“What’s the tablet?”
Cathy grinned, looked around the crowded cell block, women of all ages sharing conversation, some of them still eating. She saw a few disagreements that amounted to a bit of shoving and then a hard slap.
“Currency,” said Cathy. “The Warden has them brought in. He pays the Cuvars with them. The Cuvars pay the Rats. You know the Rats? You see someone with a red armband, they’re a Rat. Used to be this side of the bars, now they’re that side. We get some from them, some from the Cuvars. I keep the block calm. Nothing really happens. I get the women to work hard so I get a bonus from the Captain.”
Nuria nodded, a little stunned.
“The Tamnicans trade shit with the Maizans to get them. Have this big meet every now and then.” She giggled. “Heard the last meet ended in a big tangle, bodies and shit, a bloodbath.”
Nuria thought back to the bodies they had found in the forest, the night before they were captured by the Tamnicans.
“Who are the Maizans?”
Cathy shook her head.
“Bad seeds. I’m telling you, that’s not a place you ever want to be. Far from here is a city, Maizan, all rubble, broken buildings, a few thousand people live there and the Maizans keep order. You recognise them by their colours, blue and white. They make the tablets and bring them to the Tamnicans.”
“What do they get in return?”
“What the fuck do you think they get?” Cathy frowned. “What do you think we do here?”
Nuria fell silent.
“Look, I don’t understand it but the shit, the animal shit, and the fats, all that gets taken to the factory, right? And they do shit to it and put it in the canisters. That stuff is …” She blew a kiss. “Black energy. That’s what the fuck gets made here, bio-something, what the Tamnicans trade with all the tribes and the clans. This hole is the centre of Gallen. You want to run the metal machines then you trade with the Tamnicans.”
She leaned against Nuria, rested her head on her shoulder.
“I’m cold. Are you going to share that blanket?”
It wasn’t a question. Reluctantly, Nuria spread the blanket over the two of them. She heard the sound of dripping water and women snoring. A few candles glowed, throwing shadows against the old walls, brittle stonework crumbling into fine pieces. There was little conversation. A number of women slept outside the cells, more slept inside. Nuria glimpsed a woman on the balcony above, staring down at her. She looked away. Cathy curled an arm around her, drew her closer. Nuria gasped, pinned in the corner, unable to move.
Beneath the blanket, she felt something hard press against her stomach.
“Don’t say a fucking word,” whispered Cathy. “Swallow that fucking tablet, blonde.”
Nuria hesitated. Cold metal touched bare skin.
“I don’t want to cut you. You’re too fucking pretty to mess up. Take the fucking tablet.”
She had hidden it in the seam of her blanket. Carefully, she slipped it between the weave, popped it into her mouth and swallowed.
“Good girl, blonde. Now you belong to me. Like this fucking cell block does. I earned it the hard way.”
She pushed away the blanket and lifted her shirt, exposing a scar from her breasts to her waist.
“Get your shit together. You get to sleep in a cell now.”
There were footsteps in the tunnel outside and the gate was unlooked. The dark skinned woman was pushed inside. She looked numb. Captain Niklas grinned at Nuria. Cathy approached him and Nuria witnessed a short conversation that ended with the exchange of a small package. Tablets? Cathy finished her business and bundled Nuria into a cell with three others. Two were asleep, one sat muttering to herself. Cathy handed the package to her. Candles lined the barred window and illuminated cracked walls, a blistered ceiling and an uneven floor thick with dust. Nuria saw a chair with a hole in the seat and a bucket wedged beneath it.
Cathy nudged one of the sleeping women with her boot. She stirred, sluggishly, cursing.
“Let me sleep, for fuck’s sake … ow! Ow!” Cathy lifted her by her hair. “Get me some food. Now.”
The bleary eyed woman padded from the cell, dragging her feet, and began to demand stowed away rations from the women who slept in the corridor.
