A Fractured World: A Post Apocalyptic Adventure (Gallen Book 1) (17 page)

Twenty Three

The group watched from the mountainside as the column of six vehicles slowed and then stopped next to the battered jeep Tomas and Emil had driven. Once more, the Cleric had not journeyed with all his tribe. Stone wondered if they were conserving the supply of black energy they carried.

The Cleric stepped from the largest vehicle and Emil recognised him instantly. The iron grey beard. The long iron grey hair plaited down his back. His tall frame. His neat clothes. His arms covered with ink.

She felt her stomach crawl as he placed one boot in front of the other.

“It’s him, Tomas.”

Her words were little more than a hoarse whisper. She had watched this man rip into her life, inflict agony and death on friends and loved ones. She clamped a hand across her mouth. Both Tomas and Nuria peered down at the tall man who walked with purpose towards the wrecked jeep. The Cleric stooped and looked inside. He straightened his back and stared up in their direction, hiding amongst the rocks and brush.

“I recognise this vehicle,” he said, his booming voice echoing through the mountain crags. “It is one of ours.”

Emil shivered as he spoke, his words scaling the featureless paths and winding tracks, the dead trees and rocky verges. She shrank down and Tomas curled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“This belonged to my warriors, the ones I sent after you, Tongueless Man.”

A sweet scent wafted into Stone’s nose and he sniffed as Nuria moved alongside him.

“Who are they?” she said.

He ignored her.

“If this car is here,” said the Cleric. “Then you are here, here with your little family of freaks.”

He paced as he spoke, widening his arms, gesturing theatrically with his hands.

“Will you face me, Tongueless Man?”

He waited for a response but Stone would not be goaded.

“You killed many of my warriors back in Ford and you killed my woman, Bann. I miss her dearly.”

Stone’s face showed no reaction. It had been Marge who had shot Bann, but he supposed it didn’t really matter.

“Well, show yourself, Tongueless Man, legend of the wasteland. Isn’t that what they call you?”

Nuria glanced at Stone. Was he the Tongueless Man? What kind of title was that to have?

“Give me the mutant, and I will spare your life. Gallen is not for her. She is a thing. To be destroyed. Gallen is a beautiful place …”

“Go back to Chett,” said Stone, to Nuria, rifle in hand, lining up the shot. “This isn’t your world.”

His finger went to the trigger but suddenly he heard movement from behind. He swung round and immediately fired. Tomas peeled away from Emil, snatched his crossbow and released a bolt as a large number of warriors leapt at them. They must have found a short way up the mountainside as the Cleric spewed his words. Dressed in trousers and long shirts, hide and fur, they carried knives and machetes, swords and axes. The Cleric had forbidden them to use guns. He wanted prisoners, battered and cut, but alive.

Stone’s rifle was useless at such short range. He drew his revolver and fired until it was empty, gunning down four of them, bodies twisting and sprawling in the dirt. He glimpsed Nuria wrestle a warrior to the ground, take his machete and slice his throat open. He was impressed. She swung at another, hacked at him repeatedly until he was still. As she whirled round to attack again she was clubbed from behind. Stone grabbed an axe and sunk its edge into a warrior’s neck. Tomas had no time to reload his crossbow so he used it as a club and struck one warrior down but then they grabbed Emil and a sword blade was held to her throat and the fight went out of him.

Stone continued to swing, bloodstained axe in one fist, empty revolver in the other; breaking jaws and hacking men bloody until he saw they had captured all his companions.

He became surrounded by jabbing sword tips. Breathing hand, he dropped his weapons.

The warriors picked up the discard weapons and herded the prisoners down to where the Cleric waited.

Without a word, the tall man lunged at Stone, burying his fist in his stomach. Stone stumbled but kept on his feet. The Cleric hit him again, in the stomach, then cracked a punch across his face, and then another. His warriors lifted Stone from the ground and held him up, his face and nose cut. The Cleric hit him once more and Stone sagged in the warrior’s arms.

“Put him in the truck,” said the Cleric. “He is the most dangerous of them. He will die very slowly.”

The warriors dragged Stone to one of the vehicles, his boots drawing long lines in the dirt.

