The Ruins Book 2: A Dystopian Society in a Post-Apocalyptic World (The Ruins Series)

by T. W. Piperbrook

  The terrain curved higher as they reached the top of the mountain and turned north. Once in a while, they lost sight of the horse tracks where Kirby, Bray, William and Flora had ridden on the way in, where some of the snow had melted or a new layer had fallen, but they were able to pick them up. Eventually, they came upon a flatter spot in the mountain, where the ground leveled out. On their left, a wall of rocks, each about the size of a boot, climbed to higher elevations. On the right, thick trees obscured the once-visible river in the distance, far down the slope. Kirby recognized the landmarks from her initial journey.

  The horse in front of her snorted.

  "Calm down," Heinrich said, spurring the horse with his feet. "What's your problem?"

  "Maybe he's telling you that you've eaten too much pig this winter," Ruben said with a laugh from behind him.

  "Not so much that I can't jump off and throw a boot up your ass," Heinrich retorted.

  Jonas steered his horse behind the first one, glancing quietly at the rocks. The steed seemed as if it was pulling in the other direction. Kirby looked up the wall of rocks. She blinked. She was tired, but it seemed as if the rocks were moving. It took her a second to realize she wasn't imagining things. Some rocks were sliding down the steep mountain.

  "What's going on?" Jonas asked, shifting in the saddle as the horse veered away.

  "Savages!" cried Heinrich, pulling his blade from its scabbard.

  Movement from farther up grabbed Kirby's attention. She looked upward to find a group of mutants scurrying from a hidden crevice halfway up the rock wall, kicking rocks loose as they slid down the hill, hissing and scrambling down the slope toward the riders.

  "Keep going!" Jonas said.

  Heinrich ordered his horse onward, probably grateful to be on an animal that might put him out of danger, for once. The mutants tripped over one another as they ran for the horses and the riders, sending more rocks tumbling down the ravine, creating a mini-avalanche. Rocks banged against one another. Mutants screeched. They had a good chance at outrunning them.

  But the commotion was too much for the horses. Or maybe they weren't used to the new riders. Heinrich's horse reared up.

  He attempted to control it, but the horse bucked and threw him off.

  Heinrich shouted as he toppled.

  Ruben managed to stay on the saddle, grabbing hold of the pommel as the horse's hooves hit the ground hard. He struggled to keep his balance. Jonas and Kirby's horse whinnied as it galloped around the other horse and kept going. Kirby looked behind her. Heinrich struggled to his feet, raising his sword as he faced the oncoming mutants while Ruben remained precariously on the horse.

  Heinrich drew his blade as the first mutant reached him. The creature swung a wart-covered arm. He blocked the blow, pushed it backward, and slashed the thing's stomach. More mutants swarmed him. Kirby watched as the skirmish faded into the distance and she and Jonas got farther away.

  "Dammit!" Jonas cried as he tried turning his agitated horse around. "Go back! Go back!"

  Kirby felt a second of vindication as she envisioned Heinrich crawling with mutants, his guts unraveling, until she remembered what Deacon had told her. If anything happens to these men, expect the same fate for William.

  "Coax him!" Kirby told Jonas, her pistol in hand. "He's a fighting horse! Redirect him!"

  Jonas looked behind him at Kirby, giving her a cautious look before following her instructions. They turned Blackthorn around and started in the direction of the battle. Heinrich had slain the surrounding mutants, but five more bounded down the rocky slope, drawn from hiding. Ruben fought off a mutant from his saddle, jabbing it with his sword.

  Seeing another horse coming, one of the mutants diverted to Kirby and Jonas. Their horse charged into the demon, knocking it down, trampling it with apparent ease. Kirby heard the sound of ground guts beneath its hooves. She aimed her pistol, stopping when she realized the horse might pitch her off once the gunfire started. It had heard gunshots before. But she didn't trust it.

  "Stop the horse!" she told Jonas.

  He complied and the horse came to a halt.

  Leaping from the saddle, she joined the fray. A mutant ran toward her, jaws clacking, oversized head lolling to the side. She raised her pistol and shot it in the head, sending it sprawling. Another came running, but she fired twice more, hitting that mutant in the chest, and in the torso. It fell down, dead.

