These ideas and thoughts were churned in the great maelstrom she'd brought with her from Calderbank's camp when he'd cradled her broken body and promised to avenge her. Since then she'd never been the same. She was changing too, turning into something else, someone else and she worried that, like him, it had the terrifying possibility of taking one path over another, the light road for the dark. She'd killed repeatedly, she had the blood of Slavers on her hands and deep down she knew she felt nothing about that. Before there'd been sorrow, remorse, a regret that things weren't different, that the only option available to her hadn't been kill or be killed, that age-old excuse for everything dark. But what was there now in the vacuum of her soul? What would fill that void?
She reached the crossroad and took it at a gallop; slicing off the corner and feeling Ziggy almost slide out from under her as she clung to the saddle with her thighs. She sped on, racing the clouds above her and always seeming to stay ahead of the downpour until finally, as the ruins appeared before her, the race was lost and the heavens cracked wide open with a roar and a fury at having almost been beaten by a lonely woman.
Ducking down low in the saddle she turned Ziggy's head and cantered him through a children's park where the rusting skeletons of slides and swings, long since frozen in history by loss, tottered on flaking legs. Through there, into the ruins of a one-street village they went, the rain beating down hard on her coat and drenching her hair sending cold rivulets down the back of her neck.
Walls of pale grey stone sat in crumbled heaps like cairns to mark her way. A church spire, toppled by the elements, lay strewn across the road, partially submerged by the fallen store front of a coffee shop which opened its decayed maw to her. Wooden tables sat on their sides like broken teeth, blackened by time and damp and a hundred other causes nature sent to topple the last of mankind's monuments to itself. Then there were the trinkets, those relics of a golden age polished by legend to a high shine. Cups, saucers, mysterious machinery with dials and knobs and levers, their uses now left to speculation and then to religious reasoning.
There was an octagonal band stand in the centre of a grassy park which was now overgrown and she made her way to it. She slipped down from the saddle and led the horse up the steps until they were both in the dry. It was made from some kind of metal resistant to rust and there were pieces of furniture here and there made from the same stuff. Sarah tethered Ziggy to a rail where she could chew on some of the long grass and sat down on one of the benches. Taking a cloth towel from her pack, she began to dry her hair, looking all around her at the shadow-world she'd never known. Would it ever come back? This land of plenty, of milk and honey? Looking at the rifle in its case, she wasn't so sure. This was the world of the gun and the knife, the strong and the weak. This world of Alan's wouldn't survive a moment in that place.
As the horse ate, Sarah took a small amount of her own food and water and sat eating it, watching the heavens rain down around her. It would've been a peaceful scene, one she might have been able to enjoy if it hadn't been for the primeval fear that the enemy, the red-coated predators, were lurking just beyond the edge of the village, maybe coming her way right there and then. That gnawing concept worked at her insides as she forced down bite after bite before deciding to move on.
She put on her poncho and stood on one of the benches to climb up into the saddle, heading right back out into the downpour. She was cold and scared and lonely but she rode on, unable to do anything else. She had to see them, she had to know what nightmares were waiting for her, ready to strike. Perhaps, she wondered as she navigated carefully around the fallen spire, that it might put her mind at rest.
It didn't.
She descended the hill as Annie had told her, but even before then she could see the extent of the real horror behind the Slaver threat and it froze her where she sat.
The road towards the camp was lined with lamp posts but each one no longer gave off light. Each one bathed the ground in fear, thick and heavy and oppressing. At the top of each one, strung up with rope and crude slats of wood, was a person. All of them were dead now but they hadn't been when they'd been left to die up there. These weren't warriors or enemies of the Slaver horde, they'd been women and children and men, forced into bondage and punished for crimes written in spray paint beneath their feet on old-world signs. A museum arrow pointed to 'THEFT'. A coffee shop now served 'DISOBEDIENCE'. A bright red hospital sign offered to treat 'LAZINESS'.
Sarah gaped at the road into her deepest nightmares, staring at least a dozen dead on either side before the great bleeding mouth of the camp entrance yawned open with a rumbling sound. Before she could shake herself out of the stupor, a shot passed by her face and tore through the air.
“They're coming...” she whispered as another shot missed her by inches. There, rolling ahead of a tide of red uniforms was the tank. It looked like an enormous cyclopic beast, bristling with plates of ice-grey armour and turning its one eye to stare directly at her. It shook the ground beneath the horse's hooves, sending wave after wave of grumbling vibrations through her until finally the world was ripped asunder by the blast of its cannon and she was thrown from the saddle.
Scrambling to her feet, her world now alive with colour and sight and sound, she wiped the blood from her eye. She turned and half-ran, half-crawled to the nearest building as the crackle of rifle fire and the growling tracks on the road threatened to deafen her. Looking up she saw Ziggy, uninjured but terrified, sprinting across the park and past the band stand leaving her behind.
“ZIGGY!” she screamed after him but it was no use. The horse had bolted, taking her rifle and tack with it. All she had now was her pistol and if she didn't get after him they'd overtake her in minutes.
