Fire City

by Bali Rai

  Satisfied, he turned back up the steps.

  ‘All clear,’ he told them as he got halfway. He waited a moment for Mace to come pounding down. Nothing happened. ‘Mace?’ he called, holding up the lamp, its glow revealing moss-covered walls, glistening and wet. ‘Tyrell?’

  Worried when he heard no reply, Jonah set down the light and emerged onto the street. Mace and Tyrell were nowhere to be seen. One of the stone spheres caught his eye and he crouched to study the dark liquid that stained it. He removed some with his forefinger, sniffed, then tasted it.

  It was blood. Human blood . . .

  27

  ARON STEPPED THROUGH the door and into the bar, wary that he’d immediately become the star attraction. A group of young men, all around his age, stared openly, their expressions angry. Around the crowded room, various other people did the same, whispering to each other or shaking their heads. He ignored them all, concentrating instead on Martha, who was busy behind the bar. She hadn’t seen him enter but Oscar had, and Aron saw him lean across the faded mahogany counter, tapping Martha on the arm.

  Aron walked over to them, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. ‘Hey!’ he said, hoping that they’d return the greeting.

  Oscar turned to him and nodded once, the movement almost imperceptible. Martha just stood and glared, her mood apparent.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked, setting a limp dishrag down on the bar.

  Aron looked to his feet, his pale skin blushing.

  ‘Well?’ Martha demanded. ‘After what you’ve done, you’re brave to venture in here, Aron.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly, looking up at her, his light-blue eyes filled with regret.

  ‘Sorry doesn’t cover it,’ she informed him. ‘You’ve gone too far this time.’

  Aron turned to Oscar, who shifted on the balls of his feet, ready for a fight. ‘I’m not going to attack you,’ said Aron.

  Oscar shrugged at him. ‘Who can trust you?’ he asked accusingly.

  ‘But you know me,’ Aron protested, turning to Martha too. ‘Both of you.’

  Martha shook her head defiantly. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘We knew you, Aron. But that was before you started acting like a madman. In the past three months you’ve attacked Oscar, Faith, Prior and now Jonah too. You’ve argued with almost everyone we know, thrown tantrums, made hurtful comments, lied . . . shall I go on?’

  Aron felt the resentment growing in his belly. He tried to hold it back, but his expression gave him away, as always.

  ‘See?’ continued Martha. ‘You’ve got that look on you again. Like you’re the victim and everyone is just picking on you. Thing is, you’ve done all this yourself and you can’t even see it. You’re rude and arrogant and I don’t want to be near you.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Aron pleaded. ‘We’ve got a connection, Martha, one that can’t be broken.’

  Martha huffed, her grey eyes sparking with irritation. ‘I used to think that,’ she replied. ‘Used to think that no one could stop us being friends. Never dreamed the person to ruin it would be you, though. I dunno what’s happening to you, Aron. It’s like you’ve changed into someone else.’

  ‘No,’ he retaliated, feeling his ire escalate. ‘I’m still me. It’s you . . . chasing after Jonah like he’s some messiah. Completely pathetic!’

  Oscar stood forward and poked Aron in the chest. ‘You don’t talk to her like that,’ he said, his calm expression contradicting the menace in his words. ‘Understand?’

  They stood at similar heights, and Aron found himself staring directly into Oscar’s pale tan eyes. He smiled, pushing Oscar’s hand away.

  ‘Don’t push your luck, slant,’ he warned, making reference to Oscar’s oriental heritage.

  ‘How clever,’ Oscar countered. ‘Must have took all day, thinking up that one. I’m impressed.’

  Aron shook his head. ‘At least I don’t hide behind my boyfriend,’ he spat. ‘Everyone knows about you and Tyrell. It’s unnatural and so are you!’

  Oscar’s fists, hanging at his side, clenched. ‘And we’re friends?’ he asked. ‘Don’t make me laugh. Besides, I might not be your idea of normal, Aron, but that’s fine with me. What’s normal about you?’

  ‘I think you should leave,’ Aron heard Martha say. ‘Now!’

