A Town Called Dust: The Territory 1

by Justin Woolley

  “Hey!”

  Squid knew, as soon as he heard it, that the voice was directed at them.

  “You two!”

  Squid and Max both turned to look in the direction of the voice. It was, thankfully, not a Digger but one of the Waste Disposal Workmen dressed in baggy brown coveralls. The three white chevrons sewn to his shoulder indicated he was a sergeant, or whatever the equivalent was in the Waste Disposal Corps.

  “What are you doing?” the sergeant asked, staring at them as though he could see straight through their deception.

  “Nothing—” Squid said but stopped as he realized Max had concurrently said, “Working.”

  The sergeant’s single eyebrow furrowed like a crawling worm.

  “They always send us the lazy, no-good, useless ones, don’t they?” he said. “Like we aren’t important, is that what they think?”

  Max didn’t answer, so neither did Squid. He was getting better at picking out the questions he wasn’t supposed to answer.

  “Right,” the sergeant said, pointing into the building, “you get on around to the back of that wagon and start loading the empties.”

  Squid looked in the direction he indicated, to where a group of Junior Workmen were lifting large barrels onto a wagon. It only required two of the Junior Workmen to lift each one, so Squid gathered these were the empties the sergeant had mentioned. Barrels, Squid realized, for collecting waste—what kind of waste he didn’t really want to know.

  “Well?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Max said. “Sorry, Sergeant.”

  “Sergeant? That’s senior sanitation officer—SSO,” the Workman said.

  “Yes, SSO,” Max said. “Sorry, SSO. We’ll head there now.”

  “Ancestors damn these useless greenhorns,” the SSO muttered as he walked away, and then called back to them, “Hurry up! We’re way behind schedule!”

  Squid and Max wordlessly helped load the barrels onto the wagon, attempting to draw as little attention to themselves as they could. When they were done they followed the other Workmen onto the back and sat in the wagon as the horses were hitched. They waited there for some time before they rolled out, leaving the waste disposal building and joining the moving swarm.

  The walls of the Rock seemed to relax, sagging inward with a sigh, as close to seven thousand people, four thousand horses, a thousand wagons and five bio-trucks streamed, as though some great overflow valve had been opened, out of the gate and into the red dust. Half the force of the Diggers rode ahead of the column and half behind, dressed in their uniforms and upon their solidly built mounts. Those between them, the Apprentices and Workmen, sat in the backs or on the wheel arches of wagons, or they walked. Behind all this, some way back, the ever-present drone of engines reminded them of the presence of the bio-trucks pulling their giant cannons.

  As the army began the march towards the largest horde of ghouls the Territory had seen in two hundred years, more than one of the seven thousand minds shared the uncomfortable thought that they resembled a long funeral procession. Some dreamed of doing their duty; others dreamed of the glory they would win for themselves, while others were just glad to be away from whatever was worse for them at home than thousands of snarling, half-decomposed humanoid monsters. But none of those who marched dreamed of what was waiting for them, because if they had, then surely they would have turned around.

  CHAPTER 30

  The army moved like a long serpent through the desert. They had to preserve the horses, and themselves, on what food and water they had brought with them and the little they could scratch from the dusty earth. This, together with the crawl of the engineers’ rumbling bio-trucks, meant progress was slow.

  Squid and Max had tried their best to keep out of sight and out of mind, and by remaining with the Waste Disposal Corps this hadn’t proved too difficult. They had been put to work as if they were members of the Corps, collecting waste from around the camp—an entirely unpleasant job. There had been times when they were forced to hastily vanish as Lieutenant Walter or some other familiar Digger walked by. Luckily, these encounters had been few and far between.

  The army had been marching through the desert for most of the last two weeks. Squid and Max had little idea where they were going. The Waste Disposal Corps wasn’t exactly well informed when it came to tactical details. Each day they stopped an hour before sunset to set up camp for the night and then, each morning at sunrise, the army would eat, break camp and depart, marching more or less continuously until the hour before sunset when they stopped again.

