The Ruins Book 4

by T. W. Piperbrook

  Kirby looked over to find his face etched with sadness. For a moment, she thought he was speaking of Esmeralda, but of course he wasn't. He was speaking of the battle in the courtyard.

  "It is a tragedy," Kirby said bitterly, glancing at the guards who walked by outside the building.

  "They say the Head Guards beat Gabe so badly he couldn't walk," Jack said. "You probably saw him dragged to the cell, after Avery gave the order."

  "Everyone did." Kirby nodded gravely.

  "He will be let out, as soon as he can work. I'm not sure when that will be."

  Kirby nodded. She had heard the same thing.

  "Perhaps he would be better off in the cell." Jack tossed a piece of corn into the bin they shared. "I do not know what is worse: starving in a cell, or facing his friend's family."

  "Neither fate is deserved," she said bitterly.

  Jack shook his head, looking out for the guards as he picked up another ear of corn. All around them, slaves talked as loudly as they dared. It felt as if they could detect the closeness of the guards. When the guards were farther away, they relaxed. When the guards got close, they hushed.

  When her shift neared its end, Kirby dusted the remnants of the husks on her pants, blinked away the sweat of another long afternoon's work, and pushed away her empty wagon. Risking a glance behind her, she found Drew on the other side of the Shucking Room. She caught his eyes. Their meeting was the only thing driving her through the day.

  Hopefully tonight, things would change.

  Chapter 10: Tolstoy

  Tolstoy stood by the windows in his quarters, looking out over a moonlit New City. Below him, in between the buildings and houses, lights danced and flickered as people walked down the alleys and pathways, preparing for a night's rest after carrying out his orders. Directly below, the stoked bonfires glowed brilliantly, but not enough to reach the Feeding Pen, where the guards fed The Plagued Ones every evening. On the eastern side of the city, the tall buildings sat dark, awaiting the laborers who would toil away in the morning, supplying the flow of traders.

  The city was a carefully constructed machine, built on the backs of the humans, the devices carefully put together by The Gifted, and The Plagued Ones protecting it. It was as perfect as Tolstoy could make it, for a city mostly occupied by humans.

  He sighed.

  He knew the city had flaws.

  The humans were selfish, prone to thoughts of escape. They were unable to see things larger than themselves. Too often, the guards used violence to ensure their cooperation. The slaves were animals, trained by fear, hunger, and lust, much like The Plagued Ones.

  They valued their lives at more than they were worth.

  At night, looking out over the moonlit city, it was easy to imagine it filled with his people, his Gifted, rather than humans who tarnished its image. One day, Tolstoy would build a grander place, with dozens of intelligent beings like he and the other Gifted. He would build a city where they could construct incredible machines and create the world they deserved, rather than the ruined world they'd inherited.

  A voice reminded him that Amelia was next to him, watching.

  "The city is beautiful at night, isn't it?" he asked her.

  "Indeed, it is," she said.

  "Sometimes, when I look out over the city at night, I am reminded of some of the cities from years ago, before the world went dark," Tolstoy admitted.

  "But this city is better," Amelia said without hesitation.

  "Do you think?" Tolstoy cocked his wart-covered brow, looking sideways at her.

  "Our violence is less rampant," Amelia said. "We have a population we can control. The humans might not all be happy, but they are civil. They work toward a common cause. They help us develop things the world has not seen in years."

  Tolstoy smiled. "I wish that everyone thought the same as you, as us."

  "Perhaps in time," Amelia said, thinking on it.

  "Or one day, perhaps the humans will be extinct," Tolstoy said with a shrug. "It is hard to know."

  "But we will remain," Amelia said confidently.

  They watched over the city next to each other for a moment, fixating on some of the lights.

  "One day, more of those lights will belong to our people," Tolstoy said. "We will have a city filled with The Gifted, next to the city of humans who work for us."

  "It is a hope, as much as a dream," Amelia said wistfully.

