Beyond These Walls (Book 2): National Service Read online

  National Service - Book two of Beyond These Walls

  A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

  Michael Robertson

  Contents

  Edited and Cover by …

  Reader Group

  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

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  The Alpha Plague - Chapter One

  About the Author

  Also by Michael Robertson

  Email: [email protected]

  Edited by:

  Terri King - http://terri-king.wix.com/editing

  And

  Pauline Nolet - http://www.paulinenolet.com

  Cover Design by Dusty Crosley

  National Service - Book two of Beyond These Walls

  Michael Robertson

  © 2018 Michael Robertson

  National Service - Book two of Beyond These Walls is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, situations, and all dialogue are entirely a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not in any way representative of real people, places or things.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  Chapter 1

  Butterflies danced in Spike’s stomach as he headed towards the gates with his team. A nod at Max, he said, “Good luck, man.”

  They shook hands, and Max pulled a tight-lipped smile.

  “Is it going to be like this for the next five months?” Olga said.

  When no one replied, she pointed at Spike and Max. “These two being overly polite to one another to cover up how desperate they are to win the place on the trials.”

  “You don’t seem very worried about what lies ahead,” Max said.

  She shrugged. “What will be, will be. Although, you two are lucky I don’t want to be the next protector; you’d be consoling one another for missing out rather than slapping each other’s backs and being jolly good sportsmen.”

  Olga always made Spike smile, but the smile dropped the second he looked at the gates.

  “And to think you nearly died on the first day, Spike.”

  It was like she’d read his mind.

  “Were it not for Ore’s crossbow skills, Max would have a much easier run at this.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As he returned his focus to the gate, Spike filled his lungs with the fresh spring air. Someone had lined up supplies for the cadets: wheelbarrows, buckets, and tools—most of it made sense: bricks and rocks for building the walls, tools for digging mud from the ground, but … “Why’s there loads of dry grass there?”

  Hugh spoke for the first time that morning. “They mix it with the clay and water. It helps bind the walls.” Although he put his focus on the ground, he stole a quick glance at Elizabeth.

  “I always wondered where we sent all the grass from the agricultural district,” Spike said.

  The slight brown tinge to Hugh’s skin had turned almost green, his brow glistening with sweat. After patting his back, Spike said, “We’ll be okay out there. I promise.”

  “You can’t promise that, but thanks for saying it.” The boy returned his focus to the ground. He held his jaw with a tight clench, and his nostrils flared as he breathed.

  To watch Hugh’s breathing quicken and his eyes spread wide gave Spike the warning he needed to jump aside, clattering into Max as Hugh threw up his breakfast.

  Although they all stopped and Elizabeth leaned down towards Hugh to rub his back, Bleach waved them on. “Get to the gates,” he said before he put his arm around Hugh, who vomited for a second time. “I can’t believe we’re only a month in. Five more months of this before I get any time off.”

  Team Minotaur arrived at the gates and lined up by their supplies. Dragon stood on their left. It caught Spike off guard when Matilda looked back at him and smiled, her hair tied up with his mum’s hummingbird clip. She’d spent the past month ignoring him, and although they’d resolved their issues, the fear of rejection still tugged at his confidence.

  They lined up much like they sat in the dining hall. It put team Bigfoot next to Dragon. Although, for the first time since they’d started national service, Ranger didn’t try to talk to Matilda. From the downturn of Lance’s bottom lip, it looked like he hadn’t made an effort with him either. His heavy brow hooded his dark and unfocused eyes. The hole had clearly done a number on him, robbing him of his cocksure swagger—not that Spike missed the boy’s arrogance.

  Sarge already stood in front of the gates. Unlike the rookies, he hadn’t had to go back to his dorm to get weapons. The man rarely went outside the wall, but Spike would never ask why. Many of the leaders had already lined up behind him, and once Bleach delivered Hugh back to his team, he took his place with them.

  When Spike patted Hugh’s back, the boy offered him a tight-lipped smile, his skin still as pale.

