The Ruins Book 3

by T. W. Piperbrook

  The demons brought him some unknown distance and stopped.

  Faced with a circle of ten or so demons that had ceased moving, William screamed, "Get back!"

  It wasn't until Rudyard screamed an order that they listened.

  The demons kept him at bay, but they no longer pressed as tightly.

  They had him trapped.

  Past them, he saw the staring, emotionless eyes of The Gifted, gathered in a line, watching.

  William reached up and past one of the demons in a fruitless attempt to get free, but the demon snapped at his finger. He would lose an appendage before he would get free, brother or not. He heard the slaps of fists against skin, grunts, and cries as his friends fought in the distance.

  Tears rolled down William's face as he realized his friends might die. "Don't fight! Don't fight!" Turning his cries toward The Gifted, he yelled, "Let them go!"

  None answered. Not even Amelia.

  "Relax, William." Tolstoy's face was smug in his command.

  William heaved thick, gasping breaths. A few demons looked over their shoulders, awaiting another order. He wanted to shove past them and race to his friends. He wanted to pour his rage into a command that would strike The Gifted down, by the will of the gods, if his brothers wouldn't listen.

  "Are you unharmed?" Tolstoy asked, walking until he was standing just outside the circle where William was kept.

  William's anger seethed as he listened to the man's calm voice. He wanted to scream every hateful word he could think of. Silence was his last, angry means of defiance.

  "I regret that had to be done." Tolstoy's voice was wrapped in a pleasantry that William didn't believe.

  William poured his hatred into a glare as he stared from Tolstoy to Amelia.

  "You will understand, in time," Amelia said, walking over to join Tolstoy as the other Gifted hung back.

  "You misrepresented who you were," Tolstoy said, allowing some anger into his voice. "All of you."

  "I am from Brighton," William protested. "That is no lie."

  "The time has passed for lies." Tolstoy's voice was hard. "You are no emissaries."

  "Let us move forward and forget this, William," Amelia said sweetly. "We will not harm you unless you force us to. You are our brother."

  "I am nothing like you, or to you," William said, wishing the words were true. He wanted to scrape away the warts on his head, if it meant separating himself from these people. They were nothing like the smart demon named Jingo. He wanted them to be, but they weren't. "We will leave and never come back. We won't tell anyone about this place."

  "Do you think that is what concerns us?" Tolstoy sounded as if he might laugh. "Anyone with two eyes and any intelligence would stay away from a horde of Plagued Ones. Besides, we know you have no one to tell. You are alone."

  "Your friends will be protected here, as long as they do what we say," Amelia said, projecting more sincerity into her voice. "We do not want to kill you, William. Hopefully your friends will realize the same thing."

  William swallowed as he found a new hope in those words; a hope he had no choice but to cling to. Only a fool would run through an army of hungry demons. His friends were already past the gate. He feared they were dead.

  "I need to see my friends," William said, hating his pleading tears and the waver in his voice. "I need to tell them to stop fighting."

  Tolstoy's smile—once inspiring—was now an ugly thing. "I promise you this: if your friends are wise enough to go without struggle, they are wise enough to live."

  William opened and closed his eyes. The windmills creaked as they took their endless spins. In the distance, he heard another cry. It sounded like Kirby. That cry gave him hope.

  "Don't fight!" he yelled again, even though he doubted they could hear him.

  He yelled several more times, praying to every god he knew, as Tolstoy gave another command.

  "To The Learning Building."

  The demons led William away. Without wanting to, he was pulled along.

  Chapter 28: Bray

  "Kirby!" Bray shouted again, looking over as she clutched a savage wound on her arm. Blood dripped from the teeth marks of a demon, staining her clothes. Bray's knuckles were bloodied from the punches he'd landed trying to escape, or to defend her. She looked as if she might fight some more. Her face wore the resistance of someone who was ready to die, but Bray wasn't ready to give up his life. Cullen looked as if he were in a stupor, but he wasn't fighting. All around them, the demons pressed close.

