Wolfen (35 page)

“Are you insane?”

“I know her!”
Thud.
“Open the gate!”

Gears groaned, chains rattled, and the gate slowly lifted.
The watchman came running out, face lit up with a brilliant smile.

“Dave!” Sinna cried, and ran right into his arms.

The night is darkest before dawn, the old saying goes.

I’ve learned a thing or two about light and darkness
recently. When you see light at the end of the tunnel, watch out. It could be a
train about to mow you down.

~

They collided in the middle of the rickety bridge, neither
all that steady. Sinna squealed when Dave tried to pick her up, and they
teetered on the very edge, but he managed to find his balance and set her down
again.

“You’re here,” he said. “You’re
alive!
”

Sinna laughed. “And you got new glasses!” A pair of perky
red rims sat on his nose, sporting three little grooves in the top corners
where some kind of decorative stones had fallen out. He looked exactly like he
had two weeks ago: an inch taller, than her, with straight brown hair falling
over kind brown eyes. His cheeks had filled out some, but he was still as
lanky-thin.

“Quick, how many fingers do you see?”

Dave laughed, and swatted her hand away. “I see you’re still
a mouthy pain in the ass, is what I see.” He pushed the glasses farther up his
nose.

“David!” one of the watchmen called down. “You know the
rules!”

Dave’s eyes widened. “Right! No dawdling in the doorway.
Come in, come in, or they’ll close the gate on us.” He took Sinna’s hand to
pull her along, then did a double take at Bryce.

Sinna followed his gaze, and frowned. Bryce had gone
stone-faced, watching them. He’d also sheathed his swords and slung the supply
pack over his shoulder, but he clutched her bow so hard, the synthetic material
nearly groaned in his grip.

He stalked across the bridge like a predator ready to pounce
and stopped a half-foot from Sinna, staring her down.

“In or out?” the watchman snapped.

“You heard him,” Bryce rumbled, so low his voice was more
growl than speech. “What’ll it be, Sinna?”

It took her a moment to realize he was holding out his hand.
By the time she reached out for it, he’d already given up and brushed past
Dave. “Move it, Spectacle Man.”

“Uh, r-right, yeah.” Dave hurried through the gate after
him.

Sinna followed slower, cautious after Haven. She felt like
she ought to say something to Bryce, but had no idea what. Why was he so angry
with her?

The gate lowered on chains attached to massive, notched
wooden wheels on either side. A latch neatly fit into the grooves, keeping the
wheel from turning on its own. A simple, genius design.

And a good thing to remember, if they had to make a quick
getaway.

Bryce must have come to the same conclusion as he scoped out
the watch towers and their ladders. Sinna could guess what he was thinking.
It’d be a lot easier—for him—to scale up to the catwalk and jump down on the
other side. Even with the moat, he’d probably land on solid ground without
breaking a sweat. Humans couldn’t do the same. Hell, Sinna couldn’t, either.

Once the gate was closed, six men with spears surrounded
Sinna and Bryce. “Weapons down!” the one from before shouted.

“Easy, Shane, I told you I know her.”

Shane yanked Dave away. “I said weapons down. Now!”

His agitated voice brought the blacksmith, carrying a
massive hammer and a red hot sword, out of his cottage. “What’s going on?”

Bryce stepped up behind Sinna, his shadow falling over her
like a menacing cloak.

“It’s under control, Jason,” Shane called without taking his
eyes off of them. “Go get Sarge. I’ve got this.”

“Whoa,” Dave said. “There’s no need for that. I can vouch
for them.”

“Don’t make me tell you again!”

“Seriously, people, they’re my friends!”

“Get him out of here!”

Another watchman broke formation to grab hold of Dave.

This was quickly getting out of hand. “Wait! Okay! It’s okay,”
Sinna said hurriedly. “Look, we’re putting our weapons down.” She removed her
quiver, set it on the ground, then nodded to Bryce to remove his swords. His
jaw muscle twitched, but he placed the scabbards and all of their packs down in
front of his feet.

“
All
your weapons,” Shane demanded.

“Is this how you treat all guests?” Sinna snapped.

“Only the ones who get past our gates,” the watchman
returned.

With a rumbling growl, Bryce shucked out of his knife straps
and tossed them aside.

