A Fractured World: A Post Apocalyptic Adventure (Gallen Book 1) (20 page)

Emil looked between Stone and Nuria.

“And they let us go?” she said.

“Yes.”

Nuria ran her hands through her hair. Her face looked tired.

“Facundo for your freedom. Stone, listen to me, Stone, please. This is the man Gozan served all his life. It was Facundo who ordered Jorann and Gozan to attack your village and many others. It was Facundo who Gozan wanted the girl for, to heal a monster.”

Stone met her eyes.

“The most hated man in Chett’s history, with the blood of thousands on his hands. Do this for everyone you have ever lost.”

He stepped from the washroom. The uniform he wore was black with a red tunic. A holster was on his right hip. A silencer was concealed in his left pocket. He carried a helmet in one hand. In the other was the box, open now, and containing the overalls and cap. He abandoned it on the nearest shelf. He pulled the helmet down over his head and scratched his bare chin. Nuria had told him the uniform would give him all the access he required. He kept walking and saw a door that would lead him into the main thoroughfare of Hamble Towers.

He went through the door, into an impossible world.

Twenty Seven

A man and a woman strolled arm in arm, smiling and exchanging words, consumed with each other. Stone frowned at them as they went by, how they held on, how their eyes never strayed. He saw Tomas and Emil in the van, curled beneath blankets. He blinked.

He stood on a thoroughfare paved with stone; thousands upon thousands of stones, flat and clean, one set neatly against the other. He had known soil and sand his entire life. Running shirtless as a child with the sun burning his shoulder blades. His boots clicked against the stones. He stopped and saw decorative fountains of water. The water had been left there, rippling in the light breeze. He was astonished that no one seemed troubled by it. He had cut men down for water, to survive. There were benches, around the fountains, hand carved from wood, with shapes and curls. There were great rows of trees, planted in tidy groves, tall skinny trunks, flat broad leaves. He had never seen a living tree. He wanted to reach up and put his hand on one, feel the texture against his skin. Tomas had never seen a live tree, either. Stone took a few paces forward. His head was dizzy. Citizens milled by. Some had one or two night passes that had expired and they walked briskly towards the compound that handled all incoming and outgoing visitors. Others enjoyed a more leisurely pace, most probably owners of lifetime passes.

Stone observed dozens of small buildings with flat roofs. Brightly coloured signs hung above broad windows. In one he saw people sat eating and drinking at tables whilst women in white shirts waited on them. A woman went past and glanced at the bewildered expression across his battered face, only half concealed by the helmet. Above the smaller buildings were scattered apartment blocks. They were not squashed together in uniformed lines, as with the rest of the city. He saw curved balconies and curtained windows that scaled ten floors into the red streaked sky. Pairs of security guards, in black and red, roamed walkways and footpaths. The main tower loomed above him, dwarfing everything. He needed to locate the entrance quickly. His astonishment at his surroundings would soon be noticed. He noted the patrols and mirrored their pace as he walked along a footpath of loose stone that crunched loudly beneath his boots. He rested his hand on the holstered pistol on his hip, drew a slither of reassurance from it.

He passed an arched walkway and saw steps descending between two white walled buildings. He trotted down them and reached the banks of the waterway. He was alone. A railing ran the length of it. He clasped it, gripped hard and stared at the grey water below, slopping around. This was hopeless. How was he supposed to smuggle this man out of here? He had already counted six armed men. How many more would there be? Did he really care? He had spent a lifetime waiting to exact vengeance and Gozan was dead, but so was Tomas, and the Cleric had escaped, although wounded. Stone had survived knife and bullet wounds. He doubted this would end the Cleric. The lunatic would soon reunite with his tribe and continue his quest to cleanse Gallen. Stone knew he would track him down and make him pay.

Across the water, he could see the walls of the city. He was much closer to the wasteland than he realised.

