The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1) (43 page)

Lizneth hesitated, shielding her eyes and squinting into the
distance, wondering how long it might take her to find the keys if she went off
to look for them by herself. Her tongue felt like a lump of dry wool in her
mouth, and the thought of taking another step in the wrong direction made her
sick. If she went to find those keys, she was likely to die in the attempt. So
instead, she followed her companions, leaving the slaves behind to fend for
themselves, and she was thankful when Fane tossed her a full waterskin and let
her drink from it until she’d had her fill.

CHAPTER 38

Coming To

Merrick found it hard to breathe beneath so much weight,
and the bodies above and below were slippery with something too plentiful to be
sweat. A fly landed on his nose and took flight again, leaving him with an
itch. There was no other sensation but pain, each heartbeat pushing agony
through him like water pumped from a well.

The scent of seared flesh was now stronger than that copper-iron
blood smell he’d noticed when he entered the cell block. He felt around with
his arms and legs to make sure they were still attached. His head was still on
his body, though it felt like someone had been kicking it around the barracks
yard for a few hours.

When he was confident he could still move, he pushed himself
against the crush of bodies until a great mass of them slipped aside. He could
finally take a deep breath, and he began to peel himself away from the ones
beneath him. It was like removing bandages, the way some parts of him were
melded to foreign flesh with dried blood as the adhesive. There was plenty of
wet blood around, too. One of his knees was resting on someone’s neck; the
other was squished between a pair of hairy buttocks. He pushed himself up to
find that he was as naked as they were, his body a macabre patchwork of bright
glistening red and grubby crusted brown.

The air in the cell block was heavy with the dust of
pulverized concrete, as if the waning daylight that spilled through the tiny
barred windows had taken on a filmy residue. His throbbing head made things
look all the more vague, and there was a tinny rumble in his ears. It was
enough to judge by the destruction around him that the prisoners from Decylum
were gone.
The Sentries didn’t stop them after all. But I guess I knew there
wasn’t much hope of that
.

All of him ached. When he looked down at his wounds, he was
surprised he wasn’t dead. Any normal man would’ve succumbed to the damage his
body had sustained, he knew. There were holes in him. Actual holes, where he
could see into himself. It felt a little like perusing a shelf full of
formaldehyde jars with a strange new specimen in each one.

There was still too much pudge around his belly for his
liking, even with some of it missing.
You’re still fat. Even blown to
pieces, you’re still coffing fat.
His wounds had stopped bleeding, but now
they itched, and he had to resist the urge to scratch parts of himself that
might’ve fallen off if he did.

There was something inside him that neither Raithur nor the
other prisoner had been able to explain; something that had pushed his gift
into action when he needed it most.
Necessity
. The word rang in his
already-ringing head.
Necessity
. It was the last word the prisoner had
said to Merrick before he tried to kill him. If necessity was what it took to
ignite, then Merrick would figure out how to
need
.

He slithered down the mountain of flesh, standing only after
he’d reached the certainty of level ground. His legs felt like pudding, and he
had to stand in place for a moment to make sure he could keep his balance.
How
long was I out?
he wondered.
Why hasn’t anybody been sent to clean up
this mess?
Something terrible must’ve happened to make the city north’s
usual order fall into such disarray. His gut roiled as he considered several
grim variations of what that might be.

If the escaped prisoners from Decylum had fled into the
wasteland, all the better. If by some luck the Scarred had managed to undo
them, their corpses should be hanging from the Hull Tower by now. More probable
than either of those two scenarios was that the Decylumites were still at large
somewhere in Belmond. If they knew where Raithur had been taken, they’d want
him back, and that meant the Commissar was either in harm’s way, or he was
already dead.

Who did the order of succession fall to if something happened
to Wax?
Was
there an order of succession? The commanding officers must
have arranged a strict chain of command in case of an emergency. Captain Malvid
Curran came to mind. As head of Mobile Operations, he had more tactical field
experience than the others. Perhaps he was next in line, in which case
Merrick’s luck might be changing. But he was getting ahead of himself; first he
had to find out what had happened here.

And before he did that, he needed some clothes.

