Outpost (31 page)

“Yes, sir!” came the terrified response.

I took my assigned position, knives at the ready. The best riflemen would trail behind, picking off as many as they could before the first wave hit us. Growers, who had been unlucky enough to be sent out on this last, fateful day, ran for the gates. My heart in my throat, I watched Tegan go. She wasn’t fast, but the head grower was helping her. Gladness spiked through me. If they moved quick enough, then I didn’t have to worry about protecting them too. It was some distance, but I hoped they didn’t run into trouble, no random patrols lurking out of sight.

The crack of rifles made me spin, backing as we went. From behind us charged the first onslaught, and there were so many.
So many.
A chill spread over me.
We can’t win this one. We can’t.

Not with
that
attitude. I trained you better.
Part of me wanted to look for Silk, but the rational self knew she wasn’t here. She was just an echo of my Huntress half, spurring me on when courage might fail me.

The drivers lashed the leads tethering the mules to the wagons, urging more speed. Freaks fell with bloody gullets, as Longshot had taught the guards to aim for the biggest part of their bodies.
No fancy shooting,
he’d said.
Just drop ’em.
Sometimes he reminded me of Silk; only he was a whole lot nicer.

I had Miles’s rifle, so I drew it. This weapon would never be my favorite, but I did my share, firing again and again, then reloading with shaking hands. The recoil hurt. I fought on. Five, six, seven, I killed—and the other guards did likewise—but the horde appeared to be endless. Freaks spilled toward us in a hungry wave; the wagons trundled on toward the walls. If we held the monsters long enough,
if
we could—and if the growers weren’t hit from the other side—then our people might make it.

Even if it costs us everything.

I was happy Longshot had sent Fade and Stalker to safety. Tegan had gone as well. Therefore, I had nobody in particular to worry about. Fear slipped away. Utterly calm, I centered myself. No pain. No distraction.

Just buy some time. Slow them down.

“I knew it would come to this,” a guard said. He gazed skyward and then took his last shot.

Too soon, the vanguard reached us. I tossed down my rifle and drew my knives. Like death itself, I spun and slashed, whirling, dodging, blocking. Men fell around me, but I had been practicing for this moment from the first time I understood what a Freak was. Four of them attacked me, but they lacked my training. Their claws and teeth couldn’t compensate entirely. Numbers would, in time.

But I’d take as many with me as I could.

Two died swiftly beneath my blades, their entrails spilling in a pile at their feet, slicking the ground. The other two learned caution, and feinted at me, snarling, growling. The Freaks lost a little ground, as they still weren’t disciplined creatures—and some fell prey to the temptation to feed on the dead instead of fight. I noticed they weren’t eating one another, as the others, the weaker ones, had done down below.

Two more came, and they encircled me. I blocked four strikes, but the fifth landed. I stabbed the slashing hand, and the Freak hauled back, screaming its pain. Its murky, almost-human eyes glared at me from within the monstrous face.

“Did you think I’d just let you eat me?” I demanded.

“Eat me,” it growled.

I almost dropped my knives. Just a mindless echo. Not real speech. Right? Just in time, I recovered, stabbed the Freak through the neck. I took another with a spinning slash that Stalker had taught me. Another kill. Another. My arms were tiring, and I took two wounds in quick succession. Claws, not bites. Cleaner.

How much longer?
I watched a man die in agony, screaming for his wife.

“The wagons are clear,” a boy shouted from behind me, a valiant messenger from Salvation come to tell us we had been brave enough for long enough.

“Fall back!” Longshot called.

The feeding Freaks raised their heads from our fallen dead, yellow fangs dripping blood, and watched us break. Some gave chase. Longshot held his ground, covering our retreat with fierce determination. He clutched Old Girl like she was the only woman he’d ever loved, and fired.
Again. Again.
I looked back to see he still wasn’t moving. Holding his ground as he fought for us.

“No!” I shouted. Turned. “
No!
”

“Go on, Deuce.” Longshot touched his fingers to his brow in a final salute and then pumped his weapon. Another Freak died. He was backing up slowly, giving them reason to fear him. He could make it if he would just run.

Come on, don’t do this. I need you alive.