“One day soon, Tongueless Man,” said the Cleric, not looking back. “Your name will have true meaning.”

The truck was heavy with rust and dents and the paint had long faded. Its wheels were covered with wire mesh. One of the warriors opened the back door and then unlocked an iron gate. It swung open and they bundled Stone into it. He turned and drove his foot into the warrior’s face. The man sprawled to the ground but several other warriors crowded in on him, carrying spears. They stabbed at him, forcing him into the cage and locked it.

Tomas, Emil and Nuria stood bruised and weary, with arrows and spears and swords pointed at them;.

“You are the companion of the Tongueless Man,” said the Cleric, speaking to Tomas. “Do you have a name?”

He spat on the ground and the Cleric shook his head disdainfully. He nodded to his men. Two warriors closed in on Tomas, both armed with bows, strings taut, arrows notched. Tomas felt the tips press against his throat.

“I ask you again,” said the Cleric. “Do you have a name?”

“Tomas.”

“Hmmm,” nodded the Cleric. “A strange name.”

“Miles in that direction are hundreds of armed men,” said Nuria. “Preparing to move on your rabble.”

The Cleric turned his focus onto her.

“Men with guns,” she continued. “And armour. Men who have been trained to kill. What have you got compared to that? A couple of bashed up cars and a few bows and arrows? I reckon you should turn and run whilst you can.”

“You are very brave,” he said, considering her. “Where are these men with guns? I cannot see them.”

He shielded his eyes from the weak sun, looked around the desolate wasteland, and saw only the closed city gates in the distance.

“I still cannot see them,” he said, his warriors chuckling. “Where are these heroes with guns and armour?”

He slapped his chest.

“I am the only hero here. Cleansing Gallen of those who do not belong. Put her in my vehicle but tie her up. You will be my new woman.”

Nuria shouted and struggled as she was dragged away. The Cleric turned to Emil, who stood with her legs feet on the ground.

“You have spirit,” he said, and then thrust his open hand at her. She cried out, startled, as his fingers curled around her throat. She gasped and kicked as he lifted her from the ground, slowly tightening his grip, savouring every moment. She was so much lighter than the thing he had killed before. Tomas yelled and shoved the two men with bows away from him. They were never going to fire. He saw the handle of a knife in the belt of the nearest warrior and reached for it. Nuria shouted from inside the Cleric’s armoured car, her hands tied. Stone banged on the iron gate at the back of the truck and yelled loudly.

Tomas hurled himself at the Cleric and plunged the knife into him. The tall man howled and his grip loosened on Emil. She slumped to the ground, in a heap, unmoving. Tomas yanked the knife free but the Cleric grabbed his wrist as he attempted to stab him a second time. A bunched fist struck Tomas square in the face and his head snapped back. The two men rolled in the dirt, the knife flashing between them, blood leaking from the Cleric’s open wound.

Stone couldn’t see what was happening but he could hear Tomas grappling with the Cleric. The ugly sound of flesh striking flesh filled his ears and then came the sudden swoosh of a bladed weapon. There were loud grunts and groans and shouts of encouragement from the Cleric’s warriors. He scanned his eyes around the cage but there was nothing he could use to get out. He continued to bang on the iron gate, in utter desperation, until a warrior came to the truck and yelled at him.

Stone pushed an arm through the bars and caught the man’s wild hair. He pulled his head back, with every ounce of strength he possessed, and cracked the man’s skull repeatedly against the gate.

A pistol was sticking out of the man’s belt. He took it and let the warrior slide to the ground.

He pointed at the lock and fired.

Kicking open the gate, Stone vaulted from the truck and turned to see the Cleric bury a knife deep into Tomas’s chest. He yanked it free and plunged it in again. The Cleric roared and Stone watched his friend drop to his knees, soaked in blood, his head jerking unnaturally, his body shaking. Tomas fell sideways into the dirt. Instead of cheers from his warriors, the Cleric saw the looks of concern from his men. He turned, almost in slow motion, his long plaited hair swinging, his neat grey beard spattered with Tomas’s blood. He saw Stone raise the pistol and pull the trigger. The gun clicked empty. Stone hurled the empty weapon in frustration and charged at the Cleric, fists clenched. The Cleric slashed the air with blood stained knife.

