MoonFall Read online

  “They’ve got to come for me,” he said again, his voice small and trembling as a lost child. “Why aren’t they here yet? They’ve got to come for me.”

  He leaned back, shook the bars of his cell.

  “They’ve got to come for me!” he yelled into the darkness, his voice rising from a sob into a scream. “They’ve got to come for me!”

  “Shut the fuck up, Iver!” someone bellowed from a nearby cell.

  Iver shrank back, away from the bars and into the hidden recesses of his cell.

  “Iver?” Noah said quietly. “It’s OK Iver. We can still talk, just you and me, quiet like.”

  There was no response.

  “Iver?” he said again. “You still there, Iver?”

  But Iver had finally fallen silent, not even the quietest of crazed ramblings emerging from his mouth. Grateful as his other neighbors might have been, Noah found himself bitterly disappointed, seeing a chance to shape his situation snatched away.

  He settled back down on his mattress, wincing once as his bruised flesh pressed against the sharp edge of the bedframe, and again as he unthinkingly rolled onto Blood Dog’s precious magazine and felt it crumple beneath him. He’d just have to hope it was battered enough already that Blood Dog couldn’t tell the difference.

  He closed his eyes, blocking out the mattress above and the wall to his side. Wishing there was some way to block out Blood Dog’s snoring, Noah tried one more time to get to sleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAIN GANG

  IF NOAH HAD questions about why these folks went to the trouble of keeping prisoners – and given the state of the world beyond their wall he sure did – then those questions were quickly answered. And once he knew he could have kicked himself for not working it out.

  The prisoners were there to work.

  On his second morning in the cells he was woken by the sound of a guard rattling her club against the bars. This was followed by a slow march down to the main floor of the prison hall and through to what turned out to be a canteen. Amid the smells of unwashed bodies and of wood smoke from the stoves in the kitchen they were all marched in single file past a man with a ladle and a huge vat of porridge, who doled out gray-brown sludge into plastic bowls and handed one to each prisoner. Blood Dog got an extra full bowl and an obsequious smile from the server. Iver didn’t even get eye contact. Noah received an inquisitive gaze, though he’d no clue whether that was down to the sight of a new face or the bruises with which he was so thoroughly decorated.

  A woman came in before he had a chance to start eating, dressed in a red robe with a blue sash around the waist. A chain hung heavily around her neck decorated with three different crosses and an array of runes. When she entered, the dining hall fell silent, guards and prisoners alike came to a standstill. Spoons were left lying in bowls, batons hanging idle.

  “This morning’s prayer was crafted by Elder Khatri,” the woman said. “Please bow your heads.”

  “Fuck you!” screamed one of the wilder men in the serving queue. “I ain’t bowing for your gods or your shitty–”

  He was cut short by a guard’s club thudding into his stomach. He doubled over, his tray clattering to the floor. Another guard stepped up and they dragged him away.

  “As I was saying,” the robed woman continued, “today’s prayer was crafted by Elder Khatri, and is entitled ‘The Path We Will Walk’.” She cleared her throat, unrolled a sheet of paper and then read. “Oh gods, who shaped Heaven and Earth, who gave humankind guidance when we were young, and who waited patiently through our long years of ignorance. The path we have walked in the past was a lost one, away from you, from your wisdom, from the lives you laid out for us. The path we walk now is one of finding ourselves, finding what we mean to you and you to us, finding the truth and the potential within ourselves, as human beings and as a people brought together in your light. The path we will walk, the path of the future, is dark to us now, but by your guidance it will be illuminated and by our obedience it will be found. We thank you for your warning, we thank you for your patience, we thank you for your guidance and we thank you for the path we will walk.” She lifted her head and looked around the room. “Praise be to the gods.”

  “Praise be to the gods,” the prisoners repeated with varying degrees of sincerity.

  Noah shook his head and got back to his food. This place was messed up.

  Breakfast, it turned out, was as much for distraction as for sustenance. While the prisoners were busy eating, guards walked down the lines of benches where they sat, counting off groups of half a dozen men and shackling them together with manacles and chains. Metal closed around Noah’s left ankle, an area mercifully free of bruises, tying him to the next man over. He’d ended up at the end of a group, and while that meant he wouldn’t have the opportunity to talk with Iver in the next gang over, it also saved him from a whole day in Blood Dog’s company. The night had been more than enough.

  The good thing about being put to work was that it got him into the open air. Noah’s detail marched out through the prison yard and down a street to the town walls. He got another look at the town as he went. It was all so civilized. There were folks out picking up litter, others mending and painting a house in need of repair, and on one corner an old lady was reading stories to a group of little kids, getting them to count along with her and make the right animal noises. Emerging from the bleak brutality of the prison into the town created a sense of relief, but a sense of surreality too. Could these things really exist in the same space? Maybe not for long, because the prisoners were ushered swiftly past it all and out through a smaller gate than the one by which Noah had first arrived.

  They were one of three chain gangs led out under the watchful eyes of half a dozen guards, Burns and Vostok among them. That at least was something working his way – a halfway friendly face and a pretty one among his overseers for the day. He was tempted to give Burns a wink, but she wasn’t looking his way, too busy surveying the surrounding area, looking for threats or perhaps more innocent wanderers she could lock up and beat for information.

