A quiet hung over the air as Kirby and Bray processed a new horror.
“Thankfully, that project ended a long time ago, and The Gifted are focused on other inventions and pursuits,” Clara said. “For now.”
“But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen again,” James said disgustedly. “We are expendable. We are the scum on the bottom of their shoes, worth less than the dung in the Feeding Pen they collect and burn.”
Kirby nodded. She’d heard enough of Rudyard’s remarks to know that was true. And she’d certainly seen enough.
“Drew said you are working on a plan of escape.”
“Not an escape,” Clara clarified. “A revolt.” She looked back and forth between Bray and Kirby. “The people in this city have been beaten down enough. They are ready to fight back.”
“How many people are in your group?” Kirby asked, feeling a surge of hope as she heard those words.
Clara hesitated. “About two hundred. We have people throughout New City, in the shops, in the fields, and among those who tend animals. We have more than you see here, obviously.”
Drew said, “The group has been meeting for a while, trying to determine the best plan. I joined a few months after I was captured.”
Kirby asked Drew, “Do you have weapons?”
Drew nodded in the dark, anticipating her question. “We have a stash here in Ashville. Most are crude shanks, made from pieces of metal stolen from the machine shops, or tools stolen without the guards’ knowledge.”
“Most were gained at more risk than they are worth,” Giovanni added. “We have enough to arm about half of our people, but we still need more.”
Kirby had hoped for guns. But it was a start, and much more than she had when she was rotting in a cell, ready to die.
“Maybe we can get more weapons in the building,” Bray said. “The Gifted must have some. They certainly have ours.”
“We have thought about that, of course. Too many locked doors stand between us and those weapons,” Clara said. “Getting to them would mean getting over the wall and passing The Plagued Ones. Even if we got into the building, we have to contend with the guards on the first floor, and who knows what else. It is rumored there is a weapons stash on the first floor, but it is secured by a strong door, as well as the entrance to the building. We would be better off running into the forest and escaping. Even if we needed a last resort, we do not have an escape route.”
“That is another problem,” James said.
“Most of us were born here, or taken long ago,” Clara said. “Some of us know the area, but it seems as if things are always changing. Did you see anything outside the city that might help us?”
“We came from the north. We found nothing but demon dung,” Bray said, disgustedly.
“That is our problem. No direction is safe from The Plagued Ones,” Clara said. “The closest people are more than a day’s walk, and none would harbor or help us. They profit from their relationship with The Gifted.”
Changing from a subject with no good answers, Giovanni directed a comment at Kirby. “Drew told us the guards in your homeland helped you escape.”
“It is true,” Kirby said. “The guards allowed us access to the ships. Some were sympathetic, while others demanded favors. Perhaps some guards are sympathetic here.”
“Unfortunately, that won’t work, either,” Clara said. “Most of the Head Guards were born here. They get the power of a made-up title. They get amenities. They learn to look down on the others, the way The Gifted look down on all of us. They are untrustworthy, because they gain from our subordination. And they have knives, to ensure we cooperate.”
“The Gifted are only concerned with making their goods to trade, so they can keep the city functioning,” Drew said, disdain bleeding through his words. “Keeping the guards happy furthers their aims.”
“How many Head Guards are in New City?” Kirby asked, though she had a vague idea.
“About a hundred,” Clara answered. “Our small group outnumbers them, but it doesn’t matter. If something happens to the guards, Rudyard will send The Plagued Ones through the gate, or The Gifted will use the weapons they surely have in the tower to kill us. And we are not certain what the other slaves would do.”
“Too many in New City are complacent,” Drew explained. “They would rather live in the city than fight for it. They believe the guards’ lies that the forest is full of greater dangers. Our city is fragmented.”
Kirby nodded as she recalled the words Esmeralda had told her. “Has anyone ever escaped this place, or tried to revolt?”
The people in the shadows remained quiet for a long moment. Finally, Clara spoke.
“About five years ago, some other people organized an escape attempt, unbeknownst to us. They met in secret, as we are doing now. They determined the amount of time they needed to get far enough into the forests to get away. Or, so they thought.”
“What happened?” Kirby asked.
Clara continued, “As you know, The Plagued Ones eat their dinner in the evening, and hunt animals at night in the forests around the perimeter. Even still, a lot of them linger nearby. These people secretly broke a hole in the wall, wide enough to climb through. They planned on leaving early in the morning, hoping The Plagued Ones had filled their stomachs. The slaves hoped to have half a morning before the Head Guards did their count, so they could run far enough into the woods to be forgotten. They hoped for a miracle. It was a foolish plan. They had no weapons.”
“Did the mutants eat them?” Kirby guessed.
“The Head Guards found out about their plan the night before it happened. They waited by the hole. And they caught all of them.” Clara swallowed. “They brought them to the courtyard and fed them to The Plagued Ones, while the rest of the city watched.”
The air became impossibly quieter. Kirby stared cautiously around at the shadows near the building, as if one might move.
“How did the guards find out about their plan?” Bray asked.
