Out of Exodia (15 page)

At first light the Reds peeked to see a
line of vehicles facing them from the other side. The morning rays
didn’t catch on the muddy bumpers or even reflect off the dirty
windshields. On the Red side of the river there was also a line, an
orange line, made up of the surrendered clothing. Several Red men
came out into the open and made a brave show of burning the piles
of orange, holding up vests and jackets, letting the flames leap
down sleeves and up pant legs before dropping them back into the
ashes.

Bram mounted the bay, held the rod in
his left hand, and guided the horse into the shallows. Lydia had
tied a banner to the rod, hoping that these new enemies would look
peacefully on him.

Bram was a third of the way across when
the loaves began to fall. The people in the cars opened their
doors, crouched behind them with weapons ready, and watched Bram
get nearer. They watched the skies, too, for not only was bread
raining down, but that strange glowing cloud had begun to move
against the wind and crossed the river above the single horse and
rider. The mare swam for several yards, the water reaching the top
of Bram’s thighs, before it got shallow again and she found her
footing. She finished the crossing, but faltered on the pebbles.
Bram pulled her to a stop, stuck the rod into the ground,
dismounted, and dropped the reins. He opened his palms and walked
forward. A dozen loaves fell around him. He gathered them up and
continued toward the largest car.

“
We’re not from Proserpina!
There are no more people who live underground. They’ll never raid
your villages again.” He drew close enough that the man who’d
stayed inside the largest car now sounded three short honks and
stepped out, rising to a height equal to Bram’s. He rolled his neck
and blinked his red-rimmed eyes with sluggish
indifference.

“
Yesterday you wore the
colors of the enemy. Do you think burning some clothes can fool us?
Who are you?” There was deep authority in his voice, but also a
suggestion of confused restlessness.

“
I’m Bram O’Shea. These are
Reds, escaped from Exodia.”

“
Exodia?

“
The Capitol City, head of
the ninety states.” Bram tried for a friendly chuckle and added,
“Or twenty-five states.”

“
I know about Exodia. Know
it by another name. They don’t rule here. This here is the
twenty-sixth state. Call ourselves Grays.” The man shifted his
weight, bobbled unsteadily. His voice grew louder. “If your people
try to cross that river they’ll have to pay a tax. How many horses
do you have?”

Bram ignored the question and instead
held out the loaves, presenting the warm bread as a peace offering.
“Look, we don’t intend any harm. We were wrong to wear the colors
of your enemies. We’ve destroyed the clothing. Now let us
pass.”

Several other Grays moved forward, some
threatening him with drawn bows and glassy eyes. A few held
Suppression carbines, their fingers trembling near the triggers.
Blank stares.

“
How many horses?” the tall
Gray repeated, grinding his teeth and holding out his hand for Bram
to stop.

“
I don’t know. Four or five
hundred.” Bram kept his steady gaze forward. “We’ll pay your tax.
We don’t want to fight you. How about five horses?”

The Gray’s mouth curled into a flare.
He cursed a string of vile words, spat on the ground, and finished
with “All your horses or all your women.”

Bram couldn’t hide his shock. He threw
the loaves down and choked out a single syllable.

* * *

“
No!” I bound over the
bread and reach this extortionist in two strides. His cohorts are
too slow to react or too timid, but now that I have this evil man’s
throat in my grasp I hear the click of readied guns and feel the
prick of sharply honed arrowheads on my back. The stench of his
breath gags me. “Back off or your leader is dead.” I hiss the words
over my shoulder but watch my victim’s eyes dart a silent plea to
the closest men.

They pull back the arrows, lower the
carbines; I loosen my grip. “Horses or women? Are you
crazy?”

“
They … the army from the
underground city … they’ve raided our lands for years. Taken our
food. Taken our women.” His attitude changes from belligerent to
defeated. “They burned our fields.”

I sense the men moving around, bobbing
up and down, collecting the loaves. Something is off.

“
You have no women?” I
loosen my grip even more. Some of the things we found in the city
made no sense to us then, but now … I suppose I didn’t want to
imagine the depravity. I drop my hand, ready to bargain.

But two young men, untrained in
Suppression fighting, grab my arms. Two more take my wet legs and
lift me up, splay me out four feet above the ground. Their simple
maneuver nullifies my long ago ingrained response. I struggle,
though it’s futile. But I know exactly the five words to make them
set me down. I can name their wives, their mothers. I can tell them
where their graves are.

Predictably my tongue adheres to the
top of my mouth.

* * *

The sound that bellowed from across the
river came most certainly from Malcolm’s box and rang harsh.
Insistent. Discordant.

The cloud above Bram
purpled.

The Gray leader regained his composure
and uttered three surprising commands.

Chapter 11 Cars on Cadence

From the tenth page of the
third Ledger:

Beyond the river there was
death. The victims of their enemies became their victims. Beyond
the place of death they found seeds of life. With the seeds there
was hidden a strong addiction.

