Chapter 6

The Fish Eye

Having lived a life defined by one close call after the other, Aiden wasn't at all surprised when their arrival in Villedor's centre was no different. They'd only just cleared the metro (which meant exiting out of a massive hall sparsely lit with UV light and otherwise abandoned) and stepped out under the shadows of giant buildings, when Crane said, "Company," and all three of them withdrew around the nearest corner.

Peacekeepers. Five of them.

Two stayed behind to guard the door back inside the hall, while three more vanished inside.

"They'll know we've come through the second they talk to the two sentries downstairs." Crane stepped away from their cover and scanned the streets with a quick look left and right. Said streets were clearer than Aiden had expected them to be. Shouldn't they have been full of cars? And blockades? Rather than just Biters?

Cities, or so he'd been led to believe, were meant to not only be full of the Infected, but near impossible to navigate, too. This? This looked almost orderly, if not for the layers of trash stuck to the pavement.

"And unless these PK have absolute shit for brains," Crane continued, "they'll figure we're headed to the Fish Eye for shelter."

"That's likely," Hakon said.

"Then we better get a move on."

Up until now, Aiden had kept his eyes levelled near the ground. Where all the trash was. And the Biter feet. But the moment they started walking, he made a colossal mistake: he looked up; up at a building with no immediately perceivable end to it. The damn thing kept rising and rising, catching the sun against its windows and baring gaping holes where glass had shattered, never, ever, ending, until Aiden's sense of balance finally faltered. Vertigo would have tripped him, if not for Crane grabbing him by the backpack strap. Aiden forced his eyes back down to street level. His stomach wobbled.

"First time in the big city, hm?"

"Yeah." Aiden jerked aside, driven by anxiety and irritation biting at him. Crane let go. "I mean, no," he added, "I know I've been to Villedor before, and I'm sure there were others, too, but that was all pre-Fall. And I don't— I don't remember much from before."

"That's not so unusual." Crane traded him a brief glance. "Lots of kids your age are missing those years, which is understandable, considering you've had to watch the world end. That kinda shit is traumatic."

The conversation didn't go any further after that. For one, Aiden didn't know how to respond. More importantly, though, he couldn't scrape together the spare energy to talk. Or to look around more, for that matter. All he had the strength left for was for walking and for pushing back against the exhaustion and pain as they tried to drag him down. Every deep breath was excruciating. Every climb (stairs, ledges, didn't matter), summoned tears in his eyes. The same eyes which threatened to pop right out of their sockets whenever he looked into the light for too long, pushed from his skull by a steadily pulsing headache.

Soon enough, he felt like a corpse crawling through another corpse. Villedor's corpse, specifically. It's a rotten through carcass with its bones showing; bones they climbed over like a trio of skittish ants.

He didn't manage to keep track of time, but he did count the times they were attacked.

Four.

And all four times, Aiden made an ass out of himself by failing to step up. He just… couldn't. He tried. Honest. He even got his damn hatchet in his hands (had to use both, he didn't trust just one hand to grip right), only for Crane and Hakon to have made short work of the Biters that'd gotten in their way before he'd managed a single swing.

By the time Aiden saw the first indication of them having reached the Fish Eye, he could barely keep himself upright. Cold sweat clung to his neck. Flecks danced in his vision. He was so light-headed, that the world had been reduced to a buzzing, spinning mess. It was enough he thought he'd hallucinated the fat, yellow fish painted on the wooden sign they passed.

The fish had a comically large eye, after all. Fish did not have eyes that large. Not to mention the moustache and scowling brow. Aiden hadn't ever seen a fish with a moustache.

Then he saw Fish Eye written underneath it, chased by the same repeated in what he presumed to be different languages, all of which pointed them towards the next sign and then the one following that one — until, finally, the last one led them back down to the street level, where they walked the rest of the way flanked by tall, unlit, torches.

The path ended at yet another metro station and what must have been a bus stop. The buses kind of gave it away. They were arranged to form a blockade, loosely enough placed so you could walk between them, but close enough to allow the UV lights mounted to their roofs to provide a shield come nightfall.

Each bus had the same yellow fish painted on it.

Same as in, it was fat and yellow and had a large eye, but one wore a tall hat, another a scarf, and one looked like it'd come off a grill.

So.

The Fish Eye was a bus spot? That was it? Aiden had just about gotten done being disappointed when he remembered up. He tilted his chin. This time the scale did not bother him, he'd managed to get himself used to it on the way.

The Fish Eye was, decidedly, not just a bus stop clustered around an old metro entrance. Turned out, the Fish Eye wasn't a singular place at all, but a collection of human defiance growing atop an overpass and the metro station's back, along with at least one more adjacent building. He saw bridges spanning from wall to wall. Saw platforms widen the bones they'd been built atop of. He pinched his eyes together. It was hard to make out details with his vision swimming.

