Endurance (5 page)

“Exactly.” He pleased her with his ready comprehension, and his lack of scorn regarding her ideas. The other Hunters had refused to try her design. She could still hear the mockery:

Don’t be stupid, Builder. You’ve never gone outside the enclave, and a cripple like you never will. You don’t know what we need. Why don’t you make me some decent furniture?

But he was already planning for the first fight. “So brace, pierce, pull, pierce, right?”

And the idea that he’d bear arms on her behalf brought tears to her eyes. Nobody had ever thought her worth saving before, because she was bent. Imperfect. It didn’t matter that she was smart or that she worked twice as hard as any other Builder because she feared the elders would decide she hadn’t been worth the cost of feeding her after all.

“Yes.”

“At the first sign of trouble, you take Boy23 and get behind me.”

Nodding, Thimble swallowed back the tide of emotion and turned toward the flutter against her skin that might herald safety in a world that had become utterly foreign and ferocious. “This way.”

“How do you know?”

“I listened to the Hunters sometimes. They talked about following fresh air. There are cracks in the rock to let the wind in.”

“From where?”

She shrugged. “All I know is, if the air doesn’t smell of Freaks, you follow it.”

Eight

They had been walking a long time.

Distant noises hinted at Freaks in other tunnels, but they stepped carefully and didn’t draw attention. His hand sweated on the weapon, and Stone worried about whether he would be strong enough to defend her. There would come a time when their survival depended on him.

Nothing ever had, at least not in this way. Feeding the brats, making sure they were safe? That wasn’t dangerous work, though it could be sad if one died despite his best efforts. He’d gotten used to caring for them but not getting attached. Too much pain could drive you crazy, and he had to block out the idea of their little bodies outside the barricades, carried away by the Hunters so the Freaks could feast and they’d leave the enclave alone.

But that practice didn’t exist anymore. Nothing familiar remained in his world.

Except Thimble and Boy23.

She had to be tired. Her ankle wasn’t strong under the best of circumstances. He was bigger, stronger, but even he needed a rest. Yet he couldn’t request one so long as she put one foot in front of the other. If she had the endurance to keep going, so did he. Stone desperately wanted her to think well of him. After all, she was the last friend he had in the world. He hoped she didn’t hate the fact she’d been stuck with a useless Breeder instead of a more capable Hunter. The only thing he knew how to do was sire brats, and there wouldn’t be much call for that going forward.

But he’d gotten them this far with her help. He’d protected Boy23; the brat had fallen asleep on his shoulder long ago.

Rough ground made it tough, particularly in the dark. More than once, he watched as she stumbled, but with both hands full of brat and weapon, he couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t help. It was second nature to him to cuddle and console, to reach out and offer comfort in a bleak situation.

“Here.” Her voice was husky, pitched low to avoid carrying.

He couldn’t see what she did, but he stopped as she fumbled with something, and then part of the wall shifted inward. No, not a wall. A door. It smelled musty but not foul. After handing Boy23 off, Stone went in first to make sure it was safe. Then he shut it behind them and created a makeshift pallet for the brat. Boy23 shifted but didn’t rouse.

It was going to be tough without a female Breeder to feed him. He had begun eating some solid foods, but he still nursed, as all brats did until they turned eight; it grew strong bones. Most Breeder females kept their milk long after they stopped birthing young. It could be used for all kinds of things; he liked cheese best, but most products went to the brats, while the Hunters ate the bulk of the meat. Male Breeders got the least food, as they only sired young, but didn’t bear them or yield milk.

How are we going to provide for him out here?
It was a question that had no answer.

Thimble dug a torch out of her bag and lit it after some moments of struggle. Fortunately he could see fairly well, even without much light. Most citizens could, though sometimes they were born without the ability, a throwback to Topside, like his own height. He watched as she placed the torch in a metal ring devised for that purpose. She’d probably designed it—hard not to feel dumb around her.

