by Cross, Amy
“Couldn't you just describe whatever this is?” I ask, as I stumble slightly on the rubble. We're getting pretty high now, and I'm really hoping this isn't all a big waste of time. As I get to the top and join Ringcroft, I'm not expecting much. “I'm sure there's no -”
Stopping suddenly, I see the vast scene stretching toward the horizon, and I feel a shudder pass through my body.
“Boston's a big city,” Ringcroft explains, with a hint of sadness in his voice. “A little over a hundred days ago, there were around six, seven hundred thousand people living here. It was thriving. I've lived here my whole life, I've barely even left the state. I just never felt the need. Everything I wanted was right here. And now look at it. It's flattened. Lifeless. Gone.”
I can't argue with him. All I can see, for miles in every direction, is a kind of war-zone. There are a few buildings still standing, but they're definitely the exception. Despite everything that's happened over the past three or four months, I've never seen a scene that looks so completely ruined. Sure, when I went to Chicago with George, the place was pretty much deserted, but the city hadn't been so visibly damaged. Boston, however, looks beyond repair. Beyond salvation.
“We're in a small section of the city that's been hurriedly walled off from the rest,” Ringcroft says. “Once the battle was over, the new occupying forces launched a second wave of bombings. They were targeting the parts of the city that they didn't control. It was like they wanted to completely eradicate anything that was going to cause them trouble. I don't know how many people they killed in those final few hours, but it must have been hundreds of thousands.”
“There's no-one left there at all?” I ask.
“Sure, there are a few poor souls out there,” he says. “I see them sometimes, when I come up here. I throw food down for them. It's not much, but it's all I can manage. It's like they've been blasted back to the stone age. They're dying and -”
He stops suddenly, and then he points toward a nearby building.
“There,” he continues. “We're being watched. They're scared to come close, but there's someone right at that corner.”
“I don't see anyone,” I tell him.
“That might be just as well,” he says. “Most of them looks terrible, like they're just skin and bones. Sometimes I even wonder whether they're just ghosts. Before the battle, sharp-shooters used to man outposts and shoot scavengers who tried to break into the main part of the city. I never liked that, and I don't like what's happening now, either. Humanity needs to stick together, but instead we're fighting one another all the time. Tell me, where's the hope in that?”
“What about zombies?” I ask. “Have you seen any?”
“There's talk of a herd out there somewhere,” he replies, “but apparently they're being controlled somehow. I'm not entirely sure that I understand the science behind that. I'm not even sure that it's true. If you wanted to scare a lot of people, rumors of a massive zombie herd would just about do the trick.”
“I don't think it's just a rumor,” I tell him.
“I hope it is,” he says, turning to me, “because if Boston is abandoned, I'm guessing the zombie herd will be abandoned as well. And if that happens, we're going to have a huge swarm of zombies that'll come crashing straight into the city.”
Elizabeth
“There you are!” I say with relief, as soon as I spot Toad waiting in a street near the bank building. “I wasn't sure how I was going to find you again!”
“I never used to like cellphones,” he replies. “I wouldn't mind a working one right now.”
“Charles Bloom wants to know about my father,” I explain. “I can't put my finger on it, but there's something about Bloom that really gets under my skin. I feel like everything he says to me is a lie.”
“I know what you mean,” he says. “I was unlucky, I got put under his direct command. There have been times when...”
I wait for him to continue.
“What what?” I ask finally.
“It's nothing,” he replies, “I just...” He pauses again, and I can tell that he's troubled by something. “Some of the things he's made us do...”
“You're not exactly a natural soldier,” I point out.
“I'm doing what I have to do in difficult circumstances,” he explains. “It's all very well refusing to fight in peace times, but the world's in a mess and we all have to do whatever we can.”
“Sure, but -”
“We all have to set aside our morals sometimes,” he adds.
“I'm not sure about that,” I say cautiously. “I've seen some things since I got to Boston. Terrible things. Those bodies hanging in the square are -”
“Can we talk about something else?” he replies, before glancing around as if he's nervous about something.
“You've seen them too, huh?” I continue, placing a hand on the side of his arm. “I think I'm going to see them every time I sleep for a while. In my nightmares. I hate the fact that people do that kind of thing to each other.”
“Elizabeth, you don't understand what it's like here.”
“I understand why you always wanted to get away from people,” I tell him. “I used to think you were just a bit of a loner, but now I totally get it. There's a dark side to some people, and I guess it comes out at times when everything's falling apart. I knew some of the people who were shot, people like Diane Clark, and -”
“You don't get to judge people who are just doing their jobs,” he says suddenly.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean you have no idea what it's been like here,” he continues, and he's starting to seem agitated now. “The fight to take Boston was like walking through the fires of Hell. I saw so many people die, right in front of me. I don't even know how I survived, but it sure wasn't down to anything I did. It was just sheer luck. And then, even though the battle ended, there was still so much carnage. We had to wall off parts of the city that were filled with disease. We had to turn away people who were going to bring the whole city crumbling down.” He pauses, his eyes filled with anger. “And yes, we had to kill some people and make sure that everyone knew who was in charge, but it was the only way to stop the madness.”
