A Fractured World: A Post Apocalyptic Adventure (Gallen Book 1) (3 page)

Four

Theo opened his eyes to near darkness as a siren began to wail. It was the signal that the day shift had ended and Luna would be preparing to leave work.

The apartment they shared was close to the Worker Zone. Despite no longer owning a bicycle, she was a brisk walker and would be home in ten minutes or so. He stumbled off the sofa. It had been light when he had fallen asleep hours earlier and he hadn’t intended to rest for this long. He fetched a lantern, lit it and bathed the room with a flickering yellow light. He saw a clutch of empty food bar wrappers on the floor by the sofa. Two bars were enough to sustain a man for a twenty four hour period before any hunger pangs kicked in, but he had gorged on more than half a dozen and the chemical overload had left his body feeling sluggish, his thoughts foggy.

Theo knew his excessive consumption was becoming a problem for them both. With his job gone they received only one Citizen Parcel, not two, half the rations and supplies; yet he was already eating
twice
the normal amount, sometimes more, and though numbers was not his strong point, even he knew they were soon to run out. He would have to steal again. He had despised it but with so many apartments empty during the day it was tempting and straightforward enough. He would hang if captured and Luna could lose the apartment, even face exile from the city, if it was believed she had been complicit. He had even noticed that she skipped eating some days, so that he could have more, her gesture another noose choking at his throat.

Shaking his head, trying to clear the dizzy feeling and miserable dreams, Theo picked up the wrappers, screwed them into a ball and looked around for where to conceal them. It would be another two days before Luna brought home a fresh Citizen Parcel. Rations! The SOT used to stand on street corners and protest that there was no need for rationing. What did they know? And where were they now? Losers, thought Theo, stuffing the wrappers beneath the sofa. He reached for his shoes, tugged them on and tied the laces. The street outside was noisy with conversation and the rush of bicycles as thousands of citizens spilled out from the plants and factories.

Theo carried the lantern into the small bedroom. The bed was unmade, another broken promise, covers half on the floor, bottom sheet twisted. He went to a chest of drawers and dragged a folded satchel from beneath it. He realised his heart was beating faster and his palms were greasy as he drew open the zip. He needed to get a move on before Luna arrived home. He looked around the bedroom and immediately bagged the wind-up alarm clock. He heard movement in the apartment next door. Quickly, he tugged open several drawers and picked out lingerie that had been a gift a year back. He felt the fabric between his trembling fingers and reluctantly tossed them into the bag. He spotted a hairbrush and a hand mirror and took both. He saw wisps of black hair tangled on the head of the brush and threw it back onto the bed. Satisfied there was nothing else, he returned to the living room, carrying both lantern and satchel.

He took two ornaments, hideous pieces with tiny chips and cracks. The ceiling above creaked with footsteps and a smattering of conversation passed the front door. He shot a look out of the apartment window. The street was less busy now. She would be home at any moment. He looked at the contents of the satchel and groaned. It wouldn’t be enough. It was becoming harder and harder to find enough stuff to trade for one or two nights at Hamble Towers. The bicycle had been his last best trade.

“Have to do,” said Theo.

He snatched his apartment keys and yanked open the front door. Luna was at the top of the stairs.

“Theo?”

Her eyes glanced down at the satchel. She knew what he had done.

“Why don’t you stay home tonight?” she said, coming towards him.

Avoiding her gaze, he left the apartment door open for her.

“Theo, talk to me, please.”

He slowly raised his eyes to her and saw the weariness in her skin, the tiredness in her face, the frailty in her bones.

He tried to say something but couldn’t move his lips. Sick with shame, he went past her and down the stairwell.

