The Fire and the Free City

by Eric Wood

  “After she tells us about the drive,” Abigail said.

  “Once you have that drive, what’s to stop you from trying to, I don’t know, drink my blood, demon?”

  “No one is going to drink your filthy blood, idiot.”

  “Hey, hey, let’s everyone relax. Rend is—it’s Rend, correct?” Sam asked. Rend nodded courteously and Sam continued. “Rend is right. For better or worse, we’re stuck together for the time being. There’s no reason we can’t be friendly . . . well, let’s say at least polite with each other.”

  “Very wise,” Rend said.

  “Shut up,” Roach and Abigail said together. They exchanged scowls.

  He sighed. “My name is Sam, and this is Abigail,” Sam said. He nodded to each of them. “Rend, Roach; it is very nice to formally meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Rend said. Roach only groaned.

  “Abigail and I came here following Roach. Roach’s former boss, Deacon, took a data drive from my friend a few weeks ago. My friend died for that drive, and we need to get it back.”

  “What is on this data drive?” Rend asked. “It must be quite important. Also, what is a data drive?”

  “It’s, um, well it’s definitely important,” Sam said.

  Roach scoffed. “What he means is he doesn’t know what is on his precious drive,” she said. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He never has.”

  “And why did you run off with it then?” Abigail asked, taunting. “You obviously knew it was important enough to scurry off with.”

  As much as it frustrated Roach to stay silent, she didn’t know how to respond to that, because she wasn’t entirely sure why she had taken the damned thing. Certainly, her life would have been easier if she had left it. She wouldn’t be in the same room as a pissed off Reaper, for one.

  “I know it was important enough for my people to send us out for it,” Sam said. “And I know my friend — Vincente was his name, thought it was important enough to die for.” He sighed, rubbing his chin in his hands. “Look, even if it wasn’t important before, it might be important now. Assuming Marcus is right, that drive might be enough to convince the Colonies to help this city.”

  “So now we’re not only recovering a data drive for a Colony that wants you dead, we’re really going to try a save a city that is holding us prisoner? Or have you forgotten that Roosevelt and Ki only agreed to let us come here because they can keep an eye on us? And that they’ll probably both be in line to put bullets in our heads the second we can no longer help them.”

  “As much as I hate to agree with the vampire,” Roach said. “Why should the Howler and I care what happens to this dump? So far it hasn’t been the friendliest place to us up to this point.”

  “I know Roosevelt mistreated you,” Sam said. “But there are a lot more people here than just Roosevelt. They don’t deserve to die for his crimes. We can save these people. Or at least we can try.”

  Roach shook her head in contempt.

  “She’s probably excited for Deacon to get here,” Abigail said. “She’s probably eager to sneak away and rejoin him.”

  Roach stood up, seeing red. “Screw Deacon, and screw you. You don’t know anything about me, or anything about how I think,” she roared. “As far as I’m concerned, you and Deacon can both screw off to hell together.” She forced herself to calm down, taking slow, deep breaths. She sat back down, her cheeks burning, feeling foolish. To make matters worse, the damned Reaper hadn’t even moved. “Besides,” Roach added. “I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to. I’m not a Ravager anymore.”

  “I will help,” Rend said. “Though Roosevelt must be made to pay for his crimes, the city’s people are blameless. Besides, my clan have all passed into the beyond. I have nowhere else to go. I suspect none of you do either. Perhaps this is as good a place to fight for as any.”

  “Thank you, Rend,” Sam said. “What about you, Roach. We really need that drive. We also need you.”

  She clenched her jaw and looked away. She didn’t believe his words for a moment. She was certain that the second they had that drive, they would cast her aside or worse. But what other choice did she have? “Fine, I’ll stay,” she said. “I will help.”

  “This is great,” Sam said. “I’ll go down and tell Michelle and Jacinta we will be staying, and that . . . I guess that no one is killing anyone up here. We can figure out our plan first thing in the morning. How does that sound, Abigail?”

