Fire Country (10 page)

“That’
s deep enough fer a skinny runt like yer,” the Keeper says, turning his attention back to me. “Now push it through to ter other side.”

As I peer through the bars, I try to figure out what the point of this is. Then I realize: the cage has no door. Getting in and out can only be accomplished by digging. Opposite where the Keep had me dig is anot
her hole, on the inside. I’m s’posed to connect the two. The tiny flywheels in my head start spinning. Is it really that easy to get out? Do you just hafta dig a hole with your hands? Seems crazy none of the other prisoners have escaped.

“I see what yer thinkin’,” the Keeper says, “and yer can stop thinkin’ it right now.” I look at his white face, surprised a man who sounds so dense would be able to guess what I’m thinking. “The bars go down twenty feet, so unless yer a burrow mouse, there’s no chance of yer diggin’ yer way out. And this front hole, well, I’ll take ca
re of that as soon as yer in.”

I groan inside, but I guess it’s good to know there’s no way out
, so I can stop thinking ’bout it and just settle in for the long haul. Turning my attention back to the hole, I jam the shovel sideways and under the bars, which don’t go into the ground at this point like they do all the rest of the way around. I break through the durt easily, creating a narrow crawl space into the cage.

“Get in,” the Keep commands, taking the shovel back. As I get down on my stomach, I thin
k how big ol’ Bart would hafta dig a hole four times as big to fit through. I guess I’ve found a benefit of being skinny. Too bad it only applies to when I’m stuck in Confinement, which I’m hoping won’t become a regular thing. I wriggle under the bars, using my one free hand to pull myself through the gap and wondering whether I look like the ’zard we saw earlier.

Inside,
durty and tired and ready for my little trip to Confinement to be over, I lie on my back and watch as the Keep busies himself filling the hole. But ’fore he gets too far along, he rolls a large stone I hadn’t noticed into the hole, stamping it firmly in with his foot. Even if I was able to channel my inner burrow mouse, the boulder’s far too big to pull inside the cage, and far too heavy to push through. He fills the gaps around the stone with crumbly durt and throws a final couple of scoops over the top, hiding the barrier. An invisible guardsman.

My day in Confinement begin
s with a soft whimper that slips from the back of my throat.

T
he worst thing about Confinement: the boredom.

Forget my parched throat
and grumbling stomach. I’d trade a tug leg sandwich and a skin of water for a flat rock and piece of chalk to sketch with. I look around at the other cages but there’s nothing of interest. The other prisoners know how to pass the time in this sun goddess forsaken place. They sleep.

But I’m not tired, not even after the
long hike across the desert to get here. I’m wide awake, partly ’cause I got lots of sleep last night, and partly ’cause of all that’s happened over the last couple days.

So
, to satiate my growing boredom, I take to writing my thoughts in the durt with a rock. First I list the potential groups involved in the Killer attacks. Glassies. The Wild Ones. The Marked. Icers. It could even be a group of our own, so I add
The Heaters.

Next I list out what I know about
each group to narrow down the field. I start at the top.

From what they tell us in Lea
rning, Glassies appeared long ’fore I was born, as if the earth itself vomited them up, all pale white and squinting at the bright sun. At that time we didn’t have a name for them; the term Glassies would come ’bout later, after they built the Glass City. My people just watched from afar as they tried to build shelters and settle down in fire country. Not long after they appeared, they were all dead. The Fire took them.

But more of them appeared, and they lasted a little bit longer before succumb
ing to the awful disease that’s forever shackled my people. Seems their bodies weren’t as well-equipped as ours to handle the air. Eventually though, they built a big ol’ glass bubble, sprouting from the ground and shooting way up into the sky, as high as the vultures fly. That’s when someone started calling them Glassies, and the name stuck. Well, inside that bubble they built all kinds of crazy structures, the likes of which we ain’t never seen ’fore. We still don’t know how they did it, but it seems like the bubble protects them from everything that’s bad in fire country. They live long now, even longer’n us.

We know it’s the air that’s doing it, lighting the Fire inside of us, sweating us and cramping us and killing us, but we can’t do what the Glassies’ve done with their big ol’ bubble. We’re lucky to build our huts and tents and survive the dust storms and wildfires.

For a long while, the Glassies didn’t bother us, and we didn’t bother them. Then, a few full moons back, they attacked us, out of nowhere, coming with their fire sticks and chariots of fire. It was all the Hunters could do to hold them off, but we lost many in the fight. Circ desperately wanted to fight, but he wasn’t eligible. Only Hunters eighteen and up can fight other humans. The younger Hunters hafta stick to the tug.

