A Fractured World: A Post Apocalyptic Adventure (Gallen Book 1) (12 page)

“He’s my friend,” roared Emil. “And I want you to let him go.”

The cave went silent; the only sound was bubbling water and the wind outside.

“Caleb,” said Grandma. “The water.”

Sara pulled on her socks and boots, slowly laced them. Emil wasn’t going to surrender anymore to these people or to anyone. Defiantly, she marched across to Tomas, as Mossy stood with the old green bound book, teasing Grandad about burning it. She pushed past him and tried to prise open Tomas’s shackles. She grunted with the effort but they refused to open. She grabbed a large rock and began to strike them. Tomas had stopped fighting and watched, smiling faintly, the clanging noise echoing through the cave. It was Uncle who finally shook the rock from her fist and clamped her arms to her sides.

“Caleb,” said Sara. “Bring another bucket of water.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said.

“Mossy, give Grandad the book.” Mossy groaned but a hard glare silenced him. “And fetch the chair for her.”

Sixteen

“As First Minister,” explained Chancellor Gozan. “You will relinquish your weekly pass for Hamble Towers and be granted a lifetime one. Though not a residential one and I urge caution at over indulgence. Naturally, it will be expected of you to continue living within the House of Leadership.”

Mason ran his eyes over the outer compound of the Towers, an impressive white walled building set beyond a curved bridge with an armed checkpoint at each end. The water below looked choppy and flowed down to the Trade Zone. The front building was allocated to security, an elite unit of the Red Guard, who checked and verified all passes before entry was permitted, and a small team of administrators, who registered any complaints or compliance issues and also arranged for the delivery of supplies. Through this building was the main area, a thoroughfare lined with hotels for short term stays. There were glorious apartment buildings, where retired men of power and ex-officers from the Red Guard lived out their twilight years, knowing only pleasure and luxury, whatever a man or woman desired. It was an island paradise, a dream for every citizen of the city. No one was excluded. Anyone could work and trade to earn a pass.

“What do you think?”

“I am very grateful, Chancellor Gozan.”

The sun was weak, straining to have any impact, and both men wore thick coats over neatly pressed ministerial suits. Gozan had opted to retain his suit. At a glance, he did not look like a Chancellor, but his narrow face and watchful eyes showed him as a man of considerable power. Those watchful eyes studied his new First Minister, easily thirty years younger, impressive and strong looking, competent in his duties, popular within the House of Leadership, charming even, a trait Gozan despised. He himself had been resourceful as a First Minister, it had always been more than paperwork and speeches, and he had seen glimpses of these talents within Mason but his loyalty would need to be tested before he became a man who could be relied on.

“Well, you have been here before, unless I have been wrongly informed,” said Gozan, nodding at the bridge guards as they saluted.

“No, sir, you have not,” said Mason, falling instep with his superior, as they began walking, a tangle of security behind them.

“Hard work, diligence, these are admirable qualities,” said Gozan, hands clasped behind his back. “And you have an abundance of these, Mason, but do you understand what it really takes to be a good First Minister and useful to a Chancellor?”

“Information,” said Mason. “Without knowledge of what our citizens think and feel how can we shape our city?”

Gozan glanced at him, digesting the words.

“We tell them what to think and feel.
That
is how we shape the city.”

Passing the heavily barred west gate, with its single gun tower and patrolling Red Guard soldiers, the newly appointed First Minister stopped and faced his Chancellor.

“I understand we have to make the choices for them. We have to make the difficult decisions.”

“You witnessed the hangings this morning, Mason. Chancellor Jorann’s killers are dead and the SOT is a fractured mess. However, you will need to be my eyes and ears in this city. Never underestimate the destruction the SOT can bring. We have a delicate balance that a single man or woman could tip. You will alert me to anything suspicious. You have contacts? Spies? Yes? Good, what they know, I must know.”

Mason was thoughtful for a moment.

“There is information I became aware of early this morning, sir. However, it is very delicate.”

“Then I think …”

“Chancellor Gozan, sir,” called a voice. “Chancellor, sir.” It was a soldier from the gate. A young man with sandy coloured hair. He saluted both men and stood rigidly to attention.

