Outpost (24 page)

“He was a good boy, Daniel.” Her breath caught like it hurt to say his name. I almost told her to stop, but she went on despite the break in her voice. “One summer, not long ago, a young one slipped out with the growers when they went to tend the fields. She was a curious, lively child, ever asking questions about the world beyond the walls. It was night before anyone noticed she had gone missing.”

“Did he lead the search for her?”

Her mouth firmed. “He was the only one who would go. The girl’s father refused to venture out because Mutie presence had increased in the area. Her parents wrote her off as dead and wept for her loss. They wouldn’t even try.” Such cowardice was obviously distasteful to Momma Oaks—and I thought, in that moment, that she would come looking for me. I resolved never to put her in such danger.

“So he went out alone?” The scene came to me without my reaching for it. I saw a brave young man doing what none of the elders would, risking everything for a child that didn’t even belong to him. I hadn’t known him, but my eyes stung.

“In the dark. I stayed up all night with the lamps and candles burning.”

Too clearly, I pictured the scene and her lonely vigil. I already knew how the story ended. “Did he find her?”

Momma Oaks drew in a deep breath and nodded. “When he staggered up to the gate, he had the girl in his arms, and he bled so that I don’t know how he made it back from the forest.”

“He died,” I whispered.

“Of his wounds, yes. It took three days, but there was no saving him. He was covered in bites, clawed nearly to death.”

I already knew the answer. “Not from an animal.”

Hatred shone in her normally kind face. “No, it was them. The Muties. They’d attacked the girl, and Daniel saved her. Elder Bigwater gave a speech, honoring him for his heroism, but…” She shrugged. “It doesn’t bring him back, does it?”

Now I wished I hadn’t asked, because I understood how difficult it was for her to watch me go back out on patrol. It must seem like history repeating itself. For the first time, I realized how deeply my actions could affect others, even when I meant them in the best way.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. Not just for Daniel, but for what I was putting her through—making the loss brand-new and forcing her to worry all over again.

“Don’t be. You’re doing an important job. When I’m cooking supper this winter, I’ll be proper grateful I’m sure.” They were dismissive words, but they couldn’t erase the shadows beneath her eyes or the lines beside her mouth.

Our farewells were quiet and subdued, for it would be some time before she saw either of us again.
If
she did. But she gave no sign of that uncertainty, her expression warm and serene as she waved good-bye from the front step.

“Did you hear?” I asked.

“It’s a small house.” That was my answer then.

“Do you think I should have stayed?”

Fade shook his head. “You can’t live for other people. But I’ve never seen a man cry that way before.”

His soft words rocked me. I imagined Edmund standing on the landing upstairs, listening to their old loss, tears streaming down his weathered face. Caring too much could be dangerous; I saw that now. But the alternative was no better.

Fade led the way to where the growers had assembled. Tegan bounced and waved among them, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. Outside, I heard Longshot’s voice. The rest of the summer patrol had come to escort the planters to the fields; Fade and I would be traded for Stalker and Hobbs. After some discussion, the guards opened the gates, and we went out into the damp, gray day.

With rain trickling down their faces, it appeared that everyone wept, mourning Daniel’s loss. Clearly I was feeling emotional because I had spent too long with Deuce the girl, who indulged her softer side more than was wise. I fell into formation around the growers, setting myself to their protection. The familiar weight of the knives strapped to my thighs made me feel like myself again. This was who I was, even if moonlight and music could make me feel like someone else, even if my foster mother’s faith had shaken me to the core.

I didn’t trust that softness. Not wholly. There seemed an insidious quality about it. If I became the girl in the mirror, I might lose my ability to protect myself, physically and emotionally. I
refused
to be that girl. Yet, I had two broken halves—and each quietly waged war against the other.

The procession to the fields went well. I kept a sharp eye out for trouble, but the weather was such that even Freaks chose to huddle within their lean-tos, opting to stay out of the wet. If true, that spoke volumes of their sense and our lack, but the growers had to tend the fields.

And it was our job to protect them.

