The Dying & The Dead 2 (10 page)

One of the dogs gave a giant bark and
jumped up against the fence, rattling the metal. Kim sucked in a shocked
breath. She turned to look at the kennels, and as she did, her foot snagged on
a stone. Before she could stop herself, she fell to the floor.

Eric stopped running. He looked
behind him and saw that Scarsgill was too busy speaking to Goral to notice. He
grabbed Kim’s arm and tried to pull her to her feet, but the older girl was
just as heavy as he was.

“You need to get up,” he said.

“I can’t.” Tears formed around her
eyes.

Eric glanced behind him. Scarsgill
had straightened now. It would only be seconds until he noticed Kim on the
floor.

“Just leave her,” said a man jogging by
them.

Eric took a deep breath. Summoning
strength reserves that he didn’t know he had, he lifted her to her feet. She
started to walk, but Eric pulled her into a run.

“Not long now,” he said. “Someone’s
bound to stop.”

Two boys ran in front of him. One of
them was a boy who bunked in Eric and Kim’s cabin. His name was Martin Wrench,
and at night he liked to lean over his bunk and slap the man below him. When
the man stirred, Martin would lie back on his bed and pretend to be asleep.

Martin and the other boy jogged just
metres ahead of them. Martin glanced over to his left. Making sure Scarsgill
and Goral were watching, he stuck his leg out in front of the other boy,
sending him crashing to the ground.

“Just keep running,” Eric told Kim.

She tried to glance behind her, but
Eric kept hold of her arm and made sure she only stared straight forward.

Guards rushed across the track and
picked up the boy. His face was grazed from the fall, and when he realised that
he was the first to stop, he started crying.

“That should have been me,” said Kim.

“Well, thank God it isn’t.”

They jogged on some more. Ahead of
them, an old man slowed to a stop. As Eric and Kim went passed, the old man
just lowered himself to the ground, sat on the stone and took deep breaths.

“Okay,” said Eric. “You’re safe to
stop now.”

“What about you?” Kim said, panting.

Eric looked behind him as he ran. A
few other men and women had stopped running now. He fixed his stare ahead and
saw Martin Wrench in the distance.

“I’m going to win us some food,” he
said.

One by one the others started to drop
out. Eric’s lungs burned, and with each step the stones pressed against his
feet. Pain stretched across his calves, but he stared straight ahead and
imagined returning to Kim with pockets full of food that she could actually
eat.

Soon there were just three of them.
Eric thought that it would be one of the men who won, but the adults were given
the hardest labour in camp, and it seemed like their bodies had been sapped by
it.

Martin Wrench ran ahead of him, and
in front was Allie. Eric couldn’t believe how much energy the small boy seemed
to have. Martin sped up until he was next to Allie, and Eric saw him stick a
leg out to trip him.

Unlike the boy before him, Allie saw
the outstretched leg and skipped over it. Martin’s face turned red.

You bastard
, thought Eric
.

He sped up until he was level with
Martin. The boy turned his head and looked at him, and Eric gave him a big
smile.

“What are you grinning at?” said Martin.

“This.”

Eric stuck an elbow into Martin’s
stomach and caught him just below the ribs. Martin wheezed, and then fell to
the ground. Eric fixed his stare ahead. It was just him and Allie now, but
there would be no elbows for Allie. Martin had deserved it, but if Eric was
going to beat Allie, then he’d do it fairly.

The burning in his lungs spread to a
blaze, and his calf muscles cried out at him. Allie was in the distance,
jogging at an even pace as if he could keep going for hours. Eric thought of
the food and the look on Kim’s face, but each breath he took hurt him, and he
knew he couldn’t last.

Scarsgill and Goral watched him on
the sidelines. Eric put one foot in front of the other but it became more
difficult each time, until finally his legs buckled. He lost his balance and
fell to the ground, putting his arms in front of him to shield his face.

“We have a winner,” he heard Goral
shout from the sidelines.

Eric put his head between his legs
and caught his breath. An overwhelming nausea took hold of him, and he became
aware of a pounding in his skull.

Allie looked around him, and seeing
that he was the last person running, he slowed to a stop. Goral gave a wide
grin and hobbled over to the boy.

Eric lifted his head and stared at
Kim. He watched her as she sat on the ground and clutched her stomach.
I’m
sorry,
he thought.

Chapter
Ten

Tammuz
(Baz)

Baz was old enough to remember what a
real pub used to look like. Things like that were fading memories now, but he
remembered long oak bars and bottles of whiskey, felt-lined chairs, and
overweight men throwing darts at boards.

