Protectors - Book one of Beyond These Walls: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

by Michael Robertson

  The touch of his dad made Spike jump and turn to him. Where his eyes had been glazed, some of the presence he knew his dad for had returned. “I’m sorry to be negative today.”

  Spike shrugged and emptied his chamber pot over the side. Every few weeks, they rotated where they could dump it from so the ground around the wall’s foundations didn’t get too boggy.

  “I want you to enjoy your birthday tomorrow and your trip to the arena. Tomorrow is the last day of true freedom; you should celebrate that. Just promise me you’ll stay focused when you go for national service. Worry about becoming a protector when the time comes. Just surviving will put you in a good position to try out for the apprenticeship.” Tears glazed his eyes for a second and his features twisted as if they might buckle out of shape. “If I could go in your place tomorrow, I would.” He tapped his own heart. “Know I’ll be thinking about you every second of you being away.” Once he’d emptied his pot over the side too, he said, “Come on, let’s get home. You need some rest if you’re going to the big event tomorrow.”

  His dad’s sombre tone sank through Spike. As he looked at his hero’s slumped shoulders, he drew a deep sigh. Surely national service wouldn’t be that bad. And surely it would be worth it if it gave him a lifetime with the girl he loved.

  Chapter 2

  Just over two hundred spectators sat shoulder to shoulder on the stone benches encircling the fighting pit. Spike knew this because … well, there wasn’t much he didn’t know about the main event and the city’s protectors. After all, he planned to win the apprenticeship to be the next one. He might not know the other cadets he’d be competing against in national service, but he doubted any of them wanted it more than him. He looked at Matilda on his right.

  The fighting pit in the centre of the arena had bloodstains covering the stone ground. In the very middle, it had a metal sheet that lay flush, a trapdoor over a hole through which the protector emerged. Spike sat several rows back. The best seats in the house were lower down at the front. They were the closest to the action, but were still elevated at least fifteen feet from the pit. They were lifted high enough to make them a safe spot to watch from. In a lifetime, a resident of Edin might get five or six trips to the arena. No chance would they get one of the seats in the front row. Those seats were reserved for the more influential contingent in the city.

  Despite there being over two hundred spectators, no one spoke. It was so quiet, Spike could hear the beating of his own giddy heart. Another look at Matilda on his right. She might not have had the same enthusiasm as him for the main event, but there was no one else he’d rather be there with.

  After smiling at her, Spike looked down at those in the posh seats again. They wore finer clothes, had more space on either side of them, and didn’t look behind them at those in the second row and beyond. To get there, he’d have to become a politician or protector. No way would he ever become a politician.

  Like most of the structures in Edin, the arena had been built from stone and concrete. It made Spike’s seat too hard to be comfortable. But he didn’t care, he’d waited a lifetime to be amongst the crowd for the main event.

  Although Spike leaned in to talk to Matilda, he stopped himself. The noise would carry and he had nothing to say that he hadn’t said a thousand times already. She knew how excited he felt.

  Despite it being Spike’s first visit, he knew the experience well. He’d asked so many questions of those who’d been there before him. Inquisitive to the point of being irritating, but he’d had to know. The seats were as uncomfortable as they all said. The tension as thick in the air.

  Having just turned eighteen, Spike got his invite to attend the main event that morning. And a good job too. Occasionally, some eighteen-year-olds were forgotten about and they had to appeal. He’d be in national service tomorrow. If they’d screwed his allocation up, he’d have had no chance of finding a councillor to rectify it with so little time.

  Spike smiled at Matilda again and she smiled back. Despite her pallid hue, she’d said she wanted to come. She wanted to be with him on his eighteenth birthday, however he chose to celebrate it.