*   *   *

The summer sped by, despite occasional inclement weather. I grew accustomed to my duties, and the men seemed to accept me. In the fields all around us, plants grew tall and green, well tended by the growers whose safety was our most sacred charge. They were nervous, more unwilling than ever to work outside the walls. I understood their fear. I talked to Tegan when possible, but she kept busy since there were so few growers. When she could, she brought me word from Edmund and Momma Oaks, never anything important, but it helped, reminded me why I was here.

“
Incoming!
” the sentry shouted, breaking my reverie.

The Freaks hit us in force. Since we’d drilled for this eventuality, nobody panicked. I slid my knives into my palms, bracing for the rush. Rifles barked, dropping the Freaks as they charged. These were big, brutish in comparison with the ones we’d seen in the village, and they outnumbered us by a fair margin.

Thanks to the sharpshooter on the tower, half of them fell in a bloody pile before they crossed the distance to the outpost. I held the line while other guards ran for the fields, bringing the growers in where we could protect them properly. Terror gripped me until I saw Tegan had gotten to safety. My heart drummed like thunder, and I realized how much I’d missed this rush. Fear had no place in a Huntress’s heart. But I seldom felt it for myself; it was reserved for my loved ones.

Fifteen surviving Freaks charged the rise. Glancing to the sides, I found Hobbs and Frank standing beside me. Stalker and Fade met their enemies farther on, and I whirled into battle with a joy that told me I wasn’t quite right. This beast had fewer lesions than the ones in the ruins, but it still stank of rot, and saliva dripped from its yellow fangs as it lunged.

Dodging the bite, I greeted it with a high arc of my right blade. It took the slash along its forearm. Dark blood welled from the wound, but I couldn’t rest until I dropped it. This fight went on longer than they usually did, as the Freak blocked and parried, and then raked at my face with its claws. It took my full reflexes to sidestep, narrowly missing a new scar, this time on my cheek. That set fury alight, as I liked my face unmarked, and I went at the thing with wild determination, my knives a silver blur in the afternoon sunshine. I stabbed three times in rapid succession, using the style Stalker had taught me. Too fast for any counter, it took the wounds and bled out, weakening, slowing, and then I took it with a final thrust to the heart.

All around me, Freaks fell. Rifles cracked, and guards fought with whatever weapons came to hand. When the battle ended at last, I bent over, resting my hands on my knees, catching my breath. The growers wept, but this time, none of them fled. They had seen what happened to those who lost their nerve.

We had lost two men—Ross Massey, who I didn’t know at all—and Jeremiah Hobbs. Grief built into a silent scream in the back of my throat. He had been kind to me. Respectful. I knelt by his body, heedless of the blood, and touched his pale, red-spattered cheek. A claw had disemboweled him. I covered the damage as best I could and readied him to be returned to his family.

Like Daniel,
I thought, remembering my foster mother’s grief.

Tegan limped over to me and bent to rest a comforting hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry. He was a friend of yours, I take it?”

Fighting tears, I nodded and she drew me up into a hug. I stood for a few seconds with my head on her shoulder, and then I strode over to Longshot. “I’d like to escort the dead back to town, if I may.”

A few others volunteered, and he granted permission, obviously distracted. “Take the growers as well. There’s nothing more they can do today.” To the rest, he called, “Drag the enemy corpses away from the outpost, and build a fire.”

The men needed no further instructions. They knew they were burning dead Freaks both for hygienic reasons and to send a giant, smoky message. It remained to be seen whether it would instill fear or outrage. I had no ability to predict Freak behavior anymore. That troubled me, as did the stolen fire and the secret village, about which Longshot had done nothing. Putting those fears aside, I marched away beside the wagon, loaded with supplies and bodies.

Tegan walked beside me, making quiet conversation, and it steadied me. At the gate, she hugged me again. “I appreciate what you’re doing out there, Deuce. So do the rest of the growers … and I’ll see if we can make the rest of the town understand how important … and dangerous your job really is.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It has to be done.”

“I’ll still try,” she promised. It would probably make her feel better to do something besides clean Doc’s surgical tools.

