Ruin (The Ruin Saga Book 1) by Harry Manners Page B

up towards the top of a rusted pylon. For a moment Norman was nonplussed, until he saw the jagged silhouette of a bird’s nest amidst the cables.
    They’d had problems with birds doing that for months. People were shooting and snaring every winged creature they laid eyes on. As the crops had vanished and the forests been picked clean, hungry eyes had turned upon ravens and songbirds alike. Flocks now sought refuge in any crevices they could find. Those atop the city’s electrical pylons had become a favourite.
    Most people didn’t mind them. Their songs were a welcome reprieve from the unnatural silence that had set in over winter—set in and never departed. They had almost become public pets—to the point that, despite their hunger, the city folk had come to frown on eating them.
    The only problem was that they got caught in the wires when they tried to take flight and got themselves electrocuted, shorting out the power in the process.
    For the most part it had been chaffinches and magpies that had discovered the elevated havens. Today’s visitor, however, was unusual: a bird that Norman had never seen in the city before. The unmistakable profile of a pigeon bobbed upon the pylon before him, cocking its head and ruffling its feathers.
    Norman waved to the overall-clad men as he approached. The rest of the street was empty, with most people either out in the fields or still eating breakfast. He had no trouble spotting Robert Strong, who stood as a giant beside his two young apprentices. As he drew closer, Robert appeared only larger by the second, until he began to blot out the building behind him.
    His usual detail consisted of hauling ancient motor vehicles to the sides of the Old World roadways surrounding the city. Even with the aid of draught horses, it was tough work. To clear every road, even within a radius of a few miles, would take many more years yet.
    “Morning,” Norman called.
    They turned to him and returned the sentiment.
    “Another squatter?”
    Robert’s boulder-shaped head nodded, his gentle face—strikingly ursine—lost in the glare of the sun high above. The muscles beneath his overalls bulged, threatening to tear the fabric as he flexed his arm to shake Norman’s hand.
    “Any blackouts while we were away?” Norman said.
    “None. This guy showed up just this morning.”
    “So what’s the plan?”
    “Buckshot,” said one of the apprentices. “And then the oven.”
    “With a bit of cranberry sauce,” said the other.
    They were both grinning, but there was something lustful in their gazes that made Norman question whether their words were in jest.
    Robert put his hands on his hips, and they fell silent. “We’ll figure it out.” He glanced at Norman. “You heading back out?” he said. His deep baritone voice resonated in the empty street, further adding to the impression of his great stature.
    Norman nodded, continuing on towards the stables. “We’re still a few bags short.”
    “Be home for pigeon pie,” Robert said, which earned him a snicker from the boys at his waist. He began to turn away, but then paused, his brows lowered. “Hey, Creek,” he called.
    Norman, having almost passed out of earshot, stopped in his tracks. The sharpness in Robert’s voice sent a twinge of unease snaking through his loins. “Yes?” he said.
    “I heard you ran into somebody yesterday. Is that true?” His eyes said the rest—that which the young men didn’t need to hear: How bad has it gotten out there?
    Norman tried to keep his face level, but knew that his jaw had tightened despite his efforts. “Where did you hear that?”
    Robert spread his arms, his face creased into an incredulous smirk. “Come on,” he said. “Do you really think that you can keep a secret with Allie Rutherford around? If she knows, everybody knows.”
    Norman cursed inwardly. “It’s true, but nothing to worry about,” he said, more for the sake of the apprentices, whom he trusted no more than