The Ruins Book 4

by T. W. Piperbrook

  A group of eight men poured through the entrance, holding their torches high and shouting in triumph, cornering Bray and Kirby against a wall.

  Cutting a path through the menacing guards, Ollie approached Bray and Kirby with his knife drawn, getting in their faces. "What are you doing here, forest-dwellers?"

  Quiet pervaded the room as all eyes turned to them.

  Reaching for a lie he doubted would help, Bray said, "We were taking a walk."

  A few soldiers chuckled.

  "I think they were kissing in the night." A blonde-haired guard snickered.

  Bray and Kirby didn't dispute the claim.

  "There are plenty of places to do that in the city," Ollie grunted. "And people with nothing to hide don't run."

  A few of the soldiers nodded their agreement.

  "Who else is here?" Ollie barked.

  Bray wondered if the other Shadow People had been caught, but he heard nothing to give him that impression. Hopefully, they were back in their houses. Further evidence of a consortium would certainly crucify them.

  "We are alone," Kirby said simply.

  The guards awaited an order, looking at Ollie.

  "We only saw them leaving the city," said a guard with a ruddy face. "Maybe Arnie was right. Maybe they were kissing."

  Bray put on a serious expression. "That's what we were doing."

  Ollie's face twisted into a malevolent smile. "Whatever you were doing, it won't matter much longer." To the guards, he said, "Bring them back to the city. Drag them through the alleys. Make sure everyone sees and hears."

  Ollie stepped back, allowing his soldiers to get by him.

  Five guards approached Bray, invigorated by the chase that led to this moment. Bray looked sideways at Kirby. If this were the end, neither would give up easily.

  Bray swung at the first guard to approach him, catching him in the face. He punched another guard in the stomach, but the three other guards backed him farther against the wall, quickly overwhelming him and pinning his hands.

  "Let me go, you dirt-scratchers!" he yelled.

  "This is the end!" one of the guards screamed.

  Nearby, he heard Kirby fighting back, but three guards surrounded her, too.

  "You filthy bastards!" Kirby spat, as she was overpowered.

  "Take them out of here!" Ollie thundered.

  Kirby's cries echoed through the room as the guards obeyed Ollie's orders. Bray dug his heels into the ground, unable to stop his captors from pulling him into the night.

  Chapter 49: Bray

  Bray sat with his back against the hard, stone wall of the cell. They'd taken Kirby into a room somewhere at the end of the long building, away from him. She might as well be back in the alleys through which they'd been kicked, beaten, and dragged, to the terrified expressions of the watching slaves. Many slaves had shown shock or sympathy, but no one had helped.

  Who would volunteer for death?

  Kirby and Bray had struggled, but their efforts were fruitless.

  Bray didn't see any of the other Shadow People. It seemed as if he and Kirby were the only ones caught.

  It was over.

  Staring at the cracks of moonlight, Bray hit a hopeless fist against the ground. The reality Kirby had spoken in the flooded house held more wisdom than his fantasy-fueled revolt. They had no chance of overrunning this filthy prison. They never had.

  Kirby had been right, all those days ago.

  His fingertips and nails bled from scratching at a locked door that wouldn't budge. His voice was hoarse from shouting. All he could do now was wait for a last chance to prove his bravery. Whatever torture they planned for him, he would die with his fists swinging.

  He stared at the walls, shifting positions, occasionally finding the strength to shout through the door at the guards outside. Occasionally, he heard them snickering, or telling loud stories.

  Eventually, a long, hopeless night turned to morning.

  The light under his door brightened.

  Bray smeared some of the sweat and dried blood from his eyes as new sounds filled the courtyard.

  Lots of sounds.

  The clank of a key in the lock filled Bray's heart with a last sensation of dread, before the door swung open, allowing the morning light to spill in.

  The guards entered the room, yanking him several steps out into the dirt.

  Through the bright, blinding sun, Bray saw the fringes of an enormous, gathered crowd, the hundreds of slaves that comprised New City, all waiting, watching in a circle in the center of the courtyard. Most of their heads were turned toward Bray and the guards that pulled him toward the side of that crowd, who had left an opening to admit them.

