I worry that I won’t have the time on this Earth to teach them enough to carry on when I am gone.
One pupil among them shows exceptional promise. He is apt and hardworking, but the call of his family and their eagerness to include him in his father’s trade of horticulture might pull him away. They are only doing what is natural and what they believe is right for their young man. I know this, but it also frustrates me.
My own children were clever enough, and I worked to share my passion with them, but their new families, small children and the necessities of life pulled all but one of them away. My son, Jed, forges on in the sciences, teaching horticulture at Desert Camp. Unfortunately, though, he is satisfied with imparting the basic principles, barely delving into genetics, and mostly discussing farming methods. He has made me proud in that he has pursued a scientific direction, but he was not the one to take my torch, to continue my pursuits.
Jed’s useful application of science in the service of propagating edible plants is highly honoured and applauded by the City Leaders. Other specialities are not so well received. I have lost track of the number of rejections I’ve had from the governing body over the years for proposals that tackled the community’s bigger issues: electricity, solar power, communications, safe travel between the colonies, medicine, to name a few. They laughed at my papers, saying they were foolish and fantastical. I argued that they were not only plausible but had once been part of normal life and entirely re-creatable.
Their closed minds and ignorance are a disgrace.
Even my thoughts on optometry were viewed as grandiose. Heaven knows what will happen to those needing visual correction when the last pair of glasses breaks and the technology to create new optical lenses no longer exists. Already there are too many people disadvantaged by poor vision, forced now to wait in line for a pair of spectacles to be recycled to them.
The Council Leaders are insulated by their wealth, and rule people through fear, and by keeping them needy and ignorant. These are harsh words, but true.
There will come a day when the people open their eyes and see that they have been held back. But it will be too late. Already, most of those who knew the world as it once was are gone, and with them so much knowledge, so many answers to the questions future generations will someday ask.
LUKAS, autumn, 62 A. Z.
THE GUNSLINGERS BARELY made it to the base of a large building before a horde of Deads was upon them. The last horse got inside a ground-level enclosure, and the heavy iron gate was rolled closed, seconds before the mob of Dead were throwing themselves at the grating. Those last few moments before dashing to safety were about as close as you could get to being killed — or as close as humans could get to being killed, Lukas thought.
The Infected just kept coming: out of old shop windows, from alleyways, even from holes in the ground. Lukas was baffled by how many there were, all drawn towards the Gunslingers.
Come, my brothers and sisters, eat! he’d thought. It was nothing to him if the Gunslingers were removed from this world by his fellow Corpses.
But then he’d looked at Elliot. Lukas pitied him enough already, and didn’t want to see his friend torn apart. Nor did he want to see the horses pulled down and eaten on the pavement. As much as he would enjoy seeing his captors punished, he would do nothing to slow their attempts to save themselves.
Ray had had to strike and battle his way through the lunging, snapping Corpses to get them into their enclosure. He had clubbed at least four of them to death, cracking their skulls and splattering himself and his horse with gore. By the time they were all inside, he was a mess — sweating, red-faced, covered in unidentifiable bits of tissue and dark fluids — and he smelled worse than a rotting animal in the sun. All three Gunslingers were exhausted, and slid from their horses to slump on the paved floor of the room.
‘We’re trapped in here now,’ Greg said, gesturing at the thirty or forty pairs of arms reaching at them through the bars. ‘What are we gonna do?’
Ray finished rubbing his face with a dirty cloth and frowned as he looked at the stinking mob pressing against the barrier. ‘Nothing. We wait.’
At that moment Maria let out a shriek. Her horse had staggered to its knees and was shaking. She was frantically trying to put water from her own flask to its muzzle, but it wouldn’t drink. It dropped heavily onto its side and breathed shallowly for a few moments, then its jaw went slack, its tongue rolled from its mouth, and it took its last breath. Maria bowed her head down to the animal and pressed her forehead into its neck.
Too late now, lady, Lukas thought. If you torture your animals, this is what happens.
