Phoenix (16 page)

Elijah ignores me and holds the animal’s gaze. He gently places his hand on its nose,
and the horse immediately calms down.

“How are you doing that?” I whisper as we approach him.

“It’s just a gift my people have,” he says.

I let out a panicked yelp when he lifts me onto the horse without warning. Elijah
chuckles.

“That wasn’t funny,” I say.

“Your turn,” Elijah says to Ash, his eyes bright with amusement.

Ash clumsily slings his leg over the horse, somehow managing to clamber onto it behind
me. The horse lets out a disgruntled snort, but thankfully doesn’t buck us. Ash slips
an arm around my waist, taking the horse’s mane in his other hand. Elijah confidently
mounts one of the other horses and rides off without another word. Ash nudges our
horse with his heels. It jerks forward.

Riding a horse isn’t as scary as I thought it would be. In fact, it feels freeing,
exciting, as the wind whips past my face. I squeeze my thighs around its flanks, getting
a better grip. We carefully trek up the horse trail. This one is wider and better
tended than the one we took to get down into the ravine, which is an encouraging sign.
We must be near a settlement of some sort. All the way up, I keep glancing over my
shoulder, expecting to see the Destroyer Ship coming for us, but it’s nowhere to be
seen.
Where are they?

The journey is much faster on horseback, and we reach the top within a few hours.
By now the sky has turned from the deep blue of twilight to the empty black of night.
Only the moon and stars offer any sort of light across the wild desert plains. The
rocky landscape seems to roll on to infinity, and I start to worry we’ve made a mistake
coming up here. Perhaps we should’ve stayed in the ravine.

“Which way should we go?” Elijah says.

“That way.” Ash indicates a spot on the horizon directly in front of us. “There’s
something in the distance. It could be a town.”

I just pray to heaven that he’s right, because if we’re not out of the desert before
the sun rises, we won’t survive long.

NATALIE

I CLING TO
the horse’s mane as we gallop toward the buildings that Ash saw on the horizon. Elijah
rides beside us, expertly steering around the rocks and brush jutting out of the arid
earth, despite the poor light. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had a gift with
horses. After several miles, Ash yanks on the mane, and the horse stops so suddenly,
I have to fling my arms around its neck to prevent myself from sliding off.

“Are those what I think they are?” Elijah says.

“Yeah,” Ash replies flatly.

I look up to see what they’re talking about. Up ahead is the familiar ragged shape
of Crimson Mountain, silhouetted against the bright, full moon. It’s a famous landmark
of the Barren Lands, known commonly as the Devil’s Fork because of its three peaks,
but I’m pretty sure Ash didn’t stop to admire it. Then I see what caught his eye.
At the base of the mountain is a small town, and beside it is a forest of strange-looking
trees. I blink, not understanding. A woodland in the desert? The shapes of the trees
start to properly form as I continue to gaze at them: tall, narrow trunks, unnaturally
straight branches. A gasp catches in my throat—they’re crosses. Hundreds upon hundreds
of crosses.

We’ve inadvertently stumbled across the Barren Lands concentration camp, the place
where thousands of Darklings were executed during the first war. My father described
it to me only once, but there’s no mistaking what it is. He was responsible for sending
the Darklings to the camp as part of the government’s “Voluntary Migration Scheme”
at the start of the war, and the horrors he witnessed here eventually caused him to
flip sides and work for the Darklings.

It’s one thing hearing about it, and altogether a different matter seeing it for myself.
It makes me fully realize the true horror of the Tenth. That camp is large enough
to imprison tens of millions of Darklings, humans and Bastets.

Ash nudges the horse forward. We’re all deathly silent as we ride through the forest
of crosses. Goose bumps prickle my skin, but they aren’t just caused by the cold desert
night. This place has the haunting feel of a graveyard, and I guess that’s what it
is: a mass grave for thousands of Darklings. The wooden crosses are charred and covered
in soot where the Darklings caught fire in the intense desert heat, just as Ash did
during his crucifixion. They must have suffered terribly.

I fix my gaze on my horse’s neck, not wanting to look any more. I can’t believe my
father was responsible for this. After a few minutes, the horses’ hooves hit stone,
and I know we’ve reached the main camp. The iron gates are open, which strikes me
as odd, but I suppose there was no need for the guards to close them when they abandoned
the compound. We ride through. The camp is nestled in the shadow of Crimson Mountain,
surrounded by a tall chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Gun turrets are spaced
at even intervals around it, and at every corner of the fence are tall metal pylons
with these silver orbs on them.

