by Rick Wood
“We need to hurry,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon, and the Thoral will no doubt be back.”
He walked.
She had questions, but they could wait. For now, she had to care for the most important thing in her life.
She led Boy by the hand, walking in Ryker’s footsteps, expecting the Thoral to jump out at any moment.
It didn’t.
Chapter Eight
Like a lion looking over his kingdom, Arnold looked out of his office window to see his small town moving swiftly, everyone carrying out the chores they had been allocated. It worked in perfect synchronicity, everyone with their purpose, everyone scuttling about like ants serving their leader.
Although, Arnold was no lion. A lion is fierce, courageous, and commands respect from the animal kingdom.
Arnold was not the leader of this town based on power—he was the leader based upon financial superiority. Six months before the monsters had risen, a small portion of the human race already knew what was about to happen. The knowledge gave this elite few the opportunity to enter the Sanctity, an underground fortress designed to protect them whilst the weak perished.
Arnold had figured—why be one of the elite in the underground bunker, when he could be the only elite amongst the inferior?
So he’d bought a town. Acquired every building and offered surplus amounts of funding to the counsel. He had it fortressed by a large brick wall, protected and ready.
It was a town that was once known as Frome.
They all thought he was crazy, but when word of the monsters rising spread throughout Frome, the people had no choice but to recognise his leadership. If he had facilitated their survival then, as far as he was concerned, he owned them.
Years later and, last he heard, the Sanctity had fallen, and he was the leader of the only remaining civilisation in the country—possibly the world, for all he knew.
He knew he had made the right choice.
He returned to the reinforced leather seat behind his grand antique desk, taking a decanter from the dresser behind him and pouring a generous dose of gin into his crystal glass. He took it neat, as that was how his father had taught him—his father would have slayed a dragon before ruining good gin with ice. Ice was made from water, which was cheap and easy to come by, and this gin was not. Drinking it neat meant you gave it its due respect.
A rumble told him that the grand entrance to the town was being opened. He took his gin to the window, peered out, and saw Ryker, returning with others. A woman. And a boy.
The woman, who looked somewhere between black and white but not quite either, was filthy. Her walk did not match her stature; she strutted in like she was a lethal predator, whilst her size would suggest she was a dainty mouse. The boy beside her was even more bizarre, shuffling along with his head to the side, muttering. Something was wrong with him, probably a head case, who knew, who cared—if anyone did not serve a purpose in this town, he knew how to give them a purpose.
He straightened his tie, smoothed down his collar, and opened the window, looking down upon the street below.
“Ryker,” he said as Ryker led the newcomers past. He attempted to make his voice commanding, but it came out upper class and articulate in a way a rich person cannot fake. Money may not be a commodity one values anymore, but Arnold still spoke as if he still had the wealth he had had before.
“Arnold,” Ryker acknowledged. “This is our town leader,” Ryker told the other two.
The boy didn’t look, but the puny, feral woman did. She glanced upwards, her scowl serious and her face not faltering.
“Once you have our new friends settled, please bring them to meet me,” Ryker instructed. “I would love to meet them.”
“Of course,” Ryker said, and led them onward.
The girl glanced over her shoulder before she turned the far corner, passing the first set of vegetable patches and a small shop they used as a butcher.
Her glance was menacing, like she was sizing him up, a glare that could not be tamed.
He wasn’t sure what to make of this one. He had instructed Ryker to find a warrior and, whilst she did not have the stature of a fighter, she clearly had the temperament. Only time would tell if she would prove useful.
As for the boy…
Why the hell did Ryker bring that useless bit of filth back here?
He did not look like a warrior and, if Ryker determined that he did, Arnold would have to seriously call into question Ryker’s future judgement. There were few people he trusted in this town as much as Ryker, and he was sure there must be an explanation.
Arnold returned to his desk and refilled his glass.
He looked over his desk, as if there was paperwork to go over, like he was back in the old days of being a politician.
But this was a different kind of politics now.
Being a leader afforded one a different kind of power.
Chapter Nine
It was a surreal experience. To see so many people performing menial jobs and ardent tasks, just walking around like there wasn’t a world gone to shit outside the walls.
It felt wrong.
Just like it had at the Sanctity.
So many people living their lives as if the horrors were far away, each person blissfully convinced that suffering did not exist.
Cia reminded herself not to prejudge the place. The Sanctity was different. It was a place that gave the rich elite their safety and denied her entry for the colour of her skin; despite her dad happily entering without her.
These people did not seem like politicians, wealthy racists, or like they had inherited a generous trust fund. Yes, this was another presumption, but they weren’t walking around with the air of arrogance they had in the Sanctity; as if each step was treading over another piece of filth they owned. The people before her wore ill-fitting clothing as they sweated over crops or carried meat or fulfilled some other strenuous task.
“What is this place?” Cia asked.