“
DROP HIM,” THE leader of
the Grays yelled. “Regroup! Recharge!”

The men heaved Bram down the incline
while those with bows took positions behind the cars and those with
carbines slid behind driver’s wheels and clipped their weapons into
recharging stations in the dashboards.

Bram tumbled a few feet, popped up,
found his footing and ran to the bay mare. The horse spooked at his
sudden return and bolted into the river before he could grab the
reins.

The darkening sky added to the
frightening sounds that emanated from all around. The Reds
positioned themselves as well as they could behind rocks and trees
and sent their women and children farther back out of range of
bullets and arrows. When the cloud changed colors and the box set
off ringing tones that hurt their ears, they roared in pain and
anger. Only a few Reds had long-range weapons; those with swords
and spears yelled all the louder as if their voices alone could
push back the enemy.

The Grays’ line of cars set off a
series of honks that followed some well-rehearsed tempo, drawing
the Reds attention right, then left, then right again. That allowed
their archers to stand, aim, and send measured volleys of arrows
across the river.

Bram pulled the rod from the mud and
unclipped the bottom twelve inch section just as an arrow struck
the black ooze a few feet away. Between the blaring horns, the
amplified noise from the box, and his men’s shouts, his head was
splitting with pain and his vision was darkening. He levered two
tiny controls in the rod and hoped he was setting the right
distance. He shoved the dirtied end back into the mud and watched
it burrow deeper.

Another arrow struck right at his feet
spurring him to plunge into the river. He waded into the deep. He
had no idea how to swim, but he kept his head up and used the rod,
now only nine feet long, to check the depth. The middle of the
river, where his horse had to swim, was up to his chin. He
continued on while arrows shot into the water around
him.

The splashing sounds suddenly stopped
as Bram got closer to the other shore. Harmon met him, took the
rod, and ushered him back to cover. The cloud above whitened,
Malcolm’s box quieted, and the Grays’ horns raised their clamor.
Suddenly an explosion of dirt, car parts, bodies, and fire rippled
along the enemies’ line. The honking ceased. First one car burst
into flames followed by those on either side and down the rows.
Some tumbled end over end toward the river, others simply collapsed
in on themselves, incinerating. A few men screamed, tried to ran,
but were enveloped in fire or swallowed by earthquake-like fissures
in the ground. Two or three seconds were all it took, but to the
Reds it seemed like longer as they watched in awe. The scent of
burning rubber, flesh, and sulfurous gases reached the silent side
of the river.

“
We’re invincible,” Eugene
shouted after a few more seconds of stillness. He was joined in
sudden celebration by the returning women, who matched the
children’s jubilant screams.

Lydia found Bram and threw her arms
around him.

* * *

I’m stunned. I hug Lydia with all my
strength, but I feel weak with disgust. Mostly I’m ashamed of my
indifference to the Grays’ plight. I reacted too rashly, killed
them all without a care.

And I’m disgusted with my people’s
reaction to this carnage. Banners are out, children are dancing,
and no one is sad that we’ve—I’ve—wiped out all these
souls.

“
What’s wrong?” She strokes
my hair.

“
Nothing. We can cross now.
Children on horses. It’s not too deep for you, but you can ride
your mare if you can find her.” She holds my face in her hands,
searching my eyes.

“
It’s not your fault,” she
says. She runs her hands down my neck to my shoulders, arms,
hands.

“
Yes, it is. I set the
charge. Sent it to the middle of their little army.”

“
But they weren’t going to
let us cross, were they?”

I look away. “They wanted all our
horses or all our women.”

“
What?” When I don’t say
anything else she squeezes my hands. “You had to do it. I don’t
pretend to understand why we’re traipsing around the country
following that cloud, but there’s a plan we can’t understand.
Remember the song?
The warrior of
milchamah—he is triumphant, hero, law!
I
trust Ronel … I trust your God.”

Her words spike my chest. Do I trust?
Is Ronel God?

The letters spin.
Is Ronel God?

I suppose he is.

Or song
lied
.

* * *

It was dangerous crossing the river
balancing supplies or children. There were no sleds that floated
and no way to build rafts. Strapping sleds and carts across the
backs of two horses was Eugene’s unwieldy solution. Sometimes it
worked and belongings reached the shore safely though wet. But
other times the horses moved apart and wrenched the packs from
their ropes. The few good swimmers among the Reds worked the rest
of the morning and most of the afternoon retrieving soaked bundles.
Those who hadn’t eaten bread in the morning still found loaves on
the new side of the river. Some ventured upstream to refill water
jugs with fresh water that hadn’t been muddied.

Bram posted guards on the hill to watch
for anyone attracted to the explosion and to collect whatever
weapons were still viable. He suspected there might be more Grays,
a second division, or perhaps older men—or even women—whose
curiosity would draw them to the river. The noise before the fatal
detonation, as well as the blast, should have been heard for miles.
The guards moved like ghosts among the charred cars and scattered
corpses.