A Town Called Dust: The Territory 1 (17 page)

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?”

Lieutenant 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.

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.

It was maybe a week ago that he’d set out from the billabong; he wasn’t entirely sure how many nights it had been, he was finding it difficult to keep track. He was heading west, that much he was certain of, right toward the setting sun. There was little else to do. No one would find him out here and the Diggers would need him. Someone from their party had to return with news of the ghouls. He was sure that when he made it to Alice he would be welcomed as a hero. There was a small voice in the back of his mind telling him that walking across the Central Territory was entirely impossible, and that even if he somehow managed it everything was so spread out that he could walk west forever and never hit a single town. However, Melbourne preferred to listen to the voice on top of that one, the voice that said he was Melbourne, and things would work out for him, because they always had.

He had been traveling at night when it was cold and dark, trying his best to rest during the heat of the day, but without a tent it was nearly impossible to find shelter from the incandescent sun. Before he had left the billabong he’d used some of the horse’s skin to create a kind of sack that he washed clean and now used to carry food with him. He had no way of carrying water, though, and that was becoming a severe problem. For the first few days there had been a run of small billabongs like the first one he’d found, but they’d dried up now. The parched landscape ahead stretched to the horizon without a single sign of water.

It was the early hours of the morning, and Melbourne dragged his feet across the ground. Walking was becoming ever more difficult and he was reaching the point where each step had to be a conscious decision. He was well aware that he was slipping back into dehydration; the small amount of saliva that filled his mouth was thick and sticky and there was an ever-present tightness constricting his forehead. His limbs felt heavy, but at the same time he had to remind himself that they were his, because they wouldn’t react to his instructions. Just as he was thinking this, one of his feet caught in the dirt and he stumbled and landed on his knees. Maybe he should just rest now. Surely it would be the best thing in the world to just close his eyes and sleep. It would be light soon anyway.

When he opened his eyes again a yellow-orange glow had blossomed on the horizon in the east, and the clouds above were lit with graying light. It would have been beautiful if it didn’t signal the oncoming heat of day. He watched the sky turn from fire-red to blue, the land from grayscale to color. He closed his eyes again and then opened them quickly. There was a shape on the horizon. No, not even that far away. A huge shape, still dark in the thin light. A dirigible. It had to be. Yes, it was, he could see the shape of the monstrous balloon. He lifted himself to his feet, spurred by the sudden rush of adrenaline. This was his only hope.

Melbourne walked toward the airship, pushing himself onward, forcing himself against flagging energy and rising heat. After some time he was filled with a sense of relief. The dirigible was flying low and it was coming closer, it was moving toward him. It grew bigger, pushed by the steady turn of its four huge propellers.

“Hey!” Melbourne called, or at least tried to call, his parched throat causing his voice to break and twist around the word. “Hey!” he tried again. It was a little clearer this time, but not much.

The dirigible continued toward him. When he was certain it would reach him he collapsed to his knees. Surely those aboard would see him as they flew overhead. They did. Melbourne wasn’t sure how long it took but sure enough the dirigible flew right by, close enough that he could hear the sounds of the crew and the slowing of propellers about their shafts. Heavy thuds marked the landing of anchors on the ground, steel hooks that caught in the sand and slowed the vessel. Someone called out to him from the deck above.

“Ahoy there!”

“Please,” Melbourne tried to call back, “please help—” But that was all he could manage.

The face that looked down at him from over the railing of the deck disappeared.
He must be going to get a rope, or a ladder
, Melbourne thought.
Thank the Ancestors
. Melbourne barely managed to hang on to consciousness as he watched for the return of the face above the railing. Sure enough, the man reappeared and he was holding something in his hand. It wasn’t a rope ladder, though, it was something small. The face above the rail held up the slingshot, pulled back and released. An extremely fast-moving and extremely solid ball struck Melbourne right between the eyes, helping him instantly into the waiting arms of unconsciousness.