  After separating them from William, the demons had half-dragged, half-led them through the gate in the wall next to the shimmering building. Now they stood in the western end of the dirt courtyard that spanned the first part of the settlement, the same one Bray had seen from high up on the floors of the big building.

  "We need to stay alive!" Bray yelled to Kirby, not for the first time.

  He needed to say something—anything—so she would outlive this moment.

  "I will not be a slave," Kirby spat through clenched teeth at the demons, and at Rudyard. Ollie, Avery, and a handful of uninfected men stood next to him. "Not again."

  "It is not worth your life," Bray implored her.

  "Listen to him. He's smart." Rudyard laughed from outside the circle.

  Bray looked around. In the center of the courtyard, far past them, piles of ashes sat where bonfires had burned. To the south of the courtyard, he saw the first rows of the small, square buildings that extended far back into the city. Women clad in dirty pants and shirts stared at them from inside the doorways, or outside. Some looked as if they had been in the process of hanging laundry, or cooking food, when they heard the commotion. More than a couple held babies. All of them had haunted eyes.

  Of course, no one came to help.

  The short buildings extended beyond the first rows and as far as Bray could see, but he knew they ended at the wall. Most of the dwellings had cracks, or were pieced together with scraps of rock or metal. The smell of demon stench and dung filled the air. Even if he had noticed the squalid conditions from the building's highest floors, Bray wouldn't have seen the truth. Toward the eastern side of the settlement sat the taller buildings with large chimneys. Past them was one side of the fenced-in area within the wall that he'd seen from higher up.

  None of those observations helped him now.

  He looked over the heads of the demons and at the wall through which they'd been brought. The gate was closed. Assumedly, most of the population of New City was still out in the fields, tending crops, or in some of the buildings, working, or eavesdropping. William was gone.

  He turned his attention back to Rudyard and the people next to him. Shortly after they came through the gate, Ollie and Avery had appeared, along with a half-dozen vicious, bear-sized men. All looked as if they were ready to join the fight on the demons' side.

  On Rudyard's.

  Rudyard appraised Bray, Kirby, and Cullen triumphantly.

  "You are filth," Kirby spat at Rudyard. "No better than the mutants you command."

  Rudyard's smile was stuck to his face. "You are lucky. The Semposi wanted to take you away. It took some extra crops to convince them otherwise. Now, we have purchased you."

  A thin smile tugged at Ollie's lips.

  "These are some of my Head Guards," Rudyard said, pointing to Ollie, Avery, and the six other large men who accompanied them. "They are in charge of making you comfortable."

  Ollie's smug smile betrayed the true meaning of his job.

  Rudyard gestured behind Bray, toward a long, rectangular building that lined the compound's western wall. It was mostly isolated, save a few dirty buildings next to it that held chamber pots, judging by an even more pungent stench coming from that direction. A row of thick doors lined the front of the building. Bray didn't need the details to imagine what went on there.

  "I am going to order The Plagued Ones away," Rudyard said. "You can either follow my Head Guards to the building, or become a lesson for
the other slaves. Neither matters much to me." Rudyard smiled confidently as he motioned toward some of the watching people, who awaited the outcome.

  Bray traded a glance with Kirby. Anger blazed in her eyes.

  "We'll be okay," he whispered, even though he had no confidence in his words.

  "I'm not going," Kirby said quietly as she raised her fists. "I will die first."

  Bray swallowed. The determination in her voice sounded like last words. He couldn't let her die next to him. Bray flexed his muscles, preparing for a final fight they wouldn't win. Sensing death coming, Cullen held his hands in front of him, mumbling with fear. Bray had no time to blame him for the final mistake that had put them here, and might cost their lives.

  "Away from them!" Rudyard told the demons.

  The twisted men skittered to the side, but not far enough that they couldn't be called upon.

