The Ruins Book 3

by T. W. Piperbrook

  "We fled as far and as fast as we could, but the men pursued us through the forest. We took a route that we had planned in case of danger—a path between a few hills. We survived long enough to keep ahead of them. Eventually, darkness settled in. We were too afraid to light a torch. I still remember huddling in the dark behind a fallen log as the men passed by us, clicking. We held our breaths, certain they would hear us. Even our long knives and bows felt useless against so many. They kept going. Or so we thought." Cullen smeared something from his eye. "When the moon hid behind the trees, they appeared with torches, overpowering us. They dragged us in different directions. I tried to fight, but they beat me, tore my clothes, and took my weapons. All I heard were Mason and Lincoln's cries, mixed with my own." Cullen twitched, as if the memory caused him physical pain. He lowered his head. "I think my brothers fought hard enough that they were killed. Somehow, I escaped and ran into the woods. I wanted to help my brothers, but their screams stopped. The clicking men were everywhere. All I heard were those awful noises. And so I ran." Cullen stared at the trees, as if his brothers might rematerialize.

  "Is that when you reached the city?" Kirby asked.

  Cullen nodded. "Most of us live in houses that are far away from the cities, to avoid the constant threat of wandering Plagued Ones, or other dangers. But I had no choice. The men followed me through the night and to morning. I didn't know where I was going until I reached the first buildings. I was just trying to get away. I am not sure why they cared about me. Perhaps it is a game they play, or something worse." Cullen shook his head, as if he could erase the memories. "I made it through a few buildings, stumbling over the rubble. Eventually, I reached a building dark enough to crouch in without being seen. I watched a group run by me. And then I waited." Cullen swallowed. "I'm not sure how long I stayed there, but eventually, I crept into one of the tunnels leading underground. I kept to the shadows, eating whatever I could find. I avoided the clicking men who hunted me. I stayed alive. Barely."

  "You are fortunate," Bray said.

  "Sometimes I wish I could trade my life for my brothers'." Cullen lowered his head. "I tried to escape a few times, using the hole in the road I showed you, and other routes, until I saw them. I snuck back into the tunnels to avoid death. I am not sure how long I was there before you came."

  "I am sorry to hear about your family," Kirby said.

  Cullen nodded, but his grief was accompanied by fear. He looked nervously over his shoulder. "A part of me believes these monsters are part of a dream I am having."

  "It isn't a dream," Bray said, gesturing at the arrow in his leg.

  Cullen's eyes darted around the forest. He didn't answer.

  "You said there are more people like you," Kirby remembered.

  "We are spaced throughout the forests." Cullen nodded. "Sometimes we trade with one another. A few of us are families. Others are people who have taken up with each other to survive. I fear the rest of the people are dead, killed by those men."

  "You are settlers, then," Bray said with a definitive nod.

  "Settlers?"

  "People who live outside, in the forests, away from the cities," Bray explained.

  Cullen seemed confused. "It would be foolish to live in the cities. They are a place of danger, and too often a place The Plagued Ones roam. Except for a few cities, like the one we left, which are strangely empty. No one is sure why. But we don't trust them, either."

  "So there are no cities filled with people?"

  "None that I'm aware of."

  Bray couldn't hide his disappointment.

  "Your people don't have guns," Kirby surmised.

  "The weapons you carry?" Cullen guessed, looking nervously at the rifle in her hand. "I saw them, once, but we do not have them. If I had one, I would've fought harder. Perhaps it would have made a difference, but probably not."

  "Where did you see the guns?" Kirby asked, clearly surprised.

  "A few men I had never seen carried them through the woods a long time ago. We hid as they passed by, afraid to come out. We saw them using them on a few Plagued Ones. They were as incredible as yours."

  Kirby watched him intently, processing something. "Did those people wear green and brown jackets?"

  "Our attention was stuck on the weapons. I cannot recall their features. But I do not think so."

  Kirby looked as if she wasn't finished with the questioning. "Did their guns look the same as ours?"

