My job is to get them there alive, not to be their friend, Virgil told himself again. He knew the boy was irritated, as teenagers so often are when told constantly what to do, and Virgil would have preferred to be able to instruct him in his tasks more kindly. But he had neither the time nor the energy. Preparing for tomorrow’s journey, and keeping his charges safe, was as much as he could manage.
ROSE, autumn, 62 A. Z.
ROSE’S LONG PERIOD of confusion had left her weak. Her legs were wobbly and her arms felt heavy as she descended the rope ladder with the sack of supplies tied to her back. She focused on each frayed rung, letting her foot find it and get settled, and only then shifting her weight down. Not much farther to go, she urged herself, step by careful step. Once she got to the hang-out, she planned to drop her supplies, rest, and then make her way to the City’s prison. She didn’t know exactly where in the building Elliot was being held, but if she hid in the shadows and listened to the guards, perhaps she might get an idea from them. It seemed a long shot, but she had to try. Elliot would do the same for her.
She was exhausted and shaking by the time she reached the dusty hang-out. She looked around at the brightly coloured paintings of an imagined garden that she and Oscar had once worked on as decoration, and burst into tears. If only she were still the person who had painted such joyful images. She hadn’t known then what sadness life would bring her.
One of the paintings was a portrait of Rose that Oscar had done. She was smiling, and her blonde hair merged with the greens of the garden around her. She wore a pink ballgown, which flowed to the ground and blended with the grass and tulips. Tethered to a bracelet on her wrist perched a strange bird decorated with jewels. She’d not looked at it closely before. What had Oscar meant by adding the bird?
Rose sat down and a shiver went through her. She was bone tired, but knew she needed to press on. Tears trickled down her cheeks and onto her chin. She stared at the paintings, searching for meaning, for encouragement in the task ahead.
I want to be happy again, Rose thought. So, I’m going to do this.
And with that she stood up and headed for the ladder.
XAVIER, autumn, 62 A. Z.
MR DING LAY motionless on the blanket. Xavier looked at his frail body and couldn’t imagine how his old teacher was going to get himself out of his travelling clothes or even wash his face. Xavier paced from one end of the shack to the other, uncertain how to proceed without offending him. Then he made a decision.
‘Mr Ding, I think I should help you get changed.’
‘Unfortunately, I think you are right, my friend,’ Mr Ding said, with his eyes still closed.
It was as easy as that. Xavier tried to remember how his mother behaved with her patients, remaining clinical and slightly detached, but respectful and careful too. He peeled the sweaty clothing from Mr Ding’s delicate skin, and tried not to look shocked at how frail the old man’s body was.
As if sensing his unease, Mr Ding opened his eyes and said, ‘You know I wasn’t always old.’
Xavier laughed, and continued with his task, helping the old man wash and dry himself, and change into a pair of pyjamas.
Mr Ding sat wrapped in a blanket and motioned Xavier to sit down beside him.
‘Virgil will be done with the horses soon and is probably getting hungry,’ Xavier said. He wanted the Gunslinger to like him, and if he came into the shack and found Xavier just sitting … well, that would just make Virgil’s opinion of him drop even further.
‘Come,’ Mr Ding directed. ‘This is more important.’
Xavier paused. The old scientist wasn’t usually so forceful. Nothing ever seemed to worry him or cause him to speak with much urgency. Xavier decided not to argue. He would do as his teacher asked, and if Virgil judged him lazy, so be it.
‘I am old, Xavier,’ Mr Ding stated, his tone matter-of-fact. It was not a complaint. ‘And that is the result of being blessed with a long life. But I will die eventually.’
‘Mr Ding, you’re in good shape. I know today was rough, but you’re—’
Mr Ding motioned with his hands as if to swat away Xavier’s words. ‘Like it or not, this is the way it is. Actually, I don’t mind death. I just worry about the mess I will leave behind — a helpless humanity left in a new dark age. My work here isn’t finished.’
