Little House on the Wasteland

Twenty: The Ghost City of Damoyne

Laura's teeth rattled as the bisox wagon clattered over a rough patch of creetrock. The rest of the convoy, following in her wake, became a jittering blur.

After so many months of travel, Laura was a very good walker. But on the straight, flat Eighty Road, the convoy was able to cover more miles each day than her short legs were used to. Pa had protested at first when Captain Syed suggested that Laura and Mary ride on the back of the bisox wagon, but Mr. Chavez insisted that the two girls combined weighed less than a single sack of barley and that Pretty and Penny would never know the difference.

It was fun at first, to sit on the back of the big car, her legs dangling over the road as the great hairy bisox tugged her along. After a day or two, though, the thrill had worn off. Laura was growing fidgety, and her bottom hurt from all the jouncing. On their next stop, she decided, she ask if she could walk again for a while.

She did not have to wait long, for it was not yet midday when the convoy abruptly halted. They had come to a creek that ran right across the Eighty Road. It was shallow enough to ford, but the waters were rapid.

After some discussion, it was decided that any excess weight should be removed and carried across individually, and Mary and Laura were the first cargo expelled from the bisox car. Laura hopped down, grateful for the chance to stretch her legs.

As the rest of the convoy set about unloading or bolting down their belongings and applying fresh coats of wax or tallow to the wheels and bottoms of their cars, Laura decided she would go inspect this creek and maybe dip her fingers into the cool water. As soon as she stepped out from behind the bisox wagon, however, she suddenly stopped. In the distance before her, where the Eighty Road seemed to narrow and vanish, rose enormous jagged shapes.

They were old Merican towers, bigger and more numerous than Laura had ever laid eyes on. They must have appeared on the horizon some time ago, but they had been invisible to Laura, seated backwards as she was on the bisox wagon.

The ruins were still a good ways off, but already the towers dominated the landscape. The tallest was a skinny tower that seemed to list slightly to the side. Its top was cleaved by a wide gash, and what remained hung bent and splayed around its peak like a ragged crown. Beside it was a second tower, slightly shorter than its neighbor but much wider about the base. On either side of the twin monoliths, a dozen or more lesser peaks of varying shapes rose and fell, stark against the smooth Yowa countryside.

"Mary!" Laura called out. "There it is! Da— Dommin— Dom—"

"Damoyne."

Laura looked up to find Devonte Aguilar standing beside her, shading his eyes as he too stared out towards the ruins. Laura felt a swell of irritation at his know-it-all tone. A moment later, Mary squeezed in between them.

"Father says it was a great city once, like Gothim or Shicago," Devonte said, studying the towers. "The Supervisor of Damoyne ruled over the whole Yowa, all the lands between the Suri and the Misisip. He lived in a great palace with five golden domes. The palace still stands. Father knows a man that's seen it."

Laura had seen Daymoyne marked out on Pa's map and knew that the Great Eighty Road passed nearby, skirting just north of the old ghost city. There had been talk around the cookfire that morning about the ruins and what precautions the convoy must take to pass around them in safety. But this was the first Laura was hearing of golden domes.

"Oh," she said, trying to sound uninterested.

"Father says the Supervisor of Damoyne rebelled against the Merican Prezdent. A great battle was fought here. As we near the city, we may see signs of it. Have you ever seen a Merican warcar?"