A Town Called Dust: The Territory 1

by Justin Woolley

  “Where are you going!?” Lynn cried out.

  Squid managed to say something in reply but Lynn couldn’t hear him. Rage filled her. Squid was abandoning her. Lynn’s anger at Squid left her distracted for just a second and she was too late to block an incoming strike from Tank that caught her in the upper arm. The sudden burst of pain only fuelled her aggravation.

  “Come back!” Lynn’s words were as wild as her anger, tumbling after Squid in a confused collection. “Get back here!”

  *

  Squid quickened the pace of his hobble down the corridor. He tried not to look back, scared of what Max might have become. He only managed to make it a few more steps before he felt a sudden boom and a ringing in his ear as he was punched from behind. He stumbled and turned in time to see Darius throw another punch. Squid managed to duck and Darius’s fist caught him awkwardly in the top of the forehead, a glancing blow that seemed to hurt Darius as much as it hurt Squid. Squid could see over Darius’s shoulder that Max’s adrenaline-fuelled attack was running out of steam. Tears were leaving streaks down Max’s cheeks as his attacks lost their vigor. Glenden and Tank were sporting bleeding wounds, welts and large egg-shaped swellings on their faces, but they had managed to grab Max’s arms. Squid feebly pushed at Darius to keep him at bay, but it wasn’t working. Then Squid felt a sudden pull on the back of his shirt. It almost hauled him off his feet.

  “Enough.”

  The voice brought the fight to an instant stop. Well, almost an instant stop, as Max continued to struggle and eventually ripped himself free of Glenden and Tank’s grip. He lashed out with a kick that landed squarely in Rusty’s groin, again. Rusty collapsed to the floor. Max picked up one of the wooden swords from the ground and swung at Tank. The sword connected with the back of Tank’s elbow. The elbow joint bent the wrong way, much too far the wrong way, and the sound of the impact was complemented by the dull cracking of bone.

  Max then went at Glenden, who had started backing away from him. Max raised the sword into an overhead position, fully intending, it seemed, to split Glenden’s skull wide open.

  “I said enough!”

  Max stopped and turned. His face was a mess of tears and blood. His lungs heaved, drawing in rapid breaths. Glenden had dropped to the ground, his eyes wide with shock and terror. Tank, his face an unhealthy off-white color, held his broken arm as it flopped at the elbow like wet paper. His eyes rolled in their sockets like apples in a barrel. Rusty moaned as he rocked on the floor. Max turned to where the voice had come from. Lieutenant Walter stood watching.

  “Drop that sword.”

  Lieutenant Walter’s voice was cold. The wooden sword rattled to the stone floor.

  “I won’t jump to any conclusions,” he said slowly, “but it looked like four against two. That makes it worse odds than last time. Who wants to explain?”

  All the boys were quiet.

  “Very well,” Lieutenant Walter said, “I will take this to the Training Master immediately.”

  “None of these dirt lifters and knuckle-dragging Outsiders have any idea of honor,” Max said. “They were waiting like cowards in the darkness to attack us.”

  Lieutenant Walter began to speak but apparently Max hadn’t finished. He pointed his finger at Squid.

  “And you,” Max said icily, his voice flat, “are a coward too.”

  Squid’s face reddened.

  Lieutenant Walter looked at Max.

  “You speak of honor,” said Walter as he stared at Max. “But you were ready to kill. Right here and now you would have smashed this boy’s brains in. There is no honor in that. You have no honor with which to judge.”

  Max ran at Lieutenant Walter and threw a punch. It seemed to take the Digger by surprise, hitting him in the center of the chest. Max lashed out with the other hand too, but Lieutenant Walter caught it. Max continued to beat against the Digger’s chest with his free hand until finally he fell against the man and his attack turned to sobs.

