The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS)

by Moore, Laurence

  He grabbed the carbine and fled.

  “These cables have been disconnected,” said Omar.

  Baltan nodded.

  “The quake must have shaken them free.”

  Leaning over the control panel, he continued to work, aware of Omar’s inquisitive stare.

  “Did you do this, Baltan?”

  “Did I do what?”

  “Did you tamper with the control panel?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Have you stopped the missiles from firing?”

  The young man stepped back, lowering his tools.

  “No and no. I fired the first one. You saw it, Omar. I fired it. Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Because the sky is clear. Why didn’t I see the cloud? Why didn’t it explode?”

  “I promise you, Omar,” said Baltan. “I ‘m loyal to the League. I’ve been a member of the scientific branch since childhood.”

  “You are a terrible liar, Baltan. What did you do, Baltan?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Tell me.”

  Baltan took a few paces back and stared at the machete in Omar’s fist.

  “I can’t let you murder thousands of innocent people. You’ve seen no explosion because there wasn’t one. The missile was harmless.”

  Omar hissed. “What?”

  “I disabled the warhead. And the control panel is beyond repair. You will never get these missiles airborne.”

  He swept the blade, slicing open Baltan’s throat. The scientist stumbled, dropped to his knees.

  “You will not rob me of greatness. All of them will burn.”

  He buried the machete in the man’s skull.

  “All of them.”

  They’d ignored the outer edges of the rubble and worked in the centre, clearing down toward the rat run. It was a dangerous approach and Commander Eddis was gravely concerned that the outer ring might shake loose and collapse on them - but it appeared a risk his men were prepared to take. They worked in silence and bore grim expressions as they shifted the rubble and carried away crushed bodies. Nuria worked amongst them. Eddis admired her grit. There were cries and groans from the wounded as the medics worked on them. He knew, sadly, most would probably die. A few of them, already patched up, struggled over to help, bandages staining with fresh spots of blood as they lifted away the dust coated stones.

  No one spoke of the missile that had passed overhead.

  “There it is,” said Commander Eddis, handing a ring of keys to the nearest of his men. Nuria arched her back, wiped her glistening brow, rocked impatiently on the balls of her feet as the Marshal opened a large wooden hatch, revealing a shaft. A line of iron rungs disappeared into blackness.

  Eddis blocked her with his arm. “Not you. Not yet. We need to establish whether the landings and tunnel are intact.”

  “But …?”

  “You’ll wait here for now. That’s a damn order.”

  Frustrated, Nuria paced, hands on her hips, as two men descended into the shaft, one of them holding a brightly burning lantern. She watched the pool of light grow smaller and smaller.

  Within a few minutes she called out. “Is the tunnel still there?”

  “Be patient,” said Eddis. “They won’t have reached the first landing yet. It’s a long way down.”

  She walked away. Boyd offered her a weak smile. Quinn looked dazed. Smoke swirled around them.

  She stared along the canyon, north and south, hoping they were mistaken, hoping they had gotten it wrong, hoping that at least one of the bridges had survived, but she knew the truth and the truth was cold and the truth was remorseless and her heart burned because of it.

  “Nuria,” called Eddis.

  The Marshals were climbing out of the shaft.

  “The tunnel’s filled in,” said one of them. “And the landings have collapsed. It’s pretty bad down there.”

  “How long will it take to clear?” said Nuria.

  Eddis looked at her.

  “Nuria, it took nearly two years to construct the shaft and the tunnels into Kiven.”

  Stone tracked the fourth man. He was roaming a series of short and tight aisles, cars haphazardly wedged together, squeaking in the wind.

  Hating the gas mask, he closed in on the soldier, finger on the trigger, ammunition bag jangling lightly on his hip. There was a steady trickle of blood from his shoulder but nothing too serious. The Kiven man heard his near-silent approach and whirled round, angling his body. He was armed with the same weapon. Both men fired. Both men missed. Stone pumped rapidly and fired again and this time the man cried out. His hip erupted with blood but he managed to get off a wild shot. A steel ball landed between Stone’s feet.

  Yanking back the slider, Stone heard a familiar sound inside the carbine as the frayed slingshot snapped.

  “Shit.”

  He slammed into the Kiven man, discarding the busted weapon and whipping out his knife. The two men wrestled into a wall of metal that shook and teetered. Stone veered his head from a punch and jarred his neck. He slashed with his blade but the Kiven man, half his size, was nimble and light on his feet. He jerked back, despite the flow of blood from his wound, and swept out a leg, dropping Stone. He landed a kick and a punch and Stone had nothing in reply. They could both hear the remaining men closing in. Stone thought he’d heard a woman’s voice amongst them. The agile man came at him once more and Stone raised his knife, clearly signalling a throw. As the man sprang forward, his focus on the knife, the makeshift cosh appeared in Stone’s other hand. He saw it too late. It wheeled in with pace and accuracy, loaded with steel balls and metal coins. Pain shot through his temple, his vision went black and he hit the ground.