  Chapter 11: Kirby

  Kirby snuck next to the back of the small, dank buildings under the cover of moonlight, avoiding the doorway-shaped patterns of light spilling from the alley's opposite side. Through open doorways, she saw people finishing dinner, tidying up, or tending children.

  No one saw her for longer than a moment.

  She hoped.

  All around, in the narrow walkways between houses, people lingered, talked, or carried torches from one place to the next. More than a few groups headed toward the bonfires in the courtyard. A few glanced at her as they passed, or parted to let her through. The slaves spoke more loudly than they would've dared during the day, under the scrutinizing glares of the Head Guards. Darkness inspired confidence, but it wouldn't ward off death.

  Kirby knew that as well as her name.

  She kept her head down, avoiding an interaction someone might remember.

  Reaching the end of a narrow alley, she veered south, her heart beating a frantic rhythm. She was farther than she'd ever been into the city. She hoped she was going the right way. The small houses went as far as the eye could see, but in the distance, she saw taller buildings, silhouettes under a ghostly moon. Somewhere far in the distance, over the wall, she heard the deathly shriek of a demon.

  Someone crashed into Kirby.

  She bit down on a surprised cry.

  An angry man backed away from her, spouting curses.

  A Head Guard.

  "Stupid forest-dweller!" the burly man yelled, brushing off his shoulder as if she possessed some ugly disease. He spat on the ground. "Watch where you're going!"

  "I'm sorry," Kirby mumbled, in the submissive tone she had perfected, since Cullen died.

  She put her head down, awaiting the cost of her mistake.

  "I ought to lay a beating on you," the guard grumbled, glaring at her in the darkness. The stink of alcohol filled the space between them.

  Kirby's heart thundered. She kept her face in the shadows, lest he see something on her face he didn't like. Or something he did. After a few more demeaning curses, the Head Guard sauntered off, muttering. She looked over her shoulder, watching him turn out of sight down an alley.

  In the distance, she heard him scolding a few more slaves. It sounded as if he had forgotten the incident.

  She hoped.

  She took a few more alleys, moving in a diagonal, southwestern path, until the chatter of slaves faded, the cloying odor of mold and feces wafted across her nostrils, and the lights transitioned to black. She was in an abandoned part of the city in which she'd never been. She saw no guards or people. But that didn't mean she was safe. An echoing yowl from over the wall reminded her that even with no guards around, there was no escape. Ahead of her, she saw the cluster of tall buildings she'd seen from a distance, but she saw no sign of anyone—or anything—else.

  Maybe she had misheard Drew's hastily whispered directions.

  Maybe she should turn back.

  Kirby swallowed as she passed between the last of a few small houses and approached a row of five, tall structures. A new smell hit her—the smell of something charred, something burned. That odor reminded her of the ship on the shore of New Hope, where she'd hunkered and waited for companions who were never coming back. The smell lingered in the air as she kept walking.

  Hands grabbed her.

  Kirby stifled a cry and raised her fists, ready to fend off an attacker.

  "Kirby, it's me."

  Drew.

  "Come this way, the others are already here."

  She followed Drew around t
he base of the tall building, almost losing him before finding him again in the moonlight, near the back wall of the building.

  Three other shadows waited. Had Kirby not been meeting someone, she might've thought they were statues. None moved as Drew introduced her.

  "This is Kirby."

  The others nodded.

  "If guards come, we need to run in different directions," Drew warned.

  One of the other shadows shifted. A woman's voice spoke. "Is your friend coming?"

  "He should be," Kirby said. "I told him what you said."

  She listened for another set of approaching footsteps. Bray knew better than to light a torch. He was savvy. But what if someone had seen her giving him a whispered message, in the alley after dinner? Cullen's terrified cries came back to her as she anticipated a similar fate for Bray—for all of them.

  Her heart seized as a shadow skulked around the back of the building. The people near Kirby tensed.

  "Kirby, are you there?" a familiar voice hissed.

  "I'm here," she announced to Bray. "I'm safe."