  Wearing his usual hard scowl, Sarge took his time surveying the gathered rookies, his top lip arching in a sneer. The gates blocked a lot of the wind’s force, but it still had the strength to shake his thick grey hair. “It’s May the first, losers. I must admit, I’m surprised we still have forty-two of you left. I expected at least one of you to do something stupid by now. A cadet once burned his dorm down while making toast. It killed him and all of his team. That’s why we allow nothing other than beds in the dorms now. But someone normally finds a new and inventive way to put themselves and everyone else in danger. I suppose what I’m trying to say is”—a slight twist to his hard features as if he felt a stab of pain—“well done?” More a question than praise, he let the silence hang for a few seconds. “But don’t worry,” he said, beaming a wide smile, “you’ll be dropping like flies from here on out.”

  Although Spike n
oticed Hugh pulling at his collar as if he couldn’t breathe, he kept his eyes ahead and stepped away from him. If the boy had anything left to vomit, better he did it now while the gates were still closed.

  “The countdown begins today,” Sarge said, the sound of his voice echoing across the national service area behind them. “If you hear me tell you it’s October, then you’ve done something right—even if that just means you’ve been exceptionally lucky. Survival, however you achieve it, is a win.”

  Come October first, Spike would be lining up for the protectors’ apprenticeship trials.

  Sarge scanned the faces of the cadets, clearly revelling in the drama. When he got to Hugh, he grinned. He walked over, stopped just a foot in front of him, and sniffed. “You emptied your stomach yet, boy? You ain’t got time to puke outside those walls, not when you have to fight for your life. You stop and you’re screwed. Your team might be screwed too. So, are you done?”

  Hugh bit down on his trembling bottom lip.

  Sarge leaned so close to him, his nose almost pressed against his face. “I said—”

  “He heard what you said.”

  As gasps ran through the line of cadets, Sarge straightened his back and glared at Spike. A small spasm twitched just beneath his right eye.

  Spike held his stare and pointed at Hugh. “He might not look ready—”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “But there’s no one I’d rather have outside those gates with me.”

  A snort of laughter on Spike’s left. He made eye contact with Ranger before the slam of Sarge’s boot pulled his focus back to him.

  Sarge moved so close, Spike smelled his stale breath. He spoke in a low tone. “And who the hell—?”

  A roar cut through Sarge’s words. Spike turned with everyone to see Magma leading a line of Protectors. Jezebel aloft, he screamed again, a sound without words but filled with meaning. It spoke of courage, fury, and loss. It spoke of war.

  While everyone else watched the protectors, Sarge pressed his forehead against the side of Spike’s face, his hot breath tickling Spike’s inner ear. “You’d best watch yourself, boy.” Spinning on his heel, he hobbled back towards the team leaders in front of the gates.

  “Thanks, man,” Hugh said, his focus still on the ground.

  Spike shook his head. “I hate bullies.” When he made eye contact with Bleach, he balked at the venom looking back at him. And he couldn’t blame him; his first month had been nothing short of disastrous. If he stood any chance of being the next apprentice, he needed to wind his neck in.

  Silence swept over the rookies as the protectors moved through them like sated predators who might have one kill left in them. An empty sack hung from each of their belts. Magma had two. The woven fabric might have once been brown, but it had turned black with dried blood. By the end of the day, they’d undoubtedly be bulging with writhing heads and glistening with their spilled essence.

  Sarge clapped his hands to get the cadets’ attention. “That’s right, boys and girls, you have the main protectors going out at the same time as you. On the first and last day, it’s just them. From day two onwards, they’ll each be taking a team of trainees. One of you will get to join that roster soon enough. I’m sure they need no introduction, but I’ll do it anyway.”

  The protectors walked in front of the gates one at a time.

  “Leading the group, the most successful protector ever: Magma.”

  The cadets erupted, Spike with them. But he looked at Ranger rather than his dad. What would he do if he knew Magma had been the bridesmaid and not the bride? Matilda stared at him, and the skin at the corners of her eyes crunched. She knew what he was thinking. But she also knew he respected her secret.

  Sarge shouted to silence the recruits. “They’re not performing monkeys; show some respect.” The bald woman Spike had seen in the square followed Magma.

  “Next, we have Crush,” Sarge said.

  A redheaded man with a thick beard stepped forward. “One of our longest-serving protectors. He might be older than the others, but he’s no less deadly: Rayne.”

  A mountain of a man with dark hair and dark skin lifted his chin and looked down at the cadets. A furnace burned in his glare. “The dark destroyer: Fire.”

