"Go ahead. We have a while until breakfast."
He kept searching from face to face to find his friends again. Eventually, he spotted Bray.
"Is this their job now?" William asked, unable to stop the waver in his voice as he watched Bray picking corn.
"Yes. They are doing their duty, as all of the humans do." Amelia sighed. A hint of nostalgia entered her voice as she said, "I have watched the people in this city for hundreds of years. I used to watch their faces more closely. I even used to walk among them more, many years ago. But I rarely go down to New City anymore."
"Why not?" William asked.
"It is too difficult," Amelia said. "Their lives are but an eye's blink, compared to ours, William. They are there, and then they are gone. One day I learn their names, and the next death or sickness takes them. Or at least it feels that way. Time moves faster as you get older, and it moves even faster for us, with so many years in our past."
A pit took root in William's stomach that he couldn't explain, but he didn't stop watching Bray.
"We've had so many visitors here that I forget their names and faces," Amelia said, gesturing off the roof and in the direction of the tree line. "Some come once or twice, some never again. Almost all come with hopes and dreams, thinking the products we trade them will make their lives better. But it never extends their lives. They die, but we remain, William."
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to find Amelia directing him somewhere else. "I wanted to show you another thing."
She pointed past the end of the crop fields to the west, toward a seemingly empty field.
"Look over there, past the crops and the windmill."
Tearing his attention from his friends, William followed her instructions. Amelia kept quiet as William trained the binoculars where she wanted.
"What are you showing me?"
"Do you see that field past the crops?" Amelia asked.
"Yes. I see only tall grass," William said. "Nothing more."
"Keep looking."
William frowned as he searched, but he didn't see anything interesting. He didn't even see demons. It wasn't until he looked closer that he caught sight of a rectangular rock, seemingly embedded in the earth. Looking to its right, he saw another, and a third. The stones resembled rows of crops, making straight patterns across the overgrown field. He swallowed. He didn't need an explanation to know what they were. Graves.
"Have you heard of a potter's field, William?" Amelia asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Those are the graves of some of the humans that lived here, William," Amelia said, her tone turning sad. "Each of those stones is a marker for the body beneath it. That is where we bury the people who die. Or used to."
William's heart thumped in his chest. "Used to?"
"A few times, mass sicknesses took many lives at once and we needed deeper graves. It was harder to give them separate stones. Soon, we stopped numbering them." Amelia watched William as he held the binoculars. "Eventually, we stopped burying people there altogether. We could have cleared more land, but we found another use for those people."
"A use?" William lowered the binoculars.
Amelia pointed at the ground beneath them, as if William might understand. "This building is lined with windows, William. I assume it is one of the things that impressed you when you arrived."
William nodded.
"We started burning the bodies of the dead in the glass houses." Amelia paused as she looked at him. "We do what some humans used to do years ago; we cremate them. We clean out the ashes, of course, but inevitably some of them make it into the ingredients of our windows. Each of the people who work in New City become a part of the building, a part of what we've built. They live on, even after their deaths."
William's hands shook with fright.
"I don't say this to scare you, William, but to make you understand. The pain of losing your friends is inevitable. Whether they are bodies in a field, or pieces of glass in our building, they will die. But you will not." She gestured in the direction of the fields, helping him find Bray once again, who was pulling a wagon. "Your friends are safe here, or at least safer than in the wild, where too many colonies have thrived and failed. In many ways, your friends have earned a better life here—a protected life. Let them live it out. Do not bother them."
"I—" William paused, unable to muster any more words.
"That is one of the reasons I brought you up here. If you distract them, or give them the prospect of something other than what they are, they might cause their own deaths. If you care for your friends, you will leave them be. You do not want them to die, do you?"
A tear rolled down William's cheek as those words sank in. Without a word, he handed the binoculars to Amelia. He watched as an expression that might be sympathy crossed her face. She tucked some hair behind her ears as a gust of wind blew through it.
"Are you okay, William?"
"I am fine," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"You look upset," she said.
"It's just hard to hear the truth sometimes," he said, clearing his throat.
He looked over at Amelia as more tears fell. Taking a step toward her, he opened his arms. Amelia's face lit with surprise as William embraced her. He squeezed her tight, burying his face into her robe and hoping she wouldn't feel the urgency in his heartbeat.
"Thank you for letting me see my friends," he said. "I understand why you are keeping me away now. I get it."
"You are welcome," she said, seemingly robbed of more words.
Reaching up, his heart thudded as he gently tugged the pin loose from her hair, palmed it, and slipped it into his pocket. He broke away.
"I am ready to go back inside."
Chapter 52: Kirby
Hot morning sun beat down on Kirby as she bent an ear of corn from a long, narrow stalk, and tossed it into the wagon. She'd seen Jack only briefly, when he'd gotten into the line behind her, but he'd been sent to work in another row. The task was menial enough that it hadn't taken much training.
Every so often, a guard or a mutant wandered close enough to startle her, but she was for the most part alone. She had only caught glimpses of Bray and Cullen, moving among a line of workers with skinny limbs, sallow faces, and haunted eyes. She feared the day they blended in completely.
