Eights cursed the old building. With each second the doors wouldn't open, with each zombie growl, with his whole being, he was sure if this building never existed… If only it didn't exist. Pacing by the double doors for the last thirty minutes did nothing to bring Nine to her senses, and if he was being honest with himself, it would do nothing.
"She's going to get herself killed!"
As if in response, the zombies on the other side of the wall started to growl and groan.
"Well, she can just get herself killed then. No way will I go back there!"
Another growl responded, and Eights threw his hands in the air.
"I'm not doing it. I'm going to do what I want for once. Leaving that place was too much, and now that I have, you want me to go back? No!"
Shuff… shuff. Turning, he caught sight of something fluttering on a twisted tree just aside the wall separating him from the zoms. Eights approached the object, climbing the wall; he looked down at the horde. The decaying hands raised, attracting a crowd, and Eights looked back at the object- the paper? Reaching for it, he maneuvered it off the branch before looking at it.
Instantly recognizing it, he pumped his fist, and his foot slipped, nearly knocking himself off the wall. It was the map! And according to it, the Hidden City wasn't far from where he was, but the city… Could he find out if his parents lived there without being caught?
To one side was the old building and the other a horde of zombies. "I already decided… I'm not going back!"
The only problem now… Eights groaned as he watched the zombies stumble around the walls, desperately reaching for him.
Tucking the paper into his pocket, Eights scanned the area around the building when he noticed a massive tree overgrown with branches, close enough to the walls that he could easily jump to it. It was then that he remembered something his grandfather once told him about a game he played as a child. Leaping to the ground, Eights ran over, looking up at the massive giant, resolving himself before once more looking back at the entrance.
His heart beat loudly in his chest, and he grit his teeth, "There's nothing I can do if she wants to get herself killed. Stupid… why couldn't you just listen?" His shoulders slumped as he sent one last prayer that the girl would return to her senses. That she would exit those doors, but it never happened. "I guess none of it really matters anymore, though."
Once more, climbing the wall, Eights stood, looking down at the cluster of dead surrounding the structure before steadying himself to leap the gap.
As he jumped, grabbing hold, Snap!
Tree bark bit into his arms, and the groaning zoms below grew excited as he fell. Grasping desperately at the trunk, Eights looked for anything to pull himself up, but the zoms made this difficult as their dead hands grabbed at his shoes. Splintered wood pierced his arms, and he slowly shimmed up the tree while kicking at the monsters until they released him. Little by little, he escaped the zoms' embrace until, finally… he caught hold of a sturdy-looking branch and pulled himself up.
"Grandpa made it seem way easier than this." The boy nursed his bleeding arms for a moment before looking up and thinking, If I'm higher, it should be easier to get to the next tree.
He made his way higher while circling the tree when he came upon another tree. Close enough to jump to, but far enough away to wonder if this was all worth it. Glancing back, he caught sight of the girl exiting the building and wondered, couldn't he just go back? Then he wouldn't have to do this. But he'd already started… Not to mention, "She took too long."
Once more steadying himself, he sucked in a quivering breath and leaped to the next tree, repeating the process until he was past the horde of zombies, but they were persistent and followed him for much longer than he wanted to be traveling like this. It was only when he could just make out the strangest wall he'd ever seen that they had dispersed.
It was the largest wall he'd ever laid eyes on, but it didn't exactly look like a wall. It was as if someone piled old-world stuff underneath an already existing structure.
Jumping to the last tree overlooking a hill, he could make out thousands of old-world cars sitting right on top of the structure. Little tents and wooden shacks meshed with the thousands of cars all the way around the wall, being sparsely lit by large burning barrels. It looked as if the cars themselves became a part of these homes, as if the residents made do with what they had.
Beyond the makeshift homes sat a city with buildings that reached to the sky and old-world cars that ran! The streets lit up with a vibrant glow from the buildings and passing cars, bringing a spark to the boy's eyes.
Down the tree, Eights landed on shaky legs as he let out a breath—
"Hey boy, you lost?"
Spinning toward the voice, Eights came face to face with an older man with a thick, scraggly beard and unkempt hair that curled around his ears. His clothes were worn and torn, and his feet were bare. Resisting the urge to plug his nose as the man got closer, he wondered if this man was actually a zombie in a bad disguise.
"Don't mind the smell, kid. It keeps the rotters away. They hate anything that smells worse than 'em. So what's a kid like ya doing 'ere all alone?"