  Heinrich had managed to battle off most of the remaining mutants, but a few remained, attacking from several sides. Ruben was preoccupied with another demon that had run at him on his horse.

  Heinrich swung and struck one of the mutants down, but the other two were closing in. Kirby yelled to get the creatures' attention, redirecting one, luring it away from Heinrich and blasting it to the ground, dead. Heinrich speared the last mutant, finishing it off with a jab to the neck.

  A few last, tumbling rocks rolled down the hill. A mutant gave a last, dying gasp.

  Kirby looked around. She looked up.

  No more mutants.

  Jonas's mouth hung agape as he processed he might've died. Ruben steadied himself on his horse, while Heinrich relaxed his sword.

  With a look of disgust, Kirby said, "I wish they had gnawed your bones clean. All of you."

  Chapter 28: Bray

  Bray stared between Flora and the strange, marked men who trained their guns on them. Their tangled, knotted hair and markings matched the men they had killed in Kirby's settlement.

  Halifax men.

  Six of them.

  Flora kept her knife poised over Bray, as if she still might follow through and stab him. One of the men stepped forward and barked an order Bray didn't understand, sounding far different than anyone Bray had heard in Brighton. Flora didn't respond. The man barked again. He shook his gun offensively, taking a stance. The marks on his head were fatter and longer, covering more of his forehead than the others.

  A leader.

  Flora dropped her knife. Bray made a move to get out from underneath her, but the lead man shouted, freezing him. The man waved at one of the others, who scooted forward and retrieved Flora's knife, stuffing it into a jacket pocket. That man grabbed Flora's shoulder and ripped her to her feet.

  "Get off me, you filthy Savage!" Flora cried.

  Unmistakable fear lit her eyes as the man pulled her farther from Bray.

  Bray remained on the ground as the man with thick, fat marks walked over and stood above him, appraising him. He took in Bray's blood-soaked clothes, his visible injuries, and his ripped clothing. It looked like he was trying to figure something out. Flora, relieved to have the attention off her for a moment, remained silent. Grunting, the fat-marked man said something to another man. The man replied in the same, strange tongue.

  Taking a chance, Bray said, "Thank you for stopping her."

  The fat-marked man's face betrayed nothing, but he didn't silence Bray.

  Using the opportunity, Bray kept going. "She and her people ambushed me. They tried to kill me, and they probably killed my friends. They are cowards."

  Something registered in the fat-marked man's eyes as he looked at Flora. His men held grave faces as they shook their heads. They were bitter enemies.

  But was Bray?

  He doubted the man could understand him, but if he could convey that he wasn't from the islands, perhaps that put him in a better position.

  "I'm not from The Arches," he said, nodding far down the slope, hoping the man could understand.

  The fat-marked man stared at him for a moment. Then he followed his gesture, looking down the hill.

  "You aren't the first they have attacked," he answered, shocking Bray with a thick, accented tone that he couldn't believe he understood. "They have killed many of us."

  Bray opened and closed his mouth in surprise. Even Flora seemed startled to hear the Halifax man speak. Hoping to explain further, Bray put his elbows on the ground to get up, but the man waved his gun, keeping him down. A few more men stepped
forward, aiming their weapons at Bray.

  Bray slowly raised his hand, trying to imbue sincerity. He pointed southwest. "I'm from another township."

  The man nodded, but no one lowered the guns.

  Before Bray could speak further, another man took Flora's other arm and the two dragged her farther away.

  "Leave me alone, you filthy wild men!" Flora spat and swore.

  The men ignored her, speaking in rapid tongues. It sounded like they were deciding something, or maybe they were reveling in what was obviously a lucky find.

  "Stay down," the fat-marked man told Bray.

  Bray kept a strong face through his fear as the fat-marked man walked over where Flora was being held by two men, leaving Bray in the captivity of the other three. The man waved his rifle in Flora's face, taunting her. He lowered it, looked directly in her eyes, and smiled, revealing a line of dirty, stained teeth. A few were chipped or missing.

  Flora spit in his face.

