Young Writers Society

AUTHORS NOTE/// Sorry if its a little long, I wrote this ages ago and didn't write it into easily readable chunks. Hope you enjoy!///

Reece grasped at his stomach, spitting the bitter taste of bile out of his mouth. Even eight hundred feet in the air he couldn’t escape the festering stench of the Mire. The strong wind, combined with the constant and lingering humidity, left no escape. Even on the roof of the citadel.

Reece’s left hand rested on the flat black stone roof beside him, he walked purposefully but cautiously – as to avoid losing balance in a sudden rush of wind – across crudely made wooden boards. Several other people were up there with him, clinging to wall they moved carefully across the poorly spaced walkway towards an elevator.

A woman in a grey set of refiner’s overalls, clung to the roof, building up the courage to jump across a particularly large gap. Only the Mire knows why she was up there, she hadn’t even done anything. Repairing the refinery smokestack was a job for maintenance. Striding past her Reece noted her panic stricken expression and her trembling limbs. Reece snorted and continued past, his steps confident and precise. She glared at him, Reece would have to get Jones or Bert to lecture her about dodging work.

Reece noticed Fletcher, a maintenance worker, idly poking and prodding the elevators winch. Reece sighed and moved up to him balancing awkwardly on the same board as the large man. The winch was broken again. Fletcher turned and spotted Reece glaring at him as if his fiddling with the device had insulted him. He grinned and spoke in an almost jocular tone.

“Reece! Lovely weather up here, eh?”

“Yeah sure.” Reece said, only half listening. The older man stepped back carefully but with a sureness only he and Reece could imitate when doing maintenance at the top of the citadel.

“Your better with the technical stuff, I’ll leave the rest to you.” Fletcher said. He looked back at the two nervous refinery workers, still struggling across the boards and gave them a thumbs up. They glared at him, muttering every curse under the sun. Reece didn’t know why they insisted on coming up, they don’t know how to repair the chimneys or the ventilation units. Probably just trying to get out of working today, he wouldn’t be surprised if they ‘required’ an extra ration of liquor to recover as well.

“Sure, but you should really learn to do electrical work too.” Reece responded, shouting over the wind. “I can do your share when you’re sick, but when I’m down and out the work stagnates.”

Fletcher was older than Reece by a decent margin, but the man was strong, determined, and surprisingly agile too. Making him a perfect maintenance worker. Fletcher just could never wrap his head around the technicalities of the job.

The Maintenance crew was relatively small, that left Reece to do the majority of all the technical work. Labelled Citadels top nerd, he was often teased about not meeting the strength standards for maintenance. He was not a small guy by any means, but his light brown– not blonde – hair and youthful appearance betrayed him.

Reece inspected the winch, it was rusty. Metal didn’t last long outside of the citadel, too much moisture in the air. The winch didn’t appear to be damaged any other way, if anything it was merely stuck. He slammed his palm into the side of the winch, rust sediment and dirt drifted downwards and the device groaned in response. A half-hearted cheer - barely audible from the furious wind, was raised by the workers behind, still clinging to the wall of the citadel as if one wrong move would kill them.

“I could’ve done that!” Fletcher cried, mouth agape.

“But you didn’t.” Reece responded flatly. Another victory for the books.

Blackened stone drifted behind Reece as they descended, the sun gleamed of the various wetlands below. The smell of stagnant water and oil fumes filled Reece’s nose. No matter how many times he had worked outside he could still not get used to the rancid scent.

The smokestack, Reece and Fletcher had just repaired, sputtered and began billowing out toxic smoke into the air, at least the smog wasn’t inside the citadel anymore. Reece stretched his bones creaking, he silently hoped it was merely poor posture and not the infamous brittle bones that plagued many of the folk around this area.

The giant monolithic citadel shaded the pier and the raised railway below. Waterbirds and flocked to the shaded railway seeking an escape from the suns harsh glare. Hopefully they would get out of the way of the train in time, Reece did not want to scrub bird entrails of the railway, again.

