The Deep (11 page)

Slowly, we make our way to the border gate,
and suddenly I feel stupid for wanting to come here so badly. Tony
is right – we’ll never get past the guards. The gate is under
constant surveillance and the fence around Dartmoor is so tall that
we have no way of scaling it to hop over. It’s made of a metallic
material that looks like a net. It reminds me of the aluminum used
in Tony’s devices.

“So what do we do?” I ask Walt.

“I don’t know. I bet we don’t look sick
enough to slip through.”

My eyes sweep the road ahead. I want to know
if any vehicles are leaving Dartmoor, because I just saw a small
van coming into the gate. On the side it says ‘Maintenance’ in big,
colorful letters. It must transport workmen who are responsible for
keeping the fence in optimal condition.

Just at that moment, I hear someone calling
us. Soft, yet insistent. “Hey. You over there.”

I turn around at the same time as Walt and
spot a guy our age, his face partially hidden by a ginger fringe.
He’s leaning against the gatehouse and has his eyes fixed on us. As
he pushes off the wall and walks away, he beckons us, his feet
following the line of the impenetrable fence.

“Now what does
he
want?” Walt
hisses.

“No clue, but loitering here is pretty much
pointless. Let’s follow him.”

The red-haired guy is speeding up
considerably now. He gracefully jumps over the holes and dents in
the earth next to the fence. After about two thousand paces we end
up at a small farm that seems to have nestled up against the fence,
like an animal seeking shelter and safety. Only then does the boy
turn around. He smiles when he sees we’ve followed him – he might
have thought we wouldn’t.

“Hi,” I begin insecurely. “I’m Leia. And this
is Walt.”

“Victor,” he introduces himself before
falling silent and taking us in with narrowed eyes. “You both want
to go outside?”

My eyes widen. “How do you know?”

He cocks his head. “I can tell. I’m trained
to spot people who want to, you know. Otherwise me and my mom
wouldn’t be able to help refugees. It’s not like they come to the
border carrying big signs saying ‘Get Me Out’ if they want to
leave.”

“People – can’t leave here?” Walt
stammers.

Victor raises an eyebrow. “You’re clearly not
from around here. That’s what I thought. Your accent is kind of
strange, too. But, no Walt, people can’t leave here. Everybody
signs a contract and afterwards the government wants to keep them
inside. The less influence from outside, the better. No unrest, no
iffy diseases, no trouble. President Jacob takes good care of his
flock, so what could they possibly want out there?” He sniffs
contemptuously. “Isn’t it funny that Dartmoor used to be a prison
in the old days? Very – fitting, so to speak.”

I can’t believe my ears. The whole situation
is even worse than I thought. “So everybody’s trapped here?” I ask,
my voice cracking.

The hardness in Victor’s face dissolves. His
eyes take on a hint of sadness. “No. Most people are fine living
like this. This way they don’t have to think about what should be
changed.”

“Can you help us to get to Exeter?” Walt
asks. “That’s why we want to leave.”

“Exeter?” Victor echoes. “What the hell
for?”

“That’s none of your business,” I snap
impatiently. “Can you help us or not?”

“That depends.” He gauges me with his green
eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

Oh. I hadn’t really expected that. So far,
we’ve only met charitable, selfless people in Dartmoor who said
they believed in miracles and generosity. This guy obviously has a
very different life philosophy. Which shouldn’t surprise me,
because he’s opposed to Dartmoor’s government. “Uhm,” I stammer.
“What would you like?”

An unpleasant smile creeps up Victor’s face
when his gaze rakes me up and down. “Well,” he starts out
suggestively.

Out of nowhere, Walt is between me and the
redhead. He shoots Victor a contemptuous glare. “Hold that thought,
and don’t say it out loud if you know what’s good for you,” he says
icily.

Victor turns pale. “Fine.”

An idea pops into my head. “I have this,” I
say, handing over the New Testament. “It isn’t worth much, but if
you help us I promise I’ll bring you an object from the cathedral.
You’ll get it when we come back.”

I see him swiftly considering my offer.
“Deal,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. Apparently, my
proposal is even more tempting than I thought.