He stared at her with distaste. Maria was either a fool or a coward. He wanted to shake her and scream, ‘You did this yourself, you stupid, stupid woman! It’s way too late to be sorry now.’
But he couldn’t, not least because of the gag in his mouth and the rope binding his arm to his side. Instead he turned his attention to Ray, who was standing uselessly behind his wife. Any decent husband would have moved forward to console her, but not Ray. Greg, Ray’s puppet, didn’t bother to offer sympathies either. Meanwhile, the horde of Deads thrashed and pushed against the thick steel bars, their moans echoing and filling the enclosed space.
Ray turned and appraised them again, then spat on the ground.
‘We’ll out-wait them,’ he said, and turned to Maria. ‘Get up and cook some food.’ And then to Greg, ‘Secure the prisoners.’
What a cold and unhuman creature you are, Lukas thought. You don’t deserve to live.
Lukas watched the big man sit down and close his eyes, ignoring his distraught wife and thirsty, saddled horse. The sight and smell of his clothing, smeared with bits of slime and gore, was stomach churning.
What a slob, Lukas thought. Disgusting with those around you and physically gross as well. I’ll wait for my moment, and then I’ll come for you. And when I’m done, I’m taking your horse.
VIRGIL, autumn, 62 A. Z.
THEIR ARRIVAL WAS heralded by children on the rope bridges shouting with excitement. Virgil reached down to pat his horse’s neck. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, ‘we’re safe at last.’ How strange it was, he thought, that the biggest threat they’d faced hadn’t been the Infected or even the harsh, dangerous lifestyle, but just one monstrous man. Now they were free of him.
The day was gorgeous: golden light filtered down through the trees, warming the earth and bathing everything in a honey-coloured glow. This would be a beautiful place to start a new life. Virgil looked at Jessy, her ebony-black hair and her bronzed skin glowing in the forest’s light, and wondered if her friends would see how lovely she had become. Head held high, she was waving at people on the platforms and smiling from ear to ear.
‘Jessy!’ a teenage boy called from above.
She squinted up through the light. ‘Joaquin?’
The boy laughed. ‘No! Xavier! I’m just tall now.’
Jessy clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled.
‘The horse enclosure is on the north end near the apple orchard,’ the boy called. ‘Welcome back!’
‘Thanks! We’ll get the horses inside and then I’ll come see you.’ She paused, then added, ‘I’ve missed you!’ She waved again and pushed her horse into a trot.
Owen looked at Virgil and raised his eyebrows. So this was the boy she had been writing to, attaching small scrolls to the legs of messenger pigeons that did training flights from the Tree Sanctuary to the Gunslinger outpost.
Virgil coughed into his hand and forced himself to concentrate on his horse’s pointy ears, but he could feel his cheeks burning.
Owen chuckled. ‘Oh well, let’s follow her.’
The enclosure was pretty good, Virgil thought, considering it was built by someone who didn’t know horses. Two strong three-metre fences enclosed an area surrounding the bases of six large pines and a small shed. The fences were well built and the shed was structurally sound despite its age. Two large buckets waited to
be filled with water and four water-catching barrels sat close by.
The first guards arrived as they were pulling the gear off the horses. ‘Gunslingers,’ called a man’s voice. ‘Welcome.’
Owen turned to them. ‘Hello, friends. We’ve brought back one of your own.’
Jessy had been concentrating on getting Bob settled in, but Virgil could see she couldn’t wait to get up on the platforms. He nodded towards a newly lowered rope ladder. ‘You go ahead, Jessy. I’ll get the horses fed.’
She smiled back at him. ‘No, it’s okay. We’ll get this done and all go together.’
It didn’t take long, but even as they worked, Virgil was aware of the eager crowd gathering on the deck above. Then, with the last horse settled, they made their way to the ladder. Owen started up first, and looked back at his companions.
‘I hope their friendliness means they’ll feed us,’ he said.
ELLIOT, autumn, 62 A. Z.
HE WASN’T HUNGRY anymore, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Offering a sip of water had been as close to kindness as the Gunslingers had got, so it was thirst and dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.
