A Fractured World: A Post Apocalyptic Adventure (Gallen Book 1) (8 page)

He nodded and was about to issue orders. “What other men do you know who have titles?” he asked.

The Cleric took his second in command, Ramon, and two warriors, Tent and Dren, into town with him. It amused him that they had drawn the name from an old sign jammed into the hard soil. As he walked down the centre of the street, aware of the gun muzzles shadowing his every step, he had no fear. His walk was one of confidence. His frame was tall and straight, his iron grey beard neatly cut, his long iron grey hair plaited down his back. His clothes were bloodless and bright and his eyes smiled at the men and women he passed.

The people of Ford observed him curiously; some stared or nodded a greeting, others simply looked away. His men were less impressed, like wild animals stepping into a trap. They moved edgily until the four of them reached the building that Marge had indicated was the bar. The Cleric saw her at the barricade, holding her shotgun and watching the tribe’s cars and bikes and trucks head along the right fork and away from the town, deep into the scarred wasteland.

The door and windows of the bar were covered in wooden boards that had been brightly painted and offered some cheer. He allowed his men to enter and then followed into a gloomy room filled with tables and chairs and a long counter against one wall. Narrow shafts of grey sunlight shone onto empty metal frames that hung from the faded walls. A young woman stood behind the counter, washing glasses in a bowl of water. The Cleric nodded at his men and they agreed it was the finest bar they had ever visited in Gallen. The hardest of his tribe often concocted evil brews that could rot a man’s insides and have him spewing foulness for days. The Cleric enjoyed the tension relieving surge drink gave and was happy for his warriors to indulge. In truth, imbued with drink, his tribe fought with a deadly and merciless ferocity.

The woman dried her hands on a thin towel. Her hair was cut short and she wore a dull red apron over a vest top.

“I’m Sadie, you strangers want a drink?” she offered. “Only got the one. We call it Ford.”

There was a single customer, a bald headed man, and he showed no interest, consumed with a book and a half empty glass

“Ford,” smiled Cleric. “Like the town. That’s clever. A lot of imagination.”

He placed his palms on the counter.

“We will all have one. How do we pay you, Sadie?”

“Don’t get many new people,” said Sadie, putting out four glasses. “How about the first ones are free. See what happens after then.”

The Cleric’s men grinned and propped themselves against the counter as Sadie poured small measures from a green bottle. They drank, grimaced and laughed. The Cleric carried his drink through the room, towards the man seated at the back, the man Marge had identified to him; calmly reading from an open book, tracing the words with one finger, left to right, mouthing them silently, ignoring his approach. Finally, as the Cleric shadowed his table, he looked up.

“You’re in my light,” said the man.

He was of a similar age, at least into his forty years. His clothes were rumpled, he was unshaven and unwashed.

“I will sit then,” said the Cleric.

He pulled out a chair with a loud scrape.

“I am the Cleric. You have heard of me? I understand you are known as the Map Maker?”

The man stared back at him.

“My maps are gone. Can’t help you.”

“Marge told me your maps had been stolen,” said the Cleric. “Friendly, helpful Marge.”

“I’d like to get back to my reading.”

The Cleric’s lunged across the table, snatched the book and ripped it apart. He swiped the Map Maker’s glass onto the floor, where it smashed instantly. Sadie reached down behind the counter for a weapon but Ramon grabbed the back of her head and pointed a black pistol at her. Tent sprang over the counter and snatched a bottle of Ford. Dren jogged over to the door and nudged it open with his boot.

“No blood,” said the Cleric, eyes focused on the Map Maker. “I recognise the female as Marge’s kin.”

The Map Maker nodded.

“Sadie’s her daughter.”

“Few town people looking at the bar, Cleric,” said Dren. “That one with the shotgun is heading this way.”

“You need to tell this monkey to …” began Sadie, her cheeks flaming red with anger.

“Quiet,” said Ramon, the gun muzzle tight against her skin.

“No blood,” repeated the Cleric, his voice rising.

The Map Maker picked up his ruined book.

“Why did you do that? Do you know how hard it is to find a book in Gallen? These are from the Before.”

“I don’t care about books,” said the Cleric. “Tell me what maps you have?”