Once his eyes adjusted, the light gave him a better look at the space they’d found. It was more of a closet than a room, but when he turned, he saw the door had a lock. Metal shelving stacked with old junk lined the walls. To his eyes, it was all garbage, nothing useful, but Thimble was rummaging, exclaiming over various objects. He chose not to ask why because it would make him sound stupid.

Boy23 slept on, exhausted by his ordeal. Stone prepared a simple meal while she scavenged, and once Thimble finished exploring, she ate with relish. By the torchlight, he noticed that she had fine eyes, dark like the shadows surrounding them, and her hair held a hint of curl. The walk had pulled it out of its tie, leaving a pretty, disheveled mass about her thin face. She ate efficiently in small, neat bites, and he watched her mouth, feeling bewildered. He couldn’t remember noticing she was female before. At least, not in any particular way—it was a fact he had known but not lingered over, maybe because he knew he couldn’t do anything about it, even if she made him
feel
things.

“I think it’s safe to sleep in here,” she said, after they finished.

He studied the door. It was made of metal and sturdy, despite its age. “The real test will come when we leave.”

“If they find us, you’ll fight them off.” Her faith gave him confidence, and he touched the weapon beside him.

I can do this. I can.

As she shifted to pull a blanket out of her pack, her bad foot turned beneath her, and she cried out. Without thinking, he reached for her like he would one of the brats. Her shoes were simple, likely crafted by her own hands, and she wore a brace on her malformed ankle. By torchlight, her expression showed uncertainty.

“Can I look at it?” Though he hadn’t been the enclave medicine man, he’d often treated small injuries, as the brats were prone to hurting themselves. And given Bonesaw’s lack of skill, his own efforts usually yielded better results anyway.

She ducked her head. “It’s ugly.”

Stone glanced at her in surprise. “Nothing about you could be.”

Her smile startled him, and his breath caught. For a moment, he forgot what he was supposed to be doing. He unfastened the straps and then slid her shoe off. This ankle didn’t look like a normal one, and her foot turned inward. She was also swollen from the walking. He didn’t ask permission; he just took her foot into his lap and went to work with his fingers. Every now and then she whimpered, but he didn’t think it was because of the pain. When they had to move again, it would be terrible, but maybe this would help a little. It was all he could do. Her little moans and sighs tangled inside him in the most powerful of longings, more than anything he’d ever felt while doing his duty for the enclave. It was all he could do not to pounce and cover her in kisses.

Eventually, she pulled back. “Thank you. It’s the first time anybody’s ever seen—” Her expression filled in the cruel words others had used. “Well, since I was born anyway. I kept it covered up in the dorm.”

“I remember,” he said quietly.

“It always meant a lot…when you stood up for me.”

“It did?”

He’d always tried to do it so she didn’t hear what the other brats said. Most often a threat worked, but sometimes he’d smacked the others in the head when he had to, so they’d shut up. There had been one boy in particular who delighted in tormenting her; he was dead now, like most of the enclave. Terrifying thought.

“Yeah. I’m glad we made it this far together.”

Her words warmed him, and he reached for her hand. “Me too.”

Delicate, callused fingers laced through his. He marveled at what she could do with this hand that looked so dainty. These clever fingers had built the traps that saved their lives. To his delight, Thimble didn’t pull back, and the warmth comforted him.

She extinguished the torch with a handful of white powder. They could have used two hands to get ready for bed, but instead they managed, one-handed, to spread their blankets and lie down.

They fell asleep that way.

Nine

Thimble awoke to snuffling growls and muffled thumps beyond the door. Her heart thudded in her ears. No telling how many Freaks were out there, but they knew they’d trapped their prey. She felt sure she could outsmart them again, but escape would involve fighting as well. She leaned over to wake Stone, but he was already alert.

So was Boy23. Judging by the food smeared on his face, Stone had managed to get some mushroom paste into him. She’d worried about what the brat would eat, as he didn’t even have all his teeth. They could chew meat for him, of course, but he needed milk, too, and she wasn’t a Breeder.

But they had more pressing worries at the moment.

“We need a plan,” she whispered in his ear.