“You sleep there, blonde,” said Cathy, pointing to the corner of the room. “With me. No one fucks with you now.” She dropped her ill fitting trousers and sat on the chair. “You don’t need to worry about Niklas. I told him I don’t want you messed with no more.” The smell of urine filled the cell. “The other girls in here, they’ll know you’re with us, you’ll get left alone.”
Cathy stood up as the bleary eyed woman returned with an armful of hard biscuit and meat.
She took the food, dropped down onto her bed and began eating.
“Empty that,” she said, letting out a burp.
Nuria slid the bucket out from beneath the chair and carried it to the end of the cell block.
Conrad stood in the cell doorway, at the far end of the gloomy block, keeping watch as the men inside prepared to feast on food smuggled from the Cuvar’s kitchen by a guard who was not unsympathetic to their plight. The natural light had mostly dwindled and he could hear the patter of rain. The seven men crowded into the cell were all from Dessan and he had been sharing with them for eight days. They carefully unwrapped a package and he glimpsed half eaten fruit and vegetables and gnawed meat. Leftovers! The men rubbed their hands together as if they were honoured guests at a banquet. They divided the food carefully and neatly and slowly began to eat, licking and chewing, nibbling and biting.
He stared down the cell block, spotting the Bald One slapping a prisoner about.
“Why don’t we do something about him?”
“Who?” said Eric, a tanner, both here in Tamnica and back home in Dessan. “You mean the Bald One?”
“That’s not a fight you can win,” said Daymon, licking his greasy lips after devouring a stringy piece of meat.
Conrad turned in the doorway.
“Why not? There are eight of us.”
“He’s a foot soldier for Julen,” said Daymon. “Julen rules the entire cell block. You do not cross a man like that.”
Conrad grumbled.
“And they never trouble you?”
“No,” replied Eric. “You’ve seen our ritual. They think we have crazy magic powers, so they leave us alone.”
Conrad nodded.
“Keep watch,” ordered Mathias.
For him, it had been two and a half years since the day of the choosing saw a purple ribbon tied around his arm. He had openly wept as he was bundled into a prison wagon, leaving behind his life partner and four children. When Conrad had attempted to offer him news of his family Mathias had raised a hand and told him never to speak of Dessan in his presence. He had adjusted to live within the walls of Tamnica. He worked in the factory with the generators and the canisters and the bio-fuels and he knew he would die in this place and his body would be cast into the sea. He had accepted his fate and carved an existence within the crumbling walls of the prison. He was the head of his clan and his men were protected. A number of men in the block had no affiliations and were exposed to the bullies, thieves and predators. Convinced his decision was flawed, Conrad had reluctantly respected his wishes and told him nothing of his family.
“If you fight it,” Mathias had told him. “It will eat you from the inside.” Conrad had stared at him. “In there. It will chew on your soul and spread through your every fibre like the sickness when it takes hold. You cannot fight it, Conrad, you are here for life. Accept Tamnica as your new world and build your life accordingly. There is no other way. Remember it was your father who condemned us to this wicked place and we should hate you for it but we bear none toward you. You are as much a victim as us.”
Daymon was less enthused and told Conrad stories of men who had escaped although the Warden claimed they had died of illness or were beaten to death and dumped into the sea. Co
nrad listened intently to these tales, thinking back to that night in the shack, his last night of freedom, when Stone had revealed he had seen the branding on men before. Which confirmed to Conrad that is was possible to escape from these walls.
There was a rattle of keys and the cell block gate was unlocked.
“What’s happening?” asked Eric, pulling the scraps together, ready to toss through the barred window.
“Five new prisoners,” said Conrad. “The Cuvars are not coming this way.”
Mathias narrowed his eyes.
“What is it? You sound happy.”
Conrad smiled, and said nothing.
“That’s my spot,” said the Bald One.
He stood with his legs apart, crunching his fists and scratched his bare chest. The prisoners bedding down in the corridor began to edge back, trying not to watch. No one wanted eye contact with the Bald One. The new prisoner was long haired. His face had been stitched and his leathery skin showed a long scar.
