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Out of civil states, there is always war of every one against every one.

Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan

For the animal shall not be measured by man.

Henry Beston, The Outermost House

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Dogchild

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Dogchild

I dont know how to do this.

Ime sitting here on the floor with my writing book open in my lap, the whiteness of the empty page flickering orange in the flamelight of the fire, and I still dont know how Ime going to carry out Gun Surs order. How can I write an account of this world when I know so little about it? What do I know of our times, our lives, the war? What do I know of anything?

Its cold, I know that. The nights are always cold.

And when the sun rises in the morning, and the cold of night melts away in the blazing white light, and the rocks and sand and the dustblown air begin to shimmer and burn in the searing heat---It will be hot.

I know that too.

The days are always hot.

And above all I know that tomorrow the Dau will still be there – just half a mile away across the empty black glassrock of Nomansland – still watching and waiting, biding their time, just waiting for the day when the time is right to storm our wall and swarm into town and slaughter every last one of us---

But what else do I know?

What else is there to know?

Its late now, getting colder by the second.

I need to sleep.

Tomorrow---

When the sun rises in the morning and the cold of night melts away---

Tomorrow Ile go and see Starry.

Starry isnt just my uncle and mentor – the man who rehumanised me and taught me all I know – hese the only human whose ever meant anything to me.

Most men of his age – hese 26 – are Fighters, but Starry was retired as a Fighter when he lost his left leg after the attack by the Wild Ones nearly 10 years ago, so hese only a fighter now in the same sense that all of us are. We all have to be ready and able to fight, from the youngest child to the oldest of the Olders, and none of us are ever without a weapon of some kind. Starry has an ancient Colt Dragoon revolver that he carries in a holster on his right hip. It was probably a perfectly good weapon once, but its been fixed and refixed so many times over the years that these days its mostly held together with wire and mismatched nuts and bolts.

I dont have a firearm. I have a 3-foot leather sling that I carry on my belt, and a bonehandled knife with a 9-inch blade that I keep in a sheath on my thigh.

It wasnt hard to find Starry that morning. Hese a man of habit, and at sunrise every day he takes his fishing pole down to the beach and sits on the same ruined remnant of the old sea wall, fishing until noon for whatever he can catch, which usually isnt much.

It was still early when I got there, the sun only just clearing the horizon, but the air was already thick with heat, and the smell of the sea – a putrid mixture of salt and oil and rotting flesh – was growing stronger as the temperature rose.

Caught anything yet? I asked Starry, clambering up onto the wall and sitting down next to him.

He shook his head. Its getting harder every day, Jeet. Everything out there is dying.

I gazed out at the sea. The ruins of the old sea wall arent that close to the waters edge – between 25 and 40 yards away, depending on the tide – but its not safe to be any closer. As well as the stinking black mud on the shoreline that can suck you down into its depths in seconds, there are all kinds of dangers in the shallows. The great black jawfish usually only hunt in the open seas, but if theyre hungry enough theyre sometimes forced to venture closer to the shore, and theyve been known to leap from the sea after prey. But the far greater risk comes from the giant eels that lie in wait for hour upon hour just below the surface of the oily black mud, waiting with mindless patience for the slightest sound or vibration to indicate a possible meal – usually a towndog or some other scavenger searching the beach for scraps. The eels are naturally nocturnal hunters, and they usually let their prey come as close as possible before launching their attack, but – as with the jawfish – their behaviour is dictated by their levels of hunger, and over the years theyve become more and more brazen, often hunting during the day, and not always prepared to just lie in wait. Theyre becoming active predators, lunging out of the mud and slithering across the beach with astonishing speed after their prey, and theyle go after anything that moves. A fullgrown giant eel is a massively powerful creature – up to 25 feet long and 3 feet thick – and theyre perfectly capable of hunting down and killing a man. Theyre also capable of travelling far enough on land to reach the edges of town. Only a few nights ago, a 3-year-old boy was taken by an eel just a few yards from his home on the Beach Road.

Which is why Starry always fishes from the same 12-foot section of ruined wall. As well as being a relatively safe distance from the shoreline, its also the highest remnant of all the ruins, putting him 20 feet above the beach. And the one thing a giant eel cant do is climb.

As I carried on gazing out at the sea, I remembered the time a few years ago when I thought Ide seen a ship, far out in the distance, moving slowly across the horizon. I didnt know what a ship was back then, but when Ide told Starry what Ide seen – describing it as a long dark thing, as big as a wailfish, but straight like a plank and with little square bits and poles sticking up – hede said it sounded like a tanking ship, and hede then explained to me what a tanking ship was and told me that I must have been dreaming or seeing things, as all the big tanking ships had disappeared a long time ago. I was sure Ide seen what Ide seen though – how could I have dreamed of something Ide never seen before and no longer existed? – but Ide kept my thoughts to myself.