  Pulled past the throngs of nervous, waiting people, Bray saw Kirby standing in the courtyard's center.

  Ollie stood behind her, grinning with an expression he recognized, as he looked between Kirby and Bray, and the crowd filled in behind Bray and the guards.

  He knew what this was.

  A horrid feeling took root in Bray's stomach as a chant took hold.

  "Come to the center!" Ollie boomed across the courtyard. "Come and fight!"

  Avery raised his arms, walking along the edges of the hesitant crowd and riling them up.

  "Fight! Fight!"

  "Keep walking, or I'll gut this spineless wench!" Ollie said, keeping Bray's attention as he stuck his knife against Kirby's back, making a demonstration of his threat.

  Kirby stood rigid in front of him, her face painted in defiance.

  The crowd was a single, faceless mass, cheering, screaming, and wailing. Children hid behind their mother's skirts. Some of the slaves with bloodlust stepped forward. The guards stood on the fringes of the circle with their knives out, ready to gut Bray if he didn't comply.

  They had learned from Jonah's attack.

  Bray took a compliant few steps forward, but he didn't go any farther. He hoped that a few seconds of time would buy his way out of a hopeless situation. Of course, there was no way out. He might as well be standing in a pit of snarling demons.

  He scanned the crowd for Drew, but he couldn't find him or the other Shadow People. They had prepared for a meeting, not a revolt.

  "Keep walking!" Ollie snarled again.

  He nudged Kirby, ready to stab. Bray and Kirby traded a look of resolve. Neither she nor Bray would fight. They would meet their ends in the sharp ends of the guards' blades before they killed each other.

  A new voice entered the fray.

  "Step aside!"

  The crowd parted as several women and children moved to admit a familiar, robed figure. Some of the chanting quieted. Rudyard tilted his misshapen head as he appraised Kirby, Ollie, and Bray. He walked until he was level with Ollie. A smile played across his lips.

  "You came," Ollie grunted.

  "I heard how much fun you were having," Rudyard said. "I didn't want to miss it."

  Bray looked through the crowd past which Rudyard had walked, as if he might find a cluster of demons, ready to enforce Ollie's edict. But it seemed as if Rudyard was alone.

  Bray steadied himself in the dirt as he stared across the courtyard at Rudyard. "No beasts to do your work?"

  Rudyard's smile was glued to his face. "Not today."

  "Perhaps you'd like to fight, yourself, then," Bray said, raising a dirty fist.

  A few in the back of the crowd cried out in support, before quickly growing silent.

  "You speak bravely, for a slave who is about to kill his friend," Rudyard said, with a confident nod.

  "If you believe that, you should have brought your demons." Bray spat in Rudyard's direction.

  "They don't want to fight," Ollie grunted, making a fake show of disappointment.

  Rudyard looked between Kirby and William. "Perhaps I can persuade them." Motioning up at the tower, he said, "Perhaps I will bring William down to spur them on."

  Kirby spun, making no effort to hide her fury as she asked, "Where is he?"

  "Sleeping,
" Rudyard said. "But it would be easy to wake him up." Rudyard's nod brought a sick feeling to Bray's stomach as more hopelessness set in.

  "You heard him," Ollie bellowed, waving at the building. "Fight, or he brings the Plagued kid down here."

  Bray looked from the threatening faces up to the glimmering tower, as if he might find a cluster of robed figures with William on the balcony. The balcony was empty.

  They wouldn't harm William.

  Would they?

  Advancing toward Rudyard, Bray said, "I'll kill you before you take a step toward that tower."

  A few guards matched his steps, moving in position to protect Rudyard.

  "I am not attached to William, as the others are." Rudyard shrugged as he glanced at the guards, who were eager for blood. "William does not belong down here in the city, but I will have no problem hurting him. Or perhaps, I will ensure that he has many long, miserable years after you are dead."

  Bray looked for a bluff beneath Rudyard's threat, but he saw only malice in his eyes. Kirby turned over her shoulder, contemplating a last move, until Ollie raised a boot and kicked her forward.