  CHAPTER 22

  Squid and Lynn sat on one side of a long table. Darius, Glenden and Rusty sat opposite them. Lynn stared across the table, refusing to break eye contact with Darius, whose eyes were flicking up and down. They were in an empty room, long and narrow. It was unique in the Academy in that there was nothing on the walls: no paintings, no hangings, nothing but the flickering gas lights and the table at which they sat. The door opened and The Bear and Lieutenant Walter entered, followed by the Dean of the Academy, a tall gray-bearded man named Rupert Peroni. The Dean sat at the head of the table and The Bear and Lieutenant Walter took their seats either side of him.

  “I don’t usually trouble myself with matters of discipline,” the Dean said, “but Major Essenburg and Lieutenant Walter have discussed your punishment with me and I must be present for certain ceremonial reasons. Please continue, Major.”

  “Boys,” The Bear said calmly, “we are at war and the Territory is in greater peril than any of you realize. A horde of ghouls is coming that threatens our very existence. The Diggers are the only hope we have. You, with your petty squabbles, have done little but show that you do not have what is necessary to become one of us and fight for the common good. I have better things to do than discipline Scants, and the fact that Lieutenant Walter and I, and more importantly the Dean, are even here, should be indication enough that you have screwed up for the last time.”

  Lynn wanted to yell at them for their stupidity but she held her tongue. Her anger had done enough today.

  “Lieutenant,” The Bear said, “please inform them of our decision.”

  Lieutenant Walter nodded and turned to look at Darius’s side of the table first.

  “As you know, young Tank has received a severe enough injury that he is being discharged for medical reasons. Earlier, however, he came and spoke to me and confessed, in great detail, that the plot to attack Max and Squid had been his idea all along and that he bullied you others into becoming involved. He claimed that Darius in particular was against the whole thing.”

  Lynn looked at Darius and could tell that he was fighting to hold back a smile.

  “As convenient as this sudden development of conscience is, and as unlikely as it is that Tank could come up with any scheme whatsoever—”

  “I caution you to keep your personal opinions to yourself, Lieutenant,” The Bear growled.

  “Yes, sir. In light of this evidence,” Lieutenant Walter continued, “the decision has been made that Tank’s discharge will be altered to a full dishonorable discharge. Rusty and Glenden will be transferred to the Workmen Corps, and will never serve as enlisted Diggers or Apprentices, and Darius, given that you were apparently a reluctant party in this, you will be bumped down to the next intake of Scants and will repeat your training with this incident to remain on your permanent record.”

  “Sir!” Lynn interrupted. “Darius was behind the whole thing. He made Tank say that!”

  Lieutenant Walter looked at Lynn and then back to The Bear. The Bear indicated to Walter that he should continue. Walter took a deep breath and then spoke. “Squid, you are to continue in the current Scant group to complete your training, with this incident being noted on your permanent record. Max, we are well aware that you were as much a victim of this attack as Squid. However,” Lieutenant Walter paused again, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing, “the decision has been made that due to your excessive use of violence and lack of restraint—”

  “And you struck a superior,” the Dean interjected, “let us not forget that.”

  “Sir,” Lieutenant Walter said to the Dean, “I hardly think, given the circumstances—”

  “Lieutenant,” The Bear snapped, “deliver the verdict as written.”

  Walter inhaled deeply again.

  “Yes, sir. Max, you are also to receive a discharge from the Diggers.”

  Lynn knew she should have been angry—she should be protesting with every fiber of her being—but she didn’t have any fight left. Instead she felt empty. She h
ad achieved nothing. She would have no choice but to return to Alice and the fate that awaited her at the hands of the Sisters. She fought against the tears she felt coming, she fought hard, but she knew everyone must be able to see the sheen over her eyeballs.

  “But—” Squid shouted.

  The Bear stared at Squid. “Speak your mind then, Squid,” The Bear said. “You seem to know everything—what do you think we have overlooked?”

  Everyone in the room looked at Squid expectantly.

  “Sirs,” Squid said, “Max was just trying to protect us.”

