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

The High Priestess stopped to watch workers lowering the last of the wooden scaffolding down from where it had been spread like an external skeleton over the Wall. It was good to see it finished. Watching the progress she was making in the protection of Alice distracted her, at least partially, from the pain she was suffering. The discomfort was heavy on her consciousness; it bore deep into her, bringing her to the very limits of what she could handle. Even standing still was only marginally better for her hips than walking now.

She had asked Clergy-General Provost to walk her along the Wall so she could see the completed repairs for herself, but she was now regretting that request. It was harder and harder to maintain a façade of strength when pain engulfed her body more often than not. Having to move around in public with the appearance of unhindered motion was becoming more difficult, but she could not let these people see her as anything other than infallible, just as the Church of Glorious God the Redeemer was infallible. She feigned interest in the details of the Wall for much longer than was necessary just so she could keep her face turned away from Provost and those residents of Alice who passed them by while she allowed herself a grimace of pain.

“Are you well, Your Holiness?” Provost asked, moving to stand beside her.

High Priestess Patricia flattened her face into an emotionless mask before turning back, adding a brief smile as she said, “Yes, I’m fine thank you, Provost.”

“Shall we continue then?”

The High Priestess nodded while trying to think of what excuse she could use to return to the cathedral. “Please,” she said, indicating with her hand for Provost to lead the way. She took three steps before she was forced to stop. Pain shot from her left hip and her knee gave out below her. Before she could catch herself she had bent forward. An involuntary moan of pain escaped her lips.

“Your Holiness?” Clergy-General Provost said, grabbing her arm. “Are you all right?”

The High Priestess pushed his hand away as she forced herself to rise, glancing around to see how many people had seen her stumble. A few passers-by had turned to look, as well as some workers from the Wall. When they realized who she was they quickly turned back to their own business.

“I’m fine, Provost,” she said again, brushing her long white dress flat against her legs.

“Your Holiness,” Provost said, his voice low, “if you don’t mind my saying, I have noticed you’ve been struggling lately.”

Patricia turned to glare at Provost. She took a sharp breath through her nose. She didn’t say anything but she could tell from the general’s face that she didn’t need to.

“I’m sorry, Your Holiness,” Provost said. “I spoke out of turn.”

The High Priestess sighed. “No,” she said, keeping her voice low. “No, Provost, that’s all right. There are very few people I can be completely honest with. Perhaps we all need that. I have been in a lot of pain. Walking is becoming more difficult every day.”

“Have you seen a doctor?” Provost asked.

“Yes, yes,” High Priestess Patricia said. “I’ve seen a doctor, more than one. They’ve given me ointments and tonics and a cane.”

“Perhaps you should use the cane,” Provost said, “if it helps.”

“I can’t,” Patricia said. “You must see, Provost, that I cannot appear weak – the Church cannot appear weak – to anyone, not now.”

“People would understand, Your Holiness,” Clergy-General Provost said. “You’re …” He let his voice trail off.

“Old?” the High Priestess said, seeing the slight color of embarrassment flush the general’s cheeks. “Yes, I am. It’s no secret, Provost, but people will take any weakness I display as a sign of weakness in the Church. I am the embodiment of the Church. Especially now, when things are so close to the end, we cannot provide any excuse for dissent.” The High Priestess went quiet for a moment, reflecting. “I do not know how much longer I will be capable of acting in this role,” she said. “I do not know how much longer God plans for me to be on this earth. But I will not go until this is done. My legacy will be the redemption of the Territory.”

Clergy-General Provost nodded.

“I hope I can trust my revelations to remain undisclosed.”

Clergy-General Provost nodded again. “Of course, Your Holiness. You can have full confidence in me.”

“Good,” the High Priestess said. “Now, tell me, what plans have you for the workers now the Wall is complete?”

“Once they’ve finished removing the scaffolding they will begin training with the Holy Order, preparing to fight the ghouls once those outside the city are purged.”

“Excellent.”

The High Priestess looked back toward the Great Gate and the remains of the Supreme Court that stood, or had stood, opposite it.

“And the search for the Administrator?”