There was nothing to be seen out in the ocean today. It was as still as it always is, and the dark yellow haze that hung over the surface in vast crawling clouds made it almost impossible to see anything. Even the float on Starrys long fishing line was invisible. All I could see was the silvery twinkle of sunlight on the line as it disappeared into the yellowy-brown mist.

So, young Jeet, Starry said after a while, what can I do for you?

After Ide told him what Gun Sur had asked me to do, Starry didnt say anything for a while, he just sat there peering out to sea through his permanently sun-narrowed eyes, a slight frown furrowing his brow.

Eventually, after leaning to one side and spitting a small fly from the tip of his tongue, he turned to me and said, Tell me again what Gun Sur said about the battle.

He told me that weare nearing the end now, I said, and that when the final battle is over, there will only be us or the Dau left standing. He said its the victors who write the history of war, and that will be us, so our history needs to be written.

Those were his exact words?

Yeh, and after that he went on to tell me that as well as chronicling the battle itself he wanted me to make a written account of the times and lives of our people in the days and weeks leading up to it.

Starry nodded thoughtfully.

What do you think it means? I asked him.

It means Gun Surs finally accepted the truth.

What truth?

The truth that everyones known for a long time – weare running out of water. Theres been no rain for nearly a year now and the spring is almost dry. If the weather doesnt change in the next month or so, and theres no sign that it will, we wont have anything left to drink.

Starry stopped speaking for a moment, concentrating on his fishing line, as if hede detected a possible bite. But after a few seconds he shook his head and continued talking.

We cant survive without water, he said, and we cant go out looking for it because the only sources that havent dried up are either way out in the Deathlands or to the north of the Dau. But if we stay here and just keep waiting and hoping for rain, wele eventually become too weak to defend ourselves. So Gun Sur has decided that our only option is to attack the Dau now, before its too late, and finish them off once and for all.

But how can we possibly beat them? I said. They outnumber us by nearly 5 to 1. Theyve got more Fighters than us, more weapons and ammunition, better equipment---if we try crossing Nomansland, even at night, we wont stand a chance. Wele be picked off one by one, shot down like---whats the word?

Sitting ducks, Starry said with a grizzled smile.

Wede be lucky if even a handful of us reached their camp alive.

Starry said nothing, just nodded.

Gun Sur must have a plan, I said.

Starry nodded again, and this time he looked at me. Whatever you think of him, and theres many who think hese had his day, the Marshals no fool. Hele have a plan. Hese probably been working on it for months, maybe even years. Its just a matter of what it is and whether it stands any chance of working or not.

As Starry gazed out to sea again, I wasnt sure if he was thinking about Gun Sur or just focusing on his fishing, but whichever it was, I knew it was best to wait. So thats what I did. And after a minute or 2, he took a deep breath, let out a long sigh, then turned to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

Ime proud of you, Jeet, he said, looking me in the eye.

For what?

Gun Sur could have chosen anyone to write an account, but he didnt. He chose you.

Only because I can write.

There are others who can write. Not that many perhaps, but he still picked you. And do you know why?

Because Ime younger than the others, so Ime more likely to live long enough to finish the account.

No. He chose you because youre outside of things. Youre not the same as the rest of us, and that gives you a more objective view of our world.

Because Ime a dogchild.

Youre special, Jeet. Dont ever forget that.

He patted my shoulder and turned back to his fishing line.

How are you going to manage for writing materials? he said, reeling out a few inches of line. Ive still got those old pencil stubs somewhere, and Ive got a few scraps of paper I can let you have, but its nowhere near enough to write—

Gun Sur gave me a writing book, I told him.

He turned to me, his eyes wide with astonishment. A writing book?

I know, I said. I couldnt believe it either. Its a complete book, about 100 pages---all of them unused. And he gave me 2 pencils as well. Not stubs---fullsized pencils.

Starry shook his head, dumbfounded. Where the hell did he get a writing book and pencils from?

I didnt ask. He just told me not to waste them.

Starry carried on staring at me for a few moments, the disbelief evident in his eyes, then he shook his head again and turned his attention back to the sea. I stayed quiet for a while, just gazing out at the endless haze of ocean and sky, listening in wonder to its vast and empty silence---

Then I turned to Starry and began telling him of my worries.