Wiping the sweat from her face, she worked quietly and quickly. Every so often, she glanced at another Field Hand working farther down the row—a gaunt man with thick eyebrows—but he seemed to have no interest in her. She made no attempt to catch his eye, or to talk. Right now, silence seemed to be the only thing keeping her alive—that, and learning as much as she could. In a place where every move was owned, knowledge was power. Perhaps each scrap of information would become a map leading out of this hellish place.
A cough drew her attention to the end of the aisle. A guard passed by, a fist covering his mouth. He glanced at Kirby for a moment or two before passing. She avoided his eyes.
A footstep crunched the dirt in the next row of corn stalks. Something creaked.
Someone—or something—lurked on the other side. Kirby tensed, thinking a mutant might've gone astray. Relief hit her as she saw a slave pulling a full wagon of corn. She heard the wheels groan as the cart got closer, and then she saw a hint of clothes. Maybe it was Jack, come to check on her. A face peered through two of the stalks on the other side of her.
Drew.
"You've managed to graduate to working alone," he whispered, looking on either side of him for the guards. "That is good."
Kirby's heart thudded at another unexpected meeting. She got a closer look at Drew's face. Between the starkness of his cheekbones and the dirt on his skin, he looked as if he had aged several years—only his eyes gave him away.
"I've been watching the guards," he hissed. "We have a moment or two to talk. Not much more. Keep your voice low."
"I will," she promised.
"I saw where you are staying. I
saw where they put the others, too. All of you are far away from each other, as I expected."
"We've barely talked since we came here."
"Except for last night," Drew said, surprising her.
"How did you know?"
Drew looked sideways, checking their surroundings, but he didn't answer her directly. "You need to be careful what you do, Kirby. If I can see you, then others can."
Kirby swallowed, but she didn't belabor the point. She knew he was right.
"Now that you are out, we will have more chances to communicate," he said. "But we will have to wait until things settle down."
"Before, you said you had some ideas on how to get out of here."
Drew was pensive. "If I knew something easy, I would have done it a while ago. But I know a few similar-minded people with whom I've been talking."
"Who?"
Looking around, he added, "I cannot tell you the names."
Kirby recalled some of the lingering attention she'd felt on her over the past few days. Perhaps it was some of the people to whom he referred.
"How long have you known your friends?" Drew asked.
"I would trust Bray with my life," Kirby answered, surprised to speak the words so freely.
"How about the other one?"
"We only met Cullen a short while ago."
"I heard about how Bray defended you, when the Head Guards attacked. I believe you are right to trust him. But I have concerns about the one named Cullen. He seems unhinged."
Kirby looked in all directions before talking more. "Bray and I spoke about him last night, during our meeting. We are concerned about him, too."
"Did you tell Bray about me?"
Kirby hesitated. She knew Drew would see through a pointless lie. "I did, but he will not utter a word."
"Please do not share anything with Cullen. We do not need another risk."
"I won't."
Kirby looked at the Field Hand with the thick eyebrows, a hundred feet away from her, down the end of the row. He didn't seem to have noticed anything. A bead of sweat dripped from Drew's forehead as he looked up and down the row of crops in which he stood, gauging his surroundings. "I will contact you again when things settle. It might be a few days, or longer. If the guards suspect anything, we will both be at risk. Only speak with me. Do not trust anyone else with any information."
"I will follow your advice."
"I'll warn you, Kirby. The last time something like this was discovered, all those involved were killed. This is an easy way to death, if we are not careful." Drew looked at her with the same intense expression she remembered, when they escaped their homeland, or when they battled mutants on the new shores.
"Bray and I will not live in these conditions," Kirby said firmly. "We are willing to do whatever it takes to get out, even if it means our deaths."
Drew nodded. And then he was gone.
Chapter 53: Bray
Bray scanned the line of dirty, sweating Field Hands wheeling their last full wagons of corn to the path. His fingers hurt from a full morning's repetitive work. The guards paid less attention to him than they had the first day, when he was a fresh, new source of interest. But he wasn't foolish enough to think they were done with him. Every so often, as he worked, Ollie and Avery strode past, hurling an insult. They stared at him with expressions that demanded compliance, even though he hadn't showed them any more disrespect.
He wanted to break away from his work, grab them by the necks, and fill his last seconds with revenge. He wanted to stick an ear of corn down their throats until they choked on it.
Thoughts of escape compelled him to silence.
He tugged his last, full cart to a waiting Head Guard.
"Get in line," the burly guard grunted, after approving of Bray's crops.
Bray pulled the wagon diagonally toward the row of waiting people. He looked for Kirby and Cullen. Kirby stood at the head of the line, toward the gate in the wall, far enough away that he had no chance of speaking with her. But Cullen was closer. In fact, he was only fifteen feet away. Recalling his talk with Kirby the night before, he veered toward Cullen.