They were swallowed by darkness, Reece felt a sudden but welcome chill as the finally entered the citadel. Once inside he followed the signs through the labyrinth of tunnels to the main section of the citadel, the loading bay. The train was due in an hour and he had to be ready.

Reece traversed the tunnels of the citadel as if it was second nature. Turning right then left then right again, he passed small bunks hanging off the wall and cooking spaces indicating he was in the living quarters. The citadels interior considered of several very large hollowed out square rooms, layered on top of each other, the thick walls had pathways and elevators used to traverse the skyscraper-esque building.

The first floor, the loading bay, opened up on one side and allowed the railway to intersect with the stone tower. Above them was the refinery, Oil would be processed and stored there. The machines inside had exhaust pipes which would link up with the smokestack, letting the toxic smoke created in the refining process out of the citadel. Reece felt a little pride being responsible for repairing such an important piece of equipment, even if people never acknowledged his efforts.

Reece eye’s scanned the massive room. A few tired looking adults and children of all ages stood in lines, a sack in each hand waiting to get rations for their families. Massive pipes clung to the roof, they would be used to transfer oil to the train. The train didn’t require the fuel, but the people who delivered their supplies and sourced their livelihood did. Citadel-50 had always managed to fill oil quotas, and never earned the ire of the Cluster - A trade hub connecting the citadels and controlling the train- but he had heard a few horror stories from other citadels that had been cut off and left for the Mire to consume them. Hopefully it was just fear propaganda, but Reece decided not to test that theory and encouraged work whenever he could.

Across the room several merchant stalls were lined up next to each other, He walked to the stall furthest away from the railway, it was backed into a corner. Reece tapped the wooden frame of the stall and a young woman not much older than Reece glanced up from behind it. She smiled and closed a heavy looking ledger, her black hair in an out of character messy tangle.

“Soria.” Reece nodded in greeting, “Any business?”

Soria shook her head “Nothing today. What about you? Going to buy anything?” she said glancing hopefully.

Reece frowned, infrequently tapping the side of his leg. “No… sorry Bert gave me another thing to do as soon as the Train gets here.” She nodded and absently watched the children talk excitedly, they enjoyed being of use their parents.

He glanced back at Soria, she was much cleaner than everyone else. There was only a thin film of oil covering her amber skin, which was nothing compared to some of the Well operators. Reece fiddled with one of Soria’s action figures, a muscled man with green clothes painted on. While most of the figure was unrecognisable one of its legs still moved making it a valuable piece to add to his collection, if he didn’t already have two exactly like it.

Reece put the old world toy back down and continued tapping the sides of his legs, he checked his tool belt and the pockets of his maintenance jumpsuit. Satisfied that everything was where it should be and nothing had fallen out, he leant on Soria’s stall and watched her shuffle through business ledgers checking for misplaced stock.

“What are you doing? Trying to find the secret to immortal life?”

“Yes.” She responded flatly, biting her tongue. Reece noticed because her bottom lip always trembled whenever she did, it was one of the few ways she liked to display emotion in front of others, mainly the act referred to anger, annoyance, or generally disapproval with whatever had caused the action. It took months of coaxing and prompting for Reece to convince her that she could remove her almost permeant mask around him, she couldn’t drop the tongue biting habit however. Reece swore that one day she would bit the thing off.

“This business doesn’t run itself, and my purse is too light to be worrying about losing anything.” She said tapping a page in her ledgers.

“Uh-huh.” Reece sighed, there was simply not enough money flowing in this citadel. The people here worked, kept the oil from overflowing and got fed. They didn’t desire the amassing of wealth that the whole world seemed obsessed with. They wanted to live peacefully, and not worry about the rest of world and its many problems.

Soria was good at what she did, she still managed to break even in this almost monetary free citadel. But no matter how many times Reece told her that trying to become a successful merchant here was near impossible, she always responded with a dismissive wave and a slight smile.