Darwin’s Bar in the east sector of
the Dome couldn’t have been any different. It wasn’t, as many people thought,
named after the Darwin’s Children. It was named after the man who opened it.
His name was Oscar Darwin, and ironically enough, he had turned out to be a DC.

“Your round,” said the gruff voice
next to him.

Ronnie Alderson sat to his right.
Ronnie raised his glass in his right hand, but his left stayed at his side. His
left hand was useless, his fingers bent and mangled after being crushed in an
accident that he had never spoken about.

He didn’t know whether he’d call
Ronnie a friend. Outside of Darwin’s Bar, away from the glasses of beer and the
uncomfortable chairs, they barely knew each other. Ronnie had no idea who Baz
really was, and if he did, he wouldn’t have been sat drinking with him.

Ronnie clicked his fingers.

“Hello? Baz? It’s your round. Or are
you going to make the cripple get another one?”

“I’m going to make the cripple do
it,” said Baz.

Whenever he was with Ronnie he noticed
his Northern accent creeping back into his speech. If they’d ever heard him
talking this way in the Grand Hall, Marduk would have snickered until his mask
fell off.

Ronnie sighed and stood up. He walked
to the bar, and when he returned minutes later, he slammed two beers onto the
table. Pale yellow liquid swilled over the rim of the glasses and splashed the
wood. Baz lifted the glass up and inspected it.

“The home brew’s getting weaker,” he
said.

Ronnie huffed.

“You know who’s to blame. For all of
this expansion the Capita does, we don’t see anything from it. Can’t even get a
decent drink.”

“I guess they’ve got other things on
their minds,” said Baz.

Ronnie dipped his little finger in
his drink.

“Why’d you always do that?” said Baz.

Ronnie shrugged. “My old man used to
do it. He used to check if his pint was cold before he drank it. Something I
picked up from him, I guess.”

He lifted the glass, took a sip, and
winced.

“Anyway, you’re right; they do have
other things on their minds. Like taking everything for themselves. Sitting in
their Grand Hall and eating the food that they’re taking out of our mouths. I
bet they sit there in their big chairs eating trays of apples and figs and God
knows what else.”

Baz felt his cheeks redden. “They
probably…nah, they don’t do that.”

“Someone needs to do something, Baz.”

Baz looked around him. There was a
man sat at the bar staring down at the wood, but he didn’t seem to be listening
to their conversation. Two Capita guards strolled past the window outside. One
of them glanced in, but two steps later they were gone.

“I don’t come in here to talk about
that stuff,” said Baz. “I come in here to drink this dog piss and forget about
everything.”

“And I come here because it’s the
only place I don’t have screaming kids running around my feet. But sometimes
it’s good to let off a little steam. You’re the only person I can talk to about
this stuff, Baz. About the Capita and what they’re doing. You’re the only one I
trust not to go sneaking off and telling the Five about it.”

“Come on, Ronnie,” said Baz.

He looked down at his glass and saw
that it was already half empty. The man at the bar turned his head slightly,
and in his paranoid mind, Baz wondered if he was listening to them. It was just
like being in the Grand Hall with his Tammuz mask on, and wondering what kind
of hidden meaning Marduk and Nabu were reading into his words.

Ronnie’s glass was even emptier than
Baz’s, and the mask around his lips was wet.
They really should make the
mouthpieces bigger
, thought Baz.

“The only reason I stay in the Dome,”
he said, and burped. “Is that it’s the only place I can sleep without thinking
an infected is going to chew my arse off. The Five are quick to make their
decisions for us, sitting in their little chamber eating their figs…”

Baz’s cheeks reddened some more.

“…but they never stop to think about
how it’s going to affect people like us, do they? They never get their hands
dirty.”

Baz leaned back into his chair. “Some
people need to keep their hands clean and their minds sharp,” he said. “Not
everyone can be a fighter. Someone has to make the decisions.”

Ronnie held his left hand in the air.
Baz had seen the misshapen fingers and flattened bones before, but it always
made him want to turn his glance away.

“You ever been near a war, Baz?” he
said. “This is what you get. You’re a clever guy, but you could use a bit of
time with a rifle. Then you’d know what I mean.”