  “We are aware of what happened, Squid,” The Bear said. “He still showed a dangerous lack of restraint that could have resulted in worse than what happened.”

  “Then,” Squid said, “I want to be discharged as well. I won’t stay here without him.”

  Lynn turned her head to look at Squid. What was he doing, the idiot boy? She mouthed the word “no,” hoping that Squid would recant, but he said nothing.

  The Bear looked at Squid for a moment.

  “Very well then,” The Bear said. “You shall both be discharged, effective immediately.”

  Lynn’s insides cooled. Across from her Darius couldn’t contain his smile anymore and it spread over his face like opening crow’s wings. Lieutenant Walter placed his hand over his eyes.

  “Right,” said the Dean all too cheerily, “that closes the proceedings then.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Melbourne looked around as he lifted the saddle off his horse. This was the furthest from home he’d ever been, even further than the Rock, and that was almost three hundred miles from Alice. They were well away from everything that resembled civilization in the Central Territory. Not even Outsiders like the filthy dirt farmers or stinking miners lived this far out, at least none of any significance. They were probably only fifty miles from the massive horde of ghouls that had breached the fence more than three weeks ago now. Not that he was scared, of course—he was a Digger, and the most promising Academy graduate in decades. He wouldn’t be scared.

  They were here, General Connor said, to patrol for any ghouls that were far ahead of the main group. Ghouls moved in a haphazard manner, seeming to lack any purpose, wandering through the desert until they sensed moisture. Luckily the boundary riders who had been tracking the main horde said their progress had been slow. But although they wandered at random, sometimes even moving in a large circle, they ultimately continued inward, and eventually they would get a whiff of the Territory’s population and their pace would increase. Until the fall-back fence was in place and the Diggers were ready to tackle the main horde, patrols like the one Melbourne was on would deal with smaller groups of ghouls as best they could. They were on their way to meet up with a patrol group led by Captain Regis, a Ranger, bolstering their numbers and allowing them better odds against larger groups of ghouls.

  Falling night had only made Melbourne’s feeling of isolation worse. The sliver of moon lit up the ground in a grayscale that bleached the world of color and restricted his vision to the immediate surroundings. It was disconcerting to be out in the open so far from safety and unable to see further than a few hundred yards in any direction.

  After more than two weeks of traveling together Melbourne was well acquainted with the other Diggers. They were members of the elite General’s Guard, and that made Melbourne the most junior by far. Major Tungsten and Sergeant Heath were men Melbourne knew. Both had been Academy instructors, Sergeant Heath in swords and Major Tungsten in tactics. The other six men, troopers Lance, Cross and Burnley, Corporal Finch, Sergeant Percival and Lieutenant Glad, Melbourne had not met before.

  Melbourne had been paired off with Trooper Lance as a scout tasked with riding out each morning and returning later to report on what was ahead. This was usually repeated several times each day. They alternated this duty with troopers Cross and Burnley, but it was still exhausting.

  They had only just returned from a scout, which was why the other soldiers were already relaxing and Lance and Melbourne were still fixing down their mounts.

  “So,” Lance was saying as he brushed his horse, “are you going to give me a rematch?”

  Three days ago Melbourne had beaten Lance in a mock duel and Lance had been making excuses ever since.

  “Of course,” Melbourne said, though he was more and more tired at the end of each day and didn’t know if he’d have the energy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep up with the others, it was just that they’d never ridden so far in so short a time at the Academy.

  “Maybe tomorrow then,” Lance said. “I’ll show you that you just got lucky last time.”

  “Sure,” Melbourne said.

  “Hurry up, you two,” Sergeant Percival called.

  Sergeant Percival was a tough-as-nails Digger through and through. He had been coordinating the scouts and was a hard taskmaster, but Melbourne liked him. Percival had often asked Melbourne to recount stories from his time at the Academy. Melbourne had also taken a liking to Lieutenant Glad, a happy man who joked frequently, usually at the expense of Trooper Lance, which Melbourne was certainly in favor of.