He steps away and takes a deep breath, and then he lets out a heavy sigh.
“You don't know what it was like,” he adds finally. “I know you went through some stuff of your own, I'm sure it was awful, but you weren't in the middle of a goddamn war-zone. You don't know what choices had to be made.”
I stare at him for a moment, shocked by his outburst.
“We?” I say finally.
He turns to me.
“You said we had to kill some people,” I remind him.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“But that was in the fighting, right?” I continue. “I get it, that's what war is about. I mean, I haven't been in it myself, but I can imagine.”
I wait, but he looks troubled, as if he's worried about what I might say next.
“When you said we had to kill some people,” I add cautiously, “what exactly did you mean?”
“I mean...”
His voice trails off for a moment.
“I mean that it doesn't even matter what I did,” he says finally. “If I'd refused, someone else would have taken my place. The outcome would have been the same. So don't get up on your high horse about it, Elizabeth, because you really don't have a clue what it was like.”
I wait, but I'm starting to think that I understand what he's on about.
“The people in the square,” I say cautiously, “the ones who were shot and then strung up...”
“They were the enemy,” he says firmly.
“Were you one of the ones who...”
For a moment, I can't finish the sentence. I think I can see the answer in his eyes, however, but I have to hear him say it. I have to know for sure.
“Were you one of the ones who shot them?” I ask finally. “The firing squad, I mean. Were you in that firin
g squad?”
“The fighting was still going on in places,” he explains. “We weren't sure that we could hold the city, so we had to do something to break the resistance. In that context, Elizabeth, we made the right choice. We killed five people that day, and in the process we saved countless others who would've died if the fighting had continued. We ended the battle.”
“By murdering those five people in cold blood,” I say, as a cold shiver runs through my body.
He steps toward me and tries to put a hand on the side of my arm, but I pull away.
“Just think about it logically for a moment,” he says with a sigh. “Five lives lost, hundreds of lives gained. Do the math, Elizabeth, and it all works out!”
“You murdered them!” I shout.
“We were obeying orders!” he yells, before stopping and taking a deep breath. “You say you understand,” he continues, “but that's just words. You don't get it at all.”
Turning, he starts to walk away, but then he stops and bows his head. I watch, waiting for him to admit that he was wrong, but instead he seems annoyed that I don't see things his way. Staring at him now, in his unkempt uniform and with a rifle slung over his shoulder, I find it really hard to believe that this is the same guy who – when I first met him – lived alone on a farm and shunned any attempts by the rest of the world to control him. And the more I watch him, the more I realize one other really important point.
“My father,” I say finally. “They were looking for him, after the battle ended.”
He nods.
“John Marter,” I continue. “Bloom's still looking for him now and -”
“I heard the name at the time,” he replies, without turning to me. “I didn't make the connection to you, not until today.”
“Were you told to look out for him?”
He pauses, and then he nods.
“And if you'd found him,” I continue, with tears in my eyes, “you'd have captured him and taken him to Bloom. Wouldn't you?”
“Elizabeth, our orders were to -”
“And then he'd have been standing there with Diane Clark and the others,” I add, interrupting him, “all in a line, and you'd have been in a line too, and then you'd have raised your gun and -”
“Elizabeth, please, don't think like this.”
“And you'd have shot him, wouldn't you?” I continue. “You'd have executed my father, if you'd had the chance.”
“We had orders,” he says firmly, half turning to me now. “There was a war raging all around us.”
“And you obeyed your orders like a good boy, huh?” I say, taking a step back as I feel a wave of pure disgust rising through my body. “If someone had told you to shoot my father, you'd have done it.”
“I wouldn't have known that he was your -”
“That doesn't matter!” I yell, unable to hold back any longer. “You're a murderer!”
“Elizabeth, please!” He sighs as he comes back over to me. He tries to grab my arm, but I pull away. He tries again, and I pull away again. “I was only -”
“Don't touch me!” I snap, as he tries for a third time. “I don't want to even look at you! You're not the same person I used to know!”
“Of course I am,” he replies. “You're being over-dramatic. You're not thinking about what I'm actually saying.”
I take another step back.
“I didn't shoot your father,” he continues. “Try to focus on that. As far as I'm aware, he's still alive out there somewhere, and I didn't shoot him.”
“But you would have,” I point out, with tears running down my face now, “if you'd been told to.”
I wait for him to answer, but there's only one thing he can say now. Unless he's a liar.
“Yes,” he says finally. “I would have.”
I stare at him for a moment, and then I turn and hurry away. I'm on the verge of bursting into sobs now, and I'm relieved when I realize that Toad isn't following me. As I head back toward the bank building, all I know is that I want to be alone for the evening, and I want to find some space to figure out what I'm thinking. But one thing's for certain: I can't ever look at Toad in the same way again.