“Ongoing,” Provost said. “I assure you we’re doing our utmost to locate him, but we have very few leads. We’ve begun searching house to house when we can spare the men but so far there’s no sign of him.”

The High Priestess shook her head, irritation rising. “Find him, Provost,” she said.

Loose ends. Oh, how she hated leaving loose ends. She had received word that Lynnette Hermannsburg had been captured and was on her way back to Alice in Holy Order custody. Squid Blanchflower was safely secured within the prison of Pitt, where he would spend the rest of his days unable to fulfil any prophecy of Steven. The Wall was finished and would stand fast against the ghouls. The city was locked down. Everything was ready. Everything had gone according to plan. Everything except the escape of the Administrator. He was here, somewhere in the city, hiding like a rat. When she thought through the possibilities there seemed to be little damage he could do, but she was still worried. He certainly hadn’t acted alone. Someone had broken him out of prison, and they were keeping him hidden, and this suggested they were well organized. The Administrator alone did not pose much of a threat, but whoever had freed him might.

“What about outside?” The High Priestess said, turning her attention, at least for now, to other matters.

“More refugees enter the slums daily,” Provost said, “though arrivals are slowing. Most of the population seems to be outside the city already. There’s no food. Sickness is spreading like wildfire. The Quarantine Squads have no hope of keeping all the outbreaks contained.”

“The lockdown of the city has been successful, though?”

“Yes, Your Holiness. Not a single person has entered or left the city in the last three days.”

“Good,” the High Priestess said, “then disease will remain outside the walls. Containing it matters little anymore. If people die out there, then so be it. Redemption is coming for them in any case.”

“We have soldiers out there, Your Holiness,” Provost said, “loyal Holy Order men who are standing firm. But the people of the slums are getting more aggressive. We’ve already lost almost half of those men to sickness or fighting. They need to be brought inside, replaced with reinforcements.”

“They are playing their part,” High Priestess Patricia said. “God will see them dying for His glory. They will sit high among the Ancestors.”

Clergy-General Provost was quiet for a long moment. “Those are my men, Your Holiness.”

The High Priestess turned to evaluate the general. She stared at him. He was becoming bolder with her than he ever had. She scolded herself for sharing her struggles with him in that moment of weakness. He was latching onto that, even if he didn’t realize it. He had seen her when she was weak and was taking advantage. It angered her that even he would do this.

“No,” she said, her voice slow and direct. “Those are
my
men out there.”

Provost said nothing. The High Priestess saw him trying to build the confidence to add something more, to challenge her. She glared at him, letting her anger flare in her eyes, and, as she expected, he lowered his head to look at the dusty ground. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

“What else?” she said.

After a moment Provost continued with his report. “Sporadic riots are occurring regularly in the slums. I don’t think it will be long before there is a full-scale uprising out there.”

“But as you’ve assured me, the Wall will hold.”

“Yes, Your Holiness,” Provost said, but there was still something in his voice, irritation maybe. “It will hold.”

“Then there is no concern,” High Priestess Patricia said. “Who exactly are they going to rise against? They may squabble out there but it is not our problem. We must ready ourselves for the purging that will follow.”

“Yes, Your Holiness,” Provost said. “May I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Have you given any more thought to my concerns about food supply once we are under siege by the ghouls?”

Again her most trusted was wavering as their moment of glory came near. Was there no one but herself in this world who could stand strong? As Steven had written in the Book of the Word, when he himself had fought for the execution of God’s will, there had been many who had lost their way, dragged away from the light by fear, the true tool of evil. But Clergy-General Provost could not be lost. She required him to lead the forces of the holy when the damned were at their gates. Her body was failing; she could not do it herself. She would pull him back to the light. She reached out and took his hand, suppressing the urge to try and crush it. Instead she spoke calmly.

“Listen to me, Provost,” she said. “God will provide for us. It is His mission that we complete here. He may test us but He will not see the worthy among us suffer and fail. Do not lose your will to serve Glorious God the Redeemer. Go to the cathedral and pray; find your strength again as our time nears.”

Provost nodded as he looked at her. It was almost as if she could see him shrink. “I apologize, Your Holiness,” he said. “Shall we continue our walk? There is more that I can show you. We are mounting the battlements on the Wall now.”