  Stone whirled round and threw. The knife spun through the air. He had heard a woman; the blade punctured her chest and she gasped and her black hair fell across her shocked eyes and her body sagged and the pistols she was carrying dropped and Stone ran at her, breathing hard, scooping the firearms from the ground, the last two soldiers appearing with weapons raised, squeezing the triggers as they rounded the corner, howling into the gas mask, sweat pouring down his body, one shot after the other.

  He lowered the pistols, took short breaths. He walked back to where the agile man twitched on the ground and shot him through the head. The woman was still alive. She was panting, eyes swimming with tears. He jerked the knife from her chest and cleaned the blade. Her hands flapped at the wound.

  She choked. “Why? Why?”

  He ignored her and tucked one of the pistols into his waistband.

  “Why did you hurt, Omar? Why?”

  Stone put the pistol against his head and squeezed the trigger.

  Omar looked up from the control panel. He’d heard the rapid burst of gunfire followed by the solitary shot. He lowered his tools. He looked along the road and stared up at the hill of dead trees. He licked his lips. Minutes passed and still there had been no more gunfire. He glanced at the missile battery as he worked. Baltan had tampered with the first missile but the remaining five were armed and he had repaired the control panel. He prepared to engage the firing mechanism when he heard a scrape behind him.

  He stiffened. “The final shot. I should have known.”

  There was no answer.

  “Her name was Adina. She had a name, Stone. Unlike you.”

  Slowly, Omar turned. Gas mask pushed on his head, Stone aimed the pistol at him.

  “Get away from the truck. Start walking.”

  “Where? The Place of Bridges? The bridges are gone, Stone. All of them. There is no way back for you.”

  Stone frowned.

  “What?”

  “Already, there are vehicles coming from the city. You will be …”

  Stone fired as he lunged for the control panel, drilling bullets through his hand and arm.

  He dragged Omar screaming and bleeding from the truck, tied his wrists, and set out destroying it once and for all.

  “There has to be another way,” sa
id Nuria, as the sun dipped and the land grew dusky.

  She thought for a moment.

  “How did the Kiven smuggle weapons across to the Shaylighters?”

  “They have tunnels,” said Commander Eddis. “But we don’t know where they’re located.”

  “Shit.”

  She cleared her throat.

  “Do you have any maps of this area?”

  He nodded at one of his men.

  “Impassable mountains north,” he said, pointing. “We’ve tried them. You won’t make it that way. Down south you have marshes and stinking bogs. If you can wade through the shit and muck you’ll reach another range of mountains.”

  “What about the sea? Are there any bays or rivers?”

  “I don’t know anything about the sea. My boots stay on dry soil.”

  “I’m not giving up on him.”

  “I’m not telling you to, miss,” said Eddis. “But the bridges are gone and there’s something you should think on. When we went to war with the Kiven they only attacked us from the bridges. Never from the mountains and never from the sea.”

  She chewed her lip. “He risked his life for you people.”

  “I know that and I also know the name of every man lying dead or dying a painful death. We’ve all paid a heavy price today in stopping these bastards.”

  “Look,” said Quinn. “It’s Stone.”

  He stood on the edge of the canyon, bloody and filthy and shirtless, a gas mask pushed back on his head. He was kicking and dragging a wounded man at gunpoint.

  “Who’s that with him?” said Eddis, staring through a telescope.

  Nuria raised her binoculars.

  “Omar,” she said. “The Cleric.”

  Quinn stepped forward and raised the sniper rifle.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  She put the stock against her shoulder and peered through the scope. Omar was on his knees, wrists bound, bleeding heavily. His head was thrown back and his mouth was moving. His eyes suddenly focused on her and the rifle and his lips stopped.

  The shot echoed through the valley.

  Stone rolled Omar’s body into the canyon. It spun toward the smoking wreckages and disappeared into black smoke.

  Nuria was watching him through binoculars. He stared back at her but he couldn’t stay here much longer. The area would soon be flooded with soldiers from the League; he’d seen the convoy of vehicles emerge from the city. He needed to scatter into the wasteland they called the Black Region or, even riskier, head into the city itself where there would be more weapons and supplies and information on how to get back to her.

  She hadn’t moved.

  He swallowed and was about to duck back into the undergrowth when he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small wrapped gift she had given him. He curled his grimy fingers around the wooden piece of heart and pressed it against his scarred chest.

  By the time Nuria lowered the binoculars, blue eyes streaming with tears, he was gone.

  THIRTY THREE

  “No,” said Governor Albury.

  Boyd nodded.

  “The letter states the Alliance has reformed. They have new leaders and the League has purged the dissidents.”

  Albury listened.

  “All the traitors have been executed.”

  “By whom? Them? No, by us, Benny. It was Stone who captured Omar. Not them. I don’t care about their claims and promises. Kiven are born to lie. It’s good the bridges were destroyed.”

  “I understand.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” said Albury, softly. “I’m sorry he was left over there. All he tried to do was help.”

