Sky Jumpers Series, Book 1 (11 page)

“I’m glad you got to come see your brothers off,” I said. “I didn’t think your mom would let you out of bed.”

“I had to say goodbye.” He bit his lip and looked to where his brothers, Travin and Cole, tightened tarps over a wagon.

“You’re going to miss them.”

He nodded.

I was going to miss them, too. They’d lived next to me all my life. They’d teased me and protected me almost as much as I guessed real brothers would.

We watched the preparations in silence. This year we had more guards going to Browning to help than ever before. When the people from Browning had traveled home from the Harvest Festival, they were attacked, and the bandits took the food and supplies we’d traded with them. When we got word, panic spread through White Rock. Things were getting worse and everyone felt it. Several people from White Rock volunteered to be guards as their splits through the winter, so the number of guards going grew from eighteen to thirty.

Thirty guards, and they probably wouldn’t all make it back home.

My dad told me that anyone who was a bandit could live in a town instead—there were more than enough towns that took in strangers—but they were the ones who
didn’t want the responsibility or the work that came with joining a settlement. They just wanted to take what they needed. Before the bombs, there was a central government. Kind of like we have now in White Rock, but it was everywhere—even in areas where there were no towns, like on the plains where the bandits roamed. He said there were police officers, which I thought must be kind of like guards, and they’d stop people from stealing. But since we didn’t have any police or guards on the plains, there was no one to stop the bandits.

Aaren’s mom was loading medical supplies into a wagon when my mom noticed a tear run down her cheek. This was the first year her two oldest sons were joining the guard. “I’ll be right back,” my mom said, then rushed to Dr. Grenwood.

While they made last-minute checks on the wagons, I kicked at the ground. The snow was packed hard here, about ten inches deep, but with the strong winds on the plains, the guards said the drifts were more than three feet high at the other end of the tunnel. With the snowstorm that was just starting and the strong winds expected to follow it, they figured the snow would be over six feet high—and completely impassable—in just two days’ time. It seemed the spring and summer rain we should have gotten earlier had decided to all come now.

I looked toward the tunnel and noticed Brock standing by himself in the crowd, watching the guards work. It took me a while to figure out what was different about his facial expressions. Everyone else was sad the guard members were leaving, but Brock looked like he wanted to join them.

Stott, the Captain of the Away Guard, walked up to my dad. “Are you sure we can’t take any more guns?”

My dad looked to the east, as if he could see through the mountains, and shook his head. “If we’re going to keep sending this many guards to Browning, we’ll have to make a trek to the gunsmith at Wilson’s Hollow before long. No town has been willing to trade for guns at any price lately. Is everything loaded?” Stott nodded, and my dad turned to me. “Time to say goodbye.”

As I walked toward the guard members, I saw Mr. Williams from the mines tie down a tarp that covered an open-topped wagon. He looked terrible. His eyes were red and puffy, his face was blotchy, and he focused on the knots like he was trying to turn off the world. But the strangest thing was that his dog Sandy wasn’t at his heels. Something was definitely wrong.

“Dad?” I called out. “Where’s Sandy?”

He took a breath, then exhaled. “Ken was walking her along the road at the top of the woods on the fourth ring.
A squirrel ran across their path and Sandy chased it past the warning fences.”

“Did Sandy go into the Bomb’s Breath?”

He rubbed his hand over his face.

“Sandy’s dead?” Aaren asked.

When my dad bowed his head, I knew the answer was yes. I felt sick.

“We’re crazy to live so close to something so dangerous,” he muttered. Almost like he was saying it to himself. “Come on. They’re leaving soon.”

I followed him, numb. Sandy was dead. Mr. Williams didn’t look right without Sandy by his side. Nothing was right with this day.

Just like every year, I was saying goodbye to people I’d known my whole life. It was worse this year, though—it was the first time I had to say goodbye to Aaren’s brothers. It seemed wrong to send them into such great danger, while we sat in our safe, protected valley. We ran out of Ameiphus when Aaren got hurt, so we couldn’t even send some with the guard to treat injuries.

I stood next to Aaren while his siblings hugged Travin and Cole; then it was our turn. I told them I’d miss them and to be safe, and they hugged me like I was one of their sisters. Cole rubbed his knuckles through Aaren’s hair and said, “You’re the oldest son at home now. Watch out
for everyone, okay?” Aaren told him that he would, then looked away.

When his mom began to cry the moment she put her arms around Travin, and my mom started crying about half a second later, I helped Aaren walk back to a wagon. He didn’t say a word. Neither did I. What was I supposed to say to him? Eventually I managed, “They’ll be okay. They’ll be back.” I wasn’t sure how convincing I sounded.

All of us at the council meeting fidgeted as we listened to Mr. Williams talk about the amount of coal mined for the winter, and Ray Romanek talk about the amount of firewood we had. I didn’t blame us for being antsy. Today marked the fourth week since the guard left. Every Wednesday at four p.m., someone from White Rock went to our side of the pass and someone from Browning went to their side of the pass, and they communicated with the telegraph system that Mr. Hudson had made.

It was almost five, time for the meeting to end, and everyone drummed their fingers, wiggled in their seats, and looked to the doors almost constantly, barely listening to the speaker. People filled all the empty spots in the
room. We all wanted news on whether Browning had been attacked, and if so, how our guard fared.

Brock joined Aaren and me at our normal spot against the far wall, and Brenna sat on her mom’s lap on the benches.

Finally, when virtually everyone was staring at the double doors at the side of the gym instead of paying attention to the speaker, Joey Kearney burst through them and ran up onto the platform at the front. Out of breath and panting, he said, “They’re fine. There have been
no
attacks.”

