reinforce their behavior,” Teddy said. “At least, that’s what The Gifted tell us. Occasionally we have an injury. They usually go for the children, who are easy prey. That is why most of the children hide deep in their houses with their families.”
“Why would they let them in here?” Bray shook his head. “It seems foolish.”
“Many reasons,” Teddy said. “For one, it is a reminder of our worth. There are other reasons, too. Feeding them in the pen keeps the dung contained, so they can use it for the machine shops. It also helps as a training exercise. Or at least, that’s what Rudyard says. He has his own reasons for everything.”
Bray couldn’t hide the disgust on his face.
Somewhere over the commotion, he heard Rudyard barking orders, though he couldn’t see him past the stream of demons, still coming in through the front gate.
More twisted men traipsed across the settlement, heading for the Feeding Pen. A few glared hungrily at Bray and Teddy, but none deviated from the path. The first demons to enter the pen grabbed hold of the loose ears of corn that had been dumped inside, munching hungrily. A few grabbed for the same pieces, snapping and snarling. When all the demons were inside, the bells stopped ringing. A mass of tumbling, writhing bodies fought over the corn. The guards near the Feeding Pen closed the gate.
Looking back to the front wall, Bray saw Rudyard past the threshold of the gate, lording over another mass of demons. He held up his hands, shouting for the demons to halt. The Head Guards at that end closed the main gate, taking away Bray’s view.
“They feed them in shifts, so the Plagued Ones don’t get too unruly,” Teddy explained, adding, “And so no one gets any ideas about escaping.”
The wail of hungry demons filled the air on the other side of the city wall. Rudyard yelled orders above them.
“Rudyard reminds us often that he is the only thing keeping them back,” Teddy said nervously. “That, and the guards with the bells.”
Bray nodded. It didn’t take a genius to see that without a system, the slaves would become easy meals. The slap of hungry maws from the Feeding Pen could just as easily chew on flesh.
“They tell us The Plagued Ones are here for our protection,” Teddy said. “They are the city’s army.”
Hearing some doubt in Teddy’s voice, Bray asked, “Is that what you believe?”
Teddy’s eyes scanned the Head Guards nervously. “We work to feed the army, so that we might live in peace here, free from the dangers of the forests.” He sounded as if he was parroting someone else’s words. “I do what they tell me, so I can stay alive. I don’t question it.”
“How long have you been here?” Bray asked.
“Forty years.”
Bray furrowed his brow. “How old are you?”
“Forty-six years old. I was six when they came for us.”
“They?”
“The Hunters. They call them Semposi. I am assuming they brought you here, too.”
“Indirectly,” Bray said.
“They are a vicious people,” Teddy said. “But they have learned to co-exist by providing for The Gifted. They do what they can to survive, like the rest of us who lived in the forests. I am the last of my family. My mother was a slave here, too, but she passed away from sickness.”
“I am sorry,” Bray said.
“It was a while ago. I have grieved and moved on.” Teddy lowered his eyes.
“One of the men we are with, Cullen, came from the forests,” Bray said.
“I have been here so long I barely remember anything of my old life.”
Bray turned his attention back to the courtyard. When the slapping sounds had subsided, the Head Guards—and Rudyard—coordinated opening the doors. The demons streamed out, remnants of corn dripping from their faces. Inside the Feeding Pen, Bray saw gnawed, broken cobs and scattered feces. When the demons had cleared the threshold, the same Field Hands from before wheeled in more carts of corn into the pen, preparing for the second round of feeding.
“The Plagued Ones get meat in the forests at night,” Teddy said. “They are allowed to eat anything they find out there. They would eat us, if we were foolish enough to try and escape and wander the woods then. It is another way to keep us in. That, and the trinkets they place on the other side of the walls. They rattle if anyone tries to climb over, alerting The Plagued Ones.”
Bray nodded gravely as he learned the use of the strange objects. Too many safeguards.
“The corn keeps them sated, or so they tell us.” Teddy paused. “But I fear they are always hungry. I wouldn’t want to imagine what would happen if they came for us.”
Chapter 46: William
William sat at the table with the other Gifted, sipping water and eating a generous meal as the same bells he heard every evening rang. No one broke from conversation, or their meal, at the sounds. The Gifted bobbed their heads, speaking about the books they’d read, the projects on which they’d worked, or the day’s activities.
“I reread some of our books on aviation today,” Barron said, as the others turned their heads toward him interestedly.
