Ruins of the Fall (The Remants Trilogy #2) (11 page)

“Okay,” Carina says. The apartment door opens, and we both jump slightly. We share a brief understanding glance, how stressful it is to have your senses continually betray you. Evelyn comes inside the loft and hurriedly shuts the door. Frost clings to her golden hair, which is frozen stiff.

“Glad you’re awake,” Evelyn says. “There’s a lot to talk about.”

“Apparently you’ve been busy.”

“Taking up the mantle of a hero is never easy,” Evelyn says.

I smirk and walk towards the kitchen. It takes both hands to get a mug out of the cabinet.

“If you’re making a run for it, I think you’ll have to carry me,” I say.

“She’s digging in, Luke,” Carina says. She shuffles over to help me with the coffee. I give her a small nod of thanks and allow her to pour the cup. “She wants to stay.”

“Ev?”

Evelyn laughs from across the room. “No. Jana Rose. Your new flame.”

I wince and rub my temple. “You guys need to let this shit go. You’re all grown-ups.”

“Believe me, you’re not that much of a catch.” The Zen-ness from the day of the rooftop attack is gone. Whatever’s transpired while I’ve been sick has clearly rattled Evelyn in a way that a series of massive explosions couldn’t.

“Someone just tell me what’s going on.” The cup trembles so much when I try to lift it that I’m afraid I’m going to drop it. So I pretend I’m waiting for it to cool. “Why you two have been making plans and showing me old memories and shit.”

“Jana tortured the survivors,” Evelyn said. “We were there. I had to—I had to…”

Carina leans towards me, her hair brushing against my cheek. “She had to keep them alive long enough to tell Jana everything.”

The coffee doesn’t seem all that appetizing. I lean against the counter and say, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” Evelyn says. “No wonder everyone hates the Rems.”

I do recall that, when I saved Jana from execution, it was her people who had tried to ambush us our party first. Brutality runs deep within their culture. Perhaps the reason they survived this long.

I glance between my two cohorts. They, like me, are apparently hoping there’s another way.

“Did the soldiers say anything?”

Evelyn rubs her hands together and closes her eyes. “A lot of things.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

“That wasn’t really a question,” I say.

“Jesus Christ, Luke,” Evelyn says, pushing over a lamp. I feel Carina’s nails dig into my arm—whether it’s from a lack of reverence for the savior, or because Evelyn blowing her stack is rarer than seeing a wooly mammoth is hard to tell. “She dug a man’s eye out with her bare hands.”

She holds two curled fingers out, and then violently yanks them through the air.

“I get the picture,” I say.

“You can’t get it. You weren’t there.”

“Someone’s gotta fill me in on what happened.”

They take turns detailing Jana’s torture tactics and the information derived from her innovative methods. When one gets tired of recounting the relentlessness brutality, the other takes over. It’s hard to tell if the story is long, or simply exhausting, but by the end of their summary, my mind is torn in six different directions.

Ramses sits down and whines in the corner, then disappears into the ether as the story comes to its grim conclusion.

“So that’s why we’re leaving. Tomorrow,” Evelyn says with final emphasis. Carina nods, but doesn’t say anything, like she’s afraid any chance of me loving her will go away if I don’t agree.

“Wonderful. You got a plan?”

Evelyn just says, “Meet us by the vehicles at seven tomorrow morning.”

Then they both leave me alone without explaining further.

It’s a long night. I can only imagine what it’s been like for the two of them. Evelyn saw some savage things as a member of the Ashes of the Fall. Carina, well, probably not. But anything they’d experienced pales in comparison to being complicit with torture.

Not that they had a choice. You want to stay in paradise, you gotta play by the rules.

It went a little something like this: The leaders of the factions—Chancellor Blackstone, President Alfred “Slick” Knute, and Reverend Amelia Daniels—had quickly agreed that the best path to rebuilding was to first put down the Remnants. The first soldier broke quickly, told Jana that the rest of the Remnants—the ones under Mirko’s rule—had been annihilated by the NAS force. Then the NAS had cut through the waystations next, systematically capturing them one-by-one.

Sieging the Gunpowder Hills had cost them a couple weeks, but the victory, ultimately, had been absolute. All the Remnants had been put to death.

After learning that, Jana had killed the first man in a fit of rage. His counterpart, however, had not been so fortunate. For over three days he had been kept alive, Evelyn’s nursing skills betraying her horribly. Each time the man appeared ready to die, Jana ordered him revived. Carina was allowed reprieve from this prolonged torture to care for me.

Eventually, however, all the news I couldn’t get from the satellite spilled from this soldier’s lips: how a new NAS Inner Circle had formed, this time with a mission of transparency and trust. Blackstone, Kid Vegas and Olivia were the representatives from the Circle. Other than the leaders from the other two factions, he didn’t know the names of the other members.

The plan to conquer was simple: scrub the Remnants from the Lost Plains by the end of February. Then a push into the Gray Desert, particularly a spot about a hundred miles south of Seattle, near I-5. Details weren’t given to the soldiers about why this location was important.

