Windrunner's Daughter (23 page)

"That was human?"

Orel nodded and, as Wren wondered what kind of throat could have made the sound, it came again and Wren jumped as a door across the street flung open and something was shoved over the threshold by a stooped man, who was choking on his own coughs. The high-pitched wail continued inside, but was muffled when the door slammed closed.

“What is it?” Wren frowned.

Orel looked furtively left then right and then he wrapped Wren’s hand in his still damp palm. Their wings billowed behind them as they scuttled over to the bundle. Orel lifted the corner of the tattered blanket with the toe of his boot and Wren shoved her bruised fingers into her mouth to stifle a shriek: he had uncovered a small hand.

Orel propelled her from the house and they ran into a lightless alley the length of a terrace.

Across their path a fallen joist had snapped like a broken limb. They scooted underneath. The awning above their heads flapped unsupported and there was a long rip in the fabric. They ran with the narrowing of the alleyway as if driven.

Wren’s hand remained in her mouth and as air whistled from her halfie into her nostrils, she noticed the smell, a scent her own full-sized mask would have protected her from: pungent, slightly sweet and overwhelmingly rancid. It was the smell of a poorly ventilated sick room and it tainted the air all around them. Now that she was aware of it, the odour clung like a shroud.

Then her foot slipped in something soft. Bones splintered under her boot and she gagged, instantly horror-struck. Orel caught her by the elbow as she squinted to see a dead GM bun-bun pet rotting against the wall.

“The sooner we get out of here the better,” Orel muttered.

They helped one another navigate the rubbish that was strewn across the end of the alley. Then they peered past the final corner into a narrow street. Here the houses formed taller stacks of blocks with gently sloping roofs. Solar lights were secured to posts outside each door, but most of them were unlit. Only two glowed, like the last beacons on a battleground.

Windows gaped like gashes in each wall and most of the doors had splashes of crimson paint daubed on the metalwork. Grey dust clung to the doorsills.

Five more rolled bundles lay in the street and Wren swallowed as Orel’s bicep moved against her neck.

“Let’s go,” he whispered.

She nodded but just as she was about to step into the open an oscillating squeal jerked her to a stop and her eyes narrowed as a heavyset man plodded from the gap between two houses, pushing a huge plastic barrow with a squeaking wheel.

Behind him, bald head shining in the lamplight, followed the Lister.

Orel’s arms tightened around her again and they watched, barely breathing, as the Lister paused by the nearest wrapped bundle. As he leaned over, the bag containing his flat-screen dangled over the body.

“Stop,” he snapped and his companion dropped the barrow with a thud. A whisper of cloth carried like an echo as something inside shifted and settled.

The Lister pulled the screen from his satchel. He glanced at the door of the house and his hand moved as he added text. Eventually he nodded and the attendant bent down. He twitched the blanket aside, and the Lister seemed to hesitate. Then his hand moved once more as he added to the note.

“Done,” he muttered and the big man scooped up the bundle then tossed it into the barrow, blanket and all.

Wren dug her nails into Orel’s arm. They clung to each other like children hearing nightmares rattling their shutters.

At each bundle the Lister repeated his actions. Wren burrowed her face into Orel’s shoulder, terrified of the small glimpses of the dead that the collector was inadvertently offering them: a wilting hand, a tangle of hair, a still foot.

Then from the corner of her eye Wren saw the Lister bend over. Curious, she had to see what had detained him. A shaft of light revealed a small doll dangling from his hand. It had fallen from one of the bundles. He held it in his thin fingers for a moment then his shoulder jerked as though he were going to toss it into the barrow. Eventually though he shook his head and gently tucked the beloved thing back inside its blanket.

Wren’s eyes watered and her throat closed. Then the Lister and his companion started to move away, the squeak of the heavier laden wheelbarrow accompanying their otherwise silent journey.

Chapter eighteen

Wren stood silently in the circle of Orel’s arms. Finally he gave her a gentle shake.

“This … this…” she had no words.

“I know.” He squeezed her shoulders. “But when it burns itself out, then we’ll rebuild.”

“You think it’ll burn out?”

“It has to.”

