“Keep walking!” Ollie snarled again.
He nudged Kirby, ready to stab. Bray and Kirby traded a look of resolve. Neither she nor Bray would fight. They would meet their ends in the sharp ends of the guards’ blades before they killed each other.
A new voice entered the fray.
“Step aside!”
The crowd parted as several women and children moved to admit a familiar, robed figure. Some of the chanting quieted. Rudyard tilted his misshapen head as he appraised Kirby, Ollie, and Bray. He walked until he was level with Ollie. A smile played across his lips.
“You came,” Ollie grunted.
“I heard how much fun you were having,” Rudyard said. “I didn’t want to miss it.”
Bray looked through the crowd past which Rudyard had walked, as if he might find a cluster of demons, ready to enforce Ollie’s edict. But it seemed as if Rudyard was alone.
Bray steadied himself in the dirt as he stared across the courtyard at Rudyard. “No beasts to do your work?”
Rudyard’s smile was glued to his face. “Not today.”
“Perhaps you’d like to fight, yourself, then,” Bray said, raising a dirty fist.
A few in the back of the crowd cried out in support, before quickly growing silent.
“You speak bravely, for a slave who is about to kill his friend,” Rudyard said, with a confident nod.
“If you believe that, you should have brought your demons.” Bray spat in Rudyard’s direction.
“They don’t want to fight,” Ollie grunted, making a fake show of disappointment.
Rudyard looked between Kirby and Bray. “Perhaps I can persuade them.” Motioning up at the tower, he said, “Perhaps I will bring William down to spur them on.”
Kirby spun, making no effort to hide her fury as she asked, “Where is he?”
“Sleeping,” Rudyard said. “But it would be easy to wake him up.” Rudyard’s nod brought a sick feeling to Bray’s stomach as more hopelessness set in.
“You heard him,” Ollie bellowed, waving at the building. “Fight, or he brings the Plagued kid down here.”
Bray looked from the threatening faces up to the glimmering tower, as if he might find a cluster of robed figures with William on the balcony. The balcony was empty.
They wouldn’t harm William.
Would they?
Advancing toward Rudyard, Bray said, “I’ll kill you before you take a step toward that tower.”
A few guards matched his steps, moving in position to protect Rudyard.
“I am not attached to William, as the others are.” Rudyard shrugged as he glanced at the guards, who were eager for blood. “William does not belong down here in the city, but I will have no problem hurting him. Or perhaps, I will ensure that he has many long, miserable years after you are dead.”
Bray looked for a bluff beneath Rudyard’s threat, but he saw only malice in his eyes. Kirby turned over her shoulder, contemplating a last move, until Ollie raised a boot and kicked her forward.
“Get to fighting!”
Kirby stopped from falling, regained her balance, and watched Bray. Her face was bruised and dirty.
They shared a look of hopelessness. Angry tears spilled down Kirby’s cheeks as several of the guards went to the edges of the crowd and riled the slaves up again.
“Fight! Fight!”
“Do I need to explain the rules again?” Ollie called, over the growing cries of the men and women.
A few men and women in the front rows shook their heads.
Bray looked at Kirby, sharing a look both knew would be one of their last.
He balled his fists.
He took a step.
Chapter 50: Kirby
Kirby blinked as cheers and shouts grew louder around her. All at once, she was back in the arena in her homeland, listening to the shouts and cries of another bloodthirsty mob. Spittle flew from people’s mouths as they shouted more loudly. Each moment of inaction bred impatience. Only blood would sate their cries.
Fight! Fight!
Finding clarity, she looked over her shoulder at Ollie, who led the crowd with a noisy bellow. Avery stood next to Rudyard, watching with a complacent grin. She felt the surge of adrenaline that always accompanied her in the fights when she was forced against another, unwilling infected. Sometimes they begged, sometimes they groveled, but it only prolonged the pain.
Death was inevitable.
Killing the other infected in the arena had filled her empty stomach, but it had hollowed her soul.