“It’s our home,” Ryker answered.
“I mean… how?”
“How what?”
“How have you maintained something like this for so long, especially without being attacked by any of the creatures?”
He seemed to ignore the latter question.
“It used to be Frome,” Ryker said. “A small town in southwest rural England. Now it’s…” He held his arms aloft. “… Home.”
Around another street corner a manmade patch of grass ran up the middle of the pavement, home to a dozen varieties of vegetable. Around another corner were fences around cattle and livestock. Some buildings even looked like shops: a sweet shop, a butcher’s, a hairdresser…
It was an image Cia had forgotten. It felt like a far-off childhood dream.
“Let me show you to your home,” Ryker said.
“A home?”
“Yes. With a shower.”
A shower?
Pouring hot water instead of cold, dirty lakes?
She held onto Boy’s hand and kept him close. She’d learnt the hard way that if something was too good to be true, then it normally was. For all she knew, Ryker could be leading them into a trick or an ambush, and she would need to have Boy next to her to protect him.
But it wasn’t a trick or an ambush they stopped at.
It was a house. Brick, windows and a front door.
Cia marvelled at the sight. She hadn’t seen a house still intact since her and her father left theirs. There were curtains in the window rather than moss, a welcome mat rather than rats, and she could even see wallpaper inside instead of the charred remains of a burnt-out living room.
Then something even stranger happened.
The door opened, to reveal a young girl stood looking at them.
Cia recognised the girl, but where from she couldn’t tell. A vague familiarity struck her, but Cia couldn’t know her, Cia didn’t know anyone.
“Cathryn?” Boy said.
Cathryn…
Then s
he realised.
They had stopped briefly with a man named Colin, whom Dalton had murdered in his attempt to get to her and Boy. Colin’s daughter had run away, left to fend for herself at barely a year younger than Boy. Cia had no idea where she went, and now…
“Oh my God,” she muttered.
Ryker beamed next to her. “I think someone wants to say hello.”
Cathryn ran toward Cia and leapt into her arms. Cia dropped to her knees and held Cathryn tight, fighting tears from her eyes. She had only known this girl a few hours, and she did not understand why it affected her so much, but it did.
Maybe because she had decided she was responsible for Cathryn’s death, and it was a relief.
Maybe it was because Cathryn was another person who knew her, and if these people had kept her safe, then she could trust them.
Or, maybe, it was just pure joy at seeing this girl alive.
“I’m so sorry,” Cia whispered into Cathryn’s ear. “I’m so sorry about your…”
She couldn’t say it.
Cathryn’s young eyes looked into Cia’s and she said softly, “It’s okay, you’re here now.”
Cia hugged her tightly once again and whispered into her ear: “Are you safe? Have these people hurt you?”
Cathryn shook her head.
“They saved me,” she said.
Cia hugged her more, then stood, wiping her eyes.
“Before you get settled,” Ryker said, “I know that our town leader would love to meet you.”
“Okay,” Cia said, not in any fit state to argue.
“You can leave these two here to play if you wish, they will be safe–”
“No, they come with us,” she said. “Both of them.”
Chapter Ten
Ryker led Cia back through the town with Boy and Cathryn trailing behind her, past the same sights that were just as astonishing as when she had entered minutes ago.
Even more astonishing was the building he led her to.
Over what used to be a road were a few rectangles of white leading to this building; a crossing, Cia remembered it being called. The building itself looked like it should crumble and fall, but its classical architecture still held firmly in place. They had even mounted a clock atop the right-hand side, displaying a time of day that didn’t matter anymore; to Cia, it was the sun rising, in the middle of the sky, or setting—those were her times of day.
Ryker led her up the stone steps and through a room with a fireplace, large, grand windows, and a pristine tiled floor. Up another set of stairs, her feet tapped lightly on a marble floor that led to an impressive set of doors.
Ryker tapped on the door which was met with a gleeful, “Come in.” He opened the door to reveal a man with white hair, a small tuft of beard, and a perfectly pressed, impressive suit.
“Thank you, Ryker,” the man said, and Ryker backed out. He went to close the door, but Cia stopped him.
“Wait,” she said, Boy and Cathryn still outside it.
“They will be right out here with me,” Ryker said. “I promise.”
The doors were closed before Cia could object any further. She tried to relax, knowing Boy was just on the other side of that door, and with Cathryn as company, but it bothered her immensely.
“Your little brother?” the man asked.
Cia looked back at him. His voice sounded like the perfect product of private education. His articulacy and his wealth were so clear in just a few words.
“No,” Cia said, and added nothing further.
“Surely you’re too young for him to be your son?”
“Correct,” Cia said.
“So, please, tell me how it is you two have come by each other. Cousin? Friend of a close family? Child you used to babysit for, maybe?”
