After The Fall (Book 2): The City

by Dalton, Charlie

  The hopping Rage would not let him have it. He’d always been late to the party with his single leg, never getting more than scraps to live off. But not this time. This time, he would get the lion’s share. He would be the king at this feast.

  He shifted his jaws to force the box deeper, a snapping sound as the fulcrum of his jaw gave way and shoved the black box down his throat. It wouldn’t go down. Couldn’t swallow. It stayed there, lodged in his throat like a bird who’d had too much to eat. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like a Rage could choke to death.

  Rages felt no satisfaction, no sense of victory. But right then, as the other Rage stumbled around the area, attempting to identify what had brought the first Rage there in the first place, the dungarees-wearing former mechanic would have felt both those things.

  72.

  JAMIE COULDN’T identify any shade variation in the darkness of the tunnel, but the strangers evidently could. Jamie attempted to mimic the soft scuffling footsteps of the locals in their polished black shoes. Despite taking the tiny steps, he caught his toe on every protruding rock and miniature rise he came across. The only sense of victory he felt was hearing Fatty falling over more often than he himself did. But the margin was by no means large.

  The strangers must have carried Donny, not that Jamie could see them doing it. Poor Donny. He’d have a second large lump on his head to match the first. Jamie would make sure he was okay before laughing openly at him.

  His brother’s body was soft, relaxed and floppy like he had no bones.

  “Stop,” someone whispered at Jamie’s side.

  They’d come to something solid, Jamie realized. It was beyond Jamie’s ability to see what. Then, a shaft of light, dull but distinct enough to cut a rectangle in the darkness, forming a doorway. The locals filed through it. Jamie followed them, stepping into a new world. An old world.

  It reminded Jamie of the storybooks he’d read as a kid, of medieval English towns and hamlets, small and out of the way, beyond the clutching reach of large cities. A time and place where the laws of the land applied by local opinion more than administered by national courthouses.

  Lamps burned on tall classic lampposts, small orbs of light in endless darkness. The buildings were small picturesque houses with pointed tiled rooves with narrow dirt roads winding between them. One house had a little wheel turned by a man-made stream. Inside the house would be an arm attached to a wheel-shaped weight that ran in a circle, grinding wheat, turning it into flour. It was a process Jamie knew very well because they had a similar setup at their commune.

  Just thinking about home brought a thick wad to the back of Jamie’s throat. This place, despite its diverging appearance, was very similar to Mountain’s Peak. There was a togetherness about it, with how they teamed up to survive and exist in a world that did not want them. It was this element that had been missing from the sterile environment of the City.

  A woman beat an old carpet. Clouds of cloying dust billowed. A man with mutton chops hacked at vegetables and deposited them in a bowl of water. A pair of boys played tag, dashing under hand-drawn carts and drying sheets.

  Half the escorting group broke off to resume jobs they were doing before being interrupted by Jamie and his gang. The other half—including three men who carried Donny’s body to a large cage. It had bars around each side and roof. Made of some kind of wood, what looked like bamboo. They deposited Donny inside, placing him gently on the clean floor.

  “Please enter,” the Speaker said.

  Jamie didn’t much like the idea of entering the prison so easily. After all, when would they let them out?

  “You said we were going to speak with your leader,” Jamie said.

  “Please enter,” the Speaker repeated.

  This was going nowhere. He squared off against the Speaker.

  “I really need to speak with your leader,” he said. “We’re of no danger to you. We’ve done nothing wrong. We want to leave.”

  “The leader will speak with you when he has time,” the Speaker said. “Please enter.”

  You couldn’t argue with good manners, Jamie supposed. The strangers stood with weapons hanging purposefully at their waists. Ready to use in an instant, but not openly threatening.

  Jamie stepped into the cage, followed by Lucy and Fatty.

  The locals shut the door behind them and wove a padlock around a bunch of thick chains. Jamie gauged their expressions. He was relieved to find they didn’t laugh or sneer or suddenly change character. They turned and left their new prisoners to their own devices.

