A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) (38 page)

Wilson lay exhausted beside Badger’s wrapped body. He heard the crunch of footsteps and saw Kaya’s small moccasins.

“Thank you for finding my dog,” said Wilson, not wanting to raise his head.

Kaya pointed. “He’s next to that tree if you want to see him. Do you have a water skin?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Kaya left and Wilson watched the sun rise lazily through the leaves. After a quarter hour more footsteps shuffled nearby.

“I’m glad you made it,” said Yishai. “Can we do anything to help her?”

“What can be done, has been done,” said Wilson. “The only cure is at my village.”

“I see.”

“I guess this is ‘Red Bear,’” said Wilson.

“Yes. We had a plan before, but your father made it more organized. This is our refuge when all has been lost.”

“But how can you abandon the entire village? What about food and water? Medicines and gunpowder?”

“Not as valuable as what we saved,” said Yishai. He pointed at a wooden box the size of a coffin. “Seed storage.”

“What were all those explosions?”

“The last of our powder. Actually, the first was a powder house, the second was my trap for the ugly moving cannon.”

“Did it work?”

“I don’t know. I do know that too many people lost their lives fighting that thing. But now we must gather a supplies and decide what to do next.”

“Take the village back? Rebuild?”

Yishai shook his head. “Not unless we want to fight more of those bastard machines.”

He gave Wilson a hand up from the ground.

“You’ve helped me more than I deserve,” said Wilson. “Now it’s my chance to return the favor.”

“How?”

“I’ll take you to the west. To Station.”

NINETEEN

T
wo hundred women and children and fifty men had escaped the attack. Many were wounded. Wilson scrounged medical supplies and helped to bandage and treat them.

A hidden cache of supplies was unearthed from the clearing. Against Wilson’s advice, Yishai left a coded message with the direction of travel and had the boxes reburied.

The refugees split apart. The majority headed west and two dozen men stayed behind. They planned to lay traps and pull any pursuing Circle into the opposite direction. Yishai left the four-wheeled vehicle with them and gave a gloomy farewell.

The refugees traveled in single file, like a somber line of black ants. A pair of hunters worked at the rear to wipe out any trail signs. Three strong girls helped Wilson carry Badger in a litter made from the blanket and two long saplings. Four boys copied Wilson and carried the ugly dog in a small stretcher. With many of their animals left behind, the children had adopted the dog despite its foul appearance and constant attempts to limp away.

Wilson checked Badger’s breathing and heart rate during each break in the march. Both were continually very low. To record the numbers he scratched lines into the flat leather of his belt. He told her stories, tried the re-set code, and waved herbal infusions under her nose. Nothing at all made her respond.

They traveled northwest to avoid any Westcreeks then southwest over old trails. Once during the first day and once at night they heard clusters of distant gunfire.

The long line of survivors arrived at the high plains and camped until nightfall. Most used the time to sleep or cook. They formed circles of conversation and support around each other. Wilson sat with the ugly dog away from everyone else and watched a lake in the distance. The moon reflected on the water like a white, rolled-back eye.

Kaya sat on the ground beside him. “Tell me what you see.”

“The dead past and the dead future.”

“I don’t understand.”

Wilson pointed to the lake. “I walked along that shore only weeks ago. People were alive that are dead now. Over there’s the road we’ll take to Station. That’s the future.”

“Why call it dead?”

“Because whatever I do, the only future I have left won’t wake up. She might as well be dead.”

“Don’t say that, Wilson. She’s still breathing.”

Wilson shook his head. “The space between breathing and not, living and not––sometimes that space is wider than a mountain. At other times it’s as thin as a butterfly wing.” Wilson paused. “There’s been so much death. So much destruction. I thought I made the right choices for the right reasons. Maybe I should have accepted Badger’s sickness. We could have stayed in the valley and made the most of what time we had left.”

Kaya didn’t reply, and watched the gray plains for a long moment.

“Time waits for no man,” she said.

“What?”

“I was late for a lesson once and your father said that.”

Wilson sniffed. “Whether it waits for me or not won’t matter soon.”

Kaya rubbed the ugly dog on the neck and it didn’t run away.

