The Wasteland Soldier, Book 2, Escape From Tamnica (TWS)

by Laurence Moore

  Over debris they ran. Along a narrow walkway. Into a devastated building, stopping to catch breath, bending at the waist and gulping down air. The dull brickwork was seared with immense cracks. The central stairwell had collapsed, causing the floors above to fold inward, dragging the roof with them. Wind howled and the building groaned. The interior reeked and Beatriz gagged as the stench filled her nostrils. Nuria looked up at the grimy ceiling criss-crossed with huge lines and remembered back to the ceilings that had collapsed inside Tamnica. She shivered. Why had he brought them here? This would not be a safe place to hide.

  “Come, come,” said Jarracos, gesturing across the lobby. “Hurry, this way, hurry, quick.”

  She glanced at Stone, eyes unflinching, hair matted with blood. She wondered what he was thinking. He seemed to be placing a tremendous amount of trust in this man, though she noticed he gripped the shotgun tightly, so perhaps not too much trust. But if this was another trap then they were already beyond escape, lost in this maze of broken buildings. A cold exhaustion washed over her. Tamnica flooded though her veins and froze her blood. Her limbs weakened. She could taste Niklas’s scent as he grunted against her. Cathy was chopping off her hair, laughing manically. The ceiling and walls pressed in on her. Words were drumming inside her head. Over and over and over again.

  Stone lunged and caught her in his arms as her body folded. Her head lolled back, tears ridging her closed eyes.

  “What is the matter with her?” whispered Jarracos.

  Stone shook his head and the big man shrugged. He approached a square shaped cubicle, the floor spread with rippled sheets of iron. He hurriedly tossed them aside. He dropped to his haunches and traced a hand along the centre of the floor, searching for something. He stopped and there was a small, barely audible click. He flipped open a long panel to reveal an opening with a wooden ladder descending into the dark. Nuria stirred. Her eyes flicked open. Stone’s grim face peered at her.

  “In, in, hurry, quick, hurry,” said Jarracos, nervously looking across the lobby. “It will not take them long to track us.”

  Back on her feet, Nuria eased from Stone’s grip, the comfort of his arm slipping away from her back. She shuffled awkwardly on her feet and mouthed a silent I’m okay. A musty aroma wafted from the opening. There was hesitation but Stone could hear the muffled voices of the Maizans closing in on them and it was only a matter of time before they were discovered; with only a few swords, a crossbow and one shotgun shell it was a fight they could not win, despite the Brute’s physical presence. He placed his boot on the first rung and disappeared into the gloom. The climb was longer than he had anticipated and he dropped down onto wooden planking. He could see a faint light ahead at the end of a long tunnel. He placed a hand against the wall. The soil was damp and cold. His eyes began to grow accustomed to the gloom as Nuria and Beatriz hurried down the ladder, followed by Conrad and Jarracos, who hastily drew shut the panel, levering a mechanism that secured it.

  He squeezed past them, urging them to follow. They inched along the damp smelling tunnel for nearly twenty minutes until it reached a dead end. Thin light shone from above. Jarracos lumbered up the ladder and tapped a number of times against a closed trapdoor. He waited and his code was reciprocated. There was the sound of something heavy moving and then light flooded into the tunnel. A shirtless man greeted Jarracos as he went through the open hatch. His chest was heavily tattooed. His brown hair was thinning. Light stubble covered his face. A pistol was tucked into the waistband of his trousers. The two men exchanged words as the four newcomers clambered into a room filled with rubbish and crammed with old furniture.

  Stone saw closed doors and a row of windows facing a street. He could hear dozens of voices outside. He edged toward the window and saw a line of rickety wooden stalls. It was a marketplace, crowded with at least thirty or forty people, shuffling from one stall to the next, tawdry wares on offer. The area was hemmed in by derelict buildings, no doors or windows, several half collapsed. He could see two men wearing blue and white scarves around their necks, holding rifles. He eased back out of sight.

  “Two Maizans,” he whispered.

  Jarracos and the shirtless man laughed. Nuria looked at the two men, a dread sensation uncoiling inside her. The shirtless man whirled round toward Stone and presented an open hand, his long outstretched arm inked with a myriad of names and numbers.

