Drake turned to the waiting boys.
"That charmer was Tom Cox. I'd rather have the company of the Styx any time than that twisted abomination of a man. He's as sick on the inside as he looks on the outside." Drake drew breath tremulously. "You could've so easily ended up in his clutches, If Elliott and I hadn't reached you first." His eyes fell to the stove gun in his hand, and, as if he was surprised to find it still poised for use, he lowered it. "Cox and his kind are the reason we don’t spend much time on the plain. And you can see what the radiation will do to you, eventually."
He slotted the stove gun back into the pad on his thigh. "We should be on our way." He swung his head to where Tom Cox had been, his gaze lingering on the spot, seeing shadows that the three boys couldn't begin to imagine. Then he led them away, all the time checking to make sure the old man wasn't following behind.
* * * * *
On another occasion, Will had spent a night of unbroken sleep, punctuated by a series of the deepest dreams. He was just drifting off again when he was roused by Elliott's voice from the corridor. It was so faint and unreal, he wasn't sure if he'd really heard it or had been dreaming again. As he sat up, Chester trudged into the room. He was sopping wet, suggesting he had just swum through the sump.
"All right, Will?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so," Will replied groggily. "Been on patrol?"
"Yeah… just doing the rounds. All quiet out there. Nothing happening," Chester said cheerfully as he took off his boots. He spoke with a casual, soldierly acquiescence, as if he was doing only what he was duty-bound to do, and doing it with a forced heartiness.
It suddenly struck Will how much their friendship had changed over the past two months, as if Cal's brush with death in the sugar trap and the introduction of Drake and Elliott, especially Elliott, had somehow redrawn the geometry of their relationships. As he lay back in his narrow bed with his arms crossed behind his head, the recollection of how his and Chester's friendship once had been flashed through his mind. In his sleep-numbed state, Will was able to take up its warmth gratefully and pretend that nothing had changed. He listened as Chester took off his wet clothes, and felt like he could say whatever he wanted to him.
"It's funny," Will spoke softly, so as not to wake his brother.
"What is?" Chester asked, folding his pants as if he were getting his school uniform ready for the next day.
"I had a dream."
"Right," Chester said distractedly, hooking his drenched socks over a couple of nails in the wall so they would dry.
"It was really weird. I was somewhere warm and sunny," Will spoke slowly, trying hard to remember, since the dream was already growing distant. "Nothing mattered, nothing was important. There was a girl there, too. I don't know who she was, but it felt like she was a friend." Will felt silent for a while. "She was really nice… and even when I closed my eyes, her face was still there, smiling and relaxed and sort of… sort of perfect."
"We lay on the grass — like we'd just had a picnic in this meadow, or whatever the place was. I think maybe we were both a bit sleepy. But I knew we were in a place where we were meant to be, where we both belonged. Although we weren't moving, it was like we were floating on a bed of soft grass, a sort of peaceful greenness around us, under the clearest blue sky you can imagine. We were happy, very happy." He sighed. "It was so different from the damp and the heat and always being surrounded by rock like we are now. In the dream, everything was gentle… and the meadow was just so very real… I could even smell the grass. It was…"
He trailed off, basking in what remained of the receding images and sensations. Realizing he had been talking for quite some time and hadn't heard any activity from Chester's corner of the room, he swung his head around to check.
"Chester?" he called quietly.
His friend was already tucked up in his bed, facing the wall. He gave a heavy snort and rolled onto his back. He was fast asleep.
Will blew out a long, resigned breath and closed his eyes, longing to return to his dream but knowing how very unlikely that was.
27
There was the most incredible bang as the Miners' Train lurched and skewed from side to side, so dramatically that Sarah was convinced it was going to leave the tracks altogether. Gripping the bench tightly, she shot an anxious glance across at Rebecca, who seemed completely unperturbed. Indeed, the young girl appeared to be in an almost trancelike state, her face perfectly tranquil and her eyes fully open, but not looking at anything in particular.
The train settle back into its previous hypnotic rhythm. Sarah breathed more easily as she peered around the interior of the guard's car. Once again she allowed her eyes to drift over to the Limiters, but quickly looked away, not wanting them to notice her interest.
She had to keep pinching herself to make sure all this was real: Not only was she practically shoulder to shoulder with a four-man Styx patrol, but these were actual Limiters, members of the "Hobb's Squad," as they were referred to in some circles.
When she'd been little, her father had told her terrifying tales about these soldiers: how they liked to eat Colonists alive; how, if she didn't do as he said and go straight to sleep, these cannibals would come calling in the dead of night. According to her father, they lurked under naughty childrens' beds and if any were to put a foot outside, the Limiters would bite a chunk out of their ankles. He said they were particularly fond of tender young flesh. All that had been quite enough to stop her from falling asleep.
It wasn't until she was several years older that she learned from Tam that these mysterious men really did exist. Of course everyone in the Colony knew about the Division — the teams that patrolled the borders of the Quarter and the Eternal City, the regions closer to the surface — any place, truth be told, that Colonists might use as an escape route Topsoil.
