A City Called Smoke: The Territory 2

by Justin Woolley

  ABOUT A CITY CALLED SMOKE: THE TERRITORY 2

  The battle was only the beginning; the real danger is beyond the fence ...

  The Diggers have been destroyed, a horde of ghouls is moving inland and the High Priestess has seized control of the Central Territory. Together with Nim, a Nomad boy seeking vengeance against the ghouls, Squid and Lynn begin their long journey toward the city of Big Smoke, a city that may not even exist.

  Pursued by forces that wish to see them fail, facing threats on all sides and conflict from within, Squid, Lynn and Nim search for a weapon against the ghouls. It is a search that will lead them into forbidden lands where long-held beliefs about their world are tested and Squid may finally unravel the truth of his identity.

  But even if they survive their journey, the teenagers on whom the fate of the Territory now rests have no idea what dangers await them beyond the fence.

  CONTENTS

  ABOUT A CITY CALLED SMOKE: THE TERRITORY 2

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT JUSTIN WOOLLEY

  ALSO BY JUSTIN WOOLLEY

  COPYRIGHT

  For Holly, I'm your biggest fan

  PROLOGUE

  Brick could feel the cool breeze on his face as he leaned out over the edge of the dirigible’s wooden cabin. He’d imagined the sensation of flight his entire life, but now, instead of excitement, all he felt was crushing sadness. This flight, his first, should have been with his father, Book. He’d promised it would be. He’d promised to teach him how to fly, how to be a boundary rider like he was, but the last time his father had left on a fence patrol he’d never returned. Brick’s sadness was not just because every moment in the air made him think of his father but also because people had been saying that what was happening down below them, the horde of ghouls, screeching and scratching and stumbling, was his father’s fault.

  Brick rode in Burley West’s dirigible, a bulky, dirty, heavy-looking thing with room for a pilot and three passengers; it had a balloon that flapped loudly and propellers that ground and groaned as they turned, nothing like the sleek little two-seater his father had flown. Old Mr. West was the boundary rider responsible for the section of fence south of what had been his father’s run, and Brick sat and listened to the old man chatter in his husky voice about the disastrous scene below without paying much attention.

  Brick hadn’t spoken the entire time they’d been in the air, not even to answer direct questions. He just kept his gaze fixed on the ground. He knew being here was what his father would have wanted, but despite the desire to do his father proud, Brick couldn't help but dream of being as far away as possible, far away from dirigibles and boundary riders and from the swarming mass of movement below them.

  His mother had organized this. She’d asked Mr. West to take him along as the boundary riders tracked the horde of ghouls that moved through the Territory toward Alice. Brick had resisted the idea. He’d told his mother he didn’t want to fly anymore, that he didn’t care about it, that it frightened him, but she had insisted. It was for the best, she said; no matter what had happened to his father he would still be a boundary rider someday. Brick had wondered, though, as he’d ridden away from home on the back of Mr. West’s wagon, whether his mother just wanted to be alone.

  Brick stared over the side of the airship at the ghouls below. It was like looking down on a vast herd of animals, dust rising from around their feet as they trudged through the desert. They moved together without any obvious leader, somehow navigating their way toward the main population areas of the Central Territory.

  Brick had been in the air with Mr. West when the horde had moved through Dust, the town near where the Diggers had fought the ghouls and been wiped out. Mr. West had flown low and slow over the town as the ghouls trampled up the main street. That was the first time Brick had been close to the horde and he wished he hadn’t been. He didn’t like the way they moved, stop-start like an enormous collection of broken wind-up toys. Some had shuffled right through the town as if it didn’t exist, just putting one foot in front of the other and continuing on through the empty desert on the other side. Others had pressed up against doors and windows, scratching and pushing as they’d tried to force their way inside buildings to get at the people who had stayed in town. As Mr. West circled the dirigible above, Brick had seen that in the end many of the ghouls succeeded in breaking through the boarded-up entrances, and he was glad he couldn’t see inside the buildings, couldn’t see whatever accompanied the screaming.

  Right then Brick had wanted his father more than at any other moment. He had wanted him to tussle his hair, to call him Little Sport, to tell him that everything was going to be all right. He wanted more than anything for his father to tell him that he wasn’t really responsible for knocking down the fence, that it was all a mistake, that he hadn’t crashed into the Black Stump and let all these ghouls into the Territory.

  Along with tracking the movement of the horde the boundary riders had been tasked with estimating the number of ghouls. Brick didn’t know how they could possibly do this. There were so many. At only ten, Brick could barely comprehend the difference between a hundred and a thousand, but old Mr. West had said there might be even more than that: a number in the tens of thousands.

