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

by T. W. Piperbrook

  The river felt like a foe they had defeated.

  But there was no time for celebration.

  The worst enemy was yet to come.

  Chapter 64: Kirby

  Kirby and Flora rode down the empty road under the light of the full moon, holding their burning torches and steering their horses as they headed toward the bend in the road. Kirby couldn't help but feel some ice in her veins as she heard the roaring water in the distance, the noise she now equated with The Arches, and the vicious, cruel man who led there.

  The battle was an ominous, looming thing, hanging above them.

  She looked over at Flora, who was surely feeling some angst as she approached the place where she lived, the place she had betrayed. Flora gripped the reins with fear-soaked eyes.

  "We are getting close," Flora said.

  Kirby risked a last glance behind her. The silhouettes of Enoch's fifteen men—their reinforcements—had disappeared long ago, but she could sense them in the forest, following. Hopefully they would keep to the shadows and avoid notice until it was time.

  "When I was in the Halifax settlement, I never thought I'd return," Flora admitted, as they got closer to the bend. "I had accepted my death. Now I am not sure what to think. It feels like I am living a dream, or a life other than my own."

  "Your parents are back at the settlement," Kirby said, trying to keep her grounded. "You've come back for them. If that is what drives you forward, do not forget it."

  "I never have." Flora looked down at her sword under the torchlight. "Just as I've never forgotten my father."

  They kept riding, rounding the bend. Kirby got a glimpse of the dam in the moonlit night, pouring water over the drop-off and into the river that led to The Arches. Deep in the distance, Kirby caught a first glimpse of some silhouettes standing on the bridge beyond the boulders. A few torches burned from the middle of the bridge, near the single, sloping road leading to the islands. Her heart pounded.

  "They must see us by now," Kirby said, fighting the unsettling feeling of dread that accompanied that statement, as she held her torch higher. "Did you give the signal?"

  "Not yet, but I will," Flora said.

  Kirby watched as Flora waved the torch left, right, and down—a signal that could just as easily have been a warning, if Kirby didn't believe the girl was sincere.

  "I told them we are safe, and alone," Flora explained.

  Kirby nodded. "I hope they do not see the men in the trees."

  Flora agreed nervously.

  A few torches moved as soldiers from the middle of the bridge headed toward the western entrance they were approaching. Kirby saw more silhouettes appearing behind the boulders, but it was difficult to tell numbers.

  "How many guards are normally stationed at the bridge at night?"

  "A few dozen," Flora said.

  They continued down the road, until the rushing water drowned out conversation. The few lights on the bridge had gathered in a cluster around the bridge's entrance, waiting. As they got closer, Kirby saw more shadows walking from the middle of the bridge to the closest boulders, joining the others.

  "Something's wrong," Kirby said. "There are too many of them."

  "They have been guarded about the Halifax soldiers," Flora said. "Perhaps that is it."

  "I don't like the feeling I'm getting." Kirby looked over her shoulder as her nerves bristled. "I can't explain it, but it seems like they are expecting us."

  "Should we ride back?" Flora asked.

  Kirby looked back at the soldiers, her mind racing through decisions. Bray and his group might already be on the island, waiting. They might already be taking out patrols. And Enoch's men were in a position of battle, waiting on the farther end of the bridge, probably watching them approach with the torches. Retreating was a coward's move. They couldn't abandon the others.

  And they couldn't leave William.

  "We need to push forward," she said. "We have come too far to stop now."

  Flora seemed nervous as she looked at the figures in the distance. "As much as I doubt this moment, I agree."

  They rode until the bridge was fifty yards away, keeping an even pace, ensuring they wouldn't alarm anyone. A few soldiers stepped from around the boulders, waiting in the distance to greet them. Slowly, carefully, Kirby reached to her waistline.

  She pulled out a grenade.

  Chapter 65: Deacon

  Deacon glanced behind him at the dark, square silhouettes of the soldier's houses, where his reinforcing soldiers slept. Bartholomew stood next to him at the bottom of the sloping road, speaking with a group of others. The night had been quiet. Other than a small hunting party returning, they had seen nothing else. He knew better than to think they were safe.

  War was coming. Only a fool would think otherwise.

  "The shifts will be changing soon?" Deacon asked Bartholomew.

  "Yes," Bartholomew answered. "I told them to switch out a little earlier, as you instructed. They wake soon. They will be ready."

  Movement on the top of the sloping road drew Deacon's attention. One of his bridge guards rounded the bend at the middle of the bridge, heading toward them at a jog. His torch bounced with his footfalls as he made his way down and past a few other, surprised soldiers. Several other torches from the top of the bridge broke from their posts, heading to the bridge's western entrance.

  Deacon broke from his men and strode up the sloping road, meeting the jogging soldier halfway. "What's going on?" he asked.

  "Two horses approach the bridge, sir," the man said, catching his breath.

  "Jonas, Kirby, and my other men, back with my weapons," Deacon assumed, thinking he had been too quick to call them dead.

  "The stranger woman, Kirby, is on one of them," the soldier concurred. "The other person is one of ours—a girl. There are no men."

  "Who is the girl?"

