by T. C. Edge
Outside, I get my first good look at where we are. The trees are still there, surrounding us on all sides. And yet, within them are structures too, old stone and wooden buildings overtaken by the woods, settlements from hundreds of years ago that have been gobbled up once more by mother nature.
There are a handful of them in the immediate area, and signs of others spreading through the distant trees. Yet there’s little sign of life beyond the seven men accompanying us. It would appear that this place isn’t a permanent dwelling for their people. A base, perhaps, used for hunting expeditions when away from home.
Our arms are still chained in front of us as we go, a necessary precaution given what Zander and I can do. Rhoth is well aware of that, of course, and yet is kind enough to get his men to recover our faces with the masks that we need. Unlike them, after too long in this it won’t only be our skin that sizzles and blisters, but our lungs too. Depending on the density of the fog, you could quite easily die after a few hours of overexposure.
With our masks back on, Rhoth pulls Zander up to the front alongside the two guards assigned to watch over him. That leaves Adryan and me behind with the rest of the contingent, four further guards flanking us as we’re pulled and prodded along.
The prodding grows less forceful as we go. Clearly, there’s nothing we can do to escape these men’s clutches, and even if we could, I wouldn’t try it. In truth, I’m intrigued by where we’re going, and consider that, right now, we might just be safer with these men than without them.
Each of them looks almost as fearsome as their leader. It’s not just the fangs hanging around their necks, but the choice of hairstyle – mostly, they’re sporting shaven heads or strange styles of Mohican, usually with equally odd beards to complete the look. Their dress, too, is both primitive and military in its design, fashioned from animals and old garments while being intended to help them blend in, just as a soldier might when battling in the forest.
In this case, it serves the main purpose of hunting. Being unseen is a key component of such things, as far as I can figure, and with the forest so populated with powerful foes, blending into the background also serves as a useful defensive option.
Not that these people would ever admit to such a thing. From my very brief time with them, and what Zander’s told me, they seem to be very much a warrior race, dedicated to the act of fighting to survive, whether that be via hunting prey, battling other predators, or expanding their territory against the other tribes that dwell here.
I suspect it’s the Shadows that cause the most problems. They may be something of a backward step in evolution, but they’re still human at their core. And you can forget the bears and wolves and big cats, the boars and snakes and other monsters that lurk in the night. There’s no foe more dangerous than a human fighting for survival, however primeval that human may have become.
It’s clear that the men are tense as we go. Perhaps that’s their default setting, knowing the woods as they do. I think back to my previous jaunt through the jungle after being spat out from that waterfall beyond the southern perimeter wall.
Back then, all the woods carried were rumours. Rumours of the Shadows. Rumours of the beasts. Rumours of the dangers that lurked in the darkness.
I was a little frightened, sure, but my main thoughts were simply aligned to the task of finding a way back into the city.
Who knows, perhaps I was being hunted the entire time? Perhaps the appearance of Titus saved me when the creatures of the wood were circling? Honestly, I’d have never known, so efficient as they are at their work. I could have been cut down in a hundred different ways without ever having a chance.
Now, I’ve seen first hand just how brutal the outerlands can be.
Unless you’re with a strong troop of soldiers, you need to be perpetually on your guard. That point is proven right now. Even with these six seasoned hunters on our flanks, there remains a tension in the air, an intensity to each of them as they watch the trees with their weapons primed.
They have guns at least. They’re aren’t so backward as to have forgone such things. But on their backs I see spears too, cut and carved from the trees, and other blades that are, presumably, more useful during close quarter combat.
Each man seems to carry at least half a dozen weapons. Rifles, pistols, daggers and knives hang from belts and sit fastened to holsters.
They are, by sight, a formidable outfit. And yet, unchain my brother, and hand him a knife, and he’ll cut them all down in seconds, strike them with his lighting. There is no greater weapon here than a hybrid, even one of 18. And Rhoth should keep that in mind for when Cromwell sends his Stalkers out here to cleanse the woods of all these folk.
Right now, he’s in quiet conversation with Zander. From the rear of the pack, I watch them, note the intensity of their voices, the body language they portray. In some manner, they appear as old friends, the boy and the beast chatting over past battles.
It’s yet another reminder that the world we’ve been presented in Outer Haven isn’t the reality. That there’s far more out there than Cromwell would care to let on. That, despite what we’ve been told, despite the propaganda we’ve been fed, we aren’t as alone as we thought.
It’s an exciting concept for me.
Growing up, even with someone like Mrs Carmichael, with all her scepticisms and world-wisdom, we were taught that Haven was the centre of the world. That it was the final shining light in a world of darkness. That it was our duty to do whatever we could to serve, to make sure that future generations didn’t have to suffer the same fate as us, consigned to that single city, stranded on that island in the vast ocean, that oasis in the desert.
We were never taught of a world beyond our borders. We never knew of these different tribes, all living their lives in this harsh land. And that’s just beyond the city.
