by D. S. Murphy
I froze when Frank held up his hand for us to stop, his gun poised. I raised my bow quickly; I’d whittled a few rough arrows over lunch but I was pretty sure they wouldn’t fly straight. Dark smoke drifted between the trees, revealing a ring of blackened soil. That fire was hot. Someone had been here, and recently.
We crept into the campsite, but besides the still-warm coals, there was nothing but a torn open backpack and some pieces of fabric.
“Over here,” Beatrice said stiffly. She was looking down at what looked like the carcass of some animal. Then I saw the shreds of clothing, and realized it was human.
“Damn,” Camina said, kicking at the scraps of a bloody boot.
“Slawpaw, probably,” Frank said, pointing at the large claw marks torn out of a tree nearby. “Must have been hungry. This guy’s been picked clean.”
My stomach went queasy, and I turned away. But it was foolish to linger in the open. We moved silently, more on edge than before. If a slagpaw attacked us now, we wouldn’t have been able to put up much of a fight. Jazmine and Camina had the most training, and maybe with a few drops of elixir we’d stand a chance. In the arena, Jessica and I had barely managed to kill one of them, and we were both pretty hyped up already.
“If we see one in the wild,” Trevor said quietly, leaning in close, “you run. I’ve seen men unload whole clips of bullets into them and they just shrug it off. What happened with me in the arena, it was a fluke. Even if they all used to be humans, they aren’t anymore. Hesitate, and they will kill you.”
I kept my eyes on the woods, my pulse beating with every flicker of movement as ash fell into my peripheral vision. I jumped each time a branch snapped behind me. With my eyes fixed on our surroundings, I didn’t even see abandoned city looming above us until we were at the edge of the trees.
I’d never seen it this close. Climbing towers of steel and concrete, impossibly high, their broken, jagged tops disappearing into the swirling gray ashfall. Unlike the citadel of lights, these buildings were dark, nearly black against the lighter sky. The wide street leading into the ruins was cracked, with dry grass and weeds poking up through the cracks, and rusted cars and vehicles strewn around haphazardly. I shuddered as we passed a truck on its side, with a skeletal hand reaching out for help.
Rusted signs, covered with graffiti, watched us sneak closer into the city with our weapons raised. Our footsteps echoed off the flat surfaces, announcing our arrival.
The strongest shall survive, someone had written in dripping spray paint on the side of a crumbling wall. It was the opposite of what I’d been raised to believe; that the two races could only exist together, symbiotic species that depended on each other for survival.
The dark windows were mostly shattered on the ground level, but shards of glass caught our distorted reflections. Trees pushed up through the concrete, lifting cars into the air, and long hanging vines choked the traffic lights and telephone poles.
Directly in front of us, a gaping sinkhole tore up the street, exposing broken pipes and some kind of metal tracks far below.
“Shit,” Frank said. “I’ve never come in from this side before.
“I know the way,” Luke said. “Follow me.”
He led around the corner into an alley, up a flight of stairs, then through a bashed-in door. We emerged into a spacious auditorium with hundreds of red velvet chairs and a large white screen. Someone had shredded the bottom half with a knife, probably for the material. Many of the cushions had been ripped off the seats as well, and a black spot on the floor let me know this place was used as a campsite at least occasionally.
I paused near the exit. Faded pictures of people had been pinned to the wall, along with handwritten messages.
Have you seen my daughter?
Sam, I’ve gone with Dad to the place we talked about. Hope to see you there soon.
I ran my fingers over another, scratched into the wood with a nail, that sent a tingle down my spine.
Listen to them, the children of the night.
The floor was tilted uncomfortably as Luke lead us down a twisted hallway, out towards some kind of glass and metal bridge connecting two buildings. Planks of wood stretched between the foundation beams.
“That can’t be safe,” I said, eyeing the street level far below. We must have climbed several floors while cutting through the buildings.
“It’s fine,” Luke said, stepping through it quickly. He even paused to bounce a bit on a beam, before continuing to the other side.
