by Gavin Zanker
On his own, Aiden had no choice but to sprint back to the boulder before the crates were completely destroyed. As he skidded into cover, he checked his surroundings again and saw the remaining Syndicate men being swarmed by a seemingly unending stream of Faithful. He aimed in their direction but his rifle clicked empty.
‘Aiden!’ a voice shouted above the ringing.
Patrick was running down the slope towards him, waving his arms frantically. By the time Aiden noticed the lit fuse on the ground, he only had a split second to turn away before the explosion knocked him back into the boulder, sending up a shower of choking dust. He caught a glimpse of Patrick being flung through the air, the flash of the explosion setting his shirt alight as he impacted the quarry wall and slumped to the ground like a rag doll.
Aiden cursed and slammed his palm against the rock as pebbles came spattering down around him. There was no way he could get inside now, not without back-up.
He had to retreat.
Running would leave him too exposed; he’d be an easy target. He remembered the quad bikes they had spotted from the top of the quarry. At this point, they seemed his only chance of getting out alive.
Aiden picked himself up, tossed his rifle aside and drew his pistol. He fired towards the Faithful as he sprinted further down the slope towards the buildings and the parked quad bikes, adrenaline fuelling him onwards as his muscles burned and bullets threw up spikes of dust around him. Something jumped up and stung his arm, but he ignored it. He reached the vehicles and leapt on top of the nearest one. He whispered a silent thank you as he found the key was in the ignition already — they clearly weren’t expecting trouble. The engine roared to life. He gunned the throttle, taking the vehicle up the slope, leaning forward over the handlebars to present a smaller target as gunfire continued to whizz past him. He came to where Patrick lay and stopped to haul the unconscious man over the seat. He didn’t slow down again until they passed over the top lip of the quarry, losing line of sight with the Faithful below.
The only option left was to regroup. He turned the quad bike towards Woody’s position on the cliff. When he got there, he found two motionless bodies and Woody lying on his back between them, staring up at the sky as he clutched his leg with both hands.
‘You’re still alive,’ Woody said, his voice strangely quiet. ‘They got me. In my damn leg. No way I’m getting out of here now.’
Crimson seeped from the hole in his friend’s calf. Aiden grabbed a bandage from his pocket and wrapped it around the limb. Finding a sturdy stick on the ground, he placed it under the bandage, twisting it a few times to tighten the tourniquet and stem the blood loss. ‘You’re not dying and leaving me on my own out here. We’ve still got a mission to finish.’
He helped Woody onto the back of the quad bike while Patrick lay across the front. The vehicle wasn’t built for three people, but Aiden would get off and push if he had to. Anything to put distance between themselves and the quarry. The engine groaned, but the bike moved and they soon picked up speed. As he guided the vehicle over the moors surrounding the quarry, the realisation that the mission had failed crept over him. His chances of getting inside the compound had fallen to almost zero now.
A scream rose in his throat, his frustration finding the only possible release. He punched and wrenched on the handlebars, rocking the vehicle and causing it to veer wildly.
Woody’s hand touched his shoulder. ‘Steady,’ he said. ‘We’re not out of this yet.’
With a voice of reason in his ear, Aiden forced his focus back on driving the quad bike. There would be time for anger and self-hatred later.
If they survived.
CHAPTER 37
LEIGH PUT ASIDE the history textbook and flopped onto her back on the main stage. Nothing in the book made any sense to her; it talked about wars, and people, and countries she’d never even heard of. The only reason she knew it wasn’t all make believe was because no one would make up stories that boring.
A door slammed at the far end of the casino making her sit up. Julian walked in looking irritated as Grace hurried to keep up with him. Leigh couldn’t hear their conversation, but it was probably the same thing they’d been arguing about since forever: Grace wanting him to help people, and him wanting her to leave him alone so he could get on with his job, whatever that was.
One of Patrick’s little brothers approached Leigh. ‘Hi,’ he said.
‘What do you want, Nathan?’ Leigh asked, glaring at the dried snot blocking up one of his nostrils. She was getting decent at glaring; usually she could send Nathan scurrying away with just a look. It didn’t seem to be working this time.