Somebody will give me a drink of water, Elliot thought, as the City guards hoisted him up the side of the building. Then I’ll explain that Lukas had nothing to do with any of this and they’ll release him. As for me, I don’t care anymore. Katie is safe and that’s all that matters. Even if it’s too late for me, she will live on and perhaps even remember me kindly.
It was comfort of a kind.
Elliot knew he was a changed man. Where he had felt bitter towards Lukas, blaming him for distracting Katie, he now felt pity and guilt. The Blue had not asked to be caught up in this mess. And none of it would even have happened if it hadn’t been for Elliot himself.
‘The City can do what they want with me,’ he whispered. ‘I have known what it feels like to be cherished. They can chain me up forever or even execute me, but I’ll die happy.’
There was furious shouting from below, and Elliot looked down to see the Gunslingers hastily putting the harness around Lukas as a group of Infected closed in on them. Ray called for the guards to start hoisting Lukas up, and began to make a run for the ladder and safety. But it was too late. The three Gunslingers were going to have to fight the Deads to get to the ladder. A hideous-looking Corpse broke out in front of the mob, moving fast, even though he was dragging a leg and a section of skin on his chest had been peeled away, exposing muscle and bone. He moved with a skipping motion that was almost comical, but was still extremely efficient at covering distance quickly.
Ray pulled out a metal weapon with a slight hook on the end. Elliot hadn’t seen it before. Ray swung it in an arc and smashed in the skipper’s skull. The Dead fell with a heavy, wet thud, and a splatter of black juice covered the concrete where its head hit the ground.
Elliot watched with grim fascination as the next group of Zombies tore towards the Gunslingers. Maria got to the rope ladder first and rapidly scaled the bottom fifteen rungs, out of danger’s reach. Ray was behind her, turning to swing his weapon and using his body as a battering ram to smash his way through the grabbing Dead.
This is going to be really close, Elliot thought.
Greg, however, was neither as quick as Maria nor as strong as Ray. Just as he got to the ladder, a skeletal arm grabbed him by his long, dirty hair. Greg spun around and raised his club to strike, but in an instant, both he and the Corpse who held him were knocked sideways.
Elliot gasped at the gruesome scene below him.
A group of Variants had heard the commotion and moved in. Greg didn’t have a chance. In the time it took him to fall to the ground, a Variant had disembowelled him. Then, just as quickly, another Variant threw off the first attacker and proceeded to rip Greg’s face off. Elliot had to look away then. Nobody, not even bad people, deserved to die like that.
The City’s guards had finally managed to pull Elliot up and drag him onto the rooftop. Elliot was too weak to stand, so lay where he was, staring at his captors with a dazed expression. He muttered to no one in particular, ‘They ate Greg.’
The guards stood over him, discussing how they would get him to their jail. Eventually, one of them threw his arms down in exasperation, bent over and gruffly picked Elliot up, then threw him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The world was pitched upside down and Elliot felt even dizzier.
Vaguely, he could make out Lukas being dragged onto the roof, and then being led by two guards, who held him with a noose on the end of a pole so that they could control him, but also keep him at a safe distance. Elliot shook his head. He could hear Lukas trying to tell them something through the gag in his mouth. The guards just ignored him as they led him off in a different direction from where Elliott seemed to be headed.
So long, poor fellow. Good luck to you, Elliot thought.
The guard carried Elliot along a walkway near the City’s recreation area. Elliot could hear the excited chatter of the bystanders, and glimpsed faces staring at him with a mix of fear and hunger, glee and righteousness. Strange that they should seem so eager to see someone else’s misfortune.
Then a new thought hit him with a clarity that showed its truth: the real reason his parents had sent the Gunslingers out to hunt him down was because they wanted to protect their reputation. The City people knew what he had done and had probably fed off the gossip — the City Leader’s son had broken a rule. His parents had had to respond the only way they could to save face. They had criminalised him to save themselves.
