“The Plagued Ones fight for food. They are always hungry.”
Barron said those words as if they were fact, but they weren’t always true.
The Gifted’s demons fought each other, but not all demons did.
William knew the demons’ instincts better than anyone, because he had lived among them. He had spent long days learning, hunting, and sleeping in their presence. The demons obeyed when he spoke with them, but they also helped each other survive.
The demon army fought for food because their owners starved them.
The Gifted ordered them to keep close to New City, allowing them only meager scraps of corn and the animals they could hunt close by. Most of the animals in the nearby forests, or around the walls, had long been killed and eaten. William had seen the hungry looks in the demons’ eyes as they chased the remaining small prey through the cornfields. They yearned for more.
Staring at The Gifted, watching them bow their heads in solemn reflection, he wondered if perhaps there was meaning in Barron’s death, after all. Maybe Barron’s cold words on that day had given William another answer.
Maybe he could show The Gifteds’ demons another way.
“Brothers and sister,” Tolstoy said, as he opened the small urn and threw the ashes into the wind. “May Barron’s ideas, and his intelligence, live on.”
Perhaps the demons had always been the answer.
**
“Come in,” William said, responding to a knock at his door.
The same, stony-faced guard entered, balancing a tray of food for his dinner. William remained in bed, tucked under the covers, as he watched the guard enter. Sucking in a breath, William hacked his way through a noisy cough before the guard got within a few feet of him. Reacting to Amelia’s warnings, the guard set the tray on one of the bureaus, keeping his distance.
“I’ll leave it here,” he said.
William nodded and touched his throat, as if he was unable to answer. Out on the stairwell, through the open door, he saw another guard waiting. He’d already heard them bringing The Gifted dinner, followed by dessert a while later. They followed the same schedule as always.
William was an afterthought, or at least it seemed that way, now that he was sick and no longer among them as much.
Without another word, the guards shut and locked the door. William listened to their footsteps recede down the fifteen floors to the bottom, before looking over at the food on the bureau.
Meat, potatoes, and corn.
Fighting the hunger in his stomach, he rose from the bed and walked over to the food, but he didn’t eat it.
Chapter 47: William
William crept through the moonlight toward his doorway, holding his full plate of food. When everyone was asleep, he snuck out, made his way to the third floor, and unlocked the door.
Inside the room, William veered toward the northern balcony.
He opened the glass door and looked out, searching for guards on the floors above and below before stepping through it. More than likely, they scanned beyond the building’s perimeter, or behind the wall. Or perhaps they weren’t looking at all. It was a risk he had to take.
The fresh air felt good on his face as he stepped to the railing and peered over.
Something skittered in the shadows, near the building’s base three floors down.
Sucking in a nervous breath, William hissed, “It’s okay. I’m here to help.”
He heard rustling through the cornfields as more shadows emerged to investigate. A handful of demons congregated underneath the moonlight, looking up at him.
“I know you’re hungry. I brought food.”
An anticipatory hiss echoed from below him as William picked a piece of meat from his plate, aimed, and tossed it. More hissing came as the demons scrambled for it. Teeth tore and chewed noisily. William looked up and down the face of the building, but he heard nothing other than the demons.
Picking up another piece of meat, he reared back and threw it. More shadows came to join the others, hissing with a new sound. Pleasure. They wanted meat, not corn.
Of course, they did.
And he gave it to them.
“Have some more,” he said, making sure the demons heard his voice as he threw down the rest of his meat and potatoes, feeding them.
Chapter 48: Bray
“I’ve been thinking about your idea with the Feeding Pen, and storming the tower,” Kirby said to Bray, as they snuck along the alley, heading out of the inhabited part of the city under the moonlight. “I think it might work.”
Bray reached over, squeezing her arm. “Hopefully The Shadow People will feel the same.”
They fell in step together, looking over their shoulders, as the lights behind them receded and they traveled into deeper shadow. The dirt path on which they walked was littered with stone and debris. All around, a few hooting owls reminded them that animals roamed the dark alongside them, walls or not. More than once since they had that first meeting, Bray considered that a brave demon might skirt over the wall and run out screeching from the shadows, like those few had years ago when they ate Teddy’s daughter.
“I had a dream about William the other night,” Kirby whispered, when they were far enough away that most of the lights behind them had disappeared. Nostalgia crept into her throat, as she said, “We were riding on the horses, in that valley past the canyon, where the grass rose really high. Do you remember stopping there?”
“We had lunch there,” Bray whispered back. “There were so many rabbits, William said we could live there forever. He said that we’d die before we ran out of them.”
Kirby laughed softly at the memory. “Perhaps we should have stayed.”
“There is no way to know where our choices lead,” Bray reminded her.
“Still, it is nice to dream,” Kirby said, voicing a rare, sentimental thought.
Bray nodded. “Perhaps one day we can return there.”
A noise in the dark made them halt.
They waited, looking in all directions. They’d reached an intersecting alley running east and west. A rat skittered through the darkness somewhere in front of them, finding a nearby hole and hiding. A bat fluttered its wings, leaving its perch.
