by Dana Fredsti
Amber knew her blood left a trail that might as well have been a formal dinner invitation to the carnivores. So she shrugged off the backpack as quickly as possible, then clutched it in her arms as, without another word, he scooped her up. Striding rapidly and with purpose to the stairwell, he ignored the elevator.
The stairwell door was open, a metal doorstop holding it ajar. The man stepped inside the stairwell and took a quick look at the lock, making sure it wasn’t engaged before kicking the doorstop up and letting the heavy metal door slam shut.
“We don’t want to be trapped inside,” he said. “Starvation and dehydration might not kill us as quickly as those things, but it would still do for us in the long run.”
He carried her easily up three flights of stairs, making sure the doors on each level were also closed. Once they reached the top, he scanned what was left of the deserted third level, staring at the various cars with a perplexed expression.
“When the hell did these come out?”
Amber looked at them. “I think they’re all from the nineties.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “They didn’t have cars back then.”
Confused, Amber kept silent as Blake marched over to a shiny sky-blue vehicle that looked like a short station wagon, and set her down carefully on the hood.
“Try not to let your feet touch anything,” he cautioned. “We don’t know how good their sense of smell is, but best not to take any chances.”
The windows of the car were partially rolled down. Blake reached in and unlocked the front right-hand door.
“Not very smart on the part of the owner, but good for us.”
He rummaged around inside, leaving Amber to stare at an abrupt drop-off about twenty feet away. The wall on that end of the car park was gone. The entire row of cars parked there were cleanly sliced through the hoods, a visceral reminder of what had happened to Gavin. She shuddered uncontrollably, both from the memory and a gust of freezing wind blowing in off the grasslands.
Blake emerged from the car, holding several cans of soda, some bottled water, and a plaid blanket much like the one Amber had used to cover Gavin’s body. He took his finds over to the stairwell, then came back to Amber and handed her one of the sodas, a Coke.
“Didn’t know this came in cans, but at least I recognize the brand. Should pep you up a bit. I’m going to search the rest of the cars on this level and see what I can scavenge before we lose all the light. Then we’ll look after your feet. In the meantime, keep your eyes and ears open.”
Amber nodded, too tired and stunned by the day’s events to object to his brusque take-charge manner, or question why he was unfamiliar with canned soda. She popped the tab and took a sip of the ice-cold Coke, savoring the bubbles and the caffeinated sweetness.
She hadn’t realized how low her blood sugar had gotten until her brain and body perked up. Then she wished it hadn’t, because now her mind insisted on thinking about the horror and impossibility of everything that had happened since the world went mad.
I won’t think about it right now, she thought. Instead, she decided to focus on whatever she needed to do to survive.
So she kept careful watch while Blake systematically checked the doors of all the remaining vehicles, searching the interiors of those that weren’t locked, depositing anything of interest in the stairwell. The last of the daylight was fading, so he produced a flashlight, which he used to help his search. Amber was intrigued by the light—an old-school military style, meant to be held upright, with an angled head that made it look a bit like a little periscope. He made his rounds, looking in the cars that had been bisected as well, taking care to keep his weight away from the drop-off.
Smart, Amber thought.
She was watching him poke through part of a Mini Cooper when something roared, off in the distance. She gasped at the loud reverberating thuds of its footfalls. They seemed to be coming closer, increasing in volume and force, shaking what was left of the car park. All-too-familiar howls started up, as well. Amber thought she heard the clicking of toenails on the cement below.
Blake immediately abandoned his search and strode back over to Amber, scooping her up without a word. He carried her back to the stairwell.
“We’ll have some protection against the cold in here,” he said as he set her down gently on the blanket, which he’d spread out on the cold cement.
“Not to mention opportunistic predators.”
He glanced at her in surprised approval, as if she were a Barbie doll who’d suddenly offered up an intelligent opinion. In another lifetime Amber would have been offended. Now she couldn’t summon the energy.