“What’s that sound?” Elijah says, his ears twitching.

“What sound?” I ask.

“That high-pitched noise, like a mosquito buzzing in your ear,” he replies, wincing.

“I can’t hear anything,” I reply.

“Me neither.” Ash gestures to one of the pylons. “Maybe those are sonar towers?”

A sonic alarm?
That would make sense if Elijah can hear it but we can’t.

“Why would they keep them on? No one’s here,” Elijah grumbles.

“They probably heard you were coming,” Ash says, and Elijah glares at him.

We ride deeper into the camp, following a wide road that resembles a main street,
with sidewalks and buildings on either side. Most of the buildings are houses, but
there is a hairdresser, a tailor, and something that looks like a small convenience
store, where the guards probably went to stock up on luxuries like Shine and cigarettes.

“It’s not what I expected,” Ash mutters as we pass a number of elegant three-story
houses done in the same colonial style as the houses found in the Plantation State.
Some even have front yards, although the lawns and flowers are long dead. It looks
like any pretty suburban street, except that there are iron security grilles in front
of all the buildings’ windows and doors, and machine gun turrets on their roofs.

“I think this is where the guards slept. They certainly wouldn’t live with the Darklings,”
I say.

I briefly wonder which house was my father’s. Did he ever enjoy a leisurely drink
on his front lawn with his friends while a hundred feet away, Darklings were being
starved and slaughtered? I can’t imagine him doing that, but maybe he did. My father
wasn’t always a good man.

From my vantage point on the horse, I get a good view of the camp’s layout. At the
entrance of the compound, where we are now, are the Sentry living quarters, where
the guards slept and socialized. About fifty feet away, a set of railway tracks cuts
across the road, creating a natural break between the guards’ living quarters and
the heart of the concentration camp, where the Darklings were imprisoned. Then at
the far end of the compound is a large, blocky gray building. I’m guessing that’s
the main administration building and hospital, where the Sentry employees worked and
did their experiments on the Darklings.

“Let’s hide out in one of these houses,” Ash says, pointing to a colonial house painted
a pale pink color. He dismounts and approaches the house. He’s about to slide open
the iron grille blocking the front door when—

“Stop!” Elijah shouts. “The grilles are electrified.”

Ash snatches his hand back.

I strain my ears, listening for the telltale hum of electricity. It’s faint, but it’s
there.

“We’ll need to turn the power off before we can go inside,” I say.

“Maybe we can turn off that annoying sonic alarm while we’re at it,” Elijah suggests.

Ash gets back on the horse, muttering thanks under his breath to Elijah. We ride down
the street and cross the rusting train tracks, which lead into a railway tunnel carved
into the mountain, about thirty feet away. The tunnel entrance has been hurriedly
boarded up. I vaguely recall my father mentioning that they used the passageway to
bring supplies into the camp from the depot on the other side of Crimson Mountain.

The instant we cross the tracks, the conditions in the camp deteriorate. This is where
the Darklings lived. In place of three-story houses are a hundred run-down prison
barracks, with no windows, and armored doors. Instead of gardens are open sewers and
wooden stocks stained with dark blood.

Elijah covers his nose with his hand, trying not to breathe in the stench. Despite
the fact that the camp’s been out of use for over a year, the smell of death and decay
permeates the air. I try not to think about all the suffering that went on here as
we ride toward the administration buildings at the end of the camp, but it’s impossible
not to imagine the Darklings crammed like sardines in those metal huts, baking in
the heat with no air, no food, no hope. I swear I can still hear them crying, but
it’s just the wind whispering in my ear.

“How did my aunt survive this?” Ash murmurs.

We dismount the horses, and Elijah softly pets their noses, talking to them in that
strange, soothing voice, until they lie down and go to sleep.

We enter the main administration building. Inside is cool and still and painted clinical
white, with the occasional portrait of Purian Rose hanging on the walls. The offices
are still packed with furniture, books, computers, overflowing In trays—it’s like
the bureaucrats just got up and left halfway through their working day. Maybe they
did. I know once the cease-fire was announced, they had to immediately shut down the
camp, but I’m surprised they didn’t clear out their offices. The only evidence of
a cleanup is the remnants of burnt paper in the fireplaces, where I presume the most
incriminating documents were hastily destroyed. I guess Rose intended to keep the
camp in working order, in case he ever needed to use it again. It was always his plan
to continue his persecution of the Darklings.