  She looked more confident out here in body armor with a chain gang than she had in the interrogation room. More relaxed and comfortable in herself, chatting with the other guards, even laughing, though she cut that short any time she approached the prisoners.

  They were led to a group of ruined buildings in sight of the town walls, across an open expanse that might once have been houses. There Noah’s group and one other were given picks and shovels to clear away the debris while a third team were put in charge of wheeling it away in barrows – large chunks to be used for construction, smaller debris to fill potholes in the nearby road.

  The work itself was exactly as much fun as it looked, which was to say none at all. Noah thought himself to be in pretty good shape – hell, he’d had to be to live through the shit he’d seen – but hard labor was still hard labor, and the last few days had left his body less than helpful. He swung his pick, breaking up an old brick wall bit by bit. It was slow, aching work and, even more than the labor he resented the ever-present guards watching them from a dozen yards back, muskets ready in case anyone made a run for it.

  But after one day and two nights in the cells, the mere experience of being back outdoors lifted Noah’s spirits. The sun warmed his body and fresh air filled his lungs. He found himself humming a little tune as he chipped away at the brickwork, getting into a rhythm that helped him ignore his pain and just go with the simplicity of his body in action. Sure, he’d rather be walking the woods, checking his snares and looking for the next town to search, but he’d rather anything than being locked up in the terrible confines of the cells.

  “What are you looking so chirpy about?”

  Noah turned to see Burns standing off to his right, musket held loosely across her front, frowning at him for all she was worth.

  “Why sergeant,” Noah said, “I was just enjoying this fine weather we’re having and the sight of thos
e hills over yonder. But now I get the pleasure of your company too – could life get any sweeter?”

  “What the hell’s your problem, Brennan?” she asked, taking a step closer. “You don’t strike me as mentally ill, and you’ve got enough sense to have lasted this long. So what keeps you from acting like a sane human being?”

  “Apart from the beautiful woman who’d rather beat me than stop for a nice conversation?” Noah swung his pick, felt fragments of masonry bounce off his legs. “I’d say my problem was being ambushed by folks with guns, beaten senseless, and then locked up for the night with a man whose idea of fun probably involves feeding fluffy bunnies to gators.”

  “You chose your life, Brennan,” she replied. “You can choose something different. Cooperate with me, tell me what I want to know. Not every cell holds a Blood Dog. Not every day includes a beating. Not every work detail means busting your ass beneath the blazing sun.”

  Noah paused, set the head of his pick on the ground and leaned on the handle. With a free hand he wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “I’ve kind of got a liking for the blazing sun,” he said. “Least the sun ain’t got busted halfway across the heavens like the moon. Look up during the day and you’d never know the whole world had gone to hell, not unless you were all about fixing that world. Is that what you Apollo folks are about, rebuilding civilization one rubble heap at a time? Cause you’ll sure be busy for a good few years yet.”

  “I’m the one asking the questions,” Burns said. “Like what was your plan? What were you hoping to find once you got into town?”

  “Look, two days ago I didn’t even know that your precious town existed. I was just mindin’ my own business, lookin’ for supplies. I stumble across some busted up place in the ass end of nowhere, up here in the hills, and I think to myself “hey, maybe there’s some supplies left lying around’. So I go exploring. Only next thing I know your Lieutenant Poulson’s pulling a gun on me, your man Vostok’s beating me around the place, some other woman’s throwing me down a stairwell, and not in a good sort of way. You want me gone, I’ll go. But I don’t know nothing about whatever it is you think I know about.”

  “Ignorance is the one thing I can believe of you. But that it’s a coincidence you showed up just when the Dionites have been launching raids to try to get to the Oracle? I don’t think so.”

  “The Oracle?”

  “Don’t make me laugh. You know full well what you were after, but if you think I’ll talk about it, that I’ll risk letting slip some detail you don’t already know, then you’re a bigger fool than you take me for.”

  “Don’t suppose you’ve got a thing for fools?’ Noah said. ‘Cause I tell you, I’ve found some mighty romantic spots on the trail, and I get mighty loose lipped after I’ve gotten laid.”

  “Shut the hell up.” She stamped right up to him, glared into his face. “Take up your pick and get back to work.”

  “Yes sir, sergeant, sir.” It felt good to hit a nerve, to have even a fragment of control over his situation. Noah hefted his pickaxe and settled back into his rhythm.

  The work stopped a couple of times for water, and each time Noah was surprised to realize how long had passed. Then came a break for lunch – hard bread and more water – and for each group in turn to be led around a corner so that they could all go for a piss. When they came back from that and started work again Noah once more found himself under Burns” watchful gaze.

  “You got a first name, Sergeant Burns?” he asked after a while.

  “Not one I’m going to tell you,” she replied.

  “But you know mine, it don’t hardly seem fair.”

  “I’ve got to waste my day watching some stubborn Dionite knock down a wall and lie to me. Life is seldom fair.”