Shane flicked his chin toward a man to his left, who
collected everything and ran off somewhere behind the blacksmith’s forge.

“I’ll be getting those back,” Bryce said.

The blacksmith returned, following an older man with a
pristinely groomed goatee. He wore knee-high boots, a thigh-length leather
vest, and a metal guard on his left shoulder, helmet tucked under his right
arm. “What’s all this about?” the newcomer demanded. This had to be Sarge.

Shane stood at attention. “Trespassers, sir!”

“We didn’t trespass, you let us in,” Sinna said. “We came
looking to trade.”

“Is that what you’re looking for?” Sarge asked, an amused
twinkle in his shrewd eyes. He turned to Shane. “Why wasn’t I informed there
were people outside our walls?”

Shane stuttered to answer, but Sarge raised his hand.

“Never mind. Get back to your post. All of you, back to the
towers!”

The watchmen scattered, except for Dave, who stood his
ground at Sarge’s back.

Without turning around, Sarge said, “You too, David.”

“I know them, Sarge,” Dave said for the tenth time. “I was
trying to tell the others, but they wouldn’t listen.”

Sarge raised a white eyebrow as if having his orders
disobeyed was unfathomable. He turned to face Dave. “You know them?”

Dave nodded.

“How well do you know them?”

Dave gulped. “I… I—”

“We lived together for years,” Sinna supplied. “Dave and I,
and a few others. Back in San Francisco.”

Something shifted across Sarge’s expression. “That true?” he
asked Dave.

“Yes.”

“You told me there was no one else.”

“I didn’t think there was,” Dave returned helplessly.

“They thought she was dead,” Bryce said. “Very nearly was.”

Sarge studied Bryce for a moment, expressionless. “You
aren’t telling me the whole story.”

“You didn’t ask for it,” Sinna said.

Amusement lifted the corner of Sarge’s mouth for an
unguarded moment, before he smoothed it out again. “So, you’re here to trade.”

“Yes,” she replied, and reached for one of the packs.

Sarge caught her hand before she could touch it, and almost
in the same instant, Bryce had the man’s very human, very fragile wrist in his
grasp. The two locked gazes, and Sarge gave a curt nod, releasing Sinna. Bryce
held on a second longer to drive his point home before he let go. “You’re
friends of David’s. I remit you to his custody until it’s decided what we’re
going to do with you. You may come in, make yourselves at home. I don’t think I
need to tell you what will happen if anything goes missing or anyone gets hurt,
do I?”

“No,” Bryce said. “We understand.”

Sarge nodded. “Good. Then off you go.”

“And the packs?” Sinna asked.

“They stay with me for the time being. Can’t very well risk
you having another arsenal in them, now can I?” When she would have argued, he
raised that hand again. “I give you my word they will be exactly as you left
them when you return.”

“He may be a lot of things,” Dave said, “but he’s honest to
a fault. You can trust him.”

“Do we have a choice?”

Sarge smiled. “Not that I can see. Guests are welcome in
Hopetown. If I were you, I’d try to stay in that definition. Believe me when I
tell you, you won’t like the alternative.” He jerked his head sideways,
dismissing them.

Dave scratched the back of his head. “Uh, this way. Come on,
I’ll show you around.”

The courtyard was a bottleneck. At the closest and widest
stood two shacks with smoke billowing from massive chimneys—two smiths opposite
each other, closing up shop for the day. Metal hissed when dipped into barrels
of water, clanged when tossed onto piles of other unfinished weapons. Each
smithy had a large shop attached. One displayed weapons and tools of all kinds,
while the other had racks and shelves filled with chainmail and armor, jewelry
and various defensive odds and ends.

Beyond them, the path narrowed down to single lines of
shacks. Empty, as far as Sinna could tell; built more for defensive purposes
than anything else. Once they’d passed through to the interior, however, the
entire village opened up.

It was like stepping into the past. Small wooden houses with
straw roofs lined wide-open streets winding left and right like a snake.
Merchants and craftsmen stacked their wares to be stored inside for the night.
They talked and laughed together, the young helping the old. Weavers, basket
makers, stone masons, wood carvers—people whose bodies showed the wear and tear
of physical labor, but whose eyes shone bright with joy.

Sinna couldn’t hide her wonder. So many of them, all
together in one place.
How is this possible?