  It was after dinner and Squid sat on the ground, his arms resting on his bent knees, waiting for Max. Beside him were two large waste disposal bins with wheels, ‘wheelie bins’ Squid had taken to calling them, and he was pleased to hear that the name had stuck with the rest of the Waste Disposal Corps. He had been with Max, moving through the army collecting post-dinner garbage and, worst of all, emptying post-dinner latrines. Tonight they had been tasked with collecting waste from the area where they knew Lieutenant Walter and a number of other instructors from the Academy would be. They had given them a wide berth, moving instead through the dark outskirts of the army, heading into light areas around the fires and gas lamps only when they had to. This furthered the distance they had to walk but meant they could avoid encounters with people who might recognize them.

  They had been dragging the full bins back when Max had asked him to wait and then dashed off without explanation. That had been close to ten minutes ago. Squid stood and brushed off his trousers. There was a cool breeze blowing against his face. The nights were getting cooler and would soon be bitterly cold, Squid knew, but right now it was a pleasant relief from the usual hot wind of the day. He was beginning to wonder whether he should go and find Max; maybe he had been caught. But if that was the case then it probably wasn’t a good idea for Squid to be discovered as well. He was beginning to concoct an elaborate rescue mission when he saw Max walking back across the dark red sand.

  “Where have you been?” asked Squid.

  “I’ve been to the toilet.”

  Squid looked out across the expanse of red sand where Max had come from. “The toilet tent is that way,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction.

  “It’s all open in there,” said Max, “everyone can see each other go.”

  “So?”

  Max glared at him. “I can’t have anyone see me.”

  “Why?”

  “I just don’t think it’s proper, is all. Just leave it, will you? We should get going.”

  Shrugging, Squid grabbed the handle of his wheelie bin and started after Max.

  “Max,” Squid said, stopping momentarily to pull on the wheelie bin, freeing its wheels from the loose sand, “what we are actually going to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” Squid said, “pretending to be part of Waste Disposal so we could sneak away with the army seemed like a good idea, but the thing is, we actually seem to be part of Waste Disposal now. What do we do next?”

  Max looked at Squid for a long moment.

  “There’s talk in the camp that we are almost at Dust.”

  “Dust?” Squid interrupted, coming to an abrupt halt.

  “Yes,” Max said. “I didn’t know whether to tell you or not.”

  Squid didn’t say anything.

  “I overheard some Diggers talking,” Max said. “The army will likely meet the ghouls in the desert beyond Dust.”

  “But,” Squid said, “Uncle’s farm is in the desert beyond Dust.”

  “Well, I’m sure we’ll get there before they reach the farm,” Max said.

  Squid knew Max was trying to be logical and he was probably right. They were marching the whole army against the ghouls so that the towns this far out would be protected. But, even knowing this, Squid couldn’t help but feel a tightening in his chest. This time the logic felt wrong.

  “Why are we out here?” Squid asked.

  Max didn’t answer
for a moment. The sun had set two hours ago but the moon was almost full and the full orchestra of stars played across the sky. Squid could see Max staring back at him in their white-blue light, his gaze deep and knowing.

  “Because it’s the right thing to do,” Max said. “To help the Territory.”

  Squid began pulling the wheelie bin again, its wheels sticking and sliding in the sandy red dirt. He pulled hard to free the bin, but it hit another patch of soft sand and the already jammed wheels stopped. The handle was pulled from Squid’s hands. The bin fell, the handle dragging down the back of his calf and catching on his worn shoes. It immediately began to burn. Squid closed his eyes, his clenched face and bared teeth turned upward. He turned to Max.

  “I don’t think that’s the reason you’re out here at all,” he said, knowing his irritation was fuelled by pain but unable to stop it. “Why are we here, Max?”