  "Get to fighting!"

  Kirby stopped from falling, regained her balance, and watched Bray. Her face was bruised and dirty.

  They shared a look of hopelessness. Angry tears spilled down Kirby's cheeks as several of the guards went to the edges of the crowd and riled the slaves up again.

  "Fight! Fight!"

  "Do I need to explain the rules again?" Ollie called, over the growing cries of the men and women.

  A few men and women in the front rows shook their heads.

  Bray looked at Kirby, sharing a look both knew would be one of their last.

  He balled his fists.

  He took a step.

  Chapter 50: Kirby

  Kirby blinked as cheers and shouts grew louder around her. All at once, she was back in the arena in her homeland, listening to the shouts and cries of another bloodthirsty mob. Spittle flew from people's mouths as they shouted more loudly. Each moment of inaction bred impatience. Only blood would sate their cries.

  Fight! Fight!

  Finding clarity, she looked over her shoulder at Ollie, who led the crowd with a noisy bellow. Avery stood next to Rudyard, watching with a complacent grin. She felt the surge of adrenaline that always accompanied her in the fights when she was forced against another, unwilling infected. Sometimes they begged, sometimes they groveled, but it only prolonged the pain.

  Death was inevitable.

  Killing the other infected in the arena had filled her empty stomach, but it had hollowed her soul.

  She'd sworn she'd never do it again.

  Kirby readied her fists, looking at Bray as he took a step forward. Rudyard's words echoed in her head as she thought about William, alone in the tower with the intelligent monsters who might harm him. For all she knew, Rudyard had lied, and he was dead already. And she would be soon, when the spore claimed her.

  She was a walking corpse, waiting for the infection to take her mind.

  If only she had deteriorated already, so that she could forget what she was about to do.

  Bray stood a few feet away, looking at Kirby with pain in his eyes. Through the dried dirt and blood on his face, she saw the man in the forest with whom she'd shared those meals, conversations, and even her bed. Somehow, she'd seen through the misery of her existence to allow herself a feeling, but that feeling would become a weapon that would hurt her worse than the infection ever could. Or maybe Bray would find the strength to see that he had a future, while she didn't.

  Maybe he would kill her, and it would all be over.

  She allowed Bray's face to blur. It was the only way she could see past the horror of what they were forced to do.

  "Get to it!" Ollie screamed.

  "Come on!" Bray urged her, his face contorting with pain. "We have to do this. If we don't, they'll hurt William."

  Fight! Fight!

  Kirby cocked back a fist. A flurry of faces whipped through her mind as she saw some of the others whom she had fought. She had killed more than she wanted to remember—people with whom she was forced to live before she fought. She'd never forget their names, and she recalled each of those bloodied faces in her sleep. Terry. Marshall. Angela. Patrick.

  Kirby swung.

  Bray threw up a deflective arm, blocking.

  Marcus. David. Roger.

  People cheered as the unwilling opponents circled, and Kirby prepared another swing.

  Kirby struck again, catching Bray in the side. He grunted and circled. Their stalling wouldn't last long.

  Jerry. Ben. Josephine.

  The hard feeling in Kirby's stomach became a pit she remembered too well.

  Bray swung a fist that she easily avoided. Dodging out of the way, Kirby stopped herself before throwing a counter-blow. Watching Bray's hesitant face, she allowed it to blur again, recalling another memory from the arena, all those years ago.

  All at once, the faces and the names faded, replaced by a single person.

  Edward.

  The first man she'd fought.

  She remembered Edward's screams as he flung his fists at her, fighting a battle that neither of them wanted, a battle that had lasted too long until one of them had finally succumbed. She recalled the punch that had knocked him from his feet and stopped him from getting up. A few punches in either direction, and Edward might've been the one standing over her at the end.

  Edward hadn't died, though, at least not that day.

  She had caught him in a manner that had knocked him out, rather than killing him. They had declared her the winner, but they hadn't given her a meal.

