From her bedroom window, Olga saw the top of the arena. Before national service, she’d had no desire to enter the world of the protectors. Then she found out how good she was at killing the rotten freaks. What she’d give to have another chance to make the trials. To have another six months with Max and team Minotaur. Too late now. A life in laundry lay ahead of her. Within two years she’d be broken by the monotony and, like every other adult in the city, would accept and live within Edin’s arbitrary laws.
Rough bread and runny scrambled eggs for breakfast. Again. Olga’s throat clamped in anticipation. But she had to eat it. Very few of Edin’s residents could turn their nose up at protein, no matter how snotty.
The salty mess lay on Olga’s tongue while she chewed the toast. A silent countdown in her head to psych herself up, she swallowed. She focused on the two plates opposite in an attempt to stifle her heave. Every mealtime, her mum set the table as if she expected the girls to return. The silence of their absence often dominated the conversation.
What must have been ten minutes passed before her father finally spoke. Quick on the draw this morning! A small rotund man with tight curly brown hair, a moustache, and a big nose. “So what are you doing today?”
Even though he watched his plate the entire time, Olga knew he intended the question for her. Eye contact left the house with her sisters. To look at one another caused too much pain. But Olga didn’t reply like she normally would. Instead, she waited for the man to lift his attention. His wincing eyes pleaded with her to end the torture. “I dunno,” she said. “Laundry would be my guess.”
“Of course, of course.” He returned to the safety of speaking to his gloopy eggs. “But scrubbing or rinsing? Which one you choose often affects how your day turns out.”
And that was what it had come to. The days in Edin were a thing to be endured. The only variety in laundry was if you scrubbed or rinsed. You should carefully consider what you were: a scrubber or a rinser? Such mundanity while chaos roamed the wastelands outside the wall. No wonder Spike had made a run for it. But truth be told, it hadn’t seemed so bad before she went on national service. It would be dull, sure, but she’d make good friends and find someone to love. With that, she could endure the tedium. And maybe she’d expected the mood in the house to lift when she returned from the experience. A reason for celebration after years of mourning. But everything changed in those six months. Everything changed for her, and nothing changed for her parents. She’d found out what she could do. She’d met people with life in them. Spirit. Hell, she even missed Ranger, the egotistical little prick. She’d met Max and now she owed him. By saving her, he got bitten. She could do nothing for a diseased Max, but an incarcerated one …
Also, in the national service area, Olga didn’t have the daily reminder of her sisters’ passing. Her attention back on the two plates in front of her, she wrapped tight fists around her cutlery. Maybe her parents sensed something, because although they didn’t look up, they both stopped eating.
“I didn’t die, you know?” Olga said. “I returned from national service. Alive!”
Both Olga’s mum and dad looked up. Her dad’s eyes were ringed with dark bags from years of insomnia, her mum’s lips tight. Avian, she had drawn features and a pointy nose. A slight wobble ran through her as if she held her grief on simmer. But neither of them challenged or questioned her. Since her sisters had died, her parents seemed to be awaiting the same fate. Days in Edin were to be endured. Life became a burden to carry until the weight of it grew too heavy and they were finally allowed the release of death. But Olga didn’t want to simply endure.
While working through her mouthful of eggs and toast with quick chews, Olga’s mum finally said, “I heard you waking again this morning. Did you have another nightmare? About national service?”
As much as Olga wanted to say no, to tell her the truth that the nightmares were never about national service but the life she now lived, she nodded.
“It’ll get easier,” her mum said.
That was what she wanted to believe. Although, what did it matter? The message was clear. Olga should get her head down and endure. If she did that—contrary to all the evidence in front of her—life would get easier.
The rest of breakfast endured in silence, Olga still had some time before she had to leave for work. She’d returned to her room and now sat on her bed staring out of her window at the top of the arena. So close, but so far away. Guards stood between her and ever seeing it again. But did the protectors really have a much better life than those who worked in the districts? Were they slaves much like everyone else? Slaves to the people to put on a show. To impale heads on spikes and slay creatures as a way of reassuring them they were in safe hands? A way to remind them to keep working for Edin because Edin worked for you. She laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, right!”
But at least the protectors could go where they wanted. Be with whomever they wanted. If Max had won the trials, would he have come for her? They were close, but how close? Who was she kidding? What made her so special? What did she have to offer that every other girl in the city couldn’t have given him? And what did it matter anyway? Neither of them had made it. But she couldn’t forget about his current situation. Locked in a cell, not because he’d done anything wrong, but because he’d saved her life. But what could she do about it? She couldn’t bust him out. How could she make it across the city over walls and rooftops when she couldn’t even do fifty press-ups?
Olga lost her thoughts when her dad hammered against the other side of her door. “We’re going to work in an hour. Make sure you’re ready.”
While letting out a hard sigh, Olga slumped and spoke to her toes. “Yay! Another day in laundry.”
