Fire City

by Bali Rai

  He balled his right fist and began to punch the girl, hammering the side of her face until she let go. Her tiny body slumped to the ground and she scampered away, spitting blood and teeth, just as the two men attacked.

  The first came from behind, trying to bring Mace down. He spun round, using his attacker’s momentum against him. The second man was too powerful, however, and he dived into Mace’s midriff, bringing him crashing down on top of the first one. The giant lifted his head and then slammed it back down, smashing the first attacker’s nose beneath him to a pulp, before turning his attention to the second. He had barely done so when Jonah speared the cannibal through the ear with a smaller blade, ripping through his brain.

  ‘Get up!’ Jonah bellowed as the rest of the cannibals lurched into view.

  Mace rolled left, untangling himself from the first attacker before breaking his neck with one twist of his huge hands. Another flesh-eater came forward, a cricket bat in her hands. She must have been about his age, heavy round the middle with pendulous breasts that hung free. Open sores, oozing yellow pus, covered her belly and upper thighs and her toenails resembled claws. A band of teeth laced her neck, her face painted with what looked like blood.

  Mace drove a fist into her mouth, aiming for a spot some thirty centimetres behind her head. The woman fell immediately, and Mace used his heavy boots to finish the job. He pounded her to death, ignoring the feeling of cowardice his actions provoked. He told himself over and over that she wasn’t a woman, she was a cannibal, but it didn’t help. It never did.

  As yet more cannibals appeared, joining in from all sides, Mace realized that they couldn’t fight them all, not even with Jonah’s powers. He sprinted to the jeep, jumping in and turning over the engine in one movement. A metallic grind accompanied his first shift as he slammed a foot down on the accelerator. It had been nearly fifteen years since he’d driven a car and the jeep lurched forward, the momentum causing Mace to smack his head against the roll bar.

  ‘Jonah!’ he called above the engine noise and the howling blood lust of the cannibal tribe. ‘Get in!’

  The half-demon, surrounded by attackers, somersaulted over them backwards, landing like a cat. Staying on all fours, he ran towards Mace, his pace incredible. He pounced into the passenger seat as Mace found the right gear and urged the jeep down the road. Behind them, the flesh-eaters shrieked in anger before turning on the smallest of their tribe, the girl they had used as bait, and tore her to pieces. Mace continued to hear her screams for what felt like a mile.

  ‘Next time,’ Jonah told him angrily, ‘listen to me.’

  Mace knew that he’d made an error and said nothing. Jonah wiped the blood and guts from his face and settled into silence too.

  31

  TEN KILOMETRES NORTH, the van carrying Tyrell and Negus turned into a large compound ringed with barbed-wire fencing. Other than the narrow approach road, the perimeter was surrounded by forest, a hundred acres deep on three sides. As the vehicle scrunched to a halt on the loose gravel, Tyrell tensed, ready for whatever lay ahead.

  ‘Wait until they call you out,’ Negus told him. ‘Don’t make any sudden movements, don’t try to run and don’t mouth off. Any one of those reactions and you’ll be picking a bullet out of your skull.’

  Tyrell looked over at his new companion, wondering what he looked like in daylight. He’d already established that they shared a skin tone, but Negus’ hair was longer, and in the darkness of the van it resembled dancing serpents. As the doors were thrown open and artificial light flooded it, Tyrell squinted. Three soldiers looked in, two with their guns trained on the captives.

  ‘Out!’ one of them ordered, his accent unlike any Tyrell had ever heard.

  He followed Negus’ lead, stepping into the cold night with the other conscious occupants of the van and looking his captors up and down. Each wore standard-issue camouflage fatigues, heavy black boots with rubber soles, and blue berets. One was brown-skinned but paler than Tyrell, with beady eyes and a sneer. The second, who held a torch and gave the orders, had pale, almost translucent skin covered in freckles. His eyes were deep blue and a scar ran from his left ear to his nose, bisecting the cheek. The final soldier was a similar height and build to Tyrell, but white, and he wore dark glasses despite the time of day. A cigarette hung from his lips, the tip glowing, and he squinted as smoke twirled up into his eyes.

  ‘Any more live ones?’ asked the freckled one, glaring at Negus.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Negus replied.

