Chapter 8
I come to, gasping for breath.
My heavy head lifts, mind frothy, jaw aching.
My back is nothing but scorching brimstone.
I’m bottled agony, but the havoc around me finally breaks through enough for me to grasp my surroundings.
The sky is dark, cleared of pollution and dusted with stars.
Right above me, the moon is folded over on itself, creased in half like paper.
I can smell smoke. See an orange glow of flames lighting up the city.
And I can hear screams coming from everywhere.
I try to push myself up, but pain claws down my back so intensely that I cry out. Something is horribly wrong, though, so I can’t just lie here. I have to figure out what’s happening. Are they mobbing Havlon’s manor again? Has patrol decided to start killing anyone who dares to protest or plunder?
“Get up, Esti,” I hiss to myself.
Clutching the punishment pole, I try to use it to help my movements, but whatever oil has been doused over the wood makes it a poor support.
I force my legs beneath me, force myself to sit up on my own.
I nearly vomit from the effort, swallowing down the lump of bile that bulges in my throat.
When I can see without heaving, my head swivels, vision latching on to the people below.
They’re fleeing in droves, shouts echoing in frantic bursts. I look up, trying to figure out what they’re running from, though it’s hard to make out, even with the moonlight. But I do see something—a fog rolling down the street, except it’s denser, moving strangely.
Fear starts to trickle down my ribs.
What is that?
Then, someone bellows. A single word that pierces through the rest of the noise.
“RATS!”
My stomach pitches.
It’s not roiling fog that I’m seeing. That billowing, dense cluster is actually hundreds of thousands of rats, rushing down the street like a river broken through a dam.
And people get caught in the flood of them.
The rats stampede into the fleeing crowd, knocking them down, making everyone disappear beneath the onslaught of the violent trample.
Horror steals my breath as my eyes flare wide.
From this vantage point, I can see the vermin everywhere.
A sea of writhing gray fur blankets the ground. They’re crawling over one another, their collective gathering as high as the shop windows below.
I was wrong—there aren’t hundreds of thousands. There must be millions. Every street I can see is completely overrun.
Realization slams into me. These are no ordinary rodents.
This is the Rat Plague.
First Flies, then Poison, and now Rats? We have never had two back-to-back Plagues before, and now, we suddenly suffer three.
I sit gaping, unable to fall into denial.
Unable to think myself dreaming. Not with the violence of reality.
My fingers dig into the bloodied platform as I try to get a grip, my body bent, barely staying upright.
While I watch, more people get sucked under the screeching riptide, pulled beneath the enormity of the writhing mass.
A horrific, gushing sea that seems intent on drowning the entire city.
Tails thrash upon their stout bodies, and their claws scrape over cobbles and plaster. They’re as big as cats, climbing up walls, gnawing at doorways, scrabbling over rooftops. I can hear their squeaks and hisses, all while screams burst from the people below.
Just up ahead, a woman runs outside with a shout, making my head snap toward the commotion.
Rats are on her shoulders, her chest, and more are climbing up her legs.
They’re biting and scratching, attacking with fervor.
She barely makes it three steps before she trips and lands on the ground, right in front of the oncoming flood.
The Rats descend.
Devour.
They rush at her, covering her body in the blink of an eye, and her screams get swallowed up. Her blood sprays. She becomes nothing but meat on which to chew as their teeth gnaw through her limbs with sickening brutality.
My stomach heaves, saliva coating my tongue as I yank my eyes away. But as soon as I do, I see Rats circling around the bottom of my platform. My heart lodges against my ribs as I watch them rise, watch some of them break off from their surge and start to rush up the stairs toward me.
Terrified, I shove myself to standing, arms curling around the post and hugging it to me so I don’t slip off.
The first of the Rats reach the top of the platform, and the sight of them makes my skin crawl.
Red eyes and frothy mouths, tails thicker than my thumb.
Their coats are gray and oily, and they have sharp, pillared teeth that are bared and bloodied.
Squeaking shrieks fling at me, making me shake all over.
The first one reaches my foot, ready to attack, and I act on pure impulse.
My boot comes up, and I kick it away. Then another, and another, and three more.
I move as much as the chain will allow to try to stay away from them, but one bites into my ankle.
I scream as another one starts to scramble up my leg, its nails digging into my skin.
Tossing my foot out, I connect with the one at my ankle and then turn, jamming my other leg into the pole, smashing the second Rat and making it detach.
But more run at me. So many that their bodies block sight of the ground.