  Bray crept into the circle of shadows, limping from the severe beating he'd received all those weeks ago, when Cullen had become a mangled corpse.

  "Did any guards follow you?" Drew asked.

  "No," Bray assured him.

  "Good," Drew said. "Let's get started."

  Chapter 12: Kirby

  "What are your names?" Kirby asked the three shadows huddled behind the building next to Drew.

  "Names are dangerous," the woman said.

  "I agree," Bray said next to Kirby. "But you know ours."

  The shadows shifted. No one spoke right away. Finally, Drew told them, "I trust Kirby with my life, as I've told you. And she has guaranteed her trust of Bray."

  "Too many have died from similar guarantees," the woman said with caution.

  "Like I said, you can trust them," Drew said. "They would give their lives to escape, as we would."

  The woman remained silent for a moment, contemplating. "I am Clara, and this is Giovanni and James. We are the representatives of our group."

  "What group?" Kirby asked.

  The man next to her, Giovanni, said, "We prefer to avoid names. But if you need to call us anything, call us The Shadow People."

  Kirby nodded as she took in the information. Gesturing at the buildings around them, she asked, "What is this place?"

  "This part of the city is nicknamed Ashville. It is not a clever name. Many years ago, before most of us were born, these buildings were burned," Drew said, waving a shadowy hand in the dark.

  "No one goes here," Clara said. "It is a place of bad luck. Even the guards tend to stay away." She fell quiet for a moment, adding, "Though they would retrieve us, if they knew we were here."

  "It is a place where they conducted experiments," Drew explained.

  "Experiments?" A shiver ran the length of Kirby's body.

  Clara said, "In the years when our grandparents were young, The Gifted performed procedures on the slaves. Some say they tried infecting them with the spore. One day, one of the slaves broke free and released the others. Together, they set the place on fire. Unfortunately, guards found them, and they were forced to hide in one of the buildings. They perished in the flames, rather than coming out and doing what The Gifted wanted."

  A quiet hung over the air as Kirby and Bray processed a new horror.

  "Thankfully, that project ended a long time ago, and The Gifted are focused on other inventions and pursuits," Clara said. "For now."

  "But that doesn't mean it won't happen again," James said disgustedly. "We are expendable. We are the scum on the bottom of their shoes, worth less than the dung in the Feeding Pen they collect and burn."

  Kirby nodded. She'd heard enough of Rudyard's remarks to know that was true. And she'd certainly seen enough.

  "Drew said you are working on a plan of escape."

  "Not an escape," Clara clarified. "A revolt." She looked back and forth between Bray and Kirby. "The people in this city have been beaten down enough. They are ready to fight back."

  "How many people are in your group?" Kirby asked, feeling a surge of hope as she heard those words.

  Clara hesitated. "About two hundred. We have people throughout New City, in the shops, in the fields, and among those who tend animals. We have more than you see here, obviously."

  Drew said, "The group has been meeting for a while, trying to determine the best plan. I joined a few months after I was captured."

  Kirby asked Drew, "Do you have weapons?"

  Drew nodded in the dark, anticipating her question. "We have a stash here in Ashville. Most are crude shanks, made from pieces of metal stolen from the machine shops, or tools stolen without the guards' knowledge."

  "Most were gained at more risk than they are worth," Giovanni added. "We have enough to arm about half of our people, but we still need more."

  Kirby had hoped for guns. But it was a start, and much more than she had when she was rotting in a cell, ready to die.

  "Maybe we can get more weapons in the building," Bray said. "The Gifted must have some. They certainly have ours."

  "We have thought about that, of course. Too many locked doors stand between us and those weapons," Clara said. "Getting to them would mean getting over the wall and passing The Plagued Ones. Even if we got into the building, we have to contend with the guards on the first floor, and who knows what else. It is rumored there is a weapons stash on the first floor, but it is secured by a strong door, as well as the entrance to the building. We would be better off running into the forest and escaping. Even if we needed a last resort, we do not have an escape route."

  "That is another problem," James said.