“That was not a suggestion, Provost,” the High Priestess said. “Go now and pray. Come back to me when you have found your strength again. I can continue alone.”

Provost nodded as he turned and walked away. High Priestess Patricia watched his back, trying to keep the raging scowl suppressed a little while longer. She needed him to lead the Holy Order. He had their respect. Those men would follow him into the jaws of the two hells if he asked them to, and they would need to when the time came. Still, if his sense of purpose continued to waver, and if he ever, ever challenged her like that again, she would not hesitate to cut his throat.

Thirst. That was the only thought Squid had when he woke. He was so thirsty. His lips were dry and split, his tongue swollen and cracked, and his throat burned, but his mouth wasn’t the only place he felt parched. This wasn’t like the normal sensation of dehydration. It was all-consuming. He felt it in every inch of his body. He needed nutrient-rich moisture sucked right from a living body. He needed to drain someone else of their life in order to survive. Doing that was the only thing that could satiate this desire.

So this is what it’s like to be a ghoul
, Squid thought.
This is why they stumble for hundreds of miles across the sun-scorched desert searching for the moisture of living things.

Through the haze of waking Squid wondered whether he’d turned. That was what he’d expected to happen. He remembered being bitten, not just once but time and time again, as the ghouls had swarmed around him. One bite should have been enough to see him die and then rise again, but as he lay on his back staring up at the opaque roof of the dome he didn’t feel like a ghoul.

He could remember Nim trying to drag him free from twisted, dry hands, their fingers digging at him, their teeth latching onto his skin. He could remember meeting his mother and promising he’d go back and rescue her. He could remember Lynn. She had slipped from his mind at the end, at what he’d thought had been the end, but she was back now. She was somewhere a long way from here, though, being flown across the desert to Alice where the High Priestess was going to have her killed. He knew he couldn’t be a ghoul because he could remember something else too, something people said you couldn’t remember if you became a ghoul, he could remember his name.

Squid lifted himself onto his elbows, a process that took significantly longer than he thought it should. His body ached and the bites he’d suffered stung and burned deep down into his flesh. As he tried to sit he felt a sharp pain in his side. He grunted, and as he put his hand over what he imagined must have been the largest bite on his body, he saw that his shirt had been removed, torn into strips, and used to bandage the worst of his wounds. The makeshift bandages were dirty and bloodied but were tied firmly around him.

Across from him he saw Nim, his own blue shirt similarly shredded and used as bandages. Nim’s bandages were looser, less precise. He must have been the one who’d bandaged them both and had clearly found it more difficult to work on himself. He was lying on his side, curled into a ball. Around him were the scattered bodies of ghouls, loose heads lying near them, and Squid, even in the circumstances, had to stop himself trying to match each head with the corresponding body. There was something else covering the floor too, a thin coating of dry gray ash clustered around the corpses in miniature undulating dunes. Nim’s hair, usually dark like Squid’s own, was tinged lighter with the stuff, and some of it still floated in the air, hanging almost still, drifting soundlessly.

Nim was asleep; at least that’s what Squid hoped.

“Nim.” Squid’s voice was barely audible, a hoarse whisper that seemed to tear its way up his throat. He tried again, forcing his voice to be louder. “Nim.”

The Nomad boy didn’t stir. Squid hoped it was only because his voice was so raspy that Nim hadn’t heard him. Squid forced himself to crawl forward, dragging his hands and feet through the scattered ash.

“Nim,” he repeated as he approached, his voice still little more than a whisper. He reached out and shook Nim’s shoulder gently. The Nomad’s skin, dark as it was, seemed pale, drained of color. Squid couldn’t see whether he was breathing. Panic began to build. “Nim,” he repeated, shaking him with as much force as he could manage, which, in his weakened state, wasn’t very much. Nim couldn’t have died; Squid didn’t want anyone else to sacrifice themselves for him. He couldn’t carry any more of that weight. As Squid began to grieve, began to fear what would happen if he was left here alone, his friend stirred.

“You’re alive,” Nim said. His voice was harsh and dry, and Squid could imagine the way it ripped his throat as he spoke.

Squid, feeling relief push away the panic, nodded. “You too,” he rasped and then, as the question dawned on him, “How?”