She’d sworn she’d never do it again.
Kirby readied her fists, looking at Bray as he took a step forward. Rudyard’s words echoed in her head as she thought about William, alone in the tower with the intelligent monsters who might harm him. For all she knew, Rudyard had lied, and he was dead already. And she would be soon, when the spore claimed her.
She was a walking corpse, waiting for the infection to take her mind.
If only she had deteriorated already, so that she could forget what she was about to do.
Bray stood a few feet away, looking at Kirby with pain in his eyes. Through the dried dirt and blood on his face, she saw the man in the forest with whom she’d shared those meals, conversations, and even her bed. Somehow, she’d seen through the misery of her existence to allow herself a feeling, but that feeling would become a weapon that would hurt her worse than the infection ever could. Or maybe Bray would find the strength to see that he had a future, while she didn’t.
Maybe he would kill her, and it would all be over.
She allowed Bray’s face to blur. It was the only way she could see past the horror of what they were forced to do.
“Get to it!” Ollie screamed.
“Come on!” Bray urged her, his face contorting with pain. “We have to do this. If we don’t, they’ll hurt William.”
Fight! Fight!
Kirby cocked back a fist. A flurry of faces whipped through her mind as she saw some of the others whom she had fought. She had killed more than she wanted to remember—people with whom she was forced to live before she fought. She’d never forget their names, and she recalled each of those bloodied faces in her sleep. Terry. Marshall. Angela. Patrick.
Kirby swung.
Bray threw up a deflective arm, blocking.
Marcus. David. Roger.
People cheered as the unwilling opponents circled, and Kirby prepared another swing.
Kirby struck again, catching Bray in the side. He grunted and circled. Their stalling wouldn’t last long.
Jerry. Ben. Josephine.
The hard feeling in Kirby’s stomach became a pit she remembered too well.
Bray swung a fist that she easily avoided. Dodging out of the way, Kirby stopped herself before throwing a counter-blow. Watching Bray’s hesitant face, she allowed it to blur again, recalling another memory from the arena, all those years ago.
All at once, the faces and the names faded, replaced by a single person.
Edward.
The first man she’d fought.
She remembered Edward’s screams as he flung his fists at her, fighting a battle that neither of them wanted, a battle that had lasted too long until one of them had finally succumbed. She recalled the punch that had knocked him from his feet and stopped him from getting up. A few punches in either direction, and Edward might’ve been the one standing over her at the end.
Edward hadn’t died, though, at least not that day.
She had caught him in a manner that had knocked him out, rather than killing him. They had declared her the winner, but they hadn’t given her a meal.
Still, Edward had lived past that fight.
There was only one way out of the arena.
One way out, unless…
Moving toward Bray, under the instigating screams of the guards, and the chant of the crowd, Kirby muttered, “When I hit you, stay down.”
A look of confusion crossed Bray’s face.
Before he could
process her words, Kirby charged. She summoned her anger into a fist, recalling the beatings of the guards and Ollie’s sneering, pig-headed face. Putting that anger into a swing and a ferocious cry, she aimed between Bray’s left temple and ear, as she had done to Edward that day.
Bray’s hands came up to block, too late. The blow landed hard and true.
Too hard.
Kirby had a second to wonder if she’d made a mistake before Bray dropped, and stayed down.
He landed on his back, unmoving.
The crowd whooped into frenzy. Kirby regained her fighting stance, as the last of her cry died in the air. Surprised shouts came from the guards, as they approached with their weapons and Bray didn’t move. The crowd leaned forward expectantly.
“Get up, forest-dweller!” a guard cried.
“To your feet, you weak-kneed bastard!” another goaded.
Receiving no response, the guards got closer, bending down to look at the fallen combatant. A few circled behind Kirby, guarding her, while others formed a half-circle around Bray. They kept their knives in front of them, as though he might spring up and surprise them.
“What’s going on?” Ollie called impatiently from behind them.
Kirby turned to find Ollie, Avery, and Rudyard watching.
