Fray (The Ruin Saga Book 3) by Harry Manners Page B

his lip and bearing a fit of self-hatred, he withdrew one hand and swept it sharply across her face—a face once taut and radiant with searing intent, turned pale and translucent by the long hard years. “Wake up!”
    A moment passed in which he glimpsed wide eyes, awake and furious, and then stars erupted in his head, and his cheek sang with pain. His hat tumbled from his head, and the left flank of his sideburns smarted. Wheeling away from her, thrown by Evelyn’s incredible wiry strength, he almost fell without his stick.
    But he didn’t fall. She caught him.
    Now it was her hand wrapped around his, all the more vice-like. She said nothing, nor did he; the two of them merely stared at one another, and the endless times they saved one another’s lives echoed between them. Then Lincoln crumpled onto her, a single gasp escaping his lips. He clutched at her shawl, and felt her fingers run through his wispy shock of white hair.
    “Don’t leave me, not here, not alone,” he hissed. “Please.”
    Her voice had regained its sharp and measured edge, yet through it a note of softness twinkled. “I’m sorry.”
    They remained there like that for a time, glad for the contact. Lincoln took hold of himself, rising from her chest with all the dignity he could muster.
    “They’re all gone, aren’t they?” she said.
    He drew a long sigh. “Soon,” he said, “soon we will all be gone.”
    The survivors of the End had grown elderly, even those who had been young and fresh when the Old World departed—even Alexander.
    “I can’t believe it’s come to this,” Evelyn said. “After all we’ve given, the lives that were sacrificed.”
    “It was always going to escalate.”
    “But to end like this…”
    “End? No, this is not the end.” He took her hand and pressed it between both of his. “Our greatest achievement was always in showing just how inextinguishable the flame of civilisation really is. Even if we all fall here, somewhere and some time, there will be others. And they will know what we did here.”
    She gave him a thin and watery smile. “Tell me it was worth it, Oliver,” she said. “Tell me I lived a good life.”
    He brought her hand gently to his lips. “My lady,” he whispered. “There was never a better life lived.”
    Then it was him taking her into his arms. Clumsy rattling footsteps arrived from the depths of the tower, accompanied by exhausted panting. Lincoln didn’t turn from his embrace with Evelyn as somebody arrived in the doorway behind them. From the little wheezing sounds, he recognised Latif Hadad.
    That boy knows more about machines than his fellow man. I forgot to add tact to our syllabus.
    “Yes?” he said, injecting gruffness into his voice.
    “The… the…” Latif seemed utterly incapacitated.
    “Spit it out, you great lump!”
    “We… we’re picking up…”
    Lincoln shot a reproachful look over his shoulder but paused when he caught sight of Latif. The boy was pale and blinking, not so much exhausted as shocked. He waited a few moments, then Latif seemed to snap somewhat from his reverie.
    “We’re picking up a signal.”
    “Yes, Mr Hadad,” Lincoln said, a sinking sensation in his chest. “That was days ago. We played it before the council. I trust this is ringing bells?”
    Has the boy snapped?
    Latif blinked again, shook his head, and, incredibly, laughed. “Not this one.”
    Lincoln wasn’t sure who tensed first, himself or Evelyn. All he knew was the next moment they were both inbound upon the pale-faced lad. He seemed to come fully to his senses as they bore down; pure and blind excitement took root. He laughed again, bunching his fists.
    “I caught a signal from another frequency. Another voice. Music!”
    Lincoln was halfway to casting a hand dismissively through the air when Latif took a step closer.
    “ Music , you old fools. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
    Never, ever, has he dared disrespect me in front of Evelyn. He’s forgotten himself.