With her head down, she ran as fast as she could after him, following his path through the high grasses and out onto the other side. The rain and the wind whipped at her face and more gunfire could be heard behind her. They'd want to take her; they'd want her as a prize. Her memory flashed back to Calderbank's camp and the lucky escape she'd had there. A beating would be nothing to what these monsters would do to her.
At a back street she stopped, looking right and left for a sign. Panic choked her as she saw nothing in either direction until suddenly something caught her eye. A gate, hanging from a single hinge, was moving and now she was running again, bursting through it to see her saddle bags disappearing around another corner at the end of a narrow alley way.
Her breath came in ragged, painful gasps as she stumbled along, leaping over debris and fallen walls in pursuit. She knew that if the horse didn't stop then she'd lose him in the open woodland outside of the village forever. Her only chance was if he went down a dead-end and trapped himself but she was running out of time. She could hear the voices now and the firing had stopped. They were hunting her and as the rain continued to thunder down the entire scene became the thing of night terrors. Fear whispered promise after promise into her mind - that her end would be far worse than her imagination could ever dream up.
Another path led her into a back yard and there, leaping the low stone wall, was Ziggy and before him the woods around the village. She had one last burst of energy left and she charged across the thick overgrown bushes that tore at her poncho and whipped at her face, drawing blood from her already bleeding brow and cheeks. But it was too late. The horse was fleeing as fast as it could and as she reached the wall to throw herself over, she saw it disappear into the pines and was gone.
Sarah almost fell over the wall, defeated and weak and panting. She landed on the other side and stumbled on but her strength was finished. The voices were loud now, almost on top of her and the ground shook with the tank that sounded like it was idling somewhere behind her, no doubt waiting for her to be taken.
She slumped to her knees and wept. She tried to call out Ziggy's name but her throat was dry and her voice had gone. The sobs racked her body and she drew the pistol with trembling fingers, sliding back the cocking mechanism until she
heard the click of her own doom. That was it. Finished. She thought of Alan and the pain intensified. She'd never see him again. She'd never see her Papa. It was over.
She was about to turn to face them when she heard the whinnying of the horse close by. Sarah spun round and without thinking, clambered to her feet and bolted after it. There, tangled by his reins in the last piece of a barbed wire fence, was Ziggy. The horse was stuck on the sharp metal, shaking its head trying to free itself.
Hope. That was all she needed now. Her legs were on fire and her chest felt like it was about to explode, but there was still some spark deep inside her that found whatever reserves she had left in order to untangle the animal from the trap. When he was free, the horse tried to run but she was ready for it, yanking with all her strength until all four feet were on the ground and she could pull herself into the saddle.
There she slumped over the horse's neck, taking shallow breaths and stroking the familiar coat. Did she even have the strength to get back to the purifier, she wondered as the voices began to shout again somewhere behind her. She turned and there they were, pouring over the wall and readying their weapons.
She pulled hard on the reins, turned him away from the fence and into the forest just as the first shots began cutting through the foliage around her. Splinters of bark pricked her as bullets slammed into the trunks. She kept low, turning left to head back north and try to regain the road but as she banked around something sharp struck her arm and she screamed. Ziggy stumbled a little but leapt a fallen tree before finally putting enough distance between themselves and the Slavers. Soon the cries and shouts were fading into the noisy din of the ever-pouring rain and her terror began to subside.
Sarah risked a look at her shoulder and saw that it was bleeding heavily down her sleeve and out over her hand, made worse by the rain water that drenched the horse's flanks in bright red colour. She had to hope that it wasn't serious; she had no intention of stopping until she was back behind the walls of Hope and safe, at least for a little while.
Soon she'd regained the road and was taking the turn back the way she'd come, heading to warn Annie that they were coming and this time it wasn't just a strike force - it was the entire army.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
They saw her galloping towards them long before she looked up from the ground. Defying belief, the rain had begun to fall harder and she'd been forced down into the saddle by it, barely able to see out from under the hood of her poncho for most of the journey. It was growing dark as she came upon the purifier and she could make out the faint glow of a lamp somewhere nearby but it was hopeless to try and see anything else.
As she drew the horse up outside, Annie was already there waiting.
“What the hell happened to-” she tried to say.
“Run!” cried Sarah. “They're coming and we don't have any time. You have to run, now! Run for Hope.”
“What do you-”
“The tank, the men, all of them. They're marching on you now. Please listen to me!”
She tried to climb down out of the saddle but she nearly fell, her head was swimming and she felt weak. Someone tethered Ziggy to a rail as Annie grabbed her.
“You're bleeding! Quick, inside. Everyone else - go! Now! You know the way.”
“But what-”
“Just do as I say!” cried Annie. “Tell Tarrick. I'll follow you as soon as I've patched her up. Go!”
The crew of defenders began grabbing whatever they could; passing the word on to any who hadn't heard while Annie helped Sarah into her room and sat her on the bed.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I saw them,” said Sarah, taking off her coat. She felt a little better now she was out of the rain. Annie pulled back her sweater and she saw the gash in her arm, tutting.