A light appeared in the distance.
“Is that Drew?” Bray hissed, peering past too many shadows.
“The people we are meeting do not use torches,” Kirby warned.
Bray swallowed as he looked behind them. Before they could make a move, two more torches sprang into view, forty feet behind and closing.
“More lights,” he said under his breath, as Kirby spun and looked.
“And down there, too,” Kirby noticed, pointing west down the intersecting alley.
With no choice but to go east, they headed that way, down the only clear path.
They skirted through the alley, their breath heaving as they ran out of sight of several of the torches. The bobbing torch behind, however, was still in view, and pounding footsteps in other directions told them the other people were converging. Dark, foul-smelling buildings surrounded them. The moon illuminated part of the pathway, but too many objects remained hidden in long, dark shadows. More rodents scurried from harm’s way.
They picked up as much speed as they could. The dark doorways and windows around them looked like pits of inky blackness, ready to suck them in and hold onto them. Bray’s leg scraped against a jagged piece of stone, hard enough to draw blood. He bit back his pain as the footsteps behind grew louder.
“Over here!” a close voice yelled.
More shouts echoed from other directions.
“Guards!” Kirby hissed.
“If they see our faces, it won’t matter if we escape,” Bray warned. “They will drag us from our houses as soon as we return.”
They took another alley, keeping ahead of the shouts and the lights. Tall buildings loomed above them. Bray wondered if they could come up with a story that would save them from death. The gods knew he had told
enough tales. But he doubted the guards would listen.
Everyone knew this area was forbidden.
He couldn’t stop thinking of the warning The Shadow People had given them about those who had tried escaping.
They fed them to The Plagued Ones, while the rest of the city watched.
A shout drew his attention to an intersecting alley, where a guard careened around a corner, pointing his finger.
“I’ve got them!”
Bray tripped over another piece of stone he didn’t see.
He fell.
He hit the ground hard, losing his breath. His hands scraped gravel. Jagged rocks scraped his palms as he pushed off, trying to regain his feet, but not before the guard caught up. Bray cried out as the man reached down for him, latching on to his boot.
“We’ve got one of ’em!”
Bray lashed out, kicking the guard backwards and knocking the torch from his hand. The man grunted and fell.
“Come on!” Kirby urged, reaching Bray’s side and pulling him up and away.
More guards caught up to the first, cursing as they turned a nearby corner and fell in line behind him. Bray could see the glow of their torches in his peripheral vision. He scanned the distance for the interior of the city—proof that they were headed the right way.
“We need to get back around other people,” he hissed. “We need to blend in.”
They raced down a dark, shadowy path between broken monoliths, until another group of lights blocked their path.
Shit.
They were cornered.
Bray thought back to what Clara and the others had told him about Ashville. The guards stayed away, unless they chased someone. Bray and Kirby had been vigilant about sneaking out, but they must’ve been followed.
There was no time to contemplate how it happened.
Reaching out, he tugged Kirby’s shoulder as they darted down a skinny alley branching off from the alley down which they ran. They skirted around a few hunks of broken, ancient stone. With no other choice, they headed to a doorway to hide.
Something clattered to the ground near Kirby.
“Dammit!” she hissed, as she lost something.
“What was that?”
“My shank!” she replied.
“Leave it!” Bray said, as the shouts behind them grew louder.
They ducked inside the building.
Footsteps echoed closer.
Bray clutched Kirby’s sleeve, holding her close as they found a spot in the rubble and crouched.
Shouting men slowed their footsteps, passing within a few steps of the place into which they’d ducked, moments ago. Torchlight penetrated the fringes of the doorway. Bray smelled the stink of the men’s clothing, heard their ragged breaths as they slowed down.
“They’re around here somewhere,” a voice said, with certainty.
Ollie.
More guards’ thundering footsteps beat the alley.
“Check the buildings,” Ollie barked. “They must’ve hid.”
Bray glanced behind him, looking for a break in the darkness that would signify a place to run, or hide. The room was pitch black. A single kicked stone would give away their position. Bray listened as the men started entering doorways. His clenched fists wouldn’t go far against so many men with knives.
They had to move.
He tugged Kirby’s arm, leading her further into the darkness as they padded gently over a floor they couldn’t see. They got only a few steps before a torch splashed light through the doorway.
Bray only had a moment to look around before a greasy-faced man stuck his head through the doorway, holding his torch and his long knife.
Spotting Bray and Kirby, he yelled, “In here!”
Bray and Kirby moved a few more steps, but the room was full of large chunks of cracked stone, and a set of stairs that led nowhere. The windows were caved in. They were trapped.
A group of eight men poured through the entrance, holding their torches high and shouting in triumph, cornering Bray and Kirby against a wall.
Cutting a path through the menacing guards, Ollie approached Bray and Kirby with his knife drawn, getting in their faces. “What are you doing here, forest-dwellers?”
Quiet pervaded the room as all eyes turned to them.
Reaching for a lie he doubted would help, Bray said, “We were taking a walk.”