Nim shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought we were gonna turn.” He paused, and Squid watched him try to work saliva into his mouth and wince in pain as he swallowed. “Probably I thought we were dead for sure. I waited for it. After an hour I tried to bandage us up, then two or three hours went by and it just never happened.”

Squid became aware of the faint background noise coming from the door to the dome. He could see the shadows moving through the opaque glass, the twisting, jerking, spasmodic movement of the ghouls outside as they pushed up against the dome, banging against it. There must still have been hundreds outside.

“What happened—” Squid’s voice failed him, and he made a vague gesture around them as he tried to swallow against the sandpaper that lined his throat.

“To the other ghouls?”

Squid nodded.

Nim pulled one of the water bags the people of Reach had given them free from where it was still clipped to his belt. He unscrewed the lid, took a long swallow and then passed it to Squid. Squid took it and drank greedily. The water was warm, gritty with sand, and his parched throat made swallowing painful, but as he began to absorb the moisture it became the most glorious thing he’d ever tasted. Squid tilted his head back and let the last of the water drop into his mouth.

“The ghouls that bit us, they just sort of disintegrated into this stuff.” Nim rubbed some of the powdery ash between his fingers. “They just exploded.”

Squid pulled the water bag away from his mouth. “Exploded?”

Nim nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know how else to describe it. They just … just exploded.”

“The vaccine?” Squid said.

Nim nodded in agreement. “I think it works on us, not them. That’s why they died when they bit us, and that’s why we didn’t change.”

“It’s a weapon,” Squid said, “against whatever happens when they bite.”

Squid noticed something then, and turned to look toward the entrance to the dome. The sounds from outside were growing louder and more intense. The ghouls were working themselves into a frenzy. But even as their inhuman screeching increased, their banging against the dome decreased. They were turning away from the dome and going after something outside. Squid and Nim sat in silence, their eyes glued to the opaque dome as the shadows of the ghouls disappeared. After a moment Squid heard shouting and what sounded like gunfire – not the familiar cracking of a mechanical rifle but something louder and deeper. Eventually the shots slowed in frequency and stopped altogether.

Squid and Nim watched as a group of figures approached the outside of the dome, their shapes blurred and distorted by the white glass. Despite this Squid could tell from the fluidity and smoothness of their movements that they were human. They moved like the living. Squid watched as one of the shapes knocked on the door with the butt of a rifle. Heavy booming thuds filled the space.

“Hello?” The voice was muffled by the glass and barely audible but it was a person, a man calling out to them.

“Hello,” Nim said. “We’re in here!”

Squid reached out and grabbed Nim’s arm. He shook his head. “We don’t know who that is.”

“What choice have we got? We can’t stay here.”

“Remember Pitt,” Squid said. “I trusted them.”

Nim looked at him, his eyes searching Squid’s face. “They’re not ghouls,” he said. “Probably for now that’s gonna have to be enough.”

“Hello?” the voice outside the dome repeated. “Squid? Are you still in there? Do you need help?”

“They know who we are. Maybe they want to help?” Nim said.

“The ghouls are gone but not for long,” said the voice. “We can get you out of there but only if you come now.”

“This might be our only chance,” Nim said.

Squid didn’t know what to do. They needed to get out of the dome but he didn’t know whether he could trust anybody else. Lynn, his mother, even Archibald the Explorer had warned him about trusting people. The last time he had blindly trusted someone he’d walked himself and his friends straight into Pitt, the prison the Church had wanted to put them in all along, and he’d got Lynn sent back to the High Priestess, and more than likely killed.

“Squid!” Nim said, desperation entering his husky voice now. “We need to go!”

Nim was waiting for him to decide. Once again, even though he felt as exhausted and near to death as he ever had in his life, someone was looking to him for leadership. Someone was looking to him to make a decision in the heat of the moment, a decision that was life or death. It wasn’t just his life or death either, or Nim’s; there were people across the Territory, there were people in the slums outside Alice, there were people in Pitt, there were people in Reach and now he knew, there were people across the rest of the world too, whose lives Squid held in the palm of his hand. That was quite literally true – he was gripping his mother’s key, his key, and could feel it pressing into the skin of his palm. This key opened the dome. It gave them access to the vaccine they’d proven to be effective, even if it wasn’t in the way they’d expected. He couldn’t let all those people down. He had to take this opportunity to get out of here with as much vaccine as they could carry, and the key to getting more.