  Fatty moved to Donny’s side and knelt beside him.

  “How’s he doing?” Jamie said.

  “He’s fine so far as I can tell,” Fatty said. “Breathing. Heartbeat. The works.”

  “Make him as comfortable as you can,” Jamie said.

  “What are you going to do?” Fatty said.

  “Figure a way out of here,” Jamie said.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Fatty said. “We don’t want to upset them. They might let us out soon anyway.”

  Fatty was always an advocate of the status quo, never one to fight or put up much resistance. Jamie ignored his friend and focused on their cage.

  It was simply made. He eyed the roof and each corner, looking for the join and how it was put together. It hadn’t been lashed together with chains and locks the same way the door was. Probably nails. Maybe they could snap the nails, push the lid off and figure a way out of there. They would need to do it when the rest of the village was asleep. He assumed they would artificially re-create night.

  Jamie was exhausted. It’d been a long day. His thoughts were fuzzy, his mind sluggish. He took a seat and relaxed. Lucy sat beside him. Fatty was still putting Donny in a comfortable position. He’d taken off his own jacket to roll into a pillow and placed it under Donny’s head, lifted his knees and put them to one side for comfort. Fatty might be incredibly lazy when operating under his own steam, but he was excellent at following orders.

  “Can I ask you something?” Jamie said.

  “Sure,” Lucy said. “What is it?”

  Lucy looked as if she’d been expecting this for a while. And dreading it.

  “In the basement of the City, when me and Fatty were looking out for the Rage, how did you warn us it was behind us over the speaker system? As far as I know, there aren’t any microphones in there.”

  “Right,” Lucy said. “None.”

  “Then how did you do it?” Jamie said.

  Lucy looked everywhere but at him. It was clearly an uncomfortable subject for her.

  “I plugged myself into the computer system,” Lucy said.

  Jamie blinked, surprised at her honesty. He knew she must have been capable of something like that, or else she would never have been created in the first place. Still, it was a surprise to hear her say the words out loud.

  “What did it feel like?” Jamie said.

  Lucy shrugged. Then her eyebrows pinched the bridge of her nose in thought.

  “It’s hard to explain,” she said. “It’s. . . sort of like when you relax and let your mind drift off and random thoughts suddenly pop into your head. You become part of something bigger than yourself. Much bigger. Once I was inside, I could control everything, if I wanted.”

  “It must feel amazing to have that kind of control,” Jamie said.

  Lucy shrugged. It was all the confirmation he needed.

  “My dad told me about something before,” Jamie said. “We never had much stuff at the commune, so Dad always got us to do things you didn’t need much for. One thing he talked about was meditation. That’s where you relax your mind and let your unconscious take over. It sounds similar to what you’re talking about.”

  “Right,” Lucy said. “Something like that. But that was with computers. It’s not really of much use in here. Not many places even have computers anymore. Or electricity for that matter.”

  “Shame the world destroyed itself and there are no more machi
nes,” Jamie said.

  Lucy nodded. She glanced at Jamie, then away again.

  “I checked on your dad while I was inside the system,” she said.

  Jamie’s ears pricked up.

  “How was he?” he said.

  “Relaxed, at peace,” Lucy said. “I’m no expert with medicine but everything appeared to be the way it should. Stable. He’s going to be all right.”

  Jamie looked at his fingers. “You can’t know that.”

  “No,” Lucy said. “But I sensed it.”

  “I hope for the best too,” Jamie said.

  He was resigned to his father’s death, Lucy realized. He had no hope left. She could understand why. The truth was, Lucy didn’t only hope he would get better, she knew he would. How could she explain it to Jamie without sounding like even more of a freak? There was a strength inside Donald, something that hadn’t been there before. . .

  She decided to play it safe and keep quiet. She couldn’t adequately explain it to herself, so how was she going to explain it to someone else? How did you convince someone to believe something you had no evidence for?

