Having pushed a few tables together in the chequered restaurant, we all sat down, most of us conspicuously red and puffy-eyed. Cara, the strawberry-blond girl, and Emma shared a table separate from the rest of us.
“What happened? Have they all turned?” Einar asked Cara.
“I think so,” nodding shakily, she replied in an Irish accent. “They all pretty much got sick at the same time. Lena tried to warn most of us women. Well, those she knew weren’t loyal to the bastards. But avoiding the contaminated water is no use if you’re going to get raped at night. I was only lucky because it was my time of the month, and the man who kidnapped me didn’t like to do it when I was on the rag.”
Her pretty face scrunched up as if she were about to start crying, but she swallowed heavily and blinked hard, overcoming the urge.
“Do either of you feel ill at all?” Einar asked gently.
They both shook their heads.
“Good. We’ll still need to keep you quarantined from the rest of us for a few days, but that’s just a precaution. Now tell me: how do we get inside?”
“There is a large gate on the side closer to the marina. I don’t know if that one’s unlocked,” Cara replied. “We left through the smaller one at the front of the fortress. It’s hidden behind the tower that is sort of embedded in the curve of the wall’s edge. There is a stony path leading up to it. We left it shut but unlocked. So you should be able to enter through there.”
“We go today, then,” Einar announced.
My heart began to beat notably faster.
“Let’s go kill whatever remains of those arseholes. Let’s go take Bonifacio.”
34
RAMPAGE
Einar’s silent rage at losing Lena was infectious. In combination with the collective hatred for Bonifacio’s erstwhile inhabitants, it served to dispel the fear that had hung over my archers like a grey, rainy cloud ever since the deaths at Corte.
We entered the citadel boldly, rushing in with our bows ready, and we romped through the maze of narrow alleys between tightly packed townhouses. Confident of our advantage, we spread through the cobbled streets evenly and lured the furies out with angry shouts before converging again at a square between a chapel and an imposing grey church with a turret-like tower. Some of us continued onward in the direction of the marine cemetery at the peninsula’s end, scouring the much less condensed part of the town, whilst others turned back towards the natural centre of the fortress, retracing our steps.
Once the furies stopped coming out to be greeted by our arrows, my splendid soldiers wordlessly split into little groups of two or three and began searching the houses one by one, kicking down doors when necessary. Einar went alone, with an alarmingly unhinged, bloodthirsty expression, carrying an axeinstead of a bow. I, too, did not pair with anyone and focused on inconspicuous, easy-to-overlook nooks and crannies.
Overall, it was perhaps the most anti-climactic clearing we had ever carried out. There were thirty of us and not even twice as many furies; I myself only killed three that day. I alone came across about seven people who were already dead, shot before fully turning, by the looks of it. Most were burly men, some dressed in bikers’ leather despite the scalding heat, but some were young women who were strikingly beautiful even in their death. Two of them were in advanced stages of pregnancy. Our victims as well as theirs.
As the shadows lengthened on the burning, stony ground, our hunt gradually turned into a clean-up. We carried the bodies onto a pile at the space in front of the plain, unassuming chapel. We counted seventy-two dead; fifty-one men and twenty-one women. Though we weren’t entirely sure about the men’s count, as some of those that Einar had come in contact with had been hacked into several separate pieces. All those limbs separated from their original torsos may have skewed our calculations. Our work was more or less done then, but everyone radiated nervous energy, the anticipation of a fight that never took place. We continued to wander about aimlessly, taking stock of supplies so plentiful they seemed a miracle to us.
“Ten sacks of rice! A pharmacy’s here, full shelves!” I heard occasionally, passing through the cooling streets.
I walked on, feeling numbly tired and weightless like a ghost drifting through a city of the dead, unable to join in the excitement at discovering our new riches.
At one point, Cyril killed the final fury, a man who had been shut in a wine cellar, likely depleting its supplies in his final hours before turning.
“Renny, come and see!” Rushing in from behind, Russ threw an arm around my shoulders. “Come quick.”
He turned me around towards a long building opposite a clay-roofed church, one with a dignified, gate-like entrance. Perhaps a town hall? Pushing me inside, Russ practically dragged me into a large, rectangular room. Einar was already there, his broad back turned to the entrance. He was spattered with blood from head to toe, and there was a less than sane glint in his eyes, which were fixed on the assortment of weapons laid out on tables. Rifles, guns, revolvers, semi-automatics, types that I was unsure what to call. A few crates of ammunition—clearly disproportionately little of it compared to the number of firearms. And right next to them, two crates of grenades.
“Damn,” I exhaled, astounded, just as Russ whooped with glee next to me, pounding my back excitedly before hurrying to take a closer look.
Einar turned to me, a jubilant smile already tugging at his lips.
“You’ll need to scrub off again,” I pointed out.
“Well worth it,” he replied smugly, despite wincing at the prospect.
“Where the ’ell is Albert?” Russ asked. “He’ll go bonkers when he sees this.”
“Of that I am sure.” I nodded, not nearly as happy about it. “How? Just how did they get all this? And why didn’t they use it for something better than robbing other colonies?”
Russ didn’t pay any attention to me, exiting the room with an additional whoop. Einar shrugged.