‘What you doing?’ he asked, rocking back and forth on his heels.
‘Reading a book.’
‘Want to play?’
‘No, not really.’ She didn’t hate Nathan or his brother Raynor, she just had no patience for them. They were almost her age, but they acted like stupid kids the whole time. And they never stopped bugging her. ‘Where’s your brother? Go play with him.’
‘I can’t find him,’ Nathan said, sticking his finger up his nose.
Leigh scrunched up her face in disgust. ‘He’s probably over there with the girls,’ she said, pointing at the dancers lounging around at the back of the stage, just behind the curtain. Nathan looked hesitant to go over. Leigh sighed and stood up. ‘Come on, I’ll help you find him.’
As they walked across the stage, Nathan tried to take her hand. She pulled away, not wanting to get his gross snot all over her.
‘Hello, hun,’ one of the showgirls said as she spotted Leigh.
There were four of them sat around on the floor, with Raynor lingering and trying not to stare.
‘How’re things?’ Leigh asked.
‘Can’t complain when we have these little rascals around, can we?’ the showgirl said, ruffling Raynor’s hair, causing his face to redden.
‘Come here,’ one of the others said, holding out her hand towards Nathan. He stepped forward shyly until the girl wrapped her arms around him. She looked pale, her eyes sunken. Leigh guessed she was going through withdrawal from something; probably that Echo stuff Blanc had been taking.
One of the other dancers was drawing around her eye with a pen, leaving a thick black mark. ‘What’s that?’ Leigh asked, thinking there were easier ways to get a black eye.
‘It’s my eyeliner, hun. You want me to put some on you?’
‘No thanks. Does it draw on paper?’
‘I don’t see why it wouldn’t.’
‘Want to trade?’
‘What for?’
Leigh rooted through her pockets, bringing out a handful of the tokens Aiden had left her. ‘Two tokens?’
‘Make it three and you’ve got yourself a deal.’
‘Sharon, don’t try and short her — she’s just a kid.’
‘Oh fine. Two tokens then.’
Leigh dropped the coins onto her palm and took the eyeliner, slipping it into her pocket for later. ‘Why do you put that stuff on your eyes anyway? Seems like a waste when you’ll just wash it off.’
The dancers shared a look. ‘You’ll understand when you’re older, hun. It helps us women get what we want.’
‘How does that work? Is it a magic pencil?’
The showgirl rubbed something red over her lips next, then stood up, adjusting her bra. ‘Here, let me show you.’ She headed over to the doors where some Syndicate men stood guard, throwing out her hips as she walked. Leigh thought the woman looked ridiculous, but gave her the benefit of the doubt and kept watching. Leigh couldn’t see anything funny happening, but the dancer kept touching the man’s arm and giggling. A couple of minutes later, she returned holding a cigarette.
‘See?’ she said, accepting a light from her friend and winking at Leigh. ‘We may not be as strong as men, but we have our own weapons. You’ve just gotta learn how to use them.’
Leigh nodded, but still didn’t really understand. Why did men gave women things
for nothing? Aiden had tried to explain flirting to her a while ago, but she struggled to get her head around it. Why did it only work one way? And what did the men get out of it?
‘You’re a bit of a tomboy, aren’t you?’ the dancer said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
‘What’s a tomboy?’
‘Means you’re a girl who acts like a boy.’
‘I suppose so,’ Leigh said. She eyed Raynor as he was babied by the women. ‘Sometimes anyway.’
‘You’re getting to that age. Isn’t she, ladies? Soon boys will be your whole world. That is, if you do like boys?’
‘You mean all of them?’
The showgirl laughed. ‘It’s fine not to like boys, hun. I know a few ladies who prefer girls.’
‘I like boys fine. Some of them at least. I understand them better than girls.’
‘No one understands us. We’re a mystery to ourselves most of the time. It’s what makes us so special.’
Leigh thought that was just an excuse for her to act crazy, but kept it to herself. She said goodbye and left the dancers and Patrick’s little brothers behind. They seemed like a perfect match for each other.