  Then the sound they’d all been waiting for. It started as a series of clicks. Many of those in the crowd looked skyward in reaction to the shriek and grind of the old machinery. Despite its daily use and maintenance, the ancient crane groaned like it didn’t have long left before it gave up completely. Spike looked up and behind him too. He took in the long neck of the mechanical beast. Red flaking paint, it wore its rust like psoriasis. It strained from the weight of its cargo, which currently remained hidden from view. A buzz of excitement broke the crowd’s silence, and Spike leaned close to Matilda. “It’s finally here.”

  Despite her nodding at him, her intelligent brown eyes taking him in, Spike couldn’t ignore the slight strain to her features. She’d wanted to be here to share in this with him—she’d said that a thousand times over—but she couldn’t share in the sadistic pleasure many got from the main event.

  A reluctance in his muscles told him no, she’d reject him, but Spike reached across and held the back of Matilda’s hand anyway. An already rapid heart, it beat quicker and harder at the contact of her warm skin. They’d spent their lives holding back from one another—led more by her than him—and would have to continue doing so until he became a protector. After a few seconds, he pulled away. If he hadn’t, he’d hold on forever and she’d have to reject him. “Are you sure you’re okay with being here? We can leave if you want to.”

  “What? That would break your heart.”

  “Not as much as making you suffer would.”

  It seemed to disarm Matilda, who stared at him for a few seconds before she said, “All summer you’ve made it your mission to pass this arena every chance you get.”

  Spike smiled.

  “I’ve been with you so many times, it would be anticlimactic to miss it now. Even if it does mean sitting through a main event. I want to be here. I truly do.”

  The bright sun caught the shine of Matilda’s long brown hair. When she tucked half of it behind her left ear, Spike took in her tanned face. Nowhere near as dark as him, she’d inherited the olive-skinned complexion of her parents. It didn’t matter that he’d known her his entire life, just the sight of her still ripped the air from his lungs. His forbidden love from ceramics. He’d entered the realm of protectors, politicians, and fools. “Thank you,” he finally said. “I know how coming here is bittersweet for you. With your dad and all.” Not that he knew the truth of her dad, just that he made their life at home hard and it had something to do with the protectors. It prevented her from trying to be one herself. She’d tell him when she felt ready.

  A slight steeling of her features, she turned to face the arena. A second later, tears glazed her deep brown eyes. Spike watched her throat bob with a hard gulp.

  When Matilda looked back, she appeared to have regained her composure. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t want to put a downer on your birthday by talking about my family. Let’s just enjoy it, yeah? I’m honoured to be here with you. Happy birthday.”

  All the while, the clack of the crane called out. The neck of the thing continued to creak and groan. A permanent feature on Edin’s skyline for as long as Spike had been alive, the crane could be mistaken for a wreck for those who didn’t know. But at least two to three times a week, when the arena hosted a main event, it came to life like an old skeleton finding the motion it had once had when encased with muscles and flesh. Apparently, back in the old days, the crane operated on something called an engine that ran on a liquid called diesel. Not that he understood the magic of the olden days, but the end result meant the crane could move without manpower outside the arena. It seemed light years ahead of the pulleys and winches that shifted the large beast now.

  The sun hurt Spike’s eyes as he waited for the glass container to lift into view. A glance at the crowd showed him they all squinted up at it too. Only the front row remained facing for
wards. They’d probably seen it hundreds of times before. The novelty had well and truly worn off for them.

  The noise of the crowd rose when the glass prison appeared over the wall. A buzz of excited chatter, it lifted the hairs on Spike’s arms and the back of his neck. He bounced where he sat.

  About six feet long and three feet wide, the glass crate had been strengthened by the steel frame wrapped around it. The diseased inside had no chance of breaking out. Although, from the way it behaved, it looked to give it a good go. It slammed against either side as it sprayed bloody spittle from its furiously snapping mouth.

  The crowd booed. The deep swell of their collective bass note ran a vibration through the stone structure. Where Spike had only ever heard it from outside the arena, the noise damn near blew the top of his skull off. “This is amazing,” he shouted at Matilda.