“Did you discover anything worthwhile?” Tolstoy asked, around a mouthful of food.
“The braking mechanism in the old, steam-powered planes is of much curiosity,” Barron said with enthusiasm, as he nodded. “The steam engine is reversible, making stopping a short process. The propeller spins backwa
rd, effectively halting the plane. It is an effective method of braking, though steam-powered planes weren’t too prevalent in history. It is an option I am exploring.”
“Brakes are important,” Herman said, with a thin line of laughter on his wart-covered mouth. “Without them, we might never see you again.”
A few Gifted laughed.
“Stopping is as important as getting started,” Barron agreed.
To William, the conversation might as well be in another language. He listened, he nodded, but he could do little more than take it in as he speared a bite of potato.
“It is interesting to see how many people argued about who was first,” Herman said. “Each inventor wanted credit, or their families did. For our purposes, none of that matters.”
Seeing the confusion on William’s face, Tolstoy explained, “Not everyone in the past accepted history. Some sought to disprove what humans thought they knew. Others tried taking credit for someone else’s inventions. We Gifted have no use for such arguments.”
“With so much time passing, and no one alive to care besides us, the names are less important than the knowledge they shared,” Herman said with a shrug. “Even our names are unimportant.”
“Most of us have chosen different names than what we used to go by,” Amelia said. “Tolstoy is perhaps the most learned of us. Which is where he got his name.”
“What does your name mean?” William asked Tolstoy.
“Years ago, lots of humans held up a particular author’s book as an example of a long, difficult piece of literature,” Tolstoy said. “All of us remember it, though none of us have read it. We no longer have a copy. My nickname was given to me by the others, because of the number of books I’ve read.”
“He has lots of knowledge,” Herman said.
“Barron’s name is taken after a famous pilot who flew in an old war, though he spells it a bit differently,” Amelia explained. Seeing the confusion on William’s face, she said, “A pilot is a person who flies planes.”
“What about your name?” William asked Amelia.
“My name is my own,” she said, “although it is a fitting coincidence, given the project we have undertaken.”
William nodded again, though he didn’t understand what she meant.
“Perhaps when you can read, you will pick up more of what we are saying,” Tolstoy assured him.
“I will start teaching you tomorrow,” Amelia said. “Would you like that?”
“Yes, I would,” William said.
“I’ve heard some of the conversations you’ve had with Amelia. I think you will pick it up quickly,” Tolstoy complimented.
William put on the happy smile he had learned to use on adults with agendas, hoping it worked on The Gifted. He was chewing a bite of meat when more bells sounded.
“Some time, we will watch the feeding. It is a reminder of the fate we escaped, with our cells’ mutation,” Herman said, turning his bulbous head to look at William. “We could have turned out like The Plagued Ones. We could have been animals. Thankfully, we are not.”
Chapter 47: Bray
Bray stared into the darkening courtyard. The demons were gone, but their fetid stench lingered, invading the homes of the powerless people. The demons were unassailable. He couldn’t jab a sword in their throats, or take their scalps. He couldn’t battle his way out of death, like he did in the wild. The demons might as well be gods, for all the good his bare hands would do.
In all his life, he had never felt as defenseless.
And that was exactly what The Gifted—what Rudyard and the Head Guards—wanted.
The people of New City were beaten down.
He saw it in the terrified looks on their faces, as they peered out from the open doorways. He saw it in the children’s fear as they hunkered by their mothers during the feeding. The slaves lived their lives at the end of a blade, waiting for the final jab into their throats. They teetered on the ledge between hunger and punishment. They waited for the day they were used and discarded. Their treatment was worse than anything he’d seen in Brighton.
Turning, he watched Teddy sip on the last bits of broth from the day’s reheated soup. His fear seemed to have melted. “Another day down,” he said with a sigh.
Bray wondered if he murmured the same thing, when no one was around.
“How many roommates have you had?” Bray asked, thinking more information might help him.
“More than I can remember,” Teddy said, looking as if he struggled to recall. “Most died. A few are still here, transferred to other homes. Not all are fit for this life. Some were infected.”
Bray felt a stab of new fear as he thought of Kirby’s condition. “What do they do with the infected?”
“Anyone who displays signs of infection will show it, of course. They stop working, or behave strangely. They aren’t as productive. When the signs show, the Head Guards take them away. No one knows what happens to them.”
Bray nodded through his worry. As long as Kirby kept working, hopefully she’d be safe. He watched out the doorway, where a handful of slaves stoked bonfires, conversing and sipping flasks.