  Looking down, Brick could see the occasional uniform of a Digger moving among the horde. These were the ones who had risen again, been turned into ghouls and joined the forward shamble of monsters. All the Diggers had been killed, that’s what Brick had heard Stormey Costa, one of the other riders, say. Every single Digger was dead and most had become ghouls themselves. Brick didn’t want to believe either of these things. The Diggers were supposed to protect them. Everyone knew that. If they were gone then who would stop the ghouls?

  Thinking about those Diggers brought a sickness to Brick’s stomach as his thoughts returned to his father. No body had been found at the site of his father’s crash, and no matter how many times his mother had said that didn’t mean anything, that maybe he had tried to get away, that maybe he was lost in the desert and would turn up one day, Brick knew what it meant. His father was down there, walking toward Alice; he was now one of the monsters that haunted the nightmares of every child in the Central Territory. Maybe even worse than that, his father, someone who couldn’t even bring himself to kill a spider that had crawled into the kitchen sink, might have bitten someone and turned them into a ghoul too.

  Brick turned from the horde and looked at Mr. West. His vision was blurred with tears, his face hot. “How are we going to stop them?” Brick asked. “Without the Diggers or anything?”

  Mr. West looked at him, seemingly startled that he had actually spoken. His eyebrows turned inward in a slight frown. “I d
on’t want to lie to you, lad,” he said. “I don’t think we can.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Six small fires burned in a rough circle around them, the flames throwing oddly flickering light and dancing shadows across the flat faces and sharp angles of the rock outcropping that sheltered them. The spirits had come to join them this night, come to watch their mob celebrate the transition of Nim and Nara into adulthood.

  Nim stood in the center of the circle holding Nara’s hand. As twins they would pass into adulthood together, just as they had done everything together. Their mob would mourn the death of the children they had been but only in order to celebrate the adults they were becoming. The women of their mob danced around them, singing stories in the oldest of languages, the language of the spirits, the language of country, the language of Dreaming. The young men sat around the inside of the circle playing clapsticks and banging drums in time with the haunting echo of Old Fella Eddie on the didgeridoo. Nim felt pride swell within him. This ceremony, or a version of it, was far older than the Reckoning, older even than those people the Dwellers called the Ancestors. It was as old as the first people.

  Both Nim and his sister had been painted with white markings over their face, torso and arms, a collection of lines and dots that were the markings of their people and their land. In the morning, when first light broke in among the rocks, they would be tattooed, the white marks on their skin made permanent. Then they would part and Nara would go to secret business among the women and Nim would do the same among the men. At that time they would decide what role they would take within the community and what task they would complete as part of their initiation.

  Nim felt Nara squeeze his hand. She was nervous. He knew she didn’t want to go to secret business separately tomorrow. They were not only siblings but best friends as well, and had rarely been parted. Nara was afraid that once they were adults and each had their own role to play in the mob, things would never be the same again. Nim squeezed back, reassuring her with his touch as he had done with his words in the days leading up to the initiation. He was the boy, he felt like he had to be the strong one, but deep down he knew he feared the loss of their closeness, their childhood innocence, as much as she did, and maybe more. She was the older of the two, if only by a period of minutes, but there was still something in that. He had always relied on her more than she relied on him.

  A shout cut through the scene of celebration with such abruptness that for a moment the music, singing and dancing all continued before the collective mind of the sixty people in the mob reacted. It was the second shout, a man’s scream, that really caused the music to stutter to a halt. The circle of people stood hurriedly and looked to where the rocks opened out onto the night.

  The light from the fires filled the space within the rocks with orange and yellow but left the night outside nothing but a world of darkness, almost as if someone had painted one of the rock faces black. Nim, frozen on the spot, still holding hands with his sister, tried to see out into the veil of the night. He could see nothing until Ru, one of the warriors who had been outside on watch, came running into the light of the fires. His face was panicked.

  “Ghouls,” he said between gulping ragged breaths. “Ghouls are coming. They got Gunn. Probably got him good.”

  Immediately there was chaos. Shouts, screams, yells, the people of the mob scrambling to their feet, picking up their children, hurrying out through thin gaps in the rocks, climbing up, escaping. Nim tugged at Nara’s hand.

  “Come on Nara,” he said. “We have to scatter.”

  This is what they had been taught since their earliest days. The first rule of living out on the land was that when ghouls attacked, all but the warriors were to scatter as widely as they could, waiting until the next moon to return to where the attack had occurred. There hadn’t been many encounters with ghouls during Nim’s sixteen years. Despite their nomadic life the mob, as with all people, still lived within the ghoul-proof fence and the relative safety of the Central Territory. There had been a few attacks Nim could remember, though. They had lost people, warriors of course but those who’d fled, too, but in every case most of the mob was saved. The ghouls could only go in so many directions.

  Still linked hand in hand Nim pulled Nara along with him as he headed deeper into the rocks. Behind him he could hear the sounds of ghouls, their horrible eagle-like screeching reverberating among the stone faces. It was an inhuman sound – more than inhuman – a sound not even an animal should make. They must have been close. Nim didn’t dare take the time to look back.

