Battle for Gray Tower

By Linda Boltman

After the world is shattered by two life-changing events, civilization is divided into two major factions. When a charismatic leader organizes an attack on Gray Tower with promises that everything the Darklings desire is within those walls, four young people must journey into the dangerous world of their enemy. To reach an underground contact who will lead them to ammunition and supplies, these four friends will defend themselves against ambushes and betrayals and learn that trust goes deeper than skin. They will be forced to put their faith in the very creatures they had been taught to distrust. It will take the strength of all four and the help of strangers to save each other and Gray Tower.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Boltman
• Release date: Oct 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311798244

Linda Boltman

Linda Boltman's psychological thriller, Man in the Moon was released by Jigsaw Press in July, 2011. Although she still writes psychological thrillers, since then she has shifted her focus to write short eBooks for people on the go. including The Sheriff, The Copper Box, Lover's Leap, The Valet of Darkshire Manor, The Captive, Moon Pies, Plum Loco, The Christmas Challenge and Flash and Dash, a collection of short stories. Shifting yet again, her latest book, a science fiction thriller, The Battle For Gray Tower, was released in October, 2014. Linda's short story, The Captive was selected by San Diego Writer's Ink Anthology, Vol 4 as one of San Diego's finest writers. She has had numerous short stories and poetry published in IdeaGems Magazine, Adventures for the Average Woman and Tough Lit in both their magazine and ezine editions in the United States and internationally. Her stories have also appeared in GreenPrints, Grand Magazine, The San Diego Reader and other publications. An active water colorist and traveler, Linda makes her home base in Kirkland, Washington where she enjoys an active lifestyle in the middle of wine country, the ocean and mountains with some pretty amazing scenery.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sometimes, in that gray-blue, misty light that hovers between day and night, I try to remember life before The Darklings. Before the shadows came.

Few of us remain. Those who do have banded together to survive. Perhaps there are other pockets of Nobles. I don’t know. Of those who have ventured out to find the answer, few have come back.

As the last vestige of sun disappears beneath the horizon, Sam helps me slam the large outer door shut and drop the bar. He and Marcus pull down the metal portcullis Hal designed for added protection. It will keep the Darklings from breaching our walls. Paige watches in the wings, worried until the metal barrier locks shut.

Are you going to the Great Hall for dinner? Sam asks, brushing his hands on his pants as he walks towards Paige. There’s no moon tonight.

She emerges from the shadows. I suppose, she sighs. I never feel secure alone during the new moon. It’s better we stay together.

Sam nods.

There’s nothing to worry about. We’re safe in here, I assure them. Are you on the battlements tonight? I ask, looking towards Sam.

No. My shift starts at the end of the week. He nods towards the tall, young man striding next to him. Marcus wants to be there during the new moon. He says it offers him a challenge.

Lucky guy, I respond. My battlement shift isn’t for another twelve days.

What! Paige exclaims. Kate, you can’t be serious. You’ve asked for that shift again! Battlements are dangerous. They should be left to the men. Chose another shift. Please don’t go, she begs.

They’re not so bad, I reassure her. The worst are the howls…and definitely the screams, but they’re not a threat to me. Besides, there are others on the battlements to back me up in case of real trouble."

There’s always danger when you take the battlement shift, Kate, Sam cautions. Paige’s right. I’d feel better if you’d take something safer.

Kate and I can handle them, Marcus responds, joining in to defend me.

Just let them try to attack the gate or walls while we’re on duty, I jest.

Marcus chuckles at my response.

We turn towards the Great Hall.

Marcus has chosen to defend with arrows, Sam continues.

Do we have enough? I ask with some concern.

Marcus shakes his head. Only for the next several weeks, depending upon the Darklings. The next two shifts in charge of manufacturing arrows are adding more to the normal quota. Thankfully, we’ve had little need for them lately.

We seem dangerously low on protection, I warn. At some point someone will have to scout the surrounding area and retrieve any lost arrows. I hear the stockpile of brass shells is nearly exhausted. We have charcoal, of course, but I don’t know how much sulfur and saltpeter there is left. We need to check outside for casings as well.