“What is it?”

The soldier hesitated.

“What you have to say can be said to both of us, soldier.”

“Concerns Operation Lamb, sir.”

Operation Lamb, though Gozan, finally soldiers had returned and a Pure One had been found.

“What’s that?” asked Mason.

Gozan signalled his security and ordered for the First Minister to be escorted back to the House of Leadership. “We will finish our discussion later,” he told Mason. With the man gone, Gozan compelled the soldier to speak.

“No more than ten minutes ago, sir, one of our men has come back. I was about to cycle to the House of Leadership to …”

“Take me to him,” demanded Gozan. “And fetch General Nuria.”

Marge said, “Gone and ran. Lookouts saw them pack up and drive off. Reckon they won’t be back.”

Stone placed his pack and rifle on the front seat. Sadie handed him a wooden crate filled with bottles and smaller packets of ammunition. She thanked him for what he had done for the town and he nodded, looking around at the clean up that was underway. All he could see were shattered buildings. He shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he had caused more destruction. Sadie must have read the look on his face and shook her head at him.

“They’re just buildings, bricks and stuff,” she said. “None of them kids were hurt. They’re scared but alive.”

Pulling open the car door, he slid behind the wheel. Then he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a thick stack of folded papers.

“These belong to the Map Maker,” he said.

Frowning, Marge accepted the bundle of maps. She looked at his empty eyes set in a worn face, hiding behind the thick beard and long hair. She tried to think of something to say before he drove away. She hadn’t been able to persuade him to stay. In truth, she knew it wouldn’t have mattered what life she could offer him here in Ford. His mind was set. He was heading in a direction. Somewhere he needed to be. She wondered, briefly, if he had helped them simply because he was passing, but she threw that thought out. In the few hours he had been in town he had shown the long suffering folk around here that there was hope in what they were doing and it was worth every sacrifice they had made and would, no doubt, continue to make.

With no words, she smiled at him, banged the roof of the car and edged away, noting the deadly spikes fixed to the wheels.

Stone offered Marge and Sadie a simple nod, then fired the engine and pressed down on the accelerator.

“Shame you couldn’t get him to stay,” said Sadie. “You could have done with the company.”

“Hey,” shouted the Map Maker, running down the street. “Was that Stone? You let him leave? Damn, why …”

Marge thrust the maps at him, put her shotgun across her shoulder and trudged back to the edge of town.

“What’s the big deal?” said Sadie. “Just bits of paper. They don’t mean anything round here.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, shaking his bald head.

He saw the car swerve out of Ford, burn off along the road and scream over the brow of the hill. As it disappeared from view he looked around the small town and knew he had to leave. The Cleric had terrified him. He now knew the man’s motives. He had wanted his maps to pinpoint any village or settlement of deformed people. With his maps he could disappear now, head north, then northwest, towards the unknown region.

He began to walk back to the bar, ignoring the noisy hustle all around. He had no interest in rebuilding or setting down roots. He was aware Sadie was shadowing him. He glanced at her, the cropped hair, the round face, and the smiling eyes. She read people well and he knew she had figured him out.

“You as well?” she said.

“That’s right,” he nodded.

They strode along the street, buildings shot to pieces, bodies still lying on the ground, everything taking time.

“Geoff looks happy,” said Sadie. “If you know what I mean.”

The Map Maker saw the fussy looking man, clipboard in hand, pointing and gesturing.

“Where will you go?”

He stopped outside her bar. He glanced up to the second floor, where his room was, across the landing from hers. He unfolded one of his maps. She peered at it, impressed but puzzled. He pointed to where Ford stood and then pointed at the blank space a long way to the northwest.

“That’s where I haven’t been,” he said. “That’s where I’m going.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like being in the same place. I lived in the same place for a lot of years. It made me miserable.”

Sadie looked around, everything familiar, everything home.

“Do you have a name? A real name?”

“I was born in a prison,” he said. “I never got a name.”

“I have a map,” said Sadie. “You can have it if you want. I can’t read it. Found it years ago. Belonged to my Grandad.”

