“Ancestors’ sin,” Lynn said, standing to look toward the storm.
“It’s coming fast,” Nim said. “Probably we need to find some shelter.”
“There’s nothing out here,” Lynn said, “only these few trees, but that’s not going to be enough.”
“We’ll have to get behind the bikes,” Mr. Stix said. “It isn’t much but they might shield us.”
“No,” Squid said. Everyone turned to look at him.
“What do you mean, no?” Nim said, annoyed at the abruptness of Squid’s dismissal. “You just wanna stand out in that?” He pointed to the churning dust monster that was rapidly coming closer. “We should just head away from it. A dust storm like that will tear us up.”
“You want to go back the way we came?” Squid said. “How far do you think we’d need to go? Should we just visit Alice while we’re at it?”
“Maybe,” Nim said. “We can tell this Administrator of yours that you’ve got no idea how to get to Big Smoke.”
“Oh, right, and maybe the High Priestess won’t have Lynn executed,” Squid said. “For someone who claims to care so much about her, you don’t think much.”
Nim glared at him, his anger rising. He wanted to argue about Lynn now, did he? That was fine with him. “Who do you think she’ll turn to when it gets tough out here?”
Nim watched Squid’s eyes thin at him. He knew that would cut him deep. Good.
“You two,” Lynn said, her irritation at them obvious. “That’s enough. Now is especially not the time for this.”
“So what do you suggest we do, then, Squid?” Nim asked.
“We should use the shade cloth,” the boy answered.
“How is that supposed to work?”
“You’d know if you had half a brain,” Squid shot back.
“Squid,” Lynn said, drawing his attention back to her. “What’s your idea?”
Nim knew Lynn was inserting herself between them again, just as she had numerous times over the past week. They had never spoken about the real reason for the rising tension between them but Nim could tell, as he was sure they all could, that it would boil over soon enough.
“We’ll tie the bottom of the cloth to those trees in front,” Squid said. “Then tie the top to these trees. That will put the cloth on an angle and we can climb underneath it. If we bury the bottom end no dust will get in and the angle will let most of the wind go over us.”
Mr. Stix nodded. “Good thinking, Master Blanchflower.”
“Let’s do it,” Lynn said.
Nim looked at Squid. He didn’t comment. He wasn’t going to admit that the scrawny little dirt-farming Dweller was right. But he was. They would have to wait this storm out, and maybe Squid’s idea might stop them being sand-blasted to shreds. Maybe.
CHAPTER 21
The air had grown so thick with rust-colored smog that it was becoming difficult to breathe. The once clear bright sunlight had turned to a dull orange gloom. Squid could see the seething, simmering cloud of the front of the storm. It towered over them but not in the way an enormous building would, or the Wall in Alice. It was different. Squid liked buildings and walls because you could stand and look at them and they never changed. They stood there, sharp angles and neat edges, doing whatever job they were supposed to be doing, happy for you to examine them and figure them out, but the dust cloud was all chaos. It swirled and moved and changed while you tried to watch it, making it impossible to understand. It was a bad thing, and it had nearly reached them.
“We better get under the cloth,” Mr. Stix said, looking toward Squid. “You first, Master Blanchflower, in the middle.”
Squid clambered down under the cloth they’d set up exactly as he’d suggested, sliding on his stomach as far down into the low end as he could. The four others joined him, Mr. Stix and Mr. Stownes on his left, Lynn and Nim on his right. They lay in silence, waiting. Squid hoped his idea worked as well as he thought it would. It should work. He’d seen the way low shrubs bent over in the wind, the way a dust storm they’d had on the farm a few years ago had caused one of the sheds to fall. The wall had collapsed, but once it had fallen to an angle similar to that of their shade cloth, it hadn’t moved again. Squid was confident he was right, but he knew that things didn’t always work out the way he’d planned.
As the five of them waited the world grew dark. The burned orange haze gave way to an eerie daytime darkness. The shade cloth began to be buffeted by the wind above them.
“Here we go,” Mr. Stix said, shouting above the increasing noise. “Keep your faces down.”
