"Guns," Bray said.
"You know the name?" Enoch asked, looking at the metal object curiously.
"Yes," Bray said. "The woman I was with, Kirby, made them with her people."
"We found them in an abandoned settlement. They were unclaimed."
"The one by the water." Bray nodded, verifying it was one and the same. "The settlement is called New Hope. That was Kirby's group. Her people all died from a demon fight—perhaps you saw the bodies. She was the only survivor." Bray didn't mention the two Halifax men they had killed in New Hope. "I fear Kirby is dead, along with the boy with whom we were traveling."
"You fear, or you know?"
"The last I saw them, they were on the islands," Bray said. "We were separated. I'm not sure what happened."
"The islanders are a cruel people. They take whatever they can use, and discard the rest." Enoch shook his head.
Bray felt a burgeoning fear in his gut as he thought of Kirby and William. "I am grateful for the help of your men."
Enoch nodded. "The islanders have killed too many. How long were you on the islands?"
"I stayed for several days before they betrayed us."
"The only people of ours that get close to the islands, never return." Enoch looked grave. "We only know what we see through the forest."
Bray shifted as he prepared his request. "It is for that reason I was hoping I might make a proposition." Turning to look over his shoulder, he pointed at the door, in the direction in which Enoch's men had taken Flora. "The girl I was with might know what happened to my friends. My hope was to speak with her."
"You hoped for a favor."
"In return, I will give you whatever information I can about the islands. Your men saved my life. I owe you. There is no disputing that." Bray paused, hoping he could convey his sincerity. "But I am trying to find out whether I am chasing ghosts."
Enoch watched him for a long while. "Perhaps we can help each other." Enoch scratched his chin. "Is the girl, Flora, a leader to them?"
"I believe she has stature," Bray said, hoping he hadn't stretched the truth too far. "She knows Deacon's top soldiers, the men who watch over the bridge. I believe she might be of use to you, as well."
"The islanders would rather die than speak with us," Enoch said solemnly. "I am not sure how much luck either of us will have in speaking with her. We will interrogate her tonight. In the meantime, I will instruct some of our women to tend your wounds. You have had a long journey. You need rest. Our people will set you up in a house, where you can heal and sleep. In the morning, when we are finished with the girl, I will allow you to speak with her."
"Thank you," Bray said, standing. "I appreciate what your people have done for me."
"It seems as if we were fortunate to run into one another." Enoch nodded gravely.
He called loudly enough to be heard through the door, and some men opened it, escorting Bray out.
Chapter 42: Deacon
Deacon sat in his study, the fresh scalp of the Halifax man on top of his desk, the long, smooth metal gun nearby. Jonas, Kirby, Heinrich, and Ruben should be at the settlement soon. If he hadn't been worried about an impending attack, Deacon might've gone. But his people needed a leader.
He picked up the gun from his table.
Before Kirby left, he had received instructions on how to use it, and he had even tried it in the forest. He was wise enough to save the device's power, for when he needed it. If war was coming, he needed to be prepared.
Footsteps in the hallway drew his attention to one of his soldiers, who came down the hall and stopped at his open door to address him.
"Sir?"
"What is it?"
"I have sent a few of our soldiers into the forest to get a Savage, as you instructed. They will be back as soon as they find one."
"Thank you," Deacon said. "Let me know as soon as you have it."
The soldier hesitated. "It might be a difficult task, bringing one back alive. I'm not sure we've done that before." The soldier hesitated, his eyes roaming to the gun in Deacon's hands, and the fresh scalp. "We will get it done."
"Is there anything else?" Deacon asked.
"No, sir."
"Go. Now."
After a dismissive wave from Deacon, the soldier departed and his footsteps echoed down the long, dark corridor. As soon as Deacon got a Savage, he would test William's power. Then he would figure out whether the boy's power could be taught to others.
Chapter 43: Kirby
Kirby rode in silence behind Jonas, unable to stop thinking about the conversation she'd overheard by the rock. She imagined the contraptions Jonas had been using—devices made of metal, wood, or any other type of material strong enough to bend and twist human skin. She'd seen too many people tortured beyond imagining as others sought power and information, or maybe a way to pass the time. That thought only deepened her disgust toward these people, specifically Jonas.
They rode farther north as the sun sank halfway into the afternoon sky. Another day was ending. Time worried her. Even if they reached the settlement before dark, it would take some effort to remove whatever debris covered the burnt, abandoned guns and bring them back. They would need to be quick.
"Should we cut east?" Heinrich called behind him. "It's getting late."
"I think we've gone far enough," Kirby confirmed.
They turned their horses and the glare of the sun shifted behind them. Trees whipped past as they found a game trail wide enough to ride on and made better ground. Soon the trail ended, and they entered an area that Kirby didn't recognize. Several times, they skirted around brooks or streams that wound into the horses' path, putting them further off course, or ended up taking a path to avoid a few running mutants, who screeched and charged. They outpaced them when they could, rather than fighting pointless skirmishes that would slow them down. Sometimes, they were forced to stop and kill them.