There was a sudden burst of automatic fire, bullets coming from all directions, raking lines across the sand.

Stone ducked and threw himself next to Tomas. He rolled his friend onto his back and lifted his head from the ground, staring into his dark eyes.

There was movement and shouting all around him. The warriors were in panic and the Cleric was running. He vaulted into the back of a pickup truck, clutching his bleeding knife wound, and it sped away in a cloud of dust and squealing tyres.

Soldiers in armour were moving amongst them. Black gloves holding automatic weapons.

Stone cradled Tomas’s head. He stroked his pale face. He lowered his head and gently touched foreheads.

The warriors left behind hesitated and then released arrows and hurled spears but they were massacred in seconds.

Nuria was pulled from the large armoured car, her ropes cut.

Several warriors threw down their swords, dropped to their knees, hands thrust in the air, pleading.

The soldiers approached and sprayed them with a hail of bullets.

Nuria saw Stone, clutching Tomas, and ordered her men to hold off. Despite the rumblings in Chett, they still recognised her as their General.

She crouched down beside him. He was knelt in a spreading pool of blood, long hair covering his face.

There was a coughing sound and Nuria turned to see the strange girl with the copper coloured hair and one eye.

“Where’s Tomas?” she croaked.

Twenty Four

It was Captain Andozini who led the raid beyond the walls. Through the tunnels beneath the House of Leadership and up into the ruined hamlet.

Now, he had the unenviable task of sorting out the mess. At thirty years of age, with a life partner
and three children, military responsibilities and a dying mother to contend with, the eruption of violence across the city had him teetering on the edge. It was becoming harder to get up and face it. He had become irritable with his men and shoddy with his responsibilities. His unit had been grumbling for weeks and months at how dull and routine everything was. A few disagreements in the marketplaces. Petty vandalism in Progress Square. A couple of protesting SOT members. There had been no challenge. Even he had joined in with the complaining, momentarily forgetting his position and rank, but these past few days had him wishing the clock would turn back.

Closing off his personal problems, shutting down all thoughts of his loved ones, he was eager to get his teeth into this situation and prove to his men, his commanders and himself, that he was worthy of the title of Captain. His first instruction had been to secure the bearded man. He had witnessed, at first hand, the carnage this man had unleashed through the House of Leadership. He had butchered over twenty people, mostly ministers and security officers, but also several administrators, stewards and engineers. There had been only five survivors. It had taken six of his men to restrain the bearded killer.

Andozini had then ordered a forward recon party, equipped with flares and automatic weapons, in case the raiders chose to return to the area in greater numbers. At this moment, he was working upon the assumption that this was one group of raiders, not two separate factions, despite the protests of General Nuria. Not that she would be General for much longer. She had been complicit in allowing this group to escape and strong rumours were already circulating within the city that she was a key member of the SOT. He did not know there was a distinction between the separatist organisation - one real, one fake - but he was unsure that a highly intelligent and decorated officer such as Nuria fit the mantle of traitor.

The one eyed girl was also to be taken into the city. His men were wary of her, initially, until he barked the order at them again. Emil was lifted to her feet, half dragged, half walked, her face stained with tears as she looked back at Tomas’s body, lying crumpled and bloodied on the ground. Her throat was dark with bruises where the Cleric had attempted to choke her.

Both prisoners were shackled and hooded, then led back on foot to the city under armed escort.

Andozini ordered for all the bodies and vehicles to be searched and stripped of weapons and supplies and for this to be stock piled at a distance. He sent a single man back to the city with orders for the production factories to release ten three wheeled transport bicycles, with a rider for each.

Slowly, the Captain circled the tribe’s abandoned vehicles, astonished at how well armoured they were.

“These will need to be destroyed,” he said. “I want all the bodies placed with them and then torch the entire lot.”

The last of group of his men responded. One by one, the bodies of the Cleric’s tribe were carried and tossed onto a heap next to the armoured cars. None of the men had any experience of driving a vehicle but they knew how to roll one. Gradually, the vehicles were pushed together with the grisly stack of bodies piled beside them.

“Last one,” called a soldier.

“Not him,” said Nuria. “I want him taken to the city.”