But Limiters were a different kettle of fish, and rarely, if ever, glimpsed in the streets. As a result, the Colony was steeped in myth about them and their prowess. Some of the more far-fetched folklore, Tam had told her, was actually true: He had it on very good authority that they'd actually devoured a Banished Colonist down in the extremes of the Northern Deeps when their food supplies had run out. Tam had also told her "Hobb" was an Old English name for the devil, and a very apt one for these demonic soldiers.
Despite these and many other blatantly outrageous anecdotes that were swapped in whispers behind closed doors, very little was actually known about the Limiters, except for speculation that they were involved in covert Topsoil operations. As for the Deeps, it was said they were trained to survive there for extended periods without support. And now, as she dared to study the Limiters again, she had to agree that they were a most fearsome-looking bunch, with the coldest eyes she'd ever seen, the gray, clouded eyes of dead fish.
There was ample room in the large but rather basic carriage, built on the same chassis as the freight cars, a long line of which preceded it in the train. Its sides and roof were fabricated from timber planking, which had been exposed to intense heat and downpours of water along the route with such regularity that it had become badly warped. Wide cracks had opened up between the planks, letting in the smoke and rushing wind as the train rocketed along, and making Sarah's journey not much more tolerable than the one Will and the boys had experienced in their open car.
Crude wooden benches ran down the interior of the carriage on both sides, and two small, knee-high tables were bolted to the floor at either end, the rearmost of which was occupied by the four Limiters.
The soldiers were clad in their distinctive fatigues, the dun-brown long coats and loose-fitting pants with thick kneepads so very different from the clothes generally worn by the Styx. Sarah had also been issued a set and was now wearing them, although it made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. She imagined what Tam would have said about it if he'd seen her in the uniform of their archenemies. Feeling the lapel of her long coat, she conjured up the look of mortification on her brother's face. She could almost
hear his voice.
Oh, Sarah, how did you get yourself into this? What do you think you're doing?
Not being able to dispel the feeling of unease, she found it hard to keep still, and each time she altered her position on the unforgiving wooden bench, the fatigues made not the slightest sound. It debunked the claim she'd heard that they were made from Coprolite skin; they appeared instead to be cut from exceptionally supple leather, the finest calfskin, perhaps. She assumed this was so that the Limiters could move with greater stealth, free from the trademark creaking of the jet-black counterparts they sported in the Colony.
The Limiters seemed to take turns resting, two sleeping with their feet on the table while the other two remained awake and inhumanly still, sitting bolt upright with their eyes staring straight ahead. There was a sort of fierce alertness about all of them, even the ones who were napping, as if they were ready to go into action in the blink of an eye.
Sarah and Rebecca didn't attempt conversation because of the constant noise — louder than usual, Rebecca had informed her, because the train was moving at twice its normal speed.
Instead Sarah examined what looked like a rather old and battered brown school satchel on the table in front of Rebecca. A wad of Topsoil newspapers poked out from it, and Sarah could make out the melodramatic headline of the uppermost one, which read ULTRA BUG STRIKES in bold letters. Sarah had been out of touch with events on the surface for some weeks and had no inkling what it meant. Just the same, she spent many hours during the journey pondering how it could possibly be of interest to Rebecca and the Styx. She itched to take out the newspapers and read more.
But for the duration of their journey Rebecca had not once closed her eyes or nodded off. Lounging back against the side of the carriage, her arms neatly crossed on her lap, it was as if she was in a deep meditative state. Sarah found it more than a little disconcerting.
The only exchange with the Styx girl came later on, when the train eventually slowed to a crawl, then stopped altogether.
Snapping out of her strange state of suspension, Rebecca suddenly leaned forward and spoke to Sarah.
"Storm gates," she said simply, then slipped the newspapers out of her satchel and began to flick through them.
Sarah nodded but didn't reply, since at that very moment there was a low clanking from somewhere up ahead. The Limiters stirred, one of them passing around mess tins filled with strips of dried jerky and battered white-enameled mugs of water. Sarah took hers, thanking the man, and they ate in silence as the train started up again. It had hardly gone any distance when it came to another shuddering halt, and the gates were slammed shut.
Rebecca was studying her newspaper intently.
"What's all that about?" Sarah inquired, squinting at the headline, which read PANDEMIC — IT'S OFFICIAL. "Are these recent papers?"
"Yes. I got them this morning when I was Topsoil." Rebecca flicked her eyes heavenward, closing her newspaper. "Silly me! I keep forgetting you know your way around London. I bought them a stone's throw from St. Edmund's — you're probably familiar with it?"
"The hospital… in Hampstead," Sarah confirmed.
"One and the same," Rebecca said. "And, boy oh boy, you should have seen the free-for-all outside the emergency room. It's a complete shambles up there — queues a mile long." She shook her head theatrically, then stopped and grinned like a cat that had just devoured a vat of the finest cream.
"Really?" Sarah said.
Rebecca gave a small chuckle. "Whole city's come to a standstill."
Sarah looked askance at her as she shook the newspaper open and went back to reading it again.
But that couldn't be right!