She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud, until Dave
answered. “An unimaginable stroke of luck. This site was used for annual
Renaissance Faires and historical reenactments. These people came here to show
off their talents and sell to the tourists. Back then, their crafts were just
hobbies, sometimes trades. Most of them had part-time jobs to support
themselves and only did this sort of thing on the side.

“Then everything went to hell in the big cities. A couple of
the old timers here told me the Grays crawled out of canals in Gilroy. People
panicked, the roads became blocked; it was a massacre. But the few who were
camped out here had a
huge
advantage. They were far enough from the city
to go unnoticed, and close enough to everything they needed to survive. There’s
a lake over there. They farm fish in it. The horses they’d brought for jousting
tournaments turned into beasts of burden so they could farm the land, haul
wood, go out on patrols…”

“Sounds like they won the biggest lottery ever,” Sinna said,
watching a group of women wash clothes in a big wooden tub.

“I suppose,” Dave agreed, though it was halfhearted at best.
“Did they survive? Sure. I guess that’s a win. But most of them had come here
from other cities, some from other states, and when it all went down, they lost
everyone they’d ever known and cared about. We’re safe here, but we’re also
kind of stuck. Going out there is pretty much suicide.”

“Are you saying this place never saw a convert attack?”
Bryce asked. “No raiders? Looters? Gangs?”

“No, there were attacks. But, as our general likes to say,
this place is a sweet spot of ‘defensaliciousness.’ You have to walk pretty far
out of the city to see any sign of us, and you have to know where to go. When
the Grays came, they were stragglers who’d wandered here by accident, few and
far between. The guards cut them down, buried the bodies so their scent
wouldn’t carry. There were survivors, too. Some stayed and made their homes
here, others tried to make out with tools and supplies. They didn’t get far.
One guy tried to steal a horse, if you can imagine that. I don’t think he ever
rode one before. Old Nellie bucked and threw him off. Broke his neck on
impact.”

This wasn’t a survival colony; it was a thriving town. So
many people all in one place, smiling, working together. They had dog kennels,
animal barns with chickens, ducks, goats… Sinna couldn’t take it all in. It was
like she’d stepped into some enchanted fairy tale. In the middle of the town
square stood a big gathering hall where children sat together in the dying sun,
listening intently as the adult at the front told them a story.

Dave noticed her looking. “We each take turns as mentors,”
he said. “We teach the kids about the world as it used to be; about computers
and cars, and cell phones, things they’ll probably never see again in their
lifetimes. But we teach them useful things, too—reading, writing, math, trade
skills. When they’re old enough, they apprentice with one of the masters to
learn a craft so it gets passed on and lives another generation.”

“This is amazing.”

Bryce grunted, but Sinna could tell he was impressed. Who
wouldn’t be? What these people had accomplished went beyond anything she
would’ve ever dreamed possible. They weren’t just surviving; they were
rebuilding. Going back to the basics and creating a new society, a new
world—and doing it the right way.

Storytime ended, and the children dispersed in all
directions. Several came around Sinna, giggling and waving in welcome. When
they saw Bryce, their eyes went wide as saucers. One little girl halted in
front of him, jaw slack, and stared.

Bryce tried to ignore her, but his face was starting to turn
red—a bad sign.

Sinna decided to rescue him. “Hi there,” she said to the
girl. “What’s your name?”

“Lilianna,” she said distractedly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lilianna. I’m Sinna, and this is Bryce—”

“Did that hurt?” she asked, pointing a tiny finger at
Bryce’s scars.

Bryce shifted, clearly uncomfortable with her unflinching
regard.

“You should run along, Lilly,” Dave said, trying to defuse
the situation. “Isn’t Willowmina expecting you to help her with the sewing?”

“It looks like it hurt.”

“Lilly, what did I say—”

“Maybe a little,” Bryce said gruffly.

That pointing finger crooked for him to come closer.

Tilting his head like a confused beast presented with a
puzzle, Bryce carefully lowered to one knee.

Little Lilianna patted his scarred cheek, then leaned in and
kissed it. “There,” she proclaimed. “Now it won’t hurt so much.” And with a
brilliant, gap-toothed smile, she ran off, leaving Bryce thoroughly
shell-shocked.

He touched his cheek where the girl had kissed him, then
looked up at Sinna, confused.