  He looked at her, shook his head. ‘This is a bar,’ he told her, ‘and I want a drink.’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘You’re not welcome, not any more. I thought you’d come here to apologize, maybe talk to Prior – make it up. But not you.’

  Aron smirked. ‘Yeah, that’s an idea,’ he jeered. ‘Why don’t I find your boyfriend and beg him too? You’d love that!’

  ‘You won’t find him,’ revealed Martha, looking away. ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘What – has the hero run off and left you all?’

  ‘No,’ said Oscar. ‘He’s with Mace and Tyrell. Risking his life to help us. You know that shit that you claim to do? Well, he’s out there, in the wastelands, doing it.’

  Aron shoved Oscar backwards. ‘Claim?’ he spat. ‘I don’t claim, you slope-eyed rat, I act!’

  Oscar pushed him back and they squared shoulders, neither willing to back down.

  ‘You ain’t got Tyrell to hold your hand now,’ Aron mocked. ‘Who’s gonna save you this time . . .?’

  ‘I am,’ he heard Faith say, just before something solid and heavy smacked against his head. He slumped into Oscar, and just before passing out he heard Prior order his removal.

  ‘Sometimes you just can’t rebuild a burned bridge,’ the old man added.

  Stone decided that he’d seen and heard enough. He was standing underneath the tall stone arch in the park opposite the Mayor’s mansion, watching Valefor humiliate his employer again.

  Mias stood guard, flanked by several patrollers, whilst two mercenaries made up the human contingent. Torrential rain pounded rhythmically against the ground, dark grey clouds enveloping the sky. A strong wind whipped around them, causing tree branches to creak and moan. The weather reflected the Mayor’s own actions as he whined and trembled before the demon lord, rain dripping down his fleshy features.

  ‘I grow tired of your excuses, human,’ Valefor declared. ‘My patience wears as thin as your hair.’

  Stone saw the demon’s powerful jaw begin to grind, giant wings quivering in the wind behind him. Much as he detested the Mayor, he would not watch Valefor kill him. There would be far too many questions from the government. He stepped forward, clearing his throat.

  ‘Stay!’ ordered Mias, sensing Stone’s movement.

  ‘I don’t take my orders from you,’ Stone replied.

  Valefor turned to face him, lilac eyes half lidded. ‘You wish to speak?’ he asked.

  Stone determined that his best course would require deference to the demon’s ego. ‘Yes, my lord,’ he replied, drawing amusement.

  ‘I can sense your feelings,’ Valefor reminded him. ‘Your reverence is as false as your employer’s words are. Tell me why I shouldn’t consume you.’

  Stone looked directly at the demon lord and smiled. ‘You can read my thoughts,’ he quipped, ‘so you know why.’

  Valefor considered Stone’s reply carefully, nudging Mias into impatience.

  ‘Shall I take him, lord?’ Mias trembled with delight.

  ‘No, brother Mias,’ Valefor commanded. ‘Let him speak.’

  Stone explained that he had a plan. ‘They must have a headquarters,’ he continued. ‘Somewhere secret we don’t know about. I’m going to find it for you.’

  The Mayor looked shocked, his face filled with surprise. Stone knew that he’d complain afterwards but it wasn’t important. Stone, when faced with his employer’s questions, would simply point out that his actions had prevented certain death. Enough, surely, to warrant the interruption.

  ‘If they did, we’d know,’ replied Valefor.

  Stone shook his head. ‘Only inside the protected zone,’ he pointed out. ‘What if it’s outside that limi
t? Your sense abilities are restricted to the central zone, aren’t they?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Valefor confessed, impressed with the human’s knowledge of his species. ‘You understand our ways?’

  ‘I’m paid to,’ Stone explained. ‘I like to provide an excellent service.’

  ‘You say that you can find them?’

  Stone nodded. ‘If I find their hideaway, I’ll find the stranger. We can handle two issues at the same time . . .’

  ‘Agreed,’ Valefor replied. ‘The question is, can you succeed where your employer has failed?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Stone boasted. ‘In fact, I was about to brief the Mayor before this meeting. I just forgot to, so he hasn’t really failed. Yet.’

