Volume Ten

by Volume 10 (retail) (epub)

  My feelings right then? Sort of fluttery inside. Maybe the hunger and being blasted by the Nitro-whatnot still scrambled up my brain. I certainly wasn’t panicky, or frightened. Being able to see again made me optimistic that I’d find out what was happening. And that everything would be fixable; that soon I’d be heading home. If anything, I felt excited about telling my friends at school about the adventures I had at a place called Bastion—some sort of army fort where boy soldiers fired guns across an amazing landscape of factory machines.

  Yes. Hunger. Shock. Disorientation. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I suppressed any sense of personal danger.

  “Wow. Microwaved Frankenstein.” I studied my face in the mirror. And what an interesting face.

  The eyelids were puffed up to marshmallow consistency. My lips were cracked. Skin hung from my jaw. It looked like gray toilet tissue half stuck, half hanging there. Some kind of medical cream had been rubbed onto the skin. It left yellow streaks.

  If anything, my face looked so interesting I could have stared at my reflection for ages. It would be interesting to do some exploratory picking at those skin peel-offs, too.

  The state of my face stopped me asking questions, like: How did I get here? Have I been kidnapped? Do my parents know where I am? How do I get home? Are there people here who plan to harm me?

  The face in the mirror with the bloated, puffy eyes fascinated me. I began to tease a shred of skin away. Yes, just like tissue that had been glued there. Once you’ve pulled one piece away, you’ve just got to do another…and another.

  The door slammed open.

  The boy I’d seen in the bunker lurched into the room. That was the kid with the red hair who yelled. He carried a boy in his arms.

  “Help me!” shouted the redhead. “Help me get him onto the bed!”

  “What’s happened?”

  “The Bog Hornets got him. You’ve got to help me get the stinger out before it’s too late!”

  From Bastion Wars:

  Food supplies were abundant. Beefsteak, pork chops, and roast chicken were frequently on the menu. Bastion’s combatants never went hungry. Frozen vegetables arrived via a pneumatic tube in plastic drums. Potatoes were never frozen; they were so fresh that they arrived with moist earth still stuck to them. One of the boy soldiers remembered: “The soil on the potatoes was blood-red. I sometimes wondered if the fields were actually watered with real blood. We didn’t know who grew the potatoes, or the other foodstuffs. It all tasted good, though.”

  * * *

  —

  The boy lay on the bed. A white sheet covered him as far as his chin. For a long time I sat there on my bed and stared at him. On the side of his face, just below the right eye, there was a puncture wound. That’s where a Bog Hornet had stung him.

  Just what is a Bog Hornet? I hadn’t a clue. All I knew was that the stinger had jutted from the kid’s face like a black thorn. Attached to the end of the stinger was a black bag that was about the size of a golf ball. The kid with the red hair said this was the stinger’s poison sac. He insisted we get the thing out before too much of the poison traveled through the black spike and into the boy’s face.

  We managed to get the stinger out. I don’t know how much of the Bog Hornet’s venom had entered the boy’s bloodstream. The red-haired kid kept saying things like “Just pray we got the stinger out in time” and “It’s your job to look after him. Keep giving him sips of water every five minutes. The water will flush the poison.”

  “That sting won’t kill him, will it?” I asked, feeling a cold horror go creeping through my veins.

  The red-haired kid had shrugged. “Just keep your eye on him…make sure he gets plenty of water.” Then he left.

  So there I was, taking care of someone I’d never met. The boy would have been about my age. Twelve-ish. He had wispy blond hair and a smooth, clean face. The only mark was that black dot where the stinger had been.

  Every five minutes I’d try and wake him. He would sort of rouse himself, although he was groggy and didn’t say anything. Even so, I managed to give him sips of water. He didn’t appear to be in any pain. Just very sleepy.

  By this time, I’d forgotten about the frostbite on my own face. I knew that my task now was to stop the kid from dying.

  Later the red-haired kid dropped by again. “How’s he doing?”

  “He just sleeps,” I replied. “So I wake him up every few minutes to make him drink.”

  “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  He shrugged. “I hope so. That’s Casie Fitton. He’s one of my best friends. You should see him light a fart. Whoa! Like a flame-thrower.”

  “What’s a Bog Hornet?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  “Where am I?”

  He gave me an appraising look. “You’re almost back to normal, aren’t you? I told you that everyone’s heads are jumbled up when they first arrive here.”

  “So…are you going to tell me where this is?”

  “Feisty, uh?”

  “Well?”

  “I’ve told you once. Maybe your brain cake was still scrambled. This is Bastion. You’ve been assigned to C Division. I’m your Division Leader. My name’s Mott.” He held out his hand.

  I stared at it as though snake fangs might pop through the fingers and spit venom at me.

  “Come on, Soldier. Shake.” He smiled. “We’re all friends here.”

  I shook his hand. “Hello, Mott,” I said reluctantly.

  “Mott’s short for Mottled,” he explained and pointed to his freckled face. “Nobody’s got more freckles than me. I’m the king of mottle.”

  “Why are we here?”

  “Whoa, philosopher alert.”

  “It’s an obvious question. It follows on from ‘Where are we?’ So, why are we here?”