  “I’m trying to cooperate, really I am. I mean don’t get me wrong, I ain’t sayin’ I ain’t stubborn – fact is I come from a long line of stubborn – but this right here is living proof that stubborn and your Dionites ain’t the same thing. So just humor me for a minute and pretend like I ain’t a Dionite spy.”

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m pretending.”

  “So what questions would you have if I wasn’t a Dionite?”

  “Alright, I’ll play along. Did you see anybody else skulking through the ruins with you?”

  “Not until your soldiers jumped me.”

  “What about on the road into town?”

  “Quiet as church on a Saturday night. I ain’t seen no-one in days.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Supplies, like I said.”

  “And why the hell should I believe you?”

  “Because I don’t know shit about what you’re doing here. You say the Dionites are causing you trouble, I’ll take your word for it. You think they’re savages, I’ll believe you. You got some kinda sacred Oracle keeps you safe and warm at night, gives you something to pray to or take signs from or decorate your Christmas trees with, lets you talk to the gods you’re all so wound tight about, that’s fine with me. You can bend down five times a day and pray towards your Oracle for all I care, but I like living wild and free, and last time I checked that ain’t a sin.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s a sin.” She was up in his face again, hands trembling as they clutched her gun. “Letting savage swine like you run riot across the world, looting and pillaging and rutting like wild beasts out in the woods. We’re rebuilding here. Someday there will be proper towns again, with schools and hospitals and safe streets. Children will get a proper education, and no-one will die from diseases we could have lived through before the fall. There will be lights in the streets and cars on the roads and healthy, happy people in a healthy, happy world, and that’s going to happen because the Oracle was kept safe by people who knew how to listen to it, how to use what it says, not handed over to a bunch of wild-haired free-loving savages.

  “I know a Dionite when I see one. Someday soon you’ll let down your guard, you’ll show the real creature playing at being civilized. And then we’ll find out what you and your pals are up to next, and we’ll be ready for them. Because civilization will be restored, no matter what you think.”

  Noah felt blasted by the vitriol in her voice, the passion in her eyes. Lost for words, he lifted his pick and got to work again.

  That was the last time Burns spoke to him that day. He kept his head down and got on with his work. By the time the detail finished and the guards started marching them back towards the walls, dusk was falling and Noah was wearier than he’d been in weeks. The only thing worse than the thought of another day of work like that was the thought of being locked up in the cells again.

  Vostok was with him as they passed through the gate, Burns glaring at Noah as he tramped past her. He caught the Russian guard’s eye, nodded back towards the sergeant.

  “You think she likes me?” he asked with a wink.

  Vostok laughed his low, easy laugh.

  “How much time she spends with you?” he said. “Must be love. Maybe she brings you flowers tomorrow, yes?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  A HELPING HAND

  THE NEXT DAY’S work detail was pretty much like the first. The guards clearly had a thorough, well ordered system for getting the inmates fed, into their shackles and out to work. Noah once again found himself separated from Iver, who had spent the night alternating between silence and wolf-like howls and so provided no new information. He was on a different chain from Blood Dog but in the same group, again led out through the side gate and around to clear the ruins surrounding the jail.

  In his memory, Noah had cleared away most of a ruined house during the previous day’s labor. It came as a huge disappointment to come in sight of it again and realize that it was still standing, just a corner carted off through all that back breaking work. But he set to it again, determined not to let a few walls get the best of him.

  The soldiers who oversaw them in the jail and accompanied them on their work clearly had plenty of
other duties, both inside and outside the town. Through the day Noah saw groups wandering around distant patches of ruins or up into the edges of the woods and hills beyond, always armed, always ready, always looking like they expected trouble to spring out on them at any moment. He’d seen them in town as well during the brief journey between the prison and the gate, watching the citizens about their business, stepping in at any sign of trouble. Their armor and weapons were a mish-mashed assortment of things left over from before the meteors and whatever could be cobbled together from what remained, as many wearing thickly padded jackets as had real body armor, a couple even dressed in ring-mail or metal plates dangling from cable ties. But all bore the symbol of Apollo, the drawn bow and arrow, and all wore the same distinctive red neck scarves.

  Noah also thought he might have some idea what the Dionites looked like. Burns had talked about them as wild and savage looking, and while none of the prisoners looked too civilized there was a certain type who hung together in the feed hall and talked together on the chain gangs – men and women in loincloths and with plentiful tattoos. If they weren’t some kind of gang then they were Apollo’s most backward looking fashion trend. Treated particularly harshly by the guards and ostracized by the other half of the inmates, they were certainly looking like his best bet. If he could identify them for sure, then maybe he could find out a bit more about this place, enough to appease Burns and find a way out.

  One thing he knew for sure – Blood Dog wasn’t one of these Dionites. He had his own special place within the strange social hierarchy of the prison, watched carefully by everyone, avoided by most of his fellow inmates, but with others circling around him like vultures hoping for the scraps after his kills.

  Today Blood Dog was in a particularly shitty mood. He laid waste to the ruins with a mad strength that Noah almost envied, slithers of brick and concrete flying like shrapnel all around him.