What else is there? Are there more cities populating this landmass we once knew as America? And what of other places, across the seas and oceans? How much has been kept from us? Is the world truly as desolate as we’ve been led to believe?
The last few weeks and months have shaken apart my trust in just about everything I know. What were once small rumours have blossomed into truths beyond what I could possibly have expected. Things have been hidden from me and exposed at opportune moments. And still, many other secrets lie beyond my current reach.
So, what am I to believe?
My entire life was always spent in the knowledge that I am nobody, and that the streets of Outer Haven would be the ones I’d spend my entire life walking. I’d been born into a world where people fit their roles, where the lowly among us had no control whatsoever over their destinies.
I’d been groomed, like just about everyone else, to be unable to see the wood for the trees. To only see what was presented before my own eyes and leave the rest to those in places of power.
But now, that’s all changed.
I’ve changed, my life has changed, the city has changed.
And each day, something else happens, some new revelations dawns.
And here, now, standing in the wilds, my mind is opening to the possibility that the world isn’t as small as I once thought. That there’s so much more out there that has been kept from us, simply to condition us to stay ordered.
It all fits.
If there’s some other option, some other place for the people to move to, some other city free from the class systems of Haven, then the people will go there. And should that happen, the structure of Haven, the very foundation of the city, will fail.
That’s something that Cromwell and the Consortium cannot abide. He intends to use us all up and then toss us aside. To spread his reach elsewhere, beyond the lands we know, and repopulate the world to his own design. And, truly, if there’s already more out there, he’s going to need to be strong when he sets out from his high perch.
As we walk, I find myself whispering to Adryan: “Did you know about this?”
He turns to me and fr
owns. His expressions and words and body language remain muted, as if he’s still exhausted and recovering from his recent trials.
“About what?” he asks.
“All this. These people. These tribes,” I whisper, darting my eyes to the brutal looking men at our flanks.
“Such things aren’t really spoken about in the High Tower,” says Adryan. “I knew that there were people beyond the borders of the city. I wasn’t aware of specific tribes, though, or their names.”
“And beyond that?” I ask. “What about five hundred miles from here? What about five thousand? Do you know what’s really out there?”
He shakes his head.
“More nomadic tribes I suppose,” he suggests. “I’ve long suspected that there are plenty of other populations dotting the world.”
“Oh, there are, young man,” booms a voice from ahead.
Our eyes switch up and see that Rhoth has stopped in his tracks. He turns to us, with Zander by his side, and takes a long stride in our direction.
“There are many other people out there,” he says. “You think this is it? You think your big city with all the lights is all there is? You underestimate the human capability of staying alive. We have made our home here in these forests. Others have made their home far beyond these borders.”
“How do you know that?” I breathe.
He looks to his left and our right, to one of the hunters flanking us. The man is youthful, perhaps Adryan’s age, with staring blue eyes that appear quite striking amidst his rough visage.
“This here is West,” says Rhoth. “He isn’t from around here…”
I turn to the young man, who continues to stare silently.
“He doesn’t speak much,” continues Rhoth. “But he’s said enough. West came from the far west. We didn’t get creative with his name…”
“He’s not from around here?” I ask, repeating Rhoth’s words.
“Oh no, he came here as a boy with his brother. His brother didn’t make it, but he did. We took him in. I’ve met many, girl, who have come from other places, other lands. You need to open your eyes. There’s a whole world out there.”
“But…a toxic world. A dead world,” mutters Adryan.
“Dead? No, living. Look at us here. There are many living in the wilds. Here in the forests, up in the mountains, away to the north and south, to the east and west. I’ve met travellers and vagrants from far and wide. Out here, we adapt to survive. We can live in these conditions, and so can many others.”
“Did you know about this?” I ask, looking to Zander.
“We know about the lands around here,” he says. “Nothing else concerns us.”
“Ah yes, ‘us’,” says Rhoth. “You and your precious tribe of Nameless. Oh, yes, girl,” he says, looking to me, “the Nameless are just a tribe too, just like any other.” His eyes return to Zander. “You fight to protect your big city with all the lights, to set it free from Mr Savant here and his people.” His eyes flick on Adryan. “Well,” he goes on, “perhaps one day you’ll see that you’re just trapped there. The wilds may be dangerous, but they offer freedom at least.”
“That’s what we’re fighting for,” I counter. “Freedom for all of Haven.”
Rhoth bares those yellow teeth in a grin.
“Yes, I see that. But is that what all your people want? Do they not consider themselves to be free already?”
“They don’t know any better,” I say. “They don’t know what the Consortium are doing.”
“Perhaps not. But you do, yes? You’re going to save the day, are you, girl. You and your boy brother here?”
Zander scowls. I set firm my eyes.
“We’re going to try,” I say coolly.
He smiles.
“Then…good luck to you,” he says. “Now, we’re not too far away.”
“From what?” I ask.
“From something you need to see…”
25
We trek on for another 45 minutes through the tightly knitted woods, shifting along pathways often travelled by these people. The morning sun continues to climb as we go, and so does the ground, steadily increasing in gradient as we begin to go a little higher.