"Psst. Kid. Got any more steam left?" Crane suddenly asked, and Aiden realised he'd fallen behind. Considerably, too.

While there wasn't a wall or fence or gate anywhere in sight, the buses did offer a somewhat blurred line where the two flavours of Villedor met: the one surrendered to the Infected, and the one clung to by the survivors. Both Crane and Hakon had crossed the threshold. And while they'd drawn the eyes from the lookout sitting on the bus to their left, no one had moved to stop them.

"If you do—" Crane raised his good arm to point at something behind Aiden. "—you might wanna, you know. Pick up the pace."

Aiden looked.

A group of Peacekeepers were leaving the mouth of an alley, and as soon as they realised they'd been noticed, one shouted across for them to "Stop right there!"

Aiden idly wondered if anyone ever did that. Stop when told, even if they were still a good stone-throw ahead.

Well. Aiden nearly did. It was tempting, oh so very tempting, but rather than give in, he dug deep, pinched whatever little energy he had left, and hurried after Crane.

Villedor continued to surprise Kyle.

It was built like one of those lollipops where every layer had a different flavour. Some were fruity. Some were sour. And then you had the literal shit layer in-between which'd keep you on your fucking toes.

The Fish Eye?

Eh. Could be worse, Kyle thought as he gave the approach a quick scan.

The buses they'd passed had been repurposed into a defensive wall made to keep the nightlife out but otherwise gave the illusion of allowing anyone entrance. An illusion the iron fences on the inside of the buses dispelled in a flash; if drawn, they'd seal off most of the approach.

He trudged on.

Light conditions beyond the buses were poor. The overpass they'd walked under and the station's structure blocked out the sun, and whatever electricity the place had to offer was spent on a handful of UV bars strapped to wooden poles leading the way towards the entrance.

First, they passed an honest-to-God elevator; one of those winch stations used for cargo, but which'd drag up a person just as quick. That was well enough lit, but Hakon walked right past it.

The winch wasn't anchored at the bottom anyway, which was probably for the best. Kyle couldn't fathom what going up by means of holding on to a rope yanking you skywards would feel like for Aiden. Kyle? Oh, he'd be fine, he lied to himself. Totally. Fine.

Beyond the elevator stood the metro entrance. It was sealed off and had about the most miserable look about it; like it'd been neglected since the Fall, with crates and barrels stacking near it and almost blocking it from view.

And beyond that stood the actual entrance: a guarded gate put together from all manners of salvaged material, held together by what Kyle assumed to be spittle and rusty nails.

It had charm.

Watch your step said a sign above it. A second sign hung below it. It was hand drawn and depicted a hand brandishing its biomarker. Two gents guarded it. They had crossbows (and that totally didn't salt Kyle's caramel at all, nope).

The gents didn't seem at all bothered by them. In fact, they gave approximately zero fucks about how Kyle and Aiden looked as if they'd been thoroughly rolled in bad times, especially once everyone had shown their biomarkers and had come up as reasonably green. If anything, the PK groupies hustling after Kyle got more of a reaction out of them. A very pointed reaction, too, which involved one of them closing the door after everyone had gone through.

Huh, Kyle thought and toyed with the idea that maybe, just maybe, they'd come to the right place. Because what the fuck was he going to do when those smurfs caught up with them?

He'd fight. That was what.

He'd fight and, barring a miracle, he'd get his ass beat. Kyle grimaced and fumbled for a distraction.

"Hakon?" he asked while his eyes skipped from makeshift wall to makeshift wall. Not a single lightbulb in here was lit. Except for the UV ones, of course. Always with the Goddamn UV light.

"Hm?"

"What can you tell me about the dude who runs this place? Frank, was it?" God. He hated the incline already. It was committing all kinds of unspeakable crimes against his right knee.

"Him and what's left of his Nightrunners, yes. They started out as a small military outfit under Frank's command and quickly made a name for themselves as a bunch of do-gooders with more heart than sense." Hakon paused, giving Kyle a moment to sieve the tone he'd used through his filter. Bitter admiration? Had that been it? Either way, there was, once again, more to the man than he let on. It bothered Kyle.

"Nightrunners," Aiden echoed. "That's a catchy name."

"And earned," Hakon said. "Most of them ran on a steady diet of the same inhibitors you've been taking, meaning they could delve into dark zones and stay out at night. Which, back when most anyone relied more on scavenging than growing their own food was a big deal."