BEFORE DAWN A HAND shook him awake.

“Sorry,” whispered a thin boy. “Come with me.”

Wilson wrapped a fur around his shoulders and followed the boy through the dark forest. After a few minutes of heavy-eyed walking he stopped.

“Where are we going?”

“Yishai needs you. It’s important.”

They followed an old game trail to a rushing stream. The air smelled of charcoal and blood. Wilson saw chipped bark on a nearby tree. Next to the stream sprawled a line of dead tribals.

“Wait! These are Lagos,” said Wilson. “What happened?”

He splashed across the stream and climbed the muddy bank to a circle of David men, Yishai among them.

“Sorry to bring you out here in the dark,” said Yishai. “But she asked for you.”

“Who asked for me?”

Wilson rubbed his eyes and pushed through the circle of village men. Three tribals knelt inside, two teenage boys and one woman, all with hands tied.

“Flora!”

A corner of Flora’s mouth turned up but she said nothing. Dirt and blood from the fight smeared her blonde buckskin dress. Twigs and brown fragments of leaf stuck from her tight gray braids.

Yishai waved his hand at all three. “We caught them planning an ambush.”

“It’s not true,” Flora said quietly.

Wilson thought about the way Flora had used him to attack Westcreek. But he also remembered how she’d kept her word.

“Whether she was planning to ambush us or not, we can trade her to Lagos for supplies,” he said. “They won’t refuse a parlay for someone like her.”

Yishai said nothing and looked off into the forest.

“What’s wrong?” Wilson noticed all the men from David had grim looks. “Wait! You just can’t kill her!”

“He wants your blessing,” said Flora. “He’ll gladly shoot beautiful children if they have a rifle, but not an old woman with empty hands.”

“We can’t risk a parlay,” said Yishai. “We’ve lost too many of our brothers and sisters to trust anyone at this point, especially Flora. She’ll put those Circle bastards back on our trail and we can’t survive another fight!”

“If you want approval for murder, I won’t give it,” said Wilson.

“They’re just animals,” said one of the soldiers.

Wilson remembered the way Darius had screamed when Badger had cut him. He shook the image from his head and stared at the young soldier.

“I used to think that too, and for the same reasons.” He paused. “But it’s not true. We’re all the same underneath and you know it. If you think they’re animals then all of us are animals, including me. Arrange a parlay or let Flora go free.”

Yishai frowned grimly for a moment. At last he nodded.

Flora cleared her throat with a rattle and spat on the trampled leaves. “You strike hard with words, Wilson of the west, but let these fools kill me. It will be dignified and painless compared to what waits for us at Lagos.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Two days ago, one of the Circle came on a machine. He asked me to attack David. I refused. Later that night, followers of Marcus and the Circle murdered my family and friends. A dozen of us escaped, but your soldiers found us tonight and now only my two youngest are left.” She lost expression in her face and stared at the sprawled bodies near the stream. “For once in my life I tried to do the right thing, Wilson, and look at me. I’m a stupid old woman covered in blood and filth, surrounded by dead children. Do me a favor and let these men kill me.”

Yishai spread his arms. “I didn’t realize what happened––she refused to talk to us.”

Wilson took a knife from one of the soldiers and cut Flora and her sons free.

“Both of us have done horrible things in the past,” he said, and helped her to stand. “What matters most is what you do next.”

“What choice do I have? To starve to death or be eaten by wolves?”

Yishai shook his head. “If you swear the blood oath, you may join our tribe.”

Flora nodded, then looked at Wilson. “Thank you for listening.”

ON THE EVENING of the third day the column came to the kneeling hills below the gray peak of Old Man. Wilson walked in the lead with Yishai, Kaya, and four helpers carrying Badger’s stretcher. A group of hunters and Father Reed waited for them at a stream crossing.

“Wilson!” The priest rushed up to him.

“I knew you’d see us coming,” said Wilson.

“Even my old eyes couldn’t miss that many dots coming from off-map. What in the name of three cats has happened?”

“Our village is gone,” said Yishai. “Destroyed by Circle bandits … we’re all that’s left.”

Reed looked at the wounded villagers with few possessions. At the barefoot children. He sighed and pulled on his beard.

