The Human Zoo (Book 4): The Ruin Nation

by Wood, Kolin

  Her eyes bulged and her face began to turn a darker shade, but still he held on.

  “JOHN!”

  A voice that he recognised boomed out from behind him.

  “JOHN! Let her go!”

  Still he squeezed, unable to calm the rising wraith of his anger. He knew that if he let the woman speak, she was going to give him the very news that he had dreaded hearing since the day he left the farm.

  Suddenly, he felt one of his legs drop out and he fell to the side, pulling the woman down hard on top of him. His shoulder hit the floor with a jarring bang.

  “JOHN!”

  This time, something registered in his brain just long enough to make him turn his head. Through the blurry mist he saw a face; a pair of eyes, eyes that he recognised, those of his friend, Becca. A stinging pain in his cheek. White flashes danced in his vision. Somebody had just hit him. Another blow, this one harder, brought some of his senses flooding back to him. He roared as he released his grip and pulled both hands up to cover his head.

  For ages nothing happened. John lay there with his head covered and his heart thumping in his chest. Next to him, somebody coughed repeatedly. Slowly, his own, normal breathing returned and the red mist ebbed away.

  Fingers touched his arm.

  John opened his eyes. Becca’s red hair hung down on either side of his face. She looked down on him, sadly.

  “John, it’s okay,” she said.

  Beyond them, a door opened and he heard the old man’s cracked voice say, “Did they want the room, Cath?”

  ***

  The room bore the same red carpet as the corridor. Two single beds adorned either wall, separated by a small, part-glass coffee table, which held the evidence of a previous meal and the candle. Unlike the reception room, every spare inch of the wall space had been covered in pictures, some framed others not, snapshots of places and times, many of them involving the woman that he had just choked out on the floor. There were beaches and sunsets, ribbons and presents. In a few of them, John recognised the old man, albeit a younger version, and another woman whom he assumed to be the man’s wife. They looked happy together, and he felt a twinge of sadness which he coughed away.

  A modest kitchenette adjoined the room, and another bedroom from which John could hear the faint sound of snoring. He could barely look up as the woman returned holding three cups of steaming coffee.

  “There,” she said as she handed one to John. “Been saving it for a special occasion and I figure that this is as good as any.”

  John glanced up as he reached out to take the cup. The woman was smiling at him. A cluster of red marks had already started to show on her neck. He nodded at her but looked down again.

  She handed a cup to Becca and then sat down on the bed opposite. Cushions and folded blankets had been stacked against the wall on top of the bed and she shuffled until she was resting comfortably amongst them.

  “Thanks,” Becca said, sniffing the coffee. “It’s been a long time.”

  The woman smiled and blew steam from the rim of her own. “My pleasure.”

  For a few moments, nobody said anything. John could feel both sets of eyes on him. The sound of snoring grew louder from the other room.

  “Your dad?” Becca asked, much to John’s relief.

  “Yes,” the woman said. “There’s not much of him left upstairs now, but he seems happy enough.” As she spoke, she gestured to the side of her head. “Sometimes I wish that I could live like that… without knowing how bad things really are…”

  More snoring followed.

  “Do you remember me, John?” the woman asked, after an awkward pause.

  This time John looked up. His face still burned hot with shame. “I know who you are,” he said. “But I can’t remember you.”

  The woman nodded with a sad smile. “I’m Catherine,” she said. “I met you here when you were little. Although, I was barely an adult myself then.”

  “Is this really your hotel?” Becca interrupted as she sipped hot coffee from her cup. “I mean, like, from before?”

  Catherine nodded. “My family have run this place for thirty years. I was born here. It’s not much, but it’s home.” She smiled at Becca before turning her attentions back to John. Immediately, she looked sadder.

  “Have you seen him?” John asked suddenly. His voice was soft and he looked away as he spoke.

  “Yes,” Catherine answered.