“Yes,” he agreed. “That as well.”
He set the flashlight down next to her before shutting the door.
His findings sat in the circle of light. Bottles, cans, bags of crisps, bars of chocolate, a couple of slightly brown apples, a first aid kit. Various items of clothing, a pair of bright pink Converse high-tops, several more blankets, and a sleeping bag were stacked against one wall, along with two more flashlights. He switched one on and handed it to Amber, sitting down next to her. She tried not to flinch as claustrophobia and paranoia wrestled for control of her tautly stretched nerves.
“We’d best take care of your feet.” He snagged the first aid kit, a small one with a few antiseptic wipes, antibacterial ointment, and bandages, then scooted back against the door and spread a denim jacket on his thighs.
“Put your feet here and keep the light on them.”
Amber reluctantly did as he said, stretching out her legs and resting her feet on the faded denim. She winced, giving an indrawn hiss of pain as Blake undid the straps wrapped around her calves and pulled them away from the skin. When he unwound the straps from her ankles, however, she had to suppress a scream as the leather stuck to the bloody welts they’d rubbed in her flesh.
When he finally removed her sandals, Amber could barely look at the bloodied hamburgers that were her feet, even in the dim glow of the flashlight. There were blisters—some whole, some burst—on the soles, insteps, sides, and ankles. Blood congealed in places, fresh and still dripping in others.
“Here.” Blake fished out two packets of paracetamol from the first aid kit, along with a bottled water. He eyed the plastic bottle with a quizzical raise of one eyebrow, thumping it with one finger before handing it and the pain meds to Amber.
“Thanks.” She downed all four painkillers with a hefty swallow of water. She took another few sips, then held the bottle up to her rescuer.
He nodded his thanks and drained the rest of the contents before getting back to work on her feet and calves. Another bottle of water was sacrificed to clean most of the blood off her skin and rinse the abrasions. Then he went after them with antiseptic wipes, the resulting sting causing Amber to stuff her hands into her mouth to prevent her from screaming. He might as well have used acid.
“This should help.” He smoothed on some sort of ointment, then pulled Band-Aids from the first aid kit. “Hold still, let me just put on some sticking plasters.”
Though uncomfortable having this stranger handle her feet and calves in such a familiar fashion, Amber tried to stay still as he finished his ministrations.
“I don’t know if these will fit you or not,” he said, holding up the high-tops. “And the color is far too bright. We’ll want to muck them up a bit, but they’re better than your sandals. What on earth possessed you to wear those?”
“They weren’t meant for walking long-distance,” she replied defensively. “They go with the rest of the costume. I didn’t expect to be hiking.” She thought he’d ask her about her costume, but he didn’t. Evidently her explanation satisfied him.
“We should eat something,” Blake said, “and then try to get some sleep. Hopefully those things will have cleared out by the time the sun comes up.”
“I’ve got some food.” Amber carefully shifted to get her backpack, but before she could reach it, Blake had snagged it.<
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“In here?” He started to open the flap.
“Please don’t.” Amber’s tone was sharper than she’d intended. He looked at her in surprise.
“You do realize that if we’re going to survive, we need to share.”
“I don’t mind sharing,” Amber said. “I’ll share whatever I have with you. But the backpack… I mean, I wouldn’t go into your pockets without your permission. It’s just not polite.”
What she couldn’t quite articulate was that for all she knew, the backpack held all of her belongings left in the world. Maybe she’d eventually find her way back to San Diego. Maybe her childhood still existed at her parents’ house, all of her art projects, costumes and photos… everything. Her history.
But right now?
The contents of that wine-colored backpack— expensive and built to last—were the only connection she had left with her life as she’d known it. The backpack itself had been a birthday present from her dad. Having some stranger pawing through it—even one who’d saved her life—seemed somehow unbearable.
Blake tilted his head to one side, then handed the backpack over to Amber without another word. She opened it and dug out the remnants of her aborted picnic with Gavin—the sandwiches, cheese, apples, chips— and divvied it up with Blake.
