Spike saw the new recruits around him throw glances at one another and then at the guards in front of them. Several stepped away, moving from the gates and past Spike and Matilda, back in the direction they’d just come from. But he wouldn’t be fooled again. He could see right through it. Another trick to test the mettle of the new recruits. He wouldn’t fail this test.
The more experienced cadets and the new recruits picked up their pace, Matilda joining those in getting away from the boy. As much as Spike thought about running, he kept his feet rooted to the spot. Fool him once, shame on them …
Not enough guards near the injured boy to surround him, they raised their weapons and formed a semicircle between him and the closing gates. Three of them had broadswords, one gripped two handheld axes, and two more had smaller blades.
The boy pulled his shirt up to show the guards his wound. Just above his hip, the dark red gash belched blood. It looked authentic. They’d clearly picked the best actor there. He cried and shook his head. “Honestly, I hurt myself building the wall.”
None of the guards responded. Instead, they stepped closer to the boy, their weapons still raised. More of the newer cadets moved back, Spike now the closest of the lot.
The boy shook his head again. “Screw this,” he said and took off, running away from them and straight at Spike. The truth of his infection sat in his eyes. No blood, not even any signs of it, his blue gaze was spread wide with well-acted fear. Spike would be the only one who hadn’t fallen for it.
Ten feet and no more between Spike and the boy. Then everything changed. Even with the distance separating them, he saw the blue of the boy’s eyes give way to red as the veins swelled and burst, filling in the sclera at first and then covering his irises. His features switched to snarling fury. The coordination of his run twisted and twitched from where his legs betrayed his intention. His lips pulled back in a snarl. He reached out at Spike—his attention fully fixed on him—and he roared.
No time to move, Spike held his arms up in front of him as if the action would somehow protect him from the monster.
A snap sounded to Spike’s left, but he didn’t look. The first he knew of the crossbow’s bolt came from when it entered the right side of the infected boy’s head and exploded out of the left, dragging a cloud of blood with it.
At the last moment, Spike jumped aside, the diseased boy running several wobbly steps before he landed face down on the grass.
Panting as he rode out his adrenaline rush, Spike looked to his left to see the short and stocky woman who’d let him in through the gate. She still had her crossbow raised to her shoulder and looked down the barrel of it at him. As she lowered it, she shook her head. She then turned to the grizzled man who’d been at the front of the group of rookies. “You want to keep an eye on this fool; he’s a liability.”
When Spike shouted back at her, he did it loud enough so everyone heard him. “I thought it was another test like the one coming into the gates.”
The grizzled man this time: “And if it was? What were you hoping to achieve by not running? You could have tried to take it down at the very least. That would have been arrogant, but arrogant’s better than stupid.”
If Spike had had a good answer, he would have given it.
Chapter 30
“April the first!” Despite all the new recruits being there, Sarge stared straight at Spike as if addressing him personally. “I dunno what I’ve done to deserve this, but when I look at this line of losers and halfwits standing before me, I feel like I’m being taken for a fool.”
Behind Sarge stood seven guards. Not protectors, but they had the grizzled look of men and women who’d seen action. The woman who’d both opened the gate to Spike and Matilda and then killed the diseased with her crossbow stood among them. They lined up shoulder to shoulder in front of the gates leading outside.
About twenty minutes had passed since the cadets in the class before them had returned from their final national service. Spike looked at his feet, at the patch of blood where the boy had been taken down. They’d removed his corpse so they could burn it—as they did with all the infected—but they’d not tried to clean up the mess made by his demise. When he made him stand in that spot, Sarge had called it a good reminder of Spike’s incompetence.
“Look at you,” Sarge said, dragging Spike’s attention up so they made eye contact again. “I’ve got a month to turn you idiots into soldiers.” Pinching the top of his nose as if fighting off a headache, Sarge looked at the ground and muttered to himself, “I swear the recruits get softer every year.”