  "They might have been different," Cullen said, dipping back into his confusion.

  "More people with guns might mean more Tech Magic, even if they aren't your people," Bray said.

  "Perhaps," Kirby said.

  "I do not know what those words mean," Cullen said. "I am sorry."

  Bray studied Cullen. His eyes were sunken. His cheeks were sallow. His body was gaunt enough that he resembled some of the poorest people in Brighton, paupers who worked from meal to meal. Bray had felt similar hunger, eating scraps where he could find them, drinking rainwater from puddles, like he'd done in the Ancient City, or plenty of times as a Warden. Too many days of living like that was enough to drain a man's will. It was easy to see how Cullen's sanity had been shredded after the loss of his brothers, and the terror he'd faced at the hands of The Clickers.

  Looking away, Bray noticed the sun sinking below the horizon. They'd hiked most of the day without reprieve.

  "We should find a place to camp soon," said Bray. "And I need to get this arrow out. Do you know the area?"

  "Not well," Cullen admitted, looking nervously around. "I've only been to the city where you found me a few times. As I said, we usually avoid cities. But I think there are some broken-down buildings to the south of here of which Mason and Lincoln spoke."

  "Let's keep going. Hopefully we can find them."

  Chapter 5: Bray

  After traveling the forest for a while, thick, leafy trees gave way to a grassy slope with weeds as high as their knees. They trekked up the rising hill with the same caution they carried through the forest. Chirping insects sang around them, in alternating patterns of loud and quiet that followed their footsteps. They'd almost reached the top of the hill when Bray saw the tops of the buildings of which Cullen spoke.

  Several dilapidated, stone houses stood farther back on the hill. Weeds and trees seemed to have melded with the sides, as if nature were trying to reclaim the small, squat buildings. Tall grass grew up around them. The houses were a mixture of rocks dug from the forest, mixed with pieces of Ancient stone that might have been pulled from a larger building.

  "These buildings were empty years ago, when Lincoln and Mason found them," Cullen said. "But I can't promise they're safe now."

  Bray looked on the other side of the buildings. Past them, the hill sloped downward, leading to more forest farther away.

  They aimed their rifles.

  They saw no shifting shadows behind the buildings' numerous cracks.

  Approaching the side of one of the buildings, Bray noticed one of the walls missing. A piece of angular Ancient stone that had once been the wall lay haphazardly over a pile of rocks, broken into large pieces. Weeds grew over an empty floor. He saw a rock formation in the corner that might've been a crude fireplace, at one time, but was now collapsed. He saw no sign that anyone had built a fire recently, or made a bed. In the front of the structure was a door leading out onto the same grass hill, which sloped gently down into the distant forest. The second building had all its walls. In addition to the open doorway, Bray saw a hole in the wall on the opposite side, big enough to see through. It looked like a person had made the opening long ago to keep watch.

  "We'll have visibility here of both slopes," Bray said. "And our position on the hill will allow us to see if anyone approaches."

  "Good enough," Kirby agreed.

  They sloughed off their bags in the building. William and Cullen agreed to keep watch while Bray and Kirby tended to the arrow in Bray's leg. Bray chose a large, flat rock near the wall and sat,
inspecting the ugly weapon protruding from his calf. The tip was constructed of a long, slender bit of bone. The shaft was made of wood.

  "It looks like the arrow tip is barbed," Kirby said, bending down next to Bray.

  "Bastards." Bray cursed at the dull pain in his leg. "I'd like to stick it in the gut of the man who shot it."

  "It will be tricky to get out, but I should be able to manage."

  "I've been shot worse," Bray said with a grunt. "I don't think it hit the bone."

  "Still, it is not a pretty wound. This part will hurt. I wish we had found your snowberry." Kirby smiled sympathetically.

  Bray returned the gesture.

  After watching her work on the arrow for a while, he looked out the door and down the side of the hill at some thick forest, doing his best to ignore the pain in his calf. They were far enough away that they were out of the range of a bow attack. Still, he didn't trust anything around them. The fading daylight glanced off the side of the building and shone through the building's crevices. William kept a vigil next to the doorway, clutching his Tech Magic gun as he glanced in all directions.

