Ruin's Wake by Patrick Edwards

Author:Patrick Edwards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

Sanatorium

The small skimmer truck was carrying low-priority supplies – syringes, beakers, stationery. The driver and his loader rode in the high cab. A weekly run: boring, usual, slightly ahead of schedule. Neither bothered to make conversation.

They headed out from the depot, bound for the sanatorium and making good time when they reached an underpass on the outskirts of Debrayn, just where the ring road marked the limits of the city. If you looked hard enough you could see where the shanties had begun to creep beyond the boundary, though the inhabitants kept a low profile. The men in the truck didn’t look too hard.

The driver slowed the vehicle and pulled up, swearing through the windshield at a beggar who’d wandered into the road and fallen asleep. Drunk, most likely. The loader – big, with red splotches on his bare arms – swung down from the cab. The driver watched him stomp over and shout at the old fool.

Too many of these recently, thought the driver, running his fingers over the tiny brass bust of the Seeker on the dashboard. There was sure to be another purge soon, if the authorities had enough to go on, if more of these poor desperate fools spilled out of their hovels and onto the streets. The Factors wouldn’t have it. He shuddered, remembering the last one: huddling behind bolted shutters in his tiny apartment, waiting out the night and trying to keep the children distracted. Just fireworks, he’d told them, hiding his hands so they wouldn’t see them shaking.

The loader was leaning over the beggar, prodding him with the toe of his boot and yelling at him to move out of the road. A groggy hand batted at the offending foot. The loader wound up for a hefty kick, then jerked backwards. He slapped at his neck as if swatting an insect, looked back at the skimmer, then crumpled to the ground.

The driver was paralysed for just an instant, then the training kicked in – they were being robbed. He dove for the commset mounted on the passenger side; as he did so his door was wrenched open with a pop-squeal of metal and a hand as cold as stone grabbed his ankle. He cried out in shock as he was dragged from the cab. His face hit the road hard and he smelled burning oil, then he felt a sharp prick on the side of his neck and the world went white.

A few minutes later, the skimmer emerged from the shadows of the underpass and headed out on the road toward the sanatorium, leaving behind two bound, sleeping men dressed like beggars under a pile of discarded stationery.

* * *

The sanatorium was built on flat scrubland, several square klicks of ground where building was not allowed. Debrayn would one day surround it if it continued to swell, but for now it bordered it on two sides. A barren strip had been cleared all around it to preserve the sightlines from the tall guard towers, a grey-green scar on the landscape.

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