They each lay on their stomachs, their heads at the lowest end of the cloth, where it had been dug into the ground. It was better that way; less stray dust reaching their eyes. It was horrendously loud, though. It sounded like the dust storm was grabbing the cloth and flapping it back and forth like a maniac. Squid was sure it would tear away from the trees and leave them exposed to the violent, stinging dust, but each time he twisted his neck to look it was still attached, the ropes pulled taut by the storm. His idea was working. The wind and the dust whipped up and over the angled cloth almost as if it weren’t even there. They still had to lie with their eyes squeezed closed or shielded by their hands as turbulent dust managed to twist its way through the open sides of the cloth, but at least they knew they might just make it through unhurt.
Squid looked over at Lynn. Her face was buried in the crook of her elbow. Her short hair, starting to grow back from where she had cut it before the Academy, flicked and moved in the wind. Squid’s heart sank when he saw that her other hand was extended in front of her. Nim’s dark, tattooed hand was on top of hers. Their fingers were curled together, squeezing tight. Squid turned away, cupping his hands either side of his eyes and pressing down into the dirt below him, sealing himself off from the dust, and from what he’d seen.
After some time the wind began to die down and the cloth above them finally began to cease its erratic thrashing. Squid looked up as Lynn coughed, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. Her face and body, and everyone else’s too, had been turned the same copper color as the hazy air.
“Everyone all right?” Mr. Stix said. “Master Blanchflower?”
“Fine,” Squid said. He began shuffling backward out from under the shade-cloth shelter and stood wiping as much dust as he could from his arms, legs and torso. Even though the storm front had passed and the wind had died down to almost nothing, the copper dust still hung suspended in the air. The light from the sun was dim and they couldn’t see more than one hundred and fifty feet in any direction.
As Nim crawled out from under the shelter and brushed himself off he looked at Squid. “That was a good idea, Squid,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”
Squid looked at him but didn’t answer. He just kept thinking about Nim’s hand on top of Lynn’s. He turned to her. “Are you all right?”
Lynn nodded. “I’m fine, Squid,” she said.
“It will take time for the dust to settle,” Mr. Stix said. “It’s too dangerous to ride until then. We’re going to have to wait.”
Squid was pleased to hear this. He could only just make out the shapes of the bio-cycles where they were parked a short distance away. He couldn’t imagine riding through this soup-like air; it would be even more terrifying than usual.
They sat and waited, and Squid decided that the only benefit of the storm was the way the dust blocked the sun’s glare and lessened the oppressive heat that would normally be hammering down on them at this time of day. They had been waiting at least an hour when Squid heard sounds from beyond the haze. The noise seemed to emanate from everywhere in the dusty fog. It was a grating screech, a sound he and Lynn knew all too well, and apparently the others did too.
“Ghouls,” Mr. Stix said. “Ancestors damn it! If it’s not one thing it’s another.”
Squid’s heart began to pound in his ears as he looked into the surrounding haze. He couldn’t see anything. Squid had always struggled to
pick up on the subtler aspects of human communication such as sarcasm, wit and irony. However, in that moment, he fully comprehended how ironic it was that the five of them were out in the Territory, a place where they could usually see for miles in every direction, and yet it was now, when they could see less than a stone’s throw away, that an unknown number of ghouls had stumbled upon them. It was ironic, but more than that it was terrifying.
“What’s our plan?” Lynn said, turning to look at Mr. Stix.
“We should scatter,” Nim said. “That’s what my mob always did. We don’t know how many there are. We don’t know if we can fight them all off.”
“The Nomad is right,” Mr. Stix said. “At least in part. We run, but we do it together, and we do it on the bikes.”
“They’ll be coming from the east, maybe the northeast,” Lynn said. “It’s probably a group of ghouls that’s wandered out in front of the main horde. If we go south we should be able to lose them and avoid the rest of the horde too.”
