A World of Ash: The Territory 3 (2 page)

The crowd shifted as Hank made his way forward. He pushed through the crush of bodies, excusing himself as he went but with a directness born of his urgency to reach the front. Often those around him pushed back or were reluctant to move until they saw who he was, and then they stepped aside apologetically. Terry, Hank’s son, was already standing in front of the angry rabble with his hands in the air, doing his utmost to calm them, but Hank knew it wouldn’t be long before they rushed forward, closing the gap between themselves and the line of Holy Order clergymen who stood statue-still with their red cloaks flapping in the wind, firmly gripping mechanical rifles.

An event like this, a scene of desperation only a knife’s edge away from turning violent, was occurring almost daily in the slums now. With the constant influx of refugees from the outer regions of the Territory the ghetto around Alice had become even more overcrowded and the atmosphere was tense. There was nowhere near enough food and water to go around, and sicknesses like dysentery and black lung were becoming more common and spreading faster than ever. The people of the slums, Hank included, had watched over the past weeks as workers scaled and scrambled along newly positioned scaffolding that covered vast areas at the top of the Wall. As they began laying bricks, positioning sheets of metal or hammering at wood it became clear that those inside Alice were repairing the Wall for defense against the horde. Initially the rebuilding of the Wall had given hope to the people outside, but that hope had been extinguished now.

Every gate into the city, except the Great Gate itself, had been sealed shut, barred from the inside with an obvious permanency that would prevent anyone from accessing Alice anytime in the foreseeable future. The Holy Order had erected signs directing all traffic to enter via the Great Gate, but even that was guarded by an intimidating number of clergymen and hadn’t been opened in days. Word was spreading that the High Priestess had locked down the city and nobody would be allowed in or out until the threat of the ghouls had passed. It had become clear to everyone outside the Wall that they were being left to fend for themselves. This, together with the knowledge that the ghouls were moving closer and closer by the day, had sparked a desperation in the people of the slums that was bordering on madness.

Today a bio-truck had arrived from somewhere in the northwest, a shipment of grain and potatoes. As more and more of the Territory’s population had come to join the slums, trade to the city had slowed to a crawl. The number of dirigibles or bio-trucks arriving was decreasing rapidly and would soon stop altogether. Any arriving bio-truck attracted attention like a beacon. When the Holy Order had stopped the truck outside the Great Gate a large crowd had gathered in a matter of minutes.

Hank had lived in the slums his whole life. He’d followed in his father’s footsteps and worked as a tailor, though this consisted almost entirely of patching holes. The number of new garments he’d ever fashioned could be counted on one hand. When he was younger he’d thought about venturing out into the Territory in search of whatever work he could find, and maybe a better life, but he’d met Milla and then Terry had been born and he’d stayed. The slums may not have afforded them a lavish life, but he had his family, and that was all he’d ever needed.

Now, after so many years, he was one of the oldest in his neighborhood, if not the entirety of the slums. He hadn’t meant to assume a position of leadership – he certainly hadn’t asked for it – and yet the community looked to him more and more in these uncertain times. He supposed it was nothing but his age that brought this responsibility, whatever qualification that was. Everyone admired anyone who’d survived the slums as long as he had. They knew he must have his finger on the pulse. They knew he must have experienced just about everything the slums could throw at a person. Hank didn’t know about all that, but whatever the reason, and whether he liked it or not, people listened to him.

As Hank neared the front of the crowd a chant began to form. He knew the mob had turned their collective minds to food. If he didn’t address them soon things would turn violent.

“Give us food! Give us food! Give us food!”

“Anybody takes a step forward and they die,” one of the clergymen called out.

“You can’t kill us all!” a voice shouted back.

“Maybe not,” the clergyman said, raising his rifle to his shoulder, as did those standing beside him, “but do you want to risk being one of the unlucky ones?”

Hank finally reached the front, forcing two young men apart and stepping out between them. He moved to stand in the space between the crowd and the Holy Order. The truck, stopped outside the Great Gate, remained parked behind the protective barrier of soldiers.

“I said nobody moves, old man!”

