The Wasteland Soldier, Book 1, A Fractured World

Twenty Seven

A man and a woman strolled arm in arm, smiling and exchanging words, consumed with each other. Stone frowned at them as they went by, how they held on, how their eyes never strayed. He saw Tomas and Emil in the van, curled beneath blankets. He blinked.

He stood on a thoroughfare paved with stone; thousands upon thousands of stones, flat and clean, one set neatly against the other. He had known soil and sand his entire life. Running shirtless as a child with the sun burning his shoulder blades. His boots clicked against the stones. He stopped and saw decorative fountains of water. The water had been left there, rippling in the light breeze. He was astonished that no one seemed troubled by it. He had cut men down for water, to survive. There were benches, around the fountains, hand carved from wood, with shapes and curls. There were great rows of trees, planted in tidy groves, tall skinny trunks, flat broad leaves. He had never seen a living tree. He wanted to reach up and put his hand on one, feel the texture against his skin. Tomas had never seen a live tree, either. Stone took a few paces forward. His head was dizzy. Citizens milled by. Some had one or two night passes that had expired and they walked briskly towards the compound that handled all incoming and outgoing visitors. Others enjoyed a more leisurely pace, most probably owners of lifetime passes.

Stone observed dozens of small buildings with flat roofs. Brightly coloured signs hung above broad windows. In one he saw people sat eating and drinking at tables whilst women in white shirts waited on them. A woman went past and glanced at the bewildered expression across his battered face, only half concealed by the helmet. Above the smaller buildings were scattered apartment blocks. They were not squashed together in uniformed lines, as with the rest of the city. He saw curved balconies and curtained windows that scaled ten floors into the red streaked sky. Pairs of security guards, in black and red, roamed walkways and footpaths. The main tower loomed above him, dwarfing everything. He needed to locate the entrance quickly. His astonishment at his surroundings would soon be noticed. He noted the patrols and mirrored their pace as he walked along a footpath of loose stone that crunched loudly beneath his boots. He rested his hand on the holstered pistol on his hip, drew a slither of reassurance from it.

He passed an arched walkway and saw steps descending between two white walled buildings. He trotted down them and reached the banks of the waterway. He was alone. A railing ran the length of it. He clasped it, gripped hard and stared at the grey water below, slopping around. This was hopeless. How was he supposed to smuggle this man out of here? He had already counted six armed men. How many more would there be? Did he really care? He had spent a lifetime waiting to exact vengeance and Gozan was dead, but so was Tomas, and the Cleric had escaped, although wounded. Stone had survived knife and bullet wounds. He doubted this would end the Cleric. The lunatic would soon reunite with his tribe and continue his quest to cleanse Gallen. Stone knew he would track him down and make him pay.

Across the water, he could see the walls of the city. He was much closer to the wasteland than he realised.

He looked down at the uniform, of black and red. Nothing tied him to this. He could make his escape now and flee the city, free to hunt the Cleric, night and day, but what would Tomas have done, standing here with him, crossbow slung over his shoulder, a crooked smile on his lips. What would his friend have suggested? Cross the water, scale the city walls and escape, abandon the blonde woman and the one-eyed girl? He knew the answer already. Tomas had wanted to protect the girl when they had first tracked her in the dead city. He had been uncomfortable with the plan of using her as bait to lure out Gozan from the very beginning but he had kept with Stone's plan. Stone had seen Tomas's eyes look to her, as he had seen the girl look to Tomas. He had never looked that way at anyone. He made me better, Stone realised, he made me so much better.

Resolved, he glanced up at the city wall, turned his back, and retraced his steps. The main tower, where the former chancellor Facundo resided, stretched high above him. Nuria was a fool. They would never honour any deal. He was a murderer. Once he obtained the prize for them he would be imprisoned once more or executed there and then. The tower was a death-trap. The mission was suicide. He had to get away from here, back to them both, and find a way out.

As he emerged from the walkway a voice shouted in his direction.

"Hey!"

He glimpsed two security guards talking with the woman who had passed him a short time ago. She was pointing at him. Stone quickly sprinted along the thoroughfare. He heard the sound of boots running behind him as the security men gave chase. Stone ran fast, arms and legs pumping. There was no siren and no shots had been fired. Nuria had told him that the soldiers here were very different; better trained and also vigilant as to not create panic amongst the elite residents. He disappeared back into the noisy warehouse and bolted the door behind him.

Stone briskly retraced his steps along the aisle of palletised boxes. There was loud banging behind him as the security guards tried to gain access. In seconds, someone would have that door open and they would be inside. He sprinted forward, taking the silencer from his pocket and fixing it to the muzzle. A steward crossed his path but Stone clubbed him across the face before he could open his mouth. There were shouts behind him and the sound of men running.

He burst into the main area of the warehouse, a throng of packers and riders and stewards.

"Stay where you are," shouted a group of security guards, brandishing batons.

Stone ignored them and ran for the shutter. It was closed and he saw no way of opening it. There was a door to his left and he went through it, coming face to face with two armed soldiers. He fired without hesitation, spewing silent bullets, taking down both men. A woman in a knitted jumper screamed. He pushed past her and out onto a dirt path, the same one he had cycled in on.

He began to run for the bridge when an automatic weapon opened fire from above and bullets sprayed the ground.

The shooter was in the watch tower, plenty of cover behind brick and sandbags. Stone ducked back towards the room he had come from and grabbed the woman. The door crashed open and a security guard came through. Using the woman as a shield, Stone fired around her, instantly killing the first guard. He backed out of the building, the woman begging him to let her go.

Stone edged around the building, towards the watch tower and saw the shooter raise his weapon. His finger hesitated when he saw Stone holding a hostage. It was the edge Stone needed. He aimed and fired once, dropping him. He let the woman go, who ran back into the office, into the arms of the security guards. Pistol in hand, Stone ran for the bridge. Beads of sweat trickled down his face. His heart was surging.

A single guard was on duty. It was the same one he had seen earlier when he had crossed with the bike convoy but, this time, the young man looked far more interested than he had earlier. His black uniform and red tunic were neatly pressed and a shock of blond hair was tucked beneath his helmet. His visor was raised and his freckled nose had been recently broken. He saw the silenced pistol pointing at him, dropping his rifle and ran.

Stone began to cross the bridge, keeping low, snatching the rifle from the ground. A bullet whistled past him. He holstered the pistol and slammed the rifle stock against his shoulder. The guard at the other checkpoint was crouched. Stone dropped to one knee, as a bullet ripped the concrete inches away from him. He aimed for the torso and squeezed the trigger. The guard went down and his weapon clattered noisily on the ground. He was aware of the movement behind him and he rolled and turned in one motion, landing on his back, firing straight down the bridge, drilling a bullet through the head of a pursuing security guard.

Stone fled, back into the city, running with all his strength, into the streets of Chett, along the dirt roads with grimy buildings all around him.

He peeled off the helmet and red tunic and discarded them. He saw a gap in the buildings ahead and disappeared into it. Back against the wall, he slowly looked along the street. There were a few citizens around. Children had been kept away from school and at least one parent, possibly two, was at home, contemplating the days to come. Few had returned to work at the plants and factories. Only at Hamble Towers had the workforce arrived in numbers.

This wasn't his world and he was hell bent on getting out of it.