Chapter 4
As much as William wanted to call after Hugh to slow down, it wouldn’t do any of them any favours. He pursed his lips to fight his urge as the stocky boy vanished through the open gate.
“What’s he doing?” Matilda said. The day had warmed up, yet she continued to shake as they followed him.
The screams beyond the wooden barrier grew louder, one occasionally silenced by the tonk of stick hitting skull. “I know he’s a bit rough around the edges,” William said, “but he’s a good fighter. Hugh’s been a good pal. I won’t turn my back on someone I care about. I need you to trust me, Matilda.”
Her face slack, Matilda shrugged. “I’m not saying we should leave him. I trust you with my life. I always have. If you stand by Hugh, then I stand by him.”
Fighting through the throbbing sting in his right foot, William quickened his pace, his sword raised as the steps of Matilda joined him.
The second he entered the national service area, William halted, Matilda crashing into his back. Hugh just a few feet in front of them, he gripped onto his thick stick with both hands as he swung for the diseased bearing down on him. The boy moved so fast, the stick turned into a blur. He hit their skulls with cracks and tonks, playing the beat of a skilled percussionist.
On his own, Hugh could defeat ten creatures—maybe even twenty—but there were many more diseased in the national service area who were yet to notice them. If he didn’t wind his neck in, they’d be overwhelmed in seconds.
As several more diseased closed in on Hugh, William lunged for one with the tip of his sword. The best way to end the rotten bastards, he drove the point through its face. As it fell, pulling his blade with it, he withdrew, letting the creature crumple to the ground while keeping a hold of his weapon. A waft of rot and vinegar assaulted him as if the puncture wound had torn a gas leak in the beast.
Matilda doing the same on Hugh’s other flank, William scanned the national service area again. A small pack charged their way, but the bulk of the creatures were too distracted to notice them, many of them running in the opposite direction over the brow of the hill and out of sight.
The veins on Hugh’s neck were like thick twine, his skin glistening with sweat. Just as he set off to charge the next closest d
iseased, William caught the back of his collar and dragged him away from the fight.
Alive with berserker rage, Hugh turned, sending a chill through William. Would they really have to fight each other here? But then it softened, the darkness in his eyes lightening just a little. At first a frown crushed Hugh’s features, fury giving way to confusion, and then remorse flooded in. Although he opened his mouth to talk, William dragged him towards the open gate, Matilda covering their backs.
Several feet clear of the gates, the screams of the pursuing pack on their tail, William turned Hugh back around. He stood on one side of him, Matilda on the other. The screams drawing closer, he tightened his grip on his sword and nudged his short and stocky friend. “Now we’re ready to fight them.”
Before Hugh had time to question it, the first diseased burst through the narrow gap in the gates. The small space created a bottleneck so they only had to face one or two at a time.
William stepped back a pace, Hugh and Matilda moving back with him and spreading out.
The first runner met the wide chopping arc of William’s sword, the crunch of its yielding skull running through the weapon’s grip. As the beast fell, Hugh and Matilda took out one each, and they all stepped back again.
They dropped the next three and stepped back. Then the next three, fighting in sync with one another, moving back with one another.
The flow of diseased ceased when they were about ten feet from the gates. A carpet of the fallen lay between them and re-entry to the national service area.
“We could call them all out,” Hugh said, his face alive, his eyebrows lifting at the suggestion. “Use the gate to slow them down and destroy the lot of ’em.”
Matilda’s skin glistened, her cheeks red as she fought to get her words past her rasping breaths. “There’s no chance of me doing that for any length of time. There has to be another way.”
“I agree,” William said. “I don’t have it in me to fight that many. Let me lead the way. I reckon we can sneak past most of them if we’re careful.”
Although Hugh drew a breath as if to argue, William cut him off. “We go to war with that lot in there and we won’t make it to the first dorm. Fighting is a last resort.”
Hugh’s frame sagged and he lowered his head.
Now he’d caught his breath, William glanced at the gates again. “Right, you ready for this?”
“Yep,” Matilda said, her jaw set, her sword raised.
“Hugh?”
“Yep.”
“Then follow my lead.” A dry gulp, thirst pinching his throat, William walked through the slain diseased to the gap in the gates.
William poked his head in and looked across the national service area. Their immediate vicinity might have been clear, but there were plenty of diseased ready to notice them should they slip up. If they stayed close to the wall, it might help, but it would give them one less direction to run should they need an escape. It would also double the distance they had to travel. The dorms had to be a better option for cover: a more direct route through the national service area, and their roofs were too high for the diseased to reach. No time for consulting with the others, he led them up the small hill towards the first dorm.
Damn near deafened by his own hammering pulse, William’s eyes burned from where he refused to blink. His two friends beside him, they seemed as equally focused on the diseased.
Several more packs ran away from them out of sight over the brow of the hill. What had they seen? His grip slick with sweat, William looked back at the gate. The nearest dorm was now closer than their escape out of the city.
