Kirby and Bray killed the demons on the outskirts, as more and more people from other parts of the courtyard finished their individual battles, joining them.
"We need to draw them away!" someone near Kirby shouted.
Looking over, she spotted the source of the voice. Drew. Drew shouted instructions as he fought vigorously. Hope filled her stomach.
"Protect the people by the wall!" Kirby joined his rallying cry.
Near Drew, she saw Teddy, Gabe, and James putting up an equally stubborn fight. Bray swung his sword furiously.
They might win this battle, if they persisted.
Catching on to Drew's and Kirby's idea, Bray yelled, "Spread out! Make as much noise as you can to draw them away, before they overwhelm them!"
Bray inspired more people to spread out down the line of demons, yelling and drawing their attention to siphon them from the larger horde. The trapped people against the wall stood in a tight line, protecting each other as best they could with fists and the last of their weapons.
Together, Kirby's group thinned the layer of twisted men. Some of the mutants fell into confusion, torn between attacking those in front and those behind. Their moment of indecision cost their lives.
Demons shrieked and fell.
Kirby's compatriots cried out triumphantly.
All around her, The Shadow People—and the other slaves who had joined them—made good on their whispered frustrations, fighting with more bravery than she could have hoped.
"Keep going!" Kirby screamed.
A scream ripped her attention to someone by the wall. One of the demons had broken ahead of the others, catching a mouthful of Clara's arm. Clara screamed in agony, pulling instinctively away, leaving a chunk of meat behind. Driven by the sight of blood, some of the confused demons refocused their attack.
"Clara!" Giovanni yelled. "No!"
He broke from the dozen trapped others and rushed to her aid.
Clara shrieked in agony, clutching her wound.
To Kirby's horror, the mutants swarmed. Clara's face was painted crimson as she flailed ineffectually and the demons tugged her down. Moments later Giovanni fell. The demons knelt, showing their naked, wart-covered backs, hunkering down and feeding.
"Giovanni! Clara!" James yelled in shock.
The rest of the dozen people by the wall panicked, making final, fatal attempts at fighting, or running.
With intermittent screams, they fell and were overtaken.
And then they were gone.
Pointless tears fell down Kirby's face as she fought. But there was no one left to save.
Blood dripping from his stomach and his shoulder, Bray found a savage cry in his voice, and yelled, "Kill these dirt-scratchers!"
More and more people joined him with ravenous war cries, pinning the demons against the wall. Hearing the cries of the angry mob, the feeding demons abandoned their meals, facing the oncoming people.
"Keep closing! Do not flee!" Kirby yelled to the others, as she listened to their invigorated cries and the sounds of the dying mutants. "We almost have them!"
They'd lost too many comrades.
But the battle was almost over.
Chapter 77: William
William threw all his weight into a tackle, crashing into Rudyard.
The gun fired.
The ear-splitting blast screamed in William's ears as he knocked Rudyard backward, pinning him against the glass window. Knocked off balance, Rudyard slid sideways against the pane. The world became a blur as William pawed, kicked, and grabbed for the gun.
Finding it, he pushed the barrel up and away as another blast filled the air. Rudyard flung up a knee, but missed.
William twisted the gun again with all the force he could muster, but Rudyard found his footing and his strength, pushing William back a step. William dug in his heels, keeping hold of the gun. A scream of death echoed from somewhere below. That scream would be William's, if his last attempt failed.
With an enraged cry, William put the last of his efforts into wrenching the gun away from him.
The gun went off again. Wet blood sprayed his face. William's breath heaved as he fell backward, pulling the gun away in his slippery hands.
Surprise hit William as Rudyard's eyes widened, and he looked down at a growing splotch of blood in the center of his chest. A realization crossed Rudyard's face. A snarl he could barely muster crossed his lips.
He took a staggering step, groping.
"Stay back!" William warned, thrusting the gun in front of him.
He pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Amelia's old gun was empty.
Of course, it was.
He and Rudyard had expended the last of the rounds.
Rudyard's bulbous head sagged to the side, and his mouth parted open, as if he might issue one final gloat. He took a final step toward William, missing a grab, hitting the rail, pitching over. He made no sound as he fell three stories to his death, into the midst of the battle below.
William stood frozen a moment, waiting for the delayed pain that would let him know one of the gunshots had hit him, but the blood on his shaking fingers belonged to Rudyard. He turned and clutched the railing, looking down to find a few hungry, skittering demons racing from the fringes of the courtyard to Rudyard's unmoving body, slurping greedily.
They tore new holes in Rudyard's robe, burying their faces in his bleeding wound and making new ones, digging at his oversized head and making a meal of it.
Their former master was nothing more than a carcass.
Vengeance.
William had no time to revel in it. He looked from Rudyard's body to Bray and Kirby, who were still furiously fighting. It looked as if they battled the last of the demons.
Cupping his bloody hands around his mouth, William shouted with all the force he could muster, "Stop!"
Not one head—demon or human—turned. The commotion was too thick to make a difference from here. The rest of Rudyard's guns had fallen with him.