  Ollie and Avery approached Kirby, their eyes lit with malicious intent.

  Kirby backed away.

  "Go peacefully," Bray warned.

  Kirby wasn't listening.

  "Do not touch me," Kirby warned, cocking back a fist.

  Two more of the Head Guards started after Bray.

  Bray didn't wait for an attack.

  Surprising the men coming for him, he lunged sideways toward Kirby, headed for Ollie and Avery, hoping to deflect some of the attention from her.

  He feinted low, then swung up and caught Ollie with a fist under the chin. Ollie groaned and staggered backward. Pain blazed in Bray's knuckles as he hurled another blow at Avery, but Avery had time to block. Avery struck Bray in the face, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. Kirby jumped into the fray, knocking Avery in the face several times.

  She kept pummeling Avery.

  The other men chasing Bray caught up.

  Bray turned and swung at one of the approaching Head Guards, but the man blocked the blow. He struck Bray in the face hard enough to send him skidding backwards. Two more men broke from Rudyard's side and circled behind Bray. One punched his side. Others punched his stomach from the front. He was outnumbered, and the pain from the arrow wound in his leg slowed him down. Bray screamed in rage as he tried to shake off too many sets of grabbing hands, managing to knock a few men astray before others subdued him. He kicked his boots, stamping up dirt as men behind him pinned his arms, holding him at bay.

  Strong fists hit his sides, doubling him over. Men sneered.

  "Filthy sons of bitches!"

  Through his haze, he saw Kirby battling Ollie and Avery, managing to knock both to the ground before a few others swarmed her, punching her in the face until she dropped. Bray watched in anger as the men kicked her on the ground, booting her with the confidence of weak-hearted men who clearly had the numbers. Somewhere past them, Cullen screamed.

  More hands pummeled Bray's ribs. A blow knocked him to the ground.

  Spit and blood drooled from his mouth.

  Men dragged him across the dirt.

  Bray kicked and struggled, to no avail.

  Dust, debris, and shouting filled the air as they pulled him toward the rectangular building.

  Through a veil of blood, he saw Rudyard moving ahead of them, toward one of the thresholds, opening a door. Somewhere out of sight, Kirby and Cullen screamed in pain, terror, or both.

  "You will learn to obey us, in time," Rudyard said, as the men pulled Bray over the bumpy doorway. "Or you will die."

  The men chucked Bray inside.

  Bray flew across the musty room and struck a thick, stone wall. He hit hard, sinking to the ground. A man entered the room. A final, spiteful kick to his head sent him face down in the dirt in a blinding flash.

  And then the door closed, and he was alone.

  Chapter 29: Bray

  Bray wiped strands of wet drool from his face as he tried to get up. He fell. Dirt and stone scratched his face as he peeled himself from the floor. The empty room stank of sweat and urine. Stains lined the walls, which he could only tell by the faint light coming from underneath the door. That wasn't the worst part, though. He listened in vain as Kirby fought more men in the next room, shrieking, grunting, and cursing. Somehow, she'd forced her way through the beatings and found the strength to fight more.

  It wouldn't end well.

  Just as Bray had succumbed to pain, he heard Kirby's cries of rage turning to squeals, her blows getting weaker. She was faltering.

  Bray opened his mouth to tell her to stop fighting before she died, but they'd kicked the air from his lungs.

  He could do nothing but listen.

  A feeling greater than his own desire to survive scorched his heart.

  He might hear Kirby's last sounds on a floor no less than fifteen feet away.

  He tried to get to his feet again, but stumbled. Bray crawled on hands and knees across the room, ignoring the pain that radiated through his body, and grabbed for the door handle. It didn't move. Of course, it didn't. Falling backward, he kicked it vainly, regaining enough wind to scream Kirby's name before her last cry turned to silence. He heard the sound of men's grumbling voices, and then the sounds of someone being dragged. A body?

  A door slammed shut.

  Silence.

  Bray felt as if he might vomit.

