by Bali Rai
The stranger looked at Mace, unblinking. I watched his eyes stay focused and a single blue vein throb with blood, just above his left temple.
‘There are more rifles,’ he said calmly.
‘But where did you come from?’ demanded Aron, his tone far from friendly. ‘No one just turns up at a Hunt. No one.’
The stranger looked at me and then shook his head. ‘Nowhere,’ he replied, before nodding towards the survivors. ‘I’m from nowhere. Forget about me – some of these people need help.’
Mace agreed and ordered Aron to take them to the infirmary, ignoring his protests. Once he’d gone, the giant turned to Oscar. ‘Did you see my Samuel die?’ he asked, his gruff voice calm.
Oscar shrugged and bowed his head slightly. Short and wiry, he was often thought of as a weak link. The truth was very different, however. Blessed with quick hands and an even quicker brain, Oscar was no slouch. I had known him nearly all of my life, and he was, like the other boys I’d grown up with, as close to me as a brother.
‘The demons attacked from above,’ he explained. ‘Tyrell and I were already fighting. Aron and Samuel got isolated and after that we didn’t see them again. Not until Aron turned up with Martha.’
Tyrell nodded too, his expression cheerless. ‘We need more fighters,’ he told Mace. ‘There are too many of them. We’re losing . . .’
Mace shrugged and tried to remain calm, but I knew him too well. His sky-blue eyes flitted from one of us to the other, and sweat beaded his brow. His cheeks and forehead were flushed and his massive hands clenched into tight balls.
‘We’ve been killing demons,’ he said. ‘Valefor is feeling the pinch and he’s reacting with more troops. It is what any general would do.’
‘He’s no general!’ the stranger snapped, making me jump.
Mace looked surprised at the outburst too, and I wondered how he’d react. The stranger, despite his obvious ability, was taking a huge risk. Mace was the strongest, most powerful man I had ever known. He was the leader of our Resistance and I had seen him take on two patrollers at once and win. His temper was as quick as his sword hand. I prayed that he would remain placid.
‘No – he’s a hound of Hell,’ I heard him agree. ‘And I aim to send him back there with both of my machetes buried deep in his heart.’
This time the rest of us were amazed. Tyrell looked at me, and raised his eyebrows. I shrugged in reply, before looking to the newcomer again.
‘How?’ asked the stranger, his expression sceptical.
Mace furrowed his brow. The stranger looked to me, his obsidian eyes as unsettling as much as they were appealing. Something else lingered too, the soft, musky scent that I remembered from the Hunt – his scent. I found myself holding his gaze, as though hypnotized by him.
‘He has thousands under his command,’ the newcomer continued, looking away to Mace. ‘How many do you have?’
Mace smiled weakly. ‘Perhaps you and I should discuss this elsewhere?’ he suggested. ‘Let these brave souls rest.’
The stranger nodded in my direction. ‘She comes with us,’ he said, surprising me. Why did he want me to go with them?
‘Isn’t that up to Martha?’ asked Mace.
The stranger shook his head. ‘She comes with us or I leave.’
I agreed to go with them, intrigued. I also felt foolishly happy that the stranger wanted me with him. I mean, I didn’t even know who he was. All I did know was that we needed him. Fire City needed him. Someone who killed demons that easily was always welcome. Being cute with it was just an added bonus.
‘We need his help,’ I said to Mace, who looked thoughtful.
His eyes narrowed and he nodded. ‘Agreed, then,’ he replied, turning to me. ‘Show him where to get washed up and then meet me in the generator room.’
‘Where are you going?’ I asked, a little concerned at what he might do.
‘To mourn my son,’ he said, pulling a flask of gut rot from a pocket.
‘That’s not going to help,’ I told him sternly.
Mace roared with fake laughter. ‘It’s either this or I hang myself from the nearest tree,’ he replied. ‘And I’m not dying unless I can take Valefor and his puppet with me.’