  Tyrell saw his hair properly now. It had grown thick and knotted, and had been twisted into clumps at the scalp. The resulting locks were of different lengths, some hanging down, others sticking out at odd angles. His skin was slightly darker than Tyrell’s and had an almost purple hue in the torchlight. It was shiny and healthy and gave Tyrell no clue as to the man’s age, other than his obviously being an elder. Negus was also short, not much more than five feet four, yet his build was wiry, his bare arms corded with muscle. Tyrell thought of Oscar, another slightly built man who people often underestimated, and he felt suddenly alone. He wondered too about Jonah and Mace, and prayed that they were still alive.

  ‘Go back in and check!’ the lead soldier ordered, gesturing into the van.

  Negus shrugged and held out his hands. ‘Can’t climb back in with these on,’ he said of the silver handcuffs that bound him.

  The pale soldier shook his head and slammed the torch against Negus’ temple, sending him sprawling. Tyrell twitched but stayed calm. The soldiers wore nameplates on their uniforms, and Negus’ attacker was called Boyd.

  ‘You!’ he said to Tyrell. ‘You ain’t wearing any cuffs. Check out the van!’

  Tyrell nodded, understanding that he had no choice but to obey. Reluctantly he stepped back into the gloom, being careful not to tread on anyone. Several bodies lay unconscious, all of them adult and male. Two women, barely older than him, huddled in the far right corner, whimpering. Tyrell approached and crouched, telling them to follow him. One of them looked up into his eyes and shook her head.

  ‘Scared,’ she replied softly. ‘Don’t want to go out there.’

  Tyrell put a hand on her arm. She was thin, her face gaunt and her breath rancid. The skin around her mouth was flaky, and her lips were so dry that they’d cracked and bled in two places. Greasy strands of blonde hair hung from her head.

  ‘If you don’t do what they say,’ he said in a soothing voice, ‘they’ll kill you.’

  ‘No!’ she whined. ‘Don’t want to die.’

  Her friend was in a similar state but larger and dark-skinned, with short black hair. Her eyes remained closed and Tyrell noticed a deep gash in her side, oozing blood. Neither woman was much older than him and he began to grow angry. He wanted to fight but knew that it would be suicidal. Instead, he decided to protect them as best he could.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked the first girl.

  ‘Jodie . . .’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to let them hurt you, Jodie, I promise. Just come with me . . .’

  ‘But I can’t leave Saira,’ she replied, stroking the second woman’s face. ‘She’s been stabbed.’

  Tyrell remembered what Negus had said and wallowed. ‘You have to,’ he explained. ‘Please, Jodie. If you don’t come now they’ll kill both of you.’

  The woman shook her head, pushing Tyrell’s arm away. ‘No!’ she insisted, raising her voice.

  Tyrell heard one of the soldiers enter the van behind him, and he fought back the urge to react.

  ‘Get out!’ the one called Boyd ordered, pulling a gun from the holster attached to his belt.

  Tyrell took hold of Jodie and stood, lifting her easily and ignoring her struggles to escape. He turned and edged towards the doors before jumping to the ground. He held Jodie close, covering her ears with his large hands. Two shots rang out from inside the van.

  ‘Get those unconscious rats out of here and burn the dead,’ he heard Boyd say. ‘I’ll take the res
t to the holding pens.’

  Tyrell felt a tear run down his face as rage built inside his massive frame. He placed his mouth against Jodie’s head and whispered, ‘Dead man. He’s a dead man . . .’

  Twenty minutes later, Tyrell, Negus and Jodie stood amongst a handful of other captives, naked and shivering, having been hosed down with cold water. The others numbered ten – seven adult men, two women and a young teenage girl, no more than fourteen. One of the older women shielded the youngster with her body, forgoing her own dignity to protect the teen. They were in a wooden enclosure about six metres by four, with five soldiers leering in, laughing at their discomfort. The cage was fenced with thick barbed wire, like a giant chicken coop.

  ‘Can we keep the little one?’ he heard one of the soldiers ask. The raucous laughter that followed made Tyrell feel sick.

  ‘Prefer the fat ones myself,’ said another. ‘They squeal more.’

  Tyrell told the women to ignore them, and one of the captive men, an older guy with grey chest hair and wrinkled skin, chastised him.

