Free The Bone Wall by D. Wallace Peach

I understand nothing of the broken world, nothing that will save us, nothing beyond its fondness for death.
    “Are you planning to kill everyone?” Angel asks softly.
    Her lips pinched in thought, Mag considers the question. “Probably not,” she replies. “You give up sweet and easy, kneel somewhere inside like a big flock of tame birds, like chickens, and I don’t see any need for much killing.”
    “What about the descendants of Paradise?” I hiss, glaring at her, at the men. “You murdered them all, even the children. Why? Did you promise them mercy as well? You stabbed them with arrows, bashed in their heads with rocks, slit their throats, and burned them alive. You dragged them away to your fires as they screamed. You killed our…” The words strangle in my throat, trapped in my horror, rage, and grief. “You murdered our father.”
    “Sorry to hear it, Doves. Regrets, regrets. But them was Black Dogs.” Mag wags her head, feathers swaying. “Madder than hell at those people for what they done. A sorry sight at this bone wall, I’ll admit. Shouldn’t have gone so reckless.”
    “Reckless?” I snap. She raps me again on the arm, her eye narrowed in warning.
    “Anyway, our pack is River Walkers,” she continues. “We got better uses for your kind than bloodying our knives. Packs need healthy blood in a broken world. Too many like me and Glory.”
    Tears of pain blur my vision, yet I refuse to cry. Questions struggle to my lips, fighting to create sense of her words, but she raises a hand to me. “My fucking back is shooting iron spikes straight through my skull, little doves. You remember what I say. Kneel in a bunch when we come for you and no troubles. My thinking is you should be begging us to take you. We’ll keep you alive, more than you can do for yourselves, you hear me? Now run on back and keep that door closed tight. Black Dogs know this is our bone wall, but they’re a feral lot.”
    As we climb unsteadily to our feet, Mag flicks a wrist at the big Biter, Glory, and he shambles over, squats with his back to her and lifts her up as if she’s a child begging a ride. As the Biters descend the clay bank, Rune hefts her staff and bows gallantly in farewell. “Just do as Mag say,” he warns me. “Don’t fight us or we’ll kill you for sure.” He winks and jumps into the riverbed to catch up with the rest of his pack.
     
     

     
     
     

 
     
    8
     
    ~Angel~
     
    Back on the roof, Rimma paces, her jaw cast of iron, a pair of glinting knives shoved in her belt. We slipped her weapons down the East Spoke and up the ladder, not an easy task, but she insisted we keep them close. I sit cross-legged on a blanket, doling out our supper, thin slices of smoky ham that I roll up with greens in fresh brown bread. Wordlessly, Rimma accepts my offered meal but stays on her feet, frowning at the sky.
    If only to reinforce the Biter’s point, the shield ripples with sapphire light, waves of blue arcing from south to north like the breath of a colossal beast at rest. We sit in its beautiful belly, gazing up, acutely aware that we await our eventual digestion. Somewhere up there, great wounds gape open, inviting rivers of cold air to pour down on our heads. Drafts of dusty wind blow my hair across my eyes before the holes close and the light rolls on.
    “The Biters didn’t harm us,” I remind Rimma, words I’ve repeated twice already, if only because her ears seem barred to them.
    “Remember Paradise,” she snaps at me again.
    “I haven’t forgotten,” I murmur, and we eat in brooding silence, giving each other sour looks when she swirls by me. My blanket swaddling my shoulders, I exhale a weary groan for her benefit. “We need to discuss the Biters, even if you’re cross throughout.”
    “I’m not cross,” she hisses, crossly. “I’m thinking.”
    “The Biters didn’t harm us, Rimma.” I continue before she throws Paradise in my face, “They said Black Dogs killed