Limping between the cells on wobbly legs, Merrick conducted
as thorough a search as he was able, but the comrades had all been stripped of
the clothing and gear they’d worn. There were faces of men he knew among the
dead. As he began to recognize them, his hatred of the foreigners rose like a
red tide in his chest. Lieutenant Algus’s bowels were spilling out like lengths
of fat sausage. The two cell block guards, the wavy-haired Private and the old Corporal
with the rug burn, were as full of holes as he was.

When he’d finished searching the cell block, Merrick sat on
the cleanest and closest bed he could find. He was still naked, and now he was
exhausted to boot. He was beginning to think his fortunes hadn’t changed after
all. There were lockers where the desk guards kept extra clothing, but getting
into them would be tricky. In the long hallway that led to the front desk, the
security gates were bent and mangled and ripped apart. With some new measure of
determination, Merrick forced himself to his feet and labored down the hall,
using every wall and handhold he could find.

The lobby was just as devoid of useful items as the cell
block. The front desk was a wreckage of parchment, tossed boxes, and overturned
chairs. Most of the windows were shattered. Spent rifle casings littered the
floor. The smoky scent of gunpowder lingered thick in the air, and the front
doors were gouged with bullet impressions from the far side. When Merrick tried
to open the right-hand door, he found its arc obstructed, so he squeezed through
the narrow gap.

Outside, he found himself on a battlefield; the
bullet-riddled corpse blocking the door had been one of the men from Decylum,
his hands black at the fingertips and fading to gray at the forearms. In the
oncoming gloom, Merrick noticed two more Decylumites at the bottom of the steps
and a few others mixed in amongst the bodies of his dead comrades.
Good
riddance
, he thought.
Every one of you who’s died is one less this world
has to worry about.
Seeing so many of his comrades dead was stirring up his
rage anew. The small twinge of emotion he’d felt at learning his mother might
be from Decylum was gone now. He wanted to exterminate every last one of these
foreigners, whether they were related to him or not. They belonged in the same
category as his mother—people who meant nothing to him.

By the time Merrick had found a pair of trousers and
undergone the ordeal of putting them on, the rough fabric was chafing against
his wounds so badly he decided not to put on boots or a shirt. Instead he limped
barefoot down the broken road, away from the carnage and up Pollson Avenue, a
run-down neighborhood of antique shops, liquor stores, fuel stations, and
salvage yards. The fading daylight rejuvenated him, and soon he was walking at
an almost-normal pace. With each step, the trousers continued to rub at the
holes in his body, but he didn’t let the pain deter him.

It wasn’t until he reached the barracks that Merrick got his
first glimpse of the real trouble. Body bags lined the yard outside the
infirmary. The retinue of guards at the front gate had been tripled. Off-duty
comrades were clustered across the yard, and the dormitories were full. Full of
soldiers holed up in their rooms instead of roaming the streets in search of
the invaders. That meant they were still waiting on orders—orders that
should’ve come hours ago. Merrick had never seen the barracks in a more lively
state. As much as he often dreaded coming home to the whitewashed walls of his
crowded dorm room, Merrick was happy to see the building now. Perhaps his
comrades were gladder of it than usual, too.

Merrick knew the Decylumites hadn’t come to Belmond to harm
anyone.
But they
have
harmed us, and now they need to face the
consequences
. He hobbled down the sidewalk, eager to be through the barracks
gate and off the streets.
I just hope nobody makes a big deal about my
wounds
. He doubted the infirmary had the resources to treat him right now,
anyway. If he could make it to his room, he could put on some fresh clothes and
grab Birch before he made for the Hull Tower.

As he was about to step off the curb and cross the street, a
hand took him by the shoulder and spun him around. It was Toler, the blind
shepherd who could see again, thanks to him. He tugged Merrick around the side
of the building and shoved him against the wall, barring his neck with a
forearm.

“I thought I told you to take care of yourself,” Toler said.
“You look like garbage.”

Merrick turned his head, trying to take a gulp of air, and
managed to rasp out a few words. “Rough couple days. On my way to get these
looked at, so if you don’t mind—”

“I do mind.” When Toler brought his face in close, Merrick
could smell the stench of cheap liquor on his breath. “I’ve been waiting here
all afternoon for you to come out of your room. Imagine my surprise when you
walked by. Where you been?”

“At work,” Merrick croaked.