Wren thought about Tir Na Nog. Everyone there had died. But it must have happened quickly; too fast for word to get out. Why had it hit them so fast while the Vaikunathans had time to find a cure? Were the Vaikunthans stronger? Or had the disease originated in Tir Na Nog, and weakened somehow since? Perhaps Orel was right and it would burn itself out before it hit all ten colonies.

Her hope felt naïve, but if the disease had been generated by the microbiologists of Tir Na Nog, then it wasn’t wholly the fault of the Runners.

She met Orel’s eyes with a frown. “You sound like you hardly care.”

“Of course I
care
,” he growled. “You want me to curl up on the ground and cry like a baby. I’ll do that.” He paused. “It won’t help get your brothers back.” He held her shoulders tightly. “Wren, this isn’t as much of a shock to me as it is to you.”

“I know but -”

“D'you want to stand here an talk about how awful this thing is, or do you want to rescue the Runners? What if they have a more effective cure somewhere else? What if they’re synthesizing a drug in Aaru? If we let the Council execute the Runners, who’ll fetch it?”

“No-one.” Ruthlessly Wren pressed both horror and hope back into her stomach. Orel was right. If the Runners died, the colony would die, one way or another, if the illness didn’t destroy it, the inevitable Runner-Grounder war would.

As she drove herself to a semblance of calm, something rattled in the alley behind them. “What was that?” She jumped.

Orel turned. “What?”

“That noise?” Wren stepped backwards.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Orel blocked her body with his own. “But if some Grounder is breaking curfew we’d better move. We can’t be seen.”

Wren frowned into his broad chest then nodded. “Which way?”

Orel looked into the street. “They’re holding the Runners in the centre of the colony, in a part of the council building. We’ve got some way to go.”

“Then we’d better move.” Wren turned and started to march. Orel squinted doubtfully down the alley then followed.

It wasn’t long before Orel had to take the lead. The layout of the settlement was too confusing for Wren to aim herself in any one direction and the floor was so covered in litter that she had to watch her feet all the time.

    When she tripped noisily on a discarded cook pot, Orel gripped her arm. “We’re going to get caught,” he growled.

    “I can’t help it.” Wren snapped. “How are you missing this stuff?”

Orel seemed to float through the alleyways like a ghost.

A noise inside the nearest building made Orel drag her into a tiny lane. “You’re right, this isn’t working.” He looked up. “We can do it here.”

“Do what?” Wren tried to follow his gaze, but there was nothing above them but another canopy.

More noise behind them filled Orel with urgency. “Up you go.” He grabbed Wren around the waist and she gasped as he boosted her upwards. “Grab the roof - got it?”

Wren stretched, but her fingers touched only smooth wall. “No,” she gasped.

Orel got his shoulders beneath her knees and shoved her higher. “Now?” he asked.

Wren’s fingertips curled round the lip of the first floor and Orel managed to balance her toes on his shoulders. Wren got one elbow onto the roof and, with Orel pushing from below, managed to pull herself up.

She held a hand down for Orel but he waved her away, took a few steps back and jumped. With one foot against the wall, he pushed himself up and caught the roof just as she had, with one hand. Wren grabbed the neck of his tunic and when he was beside her, she looked up. They were sitting on the top of the first floor of the house. The canopy was attached to the brick just above her head. If she rose, it would brush her hair.

“Now what?” she whispered.

Orel ripped the canopy away from the brick. It flapped onto the ground like a broken wing and Wren blinked at the destruction.

“A few weeks ago that would have been repaired by morning,” he sighed. Then he held his fingers to his lips. “Sleeping quarters are usually on this floor. There’ll be someone right there.” He pointed to the wall by her elbow then he helped her to her feet. “Up again.” He boosted her once more upwards.

She reached towards the sky and caught the roof of the next level.

Sitting on the highest point Wren stared out over the settlement. Although it was mostly dark, solar lanterns glowed intermittently like sickened stars. Sporadically illuminated by their guttering glow she saw a sea of canopies. The river’s prattle was distant and Wren almost relaxed, allowing herself to imagine that the scene below the material was tranquil and safe.  