  Jamie was her friend, and it was about his father. Perhaps a shot of hope was what he needed right about now. Spurred on by a vein of courage, she opened her mouth to speak. She turned to Jamie and found him with his chin on his chest, head lolling to one side. Asleep.

  It would have to wait. In truth, she was relieved.

  73.

  JAMIE STARTED awake. He couldn’t breathe. He was lying face-down on the dirty concrete floor. He immediately turned his head to the side and gasped a deep lungful of nourishing oxygen. A couple more cleansing breaths and he rolled over, preparing to sleep once more.

  The cold hard floor reminded him he was no longer in his soft warm bed at the commune. His dream was ruined with the knowledge he was Somewhere Else. He grunted and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

  No longer sleeping yet still not awake. He peered at his surroundings. It no longer surprised him he was in a small room with a bunch of other people. Now it would have seemed strange if there weren’t other people residing with him. He wondered how he hadn’t suffered from loneliness before.

  Lucy lay leaning against him, huge eyes shut tight and fast asleep. Breathing lightly with no snoring. Across the way, Donny was still unconscious, body braced in the position Fatty had folded him. Fatty sat with his legs tucked in, back to the bars.

  Jamie moved slowly. He got up and gently put Lucy down so she wouldn’t be disturbed by his movements. She lay her hands on the cold floor and used them as a pillow. Amazing what you could put up with when you were exhausted.

  They were still contained within their mysterious underground cell, the earthy walls of the tunnel rising to form a dome overhead. The lamps outside continued burning their haunting yellow orbs. None in the windows, shut tight. If they wanted to escape, now was the time—whatever time that was. Impossible to tell without the Sun’s arc across the sky.

  The gang were entirely unprepared for such an undertaking. They had no weapons, no plan. They didn’t even know where the exit was. Still, they needed to try. These people had locked them up for committing no crime and there was no reason to think they would let them out anytime soon.

  Jamie recounted his appraisal of their prison, of how strong and sturdy it was. The chains and parent lock were still present on the door. The upper corners weren’t as strongly built as he’d thought.

  He looked for imperfections, weaknesses, errors in construction. He compared one to another, forming a winner-stays-on style analysis. Two elbows were spotless, without a single mark. The strongest, he decided. Other prisoners would have been locked up in the past. They’d have possessed the same dreams of escape. Most had clearly acted on those impulses.

  The other two corners had each received jarring thuds in their history. One had its nails, still visible, protruding from the bamboo fibres. That corner was out. They had no way to cut through the exposed nails. The final corner, then.

  This one sported multiple dents from where someone had banged heavily at it. Jamie made out a splintered crack where it had been lifted. A hasty attempt to patch over the holes with some kind of filler had been made. A poor job. That, Jamie decided, was their exit point.

  Bok bok bok bok bok.

  Knocking on a bamboo bar, thrusting Jamie from his thoughts. It was the Speaker from earlier in the tunnel. The sound woke the others, jolting them from their positions on the floor.

  “Ngh?” Donny said, rolling over onto his side.

  He slapped his lips before getting to his feet. Pulled up his pants, a little loose around the waist, and put a hand to his head, where he’d received the sharp stone expelled by the sling. A matching pair of bumps now. Both tender to the touch.

  “The Preacher will meet you now,” the Speaker said.

  “Get up guys,” Jamie said. “The leader here wants us.”

  “Not all of you,” the Speaker said. “Just two.”

  “Two?” Donny said. “Why?”

  “It’s not my place to ask questions,” the Speaker said. “Choose. And be quick about it.”

  “I’ll go,” Jamie said.

  “I’m the oldest and I’m in charge,” Donny said.

  “You’ll get angry,” Jamie said. “You’ll fight. You’ll make things worse.”

  Donny thrust his chin out, preparing to argue, say he was wrong and start an argument. Then he realized he’d only be proving Jamie’s point.