“Let’s find the generator room,” Ash says.

We head down a flight of stairs and find ourselves in a hospital wing. There’s a strong
smell of antiseptic mixed with the metallic tang of blood. Ash swallows, flicking
me a hungry look, and I can tell he’s struggling to deal with his thirst. It pains
me that I can’t help him, but I can’t risk it. Not until I know for certain if I’m
infected with the Wrath. Elijah turns on a few lights, and we hurry onward, locating
the generator room at the end of the hallway.

The room is boiling hot, and the sound of the generator’s whirring fan is deafening.
The silver machine reminds me of a heart, with a complex series of valves and tubes.
I circle the generator, trying to work out how to turn it off.

“Which one?” I shout at Ash, indicating three levers: one red, one green, one blue.

“Turn them all off, just to be safe,” he says, yanking on the red lever. Elijah picks
the green one, I take blue. All the lights in the building go out, plunging us into
darkness. The fan slows down, and I can finally hear again.

“It’s odd they kept the electricity on when there are no prisoners here,” Elijah says
in the gloom.

“They probably forgot to turn it off. They seem to have left in a hurry,” I reply.

We head outside again and search for the horses, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Fragg! Where are they?” Ash says.

“Something must’ve spooked them,” Elijah replies.

“Let’s not stick around to find out what it was,” Ash says.

We sprint back to the stately houses and hurry to enter the first one we reach. The
house is cold and smells of rot, but it’s better than being outside in the unforgiving
desert. Elijah takes the master bedroom without even asking, leaving me and Ash to
sleep in a smaller room. Ash washes his face while I nudge the twin beds together.
We climb into bed, fully clothed, and snuggle under the blankets. Somewhere in the
distance, a wild dog howls at the moon, and I squeeze closer to Ash.

He draws little circles on the back of my hand with his fingertip. It’s such a faint
touch, but it makes my body ache for him. Ash props himself up on his elbows so his
face is just inches from mine.

“You know, you look surprisingly good in boys’ clothes,” he says, unbuttoning my jacket.
“But I prefer you out of them.”

“Nice try, lover boy,” I say, stopping him.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he replies.

He smiles, melting the last of my resistance. I draw him toward me. His kiss is soft,
slow, tender. Perfect. I don’t stop him this time when he unbuttons my jacket, or
the shirt underneath, or even when his fingers tug at the bandages around my chest.
The fabric unravels, and I’m a girl again. Ash dips his head, his rippling hair tickling
my bare skin as he plants feather-light kisses down my body. I sigh, my fingers digging
into the mattress, and for a moment, I forget where I am, forget that I could be sick.
Then it hits me.

You might be infected . . . You could kill him . . . Don’t risk it . . . Stop . . .
Stop—

“Stop,” I say, roughly pushing him away.

I know we made love recently, but that was before I suspected I might have the Wrath.
I’m not sure if it can be sexually transmitted, but I won’t chance it again. I scan
his flushed face, looking for any of the telltale signs of the Wrath, but there’s
no gangrene or yellowing of the eyes. If he had the virus, he would’ve started showing
symptoms by now, like the other Darklings did in Black City. I think it’s affecting
me differently because I’m human—assuming that I
am
infected. Ash sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck the way he
does when he’s agitated.

“Sorry, I misread the signals,” he mutters.

I stretch a hand out to comfort him, to tell him that I love him, but I snatch it
back. What excuse can I give for pushing him away? I don’t want to tell him my fears
about being ill until I have all the facts. There’s no point worrying him unnecessarily.
There’s a way I can find out, though.
I can test my blood in the science laboratory I saw earlier. Then I’ll know for sure.

“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day,” I say, buttoning up my shirt.

He nods and kicks off his shoes, getting into bed without saying another word.

“I’ll keep first watch,” I say.

“Thanks.”

“I love you, Ash,” I say quietly.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, turning his back to me.

I wait until he’s asleep before creeping out of bed. I sneak down the corridor and
pass Elijah’s room. The door is ajar. He’s sitting on the window ledge, reading Lucinda’s
letter. He must be so worried about his mother. Elijah looks up, sensing me.

“Natalie?” he says.

I hurry away before he comes after me, and head outside, glancing toward the wrought-iron
gates leading out to the crucifixion fields. Shadows creep through the forest of not-trees,
almost like they’re slinking toward me, but I know it’s just a trick of the eye. Even
so, it gives me chills. I imagine millions of tormented Darkling souls haunting their
final resting place.