Throughout the day, and more so into the evening, hundreds of citizens would stream into the Trader Zone, a bustling and haphazard sprawl of makeshift stalls assembled on a stretch of hard baked dirt. Some of the merchants did not own stalls and bartered from blankets spread on the ground. It was jumbled, noisy and chaotic, piled high with furniture, clothes, weapons, bicycles, tires, and a vast number of oddities salvaged from the wastelands. A lot of the items on show were dirty, broken and unidentifiable, allowing the merchants free reign over creativity at what they were trading. They also had passes, kept out of sight under lock and key, offering one or two nights at the Towers. The area had a grimy and rundown appearance and fires blazed in iron drums as the temperature began to cool and the light faded. Not everyone was here to trade. Citizens often came just to engage in simple conversation; drink, eat and bemoan the wrongs of the city. Located on Chett’s east side, it had been daubed the poor man’s version of Hamble Towers.

Theo knew many of the merchants but traded mostly with Bex. He was a former soldier, an ex-member of the Red Guard, like himself. His stall was lit by lanterns, glowing brightly, one hanging at each end. It was crammed with rusty tools and implements, a jumble of clothing and an array of black plastic items he claimed were from the Before and would make ideal ornaments in anyone’s apartment.

Opening the satchel, Theo offered him the ornaments, the wind-up alarm clock and the hand mirror, holding back the soft, shiny underwear.

Bex, a smiling, round faced man with dusky skin and beefy hands, shook his head.

“No, this is rubbish,” he said. “No, no, no. Rubbish! Take this away, Theo, why do you waste my time?”

He closely studied one of the ornaments.

“This has a chip, and here look, look at that one, a crack glued back together. These are worthless.”

“I got these from you a month ago,” said Theo, as a group pushed past him. “They were a present for Luna.”

“Then you have no taste,” laughed Bex, in a series of tight stutters. “And nor does she.”

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Theo, I can take the clock and mirror, but not for a pass.”

A man stepped in front of him and offered Bex an open box of wires and cables.

“Hey!”

The man turned slowly. His face was burnt from the sun, rough with a beard, a scar above his eye.

“Sorry,” said Theo, lowering his eyes.

“These are very special indeed. How about a two night pass?” said Bex, trying to diffuse any trouble. “Here, my friend, a two night pass for you. Thank you, thank you very much.”

The scarred man placed the pass into his pocket. He offered Theo a sour look before strolling away, whistling.

“Idiot,” said Bex. “You don’t put your face into someone else’s business. Not someone like that.”

“I have these,” said Theo, pitching the lingerie.

“Ah, now these are not rubbish,” he grinned, turning them over in his hands. He brought them to his face and sniffed them. “These are very nice, Theo, very nice indeed. They belong to Luna? Oh, I can take these. The ornaments, the clock, the mirror, the underwear, a one night pass.”

“Two,” said Theo.

Bex looked past him, into the crowd and suddenly shook his head. He handed everything back to Theo, the lingerie as well.

“I’m sorry, my friend. No trade, no pass.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No trade,” said Bex. “Go, please, I have other customers.”

“Okay, one night. Please, Bex, I need it. I really need it. We wore the same uniform once.”

“I’m sorry, Theo, no pass.”

“What is this?” reacted Theo, angrily, his voice attracting a few glances, even above the surrounding din.

He suddenly saw a patrol of Red Guard soldiers emerge from the crowds, walking with purpose, body armour and helmets, shields and batons. He felt his insides crawl. Were they coming for him? Had his crimes been uncovered? Was he to be arrested? He tried to calm his breathing, not make eye contact with them. The soldiers gave him a passing look, no more, and then melted deep into the throng. Theo took a deep breath and shook his head at Bex. Without saying a word, he scooped up his belongings and stuffed them back into the satchel.

“Maybe you should have kept your job,” said Bex. “All you had to do was make checks.”

Theo stamped away from the stall, cursing.

“And you couldn’t even do that right,” called Bex.

He watched Theo disappear into the crowd and turned to her.

“Happy?”

No one troubled her as she strode through the citizens and continued to observe Theo. He stopped at stalls he had never used before, attempting to obtain a coveted pass into Hamble Towers, but her presence alone was enough to temper any dealings with him. Her straight blonde hair flowed behind her, trailing down her back, fixed with a decorative clasp. The sides of her head were shaven and dark glasses covered her eyes. Her polished black boots kicked up dirt as she followed him beyond the market.