  Anger crossed the man's face as he wiped his mouth, as if he'd expected a different reaction. Or maybe he was looking for an excuse to do something. He beckoned to the two men holding Flora, who held her arms tightly while he stuck the end of the gun at her mouth, grinding it against her lips. Flora clamped her mouth shut, flailing against the men that held her as she screamed in her throat. Bray looked at the three men who were pointing guns at him. Their severe expressions showed they wouldn't give him a second warning. Maybe they didn't want him to interrupt what was about to happen.

  The ache of numerous wounds caught up to Bray as he breathed through broken ribs—wounds that Flora and her people had caused. Watching her struggle in the arms of these strange, savage men, he felt no sympathy for her.

  But something deeper than revenge was on Bray's mind. The fat-marked man forced the gun past her lips, smiling as the end of the weapon hit her teeth.

  "Stop!" Bray said.

  The fat-marked man halted. He looked up, keeping the gun at Flora's mouth. The other men shouted something and waved their guns at Bray.

  Raising his palms first to show he meant no harm, he slowly pointed at Flora.

  "She's a leader. She has information you can use."

  The fat-marked man looked confused. Bray pointed at the marks on the man's head.

  Flora tried screaming something through her clenched teeth, but the men squeezed her arms tighter. A few of the men looked at Bray in bewilderment. The fat-marked man stared for a long time—too long. For a moment, Bray was certain he'd made a fatal mistake in speaking out. Finally, the man nodded slowly and pulled his gun away.

  "We'll bring her," the man said simply.

  "Liar!" Flora screamed at Bray. "Filthy coward!"

  "She can tell you about the islands," Bray reinforced.

  "I will give you nothing!" Flora shouted. Despite her attempts at bravery, a deep fear flickered in her eyes. She let loose a string of curses as she realized that Bray had signed her up for a slow, painful death.

  The truth was that Bray needed Flora alive.

  He needed information. Perhaps he could find out what he needed to know, and then go his separate way. The fat-marked man dispelled that plan. Pointing at Bray, he said, "You are coming with us, too."

  Chapter 29: William

  William pounded the smooth, dark walls of the windowless building. He kicked at the door with the last of his feeble strength. He wasn't getting out. The thick metal entrance was impenetrable for a boy who had been tossed in without so much as a blanket, or a jacket. He had no knives. No sword. He'd heard the soldiers laughing after they threw him in, cold and possession-less, still recovering from sickness.

  He had no idea where Bray or Kirby were.

  The only light was from a thin crack under the doorway. The air smelled of sweat and blood, the remnants of whoever had last been in here, probably trying the same things he had been trying for hours, ever since the soldiers had tossed him here like week-old meat. Anger bled through his fear as he thought of how Berta had welcomed them in, directed them to his bed, and watched them drag him away. A look of sympathy had crossed her face, but she'd done nothing as one of the soldiers clamped a dirty hand over his mouth, silenced him, and hissed threats of death.

  He'd been taken away on horseback, a knife to his back as they rode through the woods and to this dark, lightless building. If he'd been told he was in some prison in the townships, he might've believed it. But even those prisons had warmth and food.

  Where had Kirby gone? Had they taken her to a similar room, or was she dead?

  William cursed as anger turned back to defeat. He pounded the door for another, countless time, screaming all the names of anyone he could think of—anything to get someone to open up and let him out, or give him a blanket, or a jacket. But no one answered.

  Finally, he sank to the floor, wondering if he'd die before he got out.

  Chapter 30: Bray

  The Halifax men pointed their guns at Bray, making it clear he couldn't leave, though their treatment of him was much different than Flora. He walked in the middle of the group. He wasn't mistreated. They gave him a few bandages for his wounds, and a flask to drink. Flora was dragged behind forcefully, silenced whenever she tried to call out, struck occasionally when she took too long to take a step. Bray watched the forest, wondering if other islanders were waiting in the trees to rescue her. Perhaps he'd found himself in a new group, only to be ambushed.

  But these men had guns. They had power.

  They could take on more than a handful of islanders, he figured.

