“Thank you.” She reached across and held his hand.
They clung onto one another for a few seconds before letting go. At present, they were alone in the street, but that could change at any time, and people would have opinions to share with them if they saw them like that. Kids from different districts, did they know what the city said about protectors, politicians, and fools?
“I suppose, not only have I been thinking about Artan,” Matilda said, “but I find the way the city handles the main events a bit over the top, you know?”
“It’s fine, Tilly. I suppose I like the idea of the main event because they’re diseased. It’s not like they’re people anymore.”
“But they were once. People like you and me.”
“You tell me I need to be ready for national service, but thinking like that could get you killed. It’s the moment of hesitation that gives the creature the advantage.”
“How would you like to see someone you cared for turned and then tortured for the amusement of others?”
Puffing his cheeks out as he exhaled, Spike scratched his head. “Well, firstly I haven’t ever cared for any of the diseased we’ve seen so far, but hypothetically, if someone I care for were to be bitten, they’re not the person I knew anymore. The second the disease kicks in is the second you need to mourn their passing. Anything beyond that isn’t them. I wouldn’t personally want to see them killed in the main event, but I think it’s necessary for Edin.”
A gust of wind flicked Matilda’s hair across her face. After pulling it away, she said, “How’s that?”
“The people in Edin live oppressed lives. It’s out of necessity, right? We all need to do our bit to help the city grow so we can give more freedom to future generations.”
Matilda shrugged.
“With over ten thousand people in such a small space, we all need to have roles, and we need to not deviate from them.”
“Like bees in a hive,” Matilda said.
“The infrastructure can’t support freedom of choice. They have to run the place how they do. That being said, it’s enough to drive anyone insane. Edin isn’t an easy place to live in.”
“You’re telling me.”
“The population grows quicker than the city can.” They turned off the street they were currently on and headed down a similar one.
“So?” Matilda shrugged. “What’s that got to do with the main event?”
“Catharsis.”
“Huh?”
“The citizens can’t be mad at how Edin’s run.”
“But I’d imagine they are, even if they’ve been conditioned not to say it.”
“Fair enough, but I’d guess most of them see the necessity of it.”
“So you agree with the restrictions placed on the citizens?”
“It is what it is.”
“But you want to be a protector so you’re not subjected to them?”
“We all have that option. I’m not saying the way the city’s run is perfect, but it works.”
“Just about,” Matilda said. “And being a protector won’t be easy.”
“But I’ll do it.” Before she could say anything else, Spike continued. “So although the citizens can’t be openly mad about it, what they can be mad about is the diseased.”
“Isn’t that like being angry with an inanimate object?”
“No, because ultimately the diseased are the ones oppressing all of us. Were it not for them outside the walls, we’d be free. We’d have more space to live in; we’d be able to choose the jobs we want to do.” His cheeks burned when he said, “To be with the people we want to be with.”
Only a slight glance from Matilda, but Spike noticed it all the same.
A shake took a hold of Spike, his face hot and no doubt glowing red. He pointed at the part of the perimeter wall closest to them. A constant, it stood as a looming reminder of their limitations. “If it weren’t for those diseased freaks out there, we wouldn’t all have to live like prisoners. I think sometimes just knowing about the main event makes us feel better. At least they’re being made to pay for it. And the protectors give us hope. One day we’ll win and life will change for the better.”
“I’d not thought of it like that. Although I’m not sure I’d agree with people for thinking that way. I mean, the diseased are prisoners too. They’re trapped in their own bodies because of their affliction. But I can see the logic in what you’re saying.” Matilda pulled on her black scarf as if to loosen the knot around her neck.
Before Spike could say anything else, an old woman appeared from around the corner. She had long blonde, almost white, hair and blue eyes that stood so brilliant in her wrinkled face, they damn near glowed. Her hands were red raw. She must have been from the laundry district.
Dipping his head in a nod, Spike said, “Afternoon. And how are you on this very fine day?”
For a moment, she didn’t reply, she simply stood in front of them, her eyes glazed as a shake ran through her.
Just as Spike drew a breath to say something else, she burst to life. “I had to stop and talk to you. You remind me of my son—tall, strong, and handsome. You’re clearly a fit boy.”
Nudging Matilda, Spike flashed her a smile.
“My son didn’t come back.”
Spike physically sank where he stood.
“It was thirty years ago now. He had aspirations of being a protector like the greats in the arena. They went out after their first month’s training to extend the wall for the city.” Looking over at the section of wall closer to the national service area, she nodded in the general direction. “He helped build that one over there.”
Neither Spike nor Matilda filled the silence as they looked at a section of the wall in the vague direction she’d indicated.
“They got him on his first day after training. His strength meant he was teamed with a weaker group to try to lift them up.” A glaze covered her eyes and her shake grew more violent. “He paid the price for being more capable because his team let him down when it really mattered. Apparently he killed seven diseased before he fell. But there were too many. They were overrun.”
