“Can you smell that?” said Conrad, sniffing.
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” she said, ignoring his question and stomping toward Cristo. “Give me that.”
He blinked at her. Without waiting for a response, she snatched the machete from his grip and spun round at Basile. Grabbing him between the legs she pressed the blade against him.
“Look at me,” she whispered. “Look at me. You have one chance to keep this. Now answer his question.”
Basile stared into her blue eyes. He nodded at Stone.
“There,” he croaked.
Stone frowned at the man and then noticed the boarded up door in the corner of the room, boxes piled against it.
Cristo stepped forward but Stone was already tossing the boxes clear and yanking the door open. A blast of cold air blew into the apartment and they all gagged at the smell. Cristo went by him onto a balcony. The ground fell away down the side of the hill, into a black ravine.
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No.”
The bodies were twisted and broken, piled one upon the other, limbs protruding at unnatural angles. He saw men, women, children, wrapped together, rotting away. There had to be forty or fifty of them. It was a death pit. He tried to make out Dani’s face but it was impossible in the dark. He couldn’t breathe. She had waited all those nights for him, alone with her pain. He doubled over and vomited. Tears filled his eyes. That it had ended here, in this wretched place, their dreams of freedom, of a new life, a new world, all those nights of careful planning, smashed by this blue and white monster, without a care, without a thought. No. Not here. No. Gritting his teeth, wiping his eyes, he stormed back into the room and saw Basile grinning at him.
“Told you I think it killed the bitch.”
Three bullets smacked into his face and his body slumped to the floor. Stone lowered his pistol, drew his sword.
“We’re out of time.”
With a single swipe he hacked off Basile’s head and rolled a blanket around it. The three of them stared at him.
“Now it’s done,” he said, a battered satchel across his back, thick with the Map Maker’s papers.
“I’m going down there,” whispered Cristo. “I have to find her.”
“She’s gone,” said Conrad, gently, placing a hand on Cristo’s shoulder.
“She’s not,” he flared, shaking it free. “Dani never gave up on me and I’m not giving up on her.”
“Two hundred and forty one,” said Nuria, suddenly, and every one turned to look at her. “That’s what you told Conrad, isn’t it? S he waited two hundred and forty one days.”
Cristo nodded, puzzled.
“Dani counted the days. I never did.”
“The refugees,” she continued, looking at Stone. “When I was questioning them about Emil I overheard a young woman complaining about … what was it? That’s it, she was unhappy waiting for a particular man to ask to be with her.” Surrounded by bodies, the story seemed grossly inappropriate. “She had given him all the encouragement a man needed but he wasn’t getting the message.” Nuria looked at Stone, thoughtfully. “The women she was with laughed, all except one. She said … she said that was nothing, she had waited two hundred and forty one days for her man. That’s an odd comment to make. Could that be Dani? Did she escape Basile and slip out of the city with the refugees?”
“She would have thought you were dead,” said Conrad.
Cristo looked between them. There were shouts in the street.
“Move,” said Stone. “Now.”
--- Twenty Seven ---
“Kept your word, man,” said Leon, lifting Basile’s severed head. “You got some balls. Emil was right about you.”
He grimaced.
“I didn’t know you were actually going to bring the fucker’s head. That’s messed up, man.”
There was laughter from his men. Sunlight rimmed the clouds. The dawn air was fresh, cool.
“You brought me a souvenir?” said Leon, nodding at Cristo. “This one of Basile’s men?”
“He’s with us,” said Conrad, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “And he’s leaving with us.”
Emil watched from a distance, a tired look on her face. It had been a long night. First, the bomb attack on the marketplace and then the agonising wait as Stone hunted down Basile. Her eye was focused on him. She was waiting for him to ask her to leave once more but he hadn’t approached her yet. She was certain he wasn’t about to walk away, not without trying to persuade her to go with them. She knew she would reject him, no matter what he offered, but she was disappointed he had come this far, gone through so much, only to limp away. Mallon should have been here. Why was she still thinking about him? She had been ready to open her life and soul to the man. She thought about that candlelit dinner they had shared and her heart suddenly ached. She bit her lip, shifted awkwardly, waited, listening to Leon, her stomach turning over. He was making her feel very uncomfortable this morning. She had warned him about Stone. The man was utterly ruthless. Why was Leon toying with him? Nuria’s words were still swirling in her head. She didn’t want to believe it. Did you share his bed before or after he saw you could heal? She nodded to herself. In her gut, she knew, she truly knew.
“There’s your car, man,” said Leon.
Stone studied it as Jarracos emerged onto the street, equipped for war. The vehicle had been stolen from the Chattes; random dented panels welded to the lower frame, missing in places, tyres protected by grills, the upper frame a mesh cage, similar to the car they had taken only a few hours before, but larger.
“Full tank of black energy,” he continued. “But why don’t you hang with us a bit?”
Stone looked at him.
“Why would we want to do that?”
