by Bali Rai
He turned to Mace. ‘What do they make here?’ he asked.
‘Clothing, mostly,’ Mace told him. ‘Undergarments, socks . . . anything they need in the citadels. The factories are in an industrial zone to the east of the city. Most of us work in them.’
‘Not you?’
‘I’m due to begin my next shift tonight.’
‘And Martha?’
Jonah watched Mace raise an eyebrow and wondered if he was suspicious. The last thing Jonah needed was someone asking too many questions about him. The less they found out, the better.
‘Martha works in a bar owned by the Mayor.’
‘The Mayor?’
‘Human ruler,’ explained Mace. ‘Martha’s stepfather – her mother was married to him – although don’t tell her I said that. She’ll rip my lungs out with a blunt spoon if she finds out I’ve told you.’
‘I won’t say anything,’ Jonah told him. ‘It’s none of my business.’
Only something inside made Jonah flinch. It felt wrong that a traitor had raised the feisty, battle-tough girl. He shook her face from his mind, wondering why he was thinking about her at all.
‘Don’t judge us,’ he heard Mace say. ‘Life in these industrial outpost cities is hard. Work, death and the Hunt are the only things you can count on.’
Jonah shrugged. ‘It’s the same up north,’ he said. ‘Same all over.’
Mace agreed. ‘Used to be, before the War, that you worked and got paid,’ he told him. ‘You went home, because you had a home, and raised your family and spent the weekends enjoying life, because you had a life. Now we just try to survive.’
‘You must have only been about my age when the War ended,’ Jonah pointed out.
‘If you’re sixteen, then you’d be right,’ replied Mace. ‘I was repeating something my father told me. You have a good knowledge of history, then?’
‘It was something my father taught me – to study the past,’ replied Jonah, paraphrasing the giant without intent. Despite himself, Jonah found that he was warming to Mace, getting to admire and respect him. It was obvious that the man cared deeply for his people, for his family.
‘I taught my children to survive and fight,’ said Mace with a wistful look. ‘There was nothing else. No reading them books or playing games in the sunshine. I sat them on my knee and taught them how shit everything is. Here’s how you light a fire and here’s the best way to skin and gut a rat before cooking it. Potatoes grow best if planted during this month, and this is how you know which month it is. Apples make great booze, if you put them in barrels and let them rot a while, and follow your granddad’s secret recipe. Here’s how to sharpen your blade, to break into a guarded warehouse, to hide from the patrols. And this is how you take the life of a demon . . .’
His voice trailed off, eyes moistening. Jonah realized that Mace was probably thinking about Samuel. He felt a pang of sadness for his new friend and wondered how he might ease his pain.
‘There was no point in teaching them anything else,’ he said eventually, unable to find the right words. ‘They should be prepared for life as it is.’
Mace shrugged and wiped away his tears. He took Jonah’s arm and walked on. ‘Never talk in one spot for too long around here,’ he explained. ‘Fire City is full of people desperate enough to sell their souls for a piece of bread.’
‘Then point them out,’ insisted Jonah, feeling suddenly angered, his left hand settling on his sword.
‘You’re already drawing attention, friend,’ Mace pointed out. ‘There’s time enough to attract more.’
They walked on, past rows of disused buildings and the remains of a complex that had once held shops and bars. Mace explained the history of the city as they went, indicating various landmarks. Jonah listened intently whilst watching out for patrols. The road ahead of them was deserted and littered with debris; the old stores overgrown with weeds. They walked the length of it without seeing anyone else, crossing another road into a park. A single track had been worn through undergrowth that stood a head taller than Mace, leading down to a towpath and river. Again, Jonah took in everything he saw, adding to his mental map of the city.
‘Be careful,’ warned Mace. ‘These weeds often hide a nasty surprise.’
Jonah pulled a small knife from his belt, but doubted there was anything for him to concern himself with. He decided to offer a little information about himself – something that couldn’t hurt.
‘I spent many weeks in the wastelands,’ he revealed. ‘I faced all sorts out there. I’m not worried.’
Mace shrugged and lifted his left trouser leg. ‘Lost half my calf with that attitude, son,’ he said, showing off his deformity. ‘It was a badger, twice the size it should have been and crazy with hunger.’
Jonah looked down. The half-moon-shaped dent in the giant’s leg was ridged with scar tissue. He wondered how much it had hurt. Pain was something else that Jonah didn’t fear – not any more.
‘You have good medics then,’ he said. ‘A wound like that can kill if it gets infected, and put you at risk of being selected for the Hunt . . .’
Mace winked and Jonah found himself smiling back. There was something warm and likeable about the giant man – something about his manner that was comforting.
‘I’ve a stronger will than five ordinary men combined,’ he boasted. ‘And Martha’s aunt works wonders with a herb or two.’
‘I know a few remedies myself,’ revealed Jonah. ‘Perhaps she and I should compare notes.’
Mace told him they’d meet later. ‘I wanted to talk in private,’ he added. ‘No one comes down here, not any more. It’s too close to the edge of town. So no chance of being overheard.’
Jonah nodded. ‘I don’t have much to tell,’ he said, a little ashamed that he was about to deflect the truth.