Squid pushed himself first to his hands and knees and then, with Nim’s help, he stood. He slipped the key back around his neck. “Come on,” he croaked.

The two of them moved to the door as whoever was outside continued to bang against the glass with the butt of their gun. Squid propped himself against the wall with one arm and gestured for Nim to open the door. “Okay. Let them in.”

Nim moved to the side and pressed the green panel on the wall. The double doors hissed as they opened and slid back into the walls of the dome. The bodies of ghouls that had been piled up against the doors slid aside or flopped inward like a grotesque spill of trash. Some had had their heads removed cleanly as if sliced by a sword, while others looked as though their heads had been blasted into pieces and splattered across the dome’s surface. Standing among the corpses of the ghouls, his short, stocky rifle held so that it rested at an angle over his shoulder, was Ernest, First Sergeant of the Reach Border Patrol.

Squid stared, almost not believing what he was seeing. Behind Ernest was a team of several men, perhaps twelve, all dressed in the same white uniforms, which were now splattered with the red and gray remains of ghouls.

“All right, Squid?” Ernest said, his brow furrowing in concern as he looked Squid up and down, his gaze lingering on the multiple bandages around his body. “You’ve been bitten?”

“We aren’t gonna change,” Nim said.

Squid saw Ernest’s hand grip his rifle tighter. It was a short weapon with two barrels, not at all like the mechanical rifles Squid was used to.

“The vaccine,” Squid said, “we found it. It works. It stops us from changing.”

Ernest eyed him for a moment before lowering his gun to his side. He reached to the back of his belt, pulled out a battered old water canteen and passed it to Squid. Squid took it and unscrewed the lid, letting it drop down to where it was held in place by a loop around the neck. He lifted the canteen and drank. Water flowed into his mouth again. He’d changed his mind;
this
was the most incredible drink he’d ever had. His body was desperate for it, he needed more and more, and he almost groaned with relief as runnels of liquid spilled out the cracked corners of his mouth.

Squid saw Nim watching, and could sense the other boy’s longing for more water too. Squid passed him the canteen and the Nomad drank greedily as well. After a moment he passed the canteen back to Ernest, drained empty.

“Thanks,” he said.

“We ain’t got much time,” Ernest said. “Our runners have led what’s left of the ghouls away, but more will be coming.” Ernest slipped the canteen back into his belt. “So,” he said. “You really found it? You found the vaccine?”

Squid nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice marginally more normal now. “We found it.”

“Where is it?” Ernest said, his tone sharp and snappy.

“It’s down below us,” Squid said. “In a room of mechanical birds.”

“Show us,” Ernest said. He moved so that the gun was across his body.

Squid narrowed his eyes at the man. “What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t come into the city.”

“The Council of Reach asked us to follow you and keep an eye on your progress. We follow everyone who tries to open the dome.”

“What?” Nim said. “You followed us and didn’t help? Our friends were killed!”

Ernest glanced at Nim before turning back to Squid. “I’m sorry, lad,” Ernest said. “We have standing orders to follow anyone who tries to get the vaccine without risking our own men. We only move in if they succeed.”

“What?” Squid asked. “Why?”

“Because it’s our responsibility,” Ernest said. “Reach is the closest settlement to New Sydney. Our town was founded by those who fled as this city fell. We’ve tried for centuries to regain what was lost but we’ve failed every time.” Ernest looked around. “The people of Reach are the guardians of this place. We must ensure the vaccine is used for the betterment of the world. There are those who would see it destroyed and there are those who do not deserve it.”

“But we want the same thing,” Nim said. “We want to use it. We want to destroy the ghouls!”

Ernest nodded slowly. “I believe you, lad,” he said. “Which is why I’m sorry it’s got to be this way.”

Ernest lifted his gun and pointed it at Squid.

“You’re going to take us to the vaccine,” Ernest said as the men behind him raised their guns as well, “and then we’re taking it with us.”