I took two steps in the wrong direction, and I’d have gone back, if some guard hadn’t grabbed me. He half lifted me and ran. I beat at him as the Freaks overwhelmed Longshot, the man who had saved my life, all those months ago. The outpost commander went down firing under their combined weight.

The guard dragged me, still screaming, toward Salvation, toward safety. Toward the guilt of surviving when Longshot had not. Finally, the watchman slapped me, openhanded, and glared. “
Don’t
make his sacrifice worth nothing. He had a bad leg. He couldn’t have made it … they’d have taken him from behind, and he didn’t want to go out that way. Can’t you understand that?”

I could. I did. The Huntress in me respected his choice, but the girl wept endlessly inside, mourning the man who died a hero. I recalled standing on the wall with him, seeing him rub his knee. With bitter knowledge, I shut the tears away. Sometimes I had to be all Huntress or there was no surviving the pain. Someday I might let the girl cry for him, but not today.

“Let me go,” I demanded.

He took me at my word, and we ran together for the gates, open just enough for the survivors to slip inside. Of the twenty who had fought at the gate, four returned—the guard who grabbed me, two others … and me.

It seemed all too terribly familiar with the families waiting inside for word. Most broke down into sobs when they realized what a massacre it had been. Momma Oaks would be searching for me, frantic, her hand in Edmund’s. I couldn’t move. The area was a mess of wagons, mules, and weeping women and children. I scrubbed shaking hands over my face and sank down into a self-protective squat. My wounds didn’t matter since I didn’t care how badly I was hurt.

Longshot,
I thought, and the name stabbed me. I hated him for being a hero.

Outside the walls, the Freaks feasted and prowled.

They weren’t going away this time.

Stalemate

Tegan found me first. Beneath my despair, relief stirred; I was so glad she’d made it back since I’d suggested she volunteer to help with the planting. If anything had happened to her, I couldn’t bear it. Eyes worried, she knelt in the dirt beside me, heedless of her skirt.

“Let’s get you to Doc’s office,” she said.

I shrugged. It seemed like a lot of trouble to get up.

Then she took a closer look at me. “You’re
bleeding
.”

“Am I?” In more than one place, most likely. Because she seemed determined, I let her lever me up.

“Deuce!” Momma Oaks found us before we moved more than a few steps. Tegan fixed a stern look on her. “I’m taking her to my dad.”

I wondered if she’d noticed what she said and how Doc Tuttle felt about it. But he’d fought hard for her life and her leg, so maybe he was happy to have gained a daughter. His wife probably was too. In Salvation I’d learned that family ties didn’t always come from blood.

My foster mother went to hug me, and then stopped, hands on my shoulders. “Tegan’s right. You need medical attention. Edmund!”

He came up behind me and gently lifted me into his arms. I wouldn’t have guessed he had the strength, but in his shuffling way, he managed. My foster father delivered me to Doc Tuttle without mishap. On the way, my head went fuzzy, and my vision blurred around the edges.

“Another patient?” Doc Tuttle asked. “Damn those Muties. They’re keeping me busier than I like. Tegan, honey, get the soap and water and my instrument tray.” She murmured something that I didn’t catch, and he answered, “Yes, you can assist.”

I drifted off around the time Edmund laid me down on the exam table, and when next I woke, I lay in my own bed. Sitting up hurt more than I expected. Confused, I glanced beneath my nightgown and discovered four new scars, neatly stitched together. I’d been hurt worse than I realized.

As I debated whether I should get up, Momma Oaks bustled in with a tray. It smelled better than I deserved. She set it briskly across my lap.

“You gave me quite a scare.”

I’d reminded her of Daniel. And I regretted it deeply.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

“Doc Tuttle says you’ll be fine.”

Fine,
I thought,
was a relative term, but he couldn’t sew up the wounds he couldn’t see.
I picked at my food, nibbling to make her happy. Momma Oaks sat down in the chair beside my bed.

“How bad is it out there?”

She frowned. “Don’t worry about it. You need to rest … and heal.”

“Ignorance isn’t conducive to rest.”

Sighing faintly, she ran a tired hand through her hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d slept in that chair, determined not to budge until I woke up. Edmund peeked in on us while she debated which of us was more stubborn.

He took a step into the room. “I fixed your boots.”