  “We’re all Maizans, man. Some of us are true Maizans.” He slapped his bare chest with his free hand. “Some are Chattes.” He spat on the floor, to emphasise his disgust. Jarracos grunted in agreement. Stone had no idea what the word meant but he guessed it wasn’t complimentary. “Those men are ours, man. Protecting the innocent people of Maizan. You gonna shake my hand or what, man? I heard from the Brute you took a liking to killing Chattes.”

  Stone reached for the hand; the grip was warm, though softer than he had anticipated.

  “I’m Leon; Brute says they call you the Tongueless Man. That’s an awesome fucking name, man. How’d you earn it? You rip out tongues with that thing?”

  He nodded at the sword hanging from Stone’s waist.

  “Need to thank you for wasting those fucking roaches, man. Everything that’s wrong with Maizan is because of them.”

  “Got that right,” nodded Jarracos.

  “Brute says you wiped out Genny and tossed Shem from the tower. That’s hardcore, brother, I like that.”

  “Two factions,” said Nuria, suddenly. “Both fighting to claim the right of being Maizan. One protecting the city. One destroying it.”

  “City was destroyed a long time ago,” said Leon, swaggering across the room toward Nuria, his eyes roaming her body without subtlety. “But the beautiful blonde got it straight – only we are the true Maizans. The Chattes steal women, turn them into whores. My people don’t rape women. We protect them and their children. We don’t burn no towns to the ground. We don’t trade no tablets with the Tamnicans for the black energy. Come and see.” He led Nuria to the window, his passion raised. “Look at that, man, that’s trade. That’s the world we’re trying to build here.”

  Stone bristled as he spoke to her. They had stepped into a war zone. A city torn apart by a gang split into two.

  “Where’s Emil?” he asked.

  Grinning, Leon walked from the window and pushed open one of the doors. He stepped into a cramped hallway thick with grime. A plain staircase rose to the upper floor.

  “Emil,” called Leon. “Emil. Get down here, man.” He turned to them. “Soldiers don’t like being woke during the day. She’ll be pissed.”

  Nuria and Conrad looked at Stone with worried expressions. Soldiers? Beatriz stood in the background, silent, eyes shifting from one individual to the next, wondering what the fuss was all about and if anyone was even going to acknowledge her. She had murdered a Maizan. Or had he been a Chattes? Did it matter? She glanced at the dark skinned man, towering above her, the huge axe on his back, the machete hanging from his belt. The sight of him made her skin crawl but she took comfort in the knowledge that she was still armed with her one-shot wooden pistol.

  How the hell had she ended up here with these people?

  Stone heard a thump and glanced up at the ceiling. There was the shuffle of footsteps. His eyes turned toward the staircase. The floorboards creaked. His heart began to quicken. Tiny feet and skinny pale legs appeared and padded down the wooden steps. Then emerged loose fitting shorts and a shirt daubed blue and white. Her copper coloured hair trailed down her narrow back. A grit filled bleary eye focused on Leon and then the people crowded behind him in the downstairs room, staring at her. She let out a shrill cry and bounded down the remaining steps, bare feet slapping against the floor. Stone watched as the amazement ebbed rapidly from her face only to be replaced by anguish as she saw the fresh wounds they carried - the long scar down his face, Nuria’s shorn hair and bruises, Conrad’s heavily bandaged arm.

  Breathlessly, she curled her arms around him. He could feel her heart be
ating.

  “Magic girl,” he whispered.

  Stone leaned his back against the wall and watched Emil talk with Conrad and Nuria. He saw the animated look across her face, the unbridled joy at being surrounded by people she knew. He heard Mallon’s name mentioned several times. She naturally felt a crushing disappointment he had not travelled to rescue her from the Map Maker. He turned his eyes toward the Brute and Leon. They seemed less enthused by the reunion. He tried to establish the relationship between Emil and the Maizans. Leon had referred to her as a soldier and she now wore blue and white. It appeared she had adopted the Maizan cause. He glanced out at the busy marketplace, thoughts churning, as roughly dressed men and women haggled over paltry trades. He wanted to get away from this city as quickly as possible. He thought about what the future might now hold. He had no plan of where to go. Could they return to Dessan?