I understand the blacksmith is working on making more ammunition, Marcus volunteers.

A silence hangs over the group. Each of us appears to be deep in our own thoughts as we cross the outer courtyard.

Do you ever… Sam starts to say, suddenly coming to a halt.

The rest of us stop next to him. Ever what? I ask. The darkness of the night hangs heavy, our faces lit only by the small torch Marcus carries.

Sam lowers his eyes and shuffles his feet nervously in the dirt. Ever wonder what’s going to happen? He looks for my reaction.

I display none. Instead I let out a long, deep sigh and resume walking. If we dwell on that, we may lose the will to look upon the sun each morning, I respond.

Marcus and Paige nod in agreement.

Come. Let’s not dwell on dark thoughts. It’s getting late. We’d better get to the Great Hall, Paige says, hurrying us along.

I turn to look behind me. Are you joining us, Marcus?

Only for a short time, he responds, catching up. I need to eat before my shift, but I have little time until I’m due above.

Sam pulls open the heavy oak doors to the Great Hall and we enter. Several large, resinous pine torches, wrapped in cloth soaked in animal fat line the walls. Marcus slips his torch into an empty socket.

Sam climbs over a rough bench along one of the wood tables and sits down. Marcus, Paige and I follow. We right the overturned metal goblets to indicate we will be eating.

A girl, perhaps thirteen, comes towards us with four bowls filled with a warm, dark liquid. She sets one in front of each of us and departs without a word.

Sam stares down into the steamy bowl. Any idea what tonight’s menu might be? he asks.

I stir the liquid impassively. Large lumps of carrot and a soft, white meat rise to the surface. It appears to be rabbit or cat stew. It’s getting more difficult to tell the difference, I reply.

Marcus samples a spoonful. Rabbit, he states, smiling in appreciation. Cat never comes out this tender.

I hope it’s rabbit. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get used to eating cat, Paige sighs, poking at the floating meat.

A young boy of about five eagerly approaches our table grasping a large pitcher. He struggles to carefully pour a light red juice into our goblets.

Sam holds his glass up. Is this tomato or cherry?

Tomato tonight, Sir, the boy replies. He continues to stand at attention before our table, as though waiting to be dismissed.

It’s been weakened considerably, that’s why it’s so light, Paige explains. We’re between seasons and using the remainder of the tomatoes. We need to make it last.

Sam takes a long, slow drink then sets his glass on the table. How can you tell? The taste is barely recognizable, he complains. We must be very short on tomatoes.

I worked the canning shift last week, Paige informs him between sips. We have a sufficient stock pile that will carry us through the winter. The tomato harvest was particularly good earlier this year. You’ll be seeing a lot of tomatoes in everything you eat, even come winter. They’re stretching some of the tomato crop by using it as juice to provide us with a variety. To make it last, they’ve made it thin and watery.

Will that be all? the lad asks shyly, holding the pitcher unsteadily with both hands.

We all look up from our soup, surprised that he’s still here and at the formality from such a young boy.

Yes, thank you, I respond, giving him a smile. I watch the little mop of dark hair trot back towards the kitchen.

It appears someone is getting good training from their mother, Marcus remarks, looking after him. You don’t see that very often.

We resume eating in silence.

The darling little boy and Marcus’s comment turn my thoughts to my own mother. Her gentle, brown eyes haunt me. Sometimes I swear I feel her touch and hear her whisper my name in the wind. In a rush, memories of my youth return. I can almost taste the salt from the ocean and feel the sand between my toes. It’s those precious stolen moments that keep me going. I startle at the sound of a voice.

What? I ask in confusion.

I said, ‘Penny for your thoughts.’ Sam reiterates. You seem deep in contemplation.

My Mom, I reply simply, my voice thick with emotion.

Ah. I can understand, Paige says.

With all you’ve been through, I imagine the hurt would be difficult to forget, Marcus adds.

I look down at my soup, my appetite suddenly gone. It has been how long now? It seems like yesterday.