When William reached the top of the hill, he stopped and waited for the other two to catch up. At least two hundred feet away, what looked to be seven or eight people stood on the roof of what had once been team Phoenix’s dorm. Tens of diseased gathered around them, and more were joining the press of bodies all the time.
“What do we do?” Matilda said.
What could they do? It might have been harsh, but they weren’t here to save everyone. William held on to his reply. And then he saw him.
“Trent,” Matilda said.
The unmistakable beanpole silhouette among the survivors on the roof.
“Who’s Trent?”
“Someone from agriculture,” William said.
“You know him well?” Hugh asked.
“Well enough. He was the kid we punched to get out of Edin last night.”
“Shall we save him?”
Finally looking away from the boy from agriculture, William turned to Hugh and Matilda. When he saw no judgement in their eyes, he saw no reason to deviate from the plan. The words still didn’t come easily. “We can’t help everyone. If we die saving them, we have no chance with Artan and the others. Besides, they’re distracting the diseased. I can’t think of a better opportunity for us to sneak past.”
William winced in anticipation of his friends’ resistance, but Matilda nodded. “When we get to the other side, we can tell them there’s survivors out here. Someone else can come and rescue them, some protectors maybe. They’re safer up there than they are with us.”
Maybe a twisted logic, but it would do. “Okay, so we’re agreed? We keep going, yeah?”
Matilda nodded. Hugh took a second or two longer, his eyes glazing as if he lusted for a fight.
“Hugh?” William said.
“Huh? Yeah, let’s go. We can’t fight that many diseased.”
“You sound sad about that.” Although Matilda said it to Hugh, she looked at William.
Had he made the correct choice standing by his friend? Would he prove to be too much of a liability? Too late to question it now. “Right,” William said. “Let’s keep going.”
Just as he moved off, William froze.
“Spike!” Trent waved his long arms. “Over here. Help us, please.”
The faces of what felt like hundreds of diseased turned William’s way.
Matilda spat the word. “Shit.”
His pulse fuelled by the diseased’s cries, William gasped against his panic before taking off towards what had been team Chupacabra’s dorm. The other two followed.
Chapter 5
Two hours earlier
“Half an hour until we leave for work,” Olga’s dad called, snapping Olga from her daze. No matter how many times she blinked, it did nothing to ease the sting in her eyes. She’d stared at the floor for so long, they’d damn near dried open. The prospect of another shitty day doing her same shitty job had ground her to inaction. Half an hour without moving. But she’d best accept this life now. Doing a job she hated and staying in a house where the ghosts had more to say than the people living there—that is, until she met someone appropriate enough to live with. And that was what it boiled down to: were they appropriate? Could she find someone she hated at least slightly less than her profession, so when she came home at the end of the day, it felt like a relief? Maybe she’d even look forward to it. But, no matter who she chose, it wouldn’t be Max.
Despite lethargy turning her blood to syrup, Olga stood up, bounced on her toes, and stretched to the ceiling. She couldn’t live like this. Butterflies danced in her stomach. She needed to take responsibility for her life. She needed to be the change she wanted to see in this household.
Olga left her room, stepping into the suffocating silence of the rest of the house, and headed straight for the kitchen. Both her mum and her dad were sat at the table opposite one another. Each of them hugged steaming mugs of mint tea, their heads bowed. The places were still laid for her sisters.
“I’ve had enough,” Olga said.
They both looked up.
Olga pointed at her mum first and then her dad. “Are you two going to say anything other than Dad giving the house a countdown until we go to work? Is this really the life you’ve chosen for yourselves?”
Still nothing.
“You must have something you want to say to one another? Something you want to say to me? How would Jacqueline an
d Nikki feel to see what you two have become? And how do you think I feel? I lost two sisters to national service, and maybe I need to accept I’ve lost my parents too.”
When her dad drew a breath, Olga fixed on him, hope swelling in her chest. Then the light in his eyes died and he let go of a long sigh. She deflated with him.
“Come on, Dad, say something. Anything. Show me you haven’t given up on life. Show me there’s something worth living for, because at the moment, I’m wondering if coming back from national service was the booby prize.”
A wince ran across her mum’s face. And that was the hardest part. There was something there, but neither of them was prepared to share it.
A few more seconds of silence, Olga’s dad fixed on her again. “Twenty-five minutes before we need to leave for work.”
Olga clenched her fists, forcing her nails into her palms. The same apathetic glaze covered both her parents’ eyes, and it took all she had not to turn their table over. But screw them. She’d tried. She’d given them their chance. After shaking her head, she left the kitchen.
The bed took up most of Olga’s room, so when she’d needed a desk for schoolwork, her dad had made her a lap tray she could work from. It had served a purpose. As she leaned over it now, the familiar pain at the base of her neck returned. Some days, she’d spent so many hours working she’d go to bed dizzy. A fresh sheet of paper on her portable desk, the second she touched the nib of her pen to it, the words flowed out of her. She’d drafted this letter a thousand times in her mind.
Collapse: Book four of Beyond These Walls - A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 2