4
THE STRANGER STRIPPED off his clothes and stepped into the cast-iron bath. A bucket of water, recently heated, was by the plughole, a tin cup floating in it. He sat and examined himself for signs of damage. His almost translucent skin bore a few scratches but nothing too serious. A simple amulet hung from a brown leather thong round his neck. It was a lump of rock, very like granite, given to him by his mother. He fiddled with it for a moment, thinking back to happier times, until tears welled in his eyes and he had to shake his mind free of the memories.
He took the tin cup, filled it with water and doused himself, repeating the action several times. Taking some well-worn soap, he stood and scrubbed himself, his mind focused on a single thing – Valefor. He had waited a long time to catch up with the demon lord, and now that he’d found him his impatience rose. He thought about the girl, Martha, feeling momentarily guilty that he hadn’t told her the truth. The guilt disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, however. He wasn’t there for her or any other Fire City dweller. He was there for himself. There was nothing accidental, either, about his arrival in Fire City. He was on a mission and nothing would get in his way.
A cough came from behind the tattered privacy curtains.
‘I’ve brought some more water,’ he heard Martha say.
‘Bring it in, then,’ he replied, soaping his armpits.
‘Are you decent?’
He shook his head. In a world that had gone to Hell, in which ordinary people lived and worked for rulers who exploited them, hunted them, and ate them – here was a young woman worried about nudity. ‘Yes,’ he lied.
Martha stepped through the curtain with a wooden pail, just as the stranger washed the soap from his pits. ‘Oh!’ she squealed, turning away. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you said you were—’
‘I did,’ said the man.
Martha put down the pail, keeping her back to him. ‘Why would you do that?’ she asked.
‘Because it’s only flesh,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure you’ve seen many a naked man in your time.’
This time Martha did turn round, hands on hips, eyes narrowed. ‘Do you think I’m some sort of slut?’ she demanded.
The stranger shook his head, showering her with droplets of water. A single drop hit Martha’s top lip and sat there, trembling. She took no notice.
‘I don’t make a habit of seeking out naked men,’ she told him.
‘In the north,’ he replied, covering his genitals with his hands, ‘we lived together. Ate, slept, bathed . . .’
‘You lived in the north?’ she asked.
‘For a while,’ he told her. ‘I left to come here.’
Martha looked taken aback. ‘You wanted to come to Fire City?’ she asked, the surprise evident in her tone.
The newcomer hesitated before replying. There was no sense in revealing his true purpose to her. It brought no profit. ‘Not Fire City,’ he lied. ‘I’m headed south – to the Great Citadel. I just wanted a rest.’
‘I’ve never been outside Fire City,’ she admitted. ‘I’d love to travel the country.’
He shook his head again. ‘You wouldn’t love it,’ he told her. ‘The roads are dangerous, patrolled by the demons and their allies. I travelled through the wastelands, keeping the main trunk road in sight.’
Martha’s eyes grew wider. ‘But I’ve heard that the wastelands are treacherous!’ she exclaimed.
‘Yes, they are,’ the newcomer admitted, ‘but I’d rather face wild animals, even those that have turned, than actual demons.’
Martha snorted. ‘I watched you dispatch demons with ease earlier,’ she reminded him. ‘I don’t believe that you’re scared of them.’
‘I’m not scared,’ he agreed. ‘But I’m not stupid, either.’
�
�How do you kill them so easily?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Proper combat training, the right weapons and huge doses of luck,’ he replied.
‘Luck? It doesn’t seem that way to me. Aron thinks you’re not human . . .’
The stranger moved his hands, looking down at himself. Martha did the same. ‘Do I look inhuman to you?’ he asked her with a sly little smile.
‘I have to go!’ said Martha, scarlet as she hurried from the room.
Martha’s face was still flushed later as she sat with the stranger and Mace in the generator room. Mace’s own skin tone was redder than hers, fuelled by alcohol and tears. Martha wanted to leave him to his grief. Besides, she needed to get back to her other life before she was missed. The stranger had changed into some spare clothes that Martha had brought for him, which had once belonged to Samuel. If Mace noticed this, he didn’t show it. Instead, he questioned their guest about his weapons.