I’d just stepped off the planks into some kind of office building when I heard a scream and the sound of broken glass behind me. Beatrice was hanging from her fingers, at least a dozen feet from the bridge, where one of the boards had shifted and was now wedged precariously against a pane of glass. It cracked as I watched, and splinters forked across its surface like lightning.
“Hang on!” I shouted. I reached into my pocket, popping the cork with my thumb, and downed the rest of the elixir. It wasn’t much, but it had to be enough. It ignited with the adrenaline in my system, filling me with a rush of energy. I slid across the floor towards the open window of the building, then flung myself out into the air just as the glass broke. I grabbed one end of the makeshift bridge and Beatrice’s wrist, gritting my teeth as she fell. But my grip held.
The bridge groaned under our combined weight, shuddering lower.
“Stay back,” I yelled as Trevor inched his way out towards us.
“What do you want me to do?” Trevor asked, his eyes wide.
I tried not to look below me. We were on the third floor, but the jagged maw of the sinkhole opened up below us, and there was nothing to break my fall.
Beatrice didn’t have any elixir, and even if she was strong enough to climb her way over me, I wasn’t sure if the bridge would hold that long.
“The window,” I said, jerking my chin towards the flat sheet of glass of the floor below us. The building was at least twenty feet away, but it was our best shot.
Luke pulled out his pistol and fired three rounds, shattering the glass to create an opening.
“Ready?” I asked, looking down at Beatrice. Her eyes were full of fear, but determined. I swung her back and forth twice, building momentum, before flinging her into the ledge of the next floor. She tumbled to a stop, rolling over the broken glass, but then stood and brushed herself off.
My turn. I tightened my grip, swinging gently. I had to cover more distance, with less leverage. On my second swing, the bridge snapped. I felt the instant gravity took hold. But I was faster. I scrambled up the falling bridge like a ladder, pushing off one end and throwing myself forward. I managed to catch the lip of the window, pulling myself up into the opening. The glass shards bit into my skin, but I hardly felt it.
“We made it,” I panted, turning around. I gave Beatrice a hand up, after wiping my bloody hands against my dark skirt.
My smile faltered when I noticed we weren’t alone. At least six large, bearded men, with homemade masks and weapons, were hiding in the shadows behind the overturned furniture. My elixir-fueled vision picked them out of the darkness easily.
“Elite!” one of them shouted.
I heard a gun fire a round.
I barely had time to shove Beatrice out of the way before the bullet pierced my shoulder.
3
“Hold your fire!” A voice barked a command. Someone made his way towards me, his palms raised. I looked up into pair of familiar eyes, happy to see me.
Curate Marcus. In nondescript gray clothes, with a long black coat, fingerless gloves and a dark stocking cap. He was alive.
I couldn’t believe it at first, then threw myself at him. He flinched, but returned my hug. I was as surprised as he was by the display of affection – we’d never exactly been close, but I was so happy I hadn’t accidentally killed him, the relief spilled through me.
“Her eyes,” said one of the men behind him with a shrug. “They’re all f
ucked up. And she moves like they do.”
“Is that an apology?” I said, poking a finger at the hole in my shoulder and wincing in pain.
“It’s an explanation,” he said. “Not that I owe you one.” He was older, in his forties, but muscled and nearly as big as Trevor. A scar cut through his bottom lip.
There was a scuffle behind him as the others found their way into the room. Frank and Luke entered first, nodding to the other men, who lowered their weapons.
Trevor scowled when he saw my injured shoulder, but I grabbed his arm before he could get us into any more trouble. Frank’s eyes softened when he saw that Beatrice was alright, then turned towards curate Marcus.
“How are you here?” he asked. “The girl told us you were in the arena, at the trials.”
“Let’s talk about that inside,” Marcus said, looking up towards the dark gray skies. “The bullets will attract attention. We should get off the streets before it gets dark. That’s when the prowlers are most active.”
