Afterland (33 page)

The wall is made of coarse stone and the grip is easy. Smaller Sally is already steady on the ground by the time that my feet hit the grass. I look up at the wall. None of the guards have shifted from their position. We made it unnoticed.

Smaller Sally gives me a quick nod and we pull back our grappling hooks and begin to run. We keep to the walls so that we’ll always have somewhere to hide behind, but our run is uninterrupted.  There aren’t any people on the streets
—
it is the middle of the night, after all.

Smaller Sally points to a back road and we turn down it. My breath seems unnaturally loud to me and the bounce of Smaller Sally's hair unusually sharp. Finally, we come to a large and grimly beautiful building with two guards stationed at the door.

“This is it. We're taking the window,” she whispers pointing to a small window at the side. We sneak towards it, carefully avoiding the piercing gaze of the guards. It seems to me that we are constantly exposed, but we make it to the window unseen. Smaller Sally curls her fingers and unhinges the window. She climbs through first, I go in after. To my relief, there is nobody there. I pull out my gun, hoping that I don’t have to shoot it.

According to Smaller Sally, the prisoners are kept somewhere underground. The building is eerily silent. We walk as quickly as possible without making too much noise, looking for stairs. I take the time to look around. My mind vaguely registers that the architecture here is beautiful. There are murals on the the ceiling and statues dot cavities in the wall, although most of them are missing limbs. A spiral ladder on my right leads up into the distance. And the walls are filled with books. Thousands upon thousands of books. A library. I feel the familiar pull of words and I wish that instead of rescuing people, I just had the time to sit down and read. This could have been my life, if not for the Blast. I could have spent an entire lifetime in a library like this reading. But here I am with weapons of murder strapped to my waist and breathing in danger instead of air.

“Look: stairs,” Smaller Sally whispers, snapping me from my reverie.

“Let’s go,” I reply and we begin to head down. It smells of sweat and vomit and urine and unwashed bodies. The farther down we go, the stronger it smells. I am reminded of the acrid smell of Hopetown and wonder how we put up with this stench every day. It seems almost impossible now.

“I think we’re going in the right direction,” Smaller Sally says, covering her nose. I nod and adjust my grip on my gun. The stairs seem to continue forever. We walk down dozens of flights and I groan thinking that we’ll have to walk up them in several minutes. Finally, however, just as the stench becomes unbearable, we reach the bottom. We carefully peek around the corner. We’ve reached a corridor. Between the poor illumination and the quality of the air, it stretches out as far as I can see. The hall is filled with a long line of cells. The entire floor is illuminated with old fashioned gas lamps, giving the air a smoky orange tint. I raise my gun and look for the guard. I spot a figure in the distance slumped against a wall, tenderly cradling a large bottle. His chest rises and falls evenly. I point him out to Smaller Sally and mouth
sleeping.
She nods and we continue in the direction opposite of the guard.

Most of the cells are empty, but one of them I see is inhabited. One of the figures rises as we approach. It is a woman with curly black hair and bright hazel eyes.

“Have you come to kill us?” She asks evenly.

“No. We’ve come to rescue you. And shut up unless you want to wake the guard,” Smaller Sally hisses. She pulls out her lock picking tools and begins working on the lock. “Veronica, James, and Drew?” She asks quietly.

The woman, Veronica, nods. Another one of the prisoners comes up to the cell doors as well. He has a scruffy beard and curly hair.

“Aren’t there supposed to be three of you?” I ask. Veronica and the other man exchange a look.

“That’s Drew over there in the corner. He’s not in a good state.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He has an infection. It’s not that terrible, but he’s limping and it’s freaking him out a little. He’s sleeping a lot.”

“That’s okay, we can deal with it. Can the two of you walk?” Both Veronica and James nod. “Good. And I got the lock. Take Drew and let’s go.”

James walks up to Drew.

“Drew,” he says, lightly patting his face. “
Drew.
” Drew stirs. His eyelids flutter open and he frowns. “Get up, we’re getting out,” James tells him.

“Huh?”

“Don’t question it, just go.” He helps Drew to his feet and slings one of his arms around his shoulder.

“Do any of you know of any unguarded exits? I’m guessing Drew isn’t really in the state to climb up the stairs and out a window.” Smaller Sally says.

“Yeah, he isn’t. Hmm. Let’s see...if you go right, there’s an exit that the guards use. But it’s locked from the outside.”

“It’s okay, I can pick that too, Let’s go. Hurry up.”

We walk as quickly as is allowed for by Drew’s limp, Smaller Sally in front, me behind. I hold my gun tighter, more for the sense of security than for anything else. We reach a large metal door.

“This is it,” Veronica says quietly. Smaller Sally puts her gun under her arm and begins to pick the lock. I turn around so that I can see the hallway and our three refugees. Drew bursts into a violent coughing fit. James hits him on the back but it doesn’t help, so the two of them just stand there awkwardly. I notice upon closer inspection that Drew’s leg is heavily swollen and his face is an unhealthy shade of sickly purple. He continues coughing and I notice that he’s coughing up more blood than phlegm. I shudder and make a mental note to get him immediate medical attention with whatever limited tools we have with us, just as soon as we get out of the city.

“So,” James frowns after Drew stops coughing. “Who are you guys anyway?”

“Not the time for questions,” I respond.

“Got it!” Smaller Sally says. “Let’s move. Hurry up.” She opens the door and we come face to face with three Carviates.