“You need to move your shit, old man. Get the fuck out of my area. Do you understand me?”
He smacked the man around the head.
“Hey, prick. This is my fucking spot. These are all my fucking spots. Now move your shit before I …”
Stone ploughed his fist into the man’s groin. The Bald One howled and dropped to his knees, his eyes watering. Stone moved quickly, feet scraping against the hard floor. He clamped the man’s head between his hands and smacked it against the wall. It made a gut wrenching sound and the Bald One let out an agonised cry. There were gasps through the cell block. Stone smacked it again. Chunks of stone broke away. He repeatedly slammed the Bald One’s head into the wall until he split the man’s skull wide open. The wall was smeared with blood. He tossed the limp body onto the ground and spat on it. Thick blood soaked into the dirt. A group of prisoners rushed from two cells, led by Julen. Stone brushed his hands, stared at them indifferently and then eased down onto his blanket.
The cell block gate was pulled open and Cuvars came running inside.
“How the fuck did this happen?” barked one of them, threatening anyone near him with his club. “Who did this?”
Julen’s group edged away from Stone.
“Well?”
No one spoke.
“You and you, get this fucking body out of here.”
The Cuvar paced.
“Speak up, you fucks. Who attacked him?”
The Dessan villagers crowded the doorway of the cell, asking Conrad what had happened.
“The man I came here with,” he answered, staring at Stone’s freshly scarred face. “Looks like they’ve released him from the infirmary.”
--- Twelve ---
Cristo lay in the long grass, peering through binoculars.
Dawn had broken cold and miserable. He was growing increasingly concerned about Dani. The pain in her hands was gradually worsening, far rapidly than either of them had anticipated; she was constantly dropping things now and spending most of her days warming them on the fire. She could no longer handle a weapon. Not effectively, anyway. The food was nearly exhausted and they had no water. They had not enjoyed any alcohol since the night before the robbery and he was frustrated because he knew this helped numb the pain. He had suggested the idea of changing direction and diverting northeast to the Maizan city where he knew they would be able to obtain drink and pain suppressants. Dani had looked at him incredulously and called him a moron. And she had been right, he guessed. Trying to do business in the city of a gang whose members you had robbed and killed was not the best choice of action.
He had been scouting the town ahead for three days now and observed only locals and drifters. No Tamnicans. No Maizans. It was a shabby collection of dilapidated brick buildings, gathered around broken roads. Large parts of the town had been reduced to rubble and appear uninhabited. There were no moving vehicles, only abandoned rusted hulks littering the main road; people moved on foot. Crossing the countryside was proving a far more challenging expedition than either of them had imagined. Despite a vehicle and a near limitless supply of black energy they been forced to avoid the main highways and take meandering dirt roads. Roaming Maizans, in patched up vehicles plagued the highways, racing at high speeds, looking for all kinds of trouble; Tamnican convoys scouring for travellers to capture and take back to the prison; horse backed Collectors drawing prison wagons with villagers from Dessan, Agen and Le Sen. Seeing the Collectors once more had frozen him to the spot, chilled his heart. That night, he had been unable to sleep.
“We should have walked,” remarked Dani.
He had been irritated by her comment. It was a bad time for her but the blood cycle would soon pass and with it her negativity. Though, he realised, bad time or not, she had been right. They had covered fewer miles than he had hoped. He cleared his thoughts and focused his gaze beyond the town, sweeping over a northern landscape of cracked roads and desolate hills, flatlands of broken rock, blackened valleys filled with dead trees, winding dry riverbeds. He saw no movement anywhere. He turned his attention to the Maizan city, across cratered wastelands, woodland and flourishing meadows scraped violently from the surface of the land during the Cloud Wars, or so the legends told. He lowered the binoculars and pondered how to proceed. He nodded, his decision a quick and rational one. He knew he would fight with Dani over it but his planning had taken them this far, and they were both unhurt, so he hoped she would see sense.