I miss your Mom, Sam says in a low whisper.

There’s a prolonged silence. It must be the new moon that makes us all so pensive.

I hear a howl in the distance and stiffen.

They’re out tonight, Paige murmurs softly.

Sam sets his spoon down and cocks his head. Marcus continues eating in silence. The howl comes again, closer this time.

You best be careful, I say to Marcus. A small shiver runs along my spine. My mother’s death is still too fresh.

May be an active night, Sam declares with false bravado.

Marcus does not respond. He continues to eat, leaning forward to hover protectively over his soup. We all know what the howls mean.

Chapter 2

I lean forward on the ladder to pluck an orange from the uppermost branch of the tree. This is my week on fruit duty. Specific tasks such as teaching, forging metals, sewing, basket weaving or butchering are required for the survival of the community. Those of us who are not proficient in such arts rotate weekly between the other jobs; those that do not require such expertise. The never ending tasks of cooking, waiting, drawing water, planting or harvesting crops, recycling, cleaning and such, provide a rotation of duties that leave little time for boredom.

I prefer some jobs over others. For instance, I hate cleaning. Thankfully, because of the rotation and the numbers of people at Gray Tower, I am rarely given that duty. I prefer tasks with more action; a shift that breaks the boredom and causes a thrill to run down my spine. Like battlements, I think, smiling to myself. However, I’m not always granted my preferences. Sometimes I’m given mundane shifts like fruit duty.

I continue to fill my apron with the golden fruit, thankful for the wide-brimmed hat that covers my face. I glance at my watch. I’ve about reached my maximum sun tolerance level. I pick another orange, gather up the edge of my apron and step gingerly down the ladder.

Need help with those? a young boy asks. He eagerly holds out a basket.

I smile. That would be nice.

I’ve seen you before in the Great Hall, he says, looking at me through long lashes.

Have you now?

Yes, although you probably don’t remember me. I served you last night when I was on waiting duty.

I look intently at his small, boyish face. Ah, yes. I remember you. You poured our juice.

We turn towards the Great Hall. He struggles under the weight of the oranges, but I know better than to offer to carry the basket for him. Each member of the clan is expected to do his job without complaint or assistance. I remind myself that if I aid him, I am not helping him build strength and determination.

My name is Thomas, he says, breathing heavily.

They call me Kate, I reply. Although my true name is Kathryn.

Yes, I know. I’ve heard your name spoken.

You have? I wonder why? I respond.

They say you’re as brave as any man here, he says, now panting under the heavy load.

Is that so? And what do you think, Thomas?

I think you’re nice …and very pretty.

I laugh. Well, aren’t you the charmer.

We slowly continue our walk across the outer courtyard, allowing Thomas to stay at my side with his short steps.

I like fruit duty, he says simply. I’m happy to be out in the sun, even if it’s for a short time.

You’re not afraid?

No. Mother has instructed me on the danger. She gave me the watch I wear. It has an alarm, so even if I lose track of time, the alarm will warn me before I reach maximum sun tolerance.

A wise mother you have.

He smiles proudly. She’s from the Stewart clan originally.

From the North?

He nods. Yes. The supervisors rotate my outside shift with an inside one for my protection. That’s why I carried juice last night and oranges today.

I see.

We reach the Great Hall. He puts down his basket to wave to me. I watch him struggle to pick it up again and disappear into the kitchen, burdened by the weight of the heavy load. He is already a valuable addition to Gray Tower. I wonder about his future.

Kate!

I turn towards the voice and watch Marcus approach, his strong muscles rippling under his thin, cotton shirt.

Ah, Marcus, I see that you made it safely through the night. Any news?

The Darklings were restless. A small troop lingered near the gate, but scattered as soon as they heard howls of a kill. The screams of terror that precede the sounds of victory still bring chills to my spine.

I nod. They’re usually worse during the dark moon, I state. I envy you, but at least this rotation, I got my shift preference. I look forward to some excitement.

You know I support you, but I have to admit, I don’t like you taking battlements, Kate.