  John allowed the silence to lie for a few seconds, hoping that she would elaborate without him having to ask. When she didn’t, he looked back at her and said, “How did it happen?”

  Catherine put her cup down on the table and raised a shaky hand up to her mouth. “He…” she started, before pausing again. Tears ran over her cheeks. “He turned up here a few weeks ago, out of the blue. He looked just the same as I remembered. He… asked me to go with him.”

  John felt his insides twist again. He had been right about his friend’s reasons for leaving. “To go where?”

  Catherine pushed a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. When she spoke, her voice was soft and choked with tears. “Back up to the farm, of course. He would never have left you, John.”

  John felt his eyes itch and he blinked a few times. His nose had begun to run and he wiped it on the sleeve of his jumper. The words covered him like a blanket, and he felt sick with sorrow. “So, why didn’t you go with him?”

  This time, it was Catherine who looked away. She wiped her tears on the bottom of her shirt and coughed loudly. When she looked back at him, the sadness had been replaced with a hateful composition. “He wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  John put his cup down. “Who? Who wouldn’t?”

  For a few moments, she said nothing. “Tidus,” she offered, looking down at her hands as they played nervously with her fingernails.

  Tidus?

  Flashbacks to Redwood, of John and Becca sitting in the office. Len had laughed at their plans, mocking him for even considering the Refuge as an option. Tell Tidus Church I say hi… he had said with a clear undertone of menace. But he had definitely mentioned the name Tidus…

  “Who is this Tidus?”

  Catherine gave a drawn sigh and her shoulders slumped. Nervously, she checked the window as if expecting to see a face looking in. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped. “He is… was… a friend. I’ve known him since I was a child. His dad used to be pastor of the local church. I thought that…” She stopped, considering her words. “He’s not somebody that you ever want to meet, John. Tidus has gone crazy.”

  John sat forward as his body stiffened with anger once more. His thoughts spun in his confused mind. “And he… I mean…” He coughed, struggling to force himself to even say the words. “He… killed… Ryan?”

  Again, Catherine could not bear to look him in the eyes. She shook her head and fixed a teary gaze on her knees.

  “Tidus didn’t like the fact that he was staying here. Ryan got sick and Tidus saw his chance. I tried to stop him, John; you have to believe me, but…” Words suddenly failed her. When she looked up to meet his gaze, her eyes were glassy. “He took him. I’m sorry, John. There was nothing I could do. He has an army of them over there.”

  “Them?”

  “Them, his people. They have all shaved their heads like him; think he’s the second coming of Christ… or Satan… or something. They’re all crazy!”

  For the first time since they started the conversation, John turned to look at Becca who simply nodded back, her face straight and betraying no emotion. He glanced down at the crossbow in her arms and then at the old rifle on the floor at his feet.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t blame you.”

  Catherine looked up at him, her face a blotchy red veneer, her bottom lip quivering. “You don’t?”

  “Where does he stay, this Tidus?”

  Catherine’s eyes grew wide and she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jumper. “Ryan was real sick, John. I don’t�
�” Her words trailed off and she looked down, once again.

  John shook his head. He’d heard enough. He stood and reached down for his rifle. Becca joined him. The slither of bolts jangled on her leg. “Just tell us where we have to go,” he said.

  Chapter 17

  Tanner’s head throbbed, and his muscles ached from deep within. He’d been feeling progressively worse the farther that they had walked. At first, he had put it down to a mild hangover, but now he knew it to be something more. The heat emanating from his shoulder led him to believe that it might be an infection. Even with his arm strapped, any slight movement felt unbearable. He would need to find more antibiotics as soon as they returned.