“Maybe you need to clean your ears out. They’re all gone. Stolen. Two drifters ripped them off me.”

The Cleric lifted his glass, took a sip, and then tossed the rest into the man’s face.

“I have lived for over forty years in this beautiful land. I have led my tribe for more than twenty of those. And I know many, many things.” He leaned across the table and jabbed his finger against the side of the Map Maker’s head. “Your papers might have gone but the maps are in here. I am right? Yes? I am right? You know every curve of this land, its hills, its vast mountains, its long roads, its beautiful forests of dead trees … and every settlement, every place they are. Yes? Yes, I thought so.”

“What do you want?”

“A great many things, Map Maker,” said the Cleric, standing up as Marge pushed into the bar, shotgun held level. “Some of them you will provide me.”

Ramon lowered his pistol.

“Got a problem in here, Sadie?”

“We are all good,” said the Cleric.

“Think it’s time you all left,” said Sadie.

“I am sorry,” he said. “It’s just us men. With our titles. There will be no trouble.”

Without saying another word, the Cleric led his men back into the drab sunshine.

Twelve

Stone’s face showed nothing. His hands were still. His heart beat steady.
He couldn’t believe he had slept for so long.

Lucas took several steps back, Stone’s revolver in one hand, boot knife in the other. He crept across to Tomas, moving lightly for a man his size, and shoved him off his stool, quickly seizing the crossbow. As Tomas hit the floor, Lucas drove his boot hard into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Stone felt his fists clench but his revolver was aimed directly at him and he would never cover the distance. Lucas kicked Tomas again and now Emil was awake, her tortured dreams a reality. She wiped her stained face with her sleeve and tried to wrestle her hands free but the rope was too tight. Her face filled with shock as she saw Tomas curled on the floor, gasping for air, Lucas kicking him.

“This is how it’s going to happen,” he said, breathing laboured. “I’m taking your weapons, the girl and my bike. You get to keep your lives and nothing else.”

He began sawing through the rope binding Emil’s wrists.

“You have a choice, miss, of coming with me to Chett and taking your chances or setting off on your own away from these two.”

“You can’t trust him,” winced Tomas, clutching his stomach.

“I can’t trust you, either,” she said, rubbing her wrists. “I saved your life and you tied me up.”

Lucas handed her his knife so she could free her legs whilst he loaded weapons and packs onto his bike. He kept his aim on Stone, knowing he was the more dangerous of the two men. Crouching, he pulled free the wedge holding the door shut. It was light outside, scraps blowing in the wind, the air chilly, the road and land deserted. He climbed onto his bike, grabbed Emil by her arm and swung her onto the bike behind him.

“Put your arms around me,” he said. “Stick on this helmet …”

She drove the knife into his throat, feeling it sink deep into the flesh. She yanked it free and the blood spurted at her. Lucas screamed and dropped the revolver. Stone sprang from the booth. Emil leapt from the bike and snatched the gun from the floor. The bike toppled over with a loud crash and Lucas went with it. His face turned deathly white and he was shaking violently as he bled from the terrible wound. He gasped and his arms jerked wildly.

Emil flashed the blood stained knife and revolver in her shaking fists.

“We’re not going to tie you up again,” said Tomas. “I promise.”

“Then why did you?” she said. “I know he was going to trade me for a better life. You two are just the same.”

“Emil …”

Stone snatched the revolver from her. He aimed and fired, the bullet hitting Lucas in the skull, ending his misery. The blood stained knife slipped through Emil’s fingers and clattered to the floor. She fell into Tomas’s arms, crying loudly, exhausted. He curled her against his chest and held her. She was trembling uncontrollably. He could smell the dirt of scavenging in her hair. Stone crouched next to Lucas and frowned at a series of markings burned into his arm. A sequence of shapes. He had never seen anything like it before. He got back to his feet and went back to the map he had fallen asleep with last night.

Walk. Breathe. Survive. Wait.

“I kept the name,” he said.

Emil wiped mucus from her nose; she peeled away from Tomas and stared at him.

“What did you say?”

“I kept the name,” repeated Stone, tapping his head with the barrel of his revolver. “In here.”