On the ground next to Glassies, I write “Recent attacks.”

The Wild Ones are harder, ’cause I don’t know how much of what I’ve heard is just people being people and making crazy blaze up, and how much is the truth. Now that I know the Wilds exist, the truth is probably somewhere in the middle. So I write “Kidnap Bearers,” which is the only thing I really know ’bout them, ’cause of my sister.

The Marked are an enigma. I like that word, and it most certainly applies here. If they do exist
, then they very well might be the culprits, whether on purpose or by accident. If they mistakenly crossed into Killer territory to hunt, the Killers mighta thought it was us. I’m sure that to them, humans are humans, just like we can’t tell one of their packs from another. Next to Marked I write “Enigma” and “Painted bodies,” ’cause that’s all I know.

Icers are next to last. I probably
know the most about the Icers ’cause they’ve always been around. I’ve never actually seen them, but they’re our next door neighbors and people talk ’bout them all the time. “Another shipment of timber has just come in from the Icers,” or “They say the snow’s always falling in ice country.” There are trade agreements with the Icers, where we give them tug meat, dried pricklers, and other such fire country delicacies, in exchange for some of their endless supply of wood. My father always says they’re a private people, who keep to themselves most of the time. They live in the mountains, where it’s cold, or some nonsense like that. I never understood exactly what that means, ’cept Teacher Mas describes it like you take the little shiver you sometimes feel when you get hit with a winter breeze at night, and multiply it by about a million. That’s cold. But to feel that shivery seems impossible, what with the sun goddess’s eye heating everything up.

I remember something else. When I was digging and Luger and the Keeper were chatting away, Luger asked about how the work was going. Keep replied that the Icies
seemed happy, or some blaze like that. He also said his lifers keep dying on him. I don’t know what any of it means really, but it seems there’s something going on with Confinement and the Icers.

I write “
Confinement work” and “Timber trade” next to Icers.

Last is us. The Heaters
, getting our name ’cause everything we do is in the hottest of hot under the watchful eye of the sun goddess. Teacher told us one of the forefathers called us that after we crawled from the caves, after twelve moons went by with nothing but heat. We’re the long-time residents of fire country. It’s our land, and although there are others that live on it, we’ve never really had to run anyone off. We’re a peaceful people, unless provoked of course. Then we fight like dogs to protect ourselves. Like against the Killers. Or the Glassies. Every Midder learns about the Killer war and how there’s a strict hunting zone. And the Hunters, they’re trained even more. I can’t see how any of them would go in the restricted zone to hunt. I don’t write anything next to Heaters, just erase them with the back of my hand.