I told him the truth – that I had no idea how to carry out Gun Surs order. I didnt know what to write or how to write it. I didnt know if I should simply recount the facts, such as I knew them, or if I should include anything about myself – my story, my thoughts, my feelings – and I had no idea how I could write anything at all about the multitude of things I didnt know anything about---I dont even know where to start, I told him.

Did Gun Sur tell you what form the account should take?

He just told me to write it.

Then if I were you, Ide simply tell the story of everything I know, Starry said. Ide describe myself and my world – the place, the people, the way it all is – and I wouldnt give any thought at all to the things I dont know or dont understand. Once Ide done that – and believe me, Jeet, you know a lot more than you think you do – Ide be in a much better position to reevaluate those matters that I thought I knew nothing about.

He smiled quietly to himself then. It was a smile I know well – a smile of contentment that he sometimes allows himself when hese pleased with a turn of phrase hese just used. I always like seeing him smile. Starry has a heart of great sadness, and he deserves every moment of happiness he can find.

And then, he continued, once Ide worked out what I really needed to know, thats when Ide start asking my questions.

Who would you ask? I said.

Well, you know you can always ask me anything you like, Jeet, and Ile help you out as much as I can, but if you really want to do this properly, you need to talk to the Olders. Of course, youle have to bear in mind that some of what they tell you will be muddled and mythologised, or even completely untrue, but theyre the only ones who know anything of our ancient history.

And if you were me, I asked him, and youd gathered as much information as you could, how would you go about putting it all together?

However it comes out, he said. As long as it tells the story, thats all that matters.

But thats the problem, I said, I dont know how to tell the story. I dont know how to put things into words.

Close your eyes, he said.

What?

Close your eyes.

I closed my eyes.

Now tell me everything you can hear and feel and smell and taste. Dont think about it, just feel it and say it.

I did as he asked, describing the feel of the heat on my skin, the smell of the sea and the air and the beach, the faint murmuring whistle of the sea breeze, and the taste it brought to my throat of salt and dust and ooze and decay.

Now open your eyes, Starry said, and tell me what you see.

The beach, I told him, the sea, the cliffs, the sky, the sun---

What colour is the sea?

I hesitated, studying it.

Dont think about it, he reminded me. Just tell me what you see. What colour is it?

Dark. A kind of greenish black.

And the beach?

Brown, sandy, with patches of oily black---and at the base of the wall its kind of gravelly grey and white.

And what does it feel like?

What?

Everything. What does it feel like to you?

Like its all I know---like its dying.

Thats it, Starry said, smiling at me.

What do you mean?

Thats all you have to do. Just take all the feelings from your heart and mind and put them into words. You can do it. You just have. Its as simple as that.

I nodded slowly, not fully convinced it was quite as simple as he was suggesting, but at least the idea of writing an account didnt seem quite so impossible anymore. There was something else I needed from Starry though, something I knew he wouldnt want to give me. But I needed it. I didnt know why I needed it, but I did. It would hurt Starry to do it, I knew that. And I hated myself for having to ask him, but I had to.

What is it? he said, seeing the concern on my face.

I turned to him. Theres something I need to ask you now---before I do anything else.

And whats that?

I want you to tell me my story.

Your story?

The attack by the Wild Ones and the dogs---

I could see the pain and sadness in his eyes.

Ime sorry, I said, I know its not fair of me to ask, and I know you must be wondering why I need you to tell me when I know it all myself, or at least most of it. And it doesnt make any sense to me either. But for some reason I just need—

Its all right, he said quietly, I understand.

Do you?

He nodded. You need to know who you are and where you came from and how you got here before you can begin telling anyone else what and where here is.

But I already know where I came from and how I got here. I know my story.

You know the inside of it, the story from your world. You need to know it from the outside world.

I didnt know what to say to that. I wasnt sure I understood what he meant. But at the same time, I somehow knew he was right.

He squinted up at the sun, then lowered his head and stared down at the sand for a while, just gazing blindly at the dry red dust---

And then he began telling me my story.

It became known as the Long Walk, Starry told me. It began so long ago theres no one left who remembers for sure where it began, but most of the Olders believe that it started as a tactical retreat from a battle with the Dau and that it was originally intended as a temporary measure, a means for our people to regroup and reassess their options, but for some reason our people couldnt find a safe place to stop, and they just had to keep going, keep retreating, in the hope that eventually theyd find somewhere suitable to hole up and rest for a while until they were strong enough to take the fight to the Dau again---but it just never happened. They never found the right place – or if they did, the Dau must have forced them out again – and in the end, the retreat just kept on going. It became all there was – a decades-long exodus across the Deathlands in search of a place of sanctuary.