He turns around and walks toward the farm.
Walt frowns at Victor before grabbing my hand. “What a
disrespectful brat,” he grumbles. “The way he looked you over. I
had half a mind to knock him over the head.”

I laugh nervously. “I wouldn’t do that around
here, if I were you. Before you know it, soldiers will be here,
needles at the ready.” I lean into him and kiss him gently on the
lips. “Thanks for standing up for me,” I whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he replies. “Now let’s take
a look at how Victor is planning to get us out of this place.”

That quickly becomes evident when Victor
leads us into the barn where they keep cattle. In the rear wall is
a door, almost invisible amidst the old, dark wooden planks. It
swings open on creaky hinges, showing us the world beyond the
fence. So there’s a hole in the barrier – a gate used by refugees
who have reconsidered the president’s promise of a perfect life
under Gideon’s law.

“How far is it to Exeter?” I say, gazing into
the distance.

“About seven miles.” Victor shoots me a
dubious look. “Are you sure you’re prepared enough for this
trip?”

“We have a map.” I grab Walt’s hand and drag
him along. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Make sure you follow the track running
downhill from here,” Victor warns us. “It will keep the border
patrol from seeing you once you go off into the wild.”

“Where do all the refugees go?” Walt wants to
know. “I thought the wilderness was poisoned land?”

Victor grins. “I’m not supposed to talk about
it. But don’t worry – all those selfish, violent thugs who escape
are better off out there.”

I’m happy we’re leaving. Victor’s sarcastic,
self-satisfied ways are starting to grate on my nerves. “And so
will we,” I add. “What time should we be back?”

“Before dark, please.”

Walt nods briefly and we walk out the door
hand in hand. Victor is right – there’s a narrow trail crossing the
moor, probably worn out by the feet of all the refugees who have
fled Dartmoor before.

“Well, we’re on our way,” Walt says, letting
out a relieved sigh once we end up at the bottom of the hill and
Dartmoor is hidden from view. “It’s about a two-hour walk.”

“Walk?” I smile at him. “Why would we
walk?”

“What do you suggest, sprout wings?”

I bump his shoulder. “No, silly. We’re going
to ride a horse.”

Walt seems even more puzzled now. “What?”

“Wild horses live on these moors,” I explain.
With my trained eyes, I spotted their tracks as soon as we left the
farm, not to mention all the dried-out horse pats. Walt has
probably never ridden a wild horse before, and already I’m
chuckling at the thought of him sitting behind me and desperately
clinging to my back during our trip. It doesn’t happen a lot that
I’m
better at something.

“Well, they sure know how to hide.” He casts
a look around. “Come on, let’s just go on foot.”

“What, are you scared?” I tease him.

“Of riding some wild, unpredictable animal
into an irradiated city? Why would I?” he deadpans. Only the slight
tremor in his voice tells me that I’m actually right.

“Just leave it to me.” I point at a patch of
woodland rising up from the moor. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll
be right back with our ride.”

“Sure.” Walt demonstratively plunks down on
one of the rocks along the trail.

I walk a bit further downhill and veer off
toward the patch of trees that the horse tracks lead to. I’m sure
at least part of the herd will be there, because the woods probably
contain a source of water.

I tiptoe along, carefully stepping over dry
bushes. The grass mutes my footsteps. When I get to the edge of the
woods, I know I was right – I can even smell the animals. It’s a
slightly different scent than what I’m used to, and when I
stealthily zigzag through the trees to reach the small pool in the
middle, I understand why. They’re ponies. Tony has told us about
these animals. Apparently, there are strings of wild Dartmoor
ponies, but also domesticated ones, and the latter are used as
riding animals within the fence. These animals are definitely not
tame, but so small that I’ll have no problem catching one to jump
on its back. What’s more, their manes are so long that I can easily
hold on.

The animal closest to me looks like a filly.
That’s fortunate, because I want to steer clear of stallions for
now. I crawl toward the animal. It’s a good thing I’m upwind so she
can’t catch my scent.

It’s only when I grab the filly’s mane and
swing myself onto her back in one fluid motion that the rest of her
string becomes aware of my presence. The other three take off,
whinnying and snorting. My filly is bucking to throw me off, but I
don’t let go and press my legs into her sides. Leaning toward her
ear, I softly whisper to her, and when she finally calms down I rub
her head and neck while humming a tune. Of course I didn’t bring
any honey candies, so my sweet singing will have to do in this
case.