  “You’re going to be one of these new conscripts that asks a lot of questions, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve every right to ask questions.”

  “I’ve got one of my own.” He still spoke in a friendly kind of way. “What’s your name, Soldier?”

  “John Karroon.”

  “Rhymes with Toon! I like it.”

  “I’m twelve years old. I come from Perryvale. My mother’s a midwife; my dad’s a reporter for the local TV news.”

  “Ah, reporter. So that’s where you get the question-asking bug.”

  “I’ve got a fifteen-year-old sister. Next week the whole family are going to Las Vegas for—”

  “John.” He raised his hand, the palm pointing at me. “Stop the life history of the Karroons right there. All we need to know is your name. Nothing else is important.”

  “It is to me!”

  The blond boy stirred on the bed.

  “Don’t neglect your duty, Soldier.”

  “You don’t need to tell me what to do.” I was shouting now. “I’m taking good care of him!”

  “That’s my friend, remember,” Mott said softly. “Casie Fitton. I don’t know his family history. We don’t need that shit.”

  Casie was half awake from me shouting, so it was easy to get him to drink the water. As soon as he finished it, he fell asleep again.

  “Okay, Mott.” I spoke firmly. “Tell me where I find an adult.”

  “An adult?”

  “Yeah, Mott. Adult. Grown-up. Individual possessing seniority by virtue of age.”

  “I know you’re frightened—”

  “I’m not frightened. I’m angry! I almost had my face blown off. I’m trying to save the life of a kid who’s been bitten—”

  “Stung.”

  “Whatever! He’s been attacked by a Bog Hornet, though I haven’t a clue what a Bog Hornet is. And I’m
here in a place called Bastion, and I don’t know how I got here, or why I’m here. I’m not frightened, you jerk! I’m angry. And I want to go home!”

  Slowly, he shook his head.

  “Mott, take me to an adult. Because I’m walking out of here; I’m going home.”

  He shook his head again. “John.” He sounded sympathetic. “The truth of the matter is there are no adults here.”

  “Of course there are.”

  “No, John. Bastion is manned by kids between the ages of eleven and sixteen.”

  “Stop being stupid. Take me to a grown-up.”

  “And we are here for an important reason. We are front-line troops, John. We are the only ones who can stop the Flukes.”

  My angry yelling stopped just like that. Stopped dead. The blood throbbed in my ears. I stared at him in astonishment.

  “We can’t really be soldiers.”

  “We are, John. And it’s our duty to fight to the death.”

  From Bastion Wars:

  Bastion’s defensive line consisted of four bunkers from where combatants could fire onto the large territory known as the Factory Floor. The bunkers had massively thick concrete walls reinforced with steel. To the rear of the bunkers were dome-shaped cupolas containing artillery. These big guns hurled formidable shells. Each shell contained liquid nitrogen.

  During lulls in fighting, boys would congregate to play their favorite game. Takk Ball was played with a bat and a ball. Its rules were similar to squash and involved ricocheting balls from the inner, curving wall of the cupola. Single games lasted for hours. Play was generally rumbustious and frequently violent, and wounds sustained were medals of honor for these pint-sized warriors. “I broke my nose four times,” boasted one lad. “Even after all this time I get a nosebleed every time I sneeze.”

  * * *

  —

  “My name’s John Karroon.”

  “Casie Fitton. Good to meet you.”

  We shook hands.

  For the last five hours I’d been looking after Casie—rhymes with racy—this boy with the blond hair and the puncture mark in the side of his face where the Bog Hornet stinger had been pulled out.

  The next twelve hours were going to get disturbing. If I knew how disturbing, and how downright frightening, I’d have done my best to get out of Bastion. Ignorance might not be bliss, but ignorance can leave you cozily unconcerned.

  This is what happened to Casie and me.

  I’d been in the hospital room for a while now. Mott and his friends must have brought me there after I’d been hit in the face by that frozen gas. Skin still fell from my face like autumn leaves. Then Mott had carried his friend Casie into the room. After that, Casie had slept. Every five minutes I woke him up so I could give him water. Mott told me that if Casie had poison in his blood from the Bog Hornet, then the water would help flush the bad stuff out of his body.

  So the more water that Casie drank, and the more he started to come ’round, the more relieved I felt. And when he woke up and started chatting with me I thought he was over the worst.

  From time to time Mott dropped by. Mott and Casie grinned at each other; they talked; I could see they were at ease with each other the way best friends are.

  Just before a change came over Casie, Mott brought us a bowl each of cheesecake with scoops of creamy, yellow ice cream.

  “Rations for the wounded troops,” Mott joked; there was a huge grin on his freckled face. “Once you’ve had this you’ll be eating Bog Hornets for breakfast.”

  They both laughed like this was the funniest joke in the world.

  “What’s a Bog Hornet?” I asked.

  “It’s something to give your worst nightmare its worst ever nightmare.” Casie spooned ice cream into his mouth. “Hmm! I’m going to have more of this tomorrow.”

  He never would.

  “These hornets are big, then?” I was prompting them to tell me more.

  “Very big.” Casie munched cheesecake.

