Skies (39 page)
the
Sharani Series
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Resurgent Shadows
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The line moved forward. Someone cheered, though the sound was short and broke off jaggedly. Caleb glanced up the line and, for perhaps the thousandth time in the last few minutes, counted the number of people between his family and the safety of the city-fortress gate.
Too many. There were always too many. He took a deep breath and tried, unsuccessfully, to shut out the voices that whispered around him, like flies buzzing over rotted meat.
“What’re we going to do if we don’t get in?” a woman asked. She’d asked it before—several others had as well—it was the question that dominated everyone’s mind, even those at the end of the line over a mile away. They thought and questioned, wondered and hoped, even though they knew it was futile.
“There’s another city-fortress down in Georgia,” a man said. “We could go down that way. Or there’s the one up in Raleigh.”
“That one’s already full.” The speaker appeared to be an older woman, though the gray in her hair could just as easily have come from the falling ash as from age.
“What about the marauders?”
The hum of subdued conversation paused for a moment, like an old CD skipping over a scratch.
“There’s worse things than marauders,” someone else said in a voice shaky and tremulous with age. He glanced up the line to make sure no Guardsman was nearby. “I heard about creatures—
nightmares—
that came up out of the earth’s bowels during the cataclysm. The very denizens of hell itself, some say.”
“Rumors,” Caleb muttered to Rachel, putting an arm around his wife and infant son protectively.
She nodded in understanding, though she didn’t say anything. Despite the grime that covered her from two weeks camping in the line, he could tell her face was white and pale. She clutched Benson to her, though the toddler squirmed against her tight embrace.
Caleb smiled and took him from her, tickling him so that his laughter would distract Rachel from the voices that had joined in the conversation. If only he could keep his own ears closed as easily. He’d lived in a state of near panic for the last few months, barely contained behind a facade of stability. It was what his family needed. He had to be their rock, even when he felt like he rested on a bed of quicksand.
“I heard it too. Little green-skinned men who run almost on all fours. And big gray things, taller than men and with skin like stone.”
Several of the women around the speakers made shushing noises. One of them, a rather rotund woman herding a gaggle of small children that had grown suddenly quiet, hissed a quick admonition.
“Hush now, you’re scaring the children.”
The old man averted his eyes, shuffling from foot to foot, though his expression was sour. “The world is ending,” he said. “They
should
be scared. We should
all
be scared. I heard it from me brother afore he left for the west, I did. He come down from the city-fortress in New York and saw them himself. Naught three days past this was.”
“What’s all this, then?”
A soldier walked up to the line. His assault rifle, his badge of authority, was held at the ready. Two other soldiers followed him. The trio shoved through the lines of refugees as if they were mere obstacles rather than people. The crowd parted for them grudgingly and reformed their lines quickly after they had passed.
Caleb wondered what he was doing, putting the lives of his family in the hands of such hard, cruel men. Then again, hard men were the ones who survived times such as these.
The soldier who had spoken grabbed the older man and pulled him out of line. Everyone else looked away, glancing down at their feet or over at their companions, though Caleb watched the encounter out of the corner of his eye.
“What’s all this, then?” the soldier demanded again. “Stirring up fears and rumors? Disturbing the peace? You know the rules.”
“Nothing, sir, nothing.” Sweat stood out on the older man’s sooty, balding pate. His eyes lingered on the assault rifle in the soldier’s hand. “I was just telling these fine people about me brother. He’s from up in New York, you see.”
The soldier snorted. “As I said, spreading rumors and hearsay.”
The soldier’s two companions chuckled. The first soldier turned the older man to face the city-fortress walls and gestured up at the defenses. The walls themselves were tall, stretching upward well over ten stories. The city-fortress had been created by converting the old Charlotte football stadium into a communal structure, meaning the walls were thicker at the bottom and thinner the higher up they went. Bailing wire glinted in the muted, reddened sunlight. Mounted artillery hung out over the battlement like silent, deadly sentinels, threatening anything that moved.
“Look at these walls,” the soldier said, raising his voice so more people would hear. “Do you think a band of marauders could breach that? The honorless swine would break against these walls like water on rocks.”
“Yessir, you’re quite right, sir,” the older man said, swallowing hard. “Nothing will get by them.”
“Good. Now get to the back of the line.”
The man stared at the soldier in open-mouthed horror.
Those around him who, like Caleb, had been sneaking glances at the scene, really looked away this time. Only the first twenty thousand would make it in. Caleb and Rachel had endured two weeks of cold, hard nights, huddled against Benson to warm his infant body, so they could get the position they had in line. They would be lucky to make it in themselves.
A small scuffle broke out, the echoing cries from the old man lingering for what seemed like an eternity as the soldier and his companions dragged the older man out of hearing. No one came to his defense. Everyone felt sympathy for the man, but secretly, in their own minds, they were glad there was one less body between them and the protection of the city-fortress’s walls. Pragmatism and the desire to survive buried the guilt. Or at least, that’s what Caleb told himself.
The line moved forward.
In a broken smattering, like birds resuming their song after a predator’s passing, whispers broke out among the line once more.
“Why did they have to be so . . .” Rachel trailed off and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, suppressing a shudder.
Caleb handed Benson back to Rachel and wrapped his arms around them both. He glanced up at the pavilion set before the gates. The three lines all converged there. Doctors and medical personnel examined each lucky individual who made it through the canvas doors. If they passed the medical exam, they’d be issued an ID card and be allowed full citizenship in the Charlotte city-fortress.