Mr Ding’s eyes clouded with emotion. ‘This world was once quite advanced, as I’ve taught you. Obviously the one we have today isn’t able to support our previous sophistication. But there are still many useful and easily re-created technologies that could be constructed with the resources available in our colonies.’
He paused then, but stared at Xavier with an intensity that made the boy uncomfortable. Xavier looked at his hands.
‘So what do you want me to do, sir?’ he asked.
‘I want you to save the world, Xavier,’ he whispered.
Xavier looked at the old man to see if he was joking, but the look on his face made it clear he was not. Save the world. Xavier had seen enough in his fourteen years of life to know that was impossible. Yet Mr Ding’s words seemed imbued with a strange wisdom. And Xavier understood that the old man knew things that others didn’t, and his dreams were bigger than other people’s.
‘How? What can I do?’
Mr Ding smiled. ‘By continuing to learn, Xavier. And by preventing the people of this world from forgetting what is possible, and what once existed. Would you be my apprentice?’
Xavier’s heart beat loudly in his chest. He felt something happening, a small fire burning inside. Pride and honour flooded through him. He, Xavier Santos, was being entrusted to carry on Mr Ding’s life mission. Something else felt different to Xavier in that moment. He didn’t understand it, but it was the feeling of his childhood ending. He had been ready to do something useful, important. And here it was.
Xavier nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’
Mr Ding relaxed back against the wall and closed his eyes. He was quiet for a moment, and Xavier began to wonder if the old teacher had fallen asleep. But then his eyes snapped open.
‘Xavier the scientist,’ he said. ‘When we return to the Tree Sanctuary, we will begin going through my memoirs. I have catalogued and described much of my work within them. They are a diary of my journey and will serve as the beginning of your new path. Come, I will tell you about how they started—’
Xavier was so absorbed by the old man’s instructions and plans for him that he forgot about making dinner and was only distracted from it by a knock at the door.
‘Come in. Come in,’ Mr Ding called.
As Virgil entered, he tipped his head to Xavier with a subtle smile on his face. He must have been standing outside, unwilling to interrupt the conversation. Xavier felt another wave of pride come over him. The Gunslinger was congratulating Xavier, in his own quiet way.
Xavier got up then to help Virgil prepare the evening meal, light a fire in the old iron stove and boil water for their tea. His thoughts were racing and his chest burned with excitement. Apprentice to Mr Ding. That meant he would become a real scientist. He would solve problems and help the community. He would have a purpose. Xavier could see the road in front of him, and he was ready to go.
KATIE, autumn, 62 A. Z.
THE FIRST TIME I heard the voice in my head, I nearly fell off my motor scooter.
‘Come, eat.’
It was as clear as if someone was right next to me, speaking into my ear. Only no one was there.
It had started as just a whisper, but as I neared the City it grew louder. What was it? If I was going to go crazy, surely I’d have done it already — after all, I’d been more or less on my own for the last sixty years. It didn’t seem fair that it should happen when I had finally found the company of others and was needed. Maybe it was the stress of recent events. I didn’t know, but it was creepy and embarrassing to have my mind playing tricks on me.
But my new craziness wasn’t the worst of my problems.
Faced w
ith the most important mission of my life, I still didn’t have a clear plan for how to save Elliot and the Blue. And this deficiency was really starting to scare me. I had abandoned chasing the Gunslingers. It became apparent that they were too attuned to the ways of the desert not to be alerted to the sound of a motor scooter if I ventured close. I was going to have to save Elliot and the Blue in the City itself. But how? What did I have in my favour? Immunity against Zombies — yes. Longevity — yes. The knowledge gained from all my years of reading and living alone — yes. That meant I should be able to conjure up some clever scenario, something that would outsmart the humans. I just had to hope a clear plan would present itself when I got there: a flaw in security, an easy opening, a pattern in the people’s movements that would grant me an opportunity to sneak in and make a super-heroic rescue.
Now I was but a stone’s throw away, hiding on the fourth floor of an old apartment complex just outside the City. I was bored, miserable and hearing voices, and would just have to wait and bide my time.