She shifted to get more comfortable, doing her best to avoid the oil slicks scattered about the floor. Reece grew tired of reading over her shoulders and turned to see a group of off duty Oil Roustabouts watching him. He grew tense and looked them up and down in response. They were only a few years older than Reece but they had the muscles of hard labourers. They moved sluggishly as if tired but Reece knew that despite their posture and heavy uniforms they could be as quick as a zipper fish.

They worked at Pump four, if the symbols on their shoulders were any indication. Reece had never envied the bluish grey, padded full body suits that the roustabouts had to live with. But he did admit they looked nice. Even when dirty, a sense of professionalism remained with the uniform, although the same couldn’t be said for their occupants.

The three Roustabouts approached the stall without caring about their place in the line – which wasn’t that long to begin with – and made a vain attempt to act as if they were just browsing Soria’s wares. Three of them, one closing in on Reece’s left and another on his right, the biggest and what appeared to be the ring leader stood a few inches away from Reece. The leader had a malicious grin on his face and inspected Reece haughtily.

“Anything I can help you with?” Reece asked calmly, still leaning casually on Soria’s stall.

The ringleader nodded and pursed his lips, “Yeah I think there is.” He said barely containing a sneer. “You see, I work hard for this citadel.” He said

“I don’t doubt it.” Reece interrupted.

The man chuckled, but it did not carry even a hint of mirth. “It’s good to see that we are respected. Well knowing this, I’m sure you would be so kind as to give me and my friends here half of your rations.” Almost in sync the other two goons nodded vigorously.

“Pump four is having a hard time producing the necessary resources after that cave in.” He continued. “So turning over a handful of supplies to the needy is of no great consequence for someone who works such a cushy job.” The Roustabout jabbed Reece’s chest with his finger.

Is he begging or threatening me? I really have no clue. Reece thought, barely supressing a grin.

However the roustabout was not wrong, Pump four was a dangerous workplace, and Reece’s maintenance work which required smarts and skill over brawn, did seem like an undemanding job in comparison.

Pump four was a hotspot for Kruckadon nests, cave-ins and minor flooding were not uncommon. There was even a Shrückmad spotted around there a year back. Reece could still remember the ensuing panic, the lengthy lockdown issued by the conductor, and the constant checking of the underground oil wells to see if they were more active. A Shrückmad was a bad omen, a bringer of death and ruin. Reece was happy to admit that he had never seen one, not even from afar.

After a slight pause, Reece nodded thoughtfully. “I heard quite recently that your kid started working, little Yule was it?” He said. “The lads been helping out in the refinery. I’m sure a hard working family would be liable for more supplies.”

The Roustabout frowned, and the two cronies behind him looked even more bewildered. “I knew that. I was just…”

“Busy? I understand, you’re an Oil Roustabout Keenan, you work hard. Barely the chance to organize something like family registration.” Reece tentatively patted Keenan’s shoulders. “If you wish to requisition more supply, instead of wasting precious downtime, arguing with me, then I suggest speaking with whoever is responsible for unloading the Train today. I think it was Regan’s turn today, the lanky fellow with the sour look.” The defeated Roustabout nodded to Reece and turned to leave.

“Smooth.” Soria commented. “You should do some diplomacy trips, into my country.”

Reece smiled. “I do try my best to be peaceful.” Keenan had turned back and was approaching the stall, a furious look on his face.

He stopped a few inches from Reece’s face. He waved a gnarled finger in the air. Up close Reece could see the glistening film of oil and sweat, which seemed to remain perpetually on Roustabouts. A certain stench seemed to reside in the vicinity of the man, the stench of the swamp.

“How did you know about Yule?” Keenan growled. Provoking another argument so you could win, or hide your embarrassment was a bad idea, Reece would’ve backed down if it was him.

“It’s a small citadel, Keenan.” Reece stepped back, uncomfortable with the close proximity of the sweaty man. “But not that small.” He said.