“These will last a few days,” he said, holding up the apples and chips. “So we should save them for now.” Amber nodded her agreement, trying not to let his take-charge attitude overwhelm her. Bottom line, he was right.
They ate the sandwiches and chunks of cheddar cheese, washing the meal down with Coke. A flashlight propped up against the wall provided some light. Even with the sugar and caffeine boost from the soda, Amber felt her eyelids droop, as if her eyelashes had turned to lead.
“What’s your name?” Blake asked, almost as an afterthought, as he took a swig from his soda.
“Amber,” she said, the word followed by a jaw-cracking yawn.
“Well, Amber, we’d best get some sleep.”
He spread the sleeping bag on the landing, handing Amber two of the blankets he’d scavenged, keeping only one for himself. He rolled up the denim jacket. “You can use this as a pillow.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. Now get some sleep.”
He turned and lay on his side, his back to Amber, his feet sticking out from the blanket. She slowly followed suit, facing the opposite direction. She could feel the cold from the cement trying to creep through the down-filled layer of the sleeping bag, but the blankets and her utter exhaustion helped her overcome the chill.
The guttural roar sounded again, closer this time, the echo reverberating through the stairwell.
Amber drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Blake leaned up against the cement wall, head falling back to rest against the unyielding surface. He allowed himself to relax ever so slightly for the first time since he’d found the girl. Amber. She slept now, tucked underneath the blankets. He couldn’t see her in the darkness of the stairwell, but he could hear the sound of her soft and rhythmic breathing.
It soothed him.
It would be a while before he could sleep. He pulled out his Fairbairn-Sykes knife, along with a whetstone, and commenced sharpening both edges of the blade, slowly, rhythmically.
His companion gave a small cry in her sleep. He put the blade down, replacing it with one of the electric torches. Switching it on, he shone the light slightly above her, not wanting to wake her up. Her face was mostly buried in the blankets, only a partial profile and a swatch of fire-bright hair visible. What little he could see made her look so very young and vulnerable.
He didn’t have a good read on Amber, not yet. She seemed soft, easily broken, and yet she’d been through a nightmare experience in the hotel and still appeared to have her sanity. She could be a fighter.
He hoped so.
It would make their time together infinitely more rewarding if she was.
10
When Cam awoke, hungry and cold, the sky had gone from blue to black, with little more than a pale moon, filtered by clouds, to cast light on the herd of three-horned beasts that still surrounded him.
He sighed and lay back down again. If they weren’t going to leave, perhaps they would at least sleep soon and he would have his chance to slip away. He closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the hunger in his belly. The giant horned cattle-things continued lowing to one another.
It was going to be a long night.
A moment later, the underbellies of the leaden clouds overhead lit up like a lantern and a great chorus of booming thunder split apart the gentle pastoral silence. The anxious beasts lifted their great heads and bellowed in alarm. Cam sat up, too. The flashes of brightness lasted for no more than a heartbeat before fading away, only to return again with another resounding drumroll of thunder.
There was neither rain nor bolts of lightning in the night sky, but the thunder and the strange light that accompanied it continued. Both the lights and the dull roar seemed to be coming from further to the east.
One of the nervous tri-horns broke ranks and ran, and then the entire herd bolted as one, following at full speed. Cam grasped the wagon’s thin metal rails as they rumbled past, shaking his precarious little metal island as they fled in terror. The jostling stampede of ponderously heavy bodies retreated past the black road and up and over the low rise, like an army of spiked boulders.
When the last of them had disappeared over the rise, and he could no longer hear their panicked bellowing over the sound of the distant booming din, he fastened the clasp on his stolen wool cloak and swiftly climbed down the ladder. He set off east again, away from the giant beasts and toward the lights flashing above from the valley of thunder. For that way lay home.