  Still, Edward had lived past that fight.

  There was only one way out of the arena.

  One way out, unless…

  Moving toward Bray, under the instigating screams of the guards, and the chant of the crowd, Kirby muttered, "When I hit you, stay down."

  A look of confusion crossed Bray's face.

  Before he could process her words, Kirby charged. She summoned her anger into a fist, recalling the beatings of the guards and Ollie's sneering, pig-headed face. Putting that anger into a swing and a ferocious cry, she aimed between Bray's left temple and ear, as she had done to Edward that day.

  Bray's hands came up to block, too late. The blow landed hard and true.

  Too hard.

  Kirby had a second to wonder if she'd made a mistake before Bray dropped, and stayed down.

  He landed on his back, unmoving.

  The crowd whooped into frenzy. Kirby regained her fighting stance, as the last of her cry died in the air. Surprised shouts came from the guards, as they approached with their weapons and Bray didn't move. The crowd leaned forward expectantly.

  "Get up, forest-dweller!" a guard cried.

  "To your feet, you weak-kneed bastard!" another goaded.

  Receiving no response, the guards got closer, bending down to look at the fallen combatant. A few circled behind Kirby, guarding her, while others formed a half-circle around Bray. They kept their knives in front of them, as though he might spring up and surprise them.

  "What's going on?" Ollie called impatiently from behind them.

  Kirby turned to find Ollie, Avery, and Rudyard watching.

  Gaining confidence, one of the guards put an ear to Bray's lips.

  "He's dead," the guard pronounced, with an unbelieving smile.

  Despair filled Kirby's stomach. Whispers swept across the crowd.

  I've killed him.

  Kirby clenched and unclenched her sore fist as she stared at the body on the ground, images of too many others flooding her memory.

  Terry. Marshall. Angela.

  Marcus. David. Roger.

  Bray.

  She'd killed the closest person in her life.

  "Not dead," said another, leaning over and pressing a grubby hand against Bray's neck. "He's knocked out."

  "Knocked out?" Ollie looked around, as
if someone played a trick.

  Kirby's despair rose to hope.

  A few more guards bent down, verifying the first's findings. A ripple went through the crowd as the news spread. Surprised men, women, and children watched Ollie's reaction, and Rudyard's.

  Turning to Rudyard, Ollie guffawed, "Knocked out, by a simple wench!"

  A long, hearty laugh came from his throat.

  Waving a robed hand, Rudyard said, "Perhaps I should have sent in The Plagued Ones, after all."

  A few of the guards chuckled. Kirby kept her eyes down as she waited for that order.

  Rudyard cleared his throat as he looked from the crowd to front gate.

  "What should we do?" Ollie asked.

  "The slaves need to line up," Rudyard said, losing interest. "Do what you want with them, but the harvest waits for no man."

  Rudyard turned and walked away.

  The crowd parted to let him through.

  Ollie looked around. Watching Rudyard go, perhaps feeling the weight of his orders, Ollie said, "Throw them back in the cells. When they're done recovering, put them back to work."

  Kirby stood stock-still, as if she misheard.

  Appraising her with a smile, Ollie said, "Keep the weak-kneed man in there longer than the wench. Let him stew in his shame."

  Chapter 51: William

  "Your food," said the same guard William had seen for days, as he walked into his room.

  William sat up, rubbing the bleariness from his tired eyes. Too many nights of sneaking around, thinking, and planning had worn him down. Mistaking his exhaustion for sickness, the guard set the tray down on William's bureau. He retrieved William's empty dinner tray and walked to the doorway, joining the other guard.

  They exchanged a sly smile.

  "You missed the show," one said.

  William frowned. Before he could ask a clarifying question, the guards left, leaving him with the smell of fresh breakfast in his nose and a worry in his heart. William threw aside the covers and hurried to the window, looking out over the New City. Below, he saw slaves weaving in between the houses. Of course, he couldn't see Bray or Kirby. Crossing the room and looking north, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  William couldn't help but feel as if time was slipping away. He might be devising a plan to help two dead friends. He needed to act soon.