“That’s enough … leave some of them alive … not the children … spare some of the children…”

“What you are, this thing they call you, it can get us through the city gates,” he said. “This map will get us all out.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“We were never going to trade you,” said Tomas. “But we needed you to think it so it would convince them.”

“Convince who?
”

“That’s enough … leave some of them alive … not the children … spare some of the children…”

“The men who run Chett,” said Tomas. “The Soldiers. The Ministers. The General. They’re not stupid, Emil.”

She looked at Stone.

“You were using me, just like they want to, just like Lucas, just like everyone. I’m just a thing for you all to use.”

“You’re not …”

“Shut up, Tomas, stop being so damn nice about it. Stop making this hard.”

“What?”

“Tell me why you’re both going to Chett?”

“That’s enough,” shouted Jorann. “Captain Gozan, leave some of them alive … not the children … spare some of the children…”

“Vengeance,” said Stone.

His tribe had freedom; the road, the land, but the people of Ford had created a freedom of their own, realised the Cleric; a strange freedom set within daily toil. He felt a grudging splinter of admiration for the courage they showed, hacking out a life in what little remained of a once great city from an age no one remembered. In truth, they were not so different to his people.

As they reached the outskirts of the town, Ramon lightly held his shoulder and gestured towards the school.

The Cleric saw the children playing on a square of dirt, laughing and teasing. A female teacher watched over them keenly, separating squabbles, but beyond the tiny hands and high pitched glee he saw it - he saw the beast - lurking amongst the clean, dressed in ordinary clothes, carrying a box into the simple school building, dragging one leg behind it, its face deformed, one arm bloated.

He felt the anger and bile rise and clenched his fists tightly. His head jerked in spasm and he wanted to rip the thing to pieces but he knew that rifles still pointed at him from the rooftops so he would have to contain his fury for the moment. They walked beyond the town, soon reaching the convoy, camped on the hill, his woman Bann waiting for him, warming herself by a blazing fire, surrounded by Blood Sun warriors. She knew something terrible had happened and fetched him a strip of cooked flesh but he showed no appetite.

“What did you find?” she asked.

“A man they call the Map Maker,” he answered. “He will help us cleanse Gallen. We will be taking him with us.”

He looked down at the town of Ford.

“And they are harbouring a diseased monster.”

Bann reached for her crossbow.

“This is what we are going to do,” he said.

“Empty,” said Tomas.

Abandoning the jeep, they continued on foot, in silence, each consumed with their own thoughts. They walked through the morning and into the afternoon and deep into the evening until the night became so cold and the wind so fierce that Stone knew they had to make camp soon. He saw no buildings and no caves or openings anywhere offering shelter. They pushed east for another hour, the potholed road rising gradually into the mountains. They crossed a broken bridge. Below, the parched river bed was dark and grimly littered with rotting corpses. Beyond the bridge they approached a van, flipped on its side, off the road.

Cradling his rifle in his arms, Stone ran his eyes across the vehicle. He spotted heavy dents and shredded tyres bristling with arrows. The body of a man lay nearby on the brown grass, several days old, stripped of weapons and supplies, arrows protruding from his back. Stone crouched and lowered the back door of the van. He shone his torch inside, saw nothing.

“It will do,” said Tomas.

It was the first words that had been spoken since morning. No one had anything to say. Emil knew she needed them to survive but she hated what they had planned. She understood, she had no one, her people were dead, but the anger still burned. Stone made a final scout of the area and then the three of them clambered inside. The van was more narrow and cramped on its side. Stone shared out the last pieces of halk and they ate in silence. Weary, Tomas and Emil lay side by side, back to back, each wrapped in a single blanket.

Stone sat by the closed doors, against the back of the van, which was actually the roof. He draped a blanket across his long coat. His eyes did not feel tired and his thoughts were a jumble. He had never thought to hear the name of Gozan again until they had stumbled upon the wounded Red Guard Sergeant. It was then he had learned that the man responsible for the slaughter of his family and clan was not only still alive but holding a position of power with authority over thousands.

He pulled his revolver from beneath the blanket. He would drive every shell from it into Gozan.

He could see him, strong and powerful, black hair, on horseback, swinging a sword, charging through the camp.