  He kicked a few more times at the door, but he no longer heard any sounds of struggle. He didn't even hear Cullen.

  A quiver of rage built in his voice.

  Finding air in his lungs, Bray screamed.

  Chapter 30: William

  "William."

  Silence.

  "William. Look at me."

  William stared absently at the wall. The odor of his untouched breakfast wafted from the plate in front of him—meat, strawberries, and blueberries. The ornate chair underneath him felt cold and hard. His eyes drifted from the wall to the objects on the tables and desks. He spotted the microscope, still sitting on the table where Amelia had showed him how to use it. If he could find the strength, he would spring across the room, grab it, and hurl it at her.

  "We will not harm you any further, unless you make us," Tolstoy said, leaning across the table and toward him.

  The other Gifted lingered in the background, watching.

  A tear fell from William's eye. He could no longer hear his friends' screams, but those screams would echo in his mind forever. He couldn't help the dreadful feeling that his friends were dead. He'd followed The Gifted only long enough to get to the entrance of the shimmering building, before he'd started fighting. Tolstoy had ordered some men that looked like guards to grab him and pull him through the lowest room, up the stairs. He'd fought to see what was happening out of several windows on the stairwell, but several blows had knocked away his strength. Exhaustion had finally made him give up.

  Tolstoy slid his chair back across from William. He stood. His expression was emotionless. A few of the other Gifted—including Amelia—wandered from their places by the windows, or near the endless rows of books where they lingered, toward the table.

  He hated her. He hated them all.

  "I am three hundred and fifty-eight years old," Tolstoy said as he took a pacing step. "Did you know that?"

  William shook his head as another tear fell. Of course, he remembered.

  "Three hundred and fifty-eight years old," Tolstoy repeated, shaking his head as if the idea pained him, even though William doubted he had that emotion. "That is a long time to live. A normal human's memories might fade in that time, but not mine. I remember too much. I remember what the humans have done to us. Unfortunately, you have not lived long enough to learn that lesson."

  William stared at Tolstoy with hatred burning in his eyes. He'd seen his own mother die in front of him. He'd seen people brutalized and killed in the wild. He knew loss.

  Tolstoy looked at the ceiling, deciphering something.

  "We are not an anomaly, or an aberration. We are better, William. It might be hard for you to accept now, but in time, you will."

  William stayed silent.

/>   Sensing that Tolstoy wasn't getting through, Amelia stepped over with the same warm smile he no longer believed. "Tolstoy tells the truth. This is new to you, William. I understand how painful things can be. You will learn many hard lessons. But we are not going anywhere. We will help you."

  "We are lucky to have found each other. You might not believe it now, but it is a blessing you found us," Tolstoy said, waving his hand at the windows. "Out in the wild, you might have died. Here, you are protected."

  "I don't care about protection," William spat, breaking his silence. "I want my friends."

  "They will cause you pain," Tolstoy said simply. "They will betray you, and they will die, like all humans."

  "They won't," William said, even though a few memories told him otherwise. He thought of those tears he'd shed outside the stone house in the wild, when he'd thought about what might happen to him. It wasn't out of the question that his friends would kill him, if he succumbed to madness.

  But he cared about them. He didn't want them killed.

  Not now. Not ever.

  "Let them go. Let us go," William feebly muttered.

  "I can't do that, William. And even if I did, what would that buy you? Some amount of time in the wild, before you died? Surely you realize that your friends will die, while you will not."

  "I—" William fell silent as the words struck a truth.

  "You are immortal, William. We all are. We will be here long after your friends are dead, and long after everyone outside dies. One generation will succeed the next. Some will grow sick, or die in other ways, but we will outlive them all. Every single person you saw out the windows will pass on, but you will remain."

  "But you will die, if you are careless," Amelia reminded him.

  "Too many of our kind have perished over the years. Do not be foolish enough to join them." Tolstoy stared at William with a look that was as much a promise as a threat.