But a scout party had already been sent to comb through the wreckage. Pain surges through my skull when I consider that Blackstone and Kid might already have the failsafe.

Oh, and about HIVE—the man was kind enough to relay that it was operational, complete with a new offer. Those ineligible for armed service could upload their consciousness into the cloud, freeing them of their earthly shackles. The cost was entirely free, with prime placement in the system given on a first-come, first-serve basis. Response had been overwhelming. Over a quarter of the population had already consigned themselves to a virtual existence.

Well, there was one particularly compelling side note—those who uploaded their consciousness to the HIVE servers were guaranteed to live forever. So long as the servers stay on, they’ll live in complete and ignorant bliss.

I hear Ramses growl somewhere in the room. An image of the Space Needle—first pristine, then cracked—pops across my closed eyes. The NAS probably didn’t explain the side effects. Then again, if you’re never removed from HIVE, maybe these hallucinations don’t affect you.

All the new intel threatens to short-circuit my brain, until I realize it leads to the same conclusion I’ve always had: I need to get to Matt’s failsafe in the ruins of the Gray Desert. A cure for my hallucinations and a bullet in Blackstone’s head wouldn’t be bad bonuses.

But first, I gotta reach the HIVE failsafe. Because as it expands and grows in consciousness, time runs out. And if the NAS reaches Matt’s failsafe, we’re all very screwed. That type of power cannot be wielded by men like Blackstone or Slick.

I curl up, making sure my alarm is set for tomorrow.

Whatever the plan is, one thing’s certain.

After seven, nothing will ever quite be the same.

I hobble out of the high-rise into the gray morning light. After a final glance back at the shattered entrance, I put my head down to guard against the stiff wind. I’m not fully recovered, but escape plans don’t wait for perfect circumstances.

And staying here, I’ll die. If not by a bullet, in a very real, yet slightly less tangible way. Maybe I’m already dying because of this place and what I’ve seen. We all know that illness isn’t caused by cold. Perhaps it’s guilt.

The ground crinkles beneath my boots as I trek through the fresh snowfall. There’s two pairs of recent tracks leading towards the vehicles parked a couple hundred yards outside the waystation’s gates. The sun fights against the white-gray horizon. It’s too early in the day to know if its efforts will prove futile.

A low whistle catches my attention near the first row of dirt bikes.

“Over here,” Evelyn calls. Her soft voice carries on the empty plains so loudly that it might as well be an air horn. I weave in and out of the bikes and head towards the diesel cargo trucks. After the third row, I find her and Carina leaning up against a pickup.

“What’s the plan?”

“There’s food in the back,” Evelyn says. “We’ve been stealing it for the past few days.”

Carina nods—or maybe it’s just a shiver from the bone-numbing cold.

“You got the keys?”

“That’s where you can help,” Evelyn says. “You know how to hotwire a truck, right?”

I give her a slightly offended look. “
Me
?”

“You can, right?” Anxiety flashes over Evelyn’s face. If this was her plan, I don’t know why she couldn’t have told me yesterday. So I let her simmer for a little while.

Then I say, “Yeah, I can handle it.”

“Asshole.”

I look at Carina, but her eyes are shut tightly. “It’s gonna be all right.” I touch her arm, but she just shakes. Whatever she’s seeing, hopefully we can find a cure for that in the west.

Using the knife and one of Evelyn’s bobby-pins, I manage to pick the truck’s driver-side lock. An alarm begins to howl.

“Why didn’t you steal the keys?” I yell over the din, beckoning for them to climb in before me. “I could’ve just stolen the fucking keys.”

“You were about to die until yesterday,” Evelyn says, helping Carina over the gear shift in the center of the front seat. “Didn’t think you were up for it.”

Despite the cold, a fierce sweat starts forming on my brow. If our voices sound like gunshots, the alarm is like detonating a nuclear bomb. No chance the Remnants sleep through it. I check the high-rise. Lights flicker on across every story of the building. We’ve woken the demon.

“I didn’t want you to have everything on your shoulders,” Evelyn says. She rubs my wrist, but I tear it away and begin to work on the ignition. It’s a push button starter, which requires the key. “For once, I wanted to let you rest.”

“I can’t do this.”

“You have to,” Evelyn says. “You can.” 

“I need the key, Ev.”

“This truck is ancient,” she says. “That’s why we chose it.”

Remnants are already beginning to filter through the building’s broken entrance, snow crunching beneath their boots. We have maybe thirty seconds to make it happen.

“You need to try,” Carina says. A shot rings out, missing the truck.

Without another word, I take the knife from my waistband and plunge it into the underside of the steering column. Wires spill out. Voices and footsteps crash over the empty air, reminding us that we’re living on borrowed time.

A rifle barks, and the front windshield cracks. My forehead bounces off the wheel when I duck.

“Shit!” I yank the wires, trying to separate the right ones. Hopefully this truck is as ancient as Evelyn thinks. Otherwise we’re all dead. More bullets pepper the truck’s chassis. Then Jana’s amplified voice sends my blood cold.