Two dirty, skinny men moved aside as Bray took up a spot behind Cullen. Cullen seemed as if he was lost in his head. He scuffed the ground with his boots, or looked at his hands. Bray looked for the guards. Ollie and Avery were preoccupied. Most of the other guards were either at the head of the line, or inspecting the last wagons of corn. A few workers chatted quietly, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for the signal to walk back into the city and have lunch.
Perhaps this was a moment Bray could speak with Cullen, if only briefly.
Bray stared at his wagon, pretending as if he was studying a wheel.
"Are you all right?" he asked Cullen quietly, without lifting his head.
"I'm okay," Cullen answered. Bray risked a glance. A few more bruises marred Cullen's face. It seemed as if the guards had given him a few new wallops.
Bray looked around at a few of the workers. One or two watched with an interest that might grow, if Bray wasn't careful.
"The work is hard, but we'll get used to it." Bray watched his words as he stared at Cullen with a look meant to inspire hope.
Cullen nodded, but he didn't seem convinced. Heads turned. A few conversations quieted. Bray's heart hammered as a few guards walked briskly down the line, coming in his direction. He clenched the wagon handle and moved away from Cullen, just in case something bad was coming. The guards looked from one worker to the next. Their eyes lingered on Bray.
The guards passed.
Bray released a nervous breath as more heads turned, following the guards' path. He couldn't see past the end of the line to where they were going.
Catching the eyes of a Field Hand with a scruffy beard, Bray asked, "What's going on?"
"The Yatari are here."
"Who?" Bray looked toward the end of the line again. People were spread everywhere with wagons, but they moved aside to allow the guards through.
"Some people who come from the coast to trade with The Gifted." The bearded man cranked a thumb east. "They bring us some of the sand and oyster shells to make glass. We give them crops they can't grow near the ocean, and sails for their boats. Not many people can make things as efficiently as we can, here."
Bray chewed on the familiar words that he'd heard Kirby use. The mention of boats inspired ideas he could do nothing about now.
A few more guards walked down the line, eyeing the workers, silencing some of the quiet conversations. A few relaxed, sensing a break in the routine.
Someone else passed.
Rudyard.
A smile suited for another type of business stuck to his face as he walked past Bray and the bearded man. The demons shifted in the corn stalks, watching. The guards instructed the Field Hands to pull the line tighter. Bray knew what they were doing. They were preparing for company, or perhaps exercising the control that often impressed newcomers.
With the line tighter, Bray got a better glimpse of what was happening.
Far down the path, off in the distance and in the direction of the woods, four men emerged, shouldering heavy bags. The new people wore similar clothing to Bray's, but he'd never seen them. Rudyard and a few guards conversed with them in the distance, out of earshot. After a few moments, the strange men dropped their bags, and Rudyard's guards inspected what was inside. Bray assumed they probably contained the materials of which the bearded Field Hand spoke.
A few people in the line shifted uncomfortably as the strange men's eyes passed over them.
Rudyard waved a hand, directing the men called the Yatari somewhere over the wall. They nodded, looking as if they were waiting for something.
"Rudyard will finish the trade when we're back behind the wall," the bearded man said. "Our presence makes some of the Yatari uncomfortable."
But not uncomfortable enough to do anything, Bray thought bitterly.
A guard barked an order.
The line
moved.
Chapter 54: William
"Incredible," Amelia said, looking at William with wide eyes. "I can't believe you are picking this up so quickly."
William couldn't help a smile as he looked at the letters on the page—letters that had been strange symbols when he started, but which were starting to make sense. Amelia sat in a chair next to him at the table, a stack of books next to her. A few of the other Gifted were around, reading books of their own, occasionally glancing over with impressed looks. A strand of Amelia's hair fell in her face. She brushed it back behind her ear. She hadn't noticed the missing pin. Either that, or she'd accepted that she lost it.
In any case, William hoped she didn't suspect anything.
Still, he was nervous. Ever since he'd taken the pin, he felt as if he kept a deathly secret in his pocket. Several times, he carefully patted it to make sure it was there. At any moment, Amelia might find the pin missing and accuse him. Or worse.
"What is this letter?" Amelia asked, quizzing him as she pointed at a symbol that William now recognized.
"A," William said.
"You are right, William," Amelia said.
"The one next to it is 'B'," William volunteered, hoping he wasn't trying too hard to act normally.
"I cannot believe you are picking this up so quickly," she said, shaking her head. William watched as she closed one book and opened another, the latter containing a bunch of symbols, a few of which he could now identify. "But it makes sense. You have spoken the language for a number of years. And you are intelligent. You have a good memory. Eventually, when you have mastered the letters, we can move on to sight words."
"Sight words?"
"Common words that appear often. Memorizing them will help you read."
William's smile lingered. "Is this how you teach everyone?"
"I have never taught anyone before," Amelia admitted. "You are the first."
"Not even the Head Guards?" he asked.
"There is no reason to teach them. They are better suited for the tasks in the city." Amelia shrugged.
"It was the same way in Brighton," William reiterated. "Only those in the highest positions knew how."
The Ruins Book 3: A Dystopian Society in a Post-Apocalyptic World Page 20