Gaining confidence, one of the guards put an ear to Bray’s lips.
“He’s dead,” the guard pronounced, with an unbelieving smile.
Despair filled Kirby’s stomach. Whispers swept across the crowd.
I’ve killed him.
Kirby clenched and unclenched her sore fist as she stared at the body on the ground, images of too many others flooding her memory.
Terry. Marshall. Angela.
Marcus. David. Roger.
Bray.
She’d killed the closest person in her life.
“Not dead,” said another, leaning over and pressing a grubby hand against Bray’s neck. “He’s knocked out.”
“Knocked out?” Ollie looked around, as if someone played a trick.
Kirby’s despair rose to hope.
A few more guards bent down, verifying the first’s findings. A ripple went through the crowd as the news spread. Surprised men, women, and children watched Ollie’s reaction, and Rudyard’s.
Turning to Rudyard, Ollie guffawed, “Knocked out, by a simple wench!”
A long, hearty laugh came from his throat.
Waving a robed hand, Rudyard said, “Perhaps I should have sent in The Plagued Ones, after all.”
A few of the guards chuckled. Kirby kept her eyes down as she waited for that order.
Rudyard cleared his throat as he looked from the crowd to the front gate.
“What should we do?” Ollie asked.
“The slaves need to line up,” Rudyard said, losing interest. “Do what you want with them, but the harvest waits for no man.”
Rudyard turned and walked away.
The crowd parted to let him through.
Ollie looked around. Watching Rudyard go, perhaps feeling the weight of his orders, Ollie said, “Throw them back in the cells. When they’re done recovering, put them back to work.”
Kirby stood stock-still, as if she misheard.
Appraising her with a smile, Ollie said, “Keep the weak-kneed man in there longer than the wench. Let him stew in his shame.”
Chapter 51: William
“Your food,” said the same guard William had seen for days, as he walked into his room.
William sat up, rubbing the bleariness from his tired eyes. Too many nights of sneaking around, thinking, and planning had worn him down. Mistaking his exhaustion for sickness, the guard set the tray down on William’s bureau. He retrieved William’s empty dinner tray and walked to the doorway, joining the other guard.
They exchanged a sly smile.
“You missed the show,” one said.
William frowned. Before he could ask a clarifying question, the guards left, leaving him with the smell of fresh breakfast in his nose and a worry in his heart. William threw aside the covers and hurried to the window, looking out over New City. Below, he saw slaves weaving in between the houses. Of course, he couldn’t see Bray or Kirby. Crossing the room and looking north, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
William couldn’t help but feel as if time was slipping away. He might be devising a plan to help two dead friends. He needed to act soon.
Walking back to his tray, he nibbled at some of the fruit, sticking the meat and bread in one of his bureau drawers. Ignoring the hunger in his stomach, he set the tray where the guards left it, keeping the rest of his food hidden.
Chapter 52: Kirby
Five days after the fight, after spending three days in the cell, and the last two days in the metal shop, Kirby wiped the sweat of the mid-day sun from her face. She headed down the long, dirt pathway toward her house. Ever since she’d been let out, she’d spent long days working while Bray spent long days confined. She couldn’t get the last glimpse of him out of her mind—his lifeless body lying on the ground.
She knew he wasn’t dead.
Late in the evening, after the mutants were fed, she’d crept close to the courtyard, watching with anger as guards stood near the doorway to his cell. Too many snide remarks accompanied those visits. Days after the fight, Bray’s loss was still a source of entertainment.
Not much longer.
Kirby looked to her left down an alley, finding someone near the back of a house where they’d agreed to meet, walking slowly enough that she could catch up. Anger laced her words as she stopped close to Drew.
“We need to act,” Kirby whispered, no room for arguments.
Drew’s face was a mask of seriousness. “I spoke with the others about you and Bray’s plan.”
“And?” Kirby watched him, prepared to unleash more than a day’s worth of fury. She would make a plan of her own, if they rejected her argument.