  Squid didn’t like this feeling, the sudden awareness of his frustration boiling over into anger. He didn’t like that he was aiming this peculiar sensation at his friend, either, but he felt like he had to target it somewhere, somewhere away from him.

  “Because I can’t go back!” Max yelled. “I can’t!”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the Sisters! You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Why wouldn’t I understand?” Squid asked.

  “Because you’re a filthy Outsider!”

  They both feel silent.

  “And what are you, then?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just leave me alone, Squid.” Max began pulling his bin back toward the camped army. “I’m going this way,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Don’t go through the camp,” Squid called after him, “someone will see you.”

  Max ignored him, continuing to walk toward the resting army, his wheelie bin leaving two neat cuts through the soft dirt behind him. In that moment Squid knew Max didn’t have a plan. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t realized that before—it seemed so clear now—but either way, he was quite certain that getting caught as discharged stowaways was unlikely to help them.

  Squid followed as fast as he could, pulling the lumbering bin behind him. He rounded a wagon and came upon a circle of people playing cards by the light of a gas lamp. They were all Apprentices and Squid didn’t recognize them, except for one. Squid’s stomach sank to see Darius Canum among them. Squid looked for Max and saw him moving away on the other side of the circle, having apparently gone unnoticed.

  One of the Apprentices in the circle had stood. He swayed on his feet, clearly inebriated. “You cheated!”

  “I did not!” said the Apprentice who the accusation was directed at.

  The first Apprentice, in his wine-addled state, stumbled forward, kicking cards and chips across the red dirt. He pointed to Squid.

  “You there, Dumpy, did you see him deal off the bottom?”

  The eyes of the circle turned to look at Squid.

  “I …” Squid said, “I was just walking past.”

  In that moment two things happened. Firstly the argument between the two Apprentices ignited into violence as one punched the other hard in the mouth, and the recipient of the blow responded by tackling him to the ground, and secondly Darius stared at Squid and said, “Pumpkinhead?! What in the Ancestors’ hell are you doing here? You got busted out.”

  Squid turned, leaving his wheelie bin, and tried to hurry away, but he was stopped short as Darius grabbed his arm.

  “No way, Pumpkinhead,” Darius said, “you’re coming to see Lieutenant Walter.”

  Squid tried to pull away but Darius, as he always had been, was too strong. Squid looked around for any sign of Max but he was gone. Darius’s mouth was turned up at one corner in a sinister little grin. Squid had no option but to go with him.

  *

  “No Apprentice of mine will gamble and fight!” Lieutenant Walter yelled. Squid could hear him from where he stood outside the Digger’s tent. “What has gotten into you?”

  “I … I was defending myself, Lieutenant,” came the shaky reply. Squid recognized the voice of the Apprentice who had thrown the first punch in the fight around the card game.

  “That was a rhetorical question,” Lieutenant Walter said.

  That’s what they’re called, then, Squid thought. He would’ve known not to answer.

  “You are indefinitely suspended from my service.”

  “Sir,” the Apprentice stuttered, “where do I go?”

  “Right now you can get out of my sight.”

  “Lieutenant, I—”

  “Now!”

  Squid kept his eyes on the ground as the tent flap flew outward and the Apprentice walked past. He didn’t look at Squid.

  “Squid,” Lieutenant Walter’s voice called from inside the tent.

  Squid swallowed, gripped the key around his neck and entered the tent.

  Lieutenant Walter was sitting on a small wooden stool but he rose when Squid entered. Squid snapped to attention, willing his body to be steel-girder straight. Lieutenant Walter looked at him for a moment, his face rock steady.

  “At ease,” he said.

  “Lieutenant,” Squid began, “I know we aren’t supposed to be here but we didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “We?” Lieutenant Walter said. “Is Max here as well?”

  “No,” Squid lied.

  “Yes,” said a third voice.

  Squid turned to see Max standing in the doorway of the tent.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, “I’m here as well.”