Thomas
“I need to find out what they're going to do with Doctor Carter,” I tell Ringcroft as we make our way back toward the main building. “She's a lot of things, but I'm not convinced she's a criminal. They can't just lock her up like this without explaining why.”
“I think you'll find that they can,” he replies. “What can I do to help?”
Stopping near the entrance, I turn to him.
“You don't have to do anything,” I say. “I don't want to drag you into this mess.”
“Are you kidding?” He smiles. “It's the end of the world. If a man can't do the right thing at the end of the world, when can he do it?”
“Meet me back here this evening,” I tell him, relieved that he seems to want to help. “Someone has to know something about this mess.”
“I'll be back at sundown,” he replies, taking a step away. “I'll ask around some more. You never know, one of my contacts might have heard a few rumors. After all, this Carter woman sounds like she's important.”
He turns and shuffles away. I watch him for a moment, before heading into the building, only to almost slam straight into Caitlin.
“Hey,” I say, startled. “Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was -”
“What were you doing with him?” she asks, peering past me.
I turn, just in time to see Ringcroft limping around the far corner.
“That man is dangerous,” she continues. “Thomas, I don't know what he's told you, but that guy can't be trusted. Not for a second. The only reason he's not rotting in some jail cell somewhere is that he gets other people to do his dirty work for him. He has gangs of kids who go out and steal, and then they take their stuff back to him. There are rumors that he does other things, too. He can find anything for anyone, provided the price is right.”
Turning to her, I see that there's fear in her eyes.
“He seems okay,” I say cautiously, although I'm aware that I must sound very naive. “I mean, he didn't say anything that...”
My voice trails off. I don't actually know very much about Ringcroft, other than that Elizabeth seems to trust him.
“Promise you'll keep away from him,” she says earnestly. “Thomas, why do you think that little girl was immediately taken to a safe place?”
“You mean Polly?”
“Children go missing in this city,” she continues. “Some of them end up stealing, like I told you. But some of them seem to simply vanish. Occasionally you hear stories about that Ringcroft guy having sold them. I don't know exactly who he sells them to, or why. I don't think I want to know. But if he's hanging around you, if he's trying to befriend you, then it can only be because he wants something from you. He's trying to manipulate you into giving him...”
She pauses.
“You have to be careful around him,” she adds finally. “I even heard that he was part of the mob that killed some people just a few blocks from here. There are bodies hanging from posts. Ringcroft, or whatever his real name is, was one of the instigators. They say he even executed one of the men himself.”
“I'm not sure that I -”
Before I can finish, I hear footsteps nearby, and I turn to see some soldiers hurrying toward the building. At first there are just a few, but then more arrive, then even more, and suddenly there are at least twenty swarming into the foyer with their weapons raised.
“What's going on?” I ask Caitlin.
“I don't know,” she replies, sounding worried, “but those aren't regular troops. They're...”
When she doesn't complete the sentence, I turn to her.
“They're General Patterson's personal bodyguards,” she continues finally. “They go everywhere he goes, to make sure that there are no dangers. But Patterson's supposed to be sick, I didn't think he'd be coming here any time soon.”
&nbs
p; Looking back toward the door, I can already see that a figure is climbing out of a vehicle. Even though I can't see the figure clearly, I immediately recognize him and I instinctively take a step back.
“Is there another way out of here?” I ask Caitlin as the soldiers take aim at us.
“You can't run,” she stammers. “If Patterson wants you, he'll already have the building surrounded.”
I turn to make my way past her, but in that moment – as if to confirm what she just told me – several more soldiers come through from one of the back rooms.
Reaching into my pocket, I realize that I still have the small box containing the two vials. I try to think straight for a moment, but I'm starting to panic and I know that – above all else – I have to make sure that the box doesn't fall into Patterson's hands. Finally, as I see him limping toward the building's front door, I slip the box from my pocket and reach back, trying to press it into Caitlin's hands without anyone else noticing.
“What's this?” she asks.
“Keep it safe for me,” I whisper.
“But what -”
“Just do it!” I snap. “It's nothing bad, I promise. Keep it safe and I'll come back for it as soon as I can. Don't let anyone else know that you have it.”
She doesn't reply, but I figure I can't keep whispering to her without arousing suspicion. Turning, I see General Patterson finally entering the building, and I feel a shudder in my chest as I see that one entire side of his face is now caked in thick, bloodied bandages. He looks around for a moment, and then his gaze settles on me and I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Then, slowly, he allows himself a faint smile.
“Gentlemen, lower your weapons,” he says, and the soldiers all do as they're told.
Caitlin steps away from me.
“Now there's a face that I recognize,” Patterson says, starting to limp toward me. “Thomas, the boy who almost became a soldier. We seem to have made a habit of running into one another lately, don't we? Then again, I doubt you were expecting to see me this time. After all, at the end of our last encounter I was somewhat... injured.”