He flashed a shard of mirror at the edge of the balcony, and I saw specks of light winking in response from hidden snipers; little black spots thread around the city ruins, nearly invisible through the rubble.
“This way,” curate Marcus said, leading down a crumbling staircase. A small crack in the stairs revealed a steep drop into steel slabs far below.
Down a couple flights of stairs, and Marcus brought out a silver keycard and waved it against a small panel near the door. A lock clicked open.
“You have electricity here?” Jazmine asked. I was surprised too – the compounds were allotted a basic amount of electricity, for lights and small appliances, and to keep the purification engines running. I’d never heard of a community of humans living outside the compounds with power.
“Not a ton, but enough. We stay indoors, so screens and fans near the exits keep ventilation bearable, though the underground gardens help regulate the oxygen levels.”
We followed along a steep tunnel, several times switching to a hall or staircase, as if we were jumping through several buildings that had been fused together. Thick weeds sprouted in the corners.
“What happened here?” Jazmine asked. The damage was much worse than it looked from a distance.
“Not entirely sure, but from historical records, we think an earthquake. I mean, they used nukes during the race wars and took out some of the biggest cities, but I don’t think they got this one.
We passed another steel door where curate Marcus used a keycard, then passed into a bright white hall with mirrors on both sides, set between slabs of concrete.
“Close your eyes,” Marcus said. A brilliant bright light flashed like a bulb, then faded to a dark purple color that seemed to warp our features in the mirror.
“UV rays,” Frank said. “Won’t kill the bastards, but it’ll sting, and reveal them. The mirrors are to remove a glamour – an elite could get in your head, change their appearance, even pretend to be an ally. The mirrors will show their true form. Some of the men wear helmets lined with lead to prevent being controlled.”
“Does that actually work?” Jazmine asked.
“Who knows,” he smiled, adjusting his cap, “but it makes them feel better.”
“What happens if you find an elite?” I asked.
“Watch this,” Luke said, waving us though. Once the chamber was empty and the door firmly closed, Frank lifted up a glass case, revealing a big red switch. He flipped the switch and the chamber we’d just been in erupted in flames.
“Cool, huh?” Luke said.
“Yeah,” I frowned and crossed my arms. “Cool.”
Once inside, we found ourselves in some kind of large underground plaza, rimmed with stores and markets. A skylight had been patched together with duct tape and support beams, but it kept the ash out and let some natural light through. In the center of the structure was a deep round hole, sinking down towards lower levels.
“This place used to be a shopping mall,” Marcus said, as we passed piles of toys, electronics and useless junk, stacked like barricades.
“Luckily, one thing we still have a lot of is clothes,” Marcus said, looking over our outfits. “We’ve moved the merchandise to use the space, but there are still storage rooms full of crap – a lot of it is impractical, cheap fabrics that only last a couple months, but it’ll be enough for now.”
He led us down twin sets of metal stairs with rubber railings, twisted by creeping vines. On the lower level we found dozens of colorful tents set up, with lanterns and strings of soft lights. People were cooking spiced meat on small metal grills, and a group of children were playing kick the can. Somewhere I heard the sound of a guitar.
A few people turned to watch us pass, staring with large eyes and pale, thin limbs. I couldn’t tell if they were diseased or just malnourished.
I leaned over the railing, into the depths of the building. Protected from the deadly ash outside, trees and bushes flourished in the covered space, and even the walls were half covered in bright green moss. The ceiling was half rotten, exposing wood panels and hanging wires. The bottom level was completely flooded and filled with white and orange fish.
“Our own private cistern,” Marcus said. “We boil the water, of course. The fish are edible. We also breed rabbits and chickens.”
“You live down here?” Jazmine asked, pursing her lips.
“I know it’s not as comfortable as the compounds or the city of lights, but we make do.”
“Fuck the city of lights,” Luke said. “The whole thing is a scam. They get humans to do all the work, then snack on whoever they want. The compounds are worse, just a bunch of blood-suckers and blood-whores.”