William needed to get down to the courtyard. He had to help them.
**
The guns… The guns…
William took the tower steps two at a time, ignoring the pain of the wounds he had suffered at Rudyard's hands.
Passing the dead guards, he grabbed a set of keys and headed downstairs for the weapons room, unlocking it.
William's breath heaved as he ran inside, pulled several long and short guns from the racks, and verified that they were loaded. He threw the straps over his head, tucking smaller weapons into his robe. Juggling more guns than he could use, he unlocked the main door of the building and raced outside.
He hurried for the front gate.
An eerie silence settled over the air.
For all William knew, he was too late. Finding the correct key took a while, but he managed to unlock the gate Rudyard had locked. Swinging it slowly open, he stuck the guns in front of him, prepared for an onslaught of unruly demons.
No demons came.
In the center of the courtyard, a line of a hundred dirty, war-torn slaves faced him with their weapons. He looked among the strange, bedraggled people. All around them, people lay motionless, with last, fateful cries of rebellion on their tongues. Demons were dead and scattered all around the battlefield, snarls caught on their lips.
The battle was over.
Not over.
Won.
Finding a face that he recognized, William took a staggering step.
"Kirby?" William's voice was cracked with emotional and physical pain.
"William!"
Kirby broke from the front row, crossing the distance to William, scanning over his shoulder, as if someone might come in and surprise her.
"It's okay," he called out. "They're dead."
Kirby squeezed William tightly. He closed his eyes, as if he might awake from a pleasant moment and back into a nightmare. After a moment, he leaned back and opened them. Kirby's face was skinny and speckled in blood, but
her eyes lit with the same kindness he used to see every morning in the forests, when she checked on him.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," William said, instinctively wiping some of the blood from his face.
The slaves—free men and women—in the distance relaxed.
A gaunt, serious man crossed the battlefield, coming within a few feet of William and Kirby and stopping.
"Is this William?" he asked Kirby.
William frowned, unsure how the man knew his name.
"You are a brave boy, for what you have done," the man said, a grim smile crossing his face. "You have helped us win this rebellion. I'm Drew."
Looking among them again, William directed his next question at Kirby. "Where's Bray?"
Kirby's face changed from relief to concern. "In one of the houses."
"What is he doing there?"
A strange expression crossed Kirby's face as she said, "Let's go. I'll take you to him."
Chapter 78: William
William followed Kirby toward the first row of houses, apprehension in his heart. Behind them, the people dispersed, checking on the wounded or the dead. A few stuck their knives in the last of the demons, ensuring that they wouldn't bother anyone again.
Others secured the gate.
Approaching the open doorways of the houses, William saw small rooms with bedrolls, pots and pans, and hearths—images he only imagined, from up so high in the tower. A few people stared at him while they tended their wounds, seeing for the first time the boy they had whispered about, or perhaps seen on the balcony with The Gifted. Tears spackled a few of their faces. William met their gazes only long enough to nod.
His mind was focused on Bray.
"This way," Kirby said, leading him toward a house in the front row, in the courtyard's western end.
He followed Kirby through a doorway. William's steps hastened as he saw two people inside. Bray lie against the wall, his sword in his lap. Another man knelt next to him, holding a cloth to Bray's stomach.
Bray's pained expression became a smile as he saw William.
"You made it, kid."
William crossed the room, kneeling by his wounded friend. His eyes roamed from Bray's happy expression to the bloody cloth pressed against his stomach, and the man tending it.
"Will he be okay?" William asked the man, a pit growing in his stomach as he saw the mask of buried pain behind Bray's eyes.
Lines etched a grave expression in the man's face, as he said, "He has some serious injuries."
"The healer is coming," Kirby said, as if those words might console William. She looked behind her, as if someone might be waiting to assist, even though everyone else in the courtyard was busy.
"They should be here soon," the kneeling man said.
"Who are you?" William asked.
"I'm Teddy, his roommate," he said.
William's eyes roamed from Bray's face to the cloth Teddy held, which was already soaked through with blood.
"Did the bullet pass through?" William asked, remembering the injury Bray had received all those months ago.
"It's still in there," Teddy said gravely. "It is too dangerous to try pulling it out."
William nodded through his falling tears.
Seeing William's expression, Bray pulled a weakened breath past his smile. "I'll be fine."
Long ago, William had learned to see through Bray's fabrications.
He knew what this was.
The expression in Bray's eyes was the same one William had seen too many times—on Rudyard's face, and on his mother's, when she had breathed her final breaths.
"We won, Bray," William said, forcing a smile through his tears, as if the words might heal Bray's wounds.
"Of course, we did," Bray said. "I knew we would. I knew you would."
Setting down his guns, William turned and sat on the other side of his friend, pulling his knees up to his chest.
"You killed them, didn't you?" Bray asked, nodding in the direction of the shimmering tower.
"Yes," William said, nodding through his tears.
Pride filled Bray's face as he said, "And here I was, thinking I was going to rescue you."
William couldn't find any words as he looked at Bray's wound.
"The bullet will leave a nasty scar," Bray said, keeping his smile. "I'm sure Kirby won't be too happy."