“What happens now?” Bray asked.
“We get the rest of the night to ourselves,” Teddy said with a shrug.
“Can we walk around?”
Teddy nodded. “I wouldn’t get too close to the wall. You don’t want to risk making a rattle. The Plagued Ones haven’t come over in a long time, but we don’t want to tempt them. And I’d steer clear of the eastern edge of the city.”
“The shops, you mean.”
“Yes. The Head Guards usually keep a close eye on them, so we do not steal. You might catch a beating for wandering in the wrong area.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t go out after dinner,” Teddy said, with a look that Bray knew was a recommendation.
Bray figured forty years was a long time to live in a place such as this. He’d already seen the guards’ cruelty, in their swinging fists and kicking boots. He knew it wouldn’t take much to receive another beating, or death. But he wanted to learn his surroundings.
He looked out the doorway, watching more people congregate by the bonfires, speaking a little more loudly, without the immediate threat of demons. Every so often, a yowl floated from over the wall, hushing some of the people as they looked cautiously around.
“Perhaps I will take a brief walk,” he said.
“Would you like the rest of the broth, before you go?” Teddy asked. “I’m sure you are hungry.”
“Sure,” Bray said. “Thanks.”
Chapter 48: Kirby
Kirby spooned the last of her cornmeal in her mouth. Across from her, Esmeralda soothed Fiona on her bedroll. Ever since the mutants had entered the city, the child had cried. Kirby couldn’t blame her. The noises of the mutants were enough to inspire any child’s nightmares. Even the most hardened soldiers would show fear at a horde of that number.
She wondered how Bray and Cullen had fared.
The only thing she knew of Cullen’s location was that he’d been taken somewhere west. She knew where they’d put Bray, though. She’d seen him in a dwelling in the front row when they had lined up for the afternoon duties.
He must’ve been right next to the demons, when they paraded through.
She took a swig from her flask as she looked through the doorway, watching the sky grow dark. The guards would be watching her—especially Ollie. But she desperately wanted to tell Bray about Drew. And she was worried about Cullen. But she needed a reason to be out, that might spare her a beating.
She tipped her flask, draining the last sip from the meager pouch.
“Are we out of water?” she asked Esmeralda.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get a chance to get any earlier,” she said. “Fiona has been colicky lately.”
“I can get water, if you’d like.”
“You would do that?” Esmeralda asked, a thin hope lighting her otherwise exhausted face.
“Where is the well?”
“The closest is about five rows of houses that way.” Esmeralda nodded with Fiona cradled in her arms. “It is in the middle of the line of houses. You can’t miss it.”
Kirby grabbed the pot. She was about to leave when Esmeralda stopped her. “Be careful. The guards will be watching you.”
Kirby nodded. She didn’t need the woman to tell her twice.
Carrying the pot, Kirby left the dwelling, following Esmeralda’s directions. The sky had darkened so that most of the city was shadows, other than light spilling out from the open doorways. She passed several other people on the way, mostly silhouettes returning with water of their own, or heading elsewhere. She walked fast enough to make progress, but not quick enough to be noticed. She passed one of the houses with doors. Inside the partially open doorway, a Head Guard stuffed some meat into his mouth. She hurried past.
Traveling five rows of houses, she saw the well—a small, stone affair preceded by a line of people, pumping the handle and filling buckets. She quietly waited her turn, avoiding anyone’s eyes. When she was finished filling her pot, she headed in the direction of Esmeralda’s house. She saw no guards.
Hoping she wasn’t making a foolish decision, she went east.
Kirby headed toward the direction of the courtyard, watching the smoke rise into the sky from a few bonfires visible at the end of the path. People hovered around them, stoking them or talking. Once or twice, she spotted a few guards, but she kept her head down and kept moving. Soon she’d reached the edge of the path and entered the courtyard. With no guards in sight, she headed down the first row of houses, staring straight ahead, making a show of carrying her pot.
At the fifth house, she looked right.
Bray.
Bray stood sideways, sipping some soup from a bowl. Behind him, another man—his roommate, she guessed—knelt beside the hearth. She slowed as much as she dared, afraid to stop, lest someone other than Bray spot her. She only had a moment to catch his attention. A laugh made her swivel. Several people conversed near an open doorway, children playing around them. The chatter was good cover, but a moment or more, and someone might become suspicious. She had almost given up on her plan when Bray turned his head, meeting her eyes. Kirby’s stomach clenched.
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