  ‘Shut up!’ he spat. ‘You want them to kill all of us?’

  Tyrell eyed his accuser, ready to knock him down, but Negus stopped him. ‘He’s right,’ he whispered. ‘Just let it go.’

  Moments later, Boyd appeared with two civilians, both dressed in white lab coats. ‘The medics will check you over individually,’ the soldier told them. ‘If anyone acts up, I’ll kill you, understand?’ When no one replied, Boyd sneered. ‘Thought so,’ he said.

  Tyrell looked at Negus, wondering what their examinations would yield. Hadn’t his new companion explained the set-up already? The weak were killed and the rest went to the Hunt. There was no need for any more assessments.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Negus whispered, second-guessing Tyrell. ‘They’ve never done this before.’

  ‘When do we escape?’ Tyrell asked, already checking his surroundings for a means of breaking free. If Negus didn’t come through, he wanted to be ready with a plan of his own.

  ‘Later,’ Negus said from the corner of his mouth. ‘We’ll talk later.’

  The gate to the pen was thrown open and a skinny soldier not much older than Tyrell ordered one of the men out at gunpoint. Instinctively Tyrell sought out Jodie’s hand, but she refused his show of support, pushing his arm away.

  ‘It’ll be over in ten minutes,’ said one of the doctors, a balding man wearing large spectacles. ‘Try to remain calm and nothing will happen to you.’

  Tyrell closed his eyes and waited, wishing that Mace and Jonah were at his side.

  Afterwards, when the captives had been assessed, clothed and given a place to sleep, Dr Rogers turned on his computer and tapped into the Net. His colleague, a student called Kira Hamley, had retired for the night, leaving Rogers free to contact their boss. The young woman was unaware of every aspect of their work, and Rogers preferred it that way. Hamley, although a promising student, was naïve and a little too emotional. Her liberal attitudes towards the Unwanted ensured that her clearance level stayed minimal.

  The screen in front of him in his makeshift office turned sky blue. He waited for the desktop to appear before signing in. His employer’s face appeared almost instantly via the in-built camera.

  ‘Anything of note, Dr Rogers?’ asked Senator Wise, his honey-coloured eyes sparkling.

  ‘There’s one,’ Dr Rogers informed him. ‘A black male – big and strong and free of disease. I’m amazed that he’s ended up out here. I suggest we re-evaluate our sorting process at the breeding centres.’

  ‘How old is he?’ asked the senator.

  ‘Seventeen, maybe a year younger?’

  ‘Then perhaps he was born out there, before the War,’ Wise suggested. ‘I don’t pay you to suggest changes to our fine system, Doctor. I pay you to do your own job.’

  Dr Rogers looked away, cursing silently. ‘Just waiting on the blood test results for final confirmation of health,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘Excellent. If all is well, I want this specimen fast-tracked to my institute. Tell Boyd to handle it.’

  ‘Yes, Senator.’

  ‘And what of the delectable Miss Hamley?’ Wise added, a smile creeping across his face.

  ‘Her work is excellent,’ Rogers admitted. ‘However, she is prone to sentimentalism when it comes to the Unwanted. She thinks that they deserve better treatment.’

  The senator’s weary sigh sounded loud, even through the computer’s small onboard speakers. ‘It’s nothing more than a trend,’ he told Rogers. ‘The younger generation looking for a cause to fight for. It happened in our time too, Rogers.’

  ‘Yes, but the War was supposed to end all of that nonsense,’ Rogers reminded him.

  ‘And it did,’ Senator Wise replied. ‘What we have now is a few liberals wringing their hands. Five minutes in the wastelands and they’d be backing extermination. Let them have their whims, I say. The illusion of free speech keeps them happy.’

  Rogers shrugged and flicked a beetle from the worktop on which his computer sat. ‘And if they get too vocal?’ he asked.

  ‘Then we throw them out of the citadels,’ Wise replied. ‘As I intimated – there is no cause for concern.’

  Dr Rogers nodded and asked the one question he always asked. ‘How long before I can get back to civilization, sir?’

  Senator Wise seemed momentarily distracted by something off-camera. Rogers watched him press the mute button and bark some orders. When he returned to the conversation, he seemed highly annoyed.