  Abigail rolled her eyes at him. “Do whatever you want, Sam. Track down your stupid drive, try to save this stupid city, do whatever you want. By tomorrow I’m sure you’ll just have some new plan, some new thing you want to do, and expect me to follow along with that too. I’m just surprised you even ask me anymore.”

  She raised her hands like she wanted to strangle someone. After a moment, she sighed and turned away, letting her arms drop back to her sides. “And now I’ve got these two to deal with. Do whatever you want, Sam. I’m going to the roof to look for the spies that are no doubt watching us as we speak. Don’t bother following me. That goes for all of you.”

  “Abigail—” Sam began.

  “All of you,” she repeated. She turned and left the apartment without another word, slamming the door behind her.

  “She seems less enthusiastic about this plan than yourself, Sam,” Rend said.

  That would make two of us, Roach thought. She needed to get out of here. Maybe she would check out the rest of the farm. See what they were keeping in that barn. She followed Abigail out the door, making sure to keep her distance. The last thing she heard before closing the door was Sam, speaking to Rend.

  “No, Rend, no she does not. Thank you for the insight.”

  And this is the one leading us, Roach thought.

  We are so screwed.

  31

  Abigail sat a few feet back from the edge of the roof and looked out toward the center of the city. A full moon high above sheathed the city in an ethereal silver. Among the almost ghostlike silhouettes of its old and new structures, neon, gas, and electric lights glimmered like a rainbow-colored menagerie of fireflies. This night reminded her of when she had sat atop the long-abandoned supermarket with Sam, back when they still barely knew one another. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  It was the third night she had spent up here, tracking the spies and watchers that were keeping an eye on them for both Ki and Roosevelt and possibly other parties. She had insisted on spending much of the nights up here alone, both because her powerful night vision could pick out even the most well-concealed watchers in near-pitch darkness. That was what she told herself, but she knew it was also because she wanted to avoid Sam.

  It had become increasingly obvious that Sam viewed himself as the decision maker in their relationship. It felt like her opinion mattered less and less every day. She hadn’t argued when he wanted to track Roach west. She had agreed when he wanted to make their way into this city. When he wanted to go along with Ki’s little heist, she had thought it a bad idea, but she had relented, and they had only barely made it through. And now, Sam wanted them to stay in this doomed city when a Ravager army was about to raze it to cinders? An army led by a resurrected Deacon and Solomon, no less. Solomon, the absolute last person in the entire world she wanted to see, the one that scared her more than anything – and even his presence wasn’t enough to make her put her foot down.

  She’d put up a fuss, sure, but she still gave in. She still agreed to Sam’s plan, even if she knew it was doomed. What had he given her in return? Little to nothing. He hadn’t once considered her point of view. Not really.

  She grabbed the bottle she’d been drinking from — water, as unfortunate as that was, given her dark mood, and hurled it into the night. After a few seconds, she heard it shatter on the brick below. She was wallowing in self-pity, she decided. Why did Sam have that effect on her? She had survived -- had thrived – out in the Wilds. She had survived the harsh training by Solomon as well as the struggle of always bei
ng apart and feared by all that knew she was a Reaper. She had Solomon’s torment, which had been mostly psychological, and it had made her tougher, hadn’t it?

  No, she thought, that was bullshit. She didn’t have to make excuses for Solomon anymore. She didn’t have to fear him either, as ridiculous as that sounded to her. They had fought twice now since she had left, and she had won both times. She could win again. She was a Reaper too, after all. If she was going to stay and fight, she would damned well win. Solomon wouldn’t frighten her anymore.

  If that wasn’t enough, now she had two more people to worry about. Two more people that would no doubt betray her, let her down, stab her in the back. Two more people that would leave her. And Sam would leave her too, eventually. Why wouldn’t he?

  She was lying to herself, telling herself that he cared. He cared about surviving, and his stupid drive, and returning to his own life. He’d stayed with her all this time because she was useful. Because she was all he had. But she wasn’t now, was she? Not anymore. It was only a matter of time before he saw that these new people weren’t as closed off as her, or as cold as her – they weren’t as Reaper as her. Wouldn’t it be easier, she wondered, to just leave now? Leave them—leave him—before they could leave her. People couldn’t be trusted.