Mace shook his head. ‘You have plenty to tell,’ he replied. ‘The weapons you carry, the clothes you wear. The skill and ease with which you kill demons – all of these things interest me. It’s obvious you’re fighting for the Resistance, so we’re on the same side.’
Jonah stepped onto a towpath slimy with bottle-green moss, looking down at the murky river water. He wondered what to say to Mace. They were on the same side, that was true, but their reasons for fighting differed greatly. Mace reminded Jonah of people he’d met in the north – noble warriors with fearless hearts who were fighting for their right to survive. Good, decent men who he welcomed as friends. How then could he explain his own motives, spurred on by nothing more than a selfish need for retribution?
‘I fight with you,’ he eventually replied. ‘But perhaps not in the same way.’
Mace scratched his stubbly chin. ‘How so?’ he asked.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jonah. ‘I guess being on the same side is all that counts.’
Mace grunted. ‘I’ll accept anyone who wants to kill these inhuman dogs as much as I do,’ he said.
Jonah stooped to pick up a blue-grey stone. He looked at it for a moment, lost in random thoughts he couldn’t quite place – fleeting, fragmented memories.
‘The weapons,’ continued Mace. ‘You said that there were others.’
Jonah nodded, cleared his mind. ‘The northern Resistance has plenty,’ he explained. ‘They are planning a new campaign. A more concerted effort.’
‘How many fighters do they have?’ asked Mace.
‘Not much above three hundred,’ replied Jonah. ‘But there are more potential recruits living in the wastelands. The problem is getting them together. It’s impossible to live in communities out there without alerting the government.’
Mace sighed and looked down the river, towards a disused mill that had once been converted into luxury homes. One of its walls had collapsed, revealing three storeys of broken dreams. The demons didn’t care where the Unwanted lived. Burned-out houses, the few remaining tower blocks still serviceable – wherever. As long as there were enough people to work and a few more to hunt. Each outpost city provided
quasi-slave labour, mostly people in their teens and upwards. The work was hard, the hours long, and it took its toll quickly.
Those no longer able to work were taken and held in pens, fodder for the hunters, alongside sickly or abandoned children, the infirm and the disabled. The government sifted through the younger adults and teenagers, taking the healthy and strong to breeding centres. Once there, they were forced to have sex to create the next generation, a never-ending production line of workers for the Wanted and food for the demons. Most lasted no more than a decade before they too were sent to the factories or joined the Hunted.
Their offspring were carefully sorted. Category A infants, the smallest group, were limited in number and certified as genetically superior. Their futures lay in the citadels, with all the advantages that brought. Category B infants formed the largest set, the Unwanted, even though many were perfectly fit and healthy. They were distributed amongst the outpost cities and towns. Local families took some in, with the others left to fend for themselves. Most would end up as workers or prey by the time they reached fourteen. Some, depending on demand, were re-inspected, passed worthy and taken back to the centres to breed more children.
Category C held the disabled. These children were kept in pens, fattened up and then thrown into a Hunt. It was rare to see anyone with so much as a limp, and old people were also uncommon. The brave new world demanded that you served a purpose. Any deviation from that meant certain death.
‘What a life,’ Mace said, without explaining his thoughts. ‘Now tell me more about the north and their resistance plans. We should coordinate our efforts.’
Jonah’s face grew dark. He wondered how much he should reveal. Talking about his mission in general terms seemed to be the best solution. It was like lying through a filter of truth.
‘The key here in Fire City,’ he said softly, ‘is Valefor and his human puppets.’
Mace nodded. ‘Cut off the monster’s head and the rest will die,’ he replied. ‘A classic tactic.’
Jonah shrugged at the giant man’s reply. ‘We never do, though, do we?’ he said. ‘We waste time and lives fighting the minions, the lesser spawn . . .’
‘That’s because Valefor and the other demon lords are too powerful,’ said Mace. ‘No one has ever killed one of them. No one knows how.’
Jonah threw the stone out into the water. It made a single plopping sound and sank to the bottom, leaving only ripples on the surface. Those fragmented memories returned: the agony etched across his father’s face, the screams of his mother. He looked into Mace’s eyes, his own growing darker still.
‘I do,’ he said.
8
TWO DAYS LATER, Aron stopped by the bar and sat in silence as I served several customers. It was around eight in the evening, and I was tired and angry. My stepfather was with Stone in his office, stewing after our latest argument. It had been over Faith and the others making use of the hotel – his hotel. He’d called me a hypocrite, telling me that I was living in a dream world.
The thing is, I’ve never accepted the position I grew up in. As a child, I didn’t have any choice. My mother and I lived in the Mayor’s mansion, surrounded by the same luxuries he now uses as weapons against me. And I’m not going to lie and say that I didn’t like him back then, because I did; he was the man who looked after us, made sure that we weren’t starving. I remember him being happier and younger, combing my hair and telling me stories before bed.