“Badger won’t wake up,” said Wilson.

The priest knelt beside the stretcher and felt Badger’s pale neck for a moment, then pressed the code into her arm.

“She’s still alive,” he said. “Barely. You can see the code doesn’t work, so there’s a mechanical fault or–”

Wilson raised his palm. “Don’t say it.”

“What did you find at Schriever?”

“Not the sequencer. I think it’s gone forever.” Wilson lowered his voice. “What about these people, Father? They’ve lost everything. I know I shouldn’t have brought them here, but–”

“We’ll talk about that later,” said Reed. “For now, have them follow us to the valley. The light is fading and children shouldn’t be out in this cold.”

THE REFUGEES AND THEIR immediate needs disrupted Station like a fox in the hen house. The underground corridors throughout the village echoed with crying children, the hard slap of running feet, and the shouts from frustrated mothers.

His mother had left to prepare food. Wilson sat at his desk in the rectory, surrounded by books and items he’d collected as an apprentice. Now they were just toys and trinkets.

“Wilson.”

Badger lay in the treatment room covered with monitor cables. Wilson wished that a kiss were enough to bring her back to life. But she wasn’t a sleeping beauty. She was only a pale, scarred girl close to death.

“Wilson!”

He startled. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“You look it,” said Mast. He looked at the torn leather and scraps of wool on Wilson. “The boy who walked to hell and back. Tell me something I can do.”

“Nothing right now, thanks. I just need to sleep.”

“Are you sure? How about a haircut? A foot massage? A hug?”

A smile flickered on Wilson’s face. He inhaled deeply and blew out a ragged sigh.

“Thanks but no thanks,” he said.

“You thought I was serious? That’s rich,” said Mast. “You must really be sick.”

“I’m just tired.”

“We’re still waiting for you to punch out Reed for what he did to you and Badger.”

“Well, you don’t get mad at a range lizard for having sharp teeth.”

“No, I stab them in the face––is that what you’re planning?”

Wilson shook his head. “I’m not taking any more orders from Reed, but it’s not because I’m boiling over with rage. I just don’t care. It’s hard to explain what happened after I was shot. I saw things from the past with my own eyes, and felt like a different person. That kind of experience doesn’t just go away. After what happened to my father ... now I realize what’s important.”

“I think I understand,” said Mast.

After a long moment, Wilson cleared his throat. “There’s one thing you can do for me.” He slipped his pistol from the pouch and held it out to Mast hilt-first.

“What? I can’t do that! Have some hope, Wilson. She’s still breathing.”

“No, dung-brain. I want you to have it.”

Mast waved his hands and stepped back. “A man’s gun is a man’s gun––you should know that. It’s bad luck to give it away.”

Wilson sighed and slid the weapon into its leather pouch.

“What I ‘should know’ about my life isn’t black and white anymore. My father should have been dead. The machine should have been at Schriever. I should have fought harder and smarter against the Circle. I wouldn’t have been shot and she wouldn’t have been––”

“Stop beating yourself up about it, friend. Like you just said, those things aren’t important anymore.”

“Right.”

“If you need anything at all, let me know. I’ll come back in the morning.”

Mast left and Wilson’s mother appeared with a tray of food.

“Have some food, Cubbie,” she said. “Goodness, I never realized how stuffy and cramped with books your room is. If you’re not going to clean up this mess why don’t you come to my quarters? It’d be so much more comfortable.”

“We’ll have to get used to being cramped, mother. Where do you think everyone is going to stay?”

“You’re right––I didn’t think about that. If any of them know how to work I can finally get some help in the shop.”

“Mother, I guarantee they can work.”

Loud voices echoed from the hallway and Reed and Yishai appeared at Wilson’s door.

Yishai shook Wilson’s hand. “Thank you for bringing us here, Your Grace.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me, both of you,” said Yishai.

The bearded tribal bowed out of the room and Wilson heard the double doors of the tunnel open and close.

“It’s been decided,” said Reed. “The villagers will stay here.”

“Do they know about the rules?”

“Yishai says it won’t be a problem. Given the circumstances, they don’t have much of a choice.”