Starry paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, then continued.

Again, no one really knows the truth, but the best estimates are that at the beginning of the Long Walk the Dau numbered somewhere between 2 and 3 thousand, and our people were perhaps a thousand strong. There were still bands of Wild Ones roaming the Deathlands then, but their overall population probably didnt add up to more than a few hundred. And as far as anyone knows, in terms of the human race, that was it. Its impossible to know for sure that others didnt exist elsewhere on the planet, but then – as now – theres no evidence to support the possibility. The 4 thousand or so humans alive at the beginning of the Long Walk were more than likely the only ones left.

He stopped briefly again, this time absentmindedly scratching his head.

I dont know how many wagons and horses our people had when the Walk began, he went on, but by the time I was born there couldnt have been more than a handful of horses left, and perhaps 25 to 30 wagons, so even then we were pulling most of the wagons ourselves---

He smiled sadly to himself.

I was always frightened of the horses when I was a child---I thought they were monsters – dirty and foul-smelling beasts, evil-eyed, skeletal, covered in dripping sores and clouds of flies. But they werent monsters, of course, they were just pitiful, like the rest of us – starved and sick and permanently exhausted---we were all simply struggling to survive. The Deathlands had taken their toll. The land was just so dead and empty, just thousands of miles of nothingness – vast plains of either hard black glassrock or ashes and dust where nothing could grow and virtually nothing could live---no plants, no grass, no trees, just dead forests of blackened stumps. The white heat of the sun burned down all day, and the nights were so cold the ice ate into your bones---it was a miracle that any of us lived through it. But somehow we did. We just kept going, stumbling on in the hope that wede come to another waterhole before we ran out of water---and then, if we were lucky, we could slake our thirst and maybe rest for a little while if the Dau werent too close behind---

He stopped speaking then, peering intently down at the shoreline.

What is it? I said, following his gaze.

I thought I saw something in the mud.

An eel?

I dont know. I just thought I saw something moving.

We both sat there in silence for the next few minutes, staring hard, scanning the black mud for any sign of movement, but there was nothing, not even an air bubble. But as Starry began talking again, we both kept watching, just in case.

Anyway, he said, where was I?

Waterholes, I reminded him.

He nodded. They were few and far between, and most of them were little more than lifeless mudpools with just enough water to keep us alive. There were a few places with good water and some scatterings of life – patches of greenery, leaves growing on blackened shrubs, small animals and birds – but for the most part it was rare to see any other living things at all in the Deathlands---apart from the dogs, of course. The packs of Deathland dogs were always there, always following us. During the day they kept their distance, never coming within rifle range, but at night they were bolder. We had to post guards. Theyd take anything – food, bones, bits of hide and leather, even scraps of wood. And if the brutes could take a sick horse or an unguarded child---

Starry hesitated, as if hede suddenly remembered who – and what – he was talking to.

Sorry, Jeet, he said. I didnt mean—

We all have to eat, I said, my voice colder than I meant it to be.

I know. I was just saying—

I know. Its okay. Carry on.

After a moments silence, he continued.

There were no horses left by the time we reached the Black Mountains. The last one had died a long time ago. The majority of our people had died in the Deathlands too. Of the thousand or so whode begun the retreat, there were less than 200 left when we came to the mountains, and many of those had been born during the Walk. Me, your mother, your father, you---we were all children of the Walk. And we were the lucky ones. Most of those born in the Deathlands didnt survive. And the Dau didnt fare any better either---they suffered their losses just as much as us. At the time of the ambush they were down to less than a thousand, and all their horses had long since died too.

He went quiet again, gazing emptily at the shoreline for a minute or 2, then – without looking up – he carried on with the story.

The canyon was the only way through the mountains. There were trails that led up and over them, but they were too steep and treacherous for the wagons, and if wede chosen to go all the way round the mountains it would have taken us a lot longer, and the Dau were only a few days behind us. If wede gone round, and the Dau had gone through the canyon, they would at the very least have made up a lot of time on us, and they may even have overtaken us, and then all they would have had to do was lie in wait on the other side and wipe us out when we got there. So the canyon was our only choice. We knew it was dangerous, an ideal place for an ambush, and our scouts had told us theyd seen evidence of the Wild Ones in the mountains, but there were very few of them left by then, and their bands never numbered more than a dozen anyway. So as long as we stayed together, it would be suicidal for them to attack us. But unfortunately we underestimated them. We knew they were ferocious and savage, but the fault we made was in mistaking their savagery for stupidity, and it was a mistake that ultimately proved fatal.

