He left the house behind, thinking only of his daughters sleeping so tightly curled in the lower bunk. At first the pace was leisurely and his steps cautious in the dark. But he’d run these roads so many times that he wasn’t too afraid of falling into the gorse or a patch of nettles. When he reached the main road where he usually turned left to run to the plant, he turned right and set off for the centre of the town.
From time to time there were potholes and uneven areas of road but, not really noticing, he negotiated them without a stumble. Soon he was passing the first houses of the town proper – most folk didn’t like to live as close as he did to the wasteland. A pavement became available, albeit cracked and subsiding in many places, so he stepped onto it from the road.
To his right and a little behind him, a faint light was born. It quickened his step. The houses became closer together and smaller. The smells of habitation – sewage, cooking, spent gas – grew stronger. It was still early and no one was awake except insomniacs, lovers and the sick. He liked it that way and hoped to be through the centre of town before the townsfolk began their business for the day.
On his left he passed the stone gateposts and black iron gates that marked the front entrance to Magnus’s mansion, its extensive grounds walled off and guarded but set very near the centre of Abyrne. Where the property ended he turned left and walked past the Central Cathedral, a dark gothic beast, frozen in the light of the approaching dawn. Beside it were the many offices of the Welfare and further along on the right most of the central businesses – butchers, flesh apothecaries, religious shops and various craftsmen.
He passed them all, turned right onto Black Street and walked out past the worst of the inhabited houses in the town. This was where the poorest of the townsfolk lived, barely scraping enough money together to buy a single cut of meat each week. If these people listened to Collins, many of the town’s problems would evaporate.
Black Street ended suddenly, as though a cleaver had swung down through it, removing the far section. Beyond it there was no more road, no pavement and for a long way, no buildings left standing.
Shanti stepped over the break in the street like a man stepping out of prison. For most townsfolk, entering the Derelict Quarter meant their lives in the town had been ruined and that they’d never return. He’d have to be careful to go home under the protection of darkness to avoid starting rumours. Magnus had spies everywhere and one never knew when a Parson of the Welfare might step out from an alley and enquire after your business.
Stepping over broken bricks and concrete and avoiding the spokes of steel that rose and twisted from the debris brought a smile to Shanti’s face. He stepped lightly, following all the time the encouragement of an unseen pull.
He passed many houses that were only half-ruined and sometimes had a sense of people living there, even though he saw no evidence of it. Further into the Quarter, the monolithic shadows of high-rise buildings towered in the dawn. Many of them were unsafe even to walk near because of falling masonry but others were more stable. None, however, had windows, any form of power supply or water from the town. They never had. Rumour implied that Collins – Prophet John as so many had come to call him – lived in one of the tower blocks but Shanti didn’t believe that was still true. To survive, Collins would have to keep moving.
He passed the familiar lock-ups – a strangely untouched part of the Derelict Quarter. It was down in a deep hollow and a road, in surprisingly good condition, led down in a spiral to the row of concrete units. Shanti picked up the pace; the lock-ups were nowhere to go alone, especially now that Collins had disappeared and the meetings had stopped.
It was only beyond the lock-ups that he began to question why he’d risked coming to the Derelict Quarter at all. Being seen here could affect his status. It was crazy when his job at MMP was already on sandy foundations.
He had been called. That was it.
Something had reached out to him and he was following the prompt. There was only one thing he would find out here among ruins that could not be considered part of the town. Instead of pretending he didn’t know what it was, he began to look for it. He concentrated on the drawing sensation in his belly and felt it strengthen in response.
Ahead were more shattered terraces of what had once been houses. He walked towards them. Sick looking weeds grew occasionally from cracks and rents in the grim landscape. The earth below held little or no nourishment and the weeds appeared to survive on light, air and tenacity.
He passed between the remains of houses, crossed what once had been a street and passed through more houses on the other side. Beyond them the destruction appeared total. He merely wandered between unrecognisable piles of mortar, tile, brick and block, every hillock of wreckage thick with grey dust and grit. Here and there rusted steel or charred wood frameworks rose like broken fingers reaching towards the sky. The damage stretched out to the horizon.
A few feet in front of him, the ground dropped away at a shallow angle for a few paces. He slid in the debris as he scrambled down. Looking back he could see nothing of the town centre from this depression in the land. Only the very tips of some of the tower blocks were still visible. He moved on feeling safer now that he was less likely to be observed.
The sun had been up for several minutes but there was nothing it could do to make this part of Abyrne cheerier. All it did was lighten the grey all around him. The ruin seemed to go on forever.
He stopped walking.
What’s out here? What could possibly exist in all this destruction and decay? Am I crazy walking out here like this? What’s wrong with me?
He looked down at his long black coat. The lower half of it was grey now with the dust of the Derelict Quarter. He’d snagged it on some sharp protrusion and there was a tear in the back of it.
The landscape is changing me. Making me like it. All it takes is a few minutes and it’s taking me over. I have to get home. For the girls. They’re all that matters now.
He turned back towards the slope and began to walk back, panic moving his feet.
Then he saw the opening.
It was a very definite thing. Not some accident of the shifting rubble. It was several yards to the left of where he’d slithered down the incline. Coming down the slope he hadn’t noticed it. It was a broad hole, once perfectly rectangular but now bitten and ragged like everything else out here. He walked towards it and the opening grew, more of it becoming visible as he approached. This had been some kind of entrance way.
When he stood on its threshold all he could see beyond was darkness descending. A few steps were visible leading downwards. That was all.
Moments before it had seemed that no environment could be worse than the Derelict Quarter. Now there was nothing worse than darkness. He tried not to think about it.
To guide himself, he ran his hand along the wall and felt with his feet to make sure there were more steps and that the ground didn’t disappear into a drop. Every few steps he turned around, reassured himself that he could still see the light from the entrance and that he would keep going deeper while that light was still visible.
The Derelict Quarter. He realised now, as he tried not to think about what he was walking into, that the name was completely wrong. The area covered by the tumbledown buildings and tracts of formless demolition was vast. The part he’d seen was larger by far than the town centre and many of the other districts put together. It stretched into the distance for what must have been several miles. He’d seen near the horizon something that looked like a ladder on its side and he tried to guess what it might have been. Not a bridge exactly but something similar. It would have been enormous if he were closer to it. Perhaps some kind of walkway or road built through the air. But for what purpose he couldn’t imagine.