They were approaching a valley when Heinrich halted suddenly, looking behind his horse at Jonas and Kirby. Jonas halted, too. In the clearing through some trees, a band of mutants raced across the snow-covered landscape. A large cluster of mutants gathered around a fallen, writhing animal. Through breaks in the surrounding group of mutants, Kirby saw swaying antlers and kicking hooves. It was a buck, most likely. They were consuming it alive. She shook her head in disgust as the animal's dying screams echoed across the field and the animal struggled vainly to get free.
"That buck would've made a healthy meal," Heinrich said.
"Probably not a good idea to ride through that, though," Ruben muttered. "We could probably outrun them, but it wouldn't be worth the chance."
Everyone agreed, and they detoured north, keeping to the forest, watching the Savages through breaks in the trees. Kirby saw a few more groups of mutants racing through the trees, entering the clearing and joining their brothers.
"The Savages are powerful creatures," Jonas mused from the front of the horse. "If only there were a way to tap into that."
"They are vile," Kirby muttered.
Jonas shrugged. "Our people believe the gods put them here to test our faith and ability. Is that your peoples' belief?"
"No."
Jonas waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. She'd had enough conversation with him for a day. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, Jonas continued speaking, as if he were eager to share some ideas. Or maybe he was eager to hear himself talk. Peering through the trees, he beckoned toward a group of mutants, running from the edge of the clearing to join the rest.
"As I said, some people think they are a test of our faith and our ability—a means to hone our skills with the blade and knife, a foe to keep us honest. The islanders who fail the gods are sent to join them. But I have other ideas." He paused, thinking through an idea. "I believe they were put here for a greater purpose. If there were a way to control them, we might have a formidable army behind us."
Kirby stiffened. Did he know about William?
Or was it a coincide
ntal remark?
Eventually, they curved back east, under a sun that was slowly disappearing, dimming Kirby's hope of reaching the settlement before dusk. Impatient to get to the guns, Heinrich and Jonas pushed the horses hard. Kirby looked around the tree-covered forest, hoping she might recognize something from her trips away from New Hope, but she was in territory she'd never seen.
"Are we sure we're going the right way?" Jonas asked.
"East," Kirby said plainly. "We're heading for the coast, as I said."
"I hope we didn't stray too far, with our detours," Heinrich called over his shoulder.
Despite her words, Kirby couldn't deny her nervousness. Nothing out here looked familiar. Getting the guns back to the islands two more nights after this one was growing less and less plausible, the more time that elapsed. She didn't want to think about missing Deacon's deadline.
Kirby studied their surroundings—a half-rotted tree that had fallen in a storm, a formation of rocks that jutted from the ground in the distance, a hill with a thick cluster of pines. She wanted to believe the coastline was close, but the truth was, it could be much farther. She hung on to the horse as it stepped over a patch of uneven ground, jostling her in the saddle. The air took on an aura of quiet that she didn't like.
"Something's wrong with the horse," Ruben announced, looking down at the horse's flank. "It's slowing down."
"Spur it faster," Jonas called.
Gunfire burst from the trees.
Too late, Kirby swiveled to face the formation of rocks they were passing.
Heinrich screamed as a bullet jarred him from the saddle, sending him toppling. Ruben reached out for his companion, confused, but bullets slammed into his side, rocking him back and forth in his seat. He cried out in agony, falling from the horse.
"No!" Kirby screamed.
"By the gods!" Jonas shouted.
She was supposed to protect them. To keep them safe.
The first horse ran, suddenly free from its riders. Heinrich lay on the ground, unmoving, while Ruben spat and coughed blood, clearly in his death throes. Jonas pulled the horse hard, too hard, as several strange, marked men burst from the pines.
Halifax men.
Kirby pulled her gun, but the horse whinnied and reared, tossing her around. She fought to stay in the saddle, but she had nothing to hold other than Jonas. Jonas lost purchase. He fell, taking Kirby with him. Kirby's breath burst from her lungs as they landed in a painful heap and her gun flew from her grasp.
The horse took off running in an effort to escape, like the first.
Kirby rolled away from Jonas, spotted her gun, and crawled.
Halifax men screamed.
Bullets split the air.
Loud, excited voices echoed through the forest and footsteps crunched the snow.
She didn't need to look to know they were coming for her. Kirby kept crawling as several more gunshots split the air and hit the ground around her, waiting for the pain of a bullet, the last moments of consciousness, but she didn't feel anything other than cold ice and snow beneath her. Soon she was on top of her weapon, clutching it and turning to face her attackers. Several running men halted, surprised to see a gun aimed back at them. She fired a few shots, scattering them. More men shouted in the distance. They were new to the weapons.
She needed cover.
Looking over her shoulder, she spotted a nearby cluster of trees and scrambled to her feet, no time to think of anything other than surviving, nothing except…Jonas. Jonas lay on the ground near where they'd fallen, clutching his stomach, reaching for her.
"Kirby!" he screamed, in a pained voice she might've relished, if she hadn't been instructed to keep him and the others alive.
"Get up!" she screamed at him, no time to argue.