“If you steal from us, you will be executed without trial.” I try to tune it out, but her words boom across the plains. “You cannot be allowed to leave.”

A blue spark bursts from the wires, blackening my fingertips. I lick the wound, and get back in for another try.

“Twenty yards, Luke,” Evelyn says. “They’re running—

The engine roars to life just as a thunderous
boom
rocks the truck. The passenger side window vaporizes into a shower of glass. A spatter of blood splashes across the worn leather interior. With all the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I can’t be sure it’s not me.

I throw the truck into reverse and jam the accelerator to the floor. Too late, I actually check what’s behind me—a massive eighteen wheeler, ten tons of immovable metal. I slam on the brake, softening the impact. We still scream into the front fender in a torrid crash of metal.

There’s no time to inspect the damage. Almost breaking the shifter off, I throw the truck into drive. We separate from the other vehicle with a metal-on-metal shriek, and then we’re roaring forward.

A Remnant sits directly in front of us, steadying his rifle against his bike’s handlebars. I mash the accelerator, and the bike crunches underneath the truck’s wheels. He flies over, his bones shattering as he bounces off the windshield and tumbles back into the ruined soil.

Shots pepper the truck as I peel out, running parallel to the waystation’s gates.

Jana screams orders at her loyal subjects. “You cannot let him leave. He cannot leave.”

Remnants frantically kickstart their bikes to give chase. I lean forward and shake the rifle off my back.

She’s more concerned about the open sign of defiance than anything I can offer. She wasn’t ever really on board with the western push. The only reason we even found this “paradise” was because I forced her hand. Now that she has the power, she’s just a less vicious version of her father.

“Can you shoot ‘em if they get close?”

There’s no answer, and I remember the blood. Icy dread gripping my chest, I turn my head slowly to look in the passenger seat. Evelyn cradles Carina, trying to stop the bleeding. An open wound spits and sputters around Carina’s chest.

“How bad is it?”

Still no answer.

I check the mirrors. The bikes are finally running at a decent clip, but they’re a good quarter mile behind. Still, on the endless open plains, they can give chase for however long it takes. The truck’s tires kick up chunks of frozen soil, making it hard to get a good read on how many are behind us. I check on Evelyn, who clutches Carina tighter.

“Tell me what you need,” I say.

“The supplies in the back.”

I check our pursuers and try to assess the situation. How many bikes can Jana afford for vengeance? A half dozen? Each one is precious, and get too far out, without refueling…

It’s a gamble, but glancing at Carina’s ashen face, we’re out of options. After another three miles, I pull the truck into a screeching stop.

“Put both doors out,” I say, getting down from the cab. “And stay low.”

Evelyn hurries out to search the truck bed for medical supplies. From the back tailgate, I aim and fire, blowing one of the pursuers straight off his bike. The errant vehicle acts like a missile, taking out two of his companions as the other bikes swerve around the wreckage. Our pursuers slow down when they realize the game has changed. The riders dismount, using their vehicles for cover. With everything stationary, I finally manage a good count: three more.

A gunshot cracks over my head and rips through the door’s window. Realizing I’m completely exposed, I hurry towards the front of the truck. My breath is heavy, freezing almost on contact with the atmosphere. In the distance, I hear more bikes.

Reinforcements.

A hail of gunfire rings out across the plains.

I realize they’re shooting at Evelyn. She hasn’t returned with her medical supplies.

“Fuck.” I spring around the open driver’s-side door. I squeeze off shot after shot,
chunk-chunk-chunk
, spent shell casings spitting past my frozen cheeks. The Rems stays behind their bikes as I continue the salvo.

Evelyn pops out from beneath the canvas and slides over the edge of the truck bed. Not a moment too soon, because my clip goes empty, the hollow
click
easily audible across the still plains. I dive beneath the truck as they return fire. Red glass showers into the snow as they spray us with bullets.

I roll over, and for the first time I’m reminded how sick I was a few days before. Stifling a cough, I stare at the broken taillight and wait for everything to stop. The red glass reminds me of the blood inside the cab.

I check my pockets and find that I’m out of bullets. All the same, when there’s a brief break in the gunfire, I click the clip back into place, giving the impression that I’m ready for another firefight. With a deep breath, I roll out from beneath the truck and pop up, rifle scope at eye-level, like I’m about to unleash hellfire on them.

Then, I instead turn and sprint the five feet to the cab, hopping in just as they realize my bluff. Angry shouts and curses flood across the plains. I don’t even shut the door—the engine is idling, and I just floor it.

They make the wrong move and try to take us out. Bullets chase our battered vehicle, but I’m swerving like a drunk, and we’re quickly too far away to hit. The sounds of our pursuers are swallowed by the growl of the engine and the harsh whistle of the wind. Reaching out to grab the flapping door, I breathe a minor sigh of relief. With the broken window, though, the cab doesn’t get much warmer.

I listen carefully, trying to discern whether two people are breathing. Finally, unable to tell, I venture a look at the passenger side.

Carina’s eyes are closed.

“She sleeping?”

Evelyn just shakes her head.

And the ice in my stomach turns into something much chillier.