  Valefor laughed. The Mayor glowered at Stone, anger making him shake.

  ‘I like you, human,’ said Valefor. ‘What do they call you?’

  ‘Stone, sir.’

  ‘Well, Stone – how long before you have news?’

  Stone shrugged. ‘One, maybe two days,’ he suggested. ‘No more than that.’

  ‘Very well,’ agreed Valefor. ‘And if you fail me . . .’

  ‘I won’t fail,’ Stone assured him. ‘I never fail.’

  28

  TYRELL FELT THE back of his head. The wound was still wet and painful to touch. An unpleasant odour permeated the air around him – a vile blend of faeces, vomit, body odour and feet. The heat of other bodies, perhaps twenty of them crammed into a tight space, caused sweat to trickle down his face. Still groggy, he looked around, trying to work out where he was, hampered by the lack of a light source. Suddenly he heard a door slam, and raised voices that belonged to humans.

  Soon, whatever he was in began to move, and to his left someone stirred. The vehicle rode over some bumps and Tyrell tipped backwards until someone’s stomach got in the way. Whoever it belonged to didn’t complain.

  ‘Mace?’ he whispered, aware that in the darkness he had to be alert.

  ‘Who?’

  Tyrell’s eyes began to adjust and he made out a shape. He felt around with his hands, catching bare feet, arms and a mouth, the lips cold and clammy.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Tyrell tensed as the man continued to talk from about two metres to his right. Was he talking about Mace or some other person? As if he could sense Tyrell’s thoughts, the man clarified:

  ‘Poor kid – they snapped his neck.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Tyrell, thankful that it wasn’t Mace and slightly ashamed of his relief.

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Wouldn’t have asked if I did,’ Tyrell replied abruptly.

  ‘Round-up zone, about ten kilometres north of here.’

  Tyrell tapped the side of the vehicle and felt cool metal. Someone moaned softly, a woman somewhere to his left.

  ‘Where were you hiding?’ the man continued.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ Tyrell told him as he felt a slight tremor of fear. ‘I was with two others, heading north. We came from Fire City.’

  ‘Oh,’ the man replied.

  ‘Are my friends in here?’ Tyrell asked. ‘Big, bear-like man with bright blond hair and fists like boulders, and a tall, skinny younger one, dressed in black?’

  ‘Not that I saw,’ the man told him, ‘and I was watching them throw people in. I was the first one they picked up.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘The army,’ said the man. ‘Don’t you know anything?’

  Tyrell ignored his reply and tried to sit up properly. His head was throbbing, as though a thousand boots were stamping across his forehead. A wave of nausea overcame him and he shuddered.

  ‘I’m Negus,’ the man told him. ‘You got a name?’

  ‘Tyrell.’

  ‘Well, I hope you ain’t badly hurt,’ Negus added.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because when we get to the round-up zone, they’re going to shoot anyone who isn’t able-bodied immediately. Everyone else gets sent to herds around the country – ready for the Hunt. At least with the last one, you stand some chance.’

  ‘How many people?’ Tyrell asked.

  ‘Depends on how many they catch tonight.’

  Tyrell wondered what had happened to Mace. He thought back to the moment when Mace had said he was going for a dump. Seconds later, as the giant had disappeared into the bushes, something hard and heavy had smacked Tyrell in the face. The subsequent blow had knocked him out cold. It was hard to believe that Mace hadn’t heard something or suffered himself. But if he had been caught too, why wasn’t he in the vehicle? Perhaps he’d put up a fight and been killed, his body left where it had fallen? Alternatively, maybe he and Jonah had escaped and were on the run. No matter what, Tyrell knew that the situation was bad and that his options were severely limited.

  ‘I need to get out of here,’ he said. ‘Now.’

  ‘Relax, brother,’ Negus replied. ‘The doors are reinforced and we’re in a convoy. Even if you escape this van, which ain’t happening, the bastards behind us will shoot you.’

  ‘How come you know so much about it?’

  Negus chuckled. ‘Because this is the third time they’ve caught me,’ he boasted. ‘And they ain’t held me once.’