  Rogers repeated his question.

  ‘When I tell you!’ the senator snapped.

  ‘You’ve been promising me a return for months now!’ Rogers retaliated in an agitated tone.

  ‘I could leave you out there,’ Senator Wise warned.

  Dr Rogers shuddered at the thought, but failed to be moved by the senator’s threats. He was a highly respected member of society in his own right. Wise would never dare to turn on him – not really.

  ‘We’ll talk about this next time,’ Rogers said in defiance. ‘I’m not some bimbo intern you can boss around, Senator. With all due respect, of course.’

  Wise dismissed him with a wave of the hand. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he relented. ‘Just get me results!’

  ‘That’s precisely what I’m doing, sir.’

  ‘And send the bimbo back with your specimen, if he checks out.’

  ‘You want Kira to return?’

  ‘Isn’t that what I just said?’ asked Wise. ‘Let me know the final outcome as soon as it is confirmed,’ he added.

  ‘That might be anytime, sir. It is very late. What if you’re sleeping?’

  The senator chuckled. ‘I don’t sleep, Rogers,’ he replied. ‘You should know that.’

  As the screen went blank, Rogers swore out loud. ‘You might not sleep,’ he imagined telling Wise, ‘but I bloody well do, you shrunken little shyster!’

  32

  MARTHA AWOKE WITH a start, nightmares fading into her subconscious. She was in one of the many spare rooms at the hotel. Faith and Prior were asleep on the floor, lying on blankets. They’d returned from the Haven three hours earlier, just as dawn broke over Fire City. Normally the women slept in their own room, but Prior had insisted on staying with them, worried about further repercussions. Neither woman had complained.

  Martha left her makeshift bed and crept softly into the washroom. Once there, she stripped and used a cloth to wash herself with cold water. A cracked and stained mirror hung on one wall, throwing her reflection back at her. She avoided it and continued cleaning herself, wondering how long it would take Jonah and the others to return. Unwilling to face the bloodbath without Mace and Tyrell, she hoped it would be in time for the next Hunt. Jonah’s plan worried her too, particularly when she’d realized that leaving would mean abandoning those who stayed to their fate. It felt wrong, yet she understood why such a move was their only option.

  Once she was done in the bathroom, she dressed and made her
way down to the bar. A couple of customers slept in a corner, having passed out at closing time. Prior had wanted to throw them out but Faith had told him to leave them alone; they were harmless enough and it wasn’t the first time it had happened. The tables were a mess so Martha set about tidying up, clearing away glasses and wiping down. Faith joined her after a while, her face drawn and lined.

  ‘Prior sounds bad,’ Martha said to her as she fixed a pot of the brown dust that passed for coffee.

  ‘I know,’ Faith replied with a look of sadness. ‘He’s not going to last much longer.’

  ‘He’s better off here then,’ Martha told her. ‘He can’t sleep out there any more.’

  Although their lodgings were far from luxurious, the hotel still afforded a lifestyle of plenty compared to the slums on the edges of the city. That was where the majority of the population survived, without even basic amenities, living off scraps. Until a few weeks earlier, Prior had been out there too, unwilling to leave the shack he’d called home for over a decade. It had taken stern words from May to make him see sense.

  ‘You OK?’ she heard Faith ask.

  ‘Yeah,’ she replied. ‘Just thinking about this plan.’

  Faith jumped up and sat on the bar, crossing her legs and pushing her blonde hair back. The coffee maker slurped away on the worktop opposite her.

  ‘Sounds crazy to me too,’ she admitted. ‘I just don’t see how it’s going to work.’

  ‘I can’t see most of the people coming with us anyway,’ Martha commented.

  ‘Prior said the same thing,’ Faith told her.

  ‘Jonah must have it worked out,’ Martha thought aloud.

  ‘Let’s hope so, Martha,’ Faith replied. ‘He’s an odd one, isn’t he?’

  Martha nodded. ‘I can’t work him out,’ she said. ‘There’s something about him that . . .’

  ‘Smells wrong?’ offered Faith.

  ‘Yeah, but not literally . . .’

  Faith smiled. ‘From what I’ve sensed, he smells rather enticing,’ she said, her expression mischievous.