Martyr (The Martyr Trilogy) (10 page)

10

It
was a strange feeling, standing there in the middle of a deserted town,
expecting to hear...something...but only an unsettling stillness confronted the
senses.  There would once have been cars traversing the streets, a few
pedestrians bustling to and fro, and over it all the rumble and hum of an
active paper mill.  And more than the sounds, all of the small movements, the
visual cues; signs of life.  All of that was absent here, and it didn’t feel
right.  I had seen ghost towns before, but they were usually much smaller than
this, tiny communities overly dependent upon a single industry, like the coal
mining towns of long ago.  When supply or demand tapered off, the inhabitants
migrated elsewhere.  It made all the difference in the world knowing that the
reason for this town’s solitude was the sudden and speedy extermination of its
residents by plague.  And all the more knowing that almost every city, town,
and village in this tragic world had fallen victim to the same fate.

We
noted the types of businesses that fronted the main thoroughfare: a bank,
women’s clothing, sporting goods, a pizzeria.  They could be identified by
their architecture, by fragments of their original signage, and by the few
pieces of ancient furniture that had not been completely broken down by the
ravages of weather and time.  All of the windows were broken, and in most cases
large portions of the upper floors or roofing of the structures had collapsed. 
Maya dismissed the animals, and we began to walk slowly along the street,
inspecting the contents of the storefronts for any indication that they might
conceal something useful.  We passed a number of buildings without success,
their contents having long ago been thoroughly scavenged.  Then, a bit farther
down the street, we found what we were looking for: what was left of an old
hardware store.

It
was dark inside, under the overhang of a dangerously sloping roof.  The
remnants of a checkout counter sat to our right.  The store extended straight
back for the first few steps, then angled ninety degrees to the left.  Once
around this corner the only meager light came from a small, glassless window
far in the back.  From what we could tell, there wasn’t a lot left.  Whole rows
of shelves had been knocked over or had crumbled.  Those still standing were
bare or covered with a uniform layer of silt not disturbed for at least a
decade.  There were a few heavily corroded metal objects on the floor in
various places, their presence indicated by an irregular disruption of the
floor’s own sediment and a rust-colored stain.  They were not what we needed,
and wouldn’t have been in workable condition anyway.  A filing cabinet lay on
its side, suspended a few inches off the floor as a result of having fallen
against a low piece of moulding.  Doog kicked it aside to reveal a random
assortment of bolts, rusted into a single huge chunk of orange slag.

“There’s
nothing here,” Maya said.  We turned to make our way back toward the front of
the building, and a fleeting shadow momentarily blotted out our light. 
Something had moved across the tiny window at the back of the building.  Maya
whipped something from under her vest and swung her arm around to point at the
window.  With a quick snap the piece of dark shininess in her hand unfolded to
form a crossbow barely larger than a long pistol.  Doog instinctively pulled a
matching pair of fierce-looking throwing axes from where they were sheathed at
his thighs and took position at Maya’s back, facing the entrance.  I pressed
myself against the wall to avoid taking a bolt to the head in the event Maya
saw any new movement at the window.  I promised myself to ask where I could get
a weapon of my own before tagging along on any more crazy adventures. 

We
stood frozen this way for another pair of seconds, then Maya whispered, “Let’s
move!”  We bustled toward the street the same way we had come, but now the
objects on the floor and the dangling sections of ceiling resisted our attempt
at more rapid egress.  Once back in daylight, it took a moment for our eyes to
adjust, but Doog pointed with one of his axes and I looked in time to see a
ragged figure slip between two buildings on the opposite side of the street. 
Doog tensed to give chase but Maya, who stood before him, put out her free arm
to stay him.  “It could be a trap,” she said.  “Come on!”  Rather than follow the
figure up the alley, she led us farther down the street until we reached an
intersection.  We headed up the hill on the adjacent street.  Here the
storefronts of Main Street gave way to dilapidated houses with immensely
overgrown yards.  The rusted husks of ancient cars adorned some of the
driveways.  In many places new trees and other plant life had grown up through
the ruins of homes.  It looked like a photo of a forest superimposed on a photo
of a town.  I wondered how many of the families that once occupied this town
had remained when the plague struck.  I wondered how many of these homes still
entombed the bones of their doomed owners. 

As
we worked our way up the hill, we constantly glanced between homes and trees on
our left, hoping to catch another glimpse of our spy.  In most places there
were barely any gaps between houses that were not filled with trees or rubble. 
Still above us and now to our left towered the old mill.  As one of the only
brick structures above the main street, and certainly the largest, it seemed a
likely destination for whoever had been watching us.  Unfortunately, if we had
to approach and enter that mill, we would be extremely vulnerable to anyone who
decided we weren’t welcome there.  We came at last to another cross street
paralleling the main street.  This one led to the lumber yard directly before
the mill.  We didn’t see anyone dash across this street into the mill, but they
would almost certainly have reached the mill before we got to our current
position if that’s what they were trying for.  We turned down Mill Street.

On
the right side of the street was a fallen wall.  The forest flora had expanded
its jurisdiction over the wall and now reached well into the street with thorny
tendrils.  This forced us uncomfortably close to the back walls of destroyed
homes on the left.  These houses had front yards on the downhill side, but no
back yards.  Residents had apparently parked on the street; the skeleton of one
old pick-up still rested behind one of the houses.  Maya led the way, stalking
stealthily to the edge of each building and pointing her crossbow at the narrow
gaps between houses as she came up to them.  I was in the middle, and Doog
watched the rear.  Progress was slow and uneasy, as at any moment someone - or
something – could spring from behind the next building, and it was unlikely we
would have enough advance notice to effectively defend ourselves.  I began to
understand why Maya had said that towns could be unsafe.  I had certainly felt
more secure in a tent in the woods than here in these claustrophobic streets. 