“Tell us how you really feel,” Jazmine said.
“But they give us electricity,” Camina argued. “They understand the old machines. They keep the skies clear, so we can walk around outside, feel the sun and the wind on our faces.”
“They have coffee,” I added.
“And that’s enough for you?” Luke muttered. “To give them your blood, your bodies, your freedom?”
“Drop it,” Trevor warned, his brow darkening. It wasn’t that different from what I’d heard him say before my choosing, and I wondered if this is where he’d learned it.
“You’ve been here before?” I whispered.
“After you left,” he nodded. “I was desperate. I started making contacts. Some people talked about a resistance, outside the compounds. I heard about this place, and one night I snuck over the barrier and made it here. This is where I met the other rebels.”
He took a breath, frowning over his shoulder.
“Curate Marcus was still in the capital. The others showed me how to get in and out, through the tunnels. We thought, if we could just get some elixir, enough to heal some of the sick, to get strong. Maybe even fight back.”
“But that’s impossible,” I said. “Humans can’t drink enough elixir to fight an elite; they’ll go mad with rage and thirst first.”
“Sure, maybe in one-to-one combat. But there are more of us than them. Maybe some of us would die, but some things are worth dying for.”
“Martyr’s talk,” I scoffed.
“So what, you prefer the compound system? The chosen?”
“I don’t know,” I said, looking around at the piles of junk, the exposed wires and moldy walls. “But it seems better than this.”
“This way,” Marcus said, leading us through the underground city. The mall was larger than expected. Each corner we turned revealed another grand hallway, with marble floors and vast chambers that used to be stores.
Most of the rooms had been repurposed as gathering spaces or markets. I laughed as we passed a room full of farm animals, and Jazmine stopped to pet a baby goat. Near the center on the third floor was a large banquet hall with hundreds of tables, surrounded by restaurants and stalls.
“Mess hall,” Marcus said, waving his hand. “We’ll come back for foo
d later, then I’ll show you where you can stay. But first, Jacob wants to see you.”
“She needs medical attention,” Trevor said. “She’s been shot.”
“I promise we’ll see to that as soon as possible, if Jacob lets you stay.”
“What do you mean, lets her?” Trevor growled protectively.
“Frank, why don’t you take Beatrice to the health center. I can tell by her limp she’s hurt her ankle.”
“It’s just a sprain,” Beatrice said.
“The other chosen can go as well. We’ll meet you there. Trevor, you should join them. This is a private conversation.”
“No way,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere without Trevor,” I added.
“Fine,” Marcus said, gesturing forward again down another flight of metal stairs.
“Jacob?” I whispered over my shoulder.
“If Havoc has a leader, it’s him,” Trevor said quietly.
We descended another level. From here, looking up, I could see that narrow bridges connected the various floors above. The light was thinner down here, and colder – yet the air felt crisp and clean, probably due to the thick carpet of leafy vines crawling from the water up the walls, and the ring of potted plants and trees. It had an earthy smell of compost and decay.
In the center, a raised platform rose from the underground lake like a tiny island, filled with comfortable furniture, a wide wooden table with a dozen chairs, and a whiteboard with markers. A display rack held a small arsenal of assault rifles and pistols.
A dark-skinned man with a goatee was waiting with his hands behind his back.
“Emily Sharrow,” he said, stepping forward. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I tried not to stare at the deep red patch that surrounded his left eye. A birthmark, probably, like the ones on my wrist, but the distinctive marking stood out against his colorless clothing and dark skin. Unlike the compounds, where deeply-colored fabrics were prized, the Havoc dress code seemed to be limited to faded grays and browns. He wasn’t as big or tall as Trevor, but somehow projected a calm authority. Maybe it was the leather straps, armored fatigues and spiked shoulder pads; or the slagpaw pelt and necklace of claws and bullets around his neck. Altogether, the look seemed more ostentatious than practical.