Looking back at Spike while chewing the inside of her cheek, the old woman leaned forward and took one of his hands in both of hers. Despite her withered appearance, she had a strong and cold grip. As she got closer, the musty smell of damp moved with her. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I know you have to do national service, and I’m sure you’ll be amazing, but please, please be careful. Please.”
The woman’s naked grief—after so many years since her son had passed—lifted a lump in Spike’s throat. His attempt at clearing it proved ineffective, so he nodded instead.
The woman wrapped them both in a hug before pulling back again. “Bless you, children. Now I’d best go before the city guards arrest me for being outside my district. I was given twenty minutes to deliver clothes to the mayor.” Looking at each of them again, her bottom lip quivered with the rest of her. “God be with you.”
Watching the woman walk away, her burdened frame hunched at the shoulders, Spike then looked at Matilda. Wet tracks ran down her cheeks. “Please don’t underestimate how hard it’s going to be in national service,” she said.
Without a word, the two of them walked on.
Chapter 11
Although Spike kept telling Matilda everything would be okay in national service, the old woman hadn’t helped his cause. That and the fifty percent survival rate, long and brutal days, and young people used as cannon fodder to build a wall that took years to finish … Maybe he needed to accept it wouldn’t be easy, but the fact remained: they had to do it, so they might as well go into it with a positive attitude.
They were still within the administration zone and the streets were quiet. Now the arena had emptied, very few people would pass through the place. The many citizens who worked there were either inside busy with the running of the city, or they were the guards on patrol in all the districts.
&n
bsp; When they turned down another street in the direction of the ceramics sector, Spike looked across at Matilda—her face pale—and said, “I know it might seem like I’m not taking national service seriously, but I want you to know I’ll do everything in my power to make sure we get through it. I’m going into it with my eyes open.”
Although Matilda nodded, she didn’t look like she’d composed herself since the old woman’s impassioned plea. Her chin raised, she stared straight ahead.
The grey cobblestone ground and walls always made Edin feel a few degrees colder than it was. A slight shiver snapped through Spike. The atmosphere made the chill feel worse, but there seemed little point in going over it again. No one had yet found a way out of national service. And why should they? It was a rite of passage, and one of the most important things anyone could do for Edin.
Spike needed to change the subject. “Do you remember your eighteenth, Tilly?”
She looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
“When you said you were ill, what you actually meant was that you didn’t want to go to the arena, right?”
Keeping her chin held high, Matilda returned her attention to where they were headed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She kept her focus in front of her. “Because I knew you’d act like this.”
“Like what?”
“The way you’re acting now. I can feel your judgement.”
Spike bit back his initial response. She had a point. In a softer tone than before, he said, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I would have killed for a chance to go to the arena a few months back. For the chance to get two trips in the space of four months.”
“And it’s not like I could have just given the tickets away. I had to go if I was to take a guest, and I really didn’t want to. It was my birthday; the last thing I wanted was to go and watch that. I struggle with some of the protectors and their egos. The way they peacock around the ring’s a bit gross. The way they peacock around the city like they own it is even worse. I think some of them remind the citizens about how trapped they are rather than how they’re fighting daily to look after them.”
Yet she’d still gone with him for his birthday. “But surely some of the reason for their behaviour has to be because they know people are jealous of them.”
“So they act like arseholes?”
“No, what I mean is they must feel the resentment and react to it before the people have even delivered it. They must always be on the defensive, you know? It’s a shame we don’t celebrate them more.”
“You don’t think Magma’s celebrated?”
“Oh sure, but he’s a superstar. I’m talking about the rest of them. Without them, this city would have fallen decades ago.”
“Still,” Matilda said, “they could try smiling once in a while. They can go anywhere in the city. They eat free in every restaurant—”
“They can marry whomever they want.” Heat flushed Spike’s cheeks and he quickly added, “Although, I’d imagine some days they don’t have much to smile about. I wonder what it’s like outside these walls.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
“No, I mean outside outside. You know, like far away from here. I wonder where they get the wood from for the fires. What some of the wild forests look like. How many diseased they fight that we never hear about. I wonder how many diseased have been in the largest horde they’ve come across. Do they ever have to run away from them, or do they always stand and fight?”
When Matilda didn’t reply, Spike said, “Don’t worry; when I make it, I’ll smile every day. They’ll call me the happy warrior.”
For the first time since leaving the arena, the scowl lifted from Matilda’s face. “I like that name.”
The conversation died naturally as they approached the ceramics district. The buildings were poorer quality than in the administration zone. Many of them were canted because of the weaker materials they’d been given to build with. The best quality always went to those in power. But what they lacked in solid structures, they made up for in colour. Almost every house had a ceramic wind chime, colourful flower pots, mosaic jugs outside to catch rainwater … One of the most vibrant places in the entire city, it always lifted Spike’s spirits to be there. It helped that Matilda lived there too.