‘We ambushed a shipment,’ said the newcomer. ‘The government move them around by train. We derailed one halfway between the Northern Citadel and the midlands.’
Mace looked impressed. He took a swig from his flask and shuddered. The alcohol was home-made, from fermented apples, and a little took you a long way towards drunken oblivion. Mace was close to that now. Once he’d composed himself, he moved on.
‘How many of you?’ he asked.
‘Fifteen,’ replied the stranger. ‘It wasn’t guarded too securely, but we still lost seven men.’
Mace shook his head. ‘Was it worth it?’ he questioned.
The stranger shrugged and looked at Martha. ‘Is rescuing ten people from a Hunt worth it?’ he asked.
Martha’s face darkened. ‘Every human life is worth it,’ she insisted. ‘Every single one saved.’
Their guest remained unconvinced. ‘And how many have you lost?’
Martha looked away, fighting back tears.
Mace spoke for her. ‘I’ve lost three sons, a wife and a father,’ he revealed. ‘And during the War itself I lost four brothers, their families and countless friends. There is almost nothing left in my heart save my hatred for these bastards. And a single strand of hope for humankind. Without that strand, I would be no better than the demons.’
‘You must understand,’ Martha added, looking directly into the stranger’s dark eyes, ‘that there isn’t a human being outside the citadels who doesn’t know what loss feels like.’
It was the boy’s turn to look away. Martha was right about life outside the seven major cities – the citadels, as they were called. She was wrong, however, if she thought he was driven by some moral cause.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said quietly, ‘because I don’t let myself. There is only black and white in this world. The demons and their allies are evil and they have to be killed. That’s all I think about.’
‘That’s noble enough a cause,’ grunted Mace. ‘I agree wholeheartedly.’
‘I’m not noble,’ he replied.
‘Where did you learn to fight?’ asked Martha.
‘I’ve been trained since I was a small child,’ he said. ‘My siblings too.’
‘You have brothers and sisters?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, although I haven’t seen them in a while. A brother and two sisters – all older than me.’
Martha pushed on. ‘Why haven’t you seen them?’ she asked.
‘Something happened to split us up,’ he told her, looking down at his feet.
‘Do you know where they are?’ asked Mace.
‘I think two of them are in Babylon or the surrounding area. The other one – who knows?’
‘Babylon?’ asked a confused-looking Martha.
Mace grinned and offered her his flask, which she refused.
‘I spend enough time serving that poison to customers,’ she told him. ‘If I wanted to feel like I’d been savaged by a patroller, I’d go and pick a fight with one. Empty-handed.’ She turned back to face the newcomer. ‘What’s Babylon?’ she queried again.
‘It’s what the northerners call the Southern Citadel,’ the stranger explained.
Martha nodded her understanding. ‘And what do they call you?’ she asked.
The stranger shrugged. ‘Most of the people I’ve met don’t care what my name is,’ he said.
‘Your parents cared enough to give you one,’ added Mace. ‘A name means something, boy.’
‘Well, mine is Jonah,’ he told them.
Mace grinned. ‘A fine name!’ he bellowed. ‘Had my wife survived her last pregnancy, we would have called our son the same.’
‘How many children did you have?’ asked Jonah.
Mace shook his head softly, his expression changed in an instant. ‘Five sons,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘The one who died as he was born took my wife with him. The other two, Michael and Samuel, were killed fighting for the Resistance. The two who remain are called Joshua and Nathan. They’re out in the wastelands somewhere – fighting with the Resistance, if they’re still alive. I haven’t heard from them in over two years.’
Jonah thought of his own family. How it had been torn apart so long ago. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly.
‘Why? It’s not your fault, son,’ said Mace, taking another gulp of alcohol.
Martha rose; it was time for her to go. ‘I can’t be caught,’ she said.
Jonah gave her a quizzical look. ‘Caught by who?’
‘My stepfather,’ she replied.
Mace grunted, edging closer to that drunken precipice. Something passed between his eyes and Martha’s. Something Jonah noticed but kept to himself.