  "We should probably skip a fire tonight," Bray said, to no arguments.

  Cullen peered from the hole in the wall opposite William. Bray was surprised to find he was still on his feet, and not resting, or passed out from exhaustion.

  "You can sleep, after we are finished with the arrow," Bray offered, feeling more than a little pity for the haggard man.

  "I do not trust our safety. I will keep awake," Cullen said.

  "Are you uncertain about us?" Bray asked, taking another meaning from that statement.

  "I know you are better than those men." Cullen nodded through his fear. "Even if that is the only thing I know."

  Bray couldn't argue.

  "Where are you people from?" Cullen asked.

  Bray felt as if he owed the man a better explanation, now that he'd earned some trust. "We're from a township up north."

  "You mean a city?" Cullen seemed as if he was in shock.

  "Yes, a place similar to a city. Many people live there. But we are not going back."

  "Why not?" Cullen asked.

  Bray recalled the burnings, the heads on spikes, and the war outside of Brighton. "We were hoping to escape some of the violence where we came from. And some of the infected we call demons."

  "Do you have many Plagued Ones?"

  "Hordes," Bray said, with open disgust, until he realized William was listening. Softening his tone, he said, "Enough that our lives are at risk daily. That seemed to be the case most of the way here, until we reached the last city."

  "Like I said, there are fewer Plagued Ones here, and in a few cities to the west," Cullen agreed. "I am not sure why. Perhaps The Clickers kill them. I do not normally venture there to find out." Looking from Bray's wound to the rifle he'd placed next to him, he asked, "Does everyone in your city have those weapons?"

  "No," Bray said, deciding to add, "In fact, I think these might be the last of them. What weapons do you have here?"

  "We have knives and swords, things that were passed on."

  "Have you seen many others, besides us? People you don't know?" Bray thought of how Cullen had seen travelers with guns.

  "We usually stay away from those people we don't recognize. Most have crude weapons, or strange tongues. Some have different clothing. Most are passersby who go through the cities, looking for things to steal. It is why we have learned to stay away." Cullen studied him. "I could tell you were from far away."

  "How?"

  "Your weapons, of course. But you also look as if the sun burned you," Cullen said, patting his neck. "Normally, we keep to the forest during the day's hottest hours."

  "We learned that quickly," Bray said.

  "But not enough to heed my warnings," Kirby muttered.

  It was true. During those first few, hottest days, when the scorching weather was new to them, they had gone to sleep with red necks that eventually led to hot, flaky skin. Bray recalled several uncomfortable days of sleeping afterward. It wasn't enough to warrant complaining, but it was different. Keeping to the forest wasn't always an option when they were in a new place each day. They still burned, but not as badly as they first had.

  "How do your homes look?" Bray asked. "Are they similar to this one?"

  Cullen looked around. "They are made of stone, yes. We have used them for years. We keep them up. We use the rocks we find in the forest, and things we can safely pull away from other, fallen buildings on the outskirts of the cities. We only move if we have to."

  "Do you have animals?"

  "A long while ago, in the days my parents were alive, we had goats. Most died. Even if we found some more, we don't have a good enough way to protect them." Cullen shook his head. "They make too much noise. The Plagued Ones hear them, and they come feast. To have them is to risk our lives."

  Bray grimaced as Kirby finished what she was doing. "Okay, I finally have the arrow out," she said, setting the offending weapon on the ground, pulling out a flask and bandage. Bray looked down at the bone-tipped shaft, which contained too much of his blood.

  "If they had shot you at closer range, this would've been worse," Kirby said. "I think you will heal."

  Cullen seemed as if the conversation had expended the last of his energy. In the time they'd talked, he'd sunk lower in his position against the wall. Every so often, he glanced out the hole, or looked cautiously out the front door where William watched, unwilling to give up his obsessive scanning.

  "We will keep watch, if you want to rest," Bray said.