  The crate reached the tip of the crane. As high as it would go, it had a pendulous swing from where the diseased inside sprinted from one end to the other. It wore nothing but a pair of jeans, the thud of its bare feet beating against the glass floor of its prison. Almost white skin and covered in the wrinkles of an OAP, the thing looked weak. Atrophied and pale, it would be easy to underestimate its strength. But when he saw the way it moved the container … the deep boom of each contact with the walls at either end … the venom driving its screaming fury … Spike had also seen their power in what they did to people evicted from the city.

  A man near to Spike shouted, “We’ve got a lively one.”

  Spike laughed with the rest of the crowd. Adrenaline tightened his stomach and made his skin electric. He’d waited his entire life for this moment.

  Despite the noise inside the arena, the thud of the creature’s movements could still be heard over the top of it. Every violent collision with one of the walls of its prison sounded like it could break through. If it did and the monster fell on the crowd, all two hundred of them would be turned in minutes. It could be enough to take the entire city down. But a diseased hadn’t ever broken through and never could either.

  The crane’s neck pivoted, accompanied by the sound of a winch outside. It moved the transparent prison over the wall across the top of the crowd. The creature got closer as they lowered it. Tracks of blood stained its cheeks. A crimson maw, when it hissed and spat, it sprayed the air with a claret mist.

  One of the taller spectators stood on their bench, reached up, and banged the bottom of the container. The loud thump silenced the crowd, and Spike joined everyone else in watching the monster inside. It halted for a moment, its jerking head movements snapping in the direction of the sound. The thick glass silenced its scream, its wrinkled face straining with the effort, its entire frame shaking with its release. The ex-human then charged, zeroing in on the man. It connected head first with the glass with a loud and resounding tonk. It turned the beast’s legs bandy and it fell limp.

  Spike expected the creature to jump back up again. The diseased were famed for their resilience, so why wouldn’t it? But instead, it twitched and twisted before it fell completely still.

  Another blanket of silence fell over the crowd. Spike’s stomach dropped and he shook his head. “No. Please don’t let it be over already. I’ve waited so long for this moment.”

  Unable to hold onto his panic, his breaths quickened as he turned to Matilda and grabbed her hands. “Do you think it’s dead? Please don’t say it’s over already.”

  Matilda gave his hands a calming squeeze and her eyebrows rose in the middle. Her sad eyes spoke the apology her mouth couldn’t.

  Chapter 3

  Silence descended on the crowd again, and Spike focused his attention on the bloodstained fighting area below. Easier than looking at Matilda. If he turned her way, he wouldn’t be able to hide his disappointment. Since he’d known about the arena, he’d been waiting for his turn to see a main event, and now the dumb diseased had killed itself by running into a glass wall. From what he could see, everyone else looked up at the box behind him—even the front row—but there seemed little point in watching the now expired diseased.

  Still focused on the arena, Spike reached across and held Matilda’s hand. “You’ve been a great friend for coming with me today. Thank you. I know this isn’t your kind of thing at all, but there’s no one else I’d want here with me right now.”

  She acknowledged what he’d said to her with the gentlest squeeze of his hand before letting it go. The arena had fallen so quiet, he heard her whisper, “I’m sorry,” but couldn’t tell if she meant about letting go of his hand or because of what had happened with the diseased.

  After pulling in a deep breath—the dirty funk of sweaty bodies around him—Spike steeled himself. He’d assume she meant the diseased. “The fact that you came means more to me than seeing the main event. I’m sure I’ll get another chance at some point in the future. Hell, I’ll probably be taking part in it soon.”

  Suddenly the crowd roared and Spike turned to face the box. But the diseased hadn’t moved. The sounds around him quieted down again. A shake of his head, he muttered, “The thing’s dead. There’s no point in hoping for anything else.” No one wanted to believe it, but they had to.