“It’s like you said, man, when the head comes off the body twitches all about.” He shuddered in an exaggerated manner and once more his men laughed. “That’s what you said, Stone, it thrashes around and shit. I reckon there’s going to be a lot of twitching and thrashing in Maizan today. So I’m thinking I’ll need some more soldiers to make sure we chop up the body just right, make sure no fool tries to stick the head back on. Then we can get down to running things properly.”
Stone looked into Leon’s eyes, smiled.
“Let them go, Leon,” said Emil.
All eyes turned on the Maizan leader.
“It doesn’t have to be this way. Basile is dead.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled. “Keep your tongue silent before I slap you good.”
There was an eerie silence. Rubbish stirred in the wind. Stone glanced up at Leon’s young soldiers dotted across the rooftops, blue and white through and through, prepared for the retaliation to come hard against them this morning, ready to fight, ready to die.
“Honour the deal,” said the Brute.
The tattooed man cast an angry look at Jarracos.
“Get in the car,” said Stone.
Hastily, the Map Maker clambered into the back of the car, followed by Conrad and Nuria.
“Cristo,” he continued, not looking at the gaunt faced man. “You drive.”
Cristo slipped behind the wheel and gunned the engine to life. He looked at the gauge. It was full.
Leon swaggered into the middle of the street.
“You’re staying,” he said, suddenly.
There was a long silence.
“Why would I do that?”
“The Chattes will want the man who killed Basile.”
“You’d betray us?”
“No, just you, man.”
“Leon,” exclaimed Jarracos.
“I got a war to win, man,” he said, to his second in command. “What the fuck did you think I was going to do?
Leon paced the ground, swinging his arms, hands loose, pistol in his waistband.
“It’s like Nuria said, Stone, soldiers don’t want to fight when their leader is dead - but they do want revenge.”
Stone nodd
ed.
“So you give them me. They get their revenge. Then you seize control. That’s a good plan.”
Leon clapped.
“Got it straight, man. That’s how it’s going down.”
In the car, engine idling, Nuria and Conrad exchanged worried looks. Emil gasped, stepping forward.
“Leon, you can’t …”
“One more word from you, bitch,” he said, pointing at her. “And you’ll wish we never saved you from the Chattes.”
“This isn’t right, Leon,” said Jarracos.
Emil walked to Stone, tears in her eye.
“What the fuck are you doing, Emil? Get away from him.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He’s so desperate to take over the city. Stone … Nuria said he’s only with me …”
“She’s right.”
“Move out the fucking way, Emil.”
Stone reached for her, his left hand caressing her pebbled skin. He opened his mouth but she pressed a finger against his lips.
“That’s how I prefer you. Like when we first met.”
Leon bristled and flexed his long arms. He took a few steps forward. Emil backed away from Stone.
“I’ve got territory to take,” said Leon. “I need to lock down this fucking city under blue and white banners. You gonna put down your gun?”
Stone shook his head. Leon spat on the ground.
“We do it your way, man?”
Stone nodded.
Leon stared into Stone’s eyes, lowered his gaze toward the man’s hands, thick and leathery.
Heart racing, tasting the sweat on his lips, he reached … but Stone’s hand was a blur, much faster, the pistol in his grip, a single muzzle flash.
Leon slammed against the asphalt, a bullet hole in his forehead.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Go,” yelled Stone, and Emil dived into the car. He slammed the door shut behind her and held on.
Cristo floored the accelerator as the Maizans grabbed their weapons and opened fire.
Cristo drove hard for several hours, clear of the city, deep into the wastelands, tyres burning across potholed roads that tore through dried scrubland and desolate hills. Nuria unbuckled the Map Maker’s satchel and took out one of his maps, unfolding it for him. He traced a single cloth wrapped stump across it, calling out directions. Clinging to the side of the vehicle, wind blasting his face, Stone watched as the city faded on the horizon. There was no sign of any pursuit. Chett, Maizan, he hated cities. He glanced down at Emil inside the car. She was staring directly ahead, a blank look on her face.
He felt the car slow and gradually stop in a shower of dirt. He jumped down and stretched his arms, sore from holding on. Cristo climbed from the driver’s seat, leaving the engine running.
“This is as far as I go,” he said. “I’m heading south. Try and find the refugees.”
“I hope she’s with them,” said Nuria.
He nodded.
“They were heading for the Eastern Villages,” said Stone.
“I’m going with him,” said Conrad, climbing from the car.
“What?” exclaimed Nuria.
Emil glanced back at the Map Maker. He seemed oblivious, consumed with his maps, studying the route to Caybon.
“I have family,” said Conrad. “My brother, Tristan, Mary and Ambre. I’ve been away from them for too long.”
He ran a hand through his unkempt hair.
“Besides, when I get back to Dessan, there’s something I want to do.”
“Learn how to become a proper Saacion?” said Nuria.
Conrad laughed.
“No, I’ll leave all the healing to the girls with magic in their hands.”