I nodded in thanks and headed out with the others. By the time we returned to the outpost, most of the mess had been cleared away. But the fire still smoldered, and the stink was horrendous. The night, however, remained quiet. Maybe we had taught them a lesson after all.

*   *   *

We had been on patrol for nearly two months when Longshot summoned me to discuss our recon findings. “I’ve decided it’s best to leave them alone,” he said without preamble. “Right now, we’re maintainin’ the status quo. They’re not comin’ at us in overwhelmin’ numbers, and our assignment hasn’t changed.”

Longshot was a cautious leader, but not an incapable one. I didn’t disagree with his assessment, though Stalker would be furious at the wait-and-see tactics; he thought it would be best to put them all to the blade while they slept.
That would clear the region for good,
he said,
making it safe for the human inhabitants.

“I’ll tell the boys,” I said.

“Do you think I’m right?” The question surprised me. No elder had ever asked my opinion with such sincerity, like my thoughts were valuable.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I suspect they’re waiting for something, but who knows? It might be years before they strike. Or they might have changed to the point that they just want to be left alone to hunt moose and deer.”

He said, more to himself than me, “I have an achy feeling in my bones.”

I shivered. He wasn’t the only one. And while it might be age catching up to Longshot, it didn’t explain my mood at all.

That night, after supper, I beckoned to Stalker and Fade. They brought their plates over with expectant looks.

“What did he say?” Stalker demanded.

“That an attack would be unwise.” He hadn’t explained, but I understood why. “We don’t have the manpower or resources to go on the offensive. We’re better off holding here and completing our mission. Salvation needs the food for winter.”

Stalker muttered a low curse. “I only volunteered because I thought I’d see some action. This is shameful.”

“What is?” Fade asked. He sat close to me, and I wondered if he was conscious of trying to send a message.

“To have knowledge of your enemy and do nothing about it.” The blond boy glanced at me. “You must agree. You’re a Huntress, right? How can you stand this?”

It hit me then. I
wasn’t
a Huntress. Not anymore. I had the scars, but not the office, for that way of life was gone. So I shook my head quietly. “I was once. Now I’m just me.”

Whatever that meant. I had instincts, of course, that had become part of me. I enjoyed the lull no better than Stalker, but sometimes one had to wait in order to succeed in an assignment—and I dreaded failure more than inaction. Still, it gave me no peace picturing the Freaks in their village, so close in relative terms, and so untouchable in our ability to do anything about them.

Stalker shoved to his feet, fire in his pale eyes. “I hate this. It’s worse than school.”

On that point, I could not agree. At least here, I served a useful purpose. He wheeled away, pacing toward the far edge of the camp. Stalker fixed his gaze on the dark and distant trees. I could feel his yearning to break free. With a murmured “excuse me” to Fade, I followed the other boy and put my hand on his arm. The muscles were rigid beneath my fingers.

“Promise me you’ll respect Longshot’s wishes, and you won’t go into the forest on your own,” I said.

He laughed, showing too many teeth; wildness burned in him. “What value could my pledge hold for you? I’m not from your fine underground tribe. I have no honor, right? I am not special enough to earn your favor.”

I had feared this moment would come. The fact that it had taken months instead of days spoke well of his self-control. But I hadn’t understood how he interpreted my behavior until it was too late.

“You’re not angry because Longshot won’t mount an attack on the village. This is because I chose Fade.”

“
Is
it?” he mocked.

I stared at him, waiting.

“Maybe. Help me understand, Deuce.”

That wouldn’t solve anything. The only answer I could give was one that wouldn’t make him feel any better. I had known Fade longer, trusted him more. He had chosen to follow me into exile. Those actions, no other boy could ever match.

But I owed him some explanation. “We have history.”

A history that didn’t involve Fade kidnapping and tracking me through the ruins, but I left that part unsaid. Though I nursed no grudge because I, too, was a realist, Stalker would never be my first choice. It wasn’t his fault where he had been born, or how he’d come up from brat-hood, but that didn’t mean I wanted him as more than a friend.