Perhaps it was Chance, the Fates or the spinning of some unseen clock that caused everything to burst apart. Maybe it was something that had been lurking in the City’s future for a while and had finally come to pass. But there I was, with the perfect front-row seat, to witness one of the ugliest and most horrifying scenes I could have ever imagined.
XAVIER, a Monday morning, autumn, 62 A. Z.
MR DING LOOKED sick and exhausted when Xavier got him up to be dressed. The old scientist’s joints and muscles were stiff, and the papery skin on the insides of his thighs was bruised where he had clamped on to his horse’s body the day before. Xavier’s first attempt at helping him get up resulted in Mr Ding’s legs buckling, and Xavier having to lift him to keep him from hitting the ground.
Xavier looked at Virgil to see if he had noticed what poor shape the scientist was in. Virgil lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgement and then frowned briefly. Xavier thought, Now what? And even as he encouraged the old man to eat, dress and prepare himself for the journey, the sight of Mr Ding’s weakness and battered skin made him doubt they would make it to the City.
Virgil lifted Mr Ding onto Bob’s back like a child and held him steady for a moment to prevent him from toppling off. Mr Ding smiled weakly and said, ‘Getting old is a humbling experience. I thank you, Virgil.’
Virgil’s only response was a look of concern.
Once on the road, Mr Ding’s strength seemed to improve, though Xavier decided to ride as close as he could to him in case he fell.
Virgil’s face was like stone. The Gunslinger rode along with one hand gripping his horse’s reins and the other hand holding a machete. He had unsheathed his crossbow, which hung across his back, and had pulled out and loaded his handgun. It was the weapon that had given the Gunslingers their name, but was rarely used. Xavier shuddered at the thought of what Virgil was imagining they would encounter.
Growing up in the mountains, Xavier had become accustomed to seeing Corpses walking below the rope bridges and platforms. The hunting was still good for them up there: deer, pigs and all sorts of other prey. He thought he had a fair idea of what they were like, and roughly how many they could expect to find here. He was wrong. Every street in the City’s suburbs had Corpses on it, and Virgil seemed to be constantly fighting. He and his horse moved in front of Xavier and Mr Ding, clearing a path for them, cutting down so many Deads that he and his mount were soon covered in a coat of oily fluids and tissue.
The tall buildings of the City were getting nearer, and Xavier was beginning to believe they’d make it there alive, when suddenly Virgil looked back and called out, ‘Xavier, watch the rear! Get the horses ready to move!’
Xavier felt his heart skip and a strange taste rise in his mouth. He looked behind him as Virgil had asked, and didn’t see anything. But every fibre in his body was alert to the danger waiting for them, every muscle was ready to spring.
He heard a groan.
Virgil looked back again at Xavier. His icy blue eyes said one thing: kill.
And then Xavier saw it. A Variant had bounded out onto the road from behind a wall that might have once enclosed a garden. It faced them in a low crouch, ready to spring. It had the grey complexion common to most of the Infected, but the rest of it was very different. Instead of hanging flesh, it had ropes of muscle, and rather than moving mindlessly, the creature cocked its head, thinking. Xavier felt a wave of nausea. He swallowed it back down and gripped his mace to try to stop the sensation of numbness in his hands. The Variant was sizing them up, deciding how to hunt them and who to target first.
It headed straight for Mr Ding.
Virgil spun his horse to try to fire off his crossbow, but the monster was too fast. His arrow flew past the Variant a second too late. Without thinking, Xavier turned his horse to run at Mr Ding and try to intercept the attack. They had been riding so closely, practically shoulder to shoulder, that Xavier found himself in front of him, weapon in hand, ready to take the full force of the Variant.
And it came.
The next moments went by in a blur. Xavier met the creature with the full swing of his weapon. Its spiked end smashed into the creature’s throat, sending out a spray of dark fluid. The Variant squealed and lunged at them again. Xavier threw himself forward at the monster, whose mouth snapped so close to Xavier’s cheek, he could feel the heat of its putrid breath.