Hank saw the clergyman’s finger slip in behind the trigger guard of his rifle, quivering, a single flinch away from shooting him. Hank had to trust that this man understood the situation. As soon as one of them fired their rifle the crowd would rush them in a heartbeat. It would be a bloodbath on both sides. He raised his hands as he took another step, distinguishing himself from the people behind him, attempting to show that he posed no threat.

He eyed Terry, who was standing a short distance away, and gave his son a small nod. Terry dropped his arms and nodded back, looking relieved to relinquish control of this situation to his father.

“Just let me talk to them,” Hank said, turning his attention back to the Holy Order. “This doesn’t have to get out of hand.”

“Look,” the bio-truck driver said, leaning out the window and calling to the clergymen, “just let me through. I’m an Insider. I live in the Gap. I’ve got a wife and kid. Will you just let me in before those maniacs kill us? This is my last delivery.”

The clergyman who had addressed Hank turned to look at the driver. “No,” he said. “As I’ve already told you, the city is closed. By decree of the High Priestess no one is to enter or leave until further notice.”

“I just want to go home,” the driver said.

“If you’re not going to let him in then give us the food!” someone from the crowd called.

“Yeah, give us the food!” someone else added, and the chanting began again, faster and more aggressive than before.

“Give us food! Give us food! Give us food!”

“Quiet down!” the clergyman yelled, spinning back to the crowd. “You’re not getting anything, you slum dogs.”

“Let’s just get ’em!”

“Yeah!”

This was just what Hank had wanted to avoid. He could almost see the crowd swell, could smell the building anger, could feel the pent-up frustration surging forward. Things were about to tip over to the wrong side of the knife.

“Wait!” Hank held his hands up to the crowd. “Everybody calm down.” They hadn’t rushed the truck yet. Maybe they would listen.

“We need to settle this without violence,” Hank said. “We need to find a way to negotiate. Nobody needs to die.”

“We’re going to die anyway!”

“Not necessarily,” Hank said quickly. “But if we’re going to survive, everyone needs to keep their heads.”

“Ancestors’ sin and bugger this!” the driver of the bio-truck yelled as he pulled himself back inside the cabin of his truck. Moments later the truck, exhaling white smoke in a sudden burst from its two vertical exhaust pipes, roared to life.

“Shut it down!” the clergyman shouted, spinning and aiming his rifle at the truck’s cabin.

The bio-truck spluttered and roared as the driver revved the engine. With a mechanical scraping and a crunch the wheels engaged and the truck began to creep forward.

“Stop!” the clergyman warned again. The rest of the Holy Order joined him, spinning and pointing their rifles at the bio-truck. Hank could see the driver through the side window of the cabin, and his eyes were wide with nervous fear. Hank wanted to talk to him. To tell him that he could calm this whole situation down if he stepped down out of his truck. He wanted to tell him that he was never going to get past the gate, that it wasn’t so bad living out here – better than not living at all – plus the people of the slums would be thankful for whatever food he could provide. But Hank knew he wouldn’t listen. Like every Insider there was no way the driver would ever consider staying in the slums. He’d rather die than live out here, and it looked very much like he was about to.

The driver looked toward the gate. The engine roared. More smoke spat from the exhaust pipe. With the smell of burning bio-fuel the truck gathered speed.

“Fire!”

The cracking of mechanical rifles filled the air as the Holy Order obeyed the command. Their bullets thunked into the truck’s door, penetrating the body and shattering the side window. The bio-truck veered away to the right. Whether the driver had deliberately swerved to avoid the bullets, or whether he was injured or dead, Hank didn’t know, but the bio-truck missed the Great Gate. It slammed into the Wall instead, gouging a deep scrape out of the stone with a shrill metallic squeal. This wall had stood for hundreds of years; it would not be bothered by the impact of a bio-truck. The vehicle was another matter. Its engine bay collapsed inward like a metal accordion as the truck met the immovable Wall. With the sudden stop the trailer of food plowed into the back of the truck, its wheels lifted off the ground and it overbalanced, rolling to the left. As it hit the ground the roof of the trailer split open, allowing potatoes to spill out like starchy blood cells from an open wound.

The crowd and the clergymen both watched as the carnage of scraping metal and dying engine settled until the only sound left from the smoking wreck was the faint bouncing of potatoes as they rolled over each other and spread out across the ground.

