A World of Ash: The Territory 3 (5 page)

The tunnels. Despite having done it once already, Squid found descending into the heavy darkness that filled the underground passages below Big Smoke no less frightening the second time. The men from Reach carried much stronger lights than the lantern Ernest had given Squid, though. Every second man wielded a torch clipped to the bottom of their weapon, and though they were still powered by winding and would occasionally dim as their charge died, the combined light lit the way much further along the gray walls. Squid and Nim walked somewhere in the middle of the pack, following that same blue line back toward the outpost, but even being in a larger group with better equipment couldn’t lift the sense of enclosed doom they felt in that place.

Their retreat from the city had been incident free. It seemed the runners from Reach had done their job in leading the ghouls away. Squid couldn’t imagine doing that job. Trying to navigate the streets of that dangerous and unknown place, weaving through fallen rubble and the rusted bodies of long-abandoned vehicles; wondering if you’d encounter even more ghouls and be sandwiched between them and the group that was already chasing you. As they’d reached the top of the collapsed ramp down into the tunnels, Ernest had made them wait for the runners to return, though none did. They’d stood open and exposed in the streets of New Sydney for longer than anyone was comfortable with before Ernest had given up and led them down into the tunnels.

Only one thing had troubled Squid as they’d left Big Smoke. A short way from the dome he’d seen the body of Mr. Stownes. The giant of a man still wore the blue uniform of a prisoner of Pitt, a uniform that had always seemed just one or two sizes too small for his enormous frame. It had been ripped and dirtied in his final struggle with the ghouls, but it was unmistakable. His body, lying there on the ground, had seemed smaller somehow, as if in death he had lost whatever power had made him seem larger than life, and it wasn’t just that he’d been decapitated. Squid couldn’t see his head anywhere among the bodies, dust, and viscous black blood that covered the surrounding street. In fact, there weren’t anywhere near enough heads for the number of ghoul corpses scattered before them. There was plenty of gore, though, as if their heads had been crushed and trampled into the muck. It wasn’t a thought Squid wanted to dwell on.

Mr. Stownes had obviously turned into a ghoul and then been killed with the rest when Ernest and his men had arrived. He had sacrificed himself to give Squid and Nim time to enter the dome. His only reward had been to be left here, in a long-abandoned city, headless and alone. Squid had briefly scanned the area for the body of Mr. Stix, too, but it was nowhere in sight. Maybe he’d gone off chasing the runners for their moisture; maybe he was dead somewhere else. Squid would have felt better if the two men, even in death, had been left next to each other. He was sure they would have wanted it that way.

It was in the tunnels that Squid had seen the short, stocky weapons the Reach Border Patrol carried at work and understood what must have happened to Mr. Stownes’s head. A small number of ghouls, maybe five or six, had come wandering out of the dark. They were some of the ancient and long-decayed monsters that seemed to inhabit the tunnels. Slow to move and low in numbers they hadn’t stood much of a chance against the fast reactions of the men from Reach. They had lifted their guns as the stuttering shapes of the ghouls entered the outskirts of the lamplight. The men held still, not firing, looking toward Ernest in anticipation. This had caused a rising nervousness in Squid as the desiccated corpses shambled closer, until he realized that Ernest was being smart. He had his head tilted to the side, his eyes closed. He was trying to listen, not wanting to have his men fire their weapons if it would attract more ghouls from the surrounding tunnels. As the ghouls drew nearer Ernest nodded at his men. They fired.

The Reach weapons were louder than the mechanical rifles Squid was used to, and it wasn’t just the echoing of the sound within the tunnel walls. The guns were different. It only took a split second after the Border Patrol had opened fire for Squid to know he was right. With a burst of dusty flesh, congealed blood and chunks of brain matter, the heads of the ghouls exploded like fruit thrown against a wall. The ghouls fell backward under the force of the impact, and what had once been on top of their necks was now running in clotted streaks down the walls or floating as red-gray dust in the air.

“That’s why we use shotguns,” Ernest had said, indicating his double-barrelled weapon when he saw Squid watching. “Takes the head clean off.”

Since then they had continued on into the darkness of the tunnels without any more ghoul encounters, keeping that blue line under their feet, like a trail of breadcrumbs guiding them home. They had been walking through the dark for many hours, resting often as it was difficult for Nim and especially Squid in their weakened state to keep pace with the fit and strong men of Reach. At each stop they slept for a few hours before Ernest woke them, gave them water and dried meat, and the walking continued.