His pace had slowed to a dejected shuffle, his head down, careless, guilt rolling off him in waves. He collided with a woman who shouted at him but Theo seemed oblivious to the cries. And then he bumped into a rough faced man who drew a blade on him but Theo didn’t even flinch. He stared blankly at the knife wielding man who simply laughed before sheathing his weapon.

The crowds thinned and the noise receded as Theo approached the river where empty buildings looked out across the choppy black water and white lights blinked in the night sky above.

He hurled the satchel into the water and then punched his fist against the side of his head before allowing tears to fall from his eyes.

She emerged from the shadows, softly calling his name several times until he turned around, regaining his senses, shock that his name was being called and being called by a woman, a woman who wasn’t Luna.

“We need to have a brief conversation,” she said.

Theo seemed dumb struck; his brain was unable to process anything. A moment ago, he had been standing at a stall trying to trade his life partner’s underwear for a night of luxury. He felt ill with disgust. He was contemptible. Bex was right; a checker’s job at the recycling plant was an easy position to have and he had managed to mess that up and men were dead because of his ineptitude. It was the only job he had held since leaving the Red Guard and he had fouled it up. He had thrown the bag into the water and, if this woman had not appeared, would have tossed himself in as well. And then it would be finished. At last. Because every child knew the truth of the river. The river kept man. The river ended man. Man could not survive the river. The river gave water but to raise the anger of the river by entering it, by defiling it, and your life would be forfeit. Every child in Chett knew this. This was the answer. This was the only answer. He knew it. Bex knew it. Luna knew it.
Why didn’t this young, athletic and beautiful woman know it?

“I can repair your life,” she said, her voice firm, but sympathetic at the same time. “Life passes for you and Luna. A life pass, Theo. Do you realise how difficult it is to obtain a life pass?”

There was an authority to her tone. He felt he should salute her. In his scrambled thoughts he realised she was military and important military because she had to have power and influence to offer a life pass.

“I know of your past. How good a soldier you were. How good you still can be. One final operation.”

“No one will miss me, do you not understand? If I’m gone no one will miss me. The river ends man.”

The woman eased off her glasses, revealing large blue eyes.

“I know you,” he said. “Major Nuria.”

“The river is not the answer,” she said.

She handed him a package from inside her jacket. He accepted it without hesitation or question. He knew he would complete whatever task she set.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Chancellor Jorann’s assembly. Progress Square. This is what I want you to do.”

She leaned forward and spoke into his ear. He could feel her breath. Became dizzy on her scent.

“No more hardship,” she promised, slipping on her glasses and melting into the darkness. “No more guilt.”

Blankly, Theo stuffed the package into his jacket.

Five

Stone kept watch as Emil and Tomas slept. The only sound outside the building was the wind.

Emil had dozed, with her back against the wall, but was finding deep sleep impossible to come by. Earlier, Tomas had made a small fire, the flames now dwindling, and they had shared boiled water seasoned with tiny leaves that Stone had emptied from a pouch. They had eaten slices of dried halk, one of the few breeds of wild animals on Gallen; hunted and skinned for meat, fur and hide. She was tired, unable to stop yawning, her eyelid rolling shut and then snapping back open, but was desperate to stay awake. She knew the protection these two men offered was something not easily discarded but she had no trust for them. They had killed the men who had hunted her and probably had their own motives for doing so -
no one helps anyone in the wasteland -
but neither of them had asked anything of her and they hadn’t forced her to travel with them and they had willingly shared food and water. Perhaps they pitied her. She suddenly thought of soldiers dressed as bandits and confusion gathered in her thoughts.

“Stone?” she whispered.

He looked slowly at her, rifle in one hand.

“Why are you …?”

He raised a single finger to his coarse lips and turned his back on her to continue watching the streets below. They were on the second floor of a corner building where three roads converged, all choked with debris and the twisted metal husks of vehicles from centuries before. Tomas had said Stone had few words, but despite his grisly name, the Tongueless Man, he certainly had a voice. He was obviously not comfortable using it. Her father has said she used hers too often and then he would hug her and tell her to never stop using it. Never stop talking and never stop fighting. She wished he was here. She wished they were all here. She didn’t want to remember that day. She blinked away a tear and looked at Tomas, snoring lightly. Had he known a life like her one?