  He couldn't stop looking at their miraculous weapons. He hadn't seen so many in one place, at one time. He was fortunate these men had arrived, even if they had stolen Kirby's guns. But he didn't trust them. They might be keeping him alive for a reason he couldn't see.

  And they clearly weren't letting him leave.

  Looking over at the fat-marked man, the leader, he asked, "What is your name?"

  The man looked at him for a long moment before answering. "Samron."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Halifax."

  "How far is Halifax?" Bray asked, hoping more information might help, even though he had a vague idea from what Flora had told him, days ago.

  Samron took a second to answer. It looked as if he was reaching for the words. "We will be there tomorrow."

  Samron gave him a look that told him he should stop asking questions. Bray nodded as he kept following, pushing through the pain. He wanted to turn and interrogate Flora, to demand answers about William and Kirby, but something told him he shouldn't push these men's boundaries. He wasn't in a position to demand anything.

  They'd reached the top of the incline and were heading northwest into territory that was unfamiliar. The men fell into a tense walk, scanning the trees as if they expected a trap, or more islanders.

  Bray saw nothing except forest.

  He thought back to his first trip to the islands. They'd skirted to the east of Halifax, according to Flora's directions. Halifax was a full day's travel from the islands, on horseback. These men were on foot. He didn't see how they could reach it by the following day. Perhaps Flora had gotten her information wrong. Or maybe she had lied, like she had lied about everything else.

  He'd barely had a chance to process Flora's attack. She'd probably been planning to betray them since that first, chance encounter. The filthy, dirty islander. Bray wanted to believe he could have overpowered her and survived, but the truth was, he wasn't certain.

  If these men hadn't arrived, he might've died on that hill.

  He thought back to what Jaydra had told him. She'd said Flora had helped her take William and Kirby to the second island. Surely, she must have information. Surely, she must know if they were alive.

  They navigated around several steep hills, or walked over them when there was no clear, easy path. The Halifax men kept brisk strides as they chose a path through thick clusters of trees, avoiding game trails and sticking to a path that was clea
rly untraveled. Bray saw no other boot prints in the snow. He figured they had been watching the islands.

  They must have heard the commotion of his and Flora's altercation.

  A rustle in the distant trees alerted them. The Halifax men halted, staring through a thick patch of forest. Something was moving in another direction, crashing through the bramble in a bold, brazen manner. Bray recognized the hunched, swaying posture of a demon as it headed away. They watched it continue through the trees, getting farther from sight, seemingly alone.

  When it was at a safe distance, Samron said, "Let's go."

  **

  They continued at a rapid pace. A few times they heard crashes in the underbrush, but they saw no more demons close enough to identify, or signs of any islanders. The soreness in Bray's body screamed at him to slow down, but he kept pace with the men, fearing that reducing speed would force them to make another decision. They might kill him rather than let him go. He had talked his way to Halifax, but his position was precarious. Whatever happened after was a guess.

  After marching a while, one of the cuts on his arm cracked open. Bray clamped a hand over the wound. Samron noticed. With an upturned hand, he motioned for the others to halt.

  "We'll rest now," he said.

  The soldiers obeyed his order, holding Flora, who seemed just as exhausted. She had ceased her struggling, or maybe the soldier's infrequent beatings had worn down her resolve. Her eyes were glossy. She stared at Bray with a look he couldn't interpret. Gone was the spark of hatred he'd seen on the hill, when she'd held his knife above his skull. Perhaps she was regretting her decision to attack him.

  Samron opened his bag, rifled through it, and pulled out a piece of cloth. He handed it to Bray, making it clear he should wrap his wound. Bray used the cloth to stop the bleeding, avoiding what might make him weaker, or even kill him.

  "You will need strength," Samron said. "We will walk through the night."

  Chapter 31: Kirby

  After a long day of riding on the back of Jonas's horse—her horse—as Kirby reminded herself angrily, she could hardly see the horse prints they were following. The sun, warm enough to take away some of the chill during the day, set in an orange blaze. Heinrich, Ruben, and Jonas were less talkative after the mutant attack. Kirby figured they were tired from the skirmish, or they were resolved in their mission to get to the settlement.