  There were two openings ahead of him, two pathways out through the rocks. He dropped Nara’s hand.

  “Through there,” Nim said. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”

  “Nim,” Nara said, protesting their separation in a single use of his name.

  “Go!” Nim shouted. They couldn’t afford the time it would take to argue. He just wanted them both on the other side of the rocks, out in the open where they could run.

  Nim watched Nara run into the space between two boulders as he hurried through the other gap. He had to turn sideways in order to fit through. He slid between the rocks, the crevice thinning more than he thought it would. Cool rock pressed against his back and scraped along his chest as he continued moving forward, at least until he saw a boulder in front of him blocking his path. His escape route was a dead end. He was trapped.

  “Nim!” he heard Nara calling from somewhere beyond the rocks. At least she had made it out. “Nim, where are you? Come on.”

  “I’m stuck,” Nim called back, unable to hide the fear in his voice. “I’m stuck, Nar.”

  “Can you climb over?”

  “It’s too tight!”

  Nim heard the shouts of others in the mob. He recognized the voice of Old Fella Eddie.

  “Nara,” Eddie said. “Scatter. Do it now.”

  “Nim’s stuck,” Nara called back, her voice cracking. “He’s stuck in the rocks.”

  “Do it now!” Eddie repeated, louder this time, almost threateningly.

  “Nara,” Nim called up through the rocks. “Do what Eddie says. I’ll slip back and go the other way. I’ll catch up.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “No, Nara,” Nim said. “Just go.”

  The screech of ghouls filled the space behind him. Nim knew the monsters were in the rocks but he couldn’t stay where he was. The ghouls would sense the moisture in his body and certainly find him. He had to risk going back.

  Dreading what would confront him, dreading he would come face to face with the decaying form of a ghoul, Nim slid back through the rocks. As he emerged he heard a piercing scream. He spun his head in the direction of the sound and saw a ghoul grab a woman and pull her down from where she was desperately trying to scramble away over the rocks. She fell quickly and the ghoul dropped on her before Nim could even see who it was. It might have been Aunty Adina but he couldn’t be sure. In that moment he was glad he didn’t know.

  The ghoul turned its head toward him. It was, or at least had been, a woman. Remnants of blonde hair dirty with dust and blood hung from her head in long strips, most of it having fallen out or been torn from her scalp, leaving empty patches of gray skin. Her eyes were haloed by deep, dark circles of almost-black bruise, making it seem as though her decaying eyes hovered in space. Her jaw hung open, her lips were missing and the flesh receded back past her gums as she screeched. The ghoul tilted its head diagonally as it watched him, measuring him up as he stood wide-eyed and quivering. It watched him for a moment before it went back to sucking the life from whomever it had managed to catch.

  Nim could see several other ghouls among the rocks, one or two already feeding on people, the rest being kept busy by the warriors who had taken up the long-bladed staffs they used, spinning them around their hands and lashing out in wide arcs, their fighting like a dance. The warriors shouted and grunted at the ghouls, trying to draw their attention away from the fleeing mob. The warriors used their wh
irling staffs to take the heads off the ghouls, the only way to permanently kill them. Nim wanted to join the warriors – that was the role he was going to ask for at his initiation tomorrow. He wanted to protect the mob like they did, but right then all he wanted was to protect Nara. He spun and headed through the gap she had gone through.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the moonlit desert. He could see people from the mob running in all directions through the low scrub and past occasional scattered trees.

  “Nara!” he called.

  He couldn’t discern which figure running off into the night was his sister.

  “Nara!”

  “Nim!”

  He heard her call off to the left and turned to find her much closer than he thought she would be. She had waited for him only a short distance away. Nim hurried toward her.

  “Nara,” he said as he approached. “I told you not to wait. You should be running. You need –”

  Nim’s words were cut short as he saw a figure running through the darkness toward his sister. At first he thought it was one of the mob, but it only took half a second to recognize the stuttering way it moved, flicking its body from one position to another. It was astonishing that something moving in that way could be so fast. The ghoul closed the distance to Nara before Nim could ever have reached her. It had clearly already fed once; that always made them faster.

  “Nara!” Nim howled as he ran toward her. “Nara! No!”

  As if the entire world had slowed to a crawl Nim watched the ghoul leap toward his twin. It placed both hands on her back and its momentum carried both it and Nara forward. Nim watched his sister’s eyes widen with fright as her body was pushed face first into the sandy desert soil.

  “Nara!”

  As he ran Nim felt something hit his body from the side, sending him crashing into the dirt as well. His first thought was that he’d fallen victim the same way his sister had, slammed into the ground by a hungry ghoul, but when he struggled and looked around he saw that it was Balun, one of the mob’s men, who had tackled him to the earth.