That was almost more than I could stand because I knew how he was. He had no taste for emotional business, so from Edmund, that was like a hug. I nodded at him through misty eyes.

“Thank you. I was pretty hard on them.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said softly, and then retreated downstairs.

“I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you,” she decided aloud. “But if you try to get up, I’ll send to Doc Tuttle for another potion. You’ll sleep two more days, then.”

“It’s been
two
days?” I couldn’t imagine what must be going on, but then, it wasn’t up to me to fix it. I’d played my part.

“Indeed. They’ve surrounded the town. So far, they’re staying out of rifle range, and they seem to be watching.”

“Planning,” I said bitterly.

Momma Oaks’s kind face tightened and turned grim. “Once, I’d have thought you were crazy for saying such a thing, but I believe you’re right. They appear to be taking our measure and deciding how to get inside.”

“But they can’t?”

“No,” she answered. “Of course not. Elder Bigwater is having guards shore up the walls, just in case: And they’ve doubled the watches. We’re snug and secure in here, don’t you worry.”

Evidently she thought it was better not to upset me, but her eyes gave away what her firm words denied. She was scared to death and fighting to hide it. The dark circles beneath her eyes revealed sleepless nights, and her lower lip was rough where she had bitten it, not signs of a woman confident of our safety.

I pretended to believe her. “That’s good.”

“Eat now, and then rest. Promise me.” She held my gaze until I mumbled the words she wanted to hear.

Then I asked, “What day is it?”

When Momma Oaks told me, I laughed, the sound bitter and mirthless. She had gotten up to join Edmund downstairs, but at my reaction, she returned, perching on the edge of my bed this time. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my day.” Her blank look prompted me to explain. “The day I was born. After fifteen of them, I earned my name. I’ve been Deuce for a whole year now.”

“You mean it’s your birthday?”

“Yes, that’s what you call it here, I think.”

Justine had a party, as I recalled. I had a body full of itchy stitches and a tray with herbal tea and weak soup. I poked at the toast.

“I had no idea. Let me make you a cake.” She bent and kissed me on the forehead.

I couldn’t remember a female doing that before, but … I liked it. Everything hurt less. To please her—and because I was getting cake—I drank some of the nasty tea. My lip curled.

“Is Fade here?”

I’d have to go looking for him if he wasn’t. He had no safe foster home, unlike Stalker, Tegan, and me.

Her face softening, Momma Oaks nodded. “He’s got the cupboard off the kitchen. Wouldn’t hear of you staying there, even though he’s hurt near as bad. You lost a fair amount of blood, my girl.”

“I didn’t even notice.” Her mouth twisted in skepticism, and I tried to clarify. “When I’m fighting, when it’s all perfect, it’s like the whole world goes quiet. I can’t hear or see anything but my next strike. I don’t even feel—”

“Pain?” she guessed.

“Sometimes, I don’t. I’m one with my blades. That’s ideal for a Huntress.”

“I don’t care what you call it, but that’s the reason you’re in bed, and why you’re going to drink that tea and not budge an inch until I call you down for cake.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Cake … and Fade.
Despite the mess outside Salvation’s walls and my grief over Longshot’s sacrifice, a spark of bittersweet joy rose up. He’d be happy to see me, wouldn’t he?
It’s been two days.

“I’ll leave you water to wash,” she told me in parting. “But don’t you get up before I say so. And I’m fetching you some ointment for your poor burned skin.”

Obediently, I drank the broth and the tea and then ate the dry toast. From downstairs, I heard Edmund talking and Momma Oaks responding as she banged around the kitchen. Nothing from Fade. But then, he hadn’t been talking before he came back to Salvation. I was happy the Oakses had let him stay since he was injured and needed treatment.

It didn’t take long before I was bored … and lonely. There was only one remedy. I crept out of bed, careful not to make the floor creak, and pulled the book that had seen me through such troubling times.
The Day Boy and the Night Girl
offered great comfort; I’d found this book when I first came Topside, and the story had real meaning to me, unlike most of what I read for school. With reverent fingers I traced the design on the cover and the letters. I could decipher the words on my own now. When I touched this, I felt closer to Fade. I heard his voice as he revealed the end of the story, the wagon jostling us ever closer to Salvation, and a new life.