  "Most of us were born here, or taken long ago," Clara said. "Some of us know the area, but it seems as if things are always changing. Did you see anything outside the city that might help us?"

  "We came from the north. We found nothing but demon dung," Bray said, disgustedly.

  "That is our problem. No direction is safe from The Plagued Ones," Clara said. "The closest people are more than a day's walk, and none would harbor or help us. They profit from their relationship with The Gifted."

  Changing from a subject with no good answers, Giovanni directed a comment at Kirby. "Drew told us the guards in your homeland helped you escape."

  "It is true," Kirby said. "The guards allowed us access to the ships. Some were sympathetic, while others demanded favors. Perhaps some guards are sympathetic here."

  "Unfortunately, that won't work, either," Clara said. "Most of the Head Guards were born here. They get the power of a made-up title. They get amenities. They learn to look down on the others, the way The Gifted look down on all of us. They are untrustworthy, because they gain from our subordination. And they have knives, to ensure we cooperate."

  "The Gifted are only concerned with making their goods to trade, so they can keep the city functioning," Drew said, disdain bleeding through his words. "Keeping the guards happy furthers their aims."

  "How many Head Guards are in New City?" Kirby asked, though she had a vague idea.

  "About a hundred," Clara answered. "Our small group outnumbers them, but it doesn't matter. If something happens to the guards, Rudyard will send The Plagued Ones through the gate, or The Gifted will use the weapons they surely have in the tower to kill us. And we are not certain what the other slaves would do."

  "Too many in New City are complacent," Drew explained. "They would rather live in the city than fight for it. They believe the guards' lies that the forest is full of greater dangers. Our city is fragmented."

  Kirby nodded as she recalled the words Esmeralda had told her. "Has anyone ever escaped this place, or tried to revolt?"

  The people in the shadows remained quiet for a long moment. Finally, Clara spoke.

  "About five years ago, some other people organized an escape attempt, unbeknownst to us. They met in secret, as we are doing now. They determined the amo
unt of time they needed to get far enough into the forests to get away. Or, so they thought."

  "What happened?" Kirby asked.

  Clara continued, "As you know, The Plagued Ones eat their dinner in the evening, and hunt animals at night in the forests around the perimeter. Even still, a lot of them linger nearby. These people secretly broke a hole in the wall, wide enough to climb through. They planned on leaving early in the morning, hoping The Plagued Ones had filled their stomachs. The slaves hoped to have half a morning before the Head Guards did their count, so they could run far enough into the woods to be forgotten. They hoped for a miracle. It was a foolish plan. They had no weapons."

  "Did the mutants eat them?" Kirby guessed.

  "The Head Guards found out about their plan the night before it happened. They waited by the hole. And they caught all of them." Clara swallowed. "They brought them to the courtyard and fed them to The Plagued Ones, while the rest of the city watched."

  The air became impossibly quieter. Kirby stared cautiously around at the shadows near the building, as if one might move.

  "How did the guards find out about their plan?" Bray asked.

  "Most of the people in New City can't be trusted," Drew said. "Too many open their mouths, repeating what they hear. They hope to curry favor. The Head Guards, Rudyard, and The Gifted prey on peoples' hopes. They breed a culture of informants where every word is watched."

  Turning to the topic of the meeting, Clara faced Kirby and said, "Drew thought you might have some insight of which we haven't thought."

  Kirby fell silent for a moment, reflecting on the things they'd told her. She wanted the revolt to be a puzzle she could solve, even though it was quickly becoming clear there were no easy answers. "Bray and I have contemplated many things, of course. But we haven't settled on anything. And of course, we didn't know about the possibility of a revolt."

  "We have contemplated many options, too," Clara said. "Even if we can overpower the guards, The Plagued Ones and The Gifted worry us. We do not have any clear solutions. We are torn between plans."

  "We will only get one chance," Giovanni added.

  "Keep an eye on what is going on here. Perhaps you will discover some new idea, in the things we have told you," Drew suggested.