CHAPTER 23

The Carviates react quicker than we can, one of them hitting Smaller Sally with the butt of his gun, the other two pouncing on the Sternmenschen. Smaller Sally utters a cry and falls to the ground. I stand slightly behind the rest of them, so I have several seconds before the Carviates are through with the Sternmenschen and attack me as well. I raise my gun to shoot, but my hands are shaking so much that I hit the wall instead of any three of the Carviates.

I see Smaller Sally lying cold on the floor and Veronica’s mouth bleeding at the corners and think that if I don’t make a good shot right now, somebody else will. I make up my mind. With sweaty fingers, I point the gun at the Carviate holding Veronica and my finger comes down on the trigger. Right before I can complete this action, another Carviate steps out from behind the door, presses a knife to my throat and twists my hand until I drop the gun. I scream out in pain, but a part of me can’t help but be relieved that I didn’t have to make a real shot.

The knife presses deeper into my neck and I become very aware of the slight movements that my throat makes when I breathe. My eyes move towards Smaller Sally’s limp body and I hope to God that she’s just passed out. The top of her head is bleeding and her hair clots with blood, turning it from blonde to red. My eyes shift towards the Sternmenschen. They are all being held by a Carviate much larger than them. James looks concerned. Veronica just seems irritated. Drew looks more confused than anything else. I glance back at Smaller Sally and to my relief see .

One of the Carviates speaks.

“You thought you could escape, did you?” His voice is low and grainy. “Bring them back to the cell. Cell three for the star jerks. Cell four for these idiots.”

The person who has a knife to my neck pushes me forward. One of the Carviates slings Smaller Sally over his shoulder. The other two take Veronica, James, and Drew. They push us forwards. I try to examine our captors as best as I can from the corner of my eye. Two are men, one is a woman. I can’t see who is behind me. All of them are wearing identical black leather vests and pants. All of them, both men and women, have shaved heads and identical designs tattooed on their heads in black ink: a rose with a skull on the inside. All of them are heavily tattooed, but aside from their heads, none of them match. I also notice that all of them are heavily scarred. One of them is missing an eye, but he doesn’t cover the empty eye socket with an eyepatch. Even though there is no eye, I get the sense that the odd emptiness where it should be is always watching.

That’s all I am able to see before they push the Sternmenschen and us into adjacent cells. Smaller Sally lies sprawled across the floor. I move in front of her as one of the Carviates slams the cell door shut. I look at all four of them, now in my view. The men are both big and muscular. One of the women is built like the men, the other
—
this must have been the one that was holding me
—
is tall and bony. They converse among each other. I try to make out what they are saying but all I can hear is
Tomorrow...Him...Dead.
Finally, the shorter woman turns to address us.

“You have made a grave mistake coming here.” She has a strange accent that isn’t exactly foreign but definitely isn’t local either. We await her next decrees in silence. She points at Smaller Sally and me and I shudder.

“You two are not Sternmenschen, but you are equally as foolish. So,” she turns to her three comrades. “The decision has been made?”

“The decision is yours, Cecilia.”

“In that case,” Cecilia smiles smugly and the torchlight defines the creases of her face in terrifying relief. “The decision has been made. You die tomorrow.”

And then, the four of them sweep up the stairs, leaving us alone.

You die tomorrow.

My mind can’t even process the words, so I check myself for injury. I check my arm first. It still throbs, but it doesn’t seem like anything is broken or sprained. Smaller Sally is still passed out. I check her wrist for a pulse, and, to my relief, find it beating as strong as usual. Her head is still bleeding, but not too hard. The blood has already started congealing. She probably has a concussion but I’m not sure about anything else beyond that. I gently touch her wound. She groans and my hand comes away sticky with blood.

The Carviates haven’t taken our backpacks or even checked us for weapons other than our guns. I dig through my backpack for anything that might help Smaller Sally. I find a roll of medical tape and a bottle of disinfecting alcohol. I soak the tape in alcohol and bandage her head to staunch the bleeding. She produces small noises of pain, but still doesn’t wake up. I turn to the Sternmenschen.

“Are any of you injured, aside from Drew’s infection?”

“No.”

“Good.” I start to move away, but Veronica’s dry and cynical voice calls from the neighboring cell,

“We have time for answers now. Who are you? Why are you here? Why do you care what happens to us?”

“You’re being held as hostages. Your release payment is a murder. We need to stop that murder.”

“Really? How fun. Who’s the victim?”

“Me,” I say dryly.

“You?” I can hear the skepticism in her voice. “What do they want you for?”

“I don’t know, but I sure as hell don’t want to be murdered.”

Veronica pauses for a moment and I can tell that she’s smiling a sarcastic smile.

“I suppose you end up dying anyway, don’t you?”

“Not yet,” I say coldly. Veronica laughs.

“Do you believe that we can survive? Who’s going to save you? And even if anybody did try, why do you think that makes your situation any better? You tried to save us and you failed. Face it: you’re dead.”

“Not yet,” I repeat.

“Do you know the motto of the Sternmenschen? It’s,
From the stardust we have come, to the stardust we shall go.
”

“We’re not going back to stardust yet.”

“You’re really not ready to face your death,” she smiles icily.

“I’m not ready to submit while there is still a chance to win,” I say just as frigidly. Veronica scoffs.

“In this life, you don’t win or lose. You live or die. And you’ll have to die eventually.”

“So you don’t fear death, then?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Because death is the end,” I suggest.

“Is it?” She looks me in the eye and I feel wrong in my answer immediately.

“Yes,” I say, despite my qualms, because I don’t want to back down. “It is.”

“Maybe for you,” she responds. “But for me, it’s just the beginning.”