Thanks, I reply. Of the three, I thought you would be the one who would honor my decision.

I do honor your decision. That doesn’t mean I have to like your choice of shifts.

If it’s any consolation, at least it will be a full moon at that time. They’re not as active as they are when it’s dark.

True.

Anxious to change the subject, I add, Do you remain on duty until week’s end?

Yes, then Sam takes over. Like you, I had hoped for more of a challenge, he grins, then pauses and grows more serious. Things are changing, Kate, and I don’t like it. His tone turns somber. Except for occasional small groups at the gate during the past several nights, there’s been little activity. That’s not like the Darklings.

But you said you heard screams.

Those were closer than usual. Distant screams are common. I hear them almost every night when I’m on duty. Sam has told me he has heard them as well.

Almost every night! I exclaim. That’s much more often than in the past.

Yes. Sam and I have both notified the Security General.

Dear God, things are worse than I thought, I murmur. I involuntarily shudder.

I… Marcus hesitates.

He seems reluctant to go on. There is a long, pregnant pause. I wait for him to continue.

He takes a deep breath and looks directly into my eyes. You best be watchful during your upcoming shift, Kate. I have seen scavengers searching through the waste thrown from the trebuchets.

My eyes widen. This is grave news. Almost everything is recycled at Gray Tower. Little is thrown away. For the Darklings to be searching through the waste can only mean that food grows scarce and the Darklings are hungry. More than hungry, they are ravenous.

Chapter 3

I spend a restless night after my discussion with Marcus. Images of Darklings, wild and strong, teeth gnashing and glimmering in the moonlight, invade my dreams. I awake several times, certain I have heard their howls under my window. Although I’m certain it cannot be so, I find it difficult to go back to sleep.

By morning’s light, I awake tired and restless. Rather than rise quickly as I often do, for several moments I lay quietly on the soft ticking, watching a hawk through the window. I need a sign of normalcy, a diversion from the dark thoughts.

Instead, my mind wanders to the hawk. Seeing an apparent victim in its sight, it circles, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Again and again, he flies in a monotonous circular pattern, watching, lingering effortlessly in the air. Then without warning, he dives with no hesitancy, only fierce determination … driven by hunger and instinct.

Are the Darklings so different? They circle Gray Tower, eyes on their prey, waiting patiently outside the gate, watching for the weakest, the youngest or oldest to leave the safety of the walls, to separate from the group. They linger, waiting for one person to make the slightest mistake.

I am disturbed by Marcus’s news. For the Darklings to be searching through the waste from the trebuchets is madness. Shortly after the Event, as food became in short supply, it was evident the Darklings had made no plans for replenishment. We received word that those who remained on the outside had turned to scavenging. When discarded food became scarce, fights broke out. Now that rations are non-existent, they do what they need to do to survive.

Scouts no longer venture far for supplies or report back as to the Darklings’ activities. It is unsafe and whatever is going on outside the walls of Gray Tower is left to our imagination. I don’t want to think on what point they have now reached. I refuse to let fear overtake my life.

I throw back the covers, rise from my bed and cross the room to stare out the window. The hawk no longer circles. It has found its prey.

Paige comes up to join me. You’re up early.

I didn’t sleep well. I wrestled with bad dreams, I reply.

We all have bad dreams, she responds. We both gaze silently at the beautiful, green inner court below.

I often look out this window, Paige whispers. The vision of the orchard and gardens brings me peace.

I nod. We are very fortunate. We have everything we need, oranges, apples, plums, fruit of every kind, and the garden is constantly changing as we rotate crops. We are so lucky.

Luck has nothing to do with it, Paige says quietly. We work hard for what we have. It takes all of us to provide.

True. I think back to my encounter with Thomas yesterday and his struggle under the weight of the basket of fruit. From the time children are old enough to contribute, even in the smallest way, they begin helping at the Tower.

I see they’ve finished building the netting over the fish pond, Paige remarks. Perhaps now we won’t lose our dinner to the hawks.