  She sighed and reached for another bottle of water. Am I just feeling sorry for myself? Or am I just seeing things clearly for the first time since all of this started?

  “I thought you said we wouldn’t have to help out around here,” Roach said.

  The three of them — Roach, Rend, and Sam, as Abigail was still sleeping after spending the night out till dawn — stood in the orange brick path separating a cauliflower patch on one side and a pen of bristly-haired pigs on the other.

  “Jacinta may have said that,” Michelle said. “She’s not here though, and I am. No one stays for free. Besides, the fresh air will do you good. As will some honest work; by the look of you three, I expect that will be quite the change of pace.”

  Sam liked Michelle. She had been remarkably friendly and accommodating of them, especially considering the odd circumstances of their arrival. She had a pleasant, semi-mocking sense of humor, and seemed to say exactly what she meant. She also seemed less frightened by the impending Ravager attack than anyone else he had met. She definitely seemed less frightened than he himself felt.

  “I admit I’ve never seen a real farm before,” Rend said. “I was more of a hunter. This all seems intriguing. I’m happy to help.”

  “Suck up,” Roach said, slapping him lightly across the chest.

  “What do we need to do?” Sam asked

  “I’ve got a full patch of cauliflower ready to be picked. It's a two-person job, assuming you want to get it done before sundown. And then the pigpen needs to be mucked out, and then the whole mess of them needs to get fed. I won’t lie to you, it's not the most glamorous of jobs, and you’re going to get dirty.”

  “If you need those pigs slaughtered, I’m happy to help,” Roach said. “Otherwise, take care of them yourself.”

  “Well, it looks like we just got a volunteer for pig duty,” Michelle said. She tossed a three-pronged rake to Roach. “Unless you want to explain to Jacinta why we need to keep a freeloader under our roof. It’s pigs now, or it’s sleeping in an alley later. Each of you is still doing less than half of what I’ve got on my plate for the day.”

  “Roach, the work will be finished before you know it,” Rend said.

  “Easy for you to say; cauliflowers don’t take dumps.”

  Sam laughed. “Good luck, Roach.” He took a sack from Michelle and headed for the cauliflower field, followed by Rend.

  Muttering curses to herself, Roach headed the opposite direction, toward the pig pen. “Starting tomorrow, you’re shoveling the dumps, wolf-boy. I’m picking the veggies,” She called back over her shoulder. Rend just smiled.

  The crops were laid out in rows, which made it easy for Sam and Rend to begin to make their way methodically from one end of the field to the other.

  Rend was still somewhat of a mystery to Sam, so he decided to take this opportunity to get to know the tall, dark haired young man a bit better. He seemed friendly enough, but Sam was unsure where to start without risking offending Rend or making him feel awkward.

  “I hope this isn’t too personal,” he began, “but I have to ask. When you said that the rest of your clan had passed away, that was a clan of Howlers, right? You are, er . . . were a Howler?”

  Rend turned toward him and smiled. “We don’t call ourselves Howlers, but yes. That was what we were.”

  “That must have been strange for you. To be changed, or whatever, like you were.”

  “What do you mean?” Rend asked.

  “Well, you know…” Sam began. Rend still had the same uncanny air of calm that carried with him everywhere. Sam, on the other hand, had the brief but burning desire to turn and run in embarrassment from this conversation. “You know. Because you’re . . . you look like a . . . an Uninfected. Not like a Howler. That’s not an offensive term, is it?”

  “It's fine, Sam. Though if you want to use our term, we call ourselves the Free. Have you seen many Howlers, Sam?”

  Sam nodded. “A few,” he said. “Though mostly only during attacks.”

  “Not entirely surprising. Most of us tend to shy away from your kind. You are far too violent. I do admit it doesn’t help our image much, though, when it's only the rogues and the ferals that you people tend to meet.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked.