She raced to his side and pulled him to his feet. Grabbing his arm, she swung it over her shoulder, firing a shot behind her to keep the men away. And then they were hobbling into a cluster of trees, breathing heavily as men's shouts erupted behind them.
"Keep going, Jonas!" she cried, leading him through the trees as she searched for something—anything—to get behind.
Jonas wheezed into her ear. In the distance, Kirby heard a horse whine. She scanned the trees frantically, but the small pines and bushes in front of them were useless for cover against a bullet. She spun to look over her shoulder, snow caking her boots.
More men than she thought were following them, ducking behind the trees as she fired a few more times, staving off a few. Bullets hit the snow around her. There were too many men.
"Are we going to die?" Jonas asked through a mouthful of blood.
"No," Kirby said through gritted teeth. "We're not going to die."
Jonas adjusted on her shoulder, sagging and clearly losing the ability to run.
"Stop!" one of the soldiers screamed from behind them, in a voice she was surprised she could understand.
"M-maybe we should listen," Jonas said, his voice a half-whisper as Kirby veered to the right, pulling him a few more steps.
Kirby stared ahead of them, noticing a small, broken-down building in the distance. Then she looked down at her belt.
"Are we stopping?" Jonas asked.
"No," she said. "We're not stopping."
Chapter 44: Bray
Bray woke from a sleep he hardly remembered. His arms were wrapped where the soldier's blades had cut him. Bandages lined his back. Before he settled the night before, the Halifax women had tended his wounds, setting him up with a place to stay and some food and drink. For the first time in nights, he'd slept in a wooden bed and under some warm blankets. It was much better than a bed of rocks on which he'd lain the night before.
He sat up, looking around a room slightly smaller than the one in which he'd met Enoch. To his right, on a table, was a cup of cold, strange-smelling tea. He took a swig. It was bitter, but he needed the fluid, which was laced with herbs. Next to the tea was a flask that they had told him he could take. Verifying it held water, he stood, tucking it into his belt.
His door had been left open a crack, allowing some of the cold and noise to seep into his room. Bray heard the high-pitched wail of a baby, the murmur of conversations in tongues he couldn't understand. Despite the place's strangeness, he was grateful to be alive. He winced as he made his way to the door.
A few Halifax men stood at attention outside, waiting for him to rouse. Samron was among them. "Do you need food?"
Bray thanked him for the offer. "I'm all set for now." Food could wait. He had something else on his mind. "Enoch told me I could see Flora this morning."
"Yes. He passed the message. I can take you."
Bray exited the small house, following Samron and two others around the stone platform and across the settlement, past children playing, women carrying babies, and men or women hurrying from one place to the next, busy with tasks. A few people carried animal carcasses and skins. Others carried tools, or worked on some of the less intact houses. The soldiers wore guns, as if they were afraid to put them down. Bray looked toward the house at the far edge of the settlement, where he'd met with Enoch. The man's door was closed. A few soldiers lingered around it, conversing in the loud, strange tongues that were quickly becoming familiar, though he didn't understand them any better.
Reaching the building where they'd taken Flora, Samron looked at Bray. For a moment, Bray thought he might give him a weapon, but he issued a warning.
"Enoch said not to kill her."
Bray nodded. "I won't."
Samron opened the door, ushering him inside.
Flora sat in the middle of an empty room, her hands tied behind her. Her face was marred with scratches and cuts, as if she'd been fighting most of the night. Her eyes were red with puffy bags underneath. She didn't appear to have slept. Bray stepped in and looked behind him. Samron and the soldiers peeked through the doorway, watching.
"Can I speak with her privately?" he asked.
The soldiers traded words he couldn't understand
. They shut the door.
Flora stared at him with a vacant expression. She didn't recoil. She didn't spit words of venom, as she had the day before. It seemed as if she'd accepted her fate, or perhaps she was numb from what was clearly a long, sleepless night filled with what appeared to be violent interrogations. Staring at her, Bray expected to feel hatred, but the sting of the initial betrayal had worn off. He needed answers more than vengeance.
"Are they dead?" Bray asked.
He didn't need to clarify his question. Flora's eyes flashed something he couldn't read as she opened and closed her dry, cracked lips.
"Where are Kirby and William?" he asked again.
She said nothing.
"I heard what your people have done to the people of Halifax," he said. "I have heard the story of the land your people stole. Everything your people said was a lie."
New fire sparked in Flora's eyes as she cleared her parched throat. "Stole? These people have taken everything from us. We defend ourselves. We kill them to survive."
"Do you?" Bray asked. "Taking their scalps doesn't seem like survival to me."
Flora fell silent a moment, watching him. "You don't know our rituals. You are an outsider."
"I know that you throw people from the bridge. I know you tried to kill me." Bray paused, turning to leave the room for an emphatic point. "And I know that you are going to die here, in a strange settlement among your enemies."
Flora was robbed of a response as fear ran through her eyes.
"You deserve it," he added with a vindictive expression that felt good.
Flora stared back at him, trying for defiance, but tears traced tracks down her cheeks. She strained against the ropes binding her, as she probably had been for most of the night. She blinked away some of the tears, as if she were ashamed.
The Ruins [Book 2] Page 15