  Melbourne finished the work on his horse after Lance and went to join the others, who were sitting around a fire that was just beginning to crackle softly in the cooling night air. Thin tendrils of smoke rose up toward the black sky and a comforting halo of light began to encircle them. They were laughing. Melbourne wondered whether they had even noticed the darkness pressing in, ready to suffocate them if they weren’t alert.

  “How do you know it’s even real?” Major Tungsten was saying. “They probably had a hundred of them out the back of the stall. You got screwed, I’d say.”

  Lance held an object in his hand. It was a small rectangular thing with numbered buttons on the front. “It’s a genuine pre-Reckoning device, he told me.”

  “What does it do?” asked Lieutenant Glad.

  “It doesn’t really do anything,” Lance replied.

  “Ha,” Lieutenant Glad cried. “I’d say you’ve been fleeced by a dodgy merchant.”

  “I’m going to have an engineer look at it when we get back,” Lance said. “They might know something.”

  “Useless old sycophants,” Major Tungsten said.

  “Need I remind you that they are the inventors of the mechanical rifle, Major Tungsten,” General Connor said, “and they managed to harness bio-diesel and gas. I won’t have you disrespecting the engineers. They are eccentric, I’ll admit, but the artillery guns alone should ensure they are appreciated.”

  The general saw Melbourne approaching. “Come, Trooper Hermannsburg, sit, have some wine. Lieutenant Glad, pass the boy the wineskin.”

  Lieutenant Glad handed Melbourne a leather bag. Melbourne took it and thanked him. The bag was about half-full, and as he lifted it to his lips a rush of fruity red wine spilled over his chin, down the front of his uniform and onto the ground. Lieutenant Glad laughed.

  “Now you look like a true Digger,” he said. “Wine stains all over your clothes.”

  “A waste of bloody good wine is all that is,” Major Tungsten said, snatching the wineskin from Melbourne.

  Wentworth Connor gave Tungsten a disapproving look. “Take it easy on that wine, Major. Share it with your brothers.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Tungsten said, having another quick swig before passing it across Melbourne and back to Glad. “You’ve had your share, boy,” he said to Melbourne. “It’s all down your shirt.”

  “Tungsten,” the general said, his tone growing more rigid, “I have seen you spill more wine than that in one animated conversation.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Major Tungsten said. He pulled the wineskin away from Lieutenant Glad’s pursed lips and passed it back to Melbourne.

  “Thank you,” Melbourne said, “but really, it’s fine, I don’t care much for wine.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” Major Tungsten said. “And don’t go soft on me. You think I can’t take a few stern words from the genera
l? Drink the bloody wine and tell us some more about your time at the Academy, perhaps of how you bested the previous wrestling champion or how you won the Around the Rock foot race.”

  Melbourne opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Major Tungsten appeared to have another thought.

  “Actually,” he said, “why not tell us how you beat the general’s time through the Gauntlet?”

  Melbourne looked from the major to the general. The look on General Connor’s face revealed nothing of how he felt about this. Over the last few weeks Melbourne had delighted in sharing tales of his exploits at the Academy. The group had listened most attentively when he’d told them how he had beaten even Training Master Berant Essenburg in the arena, and how he had scored a perfect one hundred percent on his “Politically Motivated Assassinations,” “Theory of Swordsmanship” and “Brief History of the Territory” exams, but until now no one had dared ask this question. How had he beaten the general’s long-standing record through the harrowing challenge that was the Gauntlet? That had been a record most people had considered unbeatable.

  The general looked at him. “If you are to become General’s Guard,” he said, “it’s only fair that you share your talents with the others.”

  “General’s Guard?” Melbourne said, unable to keep himself from smiling. No trooper straight out of the Academy had received that honor since the general himself.

  “Why else would I have you join these men?” the general said. “This is your chance to prove you belong among the elite. They told me you were some kind of prodigy. I thought you’d figured that out already.”