"Ran?" Kyle's eyes hopped from a sad string of unlit bulbs down to Hakon. "Past tense? Meaning their supply dried out?"

Hakon's head gave one of those 'yes and no, maybe both' wobbles. "That, and they lost what little sense they might have still had. Most of them died ten years ago."

The enclosed space opened up to a wide wooden ramp curving ever upwards. What passed for a railing on it didn't even reach Kyle's knees. But, hey. It tried. You go, lill' rail. The ground had become a distant friend, promising a quick death if you angled yourself right.

"What was left either scattered or stuck to Frank because they didn't know where else to go. And Frank being Frank… let's say he took losing his men pretty hard. Nearly drank himself after them, at least until he hit the mania bit of his depression and took over a small canteen. The Fish Eye."

The timing of them reaching the top couldn't have been better, allowing Hakon the perfect moment to brandish his arm at the titular canteen. It was a wide, multi-storied building, rising floor by floor (narrowing at the back), with walkways and balconies wrapped around it.

Kyle's filter struggled with snatching up all the details it had dumped into it. Most was just noise, like those decorative flags and cloth strips flapping everywhere and the kites riding Villedor's winds all the way at the top of the place. But then there were the important bits. The people. The grass where there really shouldn't be any, and the gravel at his feet. If he hadn't seen the foundation below him, he might've been fooled into thinking he was standing on actual ground. The earth kinda ground. He even saw a goat. And chickens.

Gee.

Villedor sure liked its goats and chickens, huh?

Anyway. The Fish Eye.

The building's entrance stood in front of them — and you couldn't miss it, not with the giant sign made of what Kyle assumed to be letters scavenged from businesses all over Villedor. Dimly lit fluorescent bars decorated them. A wind turbine creaked nearby, providing some of the juice to keep them lit.

"Within half a year," Hakon continued (though he'd begun to sound, what, apprehensive?), "the place started putting on weight. A year in, and Frank established it as Villedor's neutral zone. Now this is important, Crane. None of this—" He gestured at the people, the strings of lights, the building, the solar panels laid out on any space where they'd fit. "—would have been possible without the respect Frank earned himself from Villedor. He and his Nightrunners were its heroes. A group which demanded nothing and gave everything, which is the exact opposite of what Villedor is used to from the PK, the Church, hell, even Carl. The PK demand discipline from anyone, and they're ruthless when it comes to enforcing their laws. Laws that Villedor never asked for, but talk to any PK, they'll tell you we'd be savages without them. And the Church?" Hakon scoffed. "She demands fealty. Sacrifice. Literally, if you're one of the poor sons of bitches picked for her feedings."

"I keep hearing that and I'm still not loving it," Kyle said.

"No one does. My point is that Villedor, for all its worth, hasn't forgotten what Frank did for it. It's what allows him to maintain a treaty without the manpower to enforce it."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it." Kyle's eyes cut to the Fish Eye's front door when it opened. A woman stepped out. She had a hard youth and not quite out of it yet look—could've been twenty, twenty-five or anything in-between—, with light-brown skin, black hair, and a streak of purple in said hair. None of which was important. No, what was important was how she carried a crossbow. The thing distracted him. "Be nice to Frank," he mumbled, before glancing to Hakon again.

Hakon wore a wry smile. "Yes. Because Villedor remembers. Much as I fear Frank remembers me."

"Huh?"

"Hakon!" snapped the woman.

Her crossbow came up, pointing its business end at Hakon's chest. Oh. Right. I get it.

"Crane," Hakon said. "This is Lawan. Lawan, these are—"

"Shut the fuck up."

This was going well, wasn't it? Why grant him smooth sailing when you could throw in a bit of choppy water to keep shit interesting?

Kyle—in a misguided fit of loyalty to someone who likely didn't deserve it—shuffled his aching bones forward, making himself an inconvenient obstacle she'd have to aim around should she choose to shoot. Or, you know, just put the bolt through him.

That was always an option.

Kyle grimaced. What were the chances this'd turn into one of those copouts in a movie, where one party stomped up to the other looking mad as hell, only to trade a heartfelt hug a second later? Zero, he figured. She was pissed. Murder in her eyes kinda pissed.

Everyone around them stopped whatever they'd been doing.

"When they radioed up, I thought I was getting fucked with, but no! Here you fucking are. Now turn your ass around and get out of here before I put a bolt in your eye!" Her crossbow jerked. "You. Move."

The you was Kyle. And Kyle—cementing just how much of a dumbass he liked to be—did not, in fact, move.

"Don't think so, ma'am."

… hey, a dumbass he might be, but no one'd ever said dumbasses couldn't be polite.

"Oh?" The crossbow's aim adjusted, pointing at Kyle, rather than Hakon. She ducked her head behind its sights. "You want to go first?"