  "I believe it is the girl Bartholomew tasked to get Bray's scalp. Flora."

  Deacon looked past the reporting soldier and up the bridge, watching the silhouettes of his guards clustering at the western entrance of the bridge. He looked to the right of the bridge, where several others headed to join them. A dark suspicion descended over him as he saw too many of his men heading to one side.

  "Something is wrong," Deacon said. He turned to Bartholomew, who walked up behind him. "Take a small group of men and wake the soldiers in the houses early. Send them to the bridge, right away."

  "Yes, sir."

  "When that is finished, get all the people from the tradesmen's houses. We may need them."

  Chapter 66: William

  William crept by the riverbank of the second island under a moonlit sky, the dead soldier's big jacket hanging over his shoulders. He was still cold, but he couldn't start a fire. As soon as someone discovered him missing, they'd come looking, and a fire or a torch would be an easy thing to spot. He was already worried enough about the moonlight, which was bright enough that someone might find him easily, or at least see his silhouette under the trees. Hoping to avoid notice, he crept down the edge of the island, his demon at his side, watching the rushing, spitting river.

  He'd already ruled out most options of escape.

  But one thought kept coming back to him. William couldn't forget the sight of the lone horse, standing by the back of the building. He'd never get past the men on foot.

  But what if he could steal the horse?

  If his demon distracted them, that might be enough to allow him passage.

  William knew that was a childish hope. He doubted he'd get through an island full of people willing to do Deacon's bidding, and handfuls of guards on the main bridge, even if he managed to steal the steed. They'd shoot him off his horse with an arrow, or stick him with a sword.

  But he couldn't erase the thought from returning.

  "What should we do?" he asked the twisted man.

  The creature hissed as it walked alongside him, but it didn't respond. Of course it didn't. The demons could receive William's o
rders and act on them, but they were incapable of offering any advice. If only Bray and Kirby were here, William thought. But he had a horrible feeling he'd never see them again.

  William had spent days in the wild with only the demons in the Ancient City, hunting, keeping warm, and avoiding men who tried to kill him. He'd survived alone. He knew he could do it. But this was different. Usually, buildings and forests surrounded him—not an island with no clear way out.

  Except the horse…

  William didn't even realize where he was headed until he was near the back of the buildings.

  He crouched in the tree line, hissed for the demon to copy him, and watched. A guard carrying a bobbing torch walked a hundred feet away, next to the building. He couldn't make out the person's features, but he saw the silhouette of the horse standing farther past him, tied to the back of the building.

  The guard checked on the horse. He stopped and looked toward the woods. William's nerves prickled. Had he made a noise he hadn't realized? Had the demon?

  He waited for a shout of alarm, or a slew of guards to flow from the buildings with bright torches. They would hunt him down and bring him to Deacon.

  The guard looked away.

  He walked between the buildings.

  Next to him, William smelled the breath of the demon, awaiting his orders. Most of the other guards were probably in the front of the building, stationed near the wooden bridge. He'd never sneak across it.

  But if he could go fast enough with the horse, he might have a chance.

  William ran from the cover of the forest. The demon followed. His heart knocked against his chest as he crossed the dirt field, the demon a step behind. At any moment, he expected the guard to return, see him in the moonlight, and shout.

  William kept running until he'd almost reached the building. The horse shifted nervously as it saw a boy and a demon approaching, fast. It took every restraint for William to slow down, but if he spooked the horse, his plan would be foiled before it started.

  "Stay here!" he hissed to the twisted man behind him.

  The demon stopped and waited. William kept going.

  He approached the horse slowly, calling softly under his breath, hoping it recognized him.

  He located the rope, followed it to the end, and untied the steed. He made his way around and found the saddle, whispering reassuring words, praying to god the beast didn't rear, or whine. And then he mounted it. A feeling of freedom passed over William as he celebrated the completion of a goal. But it wasn't the last.

  He still needed to—

  A shout echoed across the yard. "Who's there?"

  The demon snarled from the middle of the yard.

  "Bradley?"

  William didn't wait. "Get him!" he shouted over his shoulder.

  The twisted man ran across the last of the field, its bare feet thudding the dirt. William heard the scrape of a drawn sword, but he didn't stay to look. He grabbed the horse's reins and rode. Suddenly he was traveling faster than he'd traveled in a long time, galloping in the other direction. He led the horse around the far wall of the left-hand building and away from the commotion. Behind him, the guard grunted in pain as the demon found flesh. More shouts arose from the front of the buildings as men ran from the bridge to join the commotion. But they were going between the buildings.

  William was going around the left-hand side.

  The horse galloped faster in the glow of the moonlight. William found the bridge, steered the horse toward it, and kept riding. He saw a few bobbing torches as men stopped running halfway between the bridge and the buildings, looking toward the sound of the hooves and the other source of commotion.

  A demon screeched in pain.

  William winced as he heard the dying sounds of the twisted man. His demon had saved him. It had died, so that he could live. Guilt stabbed his gut. He'd killed another demon, just like he'd killed the one in the river. But he couldn't think about it now.

  One guard was still on the bridge, waiting with a torch.