“Now!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“No!” Hank yelled, but it was too late. People had already begun to move forward, pushing their way past him. Someone bumped him hard and he lost his balance, falling backward and landing heavily on his tailbone. His body was too old to handle being pounded from side to side by a rampaging crowd.

“Dad!” Terry said, dropping to his side.

Hank waved him away. “I’m all right,” he said. “You just get people out of here.”

Hank looked up as more of the crowd began to run past. He knew how it would be. At first a few would follow, then, as the fever for violence infected those around them, more and more would join in. This was precisely what he had hoped to avoid, but now it seemed like the inevitable conclusion.

Rifle fire filled the air as the Holy Order shot at the surging crowd. Screams, shouts, and cries of pain came from the slum-dwellers as they were cut down, but they had the advantage of sheer numbers. The clergymen backed up closer and closer to the Wall. As they reached the Great Gate they thumped against it and Hank saw a couple of them pull the long rope that ran up to where the gate guards would be.

When there was no response they called up at the towering Wall.

“Hey, let us back in!”

“Hey!”

“Open the gate!”

Nothing happened. As they turned to face the slum-dwellers Hank could see the fear and recognition on their faces. They were being abandoned like everyone else. There was no way the guards would open the gate with the slums rioting like this.

It wasn’t long before members of the swarm reached the soldiers and overwhelmed them. They made a feeble attempt to stand their ground, but it was only a few moments before they couldn’t reload fast enough to keep the crowd at bay. Those who managed to draw their swords felled more slum-dwellers, but even they were dragged down soon enough. Eventually Hank lost sight of the clergymen through the frenzied fighting. He could imagine them being torn limb from limb. It was as if the people of the slums had become the very horde they were so afraid of.

Hank stayed until the hysteria died down. The bio-truck had been stripped of everything that could be eaten, and many things that couldn’t. The red cloaks of the clergymen had been trampled into the dirt as if they had been caught beneath the hooves of stampeding animals. Hank saw the bodies of those from the slums who had been shot or sliced with swords lying scattered on the ground. There really hadn’t been that many. In their panic the clergymen had been inaccurate and sloppy.

As he surveyed the scene Hank didn’t feel the emotions he thought he would. All he had wanted was to stop these people rising up against the red-cloaks and being needlessly slaughtered. He had failed to achieve that, but now he was considering something else. How many people would the supplies in that bio-truck feed? Many more than had been killed to secure it, of that he had no doubt. Perhaps he had been wrong to try and stop it. He was sure of one thing, though. If they were going to fight the Holy Order they had to do it for more than one bio-truck, and they would need to be more than a rambling mob. He would use his standing in the community to convince the slum-dwellers to do more than just fight for scraps. They would fight for a place inside the Wall.

It was like he’d been dragged into a demented game of tug-of-war. Nim held Squid’s leg in one hand and his shortsword in the other as he tried to drag his friend free of the ghouls, but there were too many. They had latched onto Squid’s arms and neck and were tugging at his clothes with their sharp, bony fingers. Nim slashed at the snarling, moaning creatures, but even when he managed to cut an arm free or lop off a head another ghoul took its place almost immediately.

The only positive about this entire situation was that the door to the dome had eventually forced its way closed, sealing most of the hundreds of ghouls outside, but it was small consolation as there were still thirty or more inside, all apparently unaffected by the misty rain dropped from the silver bird, the weapon that should have killed them. Six or seven of the monsters had already bitten Squid and were now crouched over him, while others stammered forward, fighting for a taste of the moisture they lacked in their own bodies.

Nim’s arms burned with the effort of fighting the ghouls, of swinging his sword, of doing whatever he could to keep hold of Squid.
Stupid Dweller. Stupid dumb stupid Dweller. How could he let himself be bitten?
Nim’s vision blurred as his eyes stung with sweat and tears. He fought on despite knowing it was hopeless. What did it matter if he managed to get Squid free? He couldn’t save him. He’d been bitten and there was no coming back from that. There was no coming back from a single bite let alone all the bites Squid had sustained. Yet Nim fought on. He wouldn’t leave Squid the way he’d been forced to leave Nara.

Nim felt his grip on Squid’s leg slipping free. This wasn’t right. Squid was the Storm Man. He was supposed to cleanse the world of the ghouls. He was supposed to help Nim avenge Nara’s death. He was supposed to end the constant fear that plagued this world.