  ‘So you know how to get away?’ said Tyrell, his excitement rising.

  ‘We’ll see,’ deflected Negus.

  ‘I need to go now!’ Tyrell demanded. ‘Get me out!’

  ‘That would be suicide,’ Negus warned. ‘These patrols are supported by other units, and the whole convoy is tracked from the sky. The government follows them on remote monitors too, back in the citadels.’

  Most of his reply made no sense to Tyrell and he wondered what could track something from the sky, other than a demon.

  ‘I just want to get out,’ he said again, though less forcefully.

  Negus told him that he wanted the same thing. ‘Just get some rest, brother,’ he advised. ‘You’re gonna need it, trust me . . .’

  * * *

  Mace watched Jonah crouch and examine the ground. He’d returned to the hatch just after Jonah had emerged from the cellar, both of them perplexed about Tyrell’s disappearance.

  ‘See anything?’ he asked, his mind racing.

  Jonah shushed him and tried to concentrate. He wondered how his senses had been fooled by whoever had taken Tyrell. Perhaps the fight with Mias had taken more out of him than he’d imagined. The only culprits he could think of were the army round-up patrols or some tribe of wild humans, probably cannibals. The latter would have been far from silent, and he would have heard them, even from underground. That left the soldiers, and if they had taken Tyrell, then all bets were off. They’d be miles away already, heading for one of the round-up zones that Jonah had seen on his journey to Fire City.

  In that case, Tyrell was alone, and Jonah was surprised at how angry he felt at such an outcome. His mission didn’t involve getting attached to the humans he met. It was not his way, yet something was beginning to break that resistance down. He shook that thought – and a sudden image of Martha – from his head and turned back to the task at hand.

  ‘I was only gone for five minutes,’ Mace confessed. ‘How the hell could anything have happened in such a short time?’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Jonah reassured him. ‘Out here, the blink of an eye is sometimes too long.’

  ‘I should have stayed put,’ the giant man replied guiltily. ‘I should have watched his back.’

  ‘Then you’d both have been taken,’ Jonah pointed out. ‘I think it was soldiers. They would have just killed you if you’d resisted.’

  Mace growled. ‘I would have taken a few with me,’ he declared.

  ‘I know that,’ said Jonah, understanding that Mace did not make idle boasts. ‘But the others would have shot you. They move fast and they have specialist equipment – night goggles, machine guns and the like.’

  Mace shrugged in defeat, knowing that Jonah was right. Yet it did nothing to assuage the shame he
was feeling. Tyrell was gone, and for the giant it felt the same as losing another son.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said wearily, ‘I wonder if this is worth doing. Seems to me they always win anyway: the demons, the government . . .’

  Jonah stood and put a hand on Mace’s left shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about Tyrell getting caught,’ he said, ‘but you can’t blame yourself.’

  Mace smiled. ‘I can,’ he countered, ‘and I will.’

  Jonah shook his head. ‘They’ll take the convoy north,’ he revealed. ‘There’s a round-up zone close to where we’re going. That’s where they’ll take him, I’m sure. We can get there in time . . .’

  ‘Catch up with army vehicles?’ Mace asked. ‘I fought in the War, Jonah. I know we can’t catch them.’

  ‘We can try though, can’t we?’ challenged Jonah.

  Mace shrugged again. ‘What about taking a rest?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not tired,’ Jonah replied. ‘You?’

  Mace considered his aching calves, the soreness of his feet, and lied. ‘I’m fine,’ he answered.

  ‘We’re going to have to take risks,’ Jonah admitted. ‘But staying on the road will be quicker.’

  ‘I’m ready for anything,’ Mace told him.

  Jonah pulled out one of the two spears he carried on his back, and handed it to Mace. ‘It’s got an energy field,’ he fibbed. ‘We stole them from a convoy we ambushed in the north. It will fend off attacks quickly.’

  Mace looked at the sleek ebony javelin in his hands. It was about a metre long and weighed more than it should have. Perfectly balanced, it tapered at both ends into murderously sharp points.