Glances passed between the remaining soldiers.

“He’s to be cremated there. Not with this trash.”

Captain Andozini shook his head, firmly.

“Burn him with the rest,” he said.

“Captain, I‘m ordering you to take that man’s body back to the city.”

“No more orders, General,” said Andozini. “That man was responsible for over twenty deaths. He burns with the rest of them.”

“I am the senior military commander in Chett,” said Nuria. “There is no ministerial authority left in the city and I am taking temporary control until we can work a way forward.”

“First Minister Mason has already assumed control. Until we can work a way forward,” he added, echoing her words.

Mason, thought Nuria, of course, she had locked him in the detention rooms to cool off.

And he knew, mostly, everything. She was complicit in Gozan’s crimes. He could easily condemn her to the hangman’s noose.

“I’m not placing you under arrest, General,” said Captain Andozini. “But I am under orders to escort you back.”

His tone was now more respectful. She understood he was only following orders. She nodded and walked with him, throwing back one final glance. Tomas’s body was draped across the others. She lowered her eyes and watched her shadow on the parched ground, noticing how Andozini’s gun was casually aimed in her direction. She had to think fast. Establish how she was going to approach this with Mason. She was confident that she would be able to smooth things over with her own men. She had been held hostage in the Chancellor’s office. Essentially, this part was true. Gozan had been gunned down and she had been forced to aid the killers in escaping from the House of Leadership. All plausible. All credible. She was a respected officer. She knew whispers might spread but she was strong enough and resourceful enough to fend those off.

Mason would be a far trickier prospect. He knew the truth of the SOT
,
a mere concoction. Perhaps, he could forgive this. Besides, the scheme had belonged to the Chancellor, not her, but Mason knew that innocent lives had been taken in this plan. Her actions alone were treasonable and she knew he could have her executed or, at the very least, exiled into the wasteland. Had Mason’s network of spies and informers discovered a real sub-organisation within a false one? And, with all he had heard and uncovered, would he now look much deeper into the murder of Chancellor Jorann?

There was a terrible explosion behind her. A ball of fire erupted into the sky. Thick plumes of smoke billowed outwards as the vehicles and bodies were licked by giant flames.

Of course, she reasoned, as a door set within the main gate was unlocked and opened, she had a prize that could solve all her problems. What Mason, and the city, was blissfully unaware of was the existence of Chancellor Facundo, safely tucked away in Hamble Towers, enjoying a life of luxury until sickness had taken hold of him. She wondered how long he had left. She had seen the sickness claim a person in a week. Others could last a year or two, forever blighted by symptoms, but bluntly refusing to succumb to death.

She noticed an immediate frosty reaction from the soldiers on the gate as she passed through it.

A column of three wheeled bicycles arrived a moment later. Each rider wore a blue cap, dark red overalls and black boots. The inner door was closed and locked. Patiently, they wait for the main locks to be released and there was a loud groan as the huge gate opened. The riders pedalled through towards the remaining soldiers, lingering beyond the walls, guarding the stockpile of weapons and supplies, the fire raging behind them.

Andozini led Nuria into the barracks and then the detention area. He took her to the room she had placed Mason in. It was empty.

He locked the door on his way out.

A single overhead light buzzed faintly. There was no window. She turned her head at the sound of approaching footsteps but they went past the door and quickly receded. The walls, floor and ceiling were stark, spartan. A low bunk with rumpled sheets and a blanket. A sink. A water bucket. A toilet bucket. A folding metal chair. The air was stale and warm. Nuria filled the sink with recycled water and washed. She eased down onto the bunk, stretched her legs, crossed her ankles, folded her hands behind her head and waited. She was a solider. She had been drilled to wait. Gozan flashed into her thoughts. Curled on the floor. Body punctured with bullet holes. Then she saw Jorann in almost the same position. She felt she should shed tears for both men but the sadness that bluntly refused to fill her eyes was for something far greater, a much deeper loss than she could comprehend, almost intangible. Her city was dying, she felt it as a physical wound. Her world had fractured, all that was left was gone; the deep divides that had weakened Chett had finally snapped and, after so much bloodshed and pain, irrevocably so, she feared.