Still stinging from the humiliation on the way in and then when the boy turned, Spike leaned close to Matilda. “He’s a fine one to talk; look at the old codger.”
Sarge snapped his head up and jabbed a finger in Spike’s direction. “You, boy! Step forwards.”
Spike felt every pair of eyes on him as he took a step away from the line. He’d clearly not spoken as quietly as he’d intended to. Definitely not the smartest move with the amount of attention he’d already received from Sarge.
As Sarge marched towards him, a limp in his walk, the ground seemed to shake beneath his heavy gait. Stopping just inches from Spike, his light blue eyes bored into him after he’d looked him down and then up again.
Listening to Sarge’s heavy breaths, Spike’s heart damn near beat its way free from his chest as he waited for the man to speak.
“So you think I can’t cut it anymore, boy?” He laughed. “And I’m guessing you think you can? Did you see what happened to you earlier?”
His stomach tense, Spike fought against the adrenaline rushing through him. He stared straight at Sarge so he didn’t have to see the faces of his fellow cadets.
“I’ll tell you what, if you can do more press-ups than me, I’ll let you go back into line without punishment. I’ll even forget how much you’ve already screwed up. Wipe the slate clean. How’s that sound?”
Although Spike opened his mouth to reply, Sarge cut him off by raising a halting finger. “But, if you can’t, I expect you to wear your trousers around your ankles for the entire time we’re out here. I might even dig out a fool’s hat for you to wear. What do you say?”
Some of the cadets giggled until Sarge shot them a hard glare. “To give you a chance, I’ll do my press-ups one-handed.”
Was he insane? Spike had been doing press-ups for years now. All he’d done since he was fourteen was train. If he didn’t do it, Sarge wouldn’t ever lay off him. But if he did it and failed … He wouldn’t fail. Dipping a sharp nod, he dropped to the floor. “On your count.”
Going down on his knees, groaning as he bent his old body, Sarge put one hand behind his back and the other one out in front of him, splaying his thick fingers as he formed a tripod frame. “Ready?”
Spike nodded.
“One.” Despite only using one arm, Sarge snapped down and back up again.
At fifty, Spike’s arms were on fire.
At seventy-five, Spike’s entire body shook and sweat burned his eyes.
At one hundred, the other cadets were cheering Sarge, who looked as fresh as he had at the beginning. “You ready to drop yet, boy?”
At one hundred and seventeen, Spike’s arms gave up and he hit the ground, the dust sticking to his sweating skin, some of it going into his mouth.
Sarge jumped to his feet and looked down on Spike. “Looks to me like you’ve failed every single test so far. Now get up.”
As much as he wanted to, when Spike tried, his fatigued arms trembled and gave way beneath him again. After another failed attempt, two boys stepped out of the line at Sarge’s command and helped him stand.
Sarge nodded at Spike’s belt. “Now drop ’em, fool.”
When Spike went for his buckle, his hands—clumsy with fatigue—weren’t up to the task. Heat flushed his face. Bad enough he had to do this in front of strangers, but in front of Matilda …
Sarge shook his head and the other officers laughed. “Bl
oody hell, fool, I was only joking. Now get back in line and wind your neck in. You’ve stood out for all the wrong reasons so far. It’s going to be an uphill climb for you, son.”
Pacing up and down in front of the new recruits, Sarge now stared at each and every one in turn. “Lesson number one: underestimate anyone and you’re likely to come unstuck. Underestimate a diseased, and you’re dead.” Again he paused to look at Spike. “Unless Ore’s there to save your life.” The short woman with the long blonde dreadlocks and crossbow strapped to her back stared straight ahead.
By the time Sarge got level with Spike again, he leaned so close Spike saw the flecks of orange in his blue eyes and felt the warmth of his breath against his face. “And if you speak out like that again, it’ll be more than your pride that’s hurt, understand?”
Dropping his head, Spike looked at the ground. “Yes, sir.”
Spike stepped back a pace when Sarge yelled, “I didn’t hear you!”