  Still, Spike kept his attention on the glass crate. Closer than he’d ever been to a diseased, he looked at the shirtless creature. Wrinkled and saggy-skinned, it looked like it had had the life sucked from it. Then he saw it. He pointed for Matilda to look. She turned in time to see another spasm snap through one of the diseased’s skinny arms.

  Spike got to his feet, as did many around him. A more definitive twitch then kicked through the thing. The same arm as before, this time it came to life, rising from the floor of its prison before slamming down, palm first, against the glass with a slap.

  Joining in with the crowd’s shouting, they cheered so loud Spike’s ears rang. Grinning, his breaths quickening, he watched the thing’s arm twitch again. It looked to be coming back stronger than before.

  The sound dropped again as if the two hundred people there held their breaths. Quiet enough for Spike to hear the withered hand hitting the glass floor of the container for a second, third, and fourth time. Padding and pawing, it played an irregular beat.

  Spike’s heart pounded in his throat to watch the diseased human get to its feet. Still dazed from the self-inflicted injury, it swayed where it stood. Wide and bloody unblinking eyes, it worked its loose jaw in a circular motion as if tasting consciousness again.

  The message must have been passed to the people operating the crane because the sound of the turning winch called from outside the arena. The container several feet above them, Spike reached up for it like he’d seen the man do earlier. He missed. As it moved away from him, it rocked and swung. The diseased inside pressed against the glass walls of its prison as it fought to remain upright.

  Taking a moment to sit down, Spike turned to Matilda. “I want to follow it.”

  “You what?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to see it properly. When it was over us, it was dazed.” He pointed across the arena. “Those on the other side will get to see it in all its glory. I’ve waited too long to miss out on that.” As the container moved over to the crowd on the other side, Spike watched the creature regain its fury.

  “I don’t think you should.”

  The concrete steps would be easy enough to shimmy around on. “No one will begrudge me trying to have a closer look. This is my best chance to get near one.”

  As Spike moved to stand up, Matilda pulled him down by hooking her hand over the top of his shoulder. “It’s an awful idea, Spike. You’ll just annoy people. I get how desperate you are to see this, but at least the thing isn’t dead. You’ll still see the main event.”

  At that moment, Spike noticed a man get to his feet and shove his way past the other spectators. The faces of those he passed suggested they weren’t happy, but he made progress, getting closer to the box.

  The farther the man travelled, the more those close to him jeered and
shouted. As the box made its slow journey across the arena, he moved around to meet it. Spike would take the abuse if he could get as close.

  Then Spike saw movement down in the fighting pit. Four guards appeared in the middle. They all had whistles. One of them sounded a shrill peep, her face reddening from the effort of it. Many in the crowd looked at them rather than the diseased in the box. The guard with the whistle pointed at the man. Although he pretended he didn’t see her, those around him didn’t let him get away with it. The crowd turned on the man, shoving him down the steps towards the pit.

  Even those in the front row saw him coming and moved aside so they didn’t halt his momentum. He fell the fifteen feet and hit the concrete ground with a thud. It might have hurt, but not enough to keep him down. As he got up onto one knee, the guards went to work on him with a flurry of baton strikes.

  It took them a matter of seconds to knock the man unconscious. Spike forgot about the diseased in the crate at that moment, his stomach turning over to watch the brief yet effective beating.

  Three of the guards dragged the man from the arena while the woman with the whistle addressed everyone else. “You don’t shove and push people out of the way. It’s dangerous.”

  Matilda leaned close to Spike. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Point taken.” As he released a hard sigh, Spike deflated where he sat. He’d still get to see the main event. At least that hadn’t passed them by.

  Chapter 4

  Now the man had been removed, Spike returned his attention to the diseased in the box. The crowd on the other side of the arena booed and hissed at the thing, many of them standing up to reach its glass prison.

  Now it had gathered a little momentum, the glass case had increased its pendulous swing on the end of the large and rusty hook. The creature inside grew ever more agitated, thrown about by the motion of it.