Enter the Rebirth (Enter the... Book 3)

by Thomas Gondolfi

  Azra glanced furiously at Mal. He twisted the rope of the tether on his end of the pole round and round his fist. Bob gurgled and snapped, spraying thick strings of spit as he lunged after Azra again and again. Azra’s arms cramped and his garrotted hand was now almost as livid as Bob’s face. Bob sagged, dragging Azra with him. Azra gave a final savage twist and Bob’s feet drummed on the stage. Azra stumbled to the side, not daring to release Bob even though his arms and legs trembled and he could barely stay standing. Bob’s limbs continued to twitch and spasm, slow as a salted snail.

  “Should we get him to a doctor or something?” Azra panted.

  Mal shook his head. “Nah. Just leave him. We can always get more H.I.s.” Mal signalled to one of the men and took the pole from Azra’s shaking hands. He passed the pole on and steered Azra to the exit. “Which leads us to the last part of your probation. Gotta say, I’m impressed so far, Azra. We’ll see what Georgie makes of you. You might just be wearing the khaki by this afternoon!”

  * * *

  Georgie, as far as Azra could determine, was a mountain of fat and hair. Mal had driven Azra to the Wall and handed him over to the hunter, wishing him luck.

  While he waited for the big man to finish eating, Azra peered through the mesh portal set into the ten-foot-thick concrete wall circling the city. A strong, spicy smell blew in across his face. It was the first time he had seen beyond the Wall since the infection hit twenty-one years ago. The military kept everyone except the hunters and the gatherers clear to avoid possible infection.

  The landscape had changed completely. What must have once been buildings were now covered in thick, grainy mud that had hardened into tapering towers. The trees and plants had been left alone, but everything manmade had been buried beneath what looked like giant termite mounds. The constant knocking of the jackers working to keep the Wall clear of the grey excretion echoed down to them from above. He supposed the H.I.s must live inside the mounds, chittering to each other like ants in a nest.

  Azra froze. Two sinewy figures flitted from one derelict construction to the next. They were broad across the shoulders like Olympic swimmers. It was hard to tell from this distance, but he thought they were two women. One scaled up a wall like a spider and peered over it briefly before dropping soundlessly back to the ground. Georgie belched—the sound like a small engine backfiring—Azra turned.

  “Fried mystery meat, onions, and bread,” Georgie sighed with relish. “Breakfast of champions.”

  Azra fought the urge to step away from the gust of rancid breath.

  The big man pushed back the khaki cap on his doughy head and sniffed. “You ready?”

  “I guess so.”

  “All right! Wait till you get out there, man. It is bee–yoo–tiful.” Georgie signalled to the woman in the booth beside the gate with a winding motion. The gate clanked and slid to with a groan of hydraulics. Georgie hitched up his pants, shouldered his bag on, raised his rifle, and led the charge out on foot.

  * * *

  The smell of spice lay like an invisible blanket beyond the gate. Azra realised too late that he was trailing behind Georgie, outside the Wall, completely unarmed. He watched, flexing his aching hand as the gate clanged shut behind them, then he turned and followed after the hunter into the dried mud maze. Georgie ducked from the shadow of one mound to the next, back against the wall with every pause, rifle held up and ready. When they came within sight of the mound the two female H.I.s had last disappeared into, Georgie held up his fist to signal a halt. He checked that Azra was still behind before nodding and tiptoeing forward. Azra bit down on his lip to stifle a giggle. He should’ve been scared out of his mind but he felt oddly exhilarated. Georgie turned and signalled two fingers at his eyes, then ahead. The scene could have been out of one of the comedy movies as easily as a horror show. Azra turned his back and chewed hard on his tongue, shaking with laughter.

  Georgie’s hand fell on his shoulder like a slab of ham. “Don’t worry, mate. I was shit-scared my first time out too. Just stay close behind me and you’ll be right.”

  Azra wiped his eyes and swallowed a snort. He turned and signalled for Georgie to keep going. Georgie nodded and pressed his back to the side of a smaller mound. The structure they were heading for was ten metres away and looked completely deserted. “Look at the size of it!” Georgie palmed away the beads of sweat pearling his forehead. “You can bet there’ll be at least a hundred H.I.s inside.”