  “You’ve traveled the Wilds, presumably. If you only met highwayman and slavers, as many of the Wild’s Uninfected tend to be, wouldn’t you assume all Uninfected were bloodthirsty monsters?”

  Sam thought about that. It made a lot of sense, even if it went against everything he had been taught. Of course, just because he had been taught something didn’t make it true. It was becoming more and more evident that the Colonies lied about a lot of things. And Rend’s transformation, if it had happened only a few days ago, might have made him more human, but it wouldn’t have taught him to speak English as well as he did; that alone put the lie to the idea that Howlers were little more than beasts. It still didn’t explain his appearance.

  Rend laughed. “I can see the wheels turning in your noggin, Sam. Where are my big teeth and big scary claws? How come I look as much like the kindly grandmother as I do the big, bad wolf? Think about it for a second, and I bet you’ll get it.”

  What was different with his interaction with Rend now and the Howlers he had come across in the past? “You — the Free — don’t always look the same, do you? It's like a cat, with retractable claws. You go all werewolf when you have to fight, or hunt, right?”

  “Well, I can’t speak to what a werewolf is, but—”

  “You knew about Little Red Riding Hood.”

  “I think that was just a wolf. In any case, yes. We have two forms. Though I am far more like you now than I had been before I encountered Roach. Before I . . . bit Roach. If you saw a normal Free person, you wouldn’t mistake them for an Uninfected. But neither would you see an animal, unless you are particularly bigoted.”

  Sam nodded. “Huh. That’s surprising. Not a lot of people know that about Howlers, you know. About the Free. You’re not going to get in trouble for telling me that, are you?”

  Rend sighed. “There’s no one left for me to get in trouble with, even if it was somehow forbidden. The sorry fact is, Sam, that at this moment I know you as well as I do any other living soul, anymore.”

  Sam nodded, not quite knowing what to say to that. Finally, he said the only thing that didn’t seem wrong to him. “Well, it’s good to know you, Rend.”

  Rend nodded to him in acknowledgment, and they continued to pick cauliflower in silence.

  Sam couldn’t sleep.

  Abigail was up on the roof, again, and Rend was snoring loudly on the other side of the room. Roach was out in the barn, either asleep herself or
doing whatever it was former Ravagers did in the middle of the night. He didn’t want to hazard what that might be. He tried everything he could think of to just fall asleep, but nothing seemed to work. All that he could think was that he wasn’t doing enough. He wasn’t thinking far enough ahead, wasn’t anticipating what new problem they would face next.

  He heard the faint murmur of voices below, and he decided that as long as he was awake, he might as well go and speak with Jacinta, now that she had evidently returned from her tavern. He still hadn’t quite gotten a feel for their hosts, and no doubt they would say the same about him.

  The stairs creaked under foot as he descended, and the voices ceased. He emerged into the farmhouse living room and was greeted with a raised eyebrow from Michelle and a steely look from Jacinta. He suddenly felt extremely awkward, and he tried to come up with something witty to say.

  “I just wanted to, um, say thanks for letting us stay, and for speaking for us with the two bosses,” he stammered out.

  Smooth as always, Sammie, Vincente’s voice chimed in, unhelpfully.

  Both women stared at him for a few awkward moments before one of them finally spoke.

  “Well, better you four here out of the public eye, rather than Ki and Roosevelt thrashing back and forth over you in the public square,” Jacinta said. “People are scared enough, as it is. Word’s gotten ‘round about that Ravager force heading our way. They need to at least be able to pretend that their leaders have some sort of plan to deal with the trouble that’s coming.”

  “Even if most of them know that Ki and Roosevelt would just as soon fight one another,” Michelle added. “Knowing and seeing it are still two different things.”

  “And do they?” Sam asked. “Have any sort of plan, that is?”

  Jacinta and Michelle both laughed.

  “They’ve got the same plan they’ve had the last dozen times some bandit army or pop-up warlord tried knocking at the gate,” Jacinta said. “They’ll each marshal what gunslingers and knifers they have, scare about twice as many conscripts from the common folk, and put most of them on the walls.”