“Most of the people in New City can’t be trusted,” Drew said. “Too many open their mouths, repeating what they hear. They hope to curry favor. The Head Guards, Rudyard, and The Gifted prey on peoples’ hopes. They breed a culture of informants where every word is watched.”
Turning to the topic of the meeting, Clara faced Kirby and said, “Drew thought you might have some insight of which we haven’t thought.”
Kirby fell silent for a moment, reflecting on the things they’d told her. She wanted the revolt to be a puzzle she could solve, even though it was quickly becoming clear there were no easy answers. “Bray and I have contemplated many things, of course. But we haven’t settled on anything. And of course, we didn’t know about the possibility of a revolt.”
“We have contemplated many options, too,” Clara said. “Even if we can overpower the guards, The Plagued Ones and The Gifted worry us. We do not have any clear solutions. We are torn between plans.”
“We will only get one chance,” Giovanni added.
“Keep an eye on what is going on here. Perhaps you will discover some new idea, in the things we have told you,” Drew suggested.
“We will try,” said Kirby.
Chapter 13: Kirby
Moonlight spilled over the broken, crumbling buildings, creating deep shadows between every rock and large piece of stone as Kirby and Bray made their way back. The other Shadow People had disappeared, separating down other alleys filled with the same smell of smoke and ash as the place where they met.
For too long, Kirby’s meetings with Bray had consisted of brief, whispered conversations in alleyways, where they met and parted, or cautious looks in the fields. Walking next to him reminded her of riding or hiking through the forest with William, sharing their days and their nights together. Reaching over, she pulled him into an embrace.
“We will find a way out of this life,” Bray promised.
“I hope so,” she whispered, holding him.
“At least we are
no longer alone,” Bray said. “With the help of a group, we are in a better position.”
Blotting her eyes before they could release tears, Kirby said, “But that does not mean it will be easy.”
“Do you trust them?” Bray asked.
“I trust Drew with my life. And he trusts the others,” Kirby answered, letting go and looking around. “That is enough, for now.”
Bray nodded.
“A revolt will need much planning,” Kirby said. “We are up against a problem with many layers. Kill the Head Guards, and The Gifted send the mutants in to devour us. Kill the mutants, and we still have to contend with The Gifted. The Gifted surely have more guns in the tower. If they discover us, shivs and hand tools will not go far against them. And who knows what they might do to William?”
Bray sighed at a detail he had temporarily forgotten.
“I knew the city was fragmented,” Bray said, “even before they said the words. I saw it in the eyes of the slaves that chanted this morning with the guards. It is clear that some of the slaves go along with their fate, because they are told lies. Or because they don’t know better. Who knows what they might do, when a revolt happens?”
“Too many people get used to their mistreatment,” Kirby lamented. “They think it is the only way.”
“I have seen people indentured to others in Brighton,” Bray said. “They put up with beatings and vile words that would provoke a fight in others. Some they think they deserve it. Others start to believe that way, after too much time in another’s service.”
“Enslavement has many evils,” Kirby agreed.
“It is too bad your plan with the guards will not work here,” Bray said.
Kirby recalled her last moments in her homeland. When she closed her eyes, she could see the sweating bodies of four hundred of her people, as they ran to the docks. She saw the expression of joy on their faces as they sailed from the harbor of her homeland for the last time, the wind kissing their skin. But those moments hadn’t come without their scars. Some of her people had traded possessions, favors, and even their bodies. Her people had paid a price for their freedom to the guards, some of who had taken their toll in blood and tears. Those scars haunted Kirby, as it had haunted the others for as long as they were alive.
“What worked for us there, will not work here,” Kirby reiterated. “Clara was right. The guards here would rather kill us than allow us a breath beyond New City—especially Ollie and Avery, and some of the guards who beat us. They will not help us.”
“I’d like to pay them back for what they did to Cullen, and to the slave yesterday,” Bray muttered.
“Maybe one day, we can,” Kirby said. “But we will need to be careful in how we execute it.”
Bray went quiet a moment, thinking. “It seemed as if they had a few gaps in their plans. They said they were short on weapons. And they mentioned their lack of recent knowledge of what’s beyond the walls. Perhaps those are things we can help with.”
Kirby nodded. “Maybe we can work on those problems, while we think of some other ideas. In any case, I do not think we will find any immediate answers in the shadows. If we don’t get back, someone will miss us.”
They fell into a silence as they walked a wide alley between rows of tall buildings with less rubble, and plenty of shadow. When they had gone far enough that they could see the first rows of lights, they paused. Bray glanced up at the tall, glass-covered building in the distance, which was mostly dark, except for a few ominous flickers in the windows. Kirby didn’t need him to voice his thoughts to know them.
“We will get out of this life of enslavement,” Bray said. “And we will find William.”
With a final embrace, they parted.
Chapter 14: William
William looked out the windows of the fifteenth floor, sickness in his heart. The information he’d received this afternoon was as cold and suffocating as the robe he wore. He couldn’t get his mind off the strange things The Gifted had done to humans.