I have to figure something out, or I’m going to be devoured exactly like that woman. If my aunt and mother survive this, they’ll never even know what happened. There will be nothing left of me except bones picked clean on this platform, my skeleton still chained to the punishment post.
My hands yank at the iron collar, but I can’t get it off. I can’t get free.
I’m trapped.
But determination steels my bloodied spine. I’m not going to stand here and let these things eat me alive. I won’t die without a fight.
With another sweep of my leg, I send three more Rats flying. Then I turn and jump, arms hugging the pole, feet dangling.
Go, Esti!
I try to haul myself up, but I’m weakened, and the wood is so slick that I can’t gain traction. I slip, feet landing hard against the platform, crushing Rats beneath me.
They nip and claw and scrabble over my feet, trying to climb up my legs.
My panic pounces, giving my injured body a fresh burst of adrenaline.
I ram my legs against the wood again, knocking more Rats off.
Then I grip hold of the chain connected to the collar at my neck, testing its strength from where it’s attached at the very top of the pole.
This thing better hold.
The pole is barely wide enough to fit both my feet, and it’s incredibly slippery with whatever oil is on it, but I brace the bottoms of my boots against it anyway. I start to walk up the wood while clutching on to the taut chain, using it to help me climb.
My vision swims from the agony of my shredded back, but I block it out. Tear off the scream unrolling from my throat and swallow it whole.
I have to do this.
If I don’t, I’m dead.
My arms strain, breaths biting through my clenched teeth as I use the tension of the chain to haul myself up. I start to slip again, boots skidding down, but I keep hold of the links with aching hands and dig my feet in, refusing to fall.
Refusing to die.
Below, Rats are clambering on top of each other, attempting to climb after me, but after a foot or so, they fall off, unable to keep hold of the slick surface.
I look up, keeping my gaze on the top of the post. With my hands curled around the thick metal links, and my fingernails the same color as the wood, I once more find purchase.
Then I pray to every Fate I’ve ever heard of. To every deity that pumped power into our core.
And somehow, I climb.
I shut out everything else. The Rats, the fleeing, the screaming, the dying. I thank my aunt for all the backbreaking work I’ve done in the mill all these years, because that’s the only reason I’m strong enough to keep going.
Counting each link between my grips, I heft myself up the greased pole, one armful of pulled chain at a time.
Sweat pours down my face. Blood spews from the fissures in my back.
My limbs shake, and tears keep veiling my vision, but I blink past it all.
Force myself to breathe. To reach up. Grip. Step. Pull.
Climb.
I hum to myself.
A nothing, shaky song. One filled with mindless noise just to drown out all the rest. The length of the chain sags and collects against my chest as I go, the heavy metal adding more weight. I slip again, but I manage to dig my toes in. Barely.
My fingers ache, and I can feel my entire body trembling, but I focus on the top of the post. On the eyelet where the chain connects.
Keep going.
Keep going.
Keep—
Just when I think my body will give out, my hand lands on the eyelet. With a guttural heave, I reach for the top of the pole and grip with all my might. I haul myself up onto the rough, flat top, chest-first, dangling like a pig skewered through the belly.
Very carefully, I maneuver myself over the narrow circle of splintered wood and manage to sit up in the center without falling off.
I did it.
Heaving gasps bury my lungs, and I try to quell my violent shakes. I keep all the slack of the chain bunched in my lap, holding on to it for dear life, just in case I should fall. The top of the pole is barely big enough for me to sit, so I carefully let my legs dangle over the side.
Below, Rats cover the platform, writhing over each other. They still try to climb, but the coating on the polished pole is too much of a deterrent.
Thank the Fates.
From up here, I take in the destruction throughout the city.
Hamelyn is overrun.
There are Rats absolutely everywhere. Eating through doors and shutters and roofs—eating through people.
But I can also see flames. At the city’s gates, patrol has gathered like an army. Torches lit, fires spreading to burn the vermin, flames stretching across streets in crackling blockades.
Heavy plops of tears fall from my eyes. Tears I’m far too dehydrated to spill, so they dry up quickly, even though my misery floods.
“Please,” I whisper as I draw up my legs and curl my arms around them. Only the edges of my heels fit on the pole as I bend my knees and rest my forehead down. “Please let my mother and aunt be okay.”
As I plead, the city below me buckles under unfathomable destruction that fractures my heart. Tucking myself as small as I can so I don’t fall off, I sit here and watch Hamelyn be swept away in death.
And wonder how I’m going to stay alive.