  The polar opposite of Fire, pasty and covered in scars, a slim and wiry woman who looked like she’d squirm free of any hold was next. “Tougher than gristle and slipperier than an eel in lard: Axle.”

  The biggest one by far, he even made Crush look small. “This man can turn over buildings: Hulk.”

  The last one had an athletic build; slim and toned, he looked strong and fast. “The man who’s so quick, he’s burying a knife between the diseased’s shoulder blades before they’ve even thought about going for him: Warrior.”

  With the seven protectors lined up behind him and the team leaders, Sarge pointed at the trainees. “Watch these men and women. They’re here because they’re survivors. They each have their own methods, but the one thing they have in common is their methods work. You’ll follow this lot and their teams out every day. They walk through the gates first, minimise the threat of lurkers who are hoping to get a free meal, and make it safe for you to follow behind. Once they’ve gone from sight, you’re on your own.”

  Pointing at the assortment of building materials, Sarge said, “Three barrows and three buckets for each team. When your supplies run out, there will be more waiting outside the gates.”

  Spike already stood in front of a wheelbarrow, which he lifted by the handles while watching the protectors turn to the large wooden gates. The tall barrier creaked and groaned against the onslaught from the strong winds outside.

  The team leaders stood in front of their teams. They copied the protectors by turning their backs on the cadets.

  Letting his wheelbarrow down again, Spike reached over and touched the handle of his broadsword. He could reach it should he need to.

  Hugh leaned close. “I’ve serviced all the weapons.”

  “You what?”

  “I asked Bleach, and he said it was okay. I’ve serviced them all. Sharpened them, tightened them up. I’ve made them as good as they can be in case we need them.”

  “In case?”

  The slight whine to Hugh’s voice made it sound like a plea. “Let me at least hope we won’t.”

  Other than the occasional clearing of a throat, or shifting of bricks in a barrow, near silence hung in the air. All eyes were on Magma. Then a deep heave broke the stillness. Seconds later, the wet rush of vomit hit the ground.

  Some of it splashed up Spike’s right leg. Apparently, Hugh still had some breakfast in his stomach.

  While wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, his arm shaking, Hugh kept his head bowed and mumbled, “Sorry.”

  Ranger snorted another derisive laugh, but before Spike could say anything, Sarge spoke. “You sure you want to go into battle with him beside you?”

  “Never surer.”

  A twisted sneer, Sarge stared at Hugh and shook his head. “Then you’re a fool, boy. And you’re as good as dead.”

  Spike lifted the barrow again and pulled his shoulders back. He felt Bleach looking at him. He knew when to keep his mouth shut.

  “When you’re outside those gates,” Sarge said, “you need to look after yourself first. If there are only a few diseased, you fight them. If there’s any chance of being outnumbered, you run and regroup. The guards on the gates will watch, ready to come out and fight beside you or let you back in. If one person’s in danger, leave them. We need to keep our numbers up, so we’d rather lose one of you than several. There’s no room for heroes out there.”

  While listening to him, Spike fought against his natural response to shake his head. Was Sarge insane? He’d fight for his friends if they needed him. Besides, if they brought an army of diseased to the gates with them, there was no way the guards would let them back in. But he kept his mouth shut. As did everyone else.

  A moment’s pause to s
ee if any of the cadets would respond, Sarge then moved aside.

  Magma watched him go, rolling his shoulders and testing his grip on Jezebel. Ranger might be an idiot, but his dad knew about slaying—even for someone who’d come second. The champion protector then raised his weapon, his brothers and sisters on either side of him copying the gesture. Together they roared so loud it damn near shook the gates.

  A wild cry replied.

  The surrounding tension palpable, Spike noticed tears in Hugh’s eyes. He rubbed his friend’s back. “You’ll be okay, mate, I promise.” He looked at Matilda. As much as he wanted to be there to help her, he saw the determined fix to her scowl. She’d be fine. He should be more worried about himself and whether Hugh got them both killed. But it didn’t matter what Sarge said, no way would he leave a friend to perish.

  The protectors roared again.

  The wild and shrill cry outside the walls responded, thuds of bodies crashing into the gates. It didn’t matter how many times Spike had thought about this moment, nothing could prepare him for the reality. They were finally going to war.