But those are the memories of an innocent, and I stopped being that a long time ago. The minute my mother began to spend more time at the hotel, mixing with Mace, Faith and the others, everything changed. She changed, and the things I then saw, the people I met, they all changed my way of thinking too. I realized that the world was evil and that the Mayor, no matter how good he’d been to my mum in the past, was nothing more than a traitor to humans. As the arguments increased between my mum and the Mayor, I saw her growing apart from him, and watched him change into what he is now. What was I going to do? Follow him over her? Never. And then she died . . .
‘I want to talk to you,’ Aron said as I pushed away the groping hand of a drunken customer.
‘Talk, then,’ I replied sharply, without meaning to. ‘I’m busy though, so be quick.’
‘Can’t stop thinking about Samuel,’ he whispered, his eyes downcast.
I felt that surge of despair I got each time our dead friend’s name was mentioned and it took several deep breaths for me not to cry. Instead, I poured two measures of apple liquor into metal cups and placed them on the bar for another customer, taking two coins in return.
‘None of us can stop thinking of him,’ I said with more warmth, once the customer was out of earshot. ‘It’s not like you can forget. He was our brother.’
Aron scratched at the wooden bar top with a dirty fingernail. The grime extended up his finger and across his hands. As I came towards him, I could smell his stale body odour, and I wondered when he’d last had a wash. The rooms upstairs were free and I thought about telling him to clean himself up. Only I was worried about his reaction. Recently it seemed that I spent my time walking on eggshells around him.
It was such a change to how things had once been, and it made me sad. Aron, as a youngster, had been full of laughter and fun. He’d be the first to crack a joke or play tricks on people, the one who dreamed up most of our silly games. I remembered how all of us kids would lie in one bed, top to toe, and Aron would draw shapes on my back with his finger, challenging me to guess what he’d drawn. I remembered too the way he’d throw a strop if things didn’t go his way, and the fearlessness he possessed, which often got us into trouble with the elders. I wanted that Aron back again – my Aron – and I was scared stiff that he was gone for ever.
‘Where are the others?’ he asked, interrupting my thoughts.
‘Tyrell’s at work,’ I replied. ‘Oscar should be back soon and Faith is sorting something out upstairs. Dunno about Mace.’
He looked up at me and half smiled, which was the most he managed nowadays. ‘And the other one?’
‘Which other?’ I asked, even though I knew he meant the newcomer.
‘Jonah,’ he said, before looking away again.
At the mention of his name, I began to wonder where Jonah was and, oddly, whether he’d thought about me at all. He’d spent the last couple of days with the elders, getting to know the city and meeting the people in the Resistance. I told myself not to be silly. Jonah had far more important things to think about than me.
‘He might be with Mace,’ I told Aron. ‘I don’t really know.’
‘Oh,’ he replied.
Over by the door, a woman with red hair and freckles slapped one of her male companions. I walked round the bar and across to them.
‘Calm it down,’ I ordered, keeping a watchful eye on the two men. They wouldn’t have been the first to attack me over a bar fight. After facing cannibals and demons, standing up to a couple of drunken thugs wasn’t much of a problem. The woman went bright red but both men looked angry.
‘Get lost!’ said one of them, a tall man with long brown hair and a thick beard.
The one who’d been slapped sniggered. I felt my heart begin to race with adrenaline. Mood I was in, it would be fun to kick some ass. But I held myself in check, and let the feeling pass.
‘I’ll ignore that for today,’ I told them. ‘But any more and you’re barred, understand?’
The bearded one stood up, towering over me. ‘Who’s doing the barring?’ he sneered. ‘You?’
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Although don’t think I can’t. No, I think I’ll get Mace to do it. He was looking for something to put his fist through earlier.’
I watched the man’s face flush and his eyes grow dark with uncertainty and fear. Mace’s name did that. Only his friends knew he was Resistance, of course. Most other people were scared of him because he was tough. It took some serious courage to challenge my giant father-figure, and any man who threat
ened a woman obviously didn’t have any.
‘Now do you understand?’ I asked, giving them a smile.
‘Whatever, bitch,’ he replied, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to disguise the edge of concern in his voice.
‘Great!’ I said, ignoring his insult. ‘Can I get you any more drinks?’
As I walked away I heard the woman call me a whore, but I was too tired to set her straight. Instead, I went and sat on the stool next to Aron’s, taking advantage of a lull in custom.
‘You look unwell,’ I said to him, causing him to shrug.
‘I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘It’s just a bit cold in the place I found.’
Aron had stopped sleeping at the hotel a few weeks earlier, straight after a fight with Oscar. Even though I’d begged him not to go, he’d done so anyway. It felt like he was deliberately pulling away from us and it bothered me that I couldn’t stop him.
‘Come back and stay here,’ I said in hope. ‘There’s plenty of space. You can even have one of the empty rooms – if you need time to yourself.’
He shook his head. ‘Nah,’ he said, still avoiding my gaze. ‘I like it where I am now. It’s all mine. Besides, it ain’t that bad.’
‘But you could have that here too,’ I insisted.
‘I’m fine where I am,’ he replied.
I nodded and wondered what he really wanted. All those hours spent together as kids meant that I knew him well, and I could see he was holding back. Eventually I had to ask him what he really wanted to talk about.
‘I was hoping that we could speak in private,’ he said to me. ‘I wanted to apologize for the other day.’