“They’re afraid,” Caleb said after a moment. “Just like the rest of us.”
“They’re bullies. Couldn’t they have shown him some mercy, some pity,
something
?” The desperation in her voice made Caleb’s heart ache.
“Fear does strange things to people, my love.” He gave her a quick kiss beneath one ear. “Bullies are really just cowards trying too hard to cover their own shortcomings. At least that’s what my father always said when the kids picked on me in school.”
Rachel sniffed but didn’t say anything more. After a moment, Benson began to fuss again and she pulled away.
Caleb counted the number of people between his family and the safety of those soot-stained canvas doors. Too many.
A wisp of ash landed on Benson’s head. Caleb reached out and brushed it out of his son’s curly hair out of reflex. More ash settled in almost instantly.
“I hate this ash,” Caleb complained, more to draw his wife’s attention away from the slowly moving lines than out of any real complaint. The ash was simply a part of life now, like breathing or the rising red sun.
“This is the new normal, Caleb,” Rachel replied. Her eyes showed a hint of redness to them. She’d been crying again, though she’d tried to hide it.
“We’ll be safe here, though.” He squeezed Rachel’s shoulder, hoping to belie the hollow sound he heard in his own voice. He swallowed the icy tendril of fear creeping up his throat. She was usually the strong one, but somehow over the last few months their roles had been reversed. Caleb didn’t know where he’d found the strength.
Rachel sniffed and gestured toward the pavilion. “Someone’s coming out.”
A man in a long white coat pushed open the door to the pavilion and surveyed the lines. At least the coat had once been white. It had been subjected to so much ash it had developed a permanent gray cast.
The man counted the people in Caleb’s line, quickly ticking off a number in a notebook he carried with him. The man closed the book and signaled to someone behind Caleb. After holding up ten fingers, the man turned and re-entered the pavilion without a backward glance.
Only ten more!
Caleb felt panic seize at his throat and quickly tried to count how many people were in front of them.
A soldier came up behind him and shoved him forward roughly. “We’re full,” he shouted as dozens of other soldiers poured out of the pavilion and the city-fortress’s gates. A team pushed forward to gather Caleb’s family and the others in the last group of ten. “The rest of you have five minutes to disperse before we open fire.”
As he was shoved into the tent, strong hands gripping his arms, Caleb heard the similar orders shouted by other soldiers and the angry, terror-stricken screams of protest that responded. The woman and her gaggle of children were not in their group.
Rachel shuddered and cried softly, her sobs silent against the noise behind her. They had made it into the pavilion. They were safe. They would survive.
Caleb tried to ignore the shouting and screams from outside as he was ushered behind a small curtain to be examined by one of the doctors. Rachel was taken to the other side of the pavilions where the women were being examined. Caleb felt a sharp panic. They couldn’t get separated, not after all they had been through.
Thankfully, she stopped somewhere he was still able to see her. Benson squirmed to get out of her arms so he could get down and play. Caleb watched him carefully as the doctor approached and felt a moment of relief so profound that, for a moment, the screams and horrors from outside the canvas walls dimmed and faded away. For a few moments at least.
The doctor shone a light in his eyes and swabbed the inside of his cheek. A nurse drew a vial of blood and dropped some sort of chemical tablet into it. Nothing happened. The nurse did a similar test on the swab and again got nothing.
From outside, a piercing scream rent the air. The nurse jumped. The doctor didn’t seem to have noticed. Instead, he pulled a metal box of files toward him and signaled for one of the soldiers. Caleb felt another stab of sudden fear and looked over for Rachel, but the soldier simply handed him a dark plastic box and walked away.
Breath returned to his lungs.
Rubbing his nose with one hand, the doctor jotted something down on some files with a thick, black pen. “Do you have your old social security card and an old driver’s license?” he asked, looking over a pair of thick, dirty glasses.
Caleb fished them out of a pocket and handed them to the doctor, who took them, wrote down some more notes, and dropped them into the metal file box.
The shouting from outside swelled to a frenzied pitch. A burst of shots rang out, sharp, loud, and echoing like thunder against a mountainside. Caleb glanced sidelong at the pavilion entrance, but the doctor ignored the sounds.
“We need your thumbprint,” the nurse said, placing a pad of ink and a green identification card on the table next to him. Her hands shook slightly, reflecting the fear Caleb recognized in her eyes. She tried to mask it, but Caleb could feel the power of her tremors as she took his thumb and made an impression in the middle of the ID card.
The doctor walked over and pocketed the card before the ink was fully dry. He took a few more notes, then handed the card to Caleb with a smile.
“Welcome to the Charlotte city-fortress. I believe the people are starting to call it New Harmony, though it’s not an official designation.”
Caleb smiled back, though he felt numb as he got to his feet.
The nurse hastily picked up the box Caleb had left on the table and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A handgun,” the doctor said in a dry voice. “All men age sixteen and over are required to serve in the militia. Training duties will be provided once inside the city-fortress itself. Now, I believe your wife is waiting for you.”
The doctor pointed toward the back of the pavilion where Rachel stood with Benson. She clutched two green ID cards in one hand. They’d done it!
Caleb hurried over and wrapped his arms around them. A tear slipped down his face and splashed onto his hand. His family would be safe.
A soldier ushered them out the back of the pavilion, which opened directly through the gate into the city-fortress itself. Overhead, the .50 caliber opened fire. The screaming outside grew louder and then cut off in ragged bursts.
They didn’t look back.