A few soldiers chuckled.
“I think they were kissing in the night.” A blonde-haired guard snickered.
Bray and Kirby didn’t dispute the claim.
“There are plenty of places to do that in the city,” Ollie grunted. “And people with nothing to hide don’t run.”
A few of the soldiers nodded their agreement.
“Who else is here?” Ollie barked.
Bray wondered if the other Shadow People had been caught, but he heard nothing to give him that impression. Hopefully, they were back in their houses. Further evidence of a consortium would certainly crucify them.
“We are alone,” Kirby said simply.
The guards awaited an order, looking at Ollie.
“We only saw them leaving the city,” said a guard with a ruddy face. “Maybe Arnie was right. Maybe they were kissing.”
Bray put on a serious expression. “That’s what we were doing.”
Ollie’s face twisted into a malevolent smile. “Whatever you were doing, it won’t matter much longer.” To the guards, he said, “Bring them back to the city. Drag them through the alleys. Make sure everyone sees and hears.”
Ollie stepped back, allowing his soldiers to get by him.
Five guards approached Bray, invigorated by the chase that led to this moment. Bray looked sideways at Kirby. If this were the end, neither would give up easily.
Bray swung at the first guard to approach him, catching him in the face. He punched another guard in the stomach, but the three other guards backed him farther against the wall, quickly overwhelming him and pinning his hands.
“Let me go, you dirt-scratchers!” he yelled.
“This is the end!” one of the guards screamed.
Nearby, he heard Kirby fighting back, but three guards surrounded her, too.
“You filthy bastards!” Kirby spat, as she was overpowered.
“Take them out of here!” Ollie thundered.
Kirby’s cries echoed through the room as the guards obeyed Ollie’s orders. Bray dug his heels into the ground, unable to stop his captors from pulling him into the night.
Chapter 49: Bray
Bray sat with his back against the hard, stone wall of the cell. They’d taken Kirby into a room somewhere at the end of the long building, away from him. She might as well be back in the alleys through which they’d been kicked, beaten, and dragged, to the terrified expressions of the watching slaves. Many slaves had shown shock or sympathy, but no one had helped.
Who would volunteer for death?
Kirby and Bray had struggled, but their efforts were fruitless.
Bray didn’t see any of the other Shadow People. It seemed as if he and Kirby were the only ones caught.
It was over.
Staring at the cracks of moonlight, Bray hit a hopeless fist against the ground. The reality Kirby had spoken in the flooded house held more wisdom than his fantasy-fueled revolt. They had no chance of overrunning this filthy prison. They never had.
Kirby had been right, all those days ago.
His fingertips and nails bled from scratching at a locked door that wouldn’t budge. His voice was hoarse from shouting. All he could do now was wait for a last chance to prove his bravery. Whatever torture they planned for him, he would die with his fists swinging.
He stared at the walls, shifting positions, occasionally finding the strength to shout through the door at the guards outside. Occasionally, he heard them snickering, or telling loud stories.
Eventually, a long, hopeless night turned to morning.
The light under his door brightened.
Bray
smeared some of the sweat and dried blood from his eyes as new sounds filled the courtyard.
Lots of sounds.
The clank of a key in the lock filled Bray’s heart with a last sensation of dread, before the door swung open, allowing the morning light to spill in.
The guards entered the room, yanking him several steps out into the dirt.
Through the bright, blinding sun, Bray saw the fringes of an enormous, gathered crowd, the hundreds of slaves that comprised New City, all waiting, watching in a circle in the center of the courtyard. Most of their heads were turned toward Bray and the guards that pulled him toward the side of that crowd, who had left an opening to admit them.
Pulled past the throngs of nervous, waiting people, Bray saw Kirby standing in the courtyard’s center.
Ollie stood behind her, grinning with an expression he recognized, as he looked between Kirby and Bray, and the crowd filled in behind Bray and the guards.
He knew what this was.
A horrid feeling took root in Bray’s stomach as a chant took hold.
“Come to the center!” Ollie boomed across the courtyard. “Come and fight!”
Avery raised his arms, walking along the edges of the hesitant crowd and riling them up.
“Fight! Fight!”
“Keep walking, or I’ll gut this spineless wench!” Ollie said, keeping Bray’s attention as he stuck his knife against Kirby’s back, making a demonstration of his threat.
Kirby stood rigid in front of him, her face painted in defiance.
The crowd was a single, faceless mass, cheering, screaming, and wailing. Children hid behind their mother’s skirts. Some of the slaves with bloodlust stepped forward. The guards stood on the fringes of the circle with their knives out, ready to gut Bray if he didn’t comply.
They had learned from Jonah’s attack.
Bray took a compliant few steps forward, but he didn’t go any farther. He hoped that a few seconds of time would buy his way out of a hopeless situation. Of course, there was no way out. He might as well be standing in a pit of snarling demons.
He scanned the crowd for Drew, but he couldn’t find him or the other Shadow People. They had prepared for a meeting, not a revolt.
The Ruins Box Set Page 90