The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) (14 page)

He stepped over choking vines, black in the dark night. Still he saw no lookouts but understood how the lie negated the use of them. He followed a long street and approached a junction of several roads. Trees punched through the asphalt. Ruined buildings were shrouded in gloom. There was no one around. The Ancients had taken power from the sky cables and threaded them across cities and swathes of open land to bring light but now the giant towers of metal had fallen and the thick wires were rusted, their great power dissolved as nature roared back to reclaim her soil.

The darkening skyline of Mosscar bristled with a new and visceral power and no steel or glass could temper it.

Stone heard movement.

He darted across the street and pressed his back against the pitted wall of a three storey building, beneath a faded metal sign featuring a curious row of black circles with holes in the middle.

He listened; voices, running feet.

He poked his head around the corner and counted five bare-chested men running down the street. They were painted with the inverted cross and carried weapons and spoke in a language he did not understand. He remembered how Essamon, the freak with the feathers and the box of light, had garbled words at him before turning on the beam. It was the same tongue.

Stone went inside the building. The floor was strewn with pieces of black debris that crunched noisily beneath his boots. He carefully picked his way toward a window, the wind whistling sharply through the opening. He put the stock of the crossbow against his shoulder and waited, a faint glow in the distance momentarily attracting his gaze.

The Shaylighters came toward the junction, arms and legs pumping. He narrowed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.

The warrior let out a strangled cry as the bolt drilled into his throat. His body catapulted away from his companions and his axe flew and clattered loudly against the street.
Stone cranked the crossbow and fired again as the group of men stuttered to a halt, frantically looking around. He took down another within the blink of an eye, slamming the bolt into the man’s forehead.
The warrior reeled backward, blood flooding his eyes, legs buckling, and as his skull hit the asphalt with a wet smack there was a blood curdling screech from the remaining Shaylighters. A spear whistled through the blackness and bounced off the concrete building, spraying Stone with masonry.

He peppered them with bolts, licking his lips as he rapidly cranked the crossbow. A warrior screamed as a bolt sank into his thigh but he managed to limp toward the trees for cover before Stone could take him down.
A rifle type weapon was aimed at him and something whistled past his head in a blur. Two Shaylighters ducked behind a crushed car, barely visibly beneath the spreading greenery, and more projectiles volleyed into the building. Stone crawled over the jagged pieces of black rubble as chunks of concrete erupted all around him. A steel ball pinged off his crossbow. He heard the two men calling to each other and then the shooting ceased for a moment.

He made it to the doorway, crouched down in the shadows and drew his knife.

Steel balls whipped all around him as the Shaylighters opened fire once more. Quinn had been wrong about their weapons. He wondered what else she had gotten wrong. The Shaylighters had broken cover and fanned out; the first one heading for the door, the second one coming for the window, pretty much as he’d anticipated. The men barked a constant stream of gnarled and hate-filled words as they drew close, rapidly firing their weapons. Stone didn’t budge. Dust clouds filled the room. He steadied his breathing as the first warrior edged along the side of the building.

A shadow filled the doorway and Stone lunged from his crouched position, driving the blade upward. The Shaylighter let out an agonised cry. Stone jerked the knife free and rammed it in once more.

Scooping up the crossbow, he moved into the street. The other Shaylighter was utterly exposed, his weapon pointing into an empty building.

Stone fired.

The warrior hit the ground and Stone ran, chasing down the final man, the one with the wounded leg.

He tore across the street and spotted a trail of blood leading onto a sidewalk and over a stony and grass covered lot.
The trail disappeared over a half-collapsed wall and into winding alleyways. Stone ran for the nearest building, vaulted onto a ledge and scrambled onto the roof. His boots scraped against the gravel covered rooftops as he ran. The painted warrior turned and fired blind into the darkness, a steel ball looping through the air.

Stone dropped and skated beneath a long row of metal boxes once neatly bolted together, now rattling noisily in the wind. He reached the edge, dropped to one knee, raised his crossbow and fired down into the alleyway; his aim was perfect, the bolt struck the Shaylighter in his other leg. The man wailed and fell to his knees, clutching his thighs and grimacing in pain. He knew it was the end for him. Stone sprang off the roof and ran toward him, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder and whipping out his knife. He charged into the warrior, sending him sprawling. He straddled the man, roughly jerked back his head and placed the knife against the Shaylighter’s throat.

“Where is she? Where did you take her? Where is the woman?”

The man spat words but they made no sense. Stone rolled him onto his back, the blade still at his throat.

“Can you understand me? Do you know what I’m saying? Look at me. You’re not fucking dying yet.”

“Le do thoil nach gortaitear dom.”

Stone yanked one the bolts from the man’s legs. He screamed.

“Where is she?”

“They … whore,” he spluttered. “Fight.”

He limply raised his hands, bunched them into shaking fists.

“She fight. She … she fight.”

“She fought you? Good. Where is she?”

“Mo chosa,” he said, grinning, blood running from his mouth. “She die. Mo chosa. Ennpithia weak.”

Stone clambered off him and scratched around the alleyway, hunting for the weapon he’d dropped. He spotted it in the rubble. It was a steel ball firing carbine, utilising an internal slingshot.

“Impressive,” he said, turning it over in his hands.