  “Fine,” he said. “But you’re not going on your own. I’ll go with you.”

  “No,” Jamie said. “You need to stay here.”

  “Like hell, I will,” Donny said. “Dad sent me to look after you.”

  “You need to stay here,” Jamie said, making it clear there were other reasons.

  Donny, thankfully, caught it. He frowned, not clear what those reasons were.

  “Take Fatty, then,” Donny said.

  Fatty, God bless him, was an honest and reliable friend, but he wasn’t the one to take into high-pressure situations.

  “I’ll take Lucy,” Jamie said.

  Donny eyed Lucy uncertainly.

  “Are you sure?” he said. “If something happens, she’s not strong enough to help you out.”

  “You underestimate her,” Jamie said.

  He knew more about her ability than the others. For some reason, she’d opened up to him and not them.

  “Done?” the Speaker said.

  “Almost,” Jamie said.

  He wrapped his arms around his brother as if they were usually affectionate with one another (Ha!). He whispered in his brother’s ear.

  “Raise Fatty and lift up the battered upper corner of the cell,” he said.

  “Which one?” Donny said, not looking up.

  They parted so Jamie could motion with his eyes.

  “I got you,” Donny said.

  “Don’t waste your time,” Jamie said. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”

  “Hurry up,” the Speaker said, tired of waiting. “Come stand by the door.”

  “Good luck,” Donny said.

  “You too,” Jamie said.

  74.

  THE LOCALS were very careful with letting only Jamie and Lucy come out. They forced Donny and Fatty to move to the far corners of the cage, turn their backs and get to their knees. Only then did they open the lock and release the chains. It was a good thing they did that. Donny would have made a dash for the door if he had half a chance.

  The guards shut the cage door and immediately applied the lock and chains. Donny hopped to his feet and approached the door, but it was too late. Jamie gave him a smile that said he was going to be all right. That seemed to calm him. A little.

  The Speaker, along with two of his chums, led Jamie and Lucy away, through the hard dirt-packed streets that wound like a snake’s coils around the picturesque houses. Judging by the yawns on the peoples’ faces it was morning already.

  The
largest group of workers stood at a single long table operating on some kind of factory processing system. They filled small metal shells with black powder. At another table they carefully handcrafted tiny metal studs Jamie knew only too well. Bullets. They were producing ammunition.

  Ever since he arrived, Jamie had cast an experienced survival specialist’s eye over this commune and wondered how they could possibly survive down here without access to clean running water or sunlight to grow crops. The answer was trade. In order to get the supplies they needed, they would have to offer something very valuable. Everyone needed to defend themselves. It was likely their only real option.

  The woman at the end of the table put a hand to her mouth and coughed. It was a thick, deep, horrible thing. It created a domino effect as her entire line began to cough. It was the dust, Jamie realized. They could beat their carpets and blankets as much as they wanted but it would not dislodge the dirt in the air, from living underground the way they were.

  Then he noticed something else odd.

  Most of the workers were missing limbs. In fact, almost all of them were! How dangerous was making munitions? Very, he supposed. They must have accidentally set them off. He frowned. The loss of hands and arms he could understand, but what about the feet and legs? The only thing that made sense was if they lost a hand, forgot, and dropped the gunpowder and ended up losing a foot too. Two for one. Nasty.

  They came to a large ornate building, the design of it was unlike anything Jamie had ever seen before. Ornate, with arches and stained glass windows. A giant spire almost reached the underground ceiling.

  A pair of armed guards stood outside the church’s front doors. Armed. Dangerous. These guys had the use of all their limbs, Jamie noted.

  “Wait here,” the Speaker said.

  They waited patiently. Jamie used his time to appraise the guards. They wore thick armour and helmets. They were serious hombres and possessed the kind of thousand-yard stare only the professional had.

  The doors opened. The guards stiffened, each growing an extra inch, then relaxed again after seeing it was a girl. Apparently, she didn’t warrant such respect.