The Deadly Nightshade (16 page)

“Oh, um, thank you,” I manage, caught completely off guard by the compliment and having absolutely no idea what inspired it.

“You got it, sweetheart. Listen, I should be getting back to the church. Have a nice night, you two.” With that, the preacher hurries off down the cobblestone street. I smile as he goes. Elijah Sheppard might be the sole person in Sweetbriar I can actually tolerate.

After a moment, Connor snickers. “Did he just call you
sweetheart?”

“Is there something funny about that?”

“I’m sorry, but you just don’t seem like the ‘sweetheart’ type to me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I say. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll learn to fear me eventually.”

“And then the world will be restored to balance.”

I roll my eyes, and without another word I loop my arm into his and escort my friend back to our temporary dwelling.             

Chapter 30

“Nightshade, don’t drag behind! This is the third time I’ve told you today. Stay with the group!”

Stay with the group, Nightshade. Don’t wander off, Nightshade. Be a team player, Nightshade.
“Bite me, Nathan,” I mutter under my breath.

The five of us have been tracking a deer Sophia spotted for the past hour with no success, and tensions are running high. This blows. I miss the days when I could wake up at dawn and leave my resting place behind forever, when I could raid abandoned stores and eat fruit preserves out of a can, when I could set up snares and sit and wait for my dinner to catch itself. I miss the days when I had no one to order me around, when I had no responsibilities other than taking care of my own needs. I miss the days when I was on my own.

Deciding there is no point in being difficult, I stop dragging my feet and pick up the pace like I am asked. I happen to catch Claire glaring at me from a few feet ahead, her thin, rodent-like eyes narrowed to slits. She emits an audible sigh, loud enough for me to hear even from where I am. What I wouldn’t give for a chance to wrap that pretty blond hair of hers in my fists again and beat her half to death. You would think the bashing I gave her last week would have been warning enough not to give me attitude, but I suppose some people just don’t learn.

But as much as I want to tear Claire’s hair from her head again, I promised Connor I would try my best not to stir up trouble. We’re already standing on the edge of the precipice after that town meeting; one more step and we’re done for. And while getting thrown out of Sweetbriar might be liberating for me, it would be certain damnation for Connor. I have to do what’s right by him, and if that means keeping my cool around Claire then I guess that is what I will do.

We spend another half hour or so tracking what I am beginning to believe is an imaginary deer, and still we have no luck. I can already tell it’s a dead end, but saying so would just piss everyone off more than they already are. I don’t even know what I am doing out here, to be honest. These people don’t need my help.

Just as I have mentally abandoned this witch hunt, Sophia breaks into an excited whisper, crying, “I think I see it! I see it!” The others hurry over to look at where she is pointing, presenting me with the perfect opportunity to slip away unnoticed. I creep slowly at first, being careful not to draw any attention to myself, but soon I am home free and I am running. My feet slosh through the dank black soil as I glide across the ground, feeling like I can finally breathe for the first time in days. Overwhelmed by the sensation of liberty, I stop running and fall to my knees, sinking my hands into the cool mud and sighing with relief as it slides between my fingers.

Though my hands ache to caress every plant and rock in sight, I remind myself I have an objective to complete. Gathering a few juicy red berries from a nearby bush, I set up four snares and place the bait inside each noose. When that is done, I move out of sight, take a seat against a tree trunk, and wait. No, my kills won’t be enough to feed the entire town, but my job is to hunt, and that is exactly what I am doing. The others can complain all they want.

After twenty minutes or so go by, I get up and check my traps. The first two remain completely untouched, and the third has been robbed of its tantalizing fruit with no prey to show for it. As I approach the final snare, a promising thrashing sound greets me, and I am pleased to discover an unusually fat hare tossing itself among the dead brown leaves that litter the forest floor in a desperate attempt to wriggle free of my noose. Upon noticing me, the creature begins to fight even harder, its tiny chest heaving rapidly as it further tangles itself within the cord. It takes me a while to get a good grip on the animal with all the squirming, but after a minute of struggling I finally manage to break its neck. As I untangle the string from its foot, I weigh the limp hare in my hands and decide it must weigh a good six or seven pounds—enough to feed a dozen or so people if prepared correctly. I admire my prize with a smirk. How I would love to keep it for myself, to savor every last bit of its dark, delicious meat and suck the marrow from its bones . . .

“Nightshade! Nightshade, where are you?”