“Your plan for The Plagued Ones is a risk, but no one can argue against it.” Drew sighed, unable to contain the guilt she’d seen on his face, ever since she and Bray had fought in the arena. “It won’t be much longer until we are all pitted against one another, or perhaps killed in some other, horrible way. I think the fight in the courtyard allowed the other leaders to see that.” Drew looked sideways at Kirby, watching her remorsefully. “I feel badly about what happened to you, Kirby. If I could’ve stopped it…”
“I know you couldn’t,” Kirby said, letting go of some of her anger.
“In any case, I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Drew watched her for a long second. “I have convinced the others of your plan. They are committed.”
“Committed?” Seeing the look in her friend’s eyes, Kirby felt relief. That relief was weighed down by the guilt of what she’d done to Bray. “When will we meet?”
“Tonight,” Drew said.
“With Clara and the others,” she assumed.
“No,” Drew said. “With fifty of us.”
Kirby’s surprise was written on her face. “Fifty?”
“Two hundred people would easily be missed. We can’t all meet at once. But we can pass the information to the others.”
Kirby nodded.
Drew watched her intently for a moment. He looked as if he had something else to say. “After what happened in New Hope, I never thought I’d see you again, Kirby. It was a surprise finding you here, but it was bittersweet. I would not wish this life on anyone. Hopefully, we can outlive our enslavement and find our freedom. With luck, what happened to you will never happen again.” A look of resolve crossed Drew’s face as he appraised her, making a promise. “The rule of the guards—and The Gifted—is coming to an end.”
“I hope so, too.”
She thought she saw the hint of a smile on Drew’s face as he snuck away.
Chapter 53: Kirby
Kirby, Drew, Clara, Giovanni, and James stood tall on a chunk of ancient stone, looking out over a silent, growing crowd that stood in the courtyard beh
ind one of the buildings in Ashville. Shadows formed in rows on the ground as people appeared from the darkness, lining up and waiting for the leaders to speak. A palpable tension surrounded them, as men and women shuffled nervously, making room for others.
The meeting was a risk.
Hopefully, a last risk.
Standing among the revolt leaders on that high perch, looking out over a crowd for which she couldn’t help but feel responsible, Kirby’s nerves carved a hollow pit in her stomach. She was apprehensive, but she was ready.
When everyone was present, Clara said, “Let us begin.”
Clearing his throat, Drew spoke loudly enough that all the shadows could hear. “For too long, we have stayed idle as the guards beat, mistreat, and starve us. We have watched people dragged from the forest and imprisoned next to us, without the means to help. We have watched our brothers and sisters forced to fight or kill one another, for the guards’ perverse amusement. We have lost our families to sickness, or intolerable working conditions. As slaves, we have worked for The Gifteds’ profit, without reward or gratitude. No more. The time has come to fight back.”
An excitement that had built for months—years—boiled to a head as everyone in the crowd nodded. Had this been a rally, or a village gathering, the crowd might’ve cheered. Even as they stayed silent, Kirby felt an excitement brewing in them that was impossible to ignore. Bodies shifting in the darkness, living out a moment none would soon forget.
Something far more important than a meeting in the dark was coming, and they were prepared.
“Some of you have heard parts of the plan. Some of you have heard little,” Clara said. “We will provide you with the details now, so everyone is clear. Your job is to disseminate the information to the others.”
Drew spoke up next. “Over the past days, we have greatly supplemented our weapons cache, enough that each of us can fill a hand, or two. Your efforts, and your risks, are appreciated. When we are all free, we will celebrate. For now, we plan.”
A few laughed quietly, or nervously.
Clara took back over the conversation. “I, along with the others up here and some extra people, will take care of the guards on watch first, just before dawn. The rest of you will attack those in their homes immediately afterward. You will be assigned a guard’s home that is close to where you live. When you have eliminated the guard, you will help the others around you. We will overwhelm and surprise them before they can defend themselves, or warn The Gifted. We will attack them individually, so they cannot help one another.”
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