Starry shook his head, and just for a second I sensed a deep-held anger in him, but it flickered and died almost immediately, and when he began speaking again – still staring blindly at the shore – he just sounded sad and resigned.

The canyon was about 3 miles long and for the most part around 40 to 50 yards wide, but there were places where it was considerably narrower. The great black mountains towered so high above us that the canyon walls blocked out most of the light, and although it was the middle of the day, it was dark enough at times to feel like the middle of the night.

He closed his eyes, and I could tell he was replaying the scene in his mind. I waited for him to go on, but his silence continued – he was just sitting there, perfectly still, his eyes closed, totally lost in his memories.

How old were you then? I asked him quietly.

He stirred at the sound of my voice, and his eyes opened. He blinked several times, then rubbed his eyes.

What? he said.

How old were you?

I was 16---

He momentarily squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again and shook his head, as if clearing something from his mind.

I was 16, he repeated. Kesra, your father, was 15, and my sister Pooli – your mother – was 13. You were just a couple of months old. We were all with the same wagon. There were 3 of us pulling it – me, Kesra, and a cousin of his called Rahmat – and Pooli was in the back with you and another baby, a little girl called Jele. Jeles mother had died during childbirth and Pooli had taken her on. Wede been having some problems with the front axle of our wagon, and wede had to stop a few times to fix it, so when we reached the point where the ambush happened, we were some way behind the rest of the wagons. It was the narrowest part of the canyon wede come across so far, only just wide enough for a single wagon to squeeze through. At first I was pleased to see it. With all the wagons having to queue up to get through, the delay would allow us to catch up with everyone else, and once wede reached the back of the queue it would give us the chance to rest up for a while. But the closer we got to the pass, the more uneasy I became. I didnt know why, but something didnt feel right. There was something out of place. I couldnt work it out, and I kept looking all around – behind us, above us, in front of us, everywhere – trying to see what was wrong, but everything appeared perfectly normal. Kesra could see I was worried about something, and he started to ask me what it was, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, the wagon in front of us moved off, heading through the pass, and we hitched up our harnesses and began pulling the wagon forward to take its place. I was still looking around as the wagon in front of us edged slowly through the narrow gap, but I was beginning to tell myself not to worry anymore. Even if there was something wrong that I wasnt seeing, wede soon be passing through the gap ourselves, and once we reached the other side and joined up with everyone else, wede be safe.

Starry stopped again, letting out a sigh, then went on.

Wede just started moving towards the pass when I finally realised what it was that had been bothering me. It was still far from obvious, but if you looked really hard you could see there was something unnatural about the look of the canyon walls. The way some of the loose boulders and rocks were positioned---they were too precarious, too finely balanced. If theyd been like that naturally, they would have fallen years ago. As soon as I realised what it meant, I opened my mouth to shout out a warning, but I was too late. A bloodcurdling scream suddenly rang out from somewhere above us – the Wild Ones signal to attack – and a moment later all we could hear was the massive rumbling and thudding of vast boulders and slabs of rock crashing down into the canyon, filling the air with great clouds of dust---

He slowly shook his head again.

It felt like the end of the world, Jeet---like the whole mountain was coming down on us---and it seemed to go on forever. The air was black with dust. I couldnt see anything, couldnt breathe---everything was roaring and crashing all around me---and I remember hearing the shrieks and whoops of the Wild Ones as they came pouring down the canyon walls, screeching like devils---and then something hammered into my head. I dont know what it was---a piece of flying rubble, a rock from a Wild Ones sling---but it knocked me to the ground, and I think I blacked out for a few seconds---and when I came round again---

He hesitated, struggling with the memory.

I cant really remember anything after that. It was all just a blur of dust and darkness and terrifying screams---

He sighed again.

It wasnt until much later that I found out the Wild Ones had planned their ambush and carried it out with so much care and precision that if it hadnt been for the dogs, it would have worked perfectly. The landslide theyd set up had completely blocked the narrow pass through the canyon, isolating our wagon from the rest, but barely damaging it at all. They knew exactly what they were doing. By cutting us off from the rest of our people, theyd nullified our one big advantage – safety in numbers. They werent outnumbered anymore. We were the ones who were outnumbered. No one knows for sure how many Wild Ones took part in the ambush – I never actually saw any of them – but its generally agreed now that there were only about 7 or 8 of them. But there were only 4 of us, including Pooli, and they also had the element of surprise. We never stood a chance. But as I said, I didnt find out any of that until later. I was so dazed and confused at the time – and frightened to death – that all I remember is stumbling through the dust, not really knowing where I was going, just heading instinctively towards the pass, or at least where I thought it was---