He looked down at the uniform, of black and red. Nothing tied him to this. He could make his escape now and flee the city, free to hunt the Cleric, night and day, but what would Tomas have done, standing here with him, crossbow slung over his shoulder, a crooked smile on his lips. What would his friend have suggested? Cross the water, scale the city walls and escape, abandon the blonde woman and the one-eyed girl? He knew the answer already. Tomas had wanted to protect the girl when they had first tracked her in the dead city. He had been uncomfortable with the plan of using her as bait to lure out Gozan from the very beginning but he had kept with Stone’s plan. Stone had seen Tomas’s eyes look to her, as he had seen the girl look to Tomas. He had never looked that way at anyone. He made me better, Stone realised, he made me so much better.

Resolved, he glanced up at the city wall, turned his back, and retraced his steps. The main tower, where the former chancellor Facundo resided, stretched high above him. Nuria was a fool. They would never honour any deal. He was a murderer. Once he obtained the prize for them he would be imprisoned once more or executed there and then. The tower was a death-trap. The mission was suicide. He had to get away from here, back to them both, and find a way out.

As he emerged from the walkway a voice shouted in his direction.

“Hey!”

He glimpsed two security guards talking with the woman who had passed him a short time ago. She was pointing at him. Stone quickly sprinted along the thoroughfare. He heard the sound of boots running behind him as the security men gave chase. Stone ran fast, arms and legs pumping. There was no siren and no shots had been fired. Nuria had told him that the soldiers here were very different; better trained and also vigilant as to not create panic amongst the elite residents. He disappeared back into the noisy warehouse and bolted the door behind him.

Stone briskly retraced his steps along the aisle of palletised boxes. There was loud banging behind him as the security guards tried to gain access. In seconds, someone would have that door open and they would be inside. He sprinted forward, taking the silencer from his pocket and fixing it to the muzzle. A steward crossed his path but Stone clubbed him across the face before he could open his mouth. There were shouts behind him and the sound of men running.

He burst into the main area of the warehouse, a throng of packers and riders and stewards.

“Stay where you are,” shouted a group of security guards, brandishing batons.

Stone ignored them and ran for the shutter. It was closed and he saw no way of opening it. There was a door to his left and he went through it, coming face to face with two armed soldiers. He fired without hesitation, spewing silent bullets, taking down both men. A woman in a knitted jumper screamed. He pushed past her and out onto a dirt path, the same one he had cycled in on.

He began to run for the bridge when an automatic weapon opened fire from above and bullets sprayed the ground.

The shooter was in the watch tower, plenty of cover behind brick and sandbags. Stone ducked back towards the room he had come from and grabbed the woman. The door crashed open and a security guard came through. Using the woman as a shield, Stone fired around her, instantly killing the first guard. He backed out of the building, the woman begging him to let her go.

Stone edged around the building, towards the watch tower and saw the shooter raise his weapon. His finger hesitated when he saw Stone holding a hostage. It was the edge Stone needed. He aimed and fired once, dropping him. He let the woman go, who ran back into the office, into the arms of the security guards. Pistol in hand, Stone ran for the bridge. Beads of sweat trickled down his face. His heart was surging.

A single guard was on duty. It was the same one he had seen earlier when he had crossed with the bike convoy but, this time, the young man looked far more interested than he had earlier. His black uniform and red tunic were neatly pressed and a shock of blond hair was tucked beneath his helmet. His visor was raised and his freckled nose had been recently broken. He saw the silenced pistol pointing at him, dropping his rifle and ran.

Stone began to cross the bridge, keeping low, snatching the rifle from the ground. A bullet whistled past him. He holstered the pistol and slammed the rifle stock against his shoulder. The guard at the other checkpoint was crouched. Stone dropped to one knee, as a bullet ripped the concrete inches away from him. He aimed for the torso and squeezed the trigger. The guard went down and his weapon clattered noisily on the ground. He was aware of the movement behind him and he rolled and turned in one motion, landing on his back, firing straight down the bridge, drilling a bullet through the head of a pursuing security guard.