“You'll live. Let me wrap it up and then we'll go. They're on foot, right?” She nodded. “It'll take them a while to get here.”
“There are hundreds of them. They've got guns and that... thing... that animal...”
“It's okay. We'll head for Hope. We'll be safer there.”
“How can we stop it?” said Sarah.
“I hope your friend can, that's for sure.”
Annie wrapped a bandage around her arm and she winced at the pain just as the motors kicked in again, throbbing and pulsing along with the headache that was starting to build inside her skull. She was exhausted and her body ached and she wanted it all to stop, right there and then. The adventures in her books hadn't said anything about back pain and sore lungs or being shot at by a tank. Her imagination hadn't pictured her burning calves and the volume of blood she'd lose from a cut on her arm that stung. She suddenly longed for the simple days of turning pages to figure out how it would all end, not wondering if her story was just about to finish right there and then.
“There,” said Annie. “All done. Now drink this.” She passed her a canteen of water and it tasted delicious, possibly the best water she'd ever had. She drank most of it before the woman hurried her back into her coat and helped her fasten it up.
“My hands...” mumbled Sarah, looking down at her trembling fingers.
“It’s the shock. Listen to me and we'll get back safe, okay?”
Sarah nodded and took the bottle of spirits off the workbench, taking a long pull from the neck. It burned like molten metal in her belly but it had some kind of effect that prompted her back onto her tired feet.
“Ready?” she asked. Annie laughed.
“You worry me, girl. You make me think I'm not as tough as I think I am.”
Annie grabbed a handful of papers from the steel drawer and passed them to her, throwing on a thick green army field jacket that looked a little too big for her. Then she checked the magazine in her rifle and led the way back outside.
“Is there room for two on that beast?” she asked as they stepped outside. “It would seem that the others took your warning seriously.”
Sarah looked and saw that the place was empty. Everyone had set off already, leaving only them behind. Annie was grinning.
“You don't seem bothered,” said Sarah.
“They're not soldiers. They've been defending this place long enough and they didn't have much fight left in them. I don't hold it against them.”
Sarah stepped onto the rail and used it to climb up into Ziggy's saddle, feeling all the pain and soreness that was creeping into her now that the adrenaline had worn off. Then, helping Annie to do the same, the pair set off back down the road, back towards Hope.
“Do you think they'll harm the place?” asked Sarah.
“No,” she replied, gripping her waist tightly. “It's too useful to them. We'll come back for it later, eh?”
“I hope so.”
They arrived back at Hope to darkness and gates that were sealed shut from the inside. The temperature had dropped and the air was bitterly cold as the defenders of the water purifier gathered outside the walls, calling to the guards to be allowed in. It was only when Tarrick appeared that Annie spoke up.
“Let us in!” she cried. “The Slavers are coming.”
“Please tell me that the purifier is safe,” he said. “You know we can't live without it.”
“They're coming, Tarrick. Not just a few, the whole damn lot of them and the tank is with them. There was no way that-”
“You abandoned your post!” he roared. “You fled here the moment it got too hard for you? I expected more from you, Annie. You and your people.”
“Let us in! For fuck's sake, let us inside!”
Sarah felt a tightness in her throat and she realised that it was because Alan wasn't back yet. They'd be stuck outside the walls, defenseless against the army marching on them and he was nowhere to be seen. Tarrick, glaring down on them in rage, breathed out great fiery clouds of vapor as even he shivered against the cold and the fear of what was coming for them.
“Cowards!” he spat, turning away. “Rot out there for all I-”
Suddenly there we
re the clatter of hooves hitting the hard, frozen tarmac and out of the darkness came a lone rider, his horse snorting plumes of heat from its nostrils and sweating hard in the cold. Beside it, the familiar burning eyes of the hound sprinting with ease at his side until the crowd of freezing defenders parted and they rode right up to the gates.
“Alan!” cried Sarah.
“OPEN THESE GATES!” he bellowed up the walls and into Tarrick's stubborn head. “OR I'LL TEAR THEM DOWN MYSELF!”
Tarrick reappeared on the wall and looked down, relief putting colour back into his pale features that looked like they'd been chiseled from the ice itself.
“You're late!” he laughed. “I hope you bring me better news.”
Alan said nothing but behind the steel doors Sarah could hear the chains clinking along the pulleys and mechanisms that opened them. Turning in his saddle, he looked at her and all the pain seemed to ebb from her weary body.
“I missed you,” he mouthed silently to her.
“I missed you too,” she replied.
The gates swung open and Alan, riding ahead of the fearful defenders of the water purifier, cantered into Hope and met Tarrick as he came down the ladder.
“It's good to see you at-” he managed to say before Alan had leapt from his saddle and landed a vicious blow on the side of his face. Tarrick stumbled sideways but kept on his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Beyond Hope (Tales from the Brink Book 3) Page 23