Ernest had treated them well, looking after them and keeping them safe as they traveled the tunnels. The other men showed little interest in them but Squid was sure they were just being vigilant, keeping their eyes and ears open for any sign of more wandering packs of ghouls. It became easy to forget they were essentially prisoners. They weren’t being treated as roughly as they would by the Holy Order, but Squid had to keep reminding himself they were being taken to Reach against their will and being denied access to the vaccine they had found. Well-treated prisoners, but prisoners just the same.

After a time – Squid was sure it had been many hours longer than the outgoing journey – their lamplight fell on the end of the tunnel. The blue line continued up a set of stairs, beside which was another of the faded metal signs that could occasionally be found fixed to the tunnel walls with rusted nails. Squid hadn’t seen this sign when they’d first left the outpost.

They climbed the stairs, the world growing lighter as they moved toward the surface. Reaching the top step, Squid looked around at the familiar interior of the arched concrete outpost building. It was dank and gloomy but still a relief from the mind-penetrating darkness of the tunnels. Squid noticed the space on the wall where the lantern they had carried once hung. He wondered again what had happened to those who had taken the other lamps down into the dark. Though, after journeying all the way to Big Smoke and being bitten himself he supposed he had a much better idea of their fate than most people. If his key hadn’t opened the door into the dome they wouldn’t have returned either. As it was they had left two of their own back there, dead, changed, and alone in Big Smoke.

Ernest, who was leading the way, opened the door to the outside. Squid followed the patrolmen out but bumped into the man in front of him when he stopped abruptly.

“Wh—?” Squid began to ask, but then he looked up and saw. Surrounding them, encircling the entrance to the building with their weapons raised, were twenty or thirty red-cloaked clergymen of the Holy Order.

“What is this?” Ernest said. The men of the Reach Border Patrol raised their shotguns, a stand-off between the ambushers and the ambushed.

One of the clergymen stepped forward to confront Ernest. Squid recognized him from Pitt. It was Clergy-Lieutenant Werther, the man who had first led them down into the bowels of the prison. Werther was a small man, constantly pushing his shoulders back and standing tall in order to appear larger than he was. Squid had never bothered trying to seem bigger; somehow it always just exaggerated how small he was.

“You are outnumbered,” Werther said. “I would advise lowering your weapons.”

Ernest glanced at the Holy Order clergymen around them as if to check the man’s claim before raising his hand and making a downward waving motion. The men from Reach lowered their shotguns but kept them ready at their sides or across their bodies, tense and fidgety.

“You are harboring fugitives,” Clergy-Lieutenant Werther said.

Ernest looked back at Squid and Nim, his face unreadable, before returning his gaze to the lieutenant. He shook his head. “Not our fugitives.”

“These two escaped imprisonment at Pitt. I demand, in the name of High Priestess Patricia of the Church of Glorious God the Redeemer, that you return them to our custody. We also demand you hand over any weapon against the ghouls you might have found in there. We know that’s why you went into the city.”

Ernest’s eyebrows rose in genuine surprise before dropping in a scowl. “You’re a long way outside your fence, mate,” Ernest said. “Your church has no sway here. Even if these boys did find something, I ain’t giving you either of those things.”

Werther lifted his chin. “It doesn’t matter how far we are from home. God has dominion over all.”

“God?” Ernest chuckled. “Look around you. There’s no God here. This is the wasteland. There’s nothing but dry earth and suckers.”

“It is all part of God’s plan,” Werther said. “Mankind is being punished for the sins of the Ancestors. Only the pure will survive to reclaim the earth.”

“Praise be to the Pure,” one of the Holy Order proclaimed, and the rest of the clergymen, including Lieutenant Werther, echoed the chant.

“You will hand over these fugitives and give us the weapon you recovered from Big Smoke. I will not ask again. If you refuse you will be shot.”

Ernest turned to Squid. “Now do you see why we don’t like people from the Central Territory?”

“It’s all right,” Nim said, his eyes not leaving the lieutenant, his voice still rough. “We don’t like them either.”

Clergy-Lieutenant Werther grinned. “Yes, well, we consider Nomads to be among the furthest from the Pure, so you’ll forgive me for not being concerned with your opinion.”

Nim made to move forward. Squid reached out and grasped his arm, restraining him. “Don’t,” he whispered.

Nim halted. He looked at Squid. His jaw was set wide as his teeth clenched hard against each other.

“Your friend is wise, Nomad,” Werther said. “You should listen to him. Now,” he continued, returning his attention to Ernest, “the weapon first and then the boys.”