  William didn't stop the horse.

  He might die as he was fleeing. But he needed to take the risk. He spurred the horse through the yard and onto the bridge, nearly trampling the surprised man who made a lunge for him, but was too late. The man cried out as he fell aside, avoiding being trampled. The horse's hooves clomped on the bridge's wooden planks.

  And then William was back on the first island, riding away from the shouts of alarm, free of the second island, but not free enough to think he was safe.

  Chapter 67: Bray

  Bray crept through the forest, his clothes dripping water, leading the way for Samron and the rest of the Halifax men as they walked through the moonlit forest. He gripped his sword. Thick, shadowy trees surrounded them on all sides. He saw no houses, no lights. They were heading west, toward the center of the island and the road that led to the bridge. He hoped. None of the other men had set foot on the island; most of Bray's exploration had been on the far western shore.

  He was following Flora's instructions, but for the most part, guessing.

  The swish of men's and women's wet clothing was loud enough that he feared every islander might hear it. Was someone watching them? Anyone close enough would see their silhouettes and suspect something. One hundred and fifty men walking without torches would prickle even the dimmest man's skin.

  He heard no cries of alarm in the distance, no shouts of war.

  The island was unusually quiet.

  Finding a worn, beaten path cutting through the snow, Bray pointed it out to Samron. The trail likely led to houses, which increased the chances of being seen. Hoping to keep their cover, he altered their course, keeping in the same direction but sticking to the forest. The line of moving men and women followed his lead.

  They maneuvered over fallen branches, rocks, and exposed tree roots. A small, squat structure surprised Bray. He couldn't see more than an outline, but permeating smoke filled his nostrils. He wove around it, holding his breath as more Halifax soldiers passed by. He waited for the door to burst open and a frightened, sword-wielding islander to confront them. Even a subtle noise from one hundred and fifty men might alert someone. No one came out.

  They moved through an area of thick, clustered pines when a crash in the underbrush ground Bray to a halt. A jolt of adrenaline shot through him. He stared through the dark pines, certain an islander had seen them. He listened to a few more crashes grow further away before he determined it was a frightened, retreating animal. The noises faded.

  The men breathed.

  They emerged from the forest to the edge of a farmer's field, vacant and basked in moonlight. Bray surveyed the wide, open area. Far in the distance, he saw several, unmoving lights—the glow from some houses, perhaps, on the other side of what might be the road.

  Voices.

  Bray froze as distant, echoing conversation reached his ears. A moment later, he saw a dozen torches moving slowly past the field, on the road. The lights were moving at an even pace. The voices were conversational. A patrol.

  Samron put up a halting arm to stop the soldiers as they waited in the trees. Bray's pulse pounded as he realized the moment of battle was at hand. He nodded at Samron in the moonlight, a gesture they both knew would be the last moment of peace until this was over.

  He looked behind him at the line of silhouettes that had followed him down the slope, across the river, and onto the island, hoping they would live longer than the battle.

  They ran into the field.

  Chapter 68: Kirby

  Kirby's palm sweated around the grenade as she and Flora rode close enough to see the faces of rows of men and women behind the boulders. A line of soldiers much deeper than she'd realized stood behind each other, waiting. A few had their hands by the hilts of their swords.

  Two men walked out toward them, raising their hands as they prepared a greeting.

  "What—"

  Kirby pulled the pin and threw the grenade.

  Cries of surpri
se filled the air as men and women looked from Kirby to the round, arcing object, watching it spiral through the air and hit the ground. A few took steps forward, or backward, uncertain how to react. An ear-splitting crack pierced the air. The approaching guards screamed in agony as they were thrown from the blast, disappearing in a nasty cloud of dust and debris. Smoke billowed in a giant cloud, filling the front entrance of the bridge. Cries of commotion filled the air as more people scattered. Farther back, people tried to determine what as going on, crashing into each other.

  Kirby's horse reared. She clutched onto the pommel, fighting to settle the confused beast.

  "Kirby!" Flora screamed, somewhere through the smoke.

  "Hang on!" Kirby yelled.

  She pulled another grenade—her last—as the horse landed.

  Several of the soldiers, initially surprised, recovered, stepping through the smoke. Kirby took her last grenade, ripped out the pin, and flung it as far as she could, creating a second blast, prompting even more cries of pain and confusion. Many of the silhouettes disappeared. Flora coughed next to her as she controlled her steed. Kirby blinked and covered her mouth. Through the haze of smoke, she saw bodies and burning torches on the ground. One of the soldiers, not yet dead, shrieked as he clutched a missing leg. Another groaned loudly as he lay flat on his stomach, writhing.

  The war cries of fifteen Halifax men pierced the air behind her.

  Reinforcements were here.

  Kirby grabbed her rifle as men and women ripped past her, aiming their guns and running through the gap next to the boulders, storming the bridge.

  "Ride, Flora!"

  They spurred their horses through the gap next to the boulders, keeping behind the Halifax men. Kirby aimed through the haze, shooting her rifle at several islanders who had already regrouped, or were brave enough to stand and fight. The Halifax man took positions just past the boulders, dodging the bodies of several fallen islanders.