Then they were falling.
The creature’s momentum had pulled him off his horse and thrown both of them through the air. Xavier saw the blue of the sky and a quick flash of his legs as he and the Variant toppled. Vaguely, he heard the panic of his horse’s scramble to get away, but it didn’t concern him. Only one thing mattered: fight.
They hit the earth and rolled, but the Variant stayed firmly latched on to Xavier, gripping his clothing, trying to find an angle to get its teeth in. Xavier grabbed the monster’s throat and locked his elbow, creating a solid brace to keep its face away. The Variant thrashed and threw its weight to the side, trying to break his block. Xavier could feel its strong bony hands trying to work their way to his flesh, even as they flailed along the ground. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep it off him — the creature’s strength was immense. Then he felt a slight stabbing sensation in his shoulder. The Variant went limp and sagged in his arms. Xavier pushed it off with a final burst of energy and disgust. The putrid being fell to the ground, and Xavier saw the arrow that had pierced the base of the Variant’s skull.
Virgil was next to him in an instant, pulling him up onto his horse and shouting, ‘Get up! Now! We’ve got to get out of here, fast. Hang on!’
Then the two of them were spinning and galloping.
‘Ding?’ Xavier asked, gasping deeply and trying to catch his breath.
‘His horse bolted. We’re going the way it ran. I just hope he’s still on it.’ The doubt in Virgil’s voice was obvious.
Xavier had never felt a horse move so fast. The buildings went by in a blur of faded colours. He checked behind them every once in a while, but the speed they were travelling seemed to make them immune to danger. That is, until he saw three grey shapes come out from a side street and beeline towards them like wolves.
‘Watch out, there are three fast ones trying to catch up with us,’ he warned.
‘Yeah okay,’ Virgil called back. And somehow he seemed to urge his horse on even more quickly.
There was no more turning and fighting. They were running for their lives, and Xavier felt there was no way they could find Mr Ding alive.
The further Virgil’s horse ventured, the more desolate streets and gangs of Corpses they passed, the more Xavier’s doubts grew. At last he dared ask Virgil the question.
‘Mr Ding? And Bob? Do you think we’ll catch up to them?’
Virgil shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’
Xavier felt his heart drop. How could they abandon the old man? But then, he knew they couldn’t really look for him. Not with the Variants pursuing them and
the two of them sharing one exhausted horse.
‘How far to the City?’ Xavier called.
Virgil’s voice was strained. ‘Close enough to save us, I think.’
The horse’s sides heaved for air and the white foam of its sweat covered its chest. The Variants continued their pursuit. It’s like they know our luck is going to run out or that we’ll get tired, Xavier thought. He hadn’t realised that Corpses could do so much thinking.
The buildings around them were higher now, rising multiple storeys, and more of the ground beneath them was covered with concrete, cracked and pitted with age and wear. Virgil’s horse ran straight through a group of Deads, but they were too slow-moving to attack. Xavier felt oddly grateful — it was the Variants he dreaded most.
‘Our safe-house is coming up,’ Virgil called. ‘When I say, you jump off and roll the gate as fast as you can. Okay?’
‘Got it,’ Xavier answered, and he felt his nerves surge with electricity. It was going to be close. The Variants would be on them in seconds once Virgil’s horse stopped moving.
They turned one last corner and Virgil glanced quickly over his shoulder to see where their attackers were. ‘Get ready!’
The horse galloped up to the base of a tall building and skidded to a stop. Xavier leaped from the saddle, and Virgil spun the animal to face the Variants. As Xavier yanked at the rolling bars of the gate, he could hear Virgil’s crossbow firing arrows at the attackers. Xavier growled with the force of his effort to get the gate moving in its track. He threw himself backwards to give it momentum. Nothing. Again he yanked, and, at last, it started to move. Sweat dripped down his forehead and into his eyes, but he didn’t notice.
‘Right! It’s open!’
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