  “She looks happy,” said Jarracos. “She is pleased to see you all. She spoke about you many nights.”

  “How did she even get here?” asked Stone.

  The giant man grinned.

  “You see the fear the Chattes have of me? Yes, you saw them run. I was hunting one morning in the winter, knee deep in snow, when I spotted a convoy of vehicles returning to the city. Too many for me to fight.” He laughed. “One of the cars broke down. Smoke pouring out of it. The other cars went on, wanting to get to a warm fire. It was too easy for me. As the Chattes tried to mend the metal machine I killed them all.” His voice grew with excitement and he made a series of cutting gestures with an open hand. “All of them dead. They had a prisoner with them. A strange one-eyed girl.” He gestured toward Emil. “She tried to fight me so I had to gag her. I brought her here. Now she is one of us. She can shoot a gun well. Do you know what they would have done with her? Do you? They would have forced themselves on her every moment.”

  Jarracos shook his head.

  “They are monsters. The other one we found much later. Once they had finished with him. Long after the snow had gone.”

  Stone frowned.

  “The other one?”

  “The one she calls the Map Maker, the one who took her. He stays here but he does not fight.”

  Stone pushed himself from the wall and said, “Where is he?”

  Emil looked over, chewing her lip.

  “I don’t want you to hurt him,” she said, and the room fell silent. “He’s been through enough.”

  Stone frowned at her and glanced at Jarracos. The big man held up his hands, shaking his head, and said, “I don’t understand it. A man kidnaps you. You must want that man dead.”

  “He didn’t hurt me, Stone,” said Emil. “He never touched me. He’s confused. You have to get to know him.”

  “He’s out back,” said Leon, pointing.

  Stone stepped into a small room, followed by Emil. He saw a long sofa against the wall and a wooden table scattered with leftovers and empty bottles. There was a single window filmed with dirt and a closed door. He saw the outline of the Map Maker standing in a yard filled with old tyres and car parts, surrounded by high walls. There was an iron gate at one end. He stood with his back to the building, his bald head tilted toward the sky.

  “Please, don’t hurt him.” Emil placed a hand on his arm. He stared into her single eye.

  “He took you,” he said. “Stole you from a new life, just to use you as a thing.”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper.

  “You did the same thing when you first found me but I forgave you for it.”

  The words stung him. Alone with her in that poky room his soul burned and a hard lump grew in his throat. He stared at her, unblinking, forcing away the sudden shame. She was right, of course, she was very right. He had committed the same selfish act as the Map Maker. He had used her as a thing, a decoy, a convincing bluff to afford him access to a murderous man who needed to die. He had justified his actions, naturally, easily at first when plotting, though much harder when confronted with her smile and her voice, pushing the warmth and kindness she gave brusquely aside, reminding himself only of the vengeance that needed to be exacted, the pain he had suffered for decades, the man who deserved a horrible, brutal and unforgiving death. Only he had relented and confessed, surrendered his deception to her, and she had forgiven it and when the moment arrived, when he had confronted the demon from his childhood, he had watched the man’s life vanish at her hand and not his own.

  “Promise me,” she said.

  He nodded, reached for the door. It creaked as he opened it. He stepped into the yard, cool wind on his face, the shotgun aimed at the Map Maker.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  “Most men wouldn’t care about shooting a man in the back, Stone.” He nodded at the sky. “Do you like clouds? I’ve never really noticed clouds before coming here.” He let out a deep sigh. “Too busy with my head down in my maps. What a fool I’ve been.”

  His hands were clasped across his stomach. Stone wondered if he was concealing a weapon.

  “I never even got close to finding Ennpithia.”

  “You’re about to get a lot closer to it,” said Stone, raising the shotgun and curling his finger around the trigger.

  “No,” shouted Emil, running into the yard and clamping her hand around the barrels. “You promised.”

  The Map Maker turned around. He wasn’t holding a weapon. Stone grimaced and pointed the shotgun at the ground. He heard a gasp at his elbow.