Stamping his foot, Spike lifted his head, fixed his gaze on Sarge, and shouted so his voice broke and his throat hurt. “Yes, sir!”
Hard to tell, but it looked like the slightest flicker of a smile tickled the old man’s features. “So he has a spine.” He nodded his approval at the guards behind him. “Maybe we can do something with that.”
Resuming his hobbled walk in front of the recruits, Sarge sneered, snorted as he dragged snot into his mouth, and spat on the ground. “Forty-two of you idiots stand before me. Now there was either something in the air to make your parents procreate at the same time, or we’re starting to see a real shift in population growth. I’m going to assume you have horny parents. Shall we take a moment to consider that?” He let the silence hang, many of the cadets twisting their faces from what he’d just said.
Grinning, Sarge said, “That was a lovely moment, wasn’t it? Now, out of the forty-two of you useless fools, only twenty will survive. And I’m being generous. Take a look at the person next to you. They won’t be here at the end of this.”
When Matilda raised her eyebrows at Spike, he gently shook his head. They’d be there, no matter what had happened so far. She’d do better to look to her other side.
“I’d imagine a lot of you are here with aspirations to become the next protectors’ apprentice.”
Spike stood straighter than before.
Sarge shook his head at him. “I’d give those dreams up now. It’s hard, and most of you don’t have the minerals for it.”
Whenever Spike had told someone about his dreams, he’d always been told how hard it was. Hard work didn’t frighten him. Whatever it took, he’d do it. He’d run harder, farther, and push more than any other recruit fighting him for his place. If he had more grit than anyone else, he’d win. He might not be able to change the past, but he could influence the future. He’d make sure they had no other choice but to select him for the trials.
Hawking up some more phlegm, Sarge spat it on the ground again. “Should you survive, then we pick a maximum of seven recruits for the trials. One member from each team.
Stopping by a squat boy, Sarge pointed at him. “You! Step forward.”
Without flinching, the boy did as he was ordered. Short, squat, and pure muscle, he snapped his heels together and lifted his broad chest like he’d been in the army for years.
Leaving the boy standing there, Sarge patrolled the line again. “This here, boys and girls, is Ranger Hopkins.”
The wind soared across the field.
“I take it from the silence that none of you recognise that surname? That’s understandable. After all, Magma’s surname isn’t that well known.”
Gasps ran down the line and the murmurings of hushed conversations started up. Spike noticed Matilda glance at the boy. The son of the man who’d finished second best to her dad.
“Anyone who’s aiming for the protectors’ apprenticeship will have to outdo this little daddy’s boy here. Unless you can walk on water or do something equally miraculous, I’d suggest giving up now, because you ain’t gonna beat him.”
Despite the sinking feeling in his chest, Spike kept his frame straight. It didn’t matter who they put him up against because he wanted it more. And to be the best, he had to beat the best. Magma’s son or not, he didn’t have Spike’s determination. A glance at Matilda beside him. His reason couldn’t be as strong as Spike’s. Nothing would stop him becoming the next apprentice. Nothing.
“Anyway,” Sarge said, “we can think about becoming a protector in six months’ time. Who knows? You might get lucky; Ranger might have been killed in the field by then.”
Although he must have been aware of everyone looking at him, Ranger’s face remained stoic and staring ahead. Spike might have made himself look useless so far, but maybe that would work in his favour. Unlike Ranger, he didn’t have a target on his back. Better to be the underdog than the one to beat.
Sarge turned away from the recruits and faced the gates that opened into the wild lands. He spread his arms wide. “The wall extension is close to being finished. If enough of you can stay alive, this might be the national service where it gets completed. I’m not holding my breath. After just one month’s training, you band of halfwits will be sent outside the city to die. The last lot became tediously slow after half of them were slaughtered in one day. The population in this city’s growing all the time, so extending the wall is crucial if we’re all to survive. We need more fields to grow food and more space for houses. God help us, but the future of this city hangs from you lot of frayed ropes.”