I don’t imagine the air predators are pleased with that choice, I respond. They have lost an easy meal, free for the taking. I saw a hawk this morning circling for a long time.

He best look for rats than fish. In the early days there were still some fish within the deepest parts of the ocean, Paige comments. But they are disappearing quickly. I’m certain most within the shorelines are gone. Rats, however, are plentiful.

Each to his own breakfast, I guess. Fruit, fish, rats, all this talk of food has made me hungry. Have you had breakfast yet?

You’re sick, Kate. You truly have a warped mind. Paige shakes her head. But no, I have not had breakfast. The elder gave me another history book. I’ve been reading until you woke. I always wait for you.

You’re a good friend. Let me dress and we’ll go to the Hall together. I’m starving.

***

As we step from the stone walkway into the grassy inner courtyard, the sun beats down fiercely on my bare arms and neck. Early morning and already the day is hot.

Paige wipes her brow. I’m anxious for the full moon. The heat has been unbearable, she bemoans.

Be happy it’s not the summer’s heat, I remind her. Remember how hot it was a few months ago?

She pulls open the heavy door to the Great Hall and holds it for me to enter. The coolness from the stone walls and floor feels good. We choose a bench and right our goblets. There are perhaps fifty others breakfasting at the same time. Most rise early to get their chores done before the sun gets too hot during the day.

I see it’s the same, thin tomato juice we’ve had the past two days, I grumble. I thought they thinned it to provide us with variety.

Hey, you’re the one who reminded me of the summer’s heat, Paige laughs. At least then we had fresh juice. Now we have either the last remnants of the tomato crop or water. We need to use it up.

I nod to the young girl who brings us each a bowl of granola and a small pitcher of milk. She doesn’t look to be more than eight, but balances the dishes like a veteran waitress.

What duty have you been assigned this week? I ask Paige, pouring milk over my cereal.

Weeding, she replies.

Weeding again! I gasp. But how can you? Won’t you exceed your maximum sun tolerance level?

They have us on half shifts for that very reason. I get credit for a full shift while working only half. Boring to you, perhaps, but I like it, Paige responds, shrugging her shoulders. I’ve learned a great deal about native plants and what grows wild. It’s my thing, I guess. Haven’t you ever been on weeding detail?

I shake my head. No, thank God. Fruit picking is bad enough. There are so many different details, sometimes I lose count. I don’t envy the Shift Supervisors. I can’t imagine how they keep everyone straight, I sigh.

They do their best to accommodate everyone to their greatest strengths, Paige adds. Or in your case, their strange requests.

You always seem to be on weeding, planting or harvesting detail. I glance at Paige and wink. I think you have a crush on the Horticulturist.

Paige looks at me in disgust. Honestly, Kate. I’m certainly not in love with Mathew. I just have always found the science of crops and plants interesting.

Fruit production interesting? No. But archery and battlements? Now that’s interesting!

You’re impossible, Kate.

The slightest laugh escapes my lips. You and I couldn’t be more different, Paige. But maybe we balance each other out. I’m just glad there are people like you to take those wedding and planting shifts for people like me.

Better harvesting and canning than battlements, she responds.

Oh Paige, don’t start that again. It’s settled. I’m doing battlements right after Sam finishes his shift. He and Marcus have kept me apprised. I’ll be fine.

But it will be a full moon!

That should provide you some assurance. Marcus says there are less Darklings when the moon is full. They like the cover of darkness, not a bright sky. Either way, I’m not afraid. It will bring excitement to these dull walls.

Paige shakes her head. Why must you crave excitement, Kate? Why can’t you be content with fruit picking? I worry about you.

Don’t. I’ll be fine.

I have a spoonful of granola part-way to my mouth when a chilling howl resonates nearby. I freeze.

Paige’s eyes are wide in fear. It’s them.

But it’s almost eight o’clock in the morning, I whisper, setting my spoon down. Other than my soft voice, there isn’t a sound in the Great Hall. Everyone is silent, frozen in time. We never hear them this time of day. They only come out after dusk.

They sound so close, Paige says in a shaky voice.