  Even in these dire circumstances, Squid smiled broadly to see Max as his friend moved to stand beside him. Max, despite himself, grinned back.

  “You two,” Lieutenant Walter said, “you do realize I should have you clasped in chains. You were discharged from the Diggers and now you have stowed away.”

  Both boys were silent.

  “Lieutenant,” Max said finally, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Lieutenant Walter raised his hand to Max. “One moment, Max.” He turned to Squid. “Did you see what happened with my Apprentice, Squid?”

  “Yes,” Squid said.

  “And?”

  “They were fighting over a card game.”

  “I specifically forbade him from continuing his involvement in gambling activities,” said Lieutenant Walter. “I do not believe he will be continuing as my First Apprentice.”

  “Who will prepare you for the battle?” Squid asked.

  Lieutenant Walter looked at him.

  “Oh,” said Squid.

  “You will share the duties with Max.”

  “But Lieutenant,” Max said, “we’ve already been discharged.”

  “Do not be concerned with your discharge. In this very unusual situation, I don’t believe it was ever made official. You are here, so you may as well be of use. Now, Max,” Lieutenant Walter continued, “this thing you must tell me, I already know.”

  Max looked confused.

  “This is something we shall discuss after the battle.”

  “But, Lieutenant, you can’t possibly—”

  “I know what awaits you back in Alice and I know about the loss of your father and brother,” Lieutenant Walter said.

  “Melbourne?” Max asked. “What happened to Melbourne?”

  Squid saw Lieutenant Walter’s face drop. He took a deep breath.

  “Of course,” the Digger said. “You wouldn’t know. I apologize.”

  “Wouldn’t know what?” Max’s voice was raised, almost desperate.

  “Your brother was with the General’s Guard when they were attacked by ghouls.”

  “No,” said Max quietly, his voice little more than a whisper.

  “We don’t know what happened to him,” Lieutenant Walter said. “He was seen fleeing the battle. I’m afraid to say he is a deserter.”

  “What?” Max said, his tone changing to confusion or anger, Squid couldn’t tell which. “He ran away?”

  Li
eutenant Walter nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  Max stared at the floor. “He ran away,” Max repeated. “Like a coward.”

  “Do you wish for the chance to do what he couldn’t?” Lieutenant Walter asked.

  Max looked up. “Yes.”

  “Then it’s settled, both of you shall act as my Apprentices.”

  “How long have you known?” asked Max. “About me, I mean.”

  Squid looked from Max to Lieutenant Walter and back again. It was reasonable to say he was incredibly confused.

  “Since a few days into your time at the Academy.”

  “And you didn’t say anything.”

  “I was going to,” said Lieutenant Walter, “but I considered why you would risk your life to escape your fate and realized that I would have done the same. You are brave. You are not your brother.”

  Max looked at Lieutenant Walter. “Foster brother,” he said.

  CHAPTER 31

  Melbourne wasn’t lost. The Academy’s top graduate wouldn’t get lost. He preferred to think of himself as geographically misplaced. Losing the horse wasn’t really his fault either. He’d heard someone say once that “you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.” Well, after he’d led the horse to water it had drunk its fill, but who could have known that making it drink would kill it? How was he to know that whatever had died in the stagnant water had turned the small billabong into a cocktail of disease? Luckily he’d seen the floating carcass before he had starting drinking and moved to a separate pool, one in which the water appeared clean.

  After his valiant escape from the ghouls there had been many days when he had done little but hold on to the back of the horse, regularly fainting and falling to the ground. When the horse could no longer carry him he had simply staggered aimlessly beside it, vomiting and fainting, convinced he was going to die. Thank the Ancestors he had found the billabong. He assumed it had been due to his expert water tracking skills, even if he couldn’t remember applying them. He had spent days at the water’s edge regaining his strength. Wild berries and plants with chewy but edible roots grew in abundance around the water and when the horse had died he’d eaten what he could of the meat. At first he’d been worried about getting sick, but slowly his strength returned.