The map had showed him how to escape Chett but he knew there would be no way out. A walled city with thousands of citizens and hundreds of armed soldiers. He supposed it had been a foolish plan. He felt the map in his pocket and knew he would die killing Gozan. It wasn’t a thought that troubled him. His life was a single road, a direct route, one foot after the other; no crossroads, no junctions, sometimes a curve, sometimes a bend, even rise and fall, but it was straight and direct, speckled with faces from the past, blurred and grainy. His path had been set. His destiny had been fixed. It had taken many years, many gunfights, many bodies, but the end was Gozan and there would be nothing beyond.

He turned his head to look at Emil and Tomas. He had heard the girl’s chattering teeth and Tomas’s gentle whispering and now they both shared the blankets and curled together.

His lined, bearded face cracked a tiny smile. The map would get him in, not the girl. He wouldn’t need a way out.

Stone waited until they were in deep sleep and then he picked up his pack and rifle, crept from the van and disappeared into the night.

The four of them stood on the rooftop of the clothing store, on the northeast fringes of the town. The ground floor windows were grilled and the interior was in darkness. The store was owned by Derek. He traded his goods for almost nothing but Ford’s population of two hundred and forty seven adults took very little from him. Lights glowed and flickered on the second floor, where Derek’s father sat discussing the Cleric with several older men over bottles of Ford. With the conversation drifting towards the creation of an outrageous roster of new laws for Ford and the entirety of Gallen, Derek had excused himself onto the roof.

“Gone and done themselves out of range of our bombs,” said Marge, lowering her binoculars. Her face looked numb from the harsh wind. “Reckon they’re out of rifle range as well.”

“I still don’t think we have anything to worry about,” said Geoff, the town engineer. “You told him to make camp up there. Why tell him about the explosives in the first place?” He was a bright man and without him, Marge reckoned, the town of Ford would be dust and ashes as everything else, but he had no stomach for a fight and this was shaping up to be a pretty nasty one.

“You know why, Geoff,” said Marge. “They arrive here, all that noise, them guns, think they can roll over us. You show them you’re not stupid they think twice.”

“If they wanted trouble they would have attacked us already,” he muttered. “I think we should …”

“You didn’t see them in my bar,” said Sadie, hands thrust into the pockets of a heavy coat. “You wouldn’t be sticking up for them if you had been there.”

“I’m not sticking up for them,” said Geoff. “I’m trying to keep this town from being dragged into a fight we can’t win. Marge, tell your …”

“Done telling her stuff, Geoff,” said Marge. “She ain’t school size no more.”

“Got that right,” grinned Derek, and Sadie flashed him a loose smile. Then she said, “They wanted the new guy. The one calling himself …”

“The Map Maker?” exclaimed Geoff. “Then let’s give him to them. He’s not one of us. What kind of stupid …?”

“You thinking this ain’t a fight we can win, Geoff?” said Marge, looking through her binoculars again. “Hmmm, they like wrestling. Got a few muscle heads rolling around in the dirt.” She shook her head. “We get to giving away people where does that end? Maybe next they need an engineer to work on them metal machines. That alright with you, Geoff? We give them you, ain’t that alright? Makes them up and go away, does it?”

“Give them Geoff,” laughed Derek. “And the Map Maker. The guy’s a freak, reading a book all day.”

“He’s not reading anything now,” said Sadie, smiling at Derek. “That Cleric ripped up his book.”

“Look, I’m not suggesting this is easy,” said Geoff. “But we have to think of Ford and the generations before us who put this town together. We’ve had threats before but these are not a few thieves or marauding bandits. Marge, this is a tribe with guns and armoured machines and weapons we’ve never even seen before.”

Sadie felt her shoulders sag. Derek kicked at loose gravel. Even Marge had no response, at first. Geoff’s word had driven home a damning truth.

“He’s right,” said Sadie. “This isn’t like anything we’ve had to deal with.”

“There are a lot of them,” added Derek.

“I just don’t want anyone to lose a loved one or a friend. Why don’t we try and talk to …”

Only Marge wasn’t having it.

“They’re coming,” she said. “Tonight, Geoff. That fella just wants it bad with us. Got that big bluff of wrestling going on. They’ll be on us soon enough.”

Clouds filled the night sky, blotting out the white lights.