He didn’t even know what to call The Gifted anymore. They weren’t men, and they certainly weren’t demons. Any hope he had at playing along with them felt as if it had been thrust away.
He couldn’t live a life like this much longer.
He might pretend he could, when he lay awake at night, imagining that Bray and Kirby were safe, even though he knew they weren’t. Cullen’s death was proof of that.
Sooner or later, he would be complicit in some atrocity he couldn’t fathom. He needed to escape.
William felt useless. All this time in the building, and all he’d managed to gain was a flimsy, twisted hairpin. His achievement felt inadequate. He could get himself out of a room—nothing more.
Looking out the window, William envisioned Bray down there in one of the buildings, perhaps preparing to meet some end worse than Cullen’s. Bray had made a promise of safety to William, and that promise had carried them through the forests, The Ancient City, and The Arches. That promise had led them into the arms of The Gifted, into a life of enslavement he didn’t deserve.
I will find a way to get out of this place and help my friends, even if it means my end, William resolved.
Chapter 15: Kirby
When Kirby returned home, most of the slaves had finished dinner. Only a handful lingered in the alleys, chatting quietly, while others settled down for the night, cleaning their dishes, or doing laundry. A few slaves returned from the bonfires, smelling of courtyard smoke. Moonlight spilled through the open doorway of her squalid house, splashing light over the meager possessions, and Esmeralda, who sat on her bedroll, playing with Fiona. Relief washed over Kirby as she crossed the threshold and found no guards.
It seemed as if Fiona had gotten over whatever mood had ailed her in the afternoon.
“How were the bonfires?” Esmeralda asked, rocking her daughter.
“Fine,” Kirby said without elaborating. “Much of the usual talk about the heat of the fields.”
“It seems as if it never ends,” Esmeralda said. “I do not envy your job with the harvest.”
“You have a challenging job, as well, taking care of a child.” Kirby smiled as Esmeralda bounced Fiona on her lap.
Esmeralda didn’t answer. She looked past Kirby and out the doorway. It looked as if she had something more to say.
“What is it?” Kirby asked.
With a slight shake of her head, Esmeralda beckoned her closer. Kirby got near her bedroll.
“Ollie was here looking for you,” Esmeralda whispered, around Fiona’s coos.
Kirby’s heart pounded. “Ollie? What did he want?”
“I do not know. He said he would find you in the morning.”
Kirby looked to the doorway, as if she’d find a lumbering figure standing there.
Of course, the doorway was empty.
“I would not go looking for him,” Esmeralda warned. “Hopefully in the morning, when he is sober, he will forget about you.”
Chapter 16: Kirby
Kirby walked the paths with a new trepidation under a morning sky pillowed with clouds. All around her, workers rubbed the sleep from their eyes, or said goodbye to their families and children, before striding hurriedly down the paths toward the courtyard. Ollie’s visit was a looming weight, sitting in her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to blend in with the other workers, like she did most days, but somehow, she had gotten his attention and held it.
She braced for a final struggle. For all she knew, guards hid in one of the alleys, or doorways, ready to do Ollie’s bidding. Or maybe Ollie would pull her off alone.
Soon she reached the edges of the courtyard, where handfuls of Field Hands already waited in line. A few glanced at her. Was it normal attention, or did they know something? The smell of people’s sweat mingled with the odor of cooked meat, roasted vegetables, and cornmeal. The morning was already hot, and would be punishingly so, by mid-day.
Maybe she wouldn’t live that long.
She slipped near the bac
k of the line. At the front, far from her, she saw Bray, waiting between a few workers. He gave her a nod and looked away. Of course she couldn’t speak with him.
A guard belched as he came down an alleyway between some houses. She turned slowly and risked a glance, watching him mingle with a few other guards. His eyes were red and glazed. Perhaps yesterday’s fight had turned into an excuse to get drunk, not that he needed a reason.
Kirby looked for evidence of yesterday’s fight. Most of the dirt had been scuffed over, or walked on, but she saw a few dark stains of blood in the soil. She shuddered.
The courtyard filled with more and more Field Hands, until the line was filled with people and quiet chatter.
A loud bang pulled her attention across the courtyard. She turned to find Ollie sauntering from one of the guards’ private chamber pot buildings, the door slamming behind him. He joined a cluster of guards about twenty feet from the line. No one looked at her. She waited for the moment when Ollie remembered her. Maybe he meant to surprise her with an attack. The guards laughed, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Perhaps they discussed her.
A few Field Hands wheeled some creaky wagons to the head of the line, putting them in place and scuttling off.
Kirby looked at a few of the dirty, scrawny workers. They held the same fearful expressions they always did, while waiting for the count. But she could just as easily see those expressions becoming vicious cries for blood, once the guards dragged her out of the line. The guards walked from the middle of the courtyard toward the gate. A few stationed themselves by it, prepared to usher the slaves to the fields, once Ollie and a few other guards finished the count.
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