They stepped out of the sunlight, back into the bar. He followed her through into the back room, brick walls lined with packed shelves, boxes and wooden crates scattered around the dusty floor, a table and two chairs wedged in the corner, where Sadie had taken breaks and fed her strange guest. She trotted up the stairs and went into her room. It was drab. An unmade bed and closed curtains, lines of daylight from a dozen bullet holes in the wall.

The Map Maker waited in the doorway.

“You can come in, you know,” she said, but he didn’t budge and watched her shrug. She dropped into a crouch and dragged a battered suitcase from beneath her bed, scraping it loudly on the floor. She hefted it onto the bed, sat and opened it. He peered forward, seeing a jumble of clothes and personal items, many of which he did not recognise. She rummaged through the contents and pulled out something creased and book shaped.

“My Grandad kept stuff he found, things from the past. History of Gallen, he liked that sort of thing. He couldn’t understand how we had some things but not others; do you know what I mean? Weapons that could kill, rip a man in half, but we couldn’t save a life. When my Grandma died it really made him sad. He would spend all his time talking about the past. He got killed when bandits raided us three years ago. A lot of people round here got killed then. He left this to me. Told me if anything happened to him I should take care of it. Give it onto my kids.” She snorted. “Said it was the past. Things that used to be. Where we came from.”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know if I really care about that.”

“Let me see it,” he said.

She saw keenness in his eyes for the first time since he had arrived in town. She handed it to him. Gingerly, he accepted it from her and opened it. She watched it double in size. Each time he opened it the book grew further until he was stretching his arms wide to hold it. He laid the map on the floor and attempted to smooth the creases. Parts were torn, missing, rippled, faded, washed out, but he seemed fascinated by what remained, tracing his hands across it. It still had some colour, yellow and green and blue, lots of blue. Sadie watched him reach for his own map, the one he had shown her outside. He laid it over the larger map and studied the two, muttering to himself.

“Can I ask you something?” said Sadie.

“Hmmm.”

“Why do you care about maps so much? I mean, I don’t get why it’s important.”

Bewilderment crossed his face. Kneeling, he folded both maps away and glanced at the suitcase on the bed.

“Explosives,” he answered, his eyes glazing over. “Bullets, bows, those metal machines. That’s not power. Not real power. They’re lost, all of them. Round and round in circles.” He waved the maps at her. “This is the key to everything. This is ultimate power. To know where we are. Where we can go. Where we have been. Look at you, in your little town, peddling that awful drink downstairs. You couldn’t even think of a name for it. You named it after the town. I mean, you only had to think of a name for it, that’s not too hard, is it?”

He scratched his head.

“A name, just a name.”

“Maybe you should leave,” said Sadie.

“I am, I’m getting out of here. I’ve got a lot of miles to cover and I won’t ever be back here again. That was my job. Map Gallen. Make maps and take them back to Chett. Why? Why should I give them my work? They took them from me before but the Cleric was right.” He slapped the side of his head. “It’s in here. Gallen is in here. I will know how everything fits together and then they can rot behind their walls. For me. That’s who. I’ll keep walking. I’ll keep mapping. I’m heading beyond. That’s where they sent them.”

“I really want you out of my room,” said Sadie, edging away from him. “Out of my bar, as well.”

He held up his hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I had my maps stolen off me. I got very agitated about that. Thank you for this map. I’m really happy, Sadie. Thank you.”

She sprang across the room, yanked open a drawer from her dresser and pulled out a knife.

He backed away.

“Out,” she said, jabbing it at him. “Downstairs and out.”

“I need to find them,” he said. “That was where they sent them. Out there. The beyond.”

Into the bar, Sadie went behind the counter and fetched her pistol. The Map Maker didn’t seem concerned. She was no longer in his focus. He was alone. A hundred people could have crammed into the bar and he wouldn’t have seen or heard any of them. He kept talking, words rolling out one after the other, hardly any cohesion or connection. She had no idea about maps. She didn’t care about them. What did it matter? The next time a bandit gang tried to rob the town would she wave a map at them? Sure, that would work; a bullet right through one is what she would get. Power? What was he on?