He was about to pocket his binoculars when he glimpsed a man and a girl on horseback, trotting slowly toward the unnamed town, shoulders hunched and heads down against the driving wind and rain. The riders drew a few glances but no more than was to be expected. He watched the man climb down and tie the horse to a rusted car. He thrust his arms toward the girl but she flinched and jerked back from him. Cristo was intrigued. He saw the man point at the girl and then drag her from the horse. She struggled against him but he leaned toward her and the fight in her was dampened. He has a weapon on her, he mused. He watched them walk into the town and step toward a building with fractured brickwork. He studied the girl closely and his eyes opened wide as he glimpsed her face.
Surely not.
Cristo chewed his lip and slid back down the verge, staining the front of his hooded waterproof jacket with mud. He crawled through the low brush as the rain continued to fall. Out of view of the road he eased from his stomach and ran crouched across the ragged scrubland, sparsely dotted with limp trees and scattered rusted vehicles that rattled in the wind. He reached several large brick buildings, walls scorched with fire, windows shattered, one roof collapsed. He stopped and took a final look around. Seeing no one, he slipped into the building, stepping over the traps he had set. The pickup truck was parked inside, the flatbed of canisters tied down with a tarpaulin cover. He unbuttoned his coat and carefully hung it from a protruding twist of metal jutting from a half-collapsed wall. He neatly smoothed the body and sleeves before calling her name.
“Dani?”
He went through an arched doorway into a smaller room where a fire blazed. He stamped his feet and warmed his hands. She was dozing on a blanket, spread over stacks of wooden pallets. She was propped on one elbow, unblinking, staring into the flames. The building creaked as the wind grew with intensity and Cristo glanced up at the ceiling, concerned it might crash down on them. He walked around the fire, stretching his legs, rubbing them to get the circulation going once more. His boots echoed across the cracked concrete floor.
“I’m going into the town,” he said.
She sat up, easing her legs over the edge of the pallets, letting them dangle several feet from the ground.
“We’re out of water, Dani, and we’ve only enough food for today … and your pain … I might be able to find something to help.”
“So you’ve thrown out your idea of going to the Maizan city?”
He rolled his eyes.
“That was a terrible idea.”
Dani pushed herself down and stood with him, fee
ling the heat soothe her aching bones.
“A really terrible idea. What will you trade?”
“A canister,” he said. “There’s nothing else.”
She went silent. She knew he was waiting for a barrage of disagreements but the fight had gone out of her. She trusted his judgement once more. The rain leaked through a gap in the roof. The old building must have stood for more than a thousand years. It had not been built in this age of Gallen. No one built from brick or stone. She wondered if the men and women who lived here, or even worked here, had lives similar to theirs, the daily grind of survival, finding food and water, avoiding the marauders and butchers. She doubted it. She closed her eyes as the heat tickled her skin and imagined how the building might have looked during the Before, but it was impossible to fix together the pieces of centuries past. She wondered if they had been the last ones, coming in here, to live or work, not knowing they were experiencing their final days, before the Cloud Wars incinerated Gallen, robbing the beauty from the land, tossing it into a million particles.
Dani saw a man arriving for work. The sun would be bright in the sky and he would be clean shaven. Her world was filled with bearded men. She needed a clean shaven man for once. Her man from the Before would be smartly dressed in the clothes she had once seen in the large crumbling pages of a book of the Ancients, the same one her and Cristo had learned about alcohol. His skin would be brown from the sun and his legs with fine golden hairs would show beneath his multi-coloured shorts. His gloriously brown arms would extend from his short sleeved shirt with pictures of crashing waves and a yellow sun and a blue sky, oddly bereft of red streaks. He would be pointing at something in the distance and smiling broadly with impossibly white teeth. He would have a co-worker, too, an attractive brunette, who would …
“Did you say something?”
Cristo stared at her.
“You didn’t hear a word, did you?”
She offered him a smile. You know how I daydream.
“When are you going into town?” she asked.
The Wasteland Soldier, Book 2, Escape From Tamnica (TWS) Page 15