She bunched her shirt and wiped the sheen of sweat from her face, wincing at the bruises she had suffered on the mountain. What had she been thinking? Fleeing with them like that? Running away from her home? This city was no longer her home, she told herself. It was a shell. It was a prison. She heard footsteps outside once more, and voices, too, and this time the door was unlocked and First Minister Mason was shown inside by Captain Andozini. The Captain closed the door and remained next to it, an assault rifle hanging from a strap around his neck.

Mason reached for the metal chair and set it down in front of her. His face seemed hollow, drained of confidence.

“I’m very sorry about Gozan, I know you were close,” he said. He seemed sincere. “You witnessed it?”

“Yes.”

Mason shook his head.

“I can’t imagine how horrific that must have been. Captain Andozini walked me through the building.”

He licked his lips.

“I never made it into the Chancellor’s office. Bodies and blood everywhere. These men are monsters. I cannot begin to fathom why this attack happened.”

“The bearded man spoke to Gozan before he was shot by the girl,” said Nuria.

“Captain Andozini, can you fetch us both some drinking water,” said Mason. “It’s very hot and uncomfortable in here. Yes, I will be fine. Please make sure the water is cold and fresh.”

Andozini complied. Mason waited for him to leave before leaning forward in his chair.

“There is talk you are a traitor,” he said. “That you are a leader within the SOT. How can this be? You and Gozan told me the SOT was a fictitious organisation, engineered to cause resentment in the city, but the streets are filled with real members. What is going on? Nuria, please, you must tell me everything. There are hundreds of them out there. Too many to be a false government group. There are genuine protests and I have some very angry people making a lot of demands. They want new laws, new rights, and the freedom to choose ministers. Can you imagine that? Citizens selecting who is in charge. It’s anarchy out there. They’re real, aren’t they? You fooled Gozan into believing he was orchestrating a fake group when, in fact, you forged a real one. That’s right, isn’t it?”

She swung her legs off the bunk and sat forward.

“I am the only one left now," he continued. “Chett is hanging by a thread. Gozan told me the balance was delicate, that one man or one woman could tip it. This bearded man has certainly tipped the scales one way. I need you to help me tip it back.”

The door opened and Andozini returned with two canteens. He handed one to Nuria who gulped it down. Mason took a more restrained sip.

“Captain, I have to discuss matters of high security with General Nuria. I need you to be outside for the time being.”

The Captain hesitated.

“Yes?”

“First Minister,” said Andozini, his tone weary. “We have made over a hundred arrests this morning for damage to factory machinery, destruction of bicycles, incitement … my men are responding to every incident but we … I need to know what we are fighting for. If you are all that’s left then …”

“Yes, Captain,” said Mason, getting to his feet. “You’re right, I am all that’s left, which means you need to follow your orders and contain the situation. Arrest on sight any SOT protestors. Update me one hour from now.”

“And is General Nuria still in command of the Red Guard? Because there is a lot of …”

Mason was becoming irritated by the delay.

“Captain, carry out your orders. Keep the people safe. Do whatever is required.”

“Can I take the extra men posted at Hamble Towers?”

“Extra men?” frowned Mason. “What extra men?”

Nuria looked up.

“The General’s orders, First Minister,” said Andozini.

“With the House under attack,” said Nuria. “I assumed Hamble Towers might be next. A lot of powerful men reside there.”

“An update in one hour, Captain,” said Mason. “And take the extra men from the Towers. Ensure all the regular security is on duty.”

He waited for Andozini to leave before taking his seat once again. He sipped from his canteen and set it down on the floor. He ran his eyes over Nuria and puzzled at why she had no life partner. She was intelligent, composed, athletic, beautiful.
He pushed the thought aside, for the moment.

“For the last time, Nuria, you have to tell me everything. I can help you but I have to know everything. I was disgusted with Gozan’s methods and I am sorry I reported you to him.”

“That showed guts,” she said. “It’s what you should have done. What is happening to the prisoners?”

“I understand the man is being questioned,” sighed Mason. “I think we both know what that means.”

“And the girl?”

“She has been placed in a solitary cell. She scares the men. She is a very odd thing.”

“Do you believe I am a traitor?” asked Nuria.