As
we came up to the old pick-up truck, something bright flashed through the sky
and stuck fast in the beam of the house next to it.  It was an arrow, wrapped
in oil-drenched rags and set ablaze.  It had come from an upper window of the
mill.  Maya and Doog steadied their weapons, trying to pinpoint the precise
origin of the projectile, but soon similar flames could be seen in several
windows, no doubt trained on us.  Shadows stirred beneath the canopy of trees
to our right, and the tips of bows and spears slowly came into view, followed
by the faces that bore them.  At last a half-dozen or so armed men stepped
forth from within and between the very houses we had just passed, cutting off
any potential retreat.  A smallish man of ruddy complexion moved to the
forefront.  He had a large, unkempt moustache, and a port wine stain dominated
most of the left half of his face.  In an unexpectedly hoarse and high-pitched
voice he said simply, “Lower your weapons”.  We were vastly outnumbered.  We
complied and Maya and Doog were relieved of their arms.

We
were led to the base of the mill, where the small man conferred briefly with a
guard, who then waved us past toward one of three large bay doors that opened
as we approached.  Once inside, it was immediately apparent that this was no
grass-roots, would-be militia.  The mill was a stronghold, and these people
formed a small but well-organized army.  The inside walls of the mill had been
fortified with additional layers of brick and stone, and wooden ladders and
catwalks had been constructed all about the interior, providing easy access to
most of the windows for surveillance, as well as to an enclosed upper section
at the far end of the building.  All of the machinery that had once processed
lumber had been removed.  Along one wall were a series of sectored-off rooms
that served for such mundane but essential tasks as food preparation and
laundry.  And all of this was accomplished without betraying the mill’s secrets
to any passing observer.  It was an impressive operation for such a small
town. 

We
passed several more “checkpoints”, at the last of which our captors handed our
seized weaponry to one of the guards, who hastened the items into a room with a
very solid-looking metal door.  Opening a locked gate, the small man led us up
what appeared to be the building’s only original staircase toward the enclosed
section on the second level.  The stairway was open on one side, but we were
flanked by a pair of big, staff-wielding guards, and were at all times
carefully watched by archers posted on the upper walkways.  At the top of the
stairs we were ushered into a long, torch-lit room with no windows.  It had the
feel of a hunting lodge, with animal skin rugs and heavy-looking, hand-hewn
furniture.  There were several large chairs and a round table, and at the far
end a tall hutch filled with various collected trinkets, most notably a
collection of knives and several large globes of green and blue colored glass. 
A rifle and a sword leaned against its side.  Hand-drawn maps and diagrams
covered the table’s surface.

Our
guards were dismissed, and we were invited to sit.  The little man wasted no
time in formalities.  “What business brings you to Milltown?” he asked
bluntly.  I wondered if that was the town’s original name, or one conferred
more recently by its current inhabitants.  It was logical, if not overly
creative.

“We
were only looking for supplies.  What business do you have taking us prisoner?”
Maya demanded.

The
ginger-mustached man feigned offense.  “Oh!  You’re not our prisoners, you’re
our guests!”

“Funny
way to treat guests,” I added.

He
chuckled.  “We had to be certain you were on the right side.  You are on the
right side, aren’t you?”

“That
depends,”  said Maya.  “Who do you work for?”

“The
one true Deity, of course.  Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Ormond. 
My people call me the Caretaker.”  He extended his hand in an artificially
magnanimous manner and indulged in a shallow bow.  It might have been regal in
a more impressive man, but in this tiny red man it just looked absurd. 

Maya
did not reciprocate, but responded instead, “We fight against Magus.  If you
are true to Chaer-Ul, then Magus is our common foe.”

The
unblemished half of his face flared hot, Maya’s omission clearly graveling
him.  His voice grated through clenched teeth, now pitched even higher than
before, “Magus…yes, indeed, Magus…he is a fool and a heretic.  Our battle is
against all forms of unbelief.”

“Good,
then we have no quarrel with you.  I would appreciate it if you’d return our
weapons, and we’ll be on our way.”

“In
good time, my dear.  Now it is almost time for our daily assembly, and I’d very
much enjoy your feedback.”

“Thanks
just the same, but we have quite a ride to get back to our camp before dark.” 
Maya was choosing not to acknowledge the decidedly non-optional nature of the
invitation.  She apparently did gather that it was not an ideal time to ask
about borrowing a tube thingy. 

“I
insist!” he barked, a twitch in his right eyelid belying his insincere grin. 
He rapped twice on the big table and the two guards entered at once.  “Boys,
kindly show our new friends to the assembly hall.”

“Yes,
Caretaker,” they replied in unison.

"Oh,
and one more thing," he said as we were about to leave the room. 
"We would have you be as comfortable as possible while within our
walls."  Ormond caught the eye of one of his guards and
nodded toward Maya.  The guard moved as if to remove her utility
vest, and she raised one index finger between herself and him, drew her
lips taut and moved her head ever-so-subtly back and forth.  He withdrew a
step and shrugged, eyes darting to Ormond for guidance.  He said nothing,
as Maya had already begun to remove the vest herself.  She handed it to
the guard, who then draped it over his arm.  Maya flashed him a sarcastic
smile and curtsied.   

We
were bustled rather unkindly down the staircase, and then fell in among others
who were making their way toward a previously unseen doorway hidden in an
alcove at the rear corner of the building.  We passed through the door and then
down a half-flight of granite steps into an adjoining room.