Chester looked at Preston and chose his words carefully. “It’s true. I don’t like stadiums. Don’t worry about that right now.”
A number of them glanced at Preston. Preston was about to explain but couldn’t think of the words. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as Gail explained. Maybe it had been covered over with dirt by now. So instead he stayed quiet, hoping for the best.
His attention moved back to cutting the wall.
Eventually they broke through and pushed out a man-sized opening.
Preston walked through first, his heart beating rapidly. The rest followed.
The wall they’d cut through was contouring a long, rectangular surface that must have been an Old World playing field. The surface had bumpy gray and white protrusions throughout, with little vegetation, except in a few parts where there had been accumulated sediment. Presumably this sediment was from blowing sand, pollen and other debris that had collected over the decades.
At the cusp of the wall, just under their feet, the sediment was heavier, but just a few feet away the white bumps were more visible. Preston didn’t approach this curiosity, for he knew immediately what it was. The others ventured forward, however, particularly the new mules.
“Are these… bones?” Chastain said, pulling at one. It separated from the ground with a snap, throwing up a jumble of other bones with it.
“Yes,” Preston said.
They all looked out across the floor of the stadium. The bones were everywhere, fused together and mixed with sediment, creating a thick bed. How thick couldn’t be discerned, but judging by the hole Chastain had created, they went down at least a few feet.
Vinny was examining the bones more closely. “What the fuck! These are human bones. This is bent!” He extracted a well-preserved skull from the hole he’d created.
“What the hell is this place?” Nando said. Nando, a thickset wrench, was the leader of their second platform. He had almost as much experience as Chester and just as much influence with the mules. “There are enough bones here… thousands must have died. Hundreds of thousands maybe.”
Chester looked ill-at-ease. He was standing back, aloof against the wall, unwilling to venture out. It would be up to Preston to explain.
“Now let’s calm down,” Preston said. “These people died decades ago. This was a prison of sorts, but for people who were the worst kind of criminals—the kind that unleashed the bombs that created the fever lands. They turned their backs on progress and let evil factions fight one another while they did nothing. These people deserved to die.”
The mules didn’t look in any way assuaged.
“There is equipment here,” Preston continued, “in the basement of this stadium, that can automate many of the tasks we are doing at the Barnyard bunkers. It will give us the ability to start small manufacturing lines so that we can do in weeks what would normally take years.”
Preston received only blank looks in return. They were too far removed to understand any of the work he was doing with Gail in the Barnyard. They wouldn’t be able to see how this was important to protect them from the SLS, or to help them live better lives.
As Preston was speaking, Chastain had been building a head of steam. “Look mister, the only reason I didn’t give you a punch in the nose earlier is because your boss is paying me a pretty penny for this. That, and Chester here seems to have a hard-on for you. But if you think for a second I’m going to have anything to do with this sick graveyard you’re sorely mistaken.”
Chester had regained some of his nerve. He took a step forward. “Remember what I said, Chastain. I know it’s not pleasant, but we have a job to do. If you want to go home, be my guest, but you won’t be paid.”
But now Nando was stepping forward, wagging a finger at Chester. “Wait a minute, Chastain is right. Mules don’t go to places like this, period. It could be part of the fever lands for all we know. It’s just not right to pop this surprise on us, without warning, a whole day’s ride from Lynchburg. You of all people should know better, Chester. You should be ashamed of yourself. You and your railroad friends, can go get bent… sideways.”
Chester looked like he was about to argue but then couldn’t find the words. Instead he only winced and absorbed the biting remarks of the other wrench.
Nando was walking toward the opening in the wall. Chastain, Vinny, and three of the other green mules moved to follow them.
A shot rang out, echoing in the stadium. Everyone froze in place and turned to Rourke, who was smiling with a pistol pointed in the air. “My turn,” he said.
Rourke bent over and picked up a free leg bone that had been dislodged by Chastain. He began twirling the bone around playfully. “Did you know that, in addition to my sheik hairstyle, and sympathetic nature, I’m actually quite good at numbers?” Then he held his chin in thought, staring out at the field of bones.
“Sixty-five thousand,” he said.
Everyone stared back at him. The new mules looked impatient, angry. Preston wasn’t sure how much they could tolerate. Preston shook his head no, he put his hands down in a gesture of calming, but Rourke was ignoring him.
“That’s how many dead people are here, in this stadium,” Rourke continued, “I just calculated it. X = Y. A+B = Z. Lickety split.” He crouched and began drumming his bone in an inane pattern on the surface of a skull fused into the ground ahead of him.
“So what?” Nando said. “Look, you can’t scare us with one of your routines. We’re not afraid. If you think—”
Another shot rang out, and Nando fell backward onto the ground, a bloom of red seeping into the cotton frock material covering his chest.
It was only a matter of time, of course. Nobody could keep Rourke at bay for long, and the greener mules kept pushing and pushing. Every man has his breaking point, and Rourke Rama’s was only a hair past annoyance.
The other new mules made to run, but Rourke leveled his pistol at them and called out. “A ta ta! No, sir.” They slowly stopped scurrying away, perhaps knowing they wouldn’t get far even if they made it past the door.
Jeroen maneuvered to stand in front of the exit to cut off their escape.
Rourke casually walked up to Nando, who was squirming on the ground, grasping for air, painting the dusty bones with his blood. Rourke shot him in the eye without hesitation. Without a murmur, Nando stopped moving.
Rourke looked introspective, sad even, his brow furrowing. “You know what, I’m so sorry,” he said, “I think I may have made a terrible mistake.” Some of the mules looked confused, hopeful even, but Preston knew this was bound to be just one more perversion.
“My math was all wrong. It’s sixty-five thousand and one.” And Rourke burst out laughing, so much so that he doubled over.
Preston tried to get things under control. “Look, no one else has to die here. Now you know how serious we are, how important this is for us, and for Seeville. If you do your job, and keep your mouth shut, you’ll get paid, and paid well. We can even show you why this is so important. We can show you why you’re doing the right thing, if you’ll just give us the chance.”
After sharing some uncomfortable looks, they nodded their heads carefully. What else were they going to do? Preston would have to watch them. He would have to make sure they remained compliant. And Rourke would push for eliminating them upon their return to Seeville, Preston knew. He didn’t like the thought of it, but it might be necessary.
Incidents like these were unfortunate, but they no longer plagued Preston with regret. Ever since the events in Yorktown, he had resigned himself to the fact that they were a necessary evil. There were too many things to do. He didn’t have the time or stamina to wrestle with his conscience as well. If a few perished along the way, “they were just rusty bolts in the drivetrain,” as Bartz would say. They had to be removed and replaced, or the whole train could derail.