I could get him arrested whenever I
chose,
thought Baz.
All he’d have to do was sit in the Grand Hall, use his Tammuz voice and talk
about a guy he’d overheard spreading bad rumours about the Capita. He’d never
do that, though. Part of him liked listening to Ronnie. He enjoyed hearing a
contrary opinion from time to time.

“Some of the stuff they do is
necessary,” Baz said. “Even you must realise that. Take expansion, for
instance. Where would we be if we didn’t move on? We can’t spend the rest of
eternity in the Dome. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to clear out the
Mainland and take it for ourselves.”

Ronnie tipped the last of his beer into
his mouth. The man at the bar moved his head a little more.

“What about men and women who don’t
go home to their families because they’re waving the Capita flag at a bunch of
back-water towns?” said Ronnie.

Baz knew that he was responsible for
anyone who died in the name of expanding the Capita’s empire. Or Tammuz was, at
least. He wondered where Baz ended and Tammuz began, and whether the sins of
one of them stained the conscience of the other. He knew it was for the greater
good, though, and that was how he lived with it.

“I don’t believe you, you know,” said
Ronnie. “I see something in you, Baz. Something behind your eyes. You’re like
me. You don’t believe in their bullshit. And what’s more, I know other people
agree with me, too.”

Baz glanced at the man at the bar.
His head was turned so much that he was almost unashamedly listening to them.
Baz looked at Ronnie and widened his eyes, hoping the message to shut up
reached him.

Ronnie opened his mouth to speak when
the pub doors opened. Three Capita soldiers walked in. They stood in the
entrance and took in the scene around them. The man at the bar turned, and Baz
was sure he saw him give them a subtle nod. The Capita guards looked over at
Baz and Ronnie.

“So, like you were saying,” said Baz,
keeping his tone light. “You think it’s about time that the Capita raided
another town?”

Ronnie looked confused. “What are you
- ?”

Before he could finish the sentence,
the Capita guards were next to them. One of them stood in front of them and put
his baton down on the table. He picked up Ronnie’s glass, brought it to his
lips and took a sip.  He turned and looked at the barman.

“Your stuff gets worse by the year,
Oscar,” he said.

Ronnie sat up straight. He gripped the
table until his knuckles started to turn white. Baz could tell he was a hair
away from losing it.

“Ronnie Alderson?” said the guard,
setting the glass down on the table.

Ronnie nodded.

The guard picked up his baton.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we need to
have a chat.”

“Take a seat,” said Ronnie.

The guard shook his head. “Not here.”

Ronnie shook his head. “I’ve still
got my drink.”

The guard raised his baton, and then
brought it down sharply on Ronnie’s mangled hand. Ronnie cried out and pulled
it away. Baz leaned back in surprise. He had always assumed that Ronnie didn’t
have any feeling in his left hand.

Ronnie looked up at the guard. A fire
blazed in his eyes.

“Now just what the hell do you
think-”

In one motion the guard swept the
glasses off the table. They fell to the floor, shattering into hundreds of
pieces. He gripped the table, tipped it over, and then rolled it over to the side.
He nodded at the guards behind him.

The two men stepped forward and
gripped Ronnie. They lifted him to his feet, and Ronnie tried to shove them
away.

“Baz? What the hell’s going on?”

Baz stood up. His lap was wet from
the spilled beer.

“I don’t know, Ron.”

The guard poked Ronnie in the chest.

“Got something to say? Because we
know you’ve got a big mouth, fella.  We know what you’ve been doing and who
you’ve been seeing.”

Spit bubbled on Ronnie’s lips. He
twisted, but the guards kept a firm grip.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re
talking about.”

The guard lifted his baton and then
hit Ronnie on the kneecap.  Ronnie screamed in pain, and his knees would have
buckled had the two guards not forced him to stand up.

“Take him away,” said the main guard.
“Find the darkest cell we’ve got.”

Ronnie looked at Baz with pleading
eyes. “Baz, straighten this out. You can tell them. I haven’t done anything.
Please, Baz.”

Baz thought about it. This was one of
the times where he missed the weight of his Tammuz mask. At least if he had
been wearing that, he could have given the guards an order with the surety that
they would follow it. But who was he to them now? Just a man in a pub having a
drink.

“Please, Baz,” said Ronnie.

Baz knew there wasn’t a thing he
could do. If he said anything, the guards would take him away too.

“Come on,” said the guard. Then he
looked at Baz. “This is the second time I’ve seen you. I remember you from the
other night. Don’t make it a third.”

Baz stood back, helpless, and watched
as the guards dragged Ronnie out of the pub.