Ruin

  *

  “What are you doing?” Norman said.

  They stood in the armoury. A small building that appeared to be little more than a shed from the outside, it was in fact heavily fortified and surrounded at all times by half a dozen armed men. Breezeblocks formed an additional inner wall to that of the red brick exterior, while the ceiling was lined with steel and edged by rings of razor wire.

  Four men and three women, pulled from sentry duty throughout the city, were now gathered in the cramped space, grabbing rifles. They each bore masks of studied focus, and worked with efficient and nimble gestures, asking questions without pause—How many are there? Are they armed? Which way did they go?

  Lucian answered each with, “I don’t know.”

  Norman grabbed him by the arm, taking him aside. “Do you really think that this is a good idea?” he whispered.

  Lucian blinked. “What? Are we supposed to let them get away, Norman? What kind of message does that send?”

  Norman felt incredulity rear up in his stomach. “What kind of message will it send? That’s not important right now. What’s important is assessing the situation.”

  Lucian cast a hasty wave of his hand. “We don’t have time to assess anything.”

  “You’re going to go out there into the middle of nowhere at night? You don’t know what could be waiting for you, and you don’t know where they went.” He paused. “In fact, we don’t even know who did this. We know nothing!”

  Lucian scowled, tucking a pistol into the seat of his trousers. He then lifted an assault rifle from a rack beside the door, picked up a pair of magazines, and pushed Norman aside. “Norman,” he grated. “Those people in the cathedral may have the luxury of being ignorant enough to believe that we’re safe here, but not you and me. You’ve seen what happens to people out there, I know you have. We’re no different.” He pointed to the door. “There was somebody here who we didn’t so much as catch a glimpse of. They’ve killed an innocent man in his home, and beat another half to death. If we don’t go right now then they’re going to get away with murder.”

  He made to push past, but Norman held firm, gripping Lucian’s wrist. “Everybody’s looking to me to make a decision. But when I try to make one, it falls on deaf ears. If I can’t convince you of this one thing, who can I convince of anything?”

  Lucian looked at him searchingly for a moment. “Not this, not now,” he said.

  He tried to pull away, but Norman only gripped harder despite himself, feeling desperation crawl up his spine. “Lucian—”

  “Listen, boy! I don’t have time for your crisis of confidence tonight,” Lucian spat, his eyes alight and his brow furrowed into its deep crevasse. With a jerk he pulled himself free and stalked off down the street, followed by the procession of guards, leaving the city defenceless.

  Norman remained in the doorway for some time, trying to quell the lump in his throat.

  He thought of going to Alexander, but quickly cast the notion aside; if Lucian wanted to go, then there was nobody who could stop him. Besides, Alex had already left for the cathedral to warn everybody.

  And, said a voice deep in his head, what good are you ever going to be if you need him to fix every little thing? Just this once, do something yourself. He stepped out into the street and looked away towards the mill.

  Ray’s murder had been stealthy and quiet, far removed from an outright attack. It was more akin to something that Norman had only read of, something that belonged to the history pages of the Old World: an assassination.

  There couldn’t have been more than a handful of intruders if they’d gotten in unobserved. Such limited numbers made for good odds in a showdown.

  But Lucian’s hunting party was still in danger. There was no plan. They had set off at random into the night. Lucian had given chase without a single thought for what they would do when they caught up with their quarry.

  Sighing, Norman ducked back inside, grabbing a pistol and shutting off the lights. Locking the door and throwing the keys to the nearest armoury guard, he took one last look back towards the cathedral and then hurried after Lucian.

  XII

   

  Don ran through the night. He was sure the crunch of his footsteps in the leaf litter was loud, too loud, but all he could hear was the roar of the blood rushing in his ears. Billy was clinging to his back, sobbing into his coat. He hushed her with a shaking voice as he struggled uphill, his legs burning with each stride.

  Clawing for purchase, he slipped and staggered his way uphill. The trees were wreathed in darkness, and the underbrush was disorienting, undulated in the moonlight. From every direction he sensed eyes upon him.

  But whenever he blinked, expecting to be set upon by a dozen shadows and beaten into oblivion, he instead found himself an inch higher up the incline, still struggling—still alive.

  Billy’s sobs showed no signs of stopping, and soon Don was fighting back tears of his own, pawing like a dog at unseen leaf litter. Detritus clung to his hands and caked the ragged soles of his shoes, slowing him further and threatening to send them both crashing back to the floor of the ravine below.

  But he couldn’t stop. Instead, he pushed on at the same headlong pace.

  He hadn’t the slightest inkling of where he was going, or what he was going to do. Without any of their things, and with no shelter in sight, there wasn’t much he could do. Their situation was looking more hopeless by the moment.

  But he wanted to live.

  He had to, for Billy.

  XIII

   

  Norman crouched low to the ground, inspecting a displaced arc of dirt. Leading away from it, the grass was bent at an odd angle at regular intervals. From then on the ground was softer, and a trail of footprints almost seemed to glow in the twilight.

  Canterbury was now far behind them. They had scaled hills and traversed ravines, following the river. They now stood at a farm gate between two hedges, leading to a winding country road.

  The gate hung ajar, swinging in the wind; someone had passed through recently.

  He stood up and signed to Lucian: Close.

  Lucian nodded and waved the others forwards. They passed through the gate one by one, instinctively drawing closer to the ground and picking up their pace.