Stone fled, back into the city, running with all his strength, into the streets of Chett, along the dirt roads with grimy buildings all around him.

He peeled off the helmet and red tunic and discarded them. He saw a gap in the buildings ahead and disappeared into it. Back against the wall, he slowly looked along the street. There were a few citizens around. Children had been kept away from school and at least one parent, possibly two, was at home, contemplating the days to come. Few had returned to work at the plants and factories. Only at Hamble Towers had the workforce arrived in numbers.

This wasn’t his world and he was hell bent on getting out of it.

Twenty Eight

Calmly, Stone approached the apartment building where he had been moved to last night.

He had never realised how quiet life was in the wasteland. A day could pass without any words spoken or any sound except for the wind or the crackle of a fire or the hiss of boiling water. Here, there was noise all around him; voices spouting empty words, hundreds of shuffling feet against the dirt, distant cries and shouts, slamming doors, opening windows, the squeal of bicycles. His head was spinning, the same as when he had seen the inside of Hamble Towers. He shuffled along, hands thrust in his pockets, following a group of men who were discussing yesterday’s riots. He felt an abject outsider amongst these people but realised that, with his bald head and roughly shaven chin, he looked very different to the monster Captain Andozini had led through the gates the day before. Despite his bruises, no one was paying any attention to him; he was blending in, becoming one of them, no more than a common citizen.

The building had three floors each with two separate windows. Two soldiers were stationed outside a closed wooden door. A number had been crudely painted on it. The men wore the uniforms he had seen yesterday, in the House of Leadership, different shades of brown. He saw a figure ahead and recognised him at once. It was the Captain who had captured them on the outskirts of the city. Stone quickened his pace, moved closer to men in front of him, kept behind them until he reached the top of the street. The Captain hadn’t spotted him, he was more concerned with the frail looking woman hobbling alongside him, leaning on his arm and holding a cane.

Stone loitered on the corner. He saw a small knot of soldiers talking with security from Hamble Towers. No sirens had sounded. Nuria had been right; everything was more discreet in there. The discussion was heated with plenty of arm waving and, at one point, two men squared up to each other. Stone followed the brown uniformed soldiers from the corner of his eye. He watched them split into two teams and disappear into the streets.

He looked back at the apartment building. The two soldiers were sent away and the Captain and the old woman went inside.

He waited a few moments before walking slowly back down the street, falling in pace alongside a young man carrying a satchel across his back. He glanced at Stone and drifted away from him, crossing to the other side, narrowly avoiding a clutch of bicycles speeding through. A sudden blast of wind chilled Stone, his face and head horribly exposed. He edged open the front door of the building and stepped into a small lobby where a single flight of stairs rose to the next floor. He could hear the faint sound of singing coming from somewhere above him. There was a door to his left. He listened but heard nothing.

Drawing his pistol, he twisted the handle, finding it unlocked.

Captain Andozini was standing in the middle of the room, his back to the slowly opening door, both hands on his hips. There was a broad table in front of him and the old woman was lying on it. Stone could only see her feet and ankles. Emil was nowhere to be seen but Nuria was smiling down at the old woman, whispering words of comfort. She glimpsed Stone and her reaction instantly alerted Andozini, who turned rapidly and reached for his sidearm.

Stone thrust his pistol in the Captain’s face.

“No,” he said.

His hand was steady, the silenced muzzle almost touching Andozini’s nose. With his left hand, he reached for Andozini’s gun. It was then he saw Emil. She was leaning over the old woman, gently moving her hands against her skin, the way she had with Tomas, the way she had with him. Her left eye was closed. She looked in a trance. Andozini stared at Stone for a moment and then turned his back on him. He was of no concern at the moment.

“This is my mother,” he said, quietly. “She has the sickness. There is a lot in my family. My father died from it, and my brother. Now my mother has it. I can hang for bringing her here.”