“We don’t have any weapon,” Ernest said. “They never found it.”

Clergy-Lieutenant Werther sighed with feigned exasperation, letting his lips vibrate against each other. “Let’s not play games,” he said. “I know you have it in those bags. Besides, you wouldn’t have bothered bringing those two with you if they hadn’t found it. They’d be dead somewhere in Big Smoke. By the way, what happened to the other two who were with you?”

“They didn’t make it,” Squid said. “They died so that we could live. They’re heroes.” He knew the Holy Order wouldn’t care, but he wanted to make sure that was known, at least by someone.

“Pity,” Werther said. “They would have been entertaining in the colosseum. Now, can we finish this up, please? I would prefer not to spend a moment longer in the cursed lands than I need to. Weapon first, then the boys.”

Squid saw the moment Ernest deflated as he gave in. Squid knew he felt securing this weapon was as much his destiny as it was Squid’s own. Despite the fact that Ernest had intended to steal it, Squid did feel sorry for him. He would have preferred the people of Reach to have the vaccine than see it handed over to the Holy Order.

“If I give you the bags, why do you need Squid and Nim?”

“They must return to Pitt and answer for their crimes.”

“And if I refuse?”

“The only way you and your men are walking away from this situation is if you hand over the bags and those two boys.”

Ernest looked back at Squid.

“I’m sorry, lad,” he said. “I’ve got a responsibility to my men. I need to get them home to their families if I can.”

Squid nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Come on, Nim.”

“We’re not just gonna give up?” Nim said. “Hand ourselves over?”

But Squid had already begun walking toward Clergy-Lieutenant Werther.

“Give him the bags,” Ernest said.

The men of Reach began slipping the bags of mechanical birds off their backs and placing them on the ground. Several clergymen moved forward to grab them.

“Squid,” Ernest said, “always remember that you succeeded where no one had before. We’ll find a way to help the people you’ve fought for.”

“Tie them up,” Werther said.

Squid and Nim’s hands were bound in short loops of rope that were both fastened to the end of a long length, leaving them individually restrained but linked together. A Holy Order clergyman yanked hard on the other end of the rope, causing both Squid and Nim to stumble forward like roughly treated dogs on a leash. The clergyman snickered.

Squid looked back over his shoulder as the Holy Order led them away from the outpost. Ernest’s face was as cold and unmoving as stone. Squid willed him to do something, to order his men to rescue them or, at the very least, to try and recover the vaccine. There were many more shelves of those birds in the Center for Disease Control but Squid knew they wouldn’t be able to get them. They wouldn’t be able to get back inside. He could feel the key around his neck bouncing gently against his skin as the Holy Order led them away. He should have given it to Ernest and told him how to use it to get inside the dome, because at least then Ernest could collect more of the vaccine. He would have if he’d known what was going to happen. Now, as he was dragged forward and the coarse rope burned his wrists, he couldn’t even raise his hands to his neck and he couldn’t risk saying anything otherwise the Holy Order would take it for themselves.

“Ernest!” he called. “Don’t try and go back. You can’t get—”

Squid heard the crack against his cheek less like an audible sound and more like a reverberation inside his head. He was on the ground, his knees and forearms in the dirt, pain blooming from where he’d been struck. The sandy soil beneath him was similar to that of his uncle’s farm. When you looked at it up close you noticed how what seemed to be a vast unending blanket of red was really made up of many millions and millions of grains of different colors, red, orange, brown, gold, all blending together. There was a lesson in that, he was sure, something he should remember: that no matter how different people were, when enough of them got together they all seemed the same, or maybe they were all made to be the same.

Squid heard shouting. It was Nim. He tried to return his focus to the scene around him. It was only when he saw the Holy Order clergyman standing over him brandishing his mechanical rifle, the butt end pointed down at Squid, that he realized he must have been hit in the face with it.

“Get up!”

As the clergyman with the rope pulled hard, Squid felt his elbows yanked out from under him. His face landed in the dirt.

“Leave him alone!” Nim yelled. “He can’t get up if you do that!” He was trying to reach down and help Squid but as the rope was pulled again Nim’s hands were tugged away.

Squid felt the clergyman lifting him roughly back to his feet. He looked behind them. Ernest and the Reach Border Patrol were watching, but they weren’t moving. They didn’t do anything as Squid and Nim were led out past the low-roofed buildings of the outpost toward a waiting bio-truck, where they were loaded onto bench seats in the back and, sitting among the red-cloaks, were driven away, headed back to the subterranean prison of Pitt.