There was hardly any light in the room and she felt cold as the night crept in. The air was stale and the wind continued to whistle through the gaps in the walls. With a blanket draped over her shoulders, she pushed herself onto her feet, shivered and gingerly stepped around the dying fire. Stone’s head shifted, acknowledgement that she had moved, but he didn’t turn to look at her. She eased down alongside him and followed his line of vision. She saw nothing on the streets below but he seemed very tense, his dark eyes active.

“Thank you,” she said. “For today.”

She waited for a response from him but there was none.

“You both saved me.”

Nothing.

“Tomas says you have few words. I mean, how does that work? Can you talk but you don’t like to?”

He nodded.

“Why do they call you the Tongueless Man? Did someone try …?”

Stone let out a mildly frustrated sigh and she stopped. Emil could sense he was uncomfortable with her conversation. He was probably used to long spells of silence between them both and now she was here disrupting it with questions. He pointed to her patched eye and then at himself. It took her a moment to understood what he was trying to tell her.

“I’m a Pure One. That’s what they call me.” She smiled at him. “It’s just a stupid name. Like with you, the Tongueless Man, another stupid name.”

He nodded and in the gloom she thought his mouth, hidden in that ragged beard, had curved upwards. Though maybe not. Then she realised how bad he smelt. His clothes reeked. His hair reeked.

“Is Tomas your son?” she asked, settling down with him, pulling the blanket tight around her.

Stone shook his head.

“I thought he might have been. I mean, kin look the same and you don’t look the same, but he speaks to you the way a son speaks to a father. The way my brother spoke to our father.” Her eyes became glazed as the memories flooded in. “They killed all my kin. Killed everyone in our village. Arrived in cars, on bikes. A tribe, the Blood Sun. The man who led them called himself the Cleric. Gallen is not for you, that’s what he told them, Gallen is not for you. He butchered everyone. My father helped me escape. So now I’m all alone. Only me. And you two.”

Emil stifled a yawn. Tomas stirred, muttered and then turned over.

“Do you have any family?” she asked. “A woman? A child?”

He suddenly picked up his rifle.

“Where are you both heading?”

Became more and more agitated.

“Somewhere quiet,” said Tomas, opening his eyes. “Can you get all the questions out of the way so I …”

Stone gestured frantically with his hand and Tomas sprang to his feet, alert to impending danger but the warning had come too late. A shower of arrows whistled up through the darkness and peppered the room. Tomas yelled in agony as one ploughed into his chest and slammed him to the floor. Emil screamed as an arrow thudded between her ankles. She pulled the blanket over her head as they continued to fall all around them. A powerful beam of light poured into the confined space, illuminating them. Stone aimed his rifle and opened fire. There were agonised cries as he took down three of them in rapid succession.

There was another deadly hissing sound as a second wave of arrows was unleashed. Stone ducked. Three arrows lodged into his backpack. Tomas screamed as one drilled into his thigh. He fell to the ground. The light swept across the room in a wide arc and there was shouting on the street. Stone fired until Hugo’s rifle clicked empty. He quickly discarded it. On his feet, he lightly kicked Emil, who tossed aside her blanket. He grabbed Tomas by his collar, the younger man screaming with two arrows stuck in him. His chest and leg were bloody. Stone dragged him into the bowels of the building. Emil followed behind them as a third volley of arrows splintered the now empty room. The search light swung across the face of the pitted building, hunting them down.

Under the cover of darkness, the bandits put down their bows and ran inside, clutching spears and axes, black markings covering their faces. Emil felt the world spinning as her ears filled with the cries of the men chasing them. Were these more soldiers? She saw the ashen look on Tomas’s face, Stone yanking him through the building, dropping him when he needed to fire off a few rounds from his revolver. They crashed through a door into a large room of round tables thick with dirt. A wall into another room and half the ceiling were missing. A spear wielding bandit on the floor above drew back his throwing arm but Stone stooped and fired twice into his stomach. The man toppled and hit the floor. Another burst into the room, swinging an axe with each fist, and ran at them, his face filled with rage. Stone whirled round and squeezed the trigger, drilling a hole in his forehead.