Stone kept the pistol pointed at the back of the Captain’s head as Nuria approached him.

“Forget the gun,” said Andozini. “I’m not here.” He gasped as the lumps began to disappear from his mother’s body. “Nor are you.”

Nuria put her hand on Stone’s arm.

“Where is he?” she said. “What happened at the Towers?”

He pulled away from her and glanced around the room. There was a scattering of comfy chairs. On a low table were empty bottles and food wrappers. Curtains were half drawn across the windows and people were casually walking by.

“Why didn’t you bring him?”

Emil opened her eye. She saw Stone and offered him a thin smile. Andozini helped his mother to sit up and eased her off the table. She told him not to fuss.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, almost breathless. “It’s gone, I can feel its gone. I can’t wait to …”

“You can’t tell anyone,” said Nuria. “Not yet, please, this has to remain a secret. For now, anyway.”

The colour had drained from Emil’s face. Stone watched her drop into one of the comfy chairs.

He turned back to Andozini, the pistol lower but still on him.

“You have to stay here,” said Stone. “For now. Then we all leave together.”

“Why do you have a gun?” asked Andozini’s mother.

The Captain spoke quietly to her, reassuring her that everything was going to be okay, just as he had promised it would. He led her away from Stone and offered her a chair to sit in. Grumbling, she sat, looking around the small apartment for the first time since arriving. Her nose curled up at it. She tried not to see Emil. She hadn’t seen a disfigured person for a very long time. They had lived in Chett once, hundreds of them, but were exiled by Chancellor Facundo. The memory tinged her with a pocket of shame. She had been one of thousands who had stood by and said nothing as they were herded from the city. She glanced sideways at Emil. The girl had grown pale and sickly looking.

“Thank you,” she said.

Emil didn’t hear her, or didn’t want to respond.

“I said thank you. I’m sorry for your … your condition … the way you are. It doesn’t bother me, I want you to know that.”

She nodded to herself, satisfied.

“Why does he have a gun?” she asked her son.

Stone told Nuria he needed fresh clothes. She pointed into a second room. He handed her the Captain’s weapon. He found himself in a room with a large bed. There was a long bag and his pack and fresh clothes. He removed the black jumpsuit, pulled on trousers, tightened the belt and buttoned up a dull coloured shirt. From his pack he retrieved his ammunition belt and revolver. He thrust his arms into a long coat. Nuria stood in the open doorway, the gun on Andozini, her troubled eyes focused on Stone.

“Your rifle is in the long bag. I have more weapons and supplies as well.”

He nodded, pulled on his pack, ran his hand over his bald head.

“Tell me what happened over there?”

She lowered her voice.

“Mason will be here soon, looking for Facundo.”

Andozini heard the name and his eyes narrowed.

“Facundo?”

“You’re not here, Captain, remember?” said Nuria.

He got to his feet as Emil rocked forward in her chair and threw up. Andozini gasped and his mother turned her head in disgust. Emil rose shakily, mumbling, and threw up a second time.

“What’s wrong with her?” said Andozini. “Look, we’re leaving. Mother, come on, thank the girl and let’s go.”

“I already did,” she complained, and they both headed for the door.

“The moment you leave here,” said Nuria, brandishing the Captain’s pistol. “You’ll have us arrested.”

“I know about the deal,” said Andozini, jabbing his thumb in Stone’s direction. “I know he has to do something for Mason and you all get to leave. How do you think I found you? You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not going to say a word to anyone.”

“Stone?”

“I just want to get my mother home, General. I’m in as much trouble for being here as you.”

“I don’t have any rank, Andozini.”

“Go,” said Stone, reloading his revolver, and tucking it into his belt. “Emil.”