Cia didn’t feel like giving him any information. She looked around the office instead, judging him by the many shelves of expensive ornaments. A crystal jug, a gold-plated globe, a certificate of an honorary degree from Oxford—but not a single picture frame.
“This is an impressive office,” Cia said.
“You really think so?” Arnold answered, smiling, leaning toward her a little too enthusiastically. “I do hope it’s not overdone.”
“Of course not. Why wouldn’t you have a room decorated with all this shit while the entire world is dying?”
“Ah,” the man said, nodding. “You’re one of them.”
“One of what?”
“Let me just ask you, my dear—does it make sense to reduce your own frivolities because somewhere in the world someone else is suffering? Before this happened, would you have stopped watching your television because someone, somewhere, could be starving?”
She glared at him, seething. Oh boy, she hated him.
“I do believe I am yet to introduce myself,” he said. “My name is Arnold.”
She nodded.
“And how should I address you?” he asked.
She hesitated. She realised she was still loitering by the door. She could hear Boy and Cathryn giggling faintly behind it, and that gave her reassurance.
“Cia,” she said.
“Cia, what a lovely name. And do you have a last name?”
“Does it matter?”
“Why, I guess it does not. But it’s always nice to know. Please, won’t you come in, have a seat.”
Arnold indicated the chair opposite his desk as he sat in his chair behind it. Cia paused, then trudged slowly to the chair, and sat on its edge.
“What do you think of the town?” Arnold asked. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“Sure.”
“Do you not think so?”
Cia huffed. She didn’t know what to think.
“I think it’s odd how a community survived the initial attack, and the many years after it.”
“Fortunately, the government granted a few of us the knowledge of the initial attack in time to do something about it. I found this town, bought it, and immediately had a wall built around it. Everyone thought I was mad. Now they are grateful.”
“Must be lucky, getting to be one of the special ones who knew the world was about to end.”
“My dear, look out the window at the many people working hard in this community—they would not have survived was it not for my knowing what was going to happen. The government could have told everyone and inspired panic or told a few and inspired grand actions of protection.”
This guy had an answer for everything. Every time she had another qualm or contention, there he was with another well-prepared answer. He’d probably spent the last few years rehearsing them, preparing his excuses whilst those outside of his walls suffered.
“Forgive me,” said Arnold, “but it seems as if you are angry that we have had this community here, thriving, whilst you have evidently been struggling out there?”
Precisely.
“I may be making an assumption, but if that is what you are thinking, I would ask you what else you would expect. Do we break down and plunge ourselves into a pit of misery because a stranger we don’t know is having a hard time, or do we try to make the best out of a bad situation?”
“A bad situation?”
“You are here now, are you not?”
“Why?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why? Why am I here? I wouldn’t be here unless you needed me here for something.”
“Ah, yes. I presume Ryker mentioned what your role will be?”
“A warrior. Whatever that means.”
Arnold clasped his hands together and leant his chin upon them.
“The biggest threat we have to this community are the Wasters. They hate us, and they often come to attack. We have ways of detecting when they are coming near; people on watch, for example—when they come, we need people to go out and dispose of them.”
“You want me here to kill Wasters? Have you ever faced a Waster?”
“Not myself, personally, no. I understand they are tough to kill—but you would no
t be alone, and you would not be without weapons. I promise you the risk is minimal.”
“What about the other monsters?”
A silence followed.
“I don’t follow,” Arnold said.
“The Thorals, the Liskers, the Masketes. What about them? What about when they attack?”
Arnold smiled a knowing smile that she was sure he intended to be reassuring, but only made her more concerned.
“You let me worry about them,” Arnold said. “We have our ways of repelling them. It’s the Wasters you need to focus on.”
Cia went to question further, but before she could, a noise outside of the door attracted her attention. She left the office to find Boy grabbing a small cut on his knee.
“He fell,” Cathryn said.
“It’s fine,” Cia said.
“Let me show you back to your home, there are plasters there,” Ryker said.
Plasters?
After all they had endured, after the wounds they had suffered, it seemed a little pathetic to apply a plaster.
“He’ll be fine,” Cia said. “He’s tough. And we know our way back, thank you.”
Cia grabbed Boy’s hand and led him away, Cathryn following. She glanced back at Arnold briefly as she turned the corner, watching him watching her. Something about his knowing look was unsettling.
But, then again, Cia knew she’d adapted to an environment where caution could save their life.
This was a situation where she could not tell whether to trust her instincts anymore.
Chapter Eleven
Night descended, and it was time for Cia to go to her room.
Something she’d thought she’d never do again. She felt uneasy, not just by how it didn’t seem real—the last time she’d had a room of her own, her father would say goodnight before she went to it. Her father, who betrayed her. Her father, who she had…
She banished all thoughts of death and violence and tried to replace them with promise. With positivity. With hope.
Hope wasn’t an easy thing to find.
But maybe, at some point, she would find some here.