  "I am fine," Cullen said, as his eyelids fluttered.

  In a few more moments, he was asleep.

  Chapter 6: Bray

  Bray inspected his bag, taking a mental tally of the remaining supplies. The metal objects called magazines were too few—enough that he didn't want to speak it aloud. Glancing up, he noticed William had stepped outside the doorway. Every so often, William switched his rifle's aim, keeping a close eye on the distant tree line. He was intent on his vigil. Or perhaps some part of him thought he would see the horses again. Bray needed to talk with him about that.

  Speaking softly so as not to wake Cullen, Bray looked over at Kirby, who was keeping watch out the hole in the wall, and said, "William's upset."

  Kirby looked at him. "I do not blame him for missing the steeds."

  "Travel will be slower without them," Bray admitted. "And we will not have the height advantage."

  "Unfortunately, true." Kirby sighed.

  "I am not convinced we aren't being hunted," Bray said. "We should leave at first light, in case." Looking over at Cullen, who was bent over, asleep, and around at the rubble-strewn house, he said, "Stone houses. Knives. Crude bows. No animals of which to speak. It is not the golden palace of which your people told stories." Bray shook his head. "I'm starting to think there is no great city, no last great civilization, only barbarians scavenging the ruins of crumbled cities."

  "Do you wish we had stayed at The Arches?" Kirby asked.

  "No." Bray was adamant. "If this is all we were meant to find out here, then so be it. I've already traveled beyond any place a Warden has explored. I have stories, even if they won't make it back to the grizzled tavern keepers in Brighton."

  Kirby smiled thinly. "They'll be disappointed."

  "Let them be." Bray shrugged. "I do not regret anything I've done. And I do not regret meeting you."

  He smiled warmly. Looking behind them at the dilapidated, rubble-strewn house, Bray said, "We will have to clear a spot in the rubble to sleep on. Take your pick. I'm going to speak with William."

  "Okay." Kirby smiled back. "I will let you know if I see anything."

  Chapter 7: William

  William gazed down the long, sloping hill, lit golden by the last of the dying sunlight, as if Spirit and Blackthorn might come running up it. When he sniffed his hands, he could still smell a hint of leather from their bridles, and he could still see
a bit of dung on his boot on which he'd unwittingly trodden yesterday. He knew they weren't coming back. He was more likely to see swaths of sharp-toothed, vicious men, come to kill him and his friends, than his horses.

  Good. Let them come, he thought, gritting his teeth.

  Maybe they could taste the end of his Tech Magic gun.

  William clung to his anger, because it was easier than guilt.

  He hated himself.

  Too many had died because of him. He might not have handed over the horses to those vile men, but he'd left Spirit outside of that building, which had caused Bray and Kirby to leave Blackthorn. The horses might be roasting over a bonfire right now, gristle between sharp, uncaring teeth. They'd died for nothing, just like the demons at The Arches, or the demons at the battle of Brighton. They'd died because of him.

  Just like mom.

  Tears slid down William's cheeks as he stared down the quiet hill. Reaching up to smear them away, he brushed the warts on his face. He was a monster. A bruised, smudged boy who had no business being around anyone. He was all the things that the people in Brighton said about the demons. Too many had died to protect him. And for what?

  Cullen's first reaction of fear would be shared by anyone William met. No one would accept a demon-boy. They might say they did, when they were sharing meals or hiking next to him. But they'd sleep with an eye open, faced in his direction. They would look at him strangely when he said the wrong thing, thinking he'd gone mad. They would never fully trust him.

  William was destined to become a person to be feared and reviled. An abomination. A paltry hood wouldn't hide the infection on his face. And nothing would stop the infection from taking over his mind, if that was what the gods intended. He might be lucid now, but he could still hear the whispers.

  Who knew when intelligence turned to madness?

  Sure, there was the man named Jingo they'd met all those days ago in the Ancient City, the one who had lived through the spore's insanity. That man was more intelligent than almost anyone William had met. But William had hung his dreams on too many falsehoods to believe he might be the same. None of his dreams ever came true.