William looked from Bray to Kirby, who stood with her hands clenched. She tried to hide her imminent tears as her gaze flicked from Bray to William. For the first time, it seemed as if she had lost her words.
"Can't you help him, like you did in the forest outside of Brighton?" William asked helplessly.
"Taking a bullet out from a stomach is risky," Kirby said, her voice wavering. "It could do more damage than good."
"I'm sorry," William whispered, looking back at Bray.
"Sorry?" Bray laughed through a bloodied cough. "For what?"
"This is my fault. All of it." William's heart sunk in his chest. "It is my fault we left Brighton. It is my fault we wandered through the woods and came here. If we had not done that, you would be in the taverns, telling stories."
"If we had stayed in Brighton, we would be dead," Bray said firmly. "We made the choice together."
William looked around the room as if someone—anyone—might come in and change what he knew was unchangeable. He needed a reason to hope.
"No place has a guarantee of safety," Bray said. "We all know that."
William smeared tears from his eyes.
"I'm going to go help find the healer," Teddy said, looking at Kirby. "Perhaps I will have better luck than Drew."
"I'll put pressure on the bandage," Kirby said.
Kirby crossed the room, taking over for Teddy. Before leaving, Teddy looked at Bray, emotion in his eyes.
"I never thought I would be free again," he told Bray, swallowing through a lump in his throat. "All these years of hoping, praying to the gods for vengeance for my daughter…"
"It was a brave battle," Bray said, with a smile.
"It was," Teddy agreed.
He squeezed Bray's arm again. And then he was gone.
William and Kirby knelt near Bray for a few moments, listening to Bray's labored breathing.
After a moment or so, trying for anger, Kirby asked, "Where is the healer?"
"Kirby," Bray said, loudly enough that she looked over at him. "Let Teddy worry about the healer. Forget the bandage. Sit with me."
She stared at him, fresh tears welling in her eyes.
"It would mean something to me," Bray told her, softening his voice.
Kirby watched him for a long moment, as if she might not listen. "I won't let go of it, but I'll sit with you," she said. Still holding the bandage, she occupied the wall on one side of Bray, while William sat on the other.
Together, they listened to the sounds of the people outside, cleaning up or stacking the weapons. Every so often, a happy voice cut through the mourning.
"The people are free," Bray said, pride finding its way through the pain on his face as he looked over at William.
William nodded, choking on more words.
Guilt crossed Bray's face. "I wish I could've gotten to you earlier, William. Perhaps I could have spared you some pain." He reached over, touching some of the wounds on William's face.
"You did enough," William said, making no effort to hide his tears. "You did everything. You were always there, since the first day we met. You followed me when you didn't have to. You looked after me, even after my mother died and you had no obligation to me. I never doubted that you were my friend."
"I'm sorry about your mother," Bray said.
"I forgive you," William said, and he meant it, as he gave Bray a sideways hug.
Memories flickered through Bray's eyes as he looked down at William. Neither needed to relive them, because they had experienced them together.
"All of those years in the wild, when I fought demons and men, or nearly froze or starved,
I always wondered what dying would be like," Bray said, looking back and forth between Kirby and William. "But I never thought it would be as good as this."
Reaching out, he took hold of each of their hands.
William clutched Bray's bloody fingers. From the other side, Kirby leaned against his shoulder. Together, they listened to the sounds of free men and women outside, until Bray's soft breathing ceased and his head rolled serenely to the side.
Chapter 79: William
William sat against the outside wall of Bray's house, watching the sun set over the city as he picked up pebble after pebble from the ground, tossing them into the courtyard. All around him, men and women pulled away bodies, or used wagons to haul them off. Others tugged sharp weapons from the demons' skin, placing them in piles before dragging the twisted corpses to the Glass Houses. Finished throwing the last pebble from his pile, William pulled the hood of his robe over his face, hiding his ugly warts.
He couldn't cry. He couldn't think.
All he wanted was to disappear.
After spending the rest of the afternoon in Bray's house, he had asked Kirby for some time alone, thinking he might make sense of a situation he couldn't believe. All he had were questions. The more he thought about Bray's death, the more his mind grew numb. He couldn't allow himself to process it.
Eventually, he stood.
William walked over to a scraggly, dead demon that lay next to the house, staring at its cracked teeth and hollow eyes. It had fallen on top of its hands, with its head to the side. It looked as if the creature might push off the ground and find its feet, even though it was dead.
Maybe William should've died, too.
If he had died, perhaps Bray would be alive.
The thought was irrational, and yet, he couldn't help it.
A few chatting people pulled another dead demon corpse past William, pulling him from his dark thoughts. Seeing him lingering over the body, one of them asked, "Do you need help dragging it?"
"I'm fine," William said, after a pause.
Pulling his hood tighter over the sides of his face, he grabbed hold of the demon's arm and started pulling. It took him more than a few tries to get it moving, but eventually he made progress, tugging it toward the pathway on the eastern side of the courtyard, following a line of other people cleaning up the mess of the ugly war.
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