  “Vicious,” added Mott. “Watch out, Soldier, you’re getting ice cream on your sheets.”

  They laughed again. This giddy laughter must have been a sign of their relief. They both thought that Casie hadn’t taken a big enough shot of Bog Hornet venom to worry about anymore.

  “Eat your cheesecake, musket man Karroon,” ordered Mott. “If you don’t have it, I will.”

  Casie spooned in the dessert. Between mouthfuls he said, “John’s all right. He’s been giving me water while I was…you know…” He feigned being delirious with his eyes rolling and mouth lolling open. “And taking care of me.”

  “Yeah,” Mott said with a laugh. “And making sure the bedbugs don’t bite.” His face became more serious as he looked at me. “Thanks for doing that, John. Casie’s one of the best. We don’t want to go losing him…especially to an overgrown gnat.”

  Casie’s eyes were bright now. He almost bounced up and down on the bed as he said, “John was telling me about where he lives. There’s a cinema right at the end of the street. He was telling me about his parents.” Casie became thoughtful. “You know, when I think about it I’m sure I can remember when—”

  “Eat that ice cream, Soldier, it’s melting.” Mott sounded annoyed. “I had to bribe the canteen to give me that.”

  “I think I had a dog…” Casie seemed to be struggling to remember. “Yeah, I’m sure…a black dog with a white patch on its chest.”

  “You’re only twelve,” I said, puzzled by his difficulty in retrieving the memory. “Surely you’d remember your dog. Unless you were a baby at the time, or something.”

  Casie shrugged. “No, I was big as this.”

  “Then why’s it so difficult to…” I saw the way Mott looked at me. His eyes were saying Don’t do this…don’t keep asking him questions. The eyes were sort of begging. The mystery of where this place was, why I was here, and why twelve-year-old boys couldn’t remember their pet dogs worked on me like an itch on my back that I couldn’t quite reach.

  But the blond kid still looked pale. I had no trouble remembering that big black stinger that we’d pulled out of his cheek just a few hours ago.

  I changed the subject. “This is great cheesecake. Thanks, Mott.”

  Mott was relieved I wasn’t pressing Casie about family stuff. He clapped his hands together. “Sitting here talking to you two freaks won’t win the war.” He spoke in a cheerful way. “I’ll go take a tour of the bunkers and make sure the sentries haven’t sneaked off to play Takk Ball.”

  The next few hours went well. Apart from the black hole in his cheek, Casie seemed perfectly okay. I even spent some time picking the dead skin from my face.

  “It’ll heal,” Casie told me. “Everyone gets caught by a blowout at some time or other. Watch out for the Nitro Lances. The gas can spill back across the floor and freeze the blood in your toes.”

  The mystery burned inside of me. I wanted to ask Casie a million questions. What’s Bastion? Where’s Bastion? Why aren’t there any adults? Or is this a big joke being played on me?

  But he’d become drowsy again.

  That’s when I wondered if he’d taken too big a hit of venom. His eyes became dull.

  Later in the day he held out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Casie Fitton; you’re the new kid, aren’t you?”

  “We already met.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m John Karroon.”

  “Right. John…John?”

  “Karroon.”

  He looked strangely wounded. For some reason, forgetting my name seemed such an injury to his sense of well-being. I can’t really describe his reaction better than that. Only his lapse of memory seemed a massive blow to him.

  For a while, he dozed. The puncture wound turned from black to
a sticky red. It almost looked as if someone had squashed a strawberry into the side of his face.

  He opened his eyes. “What day is it today?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Something stung me.”

  “A Bog Hornet.”

  “Was that what it was? I only remember a pain here.” He touched his face. His fingertips smeared the sticky red patch. “You know, I was dreaming that I ate a bowl full of cheesecake and yellow ice cream.” He smiled and climbed out of bed. “See these.” He slapped his hands against the combat pants he was wearing. “You wouldn’t believe how many pockets there are. You know, Mott, there are pockets here that I’ve never even opened.”

  “I’m not Mott, I’m John.”

  “Oh?”

  “I told you about the cinema at the end of my street.”

  “John? John who?”

  “Karroon.”

  “Right.”

  His eyes were dreamy.

  “Maybe you should rest?” I suggested.

  “Right.” He slapped his legs with his palms, though in a distracted kind of way, as if he was really thinking about something else. “You wouldn’t believe how many pockets I’ve got. There’s too many, you know. They shouldn’t put so many pockets on clothes. There so much I’ve put in these pockets that I can never find again.”

  He lay down on the bed.

  “Would you like more water?” I asked.

  “No, thanks, Mott.”

  I decided not to correct him this time.

  “Hey, I’ve just remembered.” He hoisted himself up onto one elbow so he could look at me. “Jet.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Jet’s my dog, dumbo. I got him for my eleventh birthday. Of course, that was years and years ago.”

  “You’re still only twelve, Casie.”

  “Funny that, isn’t it? Remembering Jet after all this time.”

  He yawned.

  “You should try to get some sleep,” I told him.

  “Yeah, you’re right, Mott. ’Night.”

  “ ’Night.”

  I fell asleep soon after. When I woke, the bed next to me was empty. Casie was gone.