  It towered twenty feet higher than most of the mounds surrounding it. Azra wondered dazedly what building was cocooned deep inside. A dry, hot breeze kicked up dust into the air, rustling the leaves in the trees and skittering pieces of rubbish across the ground. Apart from Georgie’s laboured breathing and the distant knocking of the jackers, everything else was quiet. Azra glanced behind him, the nape of his neck and skull prickling. Where were all the H.I.s? Did they only come out at night? Where had the two females gone to? Georgie raised his rifle to his shoulder and crept closer, keeping to the shadows provided by the gums along the side of the road.

  Azra glanced around again. The tingling had spread down his back and into his hands. He felt watched.

  Something fell from the top of the tower with a sharp clang. Azra jumped. Georgie threw his thick arm back, driving Azra into a bush.

  “Do you smell that?” Azra whispered as he struggled to extricate himself.

  Georgie sniffed and shook his head. “I can only smell H.I. turds: smells like nutmeg.”

  “Burning, something smells like it’s burning.”

  “Oooh. Clever bastards,” Georgie muttered. “We must have them scared. Come on, Azra. We’re going in.”

  Oh no.

  “Georgie, wait . . . UGHHH!” Azra’s left arm shot out, rigid with a spasm. His mouth drew down into a lopsided slash in his face and his left leg clubbed Georgie in the calf. Georgie stumbled and crashed to the pavement. Azra watched in horror as the world tilted and the ground came up to meet his bent and jerking head. The pain was white hot when he hit. He could do nothing about it as the seizure took hold of him and bent him into an arching, juddering bow. All the while, he could see Georgie struggling to regain his feet and the flood of sinewy bodies that poured out of the towers and the streets surrounding them.

  Georgie seated the rifle against his shoulder while on bended knee. He shot round after round, knocking the H.I.s back: lithe women, broad and muscled men, children: brown-skinned and lean. The H.I.s twisted and leapt out of the way, lunging towards them with effortless speed. Azra lay limp and helpless on the path, his head throbbing inside and out. He hadn’t pissed his pants, but he didn’t think it would matter much in another minute or so. Georgie had finally heaved himself to his feet. The wave of H.I.s was closing in. Soon enough, Georgie would run out of ammunition and Azra’s first day at work would end very badly.

  Then Georgie began drawing away, leaving Azra in the midst of the lunging H.I.s, as inch by inch, he extricated himself from the fray. Sensing that Azra was easier prey, the H.I.s gave up on Georgie and turned their attention on him. He could see the gleam of their white teeth in the frame of snapping mouths as they crawled towards him. He tried to signal Georgie beyond the mass of muscled, tanned bodies, but he could only make out a flash of khaki here and there between the dusty runners and shredded yoga socks. Blackened hands plucked at Azra’s clothes. Something clamped down hard on his ankle, another H.I. grabbed Azra’s arm and he was yanked and tugged. Those teeth. Man, they were so perfect and white and covered in drool.

  Fuck you, Georgie. Fuck you very much.

  “Come and get it!” Georgie bellowed over the snarling and growling. A packet of something smashed into the ground beside Azra’s cheek, spraying him with hard pellets. He turned his head aside and coughed as a second and a third parcel exploded into the crowd. The H.I.s froze, staring at each other in blank shock. As one, they dove for the parcels, screeching and tearing at each other to get to them. Azra struggled to keep his eyes open, but the post
-ictal stage was crowding him out. He saw Georgie pull out a thick coil of rope from his bag, loop it over the head of a male H.I. and yank him onto his back. Georgie flipped him over, sat on him and hog-tied him. The H.I.s ignored the big man while he worked; they were murderously intent on scraping up the contents of the packets that had burst and spilled all over the ground. They snapped and tore at each other, biting chunks out of forearms and ripping out great handfuls of hair. Georgie picked up his rifle and bag and hoisted the writhing H.I. onto his shoulder. Still, they paid no attention to the giant that walked through them like a wide Moses parting the Red Sea.