Sarge turned back around again, wearing a wide grin. “Cheery prospect, ain’t it? Now, do I need to tell you that the diseased on the other side of this wall won’t give you a break? They’ll do everything in their power to sink their teeth into you, and there won’t always be a team leader to bail you out. When you step outside those gates, you’re at war with an enemy that has no heart. You stop to think and you’re dead. In the next four weeks, we’re going to throw everything we can at you. See that over there.” He pointed into the distance at the gates they’d entered the national service area through. “That’s your childhood leaving. Wave goodbye to it.”
One of the recruits waved. Sarge stared at the girl for several seconds. “As you can see, we have a walled-off section on one side of this area and a fenced-off section on the other. You’re probably wondering what’s behind them.”
Spike took in the two sections he’d looked at when he entered the place.
“We have the training area on one side,” Sarge said, “and the hole on the other. You’ll become acquainted with the training area soon. Let’s hope you never get to find out about the hole.”
Another pause, Sarge cut through the silence by unsheathing the broadsword on his back. Not quite Jezebel, but it still rang and held the note for a few seconds. “This is your weapon. This will save the lives of you and your teammates. You’d best learn how to use it. You’d best love it because it’ll be your only friend when you’re in danger. When you’re outside, it’s every person for themselves. Each dorm has a line of broadswords on the wall by the doors. You’ll use them for training with your team leaders, and when you can be trusted, you’ll be allowed to carry them.”
While throwing practice swings, Sarge said, “You lot will be divided into teams of six. In each team, three of you will defend and three will build the wall.” While pointing at the men and women lined up in front of the gate, he said, “Seven teams with seven team leaders. Your team leader will do what they can to keep you safe, but working with rookies is like herding cats, so make sure you keep your wits about you and make decisions when they need to be made. Hesitancy is your enemy out there. Above all, save yourself first. There ain’t any heroes here, only the diseased and those waiting to become one.”
Spike looked at the seven officers stood behind Sarge. Like Ore, they all had their shoulders pulled back and their chins raised.
“And before we pick the teams,” Sarge said, forcing a smile, “I wa
nted to talk about relationships.”
Maybe Spike imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw Ranger look over at Matilda.
“They don’t happen. Ever! You don’t fall in love here, especially with someone from another district.”
As Magma’s son, Ranger could fall in love with whomever he pleased. Spike clenched his jaw to watch the boy look at Matilda again.
“Oh,” Sarge said, “the teams will be rewarded and docked points depending on how well they perform. You can earn points by killing the diseased, and you can lose points when someone dies. The team leaders and I can also deduct points for things like lateness, untidiness—” pausing, he looked at Spike “—insolence, ineptitude, idiocy.”
Although Spike felt the attention of the others on him, he held his chin high. Better to be the underdog than a target. While everyone focused on Ranger, he’d show them all exactly what he could do.
Turning around, Sarge pointed at the smaller of the two large buildings. “That’s the dining hall. I want you all over there now. It’s time to pick teams.”
Another surge of adrenaline tightened Spike’s stomach. But not the adrenaline from having a diseased charge at him; this shot of adrenaline rode in on the wings of giddy butterflies in his chest. It had taken him a lifetime to get here. It didn’t matter what had gone on before that moment, he now had a chance to prove himself. He’d show them exactly why he should be picked as Edin’s next apprentice. He’d make all of them eat their words.
Chapter 31
The dining hall looked like many of the other buildings in the national service area, except larger—much larger. The second largest structure Spike had seen since walking through the gates. Nine long dining tables sat in the open space. Two neat rows of four in the main area and a top table, which had been positioned on an elevated platform and ran perpendicular to the others. Each table would seat twelve comfortably. From what Sarge had said to them outside, they’d never all been filled. Not even close. It would probably take a few more years of population growth before they had enough cadets for that.
Protectors - Book one of Beyond These Walls: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 13