Squid’s leg slipped through Nim’s grasp until only his fingers remained hooked on Squid’s foot like desperately clinging talons. He slashed widely at the ghouls that had given up on Squid and had started attacking him instead. They came at him from the sides, more and more of them at every turn. He couldn’t go on much longer. In the growing chaos Squid’s foot was finally pulled free and the ghouls began screeching and howling, joyous at their victory.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaah!” Nim roared. Even to his own ears it sounded like the final cry of a wounded beast, one that wasn’t ready to go down without one hell of a fight. He tossed his sword to the floor and launched himself at Squid, throwing punches at the ghouls that got in his way. His fist slammed into the face of one. He felt the bone crushing under his knuckles like dry, rotten wood. He swung and pushed and scraped his way to Squid, forgetting, or at least ignoring, that these were creatures able to kill him with a single bite. All thought had left him. He just wanted to get both of them out of there.

He reached down, took hold of both of Squid’s feet and pulled.

“Get off him!” he shouted. “Get off him!”

Nim’s shouts were lost to screams of pain as he felt a ghoul sink its broken teeth into his forearm.
So this is how it’s gonna be
, Nim thought. Both of them would die, turned into mindless husks. But as his body continued to dump adrenaline into his veins Nim fought on. If they were going to die it would not be here. If he could get them back to the elevator maybe there was time to get more vaccine. Maybe he could send some birds up the elevator. If nothing else, maybe he could release one to destroy himself and Squid after they turned. He didn’t want to become one of those monsters and he knew Squid wouldn’t want to either.

He pulled his arm free of the ghoul that had bitten him, grunting as he felt its jagged teeth opening a tear along his flesh. The ghoul flicked its head toward him as if confused by the sudden removal of its new moisture source. The creature screeched. Nim could see drops of his own blood soaking into what was left of the thing’s lips, little more than thin folds of skin hanging from around its mouth like browning apple peel. Nim tensed his face and screamed back, releasing his anger and focusing all his strength on pulling Squid free once again.

To his surprise he was able to drag Squid’s body a short distance along the floor, and for a moment Nim thought he might just make it to the elevator, but as more ghouls attacked them it became harder and harder to move. They were grabbing at Nim now, pulling at him. Another ghoul, or maybe it was the same one as before, bit down on his arm, sucking at the blood leaking from the original bite. He felt his skin hardening as the creature drew the moisture straight out of him and into its mouth. He closed his eyes. It was no use. There was no point fighting them. The old fellas had been right. His quest for revenge, his quest to destroy the ghouls, it would prove fruitless. They had come so close, perhaps closer than anyone had ever come before, and yet they had fallen at what felt like the last hurdle. No one could turn back the tide of ghouls, not even the Storm Man.

Seconds expanded to fill hours. Nim’s thoughts turned to Nara. He saw her face, her crow-black hair tucked in behind her ears, her dark eyes appraising him. Did she blame him for her fate? In those final moments, as the ghoul pounced on her and sunk its teeth into her neck, had she considered it his fault? He had lain awake on countless nights sickened to the point of vomiting at the thought. If they didn’t unleash the weapon against the ghouls, Nara would remain one of them, trapped on this earth in a husk of a body, unable to move on and join the spirits of the afterlife. Nim had failed her. He had failed her then and he failed her now.

He thought of Lynn next. Her face filled his inner vision. Her short blonde hair. The ever-present twinkle in her eye hinting at the power and passion within. He knew he would never see Nara again but he had held on to the hope that he would see Lynn once more. It hurt to have that taken away. He knew there was something between them even if she had avoided talking about it. They had never spoken about their kiss but it had been enough for him to know that his feelings were reciprocated. He always thought they’d have time to let their relationship grow, to see where it took them. But now he would never see her again.

Nim felt more ghouls grab him. They pulled him down to the floor, biting his arms and legs. He let them take him. He could feel them siphoning the blood and water from his body. The pain intensified as the dryness reached deeper into his flesh. It felt as though he was turning to stone, like his muscles were hardening and any movement would cause them to snap. He was thirsty too. So thirsty. He wondered what it would feel like, the moment he became a ghoul. Would he know when it happened? Would he remember anything? He wondered if Squid had already turned.