  The park took an hour to cross. The sheer density of the land proved difficult to traverse, especially without the aid of a machete. Beneath the messy tangle of bushes and heathland, they discovered the remains of some old communal buildings and a large, flat area formerly used as a football field. The once-white goal posts, partly strangled by vines, stood resilient, angular amongst the chaos of unchecked growth. The buildings were decomposed and uninhabited, empty and offering up nothing of use. Beyond the field, the pair stumbled upon a hidden lake. A misshapen and rotten, wooden pier thrust out to a ramshackle balustrade complete with benches at its centre. Many species of ducks and other birds sought solace in the thick reeds at its edges. Small flies hovered in swarms above its tepid waters and insects skated tiny trails across the green, algae-covered surface; a tangled Utopia. Tanner considered the find: the birds could be a welcome source of eggs and meat, sustainable if the site remained hidden and the supply was used frugally.

  By the time they broke the tree line on the far side, both Tanner and Juliana were sweating profusely so they stopped for a drink. Underneath the thick boughs, the air was cool and still, the silence complete. The shade offered respite from the sun and the lack of glare allowed them to fully open their eyes, relieving the taut muscles of their permanently squinting and screwed up faces. Tanner felt weak, but in true soldier fashion, he pushed the thoughts aside; there was no room for weakness.

  “Tanner, look,” Juliana said, pulling him from his thoughts.

  Ahead of them, a high, moss-covered wall blocked access to the road beyond it. It left them with two choices: they could either climb it, or move in the wrong direction until they discovered a gate.

  “Guess we’d better walk around,” Tanner said, his voice deflated. Only a few weeks ago he would have vaulted the wall and landed on the other side without breaking a sweat.

  With understanding in her eyes, Juliana nodded and began to walk. Now that they were out of the sun, re-hydrated, and alone, the decision proved to be a good one, the detour only a short walk. A few hundred metres away, hidden beneath the paunch of an obese rhododendron bush, a buckled wrought iron gate gave access to the street.

  Cautiously, and with their guns raised, the pair ducked low, scrabbled through the bush and stepped out onto the street. A lush, green carpet of grass spilled out of the park and lay on the road like a door mat. Together, they took in their surroundings.

  The buildings held the same morbid theme. Many were burnt out; blackened frameworks decorated with buckled shards of molten steel. Of the few that remained intact, the shadows clogged the insides, gateways capable of unleashing any number or type of unspeakable things.

  Ahead and to their right lay the Church of Ruin.

  “There she is. Quite the place to make a home, huh?” Tanner said, having to crook his neck in order to see the top.

  The unfinished structure dominated the terrace of surrounding buildings. With no signage, there was no way to tell what the building had been originally intended for, but its sheer size and belligerence suggested a headquarters of some kind—something powerful, like a bank, perhaps.

  He tapped Juliana on the arm and together they moved slowly towards it, keeping to the middle of the road for safety. The press of the tall trees in the parkland on one side and the density of the buildings on the other left the area feeling dark, in complete contrast to the sunnier market square.

  Around the base of the building, a company called Able’s Construction had run a bright orange fence about eight feet high to separate the pedestrian walkway from the building site. The fence completely blocked any view of the inside from the street.

  Juliana stopped and leaned on the fence, wiping her dripping forehead with the back of one forearm and smearing the hair to the top of her head in the process. Her mouth hung open as her body attempted to cool itself.

  “The gate wouldn’t be accessible from the road,” Tanner said, himself panting as pain bit down hard on his shoulder. “Too much traffic. There will be a more discreet working entrance, somewhere nearby. So, now we’re here, how do ya wanna play this, then? Sounds like this Tidus might not be the welcome party sort.”

  Juliana looked at him, a frown of concern evident. “I’m thinking that we should make our presence known as soon as we see the gate,” she answered. “Probably best that we don’t go sneaking in unannounced. Not until we know what we are dealing with.”

  Tanner simply nodded in agreement and tried to ignore the drilling in his temple. Deep down he was not so sure, but he was in no state to argue or offer alternative solutions. Diplomatic, front door entries had never been his specialty and, from what the woman at the breakfast place had told them, the man inside was not to be trusted. However, considering that they only wanted to ask a few questions, perhaps the situation would be containable.