  “Hello, Nuria, have you come to see the freak?”

  Conrad bustled into the yard. He glanced at the moon-faced man standing before them, hardly recognising him. He had barely exchanged more than a few words with him during his brief stay in Dessan. He scratched his head.

  “What happened to your hands?”

  The Map Maker looked down at his cloth wrapped stumps.

  “Look at what the Chattes did to him, Stone,” said Emil, holding the man by his arm. “He’s suffered enough. They tortured him for fun and then threw him out like rubbish. I’ve forgiven him for taking me.”

  Stone took a step forward. He stared at the Map Maker’s bandaged wrists, shaking his head.

  “Can you see what we’re up against here?” said Emil.

  He glared at her.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I stopped waiting,” she snapped. “I grew up. I made a stand. Like you did.”

  “Listen up,” shouted Leon, before Stone could answer. “This is all very touching, I understand, but it’s another day and we need to get things going. We need to get you some colours, man. I want people to look at you and know you are Maizans, like us, man.”

  Stone frowned at him.

  “Colours?”

  “You’re soldiers now,” said Jarracos, though with less vivacity than his partner. “I saw you people fight at the underpass.”

  “The Brute is right, man,” echoed Leon. “We need numbers. The Chattes have more cars, more guns, more bullets. They make their own fucking bullets, man. How the fuck do you make bullets? We have to steal from them so we can fight them. How fucked up is that, man?” He curled an arm around Emil. A curious emotion stirred within Stone and he suddenly had the urge to draw his sword sever the man’s head. “But we got our own secret weapon, ain’t that right, Emil?” She grinned and curved her body against him. “This girl has magic in her hands, Stone. She can save a man from a bullet. You don’t believe me, do you? Listen, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  Emil flashed a smile at Stone but his face was expressionless. She eased from Leon and went to him.

  “What is it?”

  “I thought you wanted a life in Dessan with Mallon?”

  “I did … but is he here? Did he come for me? Leon’s here and so are the Maizan people. Why would I want to go back to that horrible village? So the children can call me names because of how I look? So that bitch Margaux can pretend to be my friend and then stab me in the back? She tied a ribbon round my arm, Stone. Where was she sending me?”
>
  “We know where you were being sent,” he said.

  Emil looked at his battered and marked face but before she could say another word there was a bright flash followed by a deafening explosion. The ground vibrated and the buildings shook. There was no time to think or speak as a second device exploded and sporadic bursts of gunfire began to fill the air. Leon and Jarracos ran back into the building and Stone vaulted onto the wall of the yard. Thick smoke billowed across the ramshackle marketplace where bloodied bodies were strewn over the ground. He could hear screaming and children wailing. He saw blurred outlines of Maizans – or Chattes, as he now knew them - inching forward through the rubble, the flare of gun muzzles. The attack was no doubt a retaliation for the deaths of the lookouts and the men they had killed at the underpass. It was a tit-for-tat war. One side hitting the other, an endless spiral that would never reach a conclusion.

  He sprang down from the wall. The Map Maker was hunched on the ground, his head lowered, arms folded. Stone grabbed him by his collar, lifting him onto his feet.

  “Come on,” he said, dragging him inside.

  Emil was at the window, a pistol in her hand, firing shots into the swell of masked gunman emerging from the clouds of smoke. Stone could see Jarracos on the street, hacking with his axe and machete.

  “We have to get away from here,” said Nuria.

  Stone nodded.

  “Emil, are you coming?”

  She squeezed the trigger twice, sharp bangs from the pistol held with both hands, watching a blue and white drop to the ground, sweeping the muzzle across the haze of smoke.

  Bullets raked the building. They all dived for cover as they were showered with chunks of brick.

  “I told you I’m not going back to Dessan. Why didn’t he come and find me?”

  “He’s protecting the village,” said Stone.

  “I’m sure he’ll make a better job of doing that,” she said, raising her pistol and firing over the windowsill. “Than he did of protecting me.”

  Stone had no argument with her. He heard the front door crash open and moved hastily toward the hallway, keep low as a second volley of bullets ripped holes through the walls.