Kyle raised the one arm he had any motion in at all, crucially aware of how tired he'd become of having to throw his damn hands up so frequently the past few days.

"Honestly?" he asked. "No. I don't even like him."

Hakon snorted.

"But, the man risked his life getting us here. Just what'll it say about me if I repay him by stepping aside so he can get his eye shot out?"

"That you have sense. Now move." Her finger—which, so far, had shown admirable trigger discipline—hitched towards the trigger.

"Well, shit. Sense and I, we're a bit estranged."

"Crane…" whispered Aiden, agitated by the PK coming up behind them. They were marching in a real hurry.

"I hear 'em," Kyle muttered back, before raising his voice and taking a slow step into Lawan's direction. Bold move, huh? God, he really did not want to get shot today. "Listen, I'm not about to tell you we're harmless. Or that we're no trouble. That'd be a lie, and I'd rather we don't start off with one of those." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the trouble coming for them. Trouble, Kyle couldn't see himself facing anytime soon; not if he wanted to stand a chance of remaining upright. "The truth is, we need sanctuary. Unless, of course, you're cool with seeing two Pilgrims dragged off to your Church for a crime they had nothing to do with."

Lawan didn't seem impressed. Which was fair. Kyle wouldn't have been either. "Yeah, right," she said, her finger hitching for the trigger again before her enthusiasm was curbed by a man peeling away from the group that'd formed off to Kyle's left.

"Lawan," he called. "Put it down."

"That's Frank," whispered Hakon. Kyle gave a slight nod.

Frank had made himself an unassuming man among an unassuming crowd. He had a cane (which he jabbed into Lawan's direction when she didn't immediately lower the crossbow), a matching limp, and could apparently afford to put on weight (just like his Fish Eye). He also had a good set of lungs, even if his voice came out scratchy. The kind of rough tone you picked up when you drank and smoked too much. All in all, not what Kyle had pictured when his imagination had conjured Nightrunners and their (presumably) badass leader.

Nah, he looked more like a— well— a middle-aged dude who'd scored himself a canteen, really. Kudos.

"Everyone else, get back to whatever you were doing. There's jack all to see here. And you—" The cane snapped up to point at— who? Kyle? Hakon? Hello, anxiety. "—either turn around or walk straight to the bar. But you're not taking them."

Oh. Oh. Kyle shuffled aside, nearly tripping over Aiden on the way, since the kid moved at the speed of a salted slug. Kyle tugged him out of the way and faced the squad of smurfs who'd come all this way for, well, nothing, as it turned out.

Yet, Kyle's relief waited.

"Come on, Frank," complained the lead smurf. "We've got orders straight down from Matt to take 'em in. He'll have me clean Missy's loo bins if I come back without 'em!"

"Sorry, boys. You know the rules, and so does Matt. If he wants to make an argument to have them expelled—" Frank drove the cane down into the gravel by his foot and leaned onto it. The gesture was intentional. He'd anchored himself and had become an immovable object to back up his choice. "—then he can go right ahead and deliver it himself. But until then, these three are my guests. Am I making myself clear?"

The smurfs turned to each other and joined in shaking their helmeted heads. "Sure, Frank," the lead smurf eventually conceded. "But I hope you know what you're doing. Matt 's one thing, but you're pissing on the Lady's bid here."

"And guess what, the Lady knows the rules just as much. Now either get lost or get to drinking, but get your asses off my gangway."

"Yessir," yipped the smurfs in near-perfect union and decided, as a whole, they'd rather drink than slink back to their commanding officer empty-handed. Kyle gave himself a moment to watch them—at least until they all had their backs to him—before he shifted his attention to Frank.

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. Anyone who's ticked off the Church and PK probably has a good story to tell. And I'll hear it. But if I don't like what you're selling, Lawan is going to put the three of you down the winch without a counterweight. Is that understood?"

"Yessir." Manners. Yeah. He had them. So what if this one'd been a bit snippy, and—

Shit.

Aiden.

Kyle caught the kid on his way down to the gravel; or, rather, Aiden caught himself on Kyle's arm, which Kyle offered in a moment of dumb reflex. His busted one, of course. His vision flared with bright light, and the bones in his arm felt like they'd grown rusty nails; nails which gleefully rotated in there, one grinding turn at a time.

"Fuck. Me," was really all he had to say to that, until Hakon got a hold of Aiden's other arm, ending with the kid awkwardly propped up between them.

"Alright," said Frank. "Story time can wait. Let's get you two looked at."

Now, Kyle allowed himself relief. It wasn't much; just a drop into the hell burning in his chest. But it was a start.