Andozini left first, with his mother at his side, no longer holding onto his arm, she had even forgotten her cane. Stone followed them from the lobby, scanning the street, the rooftops, and the corners. The soldiers who had been on duty had not returned. Andozini walked his mother along the street, without looking back. Stone moved in the opposite direction with Nuria and Emil behind him. He remained watchful. Each second that he spent in this city chipped away at him. He was suffocated by it. He needed to get back out there. The road split, a right hand turn towards Hamble Towers, two left hand turns, one banking down towards Progress Square, one curving up towards more residential areas.

“Straight ahead,” said Nuria.

The dirt road had been churned over by thousands of boots and bicycles. It ran straight to the gate. It was busy with citizens and Emil felt horribly exposed as they walked amongst them. Her scarred skin and patched eye drew fleeting glances until one woman stopped and pointed at her. Stone’s harsh stare sent her scurrying away. Nuria felt her heart beginning to race as they drew closer. She had no trust for Captain Andozini but he had been right, to expose them would be to expose himself. She needed Stone to explain what had happened inside Hamble Towers but he was refusing to be drawn on it for the moment.

Stone kept his long coat flapped over, concealing his weapon. Ahead was a single brick guardhouse with no one inside. Another stood by the gate. A gun tower was manned by two more men. They would all need to die for them to escape. Nuria stiffened as a three soldier patrol rounded the corner ahead and stepped into the street, nodding at their fellow companions on the gate. The three men began to stroll down the middle of the street.

Nuria kept herself in Stone’s shadow, desperate not to be recognised. Emil shuffled forward, trying to walk in line with her. The soldiers came closer, boots kicking up dirt, eyes roaming left to right. They took in Stone because of his height and build, the bruises on his face and the menace in his look. The soldiers drew level, spotted the two women alongside him. They passed by without question until one of them stopped and looked back.

“General Nuria?” he called.

Stone turned, fast, his coat flapping open, the revolver in his hand. He fired three rapid shots, the chamber spinning round, lining up the next bullet. All three went down, in a bloody heap.

“Run,” he yelled.

His hand reached for Emil and he sprinted towards the gate, dragging her with him, firing at the lone soldier raising his weapon towards them. He missed and swerved towards the brick guardhouse as the soldier tore the dirt ground around them with a rattle of bullets. Nuria drew her pistol and fired. The bullet ploughed through his chin and slammed him against the gate. She watched him lose his weapon and fall to his knees, gasping and clutching at his face, his hands becoming slippery with blood. The main gun in the tower poked out towards the wasteland and could not be manoeuvred around to fire back into the city. Quickly, the two soldiers reached for pistols. Stone fired and one of them screamed as he fell. Nuria ran to the inner gate, carrying the long bag, firing up at the remaining guard, bullets peppering holes in the tower.

The soldier ducked, thrust a hand over the edge of the tower and fired blind. Emil shuffled along the wall of the guardhouse, glancing back along the dirt road. She grabbed Stone’s arm, forcing him to fire wild.

“Look,” she said.

Sun in his eyes, Stone squinted and could see a large patrol of Red Guard soldiers outside the apartment building they had vacated. A man wearing a smart suit was amongst them. He assumed this was Mason, the last Minister of the first city. A thin smile spread across his lips. Bullets were raining down around them as the remaining guard in the tower continued to fire blind, now shooting from two pistols. When both weapons clicked empty the man lifted his head into view, his hands raised.

“I give up,” he shouted.

Nuria unlocked the inner gate and eased it open. Grit blew into her face. Stone led Emil towards it, swivelling to fire at the unarmed guard, a single bullet finishing him.

As Nuria and Emil went through, onto the dry soil, Stone grabbed the bag from her and took out his rifle. He pushed the stock against his shoulder and looked along the barrel at the guards sprinting towards them. He fired twice, hitting the front two, sending the rest scattering for cover.

His finger went to the trigger again. He tracked the suited man running, fleeing back the way he came.

A single bullet sent Mason sprawling face down in the dirt.