‘Go, then!’ the older man told her. ‘I’ll bring the boy along later. We have much to talk about.’
Martha considered Mace for a moment. ‘Talk?’ she said. ‘I’m surprised you’re still moving, you big lump.’
Their guest told them he wasn’t staying. ‘I need to move on,’ he lied.
‘Nonsense!’ bellowed the giant at his side. ‘You’ll stay here until you’re rested or my name isn’t Mace G—’ The next sound he made was a thud as he hit the floor.
‘Leave him there,’ said Martha. ‘He’ll sleep it off.’
‘I was going to.’
‘So are you staying for a while or leaving?’ she added.
Jonah considered his options. He could leave and hide in the wastelands, relying on his survival skills while constantly watching out for wild animals, many of which were possessed by lesser demons. Or he could stay in Fire City itself, with a few more basic essentials to hand. He’d be closer to his target that way, but also more likely to be discovered.
‘I’ll stay for a few days,’ he eventually decided. ‘Besides, I want to go out on another Hunt.’
Martha nodded. ‘Get some rest, then,’ she told him.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘Work.’
5
FIRE CITY IS a hard place to live. The world in which Fire City exists is a hard place to live.
Back before the demons took over, things were easier, or so my mum and the other elders have told me. I was born and raised here, and this world is the only one I’ve ever known. It’s hard for me to get my head around – the idea that there was a time and place without demons. But there was, once, and even though I’ve never experienced it, I long for its return.
I was thinking about these things when Tyrell and Oscar walked into the bar where I work. I share my shifts with Faith – an older woman who is also in the Resistance. Today, Faith was in the kitchen, cleaning up, whilst I tended the few customers.
The saloon sits on the ground floor of the Grand, a disused old hotel owned by the Mayor, the human puppet who rules Fire City. The Grand is at the very heart of the city, in what we’ve always called the protected zone – an area surrounded by an invisible ring of demon energy, which is about four kilometres in diameter. Everything outside the ring is wasteland, and it is illegal for any human to venture out there unless they have permission from the
government.
The bar sells cheap government-funded booze, much like the stuff that Mace likes to drink. Many of Fire City’s residents squander the few credits they earn in the factories on getting drunk, most to forget how shitty their lives are. The first floor houses an office and living quarters for the Mayor’s right-hand man, a mercenary called Stone who makes my skin crawl with his wandering eyes and his unblinking stare. At the rear of the second floor are more rooms, which I’m allowed to use, both for me and for some of my friends. Above that are two further levels, left empty save for the rats and mice. The saloon is quiet during the early afternoon, but by the time night falls it becomes a raucous and often violent place that reeks of fear and desperation.
‘Working hard for the old man?’ joked Tyrell, settling his massive frame onto a barstool and rubbing his shaven coffee-coloured head.
The look I shot him caused him to grin.
‘He’s not my old man,’ I replied, feeling my usual sense of shame and anger.
Tyrell was talking about the Mayor: human ruler for the demons – and my stepfather. There is nothing I hate more than collaborators, and I detest the Mayor. The fact that he was once married to my mother means nothing to me. Before she died, my mother had all but turned her back on him anyway. She’d been a secret Resistance member for years.
I don’t know exactly how she died, but I do know that she got caught. The Mayor, like the spineless piece of trash that he is, has always refused to talk about it, which makes me hate him all the more. I’ll tell you this, though – if I ever find out who killed my mother, I’m going to destroy them, no matter what the cost. Every time I kill a patroller or a cannibal, or I rescue someone, it’s payback for what happened to my mum. I understand that I’ll probably get caught soon, but I don’t care. I’d rather die than serve the Hell-kin like my stepfather does.
‘Has he been in today?’ asked Oscar, joining me behind the bar.
‘Not yet,’ I told him. ‘But I’m sure he’ll bring his fat, ugly carcass over later.’
‘Wow!’ grinned Oscar, his oriental features lighting up, pale-brown eyes sparkling like gemstones. ‘You’re an insolent little puppy today.’