* * *
The smooth black road soon came to an end, cut off as abruptly as it had been at its other end. It gave way to more flat grasslands, turned silver now by the moon. Cam kept his eye on the play of light on the clouds. He had walked many, many miles since rising that morning. Just a few more miles lay ahead of him before he might discover the source of the fire in the sky.
By the time Cam surmounted the last gentle rise, the dull booming had grown into a painful furor that jangled his bones with every new burst. Other sounds joined the tumult—drums and war cries. Shrieks and strange whistlings. Horrendous sounds of terrible impacts and of wood and stone blasted into splinters.
Screams of horses.
Screams of men.
The ring of steel upon steel.
With trepidation he looked out over the rise, though the fickle moonlight only allowed mischievous hints of the movement below. Men fighting on foot and on horseback, gleaming points of cold moonlight off helmets and armor, and bristling forests of pikes and banners. The battlefield seethed with over a thousand combatants fighting for their lives in the night. With every booming blast came another source of light—fire and smoke spitting out of the dark from strange half-seen shapes, cutting through the air. The smoke they belched hung on the ground like tendrils of fog.
There were large, great dark pipes mounted on wagon wheels. Crews of men tended to each of them, moving swiftly to stoke them with long rods and load them with round iron balls. At each barked order, shouted out in some barbarian language he did not recognize, a blast would follow.
Others carried fire-weapons that were only the size of a druid’s staff. Ranks of fighters, lined up like archers, each held a single weapon, resting one end on their shoulders and using both hands to point them lengthwise, launching their own fire at their foes.
Cam could make no sense of who these unknown warriors might be. Neither side were Romani or Celts or Picts, nor Northmen or Germani. The clothing they wore was neither Briton nor Roman style. They wore trousers like Celts, but theirs were baggy, and without plaid designs. Some wore breastplates of armor, something like those of the Roman soldiers. They wore helmets of steel, or floppy cloth hats.
Something whizzed past Cam’s face. He turned to his left to see a handful of warriors advancing on him. One had a smoking hand-weapon pointed at him—it had just missed him by less than a hand’s breadth. Another brought up his staff and aimed it at Cam’s heart.
Kawgh!
He turned and ran as the thing roared with a blast of flame. An object traveling too fast to see flew past his ear, a thumb’s breadth away. The warriors charged after him. Another shot tore past his face.
This one from up ahead.
Kych-an-broc!
Horsemen were charging toward him at full gallop. The leader had his curved sword raised and, as he thundered up, swung it downward. Cam pitched himself to the ground and rolled, narrowly avoiding both the slash of the blade and being trampled by the riders who were following behind.
Splayed out on the ground, he raised his head and looked back at the galloping horses. The two groups were locked in battle, fighting with swords and the booming fire-weapons. He scrambled to his feet and ran, putting the battlefield and its bizarre warriors behind him.
11
When Amber woke up, she felt oddly rested. She’d slept deeply and dreamlessly, exhaustion overcoming fear to give her at least a few hours of much-needed rest. Godzilla could have stomped through the car park, smashing the remaining vehicles into smithereens, and it probably wouldn’t have roused her.
For an all-too-brief moment she could almost pretend the events of yesterday hadn’t happened. Then she opened her eyes and saw the dingy concrete ceiling of the stairwell above her, and the descending stairwell on her far right, below her feet.
“Awake then, are we?”
Amber jumped. Blake sat leaning against the wall across from her, sorting through the stuff he’d scavenged from the cars, dividing it into piles. The sight of her rescuer’s unsmiling face was the next step in the morning’s unwelcome reality check.
Her attempt to sit up was the third.
As soon as she moved, her muscles screamed in protest along with a chorus of shrieks from all the abrasions on her feet and ankles. That was bad enough, but then her calves knotted up, doing their best to put a double charley horse whammy on her. Immediately she reached down under the blankets and began frantically massaging both lower legs, trying to unknot the muscles before they clenched up past the point of no return.