  Juliana rubbed against his arm with a caring look that made his insides shrivel, but unwilling to upset her, Tanner forced a smile.

  “Let’s find this entrance,” he said.

  They followed the cracked and broken path, keeping within the man-made barriers as it ventured onto the road before re-joining the pavement on the other side.

  An alleyway—bearing the usual signs of a construction yard entrance—continued between the buildings. Long-abandoned cones lay entwined in weeds next to piles of lumber and concrete—useful resources had they not been far too heavy for people to lift without the aid of heavy machinery. Farther along and the fence line broke in place of a huge, gated entrance. The barrier remained down and a small guard hut next to it sat empty.

  They stopped at the barrier. Tanner craned his neck to look up again and garner the full height of the tall monstrosity. He whistled softly between his teeth. “It seems the Queen is in; the flag is at full mast!”

  With a look of confusion, Juliana followed his stare.

  Poking out at right angles from many of the front, lower, unglazed windows, scaffold poles had been erected, each one adorned with rows of decomposing and decomposed bodies. Torn clothing hung in tatters from the skeletal ornaments like washing left to rot on the line.

  Tanner watched Juliana’s top lip curl in disgust.

  “Now what? Sure you wanna go marching in there?” Hoping that the macabre sight might put her off, he was surprised when she suddenly took a few steps forward and ducked under the barrier.

  Grimacing at the thought of having to stoop, Tanner let out a small, resigned sigh. “Guess that’s a yes then.”

  The front yard of the building site played host to a scene typical of any construction yard from before the cull. Tall fronds of grass had taken advantage of the lack of tarmac, and now covered the entire space. Large, shipping containers, many of them with their doors open and contents pilfered, sat rusting against the fencing line. Huge coils of copper wire and steel trellis lay curled around immense wooden drums which had become ensnared in the ever-growing tangles of weeds. Much of the heavy plant had gone, but several trucks remained, their cabs smashed and any working parts long missing.

  Before them, the stairs leading to the barricaded front entrance of the building loomed. Juliana carried on straight up and, after a final check of the yard behind them, Tanner followed her.

  At the top, Juliana turned to face him. “Shall I just shout?”

  Ta
nner shook his head. Even against the growing sickness he managed a small, sarcastic smile. “Trust me; if anybody is in there, they already know that we’re here.”

  As if in response to his reply, a loud crack sounded from somewhere beyond the barricade. He looked at Juliana as if to say ‘I told you so’, but she had already turned away from him. With sweat running in cascades down his over-heated face, Tanner raised his gun.

  A crude affair, the barricade at the front of the building consisted mainly of wooden pallets and any metal panels or sheeting light enough to carry. Gaps hinted at the darkness within.

  “Can I help you?”

  The voice came from nowhere, startling them both.

  Tanner spun, resisting the urge to pull down on his trigger and blow whoever it was to kingdom come.

  The man stood easily over six feet tall, perhaps even closer to seven. Long tresses flowed over his angles, giving him an almost feminine appearance at first. His head had been shaved completely bald.

  Juliana was the first to step forward. “Are you Tidus?”

  The man smiled but the result was more evil grimace than greeting. “Who wants to know?” he asked; the voice deep and silky.

  “My name is Juliana. This here is Tanner. We are looking for our friend. He went missing in the Refuge a few days ago. Somebody told us that you might know something…”

  Tanner watched as dark eyes tracked down to take in the guns at their hips before trailing back up again. They hovered, assessing him for a few moments, wary and doubtful.

  “And why would I know anything about your friend?”

  Juliana cut in again, quick as a shot. Tanner simply watched, swallowing against the growing ache in his throat.

  “Because we heard that you are the peacekeeping force in the city… the one that people might go to with their problems…” she said.

  Well played, Tanner thought. Play to his ego.

  Obviously happy with the compliment, Tidus smiled and nodded. “And what if your friend doesn’t want to be found?”