Stone found a closed back door that led out into an empty street. Clearing the building, he dropped Tomas to the ground, flicked open the chamber of his revolver and slotted in six bullets from the ammunition belt across his chest. Tomas was drained of colour and tears began to roll down his cheeks. He could see the white lights in the black sky above. He was leaking blood. He was shaking. He was dying.

Three bandits emerged from behind them, yelling and jabbing with spears. Stone fired until his revolver was empty and the three were dead, chests patched with blood. He tucked the empty revolver into his belt and snatched up one of the spears. He hurled it into the darkness and heard a cry and the sound of a body dropping. Emil shouted at him but he couldn’t hear a word she was saying as he hefted debris across the back door and wedged it shut.

Stone knelt down and looked into his companion’s delirious eyes. Tomas clutched at him and tried to speak but no words came, only shudders and tears.

“I can help him,” said Emil. “But you need to get the arrows out of him.”

With the back door blocked, and the street clear, Stone reached down and slid the arrow from Tomas’s chest. His friend cried through gritted teeth. Emil immediately plugged the wound with a ball of cloth torn from Tomas’s shirt. Then Stone pulled out the second arrow and once again Emil stemmed the flow of blood.

“Keep them back,” she said, breathing hard.

Stone nodded and reloaded his revolver. He could hear the bandits running through the building, still hunting them in the darkness, but another sound was drawing much closer now and this was troubling him even more. It was a series of deep guttural snarls. In the distance, he spotted a dozen small lights approaching, bobbing up and down. Emil leaned over Tomas, her hands moving across his wounds. Stone watched her, for a moment, caught in the fascination of what he was witnessing, but then it was gone and he was running down the road to the corner, the roar of engines deafening in his ears.

He counted at least eight bandits on foot, loitering by the search light that had flooded the upper room.

Then a swarm of dirt bikes burst into view, single headlamp beams criss-crossing the rumble strewn street.

As Stone sprinted from the corner a man emerged out of the blackness, swinging an axe. Stone ducked as it skimmed close to his head. He drew a blade and lunged at the man, driving upwards, but the bandit saw the move and clubbed Stone with the axe handle, sending him sprawling and the blade flying from his grasp. Emil was crying out for help and Stone glimpsed bandits moving towards her. The axe swung down overhead and crashed against debris. Stone bunched his fists and launched a flurry of punches. He swerved and ducked as the axe came at him again, now with less cohesion. Leaping on the bandit, he drove his head into the man and let the dazed attacker drop to the ground.

He took his rifle, looked down the barrel and fired twice, dropping both bandits and spinning them away from Emil and Tomas.

“Stone,” she cried.

Single beam headlamps swept the devastated street. Painted men were shouting and screaming, brandishing weapons.

Rifle in hand, Stone edged backwards to Emil, who was sobbing as she cradled Tomas’s head.

“I can’t,” she choked. “I can’t do it.”

Stone reached down and squeezed her shoulder.

“Save him,” he rasped. “Please.”

He turned to face the wall of dirt bikes, engines snarling, wheels churning up the dirt. Laying down his rifle, as they tore towards him, Stone calmly reached into his coat pockets and pulled out two grenades. Yanking out the pins with his teeth he hurled them both at the rampaging bandits. He threw himself over Emil and Tomas as there were two deafening bangs and a bright flash that scattered bikes and bodies into the air. A shower of metal and flesh and rubble came raining back down. And then Stone was up, grabbing his rifle and moving quickly along the street, picking them off, one at a time; shooting the ones who came at him, shooting the ones who ran, shooting the ones who clawed at him with bloodied limbs as they lay dying in agony.

Rounding the corner, he saw a handful of bandits flee on foot and bikes, abandoning the dead, the dying and the search light.

He fired one last shot, and shattered it.