“Lucky I spotted you when I did. ‘Fernal knows I’m not
letting you out of my sight again.”

“What’s this about?” Merrick said.

The shepherd was pressing him into the wall so hard he could
hear the air whistling through his windpipe. The bricks were scraping like
sandpaper over the wounds in his back.

Toler let his arms fall to his sides. Then he jerked them up
again and slammed Merrick into the wall, pressing down on his throat even
harder. There was a fierce glint in his eyes, something wild and angry that
chilled Merrick’s blood.

“You’re leaving Belmond with us tonight,” said the shepherd.

“Why am I gonna do that?”

“Because I don’t think you’ll enjoy living here when everyone
in the city knows you’re a mutant.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m not going mutie, you—”

“Tell that to your comrades once the rumors start spreading.
I’m sure Commissar Wax will believe you when he sees these sores all over your
body. Your commanding officer, too, and all your friends down at the bar.
Refuse me, and I’ll make it so. I’ll have everyone in my caravan spreading the
word. Even that slut girlfriend of yours will be blabbing about you before the
week’s out. Tell me, what do they do in the city north when someone goes mutie,
Corporal Bouchard? You think they’ll treat you any different than the others?
You think they’ll let you stay? Nurse you back to health? Maybe they’ll make
you the first-ever
scurred
mutie. No, I’m afraid we both know that won’t
happen. Mutants aren’t welcome in your idealistic little society. You’ll be
hunted down and strung up with all of Wax’s other trophies.”

“You bastard,” Merrick said, his voice breaking under the
force of Toler’s arm.

Toler let up. The crazed look drained from his eyes. When
he smiled it was as though the look had never been there. “You should be thanking
me. This is no life for someone with your talents. My boss is one of the
richest men in the Aionach. He’s going to be very happy with you. In a few
short years, he’ll make you a rich man too.”

“You mean
you’ll
be a rich man, and I’ll feed off the
scraps from your table,” Merrick said.
I was right to think my luck would
change once people found out I was a healer. I never thought it would change
quite
this
way
.

“Don’t make me laugh,” said Toler. “I was born into wealth.
I’m no stranger to it, and I have little need for it.”

“That’s a good one,” said Merrick. “I’m sure you’re a
shepherd because you love the work, not because you need the hardware. I bet I
could find more copper if I bled you dry than if I shook out your pockets.”

Toler gave him another dark, cutting smile. “You don’t know
my last name, do you? Time for me to flaunt my distinguished ancestry, I guess.
Tell him, Blatcher.”

One of the other shepherds, an ugly, hulking man with deep
scars running across his nose and cheek, rolled his eyes. “This is Toler
Glaive.”

The name sounded familiar, but Merrick couldn’t place it. He
shrugged. “Okay…”

“Glaive, as in Glaive Industries. My ancestors built the city
you’re standing in. Planned and designed the whole coffing thing. Ever heard of
HydroPyre? Pollson Glaive invented it. You know Pollson Avenue, a few blocks
down? That’s named after my great great great grandpa.”

Merrick recognized the name now. “I thought that company went
bankrupt and the guy committed suicide.”

“Well, bless your soul. Not a history buff, huh? There are
lots of people who know that isn’t true. The family’s alive and well, which is
why I don’t go around making it public knowledge that I stand to inherit a
fortune. In this case, since you and I are gonna be close for a while, I think
you ought to know. Yeah, I’m a shepherd because I like the job. Wealth is
boring. Life is boring without challenge. I would never be happy boarded up in
some rich man’s fortress, watching life pass me by.”

“I would,” said Blatcher.

“Yeah, well, you’re not, so shut up.”

Merrick didn’t have time for history lessons. The Commissar might
be in danger. “Coff on you and your wealth, and coff on your boss and his. You
hate
being rich and you think that’s going to make me
want
to? I have a life
here. I’m not a sideshow attraction.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re much more than that. Which
is why you won’t just want the security of being rich. You’ll need it. When
people come clamoring from every corner of the Aionach seeking your curative
powers, you’ll need protection. Most people are going to pay any price you ask;
they’ll give you everything they have to stay alive. You’ll need high walls and
bodyguards, like you have here. But it’s gonna be worth it. What you have…
whatever it’s called. It’s gonna change how the world works.”