  “I’ll send word to Commander Eddis that any further communication is to be destroyed.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Summer had passed. The trees were turning orange, yellow and red. His carpentry tools were covered in dust.

  “What of Great Onglee?”

  “The death toll is keenly felt. Generations were lost. There’s been a string of revenge killings against the Shaylighters and they’ve started to retaliate, tit-for-tat murders. Captain Duggan and the Shaylighter leader, Callart, are working at eliminating these. Duggan has completed the drawing of new borders although over half of the Shaylighters are staying inside Mosscar.”

  “I see,” said Albury. “I hope they appreciate the concessions we’re making.”

  “We’re only giving them land we don’t use.”

  “Do you think we should give them more?”

  “I think we should learn to live alongside them.”

  Albury glared. “I think I would like to visit the site of Great Onglee and witness first hand the devastation.”

  “We lost twenty men to infection clearing the area. It might not be safe yet.”

  “Twenty? Trinity could’ve saved them.”

  “The men were being transported here. They died on the road.” He cleared his throat. “How is the girl?”

  “Happy, I think. I have no experience of young girls, Benny. They all seem to laugh and smile a lot. I assume she’s happy. The hospital worship her.”

  “It’s a shame her sisters couldn’t accept her.”

  “Yes, I suppose. Is there still unrest toward Archbishop Devon?”

  Boyd glanced out of the window. He studied the rooftops of the great Holy House of Touron.

  “It hasn’t gone away. This new breakaway order continue to question why Devon took so long in bringing the child healer to Touron when he knew the Archbishop was gravely ill. They’re attempting to build a new house of worship. I have a man watching the situation closely.”

  “And what of the Map Maker? Have you located him yet?”

  “No, he disappeared with a woman from Brix. He gave us a place to begin with the Shaylighters. Maybe in some way the crazy man did put us back together.”

  “Hmm,” said Albury. “The conscription laws will still be enforced. Every other boy will bear arms. We will not be left vulnerable.”

  Boyd remained quiet.

  “How is the work progressing in Winshead?”

  “Slow. The hamlet was abandoned for many years but the farm buildings belonging to Pretan have been demolished. The refugees from Great Onglee will take up residence by winter.”

  “That’s something positive.” His voice was distant.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I think we’re born to fight,” he said, with a defeated sigh. “It’s our nature to conquer and kill and take what the other has. That was the way of the Ancients and it’s the way of us. Do you not agree?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I don’t agree with you, sir.”

  “But the Shaylighters and the Kiven; liars and killers.”

  “Not all of them. Omar was a man who arrived at the right time with the right amount of charm. He managed to enlist the disenchanted of the Kiven people. But they’re not all like him. And Callart, the Shaylighter warrior, he wants only peace. He has a wife, sir, and children. He is just a man. Like you, sir. So, no, I don’t agree with you.”

  He touched his cross.

  “You might be Ennpithia’s ruler, Lewis, but you’re still a man and you’re hurting. Rondo and Omar were willing to murder thousands and turn Ennpithia into a wasteland of death. And you welcomed them and attempted to forge a bond with them. They humiliated you. But you have to get past this. Ennpithia needs that vigour you possess, that bright spark to take us beyond the greed and hatred of men like Omar and Essamon.”

  He paused.

  “Maybe you should make a table. I’m sure it helps more than prayer.”

  Albury smiled, wryly.

  “You are a good friend, Benny; you will make an ideal advisor.”

  “I prefer the road, sir.”

  He patted Boyd on the arm. “Where do you think they are?”

  “Still trying to find a way across the mountains.”

  “It was good tha
t Commander Eddis spared ten Marshals to travel with them.”

  “The mountains have never been crossed. I pray for Quinn and Nuria and the soldiers with them. They won’t give up looking for him.”

  “Do you think he’s still alive? Two months have passed.”

  “He’s a resourceful man.”

  “And all the smuggling tunnels have gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “So there is no way back for him?”

  “No.”

  “This man saved our people and we don’t even know if he’s dead or alive.”

  “A lot of lives were lost that day.”

  “Is there nothing we can do, Benny?”

  Boyd straightened.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then prayer is all we have,” said Albury, grimly. “And carpentry.”

  Rain slithered down the window panes. It was a newly constructed building on the corner of the parkland, the only gardens within the city where trees flourished and flowers grew and citizens paid to walk its winding pathways. But it was autumn and the riotous colours had faded and the trees were bending in the harsh wind and the lawns were covered with fallen leaves and the sky was grey and red and the only place to be was inside.

  The three of them gathered around an open fire, sipping brandy from cut glasses; two men, one woman. The ratio had to be maintained. The Society, the heart, would always provide a woman; the Ministry, the vision, would always provide a man; the League, the fists, would always provide a soldier.

  “They have been rooted out, executed,” said the soldier. “Omar and his followers are the past.”

  The woman spoke. “Have you found the stranger?”

  “No.”

  “Are we certain he’s still here?”