Like shadows, the stuttering shapes of ghouls began to wander close enough that Squid could see them through the haze. He felt a chill as he saw that some of them moved in from the direction of the bikes, cutting them off from their chance at escape. Mr. Stix and Mr. Stownes had obviously seen this too. They both drew what weapons they had with them. Mr. Stix lifted his mechanical pistol, cocking it to ensure it was ready to fire. It was a good weapon against humans, Squid had seen that, but it wouldn’t be great for fighting ghouls; it couldn’t remove the head. Mr. Stownes drew his sword, which he’d luckily left hanging from his belt. Lynn grabbed the small axe and knife they had used to cut and shave the tree roots. She held the axe awkwardly in her right hand, her broken fingers obviously making it difficult. She passed the knife to Nim. Squid stared at the knife in Nim’s hand and felt a flare of betrayal. Nim had been right. When things were about to get bad, Lynn had turned to him.
“Come on,” Mr. Stix said. “We fight our way to the bikes.”
“What about me?” Squid said to Lynn, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice.
“What?” Lynn said.
“I fought in the Battle of Dust,” Squid said. “I’m a trained First Apprentice.” He pointed at Nim. “He hasn’t done anything. Why did you give him the knife and not me?”
“No offense, Squid,” Lynn said, “but you know you’re not good at this part.”
“I –”
“Squid,” Lynn said, cutting him off. Her voice was raised and had reached that almost squeaking tone that meant she was angry or annoyed with him. “I don’t think this is the best time to argue about this, do you? You two have obviously got something to sort out, but can we save it for later?”
“You’re the one –” Squid started saying, but Lynn cut him off with an angry bark of his name.
“Squid!”
“Come on,” Mr. Stix said, “stay behind us, Master Blanchflower. We need to keep you safe.”
They began moving in the direction of the bio-cycles. Squid grudgingly did as he was told and stayed behind the others. The ghouls jerked and staggered their way toward them from a number of directions. Squid could see at least ten of them. They moved with purpose, sensing the fluid that filled their bodies, and although they were not as fast as some of the freshly fed ghouls Squid had seen in the Battle of Dust, it was clear they must have fed recently. Squid knew their victims had probably been the people of Dust.
Still, their rotten flesh had already begun to grow dry again and was cracking in places. A trail of floating gray dust behind them joined the dust that already floated thick in the air. As they drew closer the ghouls’ screeching grew more intense, almost desperate. They began to shoulder each other out of the way, even shoving each other as they tried to take the most direct route toward the moisture they could sense. Squid could see their milk-white eyes lock onto them as their heads flicked diagonally to the side and back up again, like confused dogs trying to evaluate their reflection in a mirror. Squid had seen literally thousands of ghouls, men and women, old and young, their flesh in various states of decay. He had seen those who had turned only seconds or minutes before and still oozed with congealing blood, and he had seen those whose skin and muscle had rotted away so much that parched and yellowing bone could easily be seen. In spite of this the ghouls that came at him now still terrified him, still caused a sickness in his stomach. He felt the grip of fear and disgust within him. These creatures just shouldn’t exist.
“Mr. Stownes,” Mr. Stix said, “do us the honor of clearing a path, if you would.”
Mr. Stownes nodded. He lifted his sword and moved forward, hacking at the ghouls standing between them and the bio-cycles. As he attacked the decaying creatures he didn’t look as graceful as Lieutenant Walter, or as technically perfect as The Bear, and he didn’t have the channeled anger of Lynn when she fought, but he had a brute power that was devastating in its simplicity. He swung the sword through the neck of one ghoul, lifting its head cleanly from its shoulders, and barely slowed as he continued to carry the blade through the neck of a second.
Another of the ghouls came at Lynn. She lifted the axe, the act clearly causing her pain, and swung it at the ghoul’s throat. Her blow missed, something Squid had never seen her do before, and struck the ghoul in the shoulder. Lynn shrieked in pain, dropping the handle and leaving the blade of the axe embedded in the ghoul’s arm. She grabbed at her broken fingers. The ghoul, even as the axe fell free, leaving its arm hanging immobile from just one strip of sinewy muscle, continued toward Lynn, its single working arm outstretched. The crack of Mr. Stix’s mechanical pistol broke through the ghouls’ screeching. Just as the one-armed ghoul reached to grab Lynn its head snapped back, a cloud of red-gray dust exploding into the air. The ghoul’s body followed its head backward and landed heavily on the ground. Some part of whatever mush constituted its brain must have survived, though, because the creature twitched on the ground. It was clearly unimpressed with being shot in the head but with its head still attached to its body it continued to move in that stop-start way, trying to grab at Lynn’s feet. Lynn bent down and picked up the axe in her left hand, but Squid could see she was uncomfortable with it like that. She didn’t wield a weapon weirdo style like he did.
