A Note to readers:-

First, thanks to everyone that's reading - its one of the main reasons i write apart from the sheer enjoyment of it. Second, I do have a plan for this story, and the characters, for good or ill, and i WILL write it until the end. It may take me a while, but we'll all get there in the end. Its weird, I have some novels in my head that i want to send to agents etc when i write them, and get published, but writing Dead City is just too much fun i find, and so i put more time into doing a free online novel rather than trying to get published and paid... but it is for the fun after all! Again, i doubt i would have got even this far without the people reading, so cheers, and enjoy the next part - more about developing the characters this one, with added intrigue...

Dead City – Part 14

Carson sat next to the thin and frightened looking man, and just stared at him. It was weird, he thought, that he found it so hard to talk to these people, especially after so long in solitude. But he couldn't. He felt numb and vulnerable. His bubble of personal space had widened in the weeks and months since the city died.

He had been so full of hope when he rode to the spaceport that morning, and his thoughts of finding others alive were filled with images of immediate friendship and camaraderie. But when he saw two groups of people pointing guns at each other, he knew those thoughts would stay dreams, that life and the God-Emperor had other ideas. Where he found the bravery to charge in and save the others he did not know. All he did know was that upon seeing Archenemy soldiers again the sight put him in a rage; and fear welled up within him also, making him react violently, fool heartedly. In hindsight, it was a stupid thing to do – he had been all too close to being injured, or worse. Also, seeing the chaos troops provoked that old feeling again, and sibilant strands of the past gnawed deep through his thoughts and feelings. The thick mist of loneliness and desperation had lifted, only to be replaced by dark, heavy clouds.

This, and his first impressions of the people he found himself with, could be the main reason for his brooding silence. The busy arbiter girl had left him in the small passenger area with a stimm-muscled ganger who was mute and a broken minded fool. He hadn't even seen the pilot, and he dearly hoped he was more receptive to new people than the others. The ganger kept staring at him and held his shotgun in both hands, as if ready to use it at a moment's notice. Carson looked away from him and closed his eyes, a weariness taking over as his body started to lose the adrenaline high from the fighting. These days, however, he found that such strenuous situations took more of a toll on his body than it used too when he was fit and well. Now, he was weaker than ever, especially after the attack from the undead tech-magos.

He had parked his bike in the hold of the ancient-looking ship once they had levelled off from their hasty retreat, and he was about to go and inspect it when the arbiter woman walked into the hold. He realised as he saw her closely for the first time that it had been a while since he had seen a woman alive, particularly one as beautiful as she was. Suddenly he became uncomfortable, realising that he was embarrassed in her presence.

'Who are you?' she asked in a husky, authoritative voice as she walked over to him. The carrier banked slightly, and the door she came through banged in its hinges – another worrying sign of how old and ramshackle this flyer was.

Carson found it hard to speak, now realising how dry his throat was. The woman balanced herself before him as the flyer hit some heavy turbulence. 'Can you speak?' she asked.

Carson swallowed hard, pushed away his worries and answered, 'ye-yes, I can speak.'

'Good.' She said. 'What's your name?'

'Carson,' he said coarsely. 'Do you have any water? Mine's on my bike.'

Without another word, the arbiter turned and looked for water, giving Carson time to notice that the nervous man beside him was looking his way, listening intently – Carson decided he didn't like him.

'Here,' said the woman, throwing a water canister at him. Carson caught it and opened it, taking a long swig. 'Now, tell me: who are you and how did you find us at the spaceport.'

She was definitely an enforcer, he thought, lowering the canister. Something clicked inside him. Some key suddenly unlocked and he felt more at ease, the memory of human discussion and conversation opening freely. Just like riding a bike, he thought, amused. 'I'm nobody. A survivor, I guess, like you. I've been hiding in the city ever since…' He couldn't finish. He could never say it out loud.

The arbiter finished for him. 'Ever since everyone got sick and we lost the city. But how come we've not found you before?'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean,' she said more forcibly, 'it's weird how we look every night for survivors in the city, and we only find you the same day, the same morning in fact, that we are attacked by… by them.'

Carson could see that she was affected by the chaos attack, just as he could see that she was sceptical of how he helped them and was now sitting before her on their ship. The ganger stirred, and Carson heard him fidget with his weapon. This was worse than being stuck in a room with a pack of zombies! And he knew how that felt.

'Are you another one,' said the man beside Carson, speaking for the first time. There was an edge to his feeble voice. 'One of-'

Carson didn't let him finish. 'Right. I've not just lived through what I have to just get shot by the first people I've met in weeks because you're all paranoid, by the God-Emperor! I haven't seen you flying around until this week, and when I did I came looking for you. Sorry I helped when the chaos bastards had you a gunpoint – next time I'll just pass you by and let you die and go live with the plague victims!'

The big ganger had stood up during Carson's rant, and took a menacing step towards him. A crackly voice sounded over the internal comms all of a sudden. 'Are we alright back there? Mira, who's our new friend? Bring him upfront and let me introduce myself.'

An awkward silence permeated throughout the cabin.

'Well, at least someone seems in the right mind around here,' said Carson.

'We have to be sure you're not an enemy,' said the enforcer. 'I'm still not sure.'

'If I was your enemy, why would I attack the chaos troops? Let's not be stupid about this,' he added. The ganger sat down, as if he had heard enough. Much to Carson's relief. He'd take on a room full of zombies rather than that brute, for sure.

The arbiter nodded to herself, seemingly making a decision. 'Okay. I'll believe you for now. But you're not one of us, not yet. You understand?' He nodded that he did. 'Good, come with me and meet Dassion. He's sort of running things for now.'

The woman gestured for him to follow, and he happily agreed. 'Oh, what's your name,' he asked, almost as an afterthought.

'Mira.'

Carson nodded, but had already decided that he didn't like her either, even though she was good looking and quite possibly the only woman left alive on the planet – he'd always thought the Adeptus Arbites were too arrogant for their own good anyway. In fact he realised, as he stepped through a claustrophobic compartment leading towards the cockpit, that the only person he'd met that he had any respect for was the giant ganger.

*

Vern Finial wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. What had he done? What had he done? Hundreds of thoughts and questions fogged up his brain, making it hard to think clearly.

They were Chaos worshippers. They were soldiers!

He could barely stay still. He wanted to walk away somewhere on his own and collect his thoughts – but he was trapped here with the others on the Hermia. What made it worse was the fact that the stranger was with them. He had to be one. A spy. An assassin.

Did he know?

Was it all worth it, now?

He realised that Dar was looking at him, a concerned look creasing his brow. 'It's fine Dar,' Vern said hesitantly. 'Just shaken from the fight. I'll be good once we're back at the outpost.'

Did Dar suspect? He had looked away now, but-

There were too many Buts! It was not supposed to be like this. It was not supposed to be Chaos!

Vern Finial had not survived this long by losing his nerve or being an idiot, he told himself. Control yourself! Deal with the situation, and adapt.

A squirming, snake-like thought occurred to him. If the others suspected the new guy, Carson, of being a traitor, no one would pay any attention to him.

No one would suspect Vern Finial as being a traitor.

Until now, he had been almost proud of that fact. He had known, with deep clarity that he was a traitor. The Traitor.