She returned to her textbook and flicked through the pages some more, scanning the unfamiliar black and white photos. She sighed and put the book down again. ‘Where are you, Aiden?’ she mumbled to herself. ‘I need you back here.’
CHAPTER 38
IT WASN’T UNTIL they had travelled about a kilometre west of the quarry and found cover inside the edge of a forest that Aiden allowed himself to stop the quad bike. The trees were too dense to take the vehicle any further, so they climbed off to rest. Woody’s face was sweat-streaked as he sat back against one of the beech trees. Patrick lay on the ground unresponsive, his head pillowed by some moss.
‘What happened to the kid?’ Woody asked.
‘An explosion,’ Aiden said, watching the moor for any signs of Faithful. ‘He took the brunt of it, tossed him into a wall.’
‘Damn dynamite,’ Woody said, shaking his head. ‘I didn’t expect that. You think he’ll be all right?’
‘Hard to say.’ Aiden put his ear next to Patrick’s mouth. ‘He’s still breathing, but past that? I have no idea.’
Satisfied there was no pursuit for now, Aiden turned to Woody. ‘We need to see to your leg.’ He knelt down and ripped open part of Woody’s trousers, wiping away the blood to get a better look.
‘The bullet’s still in there, isn’t it?’ Woody asked, reading Aiden’s face. ‘There are some tongs in my bag.’
Aiden took the injured man’s pack and rifled through it. He found the first aid pouch and unzipped it to find among other things, a pair of metal tongs and a small vial of iodine.
‘Ready when you are then,’ Woody said with a forced smile, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead.
Aiden broke off part of a nearby branch and propped it into Woody’s mouth. ‘Bite down on this. Try not to scream. There’s no sign of any Faithful yet, but I don’t know how far they might follow us.’
He doused the tongs, his hands, and the wound with the iodine. He was still shaky from the adrenaline rush of the fight and took a few slow breaths to compose himself. He counted to three, then inserted the tongs into the bullet hole. Woody grunted, his spine arching. Aiden struggled to see anything inside the wound as fresh blood bubbled out. He twisted the tongs a little and touched something hard. Woody punched the ground, failing to suppress a scream of pain.
‘Almost there,’ Aiden said, as he closed the tongs around the hard lump and pulled, hoping it wasn’t a shard of bone.
Woody sank back, deflating against the stump as Aiden examined the gore-stained object. It glinted metallic under the blood, and looked to be in one piece. He tossed it aside and patted Woody’s arm. ‘Doesn’t look like it fragmented so I just need to dress the wound now. Stay with me.’
Aiden drenched the leg with clean water from his canteen, then wiped away as much of the blood as he could before laying a clean gauze over it. He wound a fresh bandage around the leg to secure the gauze in place before removing the tourniquet he had applied earlier. ‘Finished,’ he said. ‘Keep pressure on it. You’ll be back on your feet in a day or two,’ he said, forcing a light tone as he took the stick from Woody’s mouth. ‘Then we can have another crack at the quarry.’
‘You shouldn’t have bothered coming back for me,’ Woody said. ‘Without me slowing you down you might stand a chance of getting back home.’
‘Maybe, but from what I can tell you would’ve come back for me. If you ask me, someone who would risk themselves like that is worth saving.’
Woody smiled weakly and rested his head back. ‘Whatever you say.’
He had lost a lot of blood. Aiden knew he was in trouble. If they were in the city he could rest and find a doctor, but out here there was no sanctuary. They’d be lucky to even find their way back to the Falls.
Feeling light-headed, Aiden lay back on the mossy ground and took a minute to breathe. The scent of the forest floor was heavy with rich soil and vegetation. A sudden wave of exhaustion overcame him as the after effects of the gunfight caught up to him. He closed his eyes, and the ringing in his ears slowly faded. He became aware of other quiet noises: birds chirping in the canopy, an insect buzzing past his face, leaves rustling in the wind. He lay there, letting the sounds permeate, just focusing on his breathing as he felt his calmness return.