He didn’t move, just listened while she outlined her strategy. After a curt nod, he leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek as he had once before. Because this moment might never come again and because she wanted no regrets later, she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his face to hers. It was a blind kiss, born of silent, hopeless longing.

His breath caught, and then he kissed her back, properly, because he knew how—of course he did—and she would’ve hated the why of it, except that his mouth was hot and fierce and sweet as clean water. She touched her mouth with wondering fingers as he pushed to his feet. In accordance with the master plan, she wedged herself at the back of the small room with Boy23 in her arms, out of range of Freak fangs, out of range of his weapon, even on the backswing.

His breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the confined space; she could hear his fear as clearly as the claws scrabbling against the metal. The door handle rattled. Beyond, the banging increased; they must be able to hear movement. Good ears, then. Probably good noses as well.

You can do it
, she told Stone silently, and as if in response to her urging, he took his position, then unlocked and flung open the door. She couldn’t see how many there were, but he killed one cleanly, as if he had been practicing the movements in his head. Just as he’d said the night before: pierce, pull, pierce. His motions were economical, and he went for eyes and throats. Not fancy, as he’d said, but effective. Once Stone blinded them by slashing sideways across their faces, they frenzied, turning on one another in howling rage—and because they couldn’t see what they were attacking. Then he killed them out of mercy, not fear, no rage in his motions, but instead with an awful tenderness, as if these were creatures worthy of his pity. At the back of the pack, one Freak turned and ran, as if it sensed there was something different about its prey.

That behavior puzzled her. Thimble had never heard of self-preservation in a Freak before. Stone took a step.

“Let it go,” she said.

They couldn’t permit themselves to be drawn into a trap. But the change in behavior worried her. A Freak who displayed such intelligence constituted an enormous threat, as it invalidated everything the enclave believed about the monsters. It also meant the creature was capable of more than blind hunger; the thing might even be planning for their next encounter. A chill ran down Thimble’s back and she clutched Boy23 close.

Fetid blood spattered the broken stones; she smelled it, rotten, like bad meat, but also sweet and metallic. Until this nightmare started, her world had been comprised of things, not actions, except for those that created things. She longed for the safety of her workshop, but it was no more. Now she must find another way to live.

At least I’m not alone.

Thimble pulled herself upright using the shelves, breathing through her mouth to block the stench of their putrid blood. Next to her Boy23 chattered; rest and food had cheered him considerably. With chubby fists, he pulled at her hair. Such a dear pain. The pile of corpses stood nearly to her knees outside the doorway, and before them, Stone—with her weapon in his hand. The elders would have said he was too dumb to survive such a catastrophe, and she too weak, but they’d proven them wrong. Together, they were whole. Together, they had a chance.

He reached across the carnage to take his offspring. Even though she had no claim to him, Boy23 felt like her brat too.

“It’s safe,” he said. “And you were right. Using the threshold to keep them from surrounding me? Genius.”

“You’re big enough to block the doorway. It was a good guess.”

“You knew it would work.”

“I hoped.” She’d watched the Hunters train more than once, because that had been her friend Deuce’s favorite pastime. During those sparring matches, Thimble often predicted the winner from analyzing fighting styles. Sometimes she’d plan counter strategies in her head.

“Bah,” Boy23 babbled, waving his arms in the air. “Bah bah bah. Bah!”

A single step sent anguish shooting up toward her knee. The long hike the day before had taken its toll. Exhaling a staccato breath, she knelt to fasten her brace, though her ankle was nearly too swollen for her to secure the straps. Determined, she ignored the pain and tightened them further.

I won’t slow him down. He needs me. I have to be strong for Stone and Boy23.

He slung his pack over his shoulder, and then hers, before she could protest. Then she decided not to make an issue of it. He was stronger; she was smarter. If they played to their strengths, they would make it. So better not to insist when it would be all she could do to keep moving her own weight forward, let alone her share of the supplies. Stone set his weapon against the wall as Thimble moved toward the doorway. Without asking permission, he wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all. He spun her out of the closet and into the tunnel with the sheer physical power that had made him a popular Breeder.