We all wait, alert to any sounds from the outside. There are no more howls. People in the Great Hall begin to murmur amongst themselves.

Why would there be howls so early in the morning? Paige asks. The fear is evident in her voice.

I wait to reply, hesitant on whether I should share the news Marcus gave. Paige is a gentle soul, innocent and trusting and I know she worries for my safety. I’m not sure how she might respond to his report.

She looks at me in fear. What, Kate? You know something. I can see it in your eyes. What is it?

Sometimes I hate that she knows me so well.

Marcus has been on the battlements of late, I begin.

Yes, and…

He told me last night that the Darklings have been restless. Several small groups have been hanging around the gates at night, but other than that, there has been little activity, I add.

Little activity with no moon? That’s not like the Darklings.

Exactly what he said.

But what of the sounds this morning? I’ve never heard howls during the daylight.

Marcus said he and Sam have seen the Darklings come closer than usual. Although he didn’t say he’d ever heard them during the early morning hours, I continue. To hear howls during daylight can only mean one thing.

They’re very hungry, Paige says solemnly.

Chapter 4

I trust the integrity of the walls of Gray Tower, yet these recent events leave me uncomfortable. Early morning howls made during a kill are rare. To hear them this morning, coupled with the information Marcus imparted, is more than troublesome.

I reassure Paige at our parting and promise to be safe during my watch on battlements. After breakfast I leave her to make my way to the upper floors of the Administration Office. I knock sharply on the door to the Security General.

Enter.

I push the heavy, oak panel open slowly. The door creaks under its own weight.

Ah, Kate. Welcome. This is an unexpected delight. General Atkins rises and comes forward to greet me with a hug.

Hello, General, I respond, accepting his gesture warmly.

Oh, so formal. It’s just the two of us here, so there’s no need to stand on formalities. Call me Arthur. We’ve been friends far too long. Please, come in. Sit down. To what do I owe this pleasure?

I assume you heard the howls at the gate this morning?

I did. Is this what your call is about?

Not entirely. We’ve known each other for a long time, Arthur. He nods. You knew my mother and father well.

Indeed, and you’re like a daughter to me, he interjects.

So I feel I can be frank with you.

You can.

I have spoken to Sam and Marcus.

Ah, so this is the true nature of this meeting.

Yes. All of us at Gray Tower know of the screams and the howls that follow. What I did not know, and have since learned, is that they are more frequent, daily in fact, and they are closer than ever before. Now they come to our door in the early morning hours.

Arthur sighs. It appears you know a great deal of the Darkling’s activities.

I know they are scavenging through the little waste that comes from our trebuchets. It appears food is non-existent on the outside. Thus, I know the Darklings grow hungrier every day. I am also aware from speaking to Paige and from my own shifts that food here at Gray Tower is plentiful. However, Marcus has imparted that our ammunition supply is low. From hearing all these facts, it’s easy to put two and two together.

I see. A smile crosses his lips. So, my dear Kate, I feel there is therefore little pretense necessary between you and me.

No pretense at all, Arthur.

He stands and walks to the narrow window. Several moments pass while he stares silently at the scene below. I can tell he is thinking, mulling something over in his mind.

He turns and comes to sit next to me.

You have a great many friends here at Gray Tower, Kate. So many that a mind as quick as yours can easily put several stories together to construct the truth. I speak to you in confidence and as a long-time friend of your family. What you say is true.

I sit back and smile. I knew it.

You don’t seem surprised…or afraid.

No, I am not. Although I have a healthy fear, Arthur. I respect the ferocity of the Darklings and what they can do as I would any major predator. I have an understanding from my mother of where they came from and why they are here. I am aware of their situation and although I do not condone their actions, from all that I know, I can understand what they have become. I feel I can anticipate their moves. They are animals in the most basic sense. They hunt and they kill. In their minds, they do all that is necessary to survive. After all, survival is a priority above all else.

Arthur smiles. He stands and moves back to sit in his leather chair.

Well said, Kate.

"But it is a healthy fear as I’ve said. I can