Rebecca had been at the Garrison throughout the morning, preparing for the train journey. Sarah had glimpsed her around the place and heard her voice echoing down the corridors on several occasions — the girl couldn't have been out of the building for more than an hour in any one stretch. That wouldn't have given her enough time to get up to Highfield and back, let alone as far as Hampstead. Rebecca had to be lying. But why? Was the girl toying with her, to see how she would react, or perhaps putting on a show of her power? Sarah was so baffled, she didn't ask anything further about the news reports.
Before the train resumed the journey, Rebecca put aside the papers, and ducked down to yank out a long bundle, wound with sackcloth, from beneath her bench. She held it out to Sarah. Untwisting the sacking, she found it was one of the Limiters' long rifles, complete with light scope. She'd briefly handled a similar weapon in the Garrison when the battle-scarred Styx soldier had given her instructions on how to use it.
Sarah looked questioningly at Rebecca. Receiving no reaction, she leaned forward to the girl.
"Really? For me?" She asked.
With a slow nod, Rebecca smiled demurely back at her.
Sarah brought the weapon to her shoulder. She tested its weight as she pointed it at the unoccupied end of the carriage. It was heavy, but nothing she couldn't manage.
Now it was Sarah who could have purred with satisfaction. The gift of the rifle was a reassuring sign of Rebecca's trust, although she was sill a little troubled by the impossible claim that the girl had been in London that morning. Sarah tried to tell herself Rebecca must have gotten her days mixed up, and put the discrepancy out of mind to concentrate on the job at hand.
She ran her fingers down the length of the matt rifle barrel. Now she had the tools, and was ready to do whatever was necessary to avenge Tam's death. She owed it to him and to their mother.
As the train gained momentum, she spent the rest of the journey handling the weapon, sometimes swinging it up into the ready position as she worked the bolt, pulling the hair-sprung trigger and dry-firing it, sometimes just cradling it in her lap, until she was thoroughly familiar with it, even in the subdued light of the carriage.
28
Drake had taken them out on patrol on the Great Plain and they were making their way through what he called "the Perimeters," where he said the Limiter presence should be minimal.
It was a big day: Cal's first excursion through the water-filled sump and onto the plain since Will and Chester had carried him back to the base as a gibbering wreck all those weeks before. Drake's decision to allow him out was well timed. Cal had been going stir-crazy in the limited space of the base and was truly ready for a change of scenery. Although he was still hobbling slightly, he had recovered most of the sensation in his left leg and was bursting to go farther afield.
As they'd passed through the sump and set off with Drake and Elliott, Will experienced a sense of elation that they were together as a group for the very first time. After several hours of trudging along, with Elliott taking the lead, Drake told them they were shortly going to branch off the plain and into a lava tube. But before they did this, he suggested they have some food, after which he was going to give them a briefing. He stood a dimmed light in a dip in the ground and they gathered around him as they each took their share of the provisions, then settled down to eat.
It wasn't lost on Will that Chester and Elliott had chosen to sit together and were chatting away in secretive tones — even passing a canteen between themselves. Will's high spirits paled and he felt excluded yet again. It rankled him so much that he completely lost his appetite.
He needed to relieve himself. In a fit of pique, he got to his feet and stumped away from the group, grateful he'd be spared the spectacle of Chester and Elliott's cozy little tête-à-tête at least for the time it would take to empty his bladder. As he left, he glanced over his shoulder at all of them sitting around the lantern. Even Drake and Cal were totally engrossed in whatever they were discussing and didn't take any notice of his departure.
Preoccupied by his thoughts, Will just kept walking. It was becoming increasingly evident to him that he was set apart from the rest of them because there was something he had to do. All of them — Drake, Elliott, Chester, and Cal — seemed to be entirely caught up with their day-to-day survi
val, as if this was their sole lot in life, to scrape out a primitive existence in this forsaken place.
But Will knew he had a single, overriding purpose. One way or another, he was going to locate his father, and, once reunited, the two of them would work as a team to investigate what was down here. Just like the good old days back up in Highfield. And then, finally, they would return to the surface with all their discoveries. He caught his step as it dawned on him that, with the exception of Chester, none of the others had any desire whatsoever to go Topsoil. Well, he had a greater calling, and he certainly wasn't going to spend the rest of his days in this harsh subterranean exile, scuttling away to hide like a frightened rabbit whenever the Styx showed up.
As he reached the perimeter wall, he was the mouths of several lava tubes before him. He stepped into the nearest of these, relishing the feeling of detachment as the inky darkness enveloped him. When he was done, he emerged from the lava tube, still lost in thought about the future. He took ten or so paces, then stopped stock-still.
Where he thought he'd left the others, there was no movement, no voices, and no light. The group was gone.
Will didn't panic right away, telling himself that he must be looking in the wrong place. But, no, he was pretty certain he wasn't — and, besides, he hadn't wandered that far. Had he?
He scoured the darkness for a few seconds, then lifted his flashlight above his head and swept it from side to side, hoping it would alert them to his position.
"There you are!" he exclaimed as he caught sight of them. From what seemed an alarming distance away, somebody in the group signaled back, letting slip a brief flash of light in answer to his waving beam.
And, as if caught by a camera flash, the picture of them running chaotically like a herd of startled gazelle seared into Will's retinas.