“Watch it, blondie. Be gracious to the fact that I’m warning you.” With that he turned to leave the goons at his tail.

Reece spat, and gestured rudely behind their backs, any sympathy long gone. He was not blonde!

“Before you go,” Soria called. “Might I suggest making a purchase, after all you did step within the three feet radius of my store.” The corners of her mouth upturned slightly, her eyes flashing at the opportunity, or was it just the overhead lights that surprisingly lit the entirety of the loading bay.

The three Oil Roustabouts made an attempt at retreating but not before Soria thrust an old world curio or figurine into their hands and demanded payment. She fingered the Chips now lining her pockets with a smile, and Reece was equally as satisfied with watching the three grown men scamper away. Serves them right.

“It’s not my preferred sunken Scribs, but Mire chips are better than nothing.” She said grinning. “Thanks for the business, Reece.” He nodded, in frequently tapping the side of his leg.

“Am I blonde?” he asked.

She sighed. “No. Your hair is a shade brown, perhaps a little on the light side but not blonde.”

“Thanks.”

“… and your facial hair is sure to grow thicker soon, you’re just a late bloomer, I’m sure. And no you don’t look like a child, you just haven’t lost your boyish features yet. You will in a few years I assure you.” Soria continued dryly.

“What no! You don’t have too...” Reece flushed.

She laughed quietly, hiding her mouth with her hand, as to not draw attention from others. “I’m just teasing you, relax.” She pulled out the Chips she coerced off the Roustabouts, and started to count them.

“Do I get some?” Reece asked furtively.

She snorted. “No.”

“C’mon Soria.” He pleaded. “You don’t even need the money.”

“Yes I do, I plan on leaving once I get enough. I’ll head to the Cluster and then maybe back to the, Sunken Collective.” She watched Reece sag a little at that. Ever since Soria had shown up at citadel-50, she and Reece had been like two scrabblers in ruin.

Under the guise of a teacher Soria first approached him offering to teach Reece the ways of scheming and business. At first Reece had claimed that he was far too busy, but after being backed into a corner by blackmail, he finally relented. When he asked, why me? All she had said was that; he was the only one with half a brain in this place.

“No offense but the illusive and wealthy Great Black Mire, is not that wealthy or that illusive. It’s a shit hole.” Soria said.

Reece chuckled. “Can’t argue with you there.”

“You should come with me, see the world, the civilised lands. I hate to brag but my countrymen and women, have done astonishingly after the Sinking.” Soria sorted through her stall, bumping an old world box originally called a console. “As many talented people as we have, we will always have room for quick minds and capable hands.” She finished with a smile and looked at Reece.

He sighed. “Always the patriot aren’t you? Soria.”

“Hmm?”

“As much as I would love to join you on your crazy peddling adventures beyond the marshes and wetlands. See the world and all that your kin has rebuilt from the glory days of the past…” He hesitated, considering the option before finally shaking his head. “No sorry. My place is here with these fools. And when you do go I will wish you well.”

Soria frowned. “A shame, and here I thought I finally found myself a traveling companion.”

Reece chuckled. “Who knows what this mad world has in store for us?”

Soria smiled, nodding she turned back to her work. Turning back to face the lines of children – and fatigued workers missing out on precious downtime because they didn’t have kids - clutching sacks and talking amongst themselves.

Reece tapped the side of his leg impatiently. “Where is that damn train?” he muttered.

Almost on que the confines of the citadel shivered with a relentless tremor. And once again Reece questioned how the monolithic structure remained standing. The giant hollowed out monolith of stone and steel situated on top of marshland, did not seem to be something that would be structurally stable. Yet still it stood, relatively untouched by time. Reece had never even heard of a citadel collapsing.

Another win for the mysteries, I guess. He thought.

Dust and dirt drifted down from the ceiling above the loading bay, the railway that intersected through the building trembled. The rusted steel and lichen covered concrete supporting it creaked to add to everyone’s unease.

The Train was here.