He could have slept for a hundred years if Woody hadn’t interrupted him.
‘Aiden,’ Woody said, his voice strained.
‘Hmm?’
‘Aiden,’ Woody said again, more urgently this time.
Aiden cracked open one eye and saw three hooded figures standing over him. They each carried a metal-tipped spear, one of which was almost resting on Aiden’s throat.
CHAPTER 39
AIDEN’S REMAINING WEAPONS were stripped and, with hushed voices, him and Woody were ordered to carry Patrick between them. Aiden was too exhausted to try and tackle three armed men, so he did as he was told. The captors didn’t lead them back to the quarry as he expected though, instead they headed deeper into the forest. The only positive in the situation that he could see was that these people clearly weren’t Dawnists; one of them was a woman for a start.
‘Who are you?’ he asked the ebony-skinned man with darting eyes and broad shoulders, who appeared to be leading the group.
‘No talking,’ the man grunted, not taking his gaze from the trail ahead as they walked.
‘I just want to know—’
The man turned, his spear flashing up to within centimetres of Aiden’s face. ‘You don’t listen well.’ The white of his eyes stood out intensely against his dark skin.
‘Okay,’ Aiden said, ‘I hear you.’
And so they walked in silence.
Woody struggled, his teeth gritted against the pain in his leg, and Patrick still showed no signs of coming around.
As they travelled, Aiden had a chance to take in the forest. The place lacked the sinister atmosphere that had pervaded the Sinking Dust he had seen so far. In fact, it was almost serene, reminding him of his home in Stryss Forest in a lot of ways. There were trees here that didn’t like the colder north though: beeches and broad-leafed maples mostly, with the taller pines creating a canopy high overhead. Many of the birds were unfamiliar to him as well, their colourful feathers a contrast to the plainness of the northern birds.
Just as Aiden was about to demand a break for the ashen-faced Woody to rest, they passed through a screen of bushes and emerged into a large clearing. His mouth dropped open at the sight of a village. A few children ran between a series of wooden cabins, using their fingers as pretend guns to shoot one another. Scrap-metal windmills that rose from roofs, while wind chimes, hanging in a porch somewhere, tinkled in the breeze.
‘What is this place?’ Aiden asked.
‘This is Havenstead,’ the leader said, holding his spear more easily now. ‘Follow me.’
&n
bsp; He led them through the village, drawing curious stares from the residents as they passed, and into a small log cabin with nothing but a couple of beds inside. After laying Patrick down, Aiden checked his pulse. It seemed faint, almost fluttery. He had no idea what that meant, but knew it must be bad.
‘You wait here,’ the leader told them. ‘I will fetch someone to see to your wounds.’
‘No argument from me,’ Woody said as he slid onto the second bed and let out an exhausted sigh.
Before Aiden could ask the leader his name, the door was closed. He moved to the window and gazed outside, still dumbstruck by the idea of an entire village here in the Sinking Dust; judging by the looks of the people, they weren’t just surviving either — they were prospering.
CHAPTER 40
THE DOOR TO the cabin swung open, startling Aiden as it banged against the wooden doorstop. A beady-eyed woman breezed into the room holding an ancient, cracked leather pouch that looked as old as her. She barely looked at them before setting about examining Patrick on the bed. Aiden took it as a sign that they weren’t about to be killed.
‘You can call me Old Nan,’ the woman said without being asked. She glanced at Woody on the other bed with his bloody leg. ‘You’re hurt too?’ she asked.
Woody nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Stabbed?’
‘Gunshot.’
‘Just one? More than one?’
‘Just the one, thankfully.’
She sat down on the bed beside Woody, her joints clicking. ‘Big mess,’ she muttered, lifting the bloody gauze. ‘Hurts?’
‘Yes. It hurts quite a bit,’ Woody said, his good natured smile struggling to pierce through his pained expression.
‘Here.’ Old Nan pulled out a green leaf from her pouch and handed it to Woody. ‘Chew. For the pain.’ Woody studied it suspiciously. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, pushing it towards his mouth. ‘It’ll help you rest, not hurt. Just chew.’