  Azra felt the ground under his body reverberate as Georgie lumbered over to where he lay. He was unceremoniously swept up onto Georgie’s other shoulder, and the last thing he saw before he spiralled down into darkness was the crack in Georgie’s arse peeking out the top of his pants.

  By the time the gate clattered shut, Georgie was puffing contentedly on a cigarette, the H.I. had been carted away, and Azra felt his body return to him. He gingerly sat up and cradled his head. A scab had crusted over on the left side of his scalp.

  “Sorry about the seizure.”

  Georgie shrugged. “You couldn’t help it. I reckon I’m due for a cardiac infarction. Thunderclap to the chest; I’m gonna drop like a tonne of bricks. Not apologising when that happens.”

  Azra sighed. “I guess I don’t get the job.”

  “You did all right until you spazzed out.” Georgie delicately planted the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and hauled Azra to his feet. “You make good bait.”

  “Fuck you.” Azra swayed, squinting against the stab of pain in his head and side. He steadied himself and shrugged Georgie’s hand off. “Jesus. Those H.I.s were fast. I’ve only ever seen the ones in the Zoo. But those things out there were unreal.”

  Georgie grunted. “Hell, yeah. Those crazy bastards were doing their Ashtanga yoga, cross fit, boot camps and whatever the hell else when the shit hit the fan. They will out-run, out-climb and out–pole dance you every single day of the week.”

  “How did you . . . what was that stuff you threw at them?”

  The big man dug into his pocket and produced a packet wrapped in plastic. “This?” Georgie hefted it with a grin. “Quinoa-and-chia seed bomb. H.I. catnip. Welcome to the Zoo, Azra.”

  The Old Home Place

  Stephen R. Miller

  Editor: Sometimes the sheep saves the shepherd.

  The crowd stirred restlessly in the longhall, waiting for the headman and his council to file in. Sitting with the rest of the scout-apprentices, Zoe Sterling resisted the urge to fiddle with her knife's hilt. She had taken too many clouts on the ear from Hartley to start fidgeting now; the scarred old trainer never missed a chance to drum into their heads how vital it was for a scout to learn stillness. In the wild it could be the difference between coming home and ending up in a mutt's belly.

  At last the council made their entrance. The townsfolk stilled as the six took their seats, facing out over the crowd. Daniel Kramer, headman these last seven years, cleared his throat. "Let us be convened. Master Scout, are these your candidates?"

  "Such as they are, sir," Hartley said gruffly. "A rough lot, but there's some talent there."

  Daniel nodded. "Are there any among them prepared for the trial?"

  The old man rubbed a hand over the ropy scar on his cheek. "There is one." He turned, pointing a gnarled finger square at Zoe's face. "Sterling, on your feet."

  She could feel the eyes on her as she rose. Something that couldn't decide between pride and terror rose in her chest. Hartley thought she was ready to face the wilds on her own! The youngest of the crew, if only by a few months, but she was ready. If Hartley believed it, she had to be.

  From the looks on the faces of Daniel Kramer and the rest of the councilors they weren't quite as certain. The headman coughed gently into his hand. "Very well. Apprentice Sterling, do you stand ready to hazard the trials of your Path?"

  Suddenly all the moisture seemed to be gone from her mouth. Zoe swallowed and worked up enough spit to talk. "I do, Headman." A low murmur swept through the people behind her, but she paid it no mind and kept her head up.

  "Very well. Master Scout, at the time of your choosing, this apprentice will set forth on the trial as you so order." Daniel shuffled the little stack of papers in front of him; Zoe took the cue that he was done with the business of her and sat down again. As she took her seat, Tamara reached over and squeezed her arm gently. Zoe smiled at the older girl in gratitude, then glanced around at the crowd behind them. Her parents sat a few rows back, her father's arm over her mother's shoulders. They looked calm enough, but Zoe could see the telltale signs of concern. She tried to catch their eyes, give them a reassuring grin, but the crowd shifted again and she lost them.