“Keep moving,” Mr. Stix said, putting his hand on Lynn’s back and pushing her past the ghoul’s grasping hand.
The five of them hurried to the cycles as more ghouls began to emerge from the haze around them. Mr. Stownes cleared another two out of the way, hardly breaking stride as he did so. When he reached his bike he sheathed his sword and climbed onto the seat. He reached out and grabbed Squid by the arm, yanking him toward the bio-cycle. Squid clambered on behind the big man.
“Get in,” Squid said to Lynn, and she hurried into the sidecar. He could hear her cursing under her breath at her inability to fight.
Squid watched as a ghoul lunged for Nim. He only had the small knife Lynn had given him. He waved it at the ghoul, looking like he hoped that would be enough to scare the creature and keep it at bay. He had obviously never fought against ghouls before because the creature, unconcerned for its own safety, just kept stuttering toward him. Nim’s blade sliced one of the reaching ghoul’s hands cleanly off at the wrist. The monster looked at its arm for a moment, examining the viscous blood and dusty remains of the stump before returning its attention to its desire to drink the life from Nim’s body. Squid felt another pang of irritation that Lynn had given Nim the dagger. The Nomad was clearly no better at fighting ghouls than Squid was.
“The neck!” Squid shouted to Nim as Mr. Stownes kicked at the bio-cycle’s starter. The bike spluttered, coughing and barking with the dust that had clogged the engine. It barely turned over let alone started. At the same time Nim lunged forward, taking Squid’s advice and slicing at the ghoul’s neck. The blade of the knife left a shallow cut in the front of the creature’s throat, and its head flopped back with a rasping groan. The ghoul kept coming for Nim, though, its head lolling and b
obbing on its opened neck like an apple in a barrel of water. Mr. Stix fired his pistol again, and the bullet hit the ghoul in the side of the head. Its left eyeball, eye socket and most of its ear shattered in a spray of dust and it stumbled back.
“Get on the bike, Nomad,” Mr. Stix said as he climbed onto his bio-cycle and immediately started kicking his foot down on the starter lever. He received the same dusty coughs from the engine as Mr. Stownes had. Nim climbed on behind Mr. Stix as the man continued trying to start the bike. More ghouls were coming at them, and still more were emerging from the dust. The nervousness within Squid grew each time Mr. Stownes kicked down on the bio-cycle’s kick-start lever and was met with nothing but spluttering and then silence.
“We need to hurry!” Lynn said, sitting up in the sidecar and looking around them.
“Well aware of that, thank you,” said Mr. Stix as he kicked down again, his bio-cycle turning over momentarily but then dying.
Lifting up off the seat in front of Squid Mr. Stownes leaned all his weight on the kick-starter and, grunting with effort, he pushed down. The engine of the bike turned over, popped, began to rumble and then flared to life. Squid looked over at Mr. Stix, who was still desperately trying to start his bio-cycle. The screeching and groaning of the ghouls was growing ever closer. Mr. Stix turned to Mr. Stownes.
“Go,” he said. “Get Master Blanchflower to safety. I’ll keep trying.”
Mr. Stownes looked at Mr. Stix, hesitating. It was clear he didn’t want to leave him. What were they to each other? Squid wondered fleetingly. Friends? Partners? Colleagues? Squid wasn’t exactly sure what their relationship was. Maybe Lynn was right when she said he trusted people too easily. He really didn’t know anything about these two.
“What?” Nim said. “You said we shouldn’t split up.”
“I said go!” Mr. Stix shouted.
Mr. Stownes nodded to Mr. Stix, a nod that even Squid could recognize as sad, a nod of compliance and a nod of respect. The large man turned and twisted the throttle of the bio-cycle without looking back. The rear wheel spun, throwing red dirt into the air before it gripped and they began to move.
A City Called Smoke: The Territory 2 Page 15