A guard stood on either side of the road; they wore their usual scowl. When Spike looked at the one on his right, the guard stared back. Then he dropped his eyes to the scarf around his neck and lingered there. The facade of officialdom gave way to the slightest wince as if he felt pain for what Spike and Matilda were about to embark on. Everyone had lost someone in national service. The guard dipped the briefest of nods at him. “Bless you both. Be safe.”
It rarely paid to speak to the guards, so Spike nodded back as both he and Matilda kept walking.
A second later, the rumbling clatter of cartwheels called through the tight cobblestone street. Spike spun around to see the horses were close. He grabbed Matilda and pulled her into a nearby alleyway. The heavy cart flashed past, the ground shaking from both the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the turning of the large wooden wheels.
While Spike peered out of the alleyway to watch Magma come to a halt in an opening up ahead, Matilda said, “See what I mean? You can’t tell me that’s the behaviour of someone who’s living a happy and fulfilled existence. And if it is, he’s certainly not showing us that.”
With Magma so close to him, Matilda’s words faded for Spike. He stepped from the alley and walked towards the man, a crowd already gathering around his cart.
As Spike joined the others—many of them shoving and pushing to get close—he felt the gentle press of a palm against the centre of his back. Matilda had caught up with him. Despite her feelings about the protectors, she looked to have shelved it and smiled at him like she had in the arena. A display of genuine joy for the experiences he was having. It was enough to lift the earlier mood and let him appreciate the moment.
Just before Spike turned back to the protector, he saw him. Over Matilda’s shoulder, shoved to the side against one of the walls on the road they’d just walked from, sat a boy in a wooden wheelchair. He couldn’t have been any more than eight years old. Spike and the boy shared a lingering look before he returned his attention to Matilda. She hadn’t seen the boy yet. He glanced at the crowd as it grew, more people piling in from every direction. If he left the group now, he probably wouldn’t get close to Magma.
A few more seconds passed, the people behind Spike shoving him forwards with the press of their eagerness, shoving him closer to a chance to talk with his hero. He shook his head and muttered, “Damn it,” before turning his back on the cart and his hero and fighting his way back through the crowd.
Free from the crush of bodies, Matilda a step behind him, Spike walked over to the boy. He had muscular arms, but small and withered legs. He’d obviously been in the chair a long time. Dark skinned, but not as dark as Spike, he had black hair and green eyes. The boy smiled, his teeth a brilliant white against his dark complexion.
Hooking a thumb behind him, Spike said, “Do you want to get closer to Magma?”
The boy’s jaw fell loose and his eyes widened.
“Well?”
If the boy nodded with any more enthusiasm, he’d give himself whiplash.
“Will you be okay on my shoulders?”
The boy nodded again, no words in him, but he flexed his biceps as if to show he could hold on.
“Are you mute?” Spike said.
“No, sir. I just don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t worry, you don’t need to say anything.” Lighter than he’d expected him to be, Spike lifted the boy, sat him on his shoulders, and pressed his palms against the base of the kid’s back to support him like his chair had.
The crowd surrounding Magma had doubled in the small time he’d been away from it, and more people joined the dense press with every passing second. When he reached the edge of the crowd, S
pike bobbed and weaved to see a path to the protector. With the boy on his shoulders, he wouldn’t have to get directly next to the cart, just close enough for Magma to see the kid.
Spike looked over both shoulders, making brief eye contact with Matilda. He then cleared his throat and called in his deepest boom, “City guards coming through. Move aside.” Like birds scattering, the crowd dispersed. No one argued with the guards. Many had at least witnessed what one of their clubs could do.
By the time the crowd caught on to the hoax, Spike had forced his way close to Magma. Despite the dark glares, many of them looked from Spike to the boy and back to Spike again. Not a single person challenged him.
Magma turned around, his usual frown on his large features, and Spike winced in anticipation of his wrath. No one liked a cheater. But then the protector looked at the boy on his shoulders. For that moment, Magma stared at the kid like he was the only one there. A soft glow of compassion momentarily shone through his deep glare and he smiled. When he reached across and stroked the kid’s dark hair, Spike felt the boy quiver with excitement.
The moment passed and Magma’s scowl returned. He turned back around and snapped his horses’ reins, the people in front of him parting before he shouted, “Go.” The thunderous boom of his voice cleared those who hadn’t already moved out of the way.
After watching the cart out of sight, Spike returned the boy to his chair. He stepped back, moving aside as the kid’s friends rushed over and surrounded him. The boy in the chair beamed while facing an onslaught of giddy questions.
“What did he feel like?”
“Is he hotter than normal people?”
“Did he say anything to you?”
It took for Matilda to come to Spike’s side and hold his hand for him to turn away from the kid. It had been a day for her smiling at him, but the one she gave him now shone as bright as the sun. She nodded in the direction of the boy. “That was a nice thing to do. You were close enough to have been able to say something to Magma.”
Protectors - Book one of Beyond These Walls: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 5