His laughter trailed away. A solemn expression fell upon his face. He stepped toward Stone, embraced him. Stone flinched but Conrad kept his arms around him.
“Thank you for getting us out of Tamnica.”
He crouched down beside the car; the curious one-eyed girl with the bright copper coloured hair.
“It changed him, you know, losing you.” Emil bit her lip, stared ahead. “He finally built his wall and trebled the numbers in the militia. Do you want to know why?”
“I don’t care about a damn wall. You all came to find me. He should have come as well.”
“He did it so no one else would be taken. So no one else would suffer the same loss of losing someone they really care for.”
“He really cares for me?” blinked Emil.
Conrad nodded.
“I think he liked you before he knew what you could do.”
Stone waited. Emil stepped from the car. She squeezed his hands.
“Thank you, for getting me away from Leon. I knew, I always knew, I just didn’t want to know.”
She wiped away the tears.
“I want to go back to Dessan. Try again at having a normal life. I don’t want to keep running or fighting.”
He nodded, bent down, kissed her on the top of her head.
“She’ll be safe,” said Conrad.
Silently, he walked back to the car and slipped behind the steering wheel. In those final seconds, he observed Nuria and Conrad hug, her arms holding onto him for longer than he would have expected.
He revved the engine and she got back into the car, dropping onto the front seat, door slamming behind her. Her head was turned as the three of them scampered across the rough terrain, weaving lines across the wasteland.
Nuria looked ahead. Stone saw her eyes were moist. His rough hand reached for her, the way Emil had with him, squeezing gently.
She glanced at him, a smile touching her lips.
“North,” she said.
--- Twenty Eight ---
Lena sat on the edge of the bridge, in the shadow of the wooden gate, and flicked a pebble into the fast flowing water.
It made a loud plop as it disappeared from sight. She rubbed her neck and let out a deep sigh. The militia had grown accustomed to her sitting here alone, after school had finished. At first, they had engaged her in conversation but there was only so much to talk about with a girl her age so that gradually stopped as they devoted more time to watching the forest or completing drills or sharing stories that culminated with bawdy laughter and back slapping. When the sallow faced girl with the red blisters approached them they offered her a smile. She looked nervously at the armoured men and the weapons that were racked nearby; wooden shields, spears and iron swords.
“Susana,” said Lena. “Come sit with me.”
The black haired girl eased down next to her on the bridge, slowly kicking her legs as they dangled over the edge, the water rushing beneath them. The girl was new to the village, one of the refugees that had reached them. Some had already relocated in Agen and Le Sen but Susana’s family had been invited to stay here. Sadie had given them her home and moved into a smaller hut. She only needed space for two. Lena thought fleetingly of Emil and wondered what had happened to her since that man had taken her in the night. It had been the worse night of her life, far worse than the days when the Centon had completed and the Collectors had taken people away.
Mallon, her hero, had seen an end to them.
“How did you like your first day at school?”
Susana shrugged, stared down into the water. Lena saw she wore clogs that were old and chipped.
“Do you like my sandals?” she said, fanning her feet. “I have a spare pair at home. You look the same size as me. You can have them if you want.”
Susana felt her cheeks redden.
“Thank you.”
“No problem,” said Lena, tossing another stone into the water.
There was a loud clatter behind the girls and Susana gasped, looking round in shock, gripping hold of the bridge so as not to fall in. Two militia men were fighting with wooden swords, yelling as they hacked at each other.
“Why are they fighting?”
“They’re not,” said Lena, smiling. “They’re practising. It’s nothi
ng to worry about. That’s why they’re using wooden swords. When it comes to a real fight they’ll be ready.”
Lena watched her closely.
“You didn’t like it today, did you?”
Susana pressed her lips together, shook her head.
“Did they make fun of you? When you played outside?”
A meek nod.
“They used to make fun of me. Because of how I look.”
“What do you mean?”
Lena threw another stone.
“You know what I mean. I’m different. Lumpy head is what they used to call me. They’re too scared to now I’m a teacher. Well, a helper. How old are you?”
“I’m eleven,” said Susana. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
Laughter broke out and the wooden swords dropped to the ground as fresh militia trotted along the red clay road. There was a short conversation as the men were relieved.
“That’s Mallon,” said Lena, pointing along the river. Susana cast her eyes down the bank, past the mud hats, to where a short man stood talking with two other men. “He’s a special friend. He’s very special to look at. What do you think?”
Susana blushed once more and averted her eyes. She realised in that moment that she had been born into a very different world from this girl; one of survival and cold hearted men of violence who brutalised the innocent, not one of name callers and sandals and handsome men who strutted about bare chested. Yet, as she looked around, seeing the smiling faces, hearing the loud conversation and boisterous laughter, her nose wrinkling at the smell of cooked food, she stared at the high palisade wall and the watchtowers and the weapons and realised to herself that maybe these people had suffered more than she knew.
The Wasteland Soldier, Book 2, Escape From Tamnica (TWS) Page 32