Through occasional gaps in the canopy, I spot the mountains, no longer quite so far ahead. It appears that we’re moving towards the lowest valleys at their base, away to the northwest of the city, which also comes into view in the distance. As always, it’s the High Tower that rises highest of all, the brightest of the lights in the city referred with some regularity by Rhoth as ‘the big city with all the lights’.
But it’s away from the city that we’re moving, now far enough from the REEF to the south to have rendered the chasing pack no threat at all. In the company of these Fangs, these wildmen, these outerlanders, I actually feel quite safe. I get no sense that they mean us harm, and aside from a few choice words spoken between Zander and Rhoth, they don’t appear to have much animosity towards us.
Yet, our wrists remain cuffed just in case, a feeling I’m starting to grow accustomed to. It’s the only thing that shows us to be their captives, although I’m getting the impression that, in actual fact, they’re aiding us in providing us safe passage across these dangerous lands.
Rhoth, for all the roughness of his appearance, seems to be a sensible leader. One whose main goal is, simply, to ensure that his people remain safe. To that end, he appears to be thinking along the same lines as I am: that we need to work together, or at least not get in each others’ way, if we want to make sure that Cromwell and his cronies don’t spread their dominion over these lands.
It’s a symbiotic relationship really. If Cromwell is victorious, everyone will suffer.
The quiet of the woods begins to be broken as we slow our pace. Setting it at the front, Rhoth begins to slow, and the rest of us follow. It comes in communion with the sound of engines, audible off in the distance and moving up and down through the woods.
We creep slower, and soon emerge from the edge of the forest looking down into a valley below. Right ahead, cutting through a patch of open, undulating space, I see a wide road spreading left and right.
To the right, way off in the distance, the city of Haven is just about visible. To the left, much closer, some sort of large facility has been constructed. And ahead, rising higher and higher the further my eyes go, the grand mountains fill the horizon.
Crouching low at the summit of the hill, right on the edge of the woods, we look down at the road and see trucks grumbling along it, moving to and from the city in the east.
I stare in with my Hawk-eyes and see, though the little windows in the flanks of the trucks, groups of people sitting inside. Looking west, I watch as the trucks pass through the large gates of the facility. The people step out, greeted by administrators with clipboards who set about arranging them in order, and sending them off to the various buildings spread out within the compound.
I know exactly what this place is. It doesn’t carry that same air of intimidation as the REEF. It’s newer, less drab and grey, the buildings more pleasing on the eye. Not beautifully designed by any stretch, but certainly far from daunting for those who come here.
Because, this place isn’t designed for such a thing.
It’s meant to be more welcoming, a place where people come to have their fears muted, their emotions doused, their lives improved. A place where miracles can happen, where someone living in misery can have their entire world turned around with little more than the flick of a mental switch.
It’s a facility designed for ‘optional reconditioning’. A place touted by the powers-that-be as the answer to all questions of doubt and fear, where memories can be expunged and replaced. Where all pain in someone’s heart can be erased.
Yet, really, that’s just the façade, the dressing. Beneath all of that, the true purpose of this place is just as dreadful as the REEF.
Down there, thousands of people are being turned into slaves. Driven to the edge by the terrible attacks
by the Fanatics, and by the looming war, and the panic that’s now spreading through the city as its stores of clean water are depleted.
Now, the people are coming here in their droves to escape it all. They are joining Cromwell’s cause without even knowing it.
I can see them now, pouring from the trucks, happily being led into the buildings where their entire inner workings will be rewired.
What else the Consortium have offered to get them here? The promise of water? The promise of safety? Commander Burns told me just that. That those complying would be given priority as the war looms, guaranteeing their survival as the city continues to tremble in the grip of terror.
Looking down alongside Zander and Adryan, we all just stare at the place for a good few minutes, all thinking the same thing. It’s a sight that makes things even more real, the sheer scale of the operation casting a bright light over the task that lies ahead.
Every single person down there is another to join Cromwell’s cause, another to retreat from the war to come. Soon enough, when the Nameless have no choice but to incite civil war, they’ll be no one left to fight with them.
No one to take up arms against the Consortium.
No one left to oppose them except the force of hybrids and outcasts who have lingered in the shadows for so many years.
And looking down upon the facility, Zander finally speaks.
“I need to get back. Immediately,” he grumbles.
He may have seen this before, but he’s clearly shocked by the scale of it all. And with the delays we’ve faced over the last day or two, Lady Orlando is no doubt wondering just what’s become of him.
Zander turns to Rhoth, who looks at him for a few moments with those piercing, dark brown eyes. He understands. Reaching forward, he unlocks my brother’s wrists. Two other hunters do the same for myself and Adryan.
“You see,” says Rhoth, looking over us all. “People don’t know what freedom really is. They’re coming here to be set free. Your tribe of Nameless aren’t the answer they’re looking for.”