Elliot shuddered. He had no doubt now about where his parents’ priorities lay — first with their high social position and second with their sense of duty. Third must be family, Elliot thought. Or at least he hoped it was, at least for his sisters’ sake.
Elliot closed his eyes and felt the remainder of his energy drain from him. He felt his body being carried along, but he’d lost all care about where he was headed or what they might do to him.
ROSE, autumn, 62 A. Z.
HER THOUGHTS WERE tangled, making the minutes, hours, days indistinguishable from one another. She felt disconnected from time and place, not quite awake, but not asleep either. Mostly she didn’t fight it, allowing the snarl of disordered thoughts to hold her motionless on her bed. It was easier that way. But then she began to hear whispers in the hallway. Something had happened — there was a change within the house. Her brother’s name spoken aloud? Elliot?
She held her breath and listened. She waited, and then she heard it — he had been brought in.
Was he in the City? Yes.
Rose felt a surge of energy course through her. She sat up in bed and concentrated on the voices of her father and a rough-sounding man in the corridor. ‘He’s not in good shape, but he’s here,’ the man said.
‘Well done,’ her father answered. ‘I hear there was a casualty.’
The man cleared his throat, ‘Yes, sir. It wasn’t pretty.’
‘All right, well, I’m sure you’d like to get refreshed and we’ll talk again.’
Rose felt her heart beating inside her chest and the rushing of blood in her ears. Okay, so now what? The tangles still threaded themselves through her brain, and she needed to push them off. She tried to focus, but her thoughts would not unravel. She tried again, but the effort exhausted her, and she lay back on her bed and closed her eyes. She felt her breathing and listened to her heart. She had to keep trying.
Rose sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed. Dizziness stunned her for a moment, but she breathed slowly and opened her eyes, forcing herself to look at a painting on the far wall. Soon the lines in the picture sharpened and the clouds disappeared from the corners of her vision. She willed herself to move towards the platter of cold food on the table.
Spots jumped in front of her eyes as she stood, and Rose held the wall to keep herself upright. One slow, unsteady step after another, she crept forward. By the time she got to the table, her legs we
re shaking, and she slumped into a seat before they finally buckled under her. She reached out for a glass of day-old juice. The sugary drink burned her throat, but it filled her with a rush of energy and sunlight.
A moment of nausea followed, but it passed, and she took another mouthful. Rose looked around her and then down at her frail arms.
I don’t know how I’m going to do it, she thought, but I think it’s time to save my brother.
LUKAS, autumn, 62 A. Z.
WHEN YOU’RE TREATED like a monster, you start to feel like one. Lukas pondered the truth of this as he was herded along by two bulky guards, pinned between them by heavy poles. He wanted to thrash and scream, but reminded himself to be patient. His time would come.
City people watched from safe distances, some of them with fearful expressions. Those ones he didn’t mind as much. He probably did look scary: bluish skin, dirty clothing, hollow eyes, missing an arm. The people who angered him were the ones standing and staring with looks of enjoyment on their faces, sneering at him, judging him. He knew that tonight they would return to their homes and sit with their families and talk about how monstrous he was, when really they were the evil ones. Lukas felt his anger burn. I wonder what would happen if I lunged out and bit one of them? No, better to wait. When the time was right, he would show them what it was like to suffer, to feel pain, to lose everything.
Even with the gag in his mouth, Lukas made himself crinkle his eyes and smile as best he could at the bystanders as his captors pushed him on. He would do his best to look benign. However much he wanted to lash out, snapping and spitting in their smug-looking faces, he knew that’s what they wanted. If he acted violently, he would confirm exactly what they thought of him.
Well, he would confuse them. Let this stupid expression on his face disarm them, make them question how dangerous he really was. They might even say, casually, over their evening meal, ‘I know he’s Infected, but he looked harmless, poor thing.’ But he wasn’t harmless. No, not any more. Lukas’s smile widened on his face. He was more dangerous than any of these City people could imagine. He was exactly what they thought he was — a monster. And he was going to act like one. Soon.
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