The other four are all in the hunt, so to speak.

~~~

All my thinking and writing has passed the time right along. Lunch
time comes, which I only know ’cause my stomach’s trying to eat itself, making all kinds of growling and gurgling noises. And ’cause the sun is directly overhead, trying to burn a hole right through me.

But today, lunchtime don’t include food. Or water. Or anything really. Just the same old, same old. Sitting and thinking and trying not to go stir crazy, like I bet most of the prisoners have gone long ago.

Some more time passes, maybe a thumb of sun movement. Finally something happens. I get a visitor!

Lara.

She wouldn’t be my first choice, but not my last either. Scorch, I’d take anyone at this point, even Hawk. At least I could give him a piece of my mind. The only ones I’d refuse to talk to would be my father, and maybe Luger.

“Hi, Siena,” she says.

“What in the vulture’s beak are you doing here?” I say.

“Come to see you,” she says.

“What about Learning?”

“I snuck out.”

“It’s an awful long walk,” I say.

“Not that long,” she says.

“Sneaking out of Learning…you could get in some nasty trouble for that. Maybe end up in the cage right next to me.”

She laughs. “I’ve done worse.” I bet she has. All sheening with sweat from her gallivant across the desert, she looks like a female warrior, her muscles toned and strong. “How’s Confinement?”

“Boring as all scorch,” I say. “And hungrifying to boot. Not to mention the thirst—I could drink a gallon skin of water in two shakes.”

Lara laughs again. “I’d love to offer you some of mine,”—she motions to the skin strapped to her waist—“but that Keeper is watching us like a hungry hawk.”

I look past her, and sure enough, Keep’s eyes are boring into my skull. “He ain’t so bad,” I say. “But he ain’t so good either. Why are you here?” I ask, watching as Lara frowns. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, I’m just wondering,” I add quickly.

“I just came to see how you were doing…” I can see the
and
floating around on her tongue, but I keep quiet—she’ll tell me if she wants to.

“I’m doing as fine as can be expected,” I say, trying to give her time to think.

“And…”—there it is—“…I also came to continue some of our other conversations.” Here comes. Skipping out on the Call. Breeding. Woman power. Knock the Laws.

“Look, Lara, I appreciate what you’re doing a
nd all, but I’m not sure I wanna get into any more trouble’n I’m already into,” I say honestly. I leave the other question on my tongue:
Who are you working with outside the village?

Lara rises to her tiptoes, grabs the bars with both hands, sticks her face between them. “But what you did yesterday was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it. First the Killers are coming, and then you’re going, running right into the midst of it.”

“Circ was in trouble,” I say. I dunno what she’s getting at.

“Yeah, and he’s your friend. That’s my point exactly. You’re brave, Sie. And loyal. Just what we’re looking for.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh, so hard I feel like slapping my knees, but I don’t go that far. “I been called a lot of things in my fifteen years of life, but never brave. Today is a day of firsts, I s’pose.”

“But you
are
brave.”

“More like stupid. Almost got myself killed. And Circ almost died anyway.”

“But you didn’t. And he didn’t. So now you have a choice.”

I ignore her last few words ’
cause I’m thinking about something. Something she said just a moment ago:
Just what we’re looking for.
She’s just confirmed my suspicions.

I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. Just ask. Ask. ASK!
“Who’s we?” I ask.

Lara frowns. “What?”

“A second ago you said ‘Just what we’re looking for.’ Who’s the ‘we’?”

Lara’s face gets just a touch of pink on it, starting on her strong cheekbones and expanding to her forehead.
“Well, uh, I didn’t mean…”

“Spit it out,” I say, knowing I hit
a soft spot.

“I can’t tell you,” Lara says, dropping her head to stare at her feet, which scuff around a bit, kicking at the durt and stones.

“Well, why in the scorch not?” Now I’m the one holding the bars, poking my head out to get closer to her.

“I can’t until you’ve agreed to join us.” I keep hanging onto the bars, but now it’s to keep my balance. My head is chasing circles around my tail, or maybe it’s the reverse, I dunno. All I know is
I don’t know what’s going on, ’cept I’m hungry, thirsty, tired, and ready to get back to normal life in the village. I close my eyes and try to think of what to say, what to ask, how to make sense of all my strange conversations with Lara.

“How can I join something I know nothing about?” I say.
“Are you with the Icers? Or the Wilds? Or are you some crazy shilt-girl for the Marked?!” I scream the last bit out, losing control.

Lara sighs
, looking like she got stung by something big and nasty. “You don’t know
nothing
. You just don’t know the details. You know it’s a way to avoid the Call. You know it’s about getting our lives back. You know I’m involved. I’m sorry, Sie, but if that’s not enough, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Thanks for stopping by Lara, really,” I say. “I’ll see you around the village.”

~~~

After my mind-numbing conversation with Lara, I’m exhausted, so I lie down in the durt, being careful not to disturb my notes. The hard-packed ground ain’t nearly as comfy as my tugskin rug, but my bones are so worn out that it don’t matter. I fall right asleep.

There are Killers in my dream. ’Cept not just twenty. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. They’ve overrun the camp, flattened our tents and huts into rubble. Everyone’s screaming. Everyone’s running. Smears of blood and pools of tears swamp up the land. My father’s dead, lying there with his eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking, like he’s not even real, just some tug-stuffed dummy. For some reason, the Killers don’t touch me. They run around and around and around, growling and prowling and mauling and clawing, killing everyone. Everyone but me. I know it’s a dream ’cause I’m stuck in Confinement, not in the village. But still, it
feels
so real.

I scan all around me, try to find someone else I know. There. Lara. She’s standing a little ways off, watching me. She extends a hand, beckons to me to follow her. Maybe if I go with her I’ll be safe. Maybe I’ll be happy. But somehow I know that following her means joining her and
we
and
us
. Only I don’t know who
we
and
us
are.

I keep searching
until I find Circ. He’s on t’other side of me, standing atop one edge of the great fire pit in the center of the village. The pointers are flying so fast off the end of his bow that I can’t even see his fingers. Every shot is true. Killer after Killer falls, dead. But then one breaks through, the biggest beast of all, bigger’n two men. It dodges Circ’s every pointer, slips past them and almost
through
them as if it possesses magical powers. It’s right on top of him now, fangs bared, ready to snap, to maim, to
kill
, to satisfy its namesake. I have a choice to make. Go with Lara, save myself, find a better life. Or…run to certain death and Circ, my best friend. Maybe my only friend. I take a step toward Circ, fire in my veins.