We all let out a relieved breath. My mom and Aaren’s mom, who both sat on the front row of benches, hugged each other. Even Brock sighed in relief. I turned to Aaren and grinned.

Mrs. Beckinwood got up from the council head’s seat, walked to Joey, and patted him on the shoulder. “That is good news, Joey. Good news.” Mrs. Beckinwood’s eyes went to the side doors for a moment, as if she’d heard something. Then she turned back to Joey. “Before we know it, winter will be over and we’ll have our boys back home where they’ll—”

Then everyone’s attention flew to the doors as we heard a rumbling. Kind of like thunder, but much closer. Like it was happening right outside the room.

About as quickly as the sound started, it stopped. We all turned to look at the person next to us with confused
faces just as the doors at the front, back, and sides of the gym burst open. Men filed into the room, dressed in dirty coats and snow-covered boots. Men I’d never seen before. Men with guns aimed at us. Mrs. Beckinwood froze with her hand still on Joey’s shoulder.

One of the men yelled, “Nobody move!”

I didn’t. I couldn’t. I stood like a statue in a shocked stupor. There were people we didn’t know in White Rock. During winter. When we were isolated. Safe.

The men spread out along the aisles at the side, front, and back of the room, surrounding us and blocking all the exits. My heart clenched tight, and every beat hurt. My breath came fast and a cold sweat covered my arms and back, making goose bumps everywhere. I couldn’t think.

The side doors opened again, and two men entered who I
did
recognize. The tall, curly-haired man with the scar that I’d seen near the river at the Harvest Festival—Mickelson—and his shorter, darker-skinned friend. They both strode to the front of the room. The shorter man stopped as they neared the platform, but Mickelson stepped onto the platform, next to where Mrs. Beckinwood and Joey still stood.

I held my breath as Mickelson stared down the entire gym. “Your town has something we want.” He pulled a gun from his hip—one that looked like it had been made
before the bombs—and waved it carelessly as he walked around the table, stopping for a moment behind each council member. “So, tell me. Who’s in charge?”

“He’s going to hurt Mrs. Beckinwood,” Brock whispered. “I can see it in his eyes.”

My dad could see it, too. I watched with horror as his focus shifted from Mickelson to where Joey’s support was all that kept Mrs. Beckinwood from collapsing on unsteady knees. Then my dad looked to my mother, seated in the front row. He mouthed one word.
Sorry
.

My mom’s hands flew to her mouth and she shook her head in panic.

“No,” I said, though my voice came out a whisper.

The sound of my dad’s chair legs scraping across the wooden platform silenced every murmur. He stood tall and drew in a breath. “I am.”

The man raised his gun slightly and shot my dad in the thigh.

“No!” I screamed as everyone in the room rose to their feet. We were standing so far from my dad. I tried to run toward him but couldn’t seem to move. It took a moment before I realized Brock and Aaren were holding my torso.

Aaren whispered a frantic “Don’t go.”

The words didn’t make sense. Every part of me wanted to run to my dad.

“Stay, Hope. Please.” Aaren’s voice was urgent in my
ear. “My mom’s already to him. See? She’ll help him. Stay, please.”

The room blurred in some places and shone abnormally clear in others. The walls closed in. I couldn’t suck in enough air.

Mickelson aimed his gun toward the crowd. “Sit down,” he commanded as Dr. Grenwood packed my dad’s wound with gauze to stop the bleeding. The man meandered to the front of the platform, totally at ease. “You’re a trusting town. I need you to trust that our guns
do
have bullets, and that we aren’t afraid to use them.”

“We … we have food stores,” Mr. Sances stammered from his seat on the platform. “We’re willing to share everything we can.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what we came for. We want your antibiotics.”

Whispers filled the room.

Mr. Sances glanced at Mrs. Beckinwood as Joey helped her to a chair, then at my dad, who lay on the platform, wincing as Dr. Grenwood pressed on his leg. “Our Ameiphus? It didn’t grow well this year, and our latest batch isn’t finished. But we can offer you food or other supplies.”

Mickelson’s voice was calm and controlled, yet somehow filled every inch of the gym. “You don’t know the value of Ameiphus, or how rare it is, if you’re offering food and supplies in its place.”

Mr. Sances looked around, as if searching for confirmation that he was hearing right, or answering right. “Is someone hurt? Does someone have Shadel’s? Tell your men to put down their guns and we’ll talk about getting you help. Maybe when the new medicine is finished, we can give you a few doses of Ameiphus.”

The scarred man ignored Mr. Sances and walked straight to my dad’s side. I wanted to scream at him to stay away from my dad, but my mouth wouldn’t work. My lungs wouldn’t work. Aaren and Brock still held on to me, even though my legs wouldn’t work.

Mickelson crouched down across from Dr. Grenwood and said, “No. I want it all.”

My dad suddenly looked like he was in a lot more pain, and Dr. Grenwood scowled. She met Mickelson’s eyes and said, “It’s not ready.”

Mickelson stood up. “Explain.”

“It takes weeks to turn the mold from Ameiphus into an antibiotic in a usable form,” Dr. Grenwood said. “It’s not finished yet.”

Mickelson waved his gun in the general direction of everyone seated in the gym. “So tell me, Doctor. How long will me and my men be the guests of the good people of White Rock while we wait for the antibiotics to be ready?”

Aaren’s mom stopped working on my dad’s leg and bit her lower lip. “It’s in the refining and purifying stage. If I
could get enough stabilizers and bulkers in powder form to press the medicine into tablets, I might be able to finish in three days.”

Mickelson narrowed his eyes at Dr. Grenwood, like he was trying to guess if she was overestimating. “You have until sundown two days from now. I suggest you get him patched up quickly, because if you don’t meet the deadline, you’ll need to worry less about finding that bullet and more about finding coffins.”