It had been skilfully constructed, metal and wood welded together, a hand grip and trigger guard at one end with a ridged sliding bar at the other, similar to that he’d seen on a pump-action shotgun. He raised the weapon with both hands and slipped his finger against the trigger. It was a good weight, naturally heavier than a revolver but lighter than a rifle.

“Where did they take her?”

Blood pooled around the warrior’s legs. His eyes rolled. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Stone kicked him.

“Where?”

He squeezed the trigger, without waiting for an answer, but the weapon failed to fire. He dragged back the pump and it clicked as the sling tightened. A steel ball was released from the magazine into the channel. He’d seen all manner of custom made weapons in the wastelands but this was certainly a superior one. In accurate hands the steel ball would puncture flesh as deadly as any bullet.

“Beidh muid a mharu,” said the warrior, slowly bleeding out. “Mharu, mharu, beidh tu go leir bas.”

Stone buried the steel ball in his throat.

This time, Nuria was ready for her.

Kevane and Maurice had left on one of their many circuits around the property and she sat alone on the truck with her back to the house. The three of them had been mostly subdued through the evening. Kevane had attempted to entertain her with stories of drunken escapades at previous festivals but she really wasn’t really in the mood and politely nodded and smiled through his many tales. Maurice continued to bring up Stone’s foolish decision to venture into Mosscar. He began to recall the misery one of his neighbours had endured from contracting the sickness.

“She never went to Mosscar,” said Kevane, sensing the tension in Nuria. “That’s horse shit. She picked it up from that fire-eater she banged. You’re a real cheery bastard tonight, Maurice. C’mon, it’s time for an extra long patrol.”

Nuria had mouthed a silent
thank you
at Kevane and he winked as he led away his more serious companion.

With the crossbow at her side and an open bottle of wine in her hand, Stone rattled around her thoughts. She hadn’t been able to think of anything else since he’d left. She should have gone with him. It was as simple as that. What was she doing here anyway? Why was she honouring a deal with a man she hardly knew and forsaking a bond with a man she was falling in love with? She tilted the bottle and drank.
Falling?
He was inside the city now. The sickness would be sucking its way through his flesh. No. He was convinced. She patted the small item in her pocket. She should have given it to him before he’d left but his stubbornness had angered her. It would have to wait until he returned.

And he would return.
He would return.

The village was noisy. Lights showed from the green. The band still played. Men and women still drank.

She shut out the noise and listened to the steady and gentle crunch of footsteps across the ground.

“I know you’re there, Kaya.”

There was hesitation. The sea hissed against the cliffs. Stars blinked in the cloudless black sky.

“It must be nice,” said Nuria, sipping the wine. “Waking up in a bed of your own with the sound of the sea in your ears.”

She dropped from the truck.

“Why would you want to run from that?”

Kaya was crouched on the ground, attempting to slide beneath the vehicle and conceal herself once more.

“You keep getting it wrong,” said Nuria. “Tomorrow is our last night. That’s when you should try and hide yourself.”

Kaya got to her feet and jutted out her chin, unsure if she was being mocked.

“I just want to leave.”

Nuria pointed at the front gate.

“Climb over that then.”

“How far would I get on foot?” she said, sullen.

“Why do you want to run?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. Tell me.”

“Who are you?”

“Nuria.”

Kaya looked over her shoulder.

“It’s not them, if that’s what you’re thinking. My mother can be a hard bitch but it’s not them.”

Nuria swigged the bottle. She offered it to Kaya.

“You spoke to Stone today.”

Kaya drank, wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

“He’s no monster under the bed.”

“For some he can be.”

A smirk touched her mouth.

“He has a nasty scar.”

“He does.”

“Do you have any scars?”

“Plenty,” said Nuria, leaning the crossbow against her legs. “This is the one I hate the most.”

She rolled up her sleeve. Kaya gaped at the trio of shapes burned into Nuria’s fair skin.

“Did that hurt?”

“Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

Nuria took the bottle from her. “A sick man once controlled me.” She swallowed a mouthful, handed it back.

Kaya drank.

“But not now,” said Nuria.

The girl shuffled on the spot and looked at the closed gate, the sky, the truck. Nuria waited. Kaya made eye contact a few times, accompanied by an awkward smile but she remained silent and still Nuria waited.

Eventually, she spoke. “We call him the Predator.”

“We?”

“I’m not the only one.”

“Does he hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

“We don’t know.”

Nuria waited.

“Can I show you something?” said Kaya.

“Of course.”

“Will you believe me?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“No one believes me. No one believes any of us.”

“Who did you tell?”

“My parents.”

“And they don’t believe you?”

“No.”

“I’ll believe you.”

“Do you promise?”

She nodded. Kaya motioned with her head and stepped into the shadows along the side of the truck. Kevane and Maurice had turned the corner of the Earl’s house but were busy checking the stables and outbuildings. Kaya grabbed the bottle and gulped down more wine. She handed it back to Nuria. Her hand was trembling. She turned away and gingerly pulled out the flaps of her shirt. She lifted it to her shoulders. Her back was narrow and pale in the moonlight. Her skin was smooth, unbroken. Kaya turned around, pulling down her shirt.

“You see?”

“Is this a sick joke?”

Kaya shook her head.

“You told me you’d believe me. You have to believe me.”

“There’s nothing there.”

“The Predator is real. I swear on the Lord. He beats us, does … stuff … he beats us all.”

“Go back inside and stop wasting my time.”