Taking a step back, Eights observed the man before saying, "I wanted to see the city…"
"Ya got a pass?"
"A pass?"
"I guess ya don't got one then?" The man held out his hand, and Eights reluctantly did the same. "I'm Barold. I'm what ya'd call an escort of the sorts. Or…" the man leaned in, "a human smuggler ya could say."
The man shook Eights' hand fervently, and when he finally relented his grip, the boy cocked his head to the side, saying, "Human smuggling?"
"I lead folks with passes to the city's entrance, and those without, I smuggle 'em inside. We also recruit a select few to live up on the there highway." Barold pointed at the wall.
"A select few, huh? How do they get picked?"
The man threw an arm around Eights' shoulder, and the combination of B.O. and whatever fragrance he was wearing made bile rise in his throat.
"Ya seem like a sharp kid… Ya packing some serious cash or rare material?"
"No…"
"Then I'd say you's one of the select few we could take under our wing. What do ya say, kid?"
Wrinkling his nose, Eights pulled away from the man. "I don't think so… I just wanted to see the city. Although…" Eights glanced at the sparkling lights, his heart a flutter. "What would one have to do to get a pass?"
"Liking the city, are ya, kid? Well, I'd have to say, if you wanna live in the city, there's only one way to get a pass, and it ain't pretty."
"It's not?"
"Ya want to know how?"
Eights leaned in closer, despite the man's smell.
"Ya have to sell someone to The Twelve. Most people's sell they own kid, sick, I tell yah! Just sick!"
Barold's lips continued to move, but his voice became white noise as the ringing in Eights' ears grew louder and louder. His eyes shifted to the glittering city in the background as cars zoomed by, the metropolis carrying at least ten thousand people…
"…Big place ain't it?"
Eights focused on the man. "Hey… You said you can get people into the city, right?"
Barold rubbed his fingers together. "For a price, a'course."
"What if I didn't want to get in… Just information, could you get in and out with that information?"
Scratching at his beard, the older man looked up in contemplation. "Guess I could do that, but it'd cost!"
"Alice and Gregory Clark, I want to know if those two are in the city, and if so, how'd they got in?"
"Wouldn't be too hard to find out… I do have friends in security and customs." The man eyed Eights before landing on the boy's gloves. "In fact, I'd do it for those mighty fine gloves ya got on."
The leather constricted as Eights clasped his hands behind his back. "Anything but these, I'm a good hunter, maybe—"
"Kid, I don't think you understand the risk, kid! Going through here… Getting in is one thin', but getting aout is another."
"But you said you had friends in—"
"Just 'cause I got friends in security don't mean they are gonna risk their jobs just so I can get some information for a little kid. However… if I had some'm I could sell inside the city and brought 'em back some incentive." Barold rubbed his fingers together once more. "Then maybe we could talk."
"Fine!" peeling the gloves from his hands, Eights gripped them tightly. "But… I want a picture of them too. You can do that, right?"
Ripping the leather from the boy's hands, Barold smiled smugly. "A'course!"
"Wait!" Eights seized the man by the wrist. "Leave something here. So I know you'll come back."
"Smart boy! Sure ya don't want to join us grifters atop that there freeway?"
"I'm sure, now leave something."
The man pulled a glass bottle from his back pocket. It was half full, and when Eights uncorked it, he flinched away, recognizing it as the scent the man had on him.
"Careful with that, boy! Ya know how hard it was to get that?"
"No… But if it's that important to you, I can safely say that you'll come back for it."
"Ya got that right! Not even these fine gloves could pay for a bottle of that—"
"When can I expect you back?"
"Since ya got the names of the twos you're looking for, it won't take me more than half a day. Should be back 'round noon tomorrow."
"But you said it shouldn't take you more than—"
"Listen, kid, a man's got to sleep. Now, I'll be back tomorrow."
_0O0_
After setting a perimeter, Eights extended his hands toward the warmth of his little fire while looking out at the shimmering city beside him. It looked like the night sky was now resting on the ground, while the actual sky looked lifeless and dark. It was nothing like what he was used to, but he didn't mind the change, finding comfort in the knowledge that so many people were gathered in one spot.
However, with the idea that he would soon know whether his parents were in the city, he found that rest didn't come easily. As he leaned against a tree, watching the fading fire as the city lights polluted his view, he drifted in and out of sleep when darkness crept over his dreams, shriveled faces of The Twelve approaching him, and his eyes shot open, only to meet with Barold's…
Tucking and rolling to the side, Eights scrambled to his feet as the clouds bled red, and the darkest of blues lightening as the sun peeked over the horizon.