And then the moaning and screeching of the ghouls changed. Nim’s eyes snapped open. The creatures’ strident cries had suddenly become a cacophony of high-pitched wails. Even more noticeable was that each of the ghouls released their jaws from wherever they had gained purchase. They let go with their tightly gripping fingers and began to pull away. Nim could see the same thing happening around Squid’s motionless body. The ghouls were stuttering backward as if he and Squid were fires burning too hot to approach. Their movements had become even more erratic than usual. Then, one by one, as their screams reached a crescendo, they collapsed, or more accurately they crumbled or burst, their bodies becoming nothing but dust that ballooned outward and fell soundlessly to the floor. It was the same deterioration the ghouls always seemed to be suffering, but where ordinarily only tiny flakes of dried flesh would float away from their bodies like ash from a burned-out fire, now they were disintegrating more quickly than Nim had ever seen.

As ghouls that hadn’t yet bitten them stumbled forward, unaware or uncaring about those that were disappearing around them, Nim pushed himself up. There were maybe ten ghouls left. As they passed through the clouds of gritty ash still floating in the air Nim gathered himself against the pain of his bites. Nothing made sense. Why hadn’t he turned? What was happening to the ghouls? After a few moments of confusion a realization struck him. The vaccine released from the bird had done nothing to the ghouls, but it
had
done something to them. It was only after they’d been bitten that the ghouls had begun to die, as if the vaccine needed to be transferred through human blood.

Nim bent to pick up his sword. His bites throbbed. His skin and muscles felt tight, as if they were too short to stretch over the length of his bones. Around half of the remaining ghouls began shambling toward Squid, dropping down on what they must have sensed was easy prey. This time, however, they pulled away quickly, screeching and turning to ash almost immediately. It must have taken some time to be fully effective, but now the vaccine had made both him and Squid instantly poisonous to ghouls.

What good is that?
Nim thought to himself, feelings of anger and betrayal mixing with the hopelessness he already felt. What good was a weapon against the ghouls if you had to sacrifice yourself to use it? And even if people were willing to let themselves be bitten in order to destroy the ghouls, Squid and himself would soon turn and would be stuck here anyway, never able to get the vaccine to those who needed it. No one would ever know they’d found it.

Nim swung his sword at the last of the ghouls. He was doomed, and in physical and emotional pain, but he would still finish this fight. If he could dispose of the ghouls trapped in the dome then at least he could turn in peace and maybe, sealed inside, himself and Squid would never be able to hurt anyone else. He began bleeding from around the bites on his arms, where the dry skin was so taut it split open with his aggressive movements. If the situation had been different he might have been happy with the way he managed to decapitate three ghouls quite cleanly, their heads dropping to the floor with hollow thunks. He would have told Lynn about that, hoping she would be impressed.

The final two ghouls managed to grab him. The first dropped forward. Nim wasn’t quick enough to raise his sword before it wrapped its arms around him. The creature began to push its face into the crook of his neck. The second ghoul grabbed Nim’s flailing arm and bit down on his fingers. Nim howled, but a second later the ghoul pulled back, screaming its own scratching whine as it became nothing but another burst of falling ash. The other ghoul managed to latch onto his bare neck, but jerked straight off again, flicking its head from side to side in frenzied stutter-stop motions. In its final moments the ghoul stopped, strangely still. Its rotten eyes locked onto Nim’s as it watched him. Nim felt the creature’s anger through its glare – not that ghouls were ever anything but angry – but this one stayed silent now, staring at him as its face cracked and dry-melted, the already mangled features losing definition and then becoming unrecognizable as gray flecks of ashen dust-flesh dispersed into the air.

Nim dropped his sword. It clattered noisily in the suddenly empty space. He dropped to his knees, letting his hands rest limply in the ash that had been the last ghoul. He lifted his arms and looked at the way the ash stuck to his palms. He blew it off and it swirled away in the air. Around him were piles of gray dust that were all that remained of the ghouls, and just a short distance away lay the motionless body of Squid. He looked at him, the boy supposedly foretold to save them all. But that wasn’t going to happen if he turned into a ghoul, was it? As Nim waited for death to take him he saw Squid’s hand twitch and his fingers curl into a fist.