  * * *

  Zoe stared at the gate, trying not to let her nerves show. More for something to keep herself busy than any real concern, she took a quick inventory of her kit. Everything was in its place, as she had known it would be from the last three times she had checked. Still, it kept her from showing nerves in front of the small crowd that had gathered to see her off. She was just repacking the last few bits when Master Scout Hartley walked up to her. "Sterling. You ready?"

  "Hell of a time to ask, sir." The words were out before she even realized they were coming. Zoe braced herself for a slap across the back of her head, or at least a sharp word or twenty. Instead Hartley only snorted laughter and clapped her shoulder.

  "You'll do fine out there if you keep your head." He stood with her as the gate slowly trundled open, driven by the sentries spinning the huge cranks. "Just remember, everything out there thinks you're food. Your job is to prove them all wrong, and get back here to tell the tale." The gate clanged to a stop, and Hartley turned to face her for the formal portion of the morning's proceedings. "Zoe Sterling, you are charged with the retrieval of a sprig from the forever-trees of the Rockfaller. Succeed and you will be counted worthy to walk the Path of the Scouts. Do you accept this charge, speak now."

  Zoe took a deep breath and nodded firmly. "I accept your charge, Master. We shall not speak again until it is fulfilled." Hartley nodded once and strode away, back into the township without a further look in Zoe's direction. She forced herself to keep her own head up and face the gates. It was bad form and the worst luck to look back when you left for your trial.

  Zoe stepped off at a brisk pace, the sort of stride she knew she could maintain for hours. She managed not to jump when the gates clanged shut behind her. That actually seemed to make it easier somehow. She was completely on her own now, stand or fall. The fear was still in there, but so was the will. She was not coming back empty-handed.

  When she reached the top of the northern ridge-line, Zoe paused to take in the view: unbroken woods stretching out in front of her, a thick green carpet over the land, and rising against the horizon the ruin of the old city. That was where she needed to go, into the last wreck that was left of a dead world.

  The first day was easy, more so than most of Hartley's exercises. A few times she came across the trail of some animals on the move, once even the unmistakable sign of a band of whisper-men, but those were days old and headed off away from her destination. She knew that kind of luck wouldn't hold, though. The closer she got to the old city, the more likely she was to come across more than tracks.

  Drifting into sleep high in a tree, Zoe watched the sky overhead. Little more than a sliver of moon lit up the clear night. She picked out the navigator stars almost by instinct; they were old friends by now, known to her since the first year of her teaching. The Pole Star clearly stood out, fixed in his place to the north, but others could guide you too if you knew their courses. Dragon, snake, huntress, and warrior . . . Zoe yawned hugely, wondering as she often did if the old stories were true. They couldn't be, not really—could they? Even people who could build the old city and all its mysteries could never really have flown all the way out of
the sky.

  A falling star arced slowly overhead. She fell asleep and dreamed of riding on the back of a great bird, off into the dark between stars.

  * * *

  Up with the rising of the sun, Zoe reached the old road by midday. She crouched in the brush beside the cracked stone lanes leading toward the edge of the city and watched for nearly an hour. Whisper-men and other mutts often used the old roads for getting around. Even pot-holed and littered with the wrecks of old-world vehicles, the roads were still a useful way to move large groups quickly. Scouts were taught to avoid them if at all possible and stick to the cover of the surrounding woods. This time, she needed to risk it at least enough for a crossing. The road didn't bend for another day's walk.

  Fifteen minutes she huddled by the side of the road, watching and listening for any sign of mutts moving on the road. When nothing stirred, Zoe decided it was time to move. She hopped lightly over the low wall at the side of the road and started across, ducking from one dead traveling-box to the next.

  Nerving herself up for the last dash to the far side barrier, Zoe froze at a burst of angry voices from somewhere up the road. Not whisper-men at least; those came by their name honestly. What then? How had she missed it?

  Stung pride fought the smart urge to just get away from whatever they were, and pride won. She would just get close enough to get a glimpse, enough to know what was out here with her and if they might be headed the same way she was. Her mind made up, she pulled her knife slowly out of its sheath and slowly crept around the rusty hulk she'd sheltered behind.