"No need to be scared, kid. Just wakin' ya since you's seemed to be 'aving a nightmare." Barold raised his hands, but something told Eights not to trust, to question.
Looking the man up and then down, the boy narrowed his eyes at Barold's pocket. Fine leather sticking out in the shape of a finger.
"Why do you still have the gloves? Didn't you say you'd sell them?"
"No merchants open a' this hour."
Taking a step back, Eights found himself nearing the edge of the cliff. "Why'd you say you could get the information by morning? I thought you needed incentive if you wanted to get in and out of the city…" The boy rubbed his fingers together, much as the man had last night.
"My friends know I'm good for it."
"Let me see the picture then."
"Boy! Ya makin' this harder than need be."
"I don't understand… Didn't you say you'd be back at noon?"
"Twas easier to find them folks than I thought."
"What changed?"
Click
"Let's just say, I gots a better way to make some money now. So be good and follow me."
"Did you… And say I don't want to follow you?"
"That's what friend here is for." Tilting his gun slightly, he motioned for Eights to move.
The boy, staring down the revolver, did just that, slowly… away from the edge of the cliff. Stray rocks fell off the edge and down the long drop. Eyes ever on the revolver, Eights inched closer to the trees.
"You think I'll go back there? I'd rather die first."
"Who said anything about ya having to go back alive? Youses wanted poster says dead or alive after all. But I'd prefer it if ya came willingly. After all, I don't got much taste for killing."
"Don't then. Let me go."
The man smirked as he pulled the hammer back, "Not with the price on y—"
Eights kicked up dirt, creating a cloud of dust that flew into Barold's eyes just as he took off for the treeline. Leaving a coughing and angry man behind.
"Dag'nabit, kid!"
Jumping, Eights reached for the nearest branch he grab hold of, pulling himself up into the tree. He held his breath as he watched Barold rub the last of the dirt from his eyes before turning to the forest.
"Where'd ya go, ya brat?"
As the man approached the forest, he scanned the area, turning his entire body as he did. Taking very deliberate steps, almost as if he were tracking…
Looking down, Eights could see the clear tracks he left while scrambling up the tree, and slow and steady as can be, Eights got his feet under him. The trembling branch creaked beneath his weight, causing a leaf to fall and drift into Barold's sight.
As Barold looked up, his revolver followed his sight, and as Eights saw the whites of the man's eyes, he dropped down on him, bringing him to the ground, while knocking the revolver out of his hand. Eights could hear crumbling crunchs as they tumbled towards the cliff, all while struggling against each other. The boy kicked and clawed as the man pinned him to the ground.
"Ya shudda just given in!"
"I told you I'd die before going back there! That's all that's waiting for me there anyways!"
"Waddda ya mean? Don't ya know all the kids sent there live wonderful lives?"
"Wonderful lives my butt! I spent years trying to escape, trying to find a way back home to my family. They never once treated me well… Even if they weren't planning on killing me, I'd still as soon as die before returning. So you'd better kill me here cause I'm not going back alive."
"Kid… Ya can't mean it… I 'ear them kids live like kings."
"Well, you heard wrong. We live like slaves just waiting for the next time they strip us of our skin up until the moment we die."
Barold released his hold on Eights arms, and the boy shuffled out from under him.
"Them poor fello's. All them kids I sent out The Twelve's way…"
"All…" Eights glanced at the man. "In the last five years, there's only been one kid other than me—"
Shooting up from the ground, the man grasped Eights by the shoulders and shook him hard. "No! There be at least sixty I've sent over these last five years, not counting the years before it."
"There are only ever twelve humans living in the mansion at a time."
"Are ya tellin' me all those kids just up an' disappeared?"
"I don't know what happened to them, but they weren't at the mansion."
Barold turned stark white and, pulling two things from his back pocket, handed them to Eights before saying, "I reckon there's someone I need to talk with." And with that, the man left.
Paper crinkled in Eights grip, and as he looked down, he noticed what Barold had given him. First, Jonathan Clark's leather gloves; second, a permit for Alice and Gregory Clark to enter the city on the condition that they give up their firstborn child.
A pit grew in the boy's stomach as he stared at the paper… He didn't want to believe it, but now he had no choice.