When I leave the woods shortly afterwards and
steer my new pony toward Walt sitting on his stone, he gapes at me
as if I suddenly grew three extra heads. “What – how did you do
that?” he marvels.

I smile. “Patience, charm and persistence.
You coming?”

He shoots the filly a suspicious look. “How
am I supposed to get on without stirrups?”

“Just hold on to me and you can’t go
wrong.”

After three fruitless attempts, Walt finally
manages to clamber up and sit behind me – and I’m secretly thanking
my lucky stars I didn’t catch an actual horse. We’d have been here
until sunset.

With a cheeky grin on my lips I turn around.
“So, shall we?”

He moans. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t
you?”

“Just a little.” The filly takes off after I
lightly spur her on. I’ve studied the map of the surrounding area
meticulously, and I’m sure I know which way to go to get to Exeter.
Fortunately, the weather couldn’t be more beautiful, so I can see
where the sun is in the sky. I do get thirsty very soon, but I
don’t think it’s a good idea to stop for water. It could be
polluted, and besides, if we get off, our pony will make a run for
it.

Despite my dry mouth, I genuinely enjoy the
trip. The landscape is less barren and hostile than I expected,
even though the vegetation is sparser than it is in Dartmoor. Here
and there, we hear birdsong. Apparently, some birds survived all
the brutal wars. Or maybe they flew in from the islands off the
coast of Cornwall to come take a look at the new world. Just like
us.

The sun has passed the highest point in the
sky by the time we can make out a large, scorched area in the
distance.

“There it is,” Walt says breathlessly as we
come closer. “That’s Exeter.”

Not much is left of the place. For just a
moment, I feel disappointed, but it doesn’t stop me from
dismounting and following Walt toward the edge of the blackened
field. Strangely enough, our pony doesn’t even bolt immediately.
Instead, she observes our next steps with a glint of curiosity in
her dark eyes.

Our next course of action is to get onto the
main road leading into the city. It’s still clearly visible,
despite the destruction all around us. I try to suppress a shiver
when I look aside and am almost certain I see pale, human bones
lying by the side of the road. Could they belong to one of the
pilgrims who never made it?

Some buildings still stand partly erect –
like crooked, black fingers, they reach up into the sky. Desperate,
distorted claws raised in a final gesture to beg for mercy. But
what immediately catches my eye is the one structure that doesn’t
seem affected in the least. A colossal, white building, richly
ornamented on the outside. Its tall, blockish tower seems to want
to touch the hovering clouds. But the roof of this holy building
reaches almost as high, its edges decked out with slender, white
pinnacles. My breath catches in my throat when I look at it.

“The cathedral,” Walt mumbles. “It’s like a
higher power prevented it from being destroyed. Everything around
it is gone.”

He’s right. Was it possible that Jesse
protected this cathedral – or Jesus, as they called him here?

The silence grows oppressive, making my ears
ring. Here, in the bombed city of Exeter, we hear no birdsong.
Nothing stirs, not even a breath of wind. When I turn to Walt, I
see his eyes are red-rimmed. This whole situation doesn’t leave him
cold, either.

“Everything’s dead,” I whisper.

“Yeah. Because of the bombs.” He takes my
hand and pulls me in to plant a soft kiss on my mouth. “But
luckily, our ancestors got out in time.”

Together, we stand in the middle of a
blackened field that might once have been a park. This city must
have harbored thousands of people, maybe more. But no one in the
old world respected its beauty enough to spare it and save Exeter
for posterity.

“Shall we go in?” I propose.

“Well, it’s the only place we can actually
enter, so let’s,” Walt replies with a bitter smile.

It’s a short walk to get to the main
entrance. The doors are pretty tall, but completely dwarfed by the
arc stretching out above them. Triangles, circles and lines are
engaged in an intricate dance across the stained glass windows,
which remind me of the windows in the palace dinner hall. A row of
statuettes depicting men decorate the ledge above the door. Maybe
those are the people who built this cathedral.