She could see a pattern to the rooftops now. The lights cobwebbed into the centre of the settlement and in the middle … her mouth fell open … there was the pyramid her brothers had told her of. It rose through the darkness, one, two, three, four … eight stories high. And that building was still lower than the walls, which hemmed them like the edge of the world.  

She shivered, still damp from the river and hugged her arms to her chest. At least the colonists in Elysium could see the desert and sky through their biosphere. These people saw nothing but ceilings and walls.

Orel crouched behind her and smiled. “What do you think?”

Wren exhaled. “Is that the council chamber?” She pointed to the pyramid.

“Yes and the labs where the scientists work on the GM. That’s where the bun-bun pets were developed from dead-earth rabbits. Even if the Runners have been moved, they’ll be nearby.”

“It’s huge.”

“Bigger than the council chamber at Elysium.” His eyebrows twitched. “But then we have a much larger population. Are you ready to run?”

“Run?” Wren judged the rooftop with a frown. “This isn’t big enough for a takeoff.”

“Not a real Run, we’ll jump between houses and use our wings to make the extra distance.”

Wren squinted at the space before the next roof. “There’s no wind under the Dome.”

“We’ll be making our own.” Orel walked to the far edge of the roof. “Try and be light on your feet and
don’t
shout - if a guard sees us, we’ll be in trouble.”

Wren’s heart thudded. “You’re sure they’re
all
looking outwards?”

“They’re watching for incoming Runners, aren’t they?” Orel bent into a starting position. “Don’t lock, just let your wings lift you.”

Wren inhaled nervously. The nauseating smell was less strong up here, but the air was still tainted and she shivered in her sodden clothes.

“Here we go.”

She hopped out of the way as Orel hurtled towards her. He hit the edge with one foot, leaped towards the next roof and opened his arms. Wren noticed however, that he kept his elbows slightly bent, allowing his wings a flavour of the blighted air, but not letting them fully engage. As he’d said, they lifted him just enough to bring him the last couple of lengths to the next house. A thud told Wren he had landed and his wings glittered as he shook the air from them.

He gestured at her to follow but, instead, Wren tip-toed to the edge of the building and stood over the wet footprint he had left behind. The gap she had to cross was around four of her own body lengths. If she didn’t make it she’d crash through a criss-crossed boarded canopy before hitting the ground below.

She took a deep breath. Orel had done it, and although she was smaller than him, she was lighter. Her wings could carry her.  

She turned her back on the drop and walked, as Orel had, to the far end of the building. Then she dropped into a crouch, took a deep breath, rose onto her toes and ran.

The jump was easy; it was harder to remember to keep her arms bent. Her muscles wanted to listen to the wings; both demanded that she fling her arms outwards to catch a full lock, but Wren resisted.

Even when her jump started to turn into a fall, she held steady until her wings billowed and powered her over the brickwork.

Orel caught her as she crashed into him. “Okay?” he whispered.

Despite herself Wren grinned. “Race you to the middle.” She broke away from him, stepped backwards and sprinted for the next roof, arms held crookedly outwards. This time she was lifting almost before she jumped and she glided higher with no jerkiness. On the next roof she barely landed – just let her toes touch the brickwork with the barest of brushes, before jumping for the next.

In the corner of her eye she could see Orel one rooftop over. If she leaped diagonally she’d cut him off. Wren sprinted to the corner of the building and leaped across, almost swiping him with her wingtips as she overtook him.

He was bigger than she and his legs were longer, but Wren was lighter and ultimately faster. Each jump took her slightly ahead of him until she looked back and found herself three buildings ahead.

Then she gasped and her feet tangled together, dropping her full length onto the roof. Was that a figure behind them? Wren rose onto her hands and squinted into the darkness. But as soon as she tried to see more clearly, the figure, if it that was what it was, vanished into the shadows.

Orel landed next to her with a gentle thud. “What happened?” He offered her a hand up.

“I thought I saw someone.” Wren leaned around Orel still trying to see.

He looked over the twitching canopies. “I can’t see anything,” he whispered.

“Not any more.” Wren continued to glare into the shadows. “Could anyone be following us?”

Orel’s frown matched hers’. “Maybe on the ground, but not up here, how could they be?”