The sound of Nathan’s panicked voice and the crunch of dead leaves underfoot snap me from my thoughts. I spot the lieutenant tramping through the brush and, with a sigh, trudge back toward him. He does not look happy.

“What the hell, Nightshade? I told you to
stay with the damn group.
Can’t you follow one simple order, or is that too much to ask of you?”

Resenting his tone, I retort, “I
can.
I just chose not to.”

Nathan nods a few times, smiling, but not in a way that suggests he is amused. “And maybe I’ll
choose
to tell Reina that I don’t think you’re a good fit for this group.”

I shrug. “You think that scares me? Go ahead, see if I give a shit.” I realize the words were a mistake half a second after they pass through my mouth, but I maintain my pokerface nonetheless. Taking them back now might mistakenly lead him to believe he has some degree of power over me, and I refuse to let that happen.

Nathan’s brown eyes meet mine for an unreasonably long amount of time, so long in fact that I almost give in to the intense urge to look away. Eventually he turns away from me with a shake of his head, muttering, “Just don’t run off again. It’s dangerous, and I’m supposed to keep everyone together.”

I grudgingly follow the lieutenant back to where we left the others. As we approach the rest of our group, I am pleasantly surprised to find a dead doe lying at Elijah Sheppard’s feet.

“
That’s
what you were doing?” hisses Claire, gesturing toward the hare hanging from my belt. “You’re kidding, right? We spent over an hour following this deer, and you wander off and come back with one rabbit? How many people is that supposed to feed, I mean really? Or are you just incapable of providing for anyone but yourself?”

I am about to wipe my mind of everything Connor said and rush at her when Nathan butts in.

“Claire, would you please shut the fuck up for
once?
I would think you would’ve learned not to talk to people like that after your last haircut.” Upon hearing this, Claire flushes, unconsciously running her fingertips across her bald spot. “Leave Nightshade alone. I’m not going to tell you again. Next time I’m bringing you to Reina for insubordination.”

“
Insubordination?
But she’s the one who—”

“
What did I just say?”
he barks, his dark face reddening.

Claire opens her mouth to protest again, but evidently decides the lieutenant’s wrath is not something she wants to bring upon herself and closes it. I glance at Sheppard and Sophia, who stare at their leader in stunned silence. Even I am shocked by this sudden flare of temper—I had always assumed the flame burned weakly within Nathan, but Claire has somehow managed to ignite him, scorching herself in the process.

Nathan turns to me and I brace myself for the same harsh scolding, but upon meeting my gaze his eyes soften and his scowl dissipates.

“We’ll bring your kill to the kitchen and see what they can do with it. Maybe it’ll make a decent stew.” He smiles at me in a way that suggests there are no hard feelings between us, but I am too confused by his sudden change in temper to return the gesture. “Alright, I think that’s enough for today. Let’s head back.”

After tasking Sheppard and me with the responsibility of dragging the doe back to camp, Nathan takes the lead and we all file in behind him. We are about halfway back to Sweetbriar when the preacher gives me a gentle nudge with his elbow.

“Don’t worry, kid,” he whispers, “you’ll get the hang of it soon. Heck, I barely knew what I was doing when I was first put on hunting duty, but I learned. You’re a natural hunter. All you need to do is adapt your skills.”

I thank him for his kind words, hoping he is right, but I still can’t help but feel about as useful to this group as Claire’s bitchy remarks.             

Chapter 31

When we reach the iron gate of Sweetbriar, I spot Reina waiting on the other side, her hands folded neatly in front of her. It is impossible not to notice her since, as usual, she stands out. A long-sleeved white lace dress hugs her curvy figure, standing in stark contrast to her black hair, which sits draped over her shoulder in a neat braid, and her red stilettos click against the cobblestone street as she paces back and forth. How she isn’t freezing to death in an outfit like that is a mystery to me, but if the cold bothers her her heavily made up face does not show it. I don’t know how long it has been since I saw another woman wear makeup, and I can’t help but resent the fact that she has so much time to set aside for her beauty rituals while the rest of us are out here doing meaningful, necessary labor for our survival. In truth, she looks like a goddess compared to the rest of us. Although the Sweetbriarans are some of the most healthy-looking, cared for people I have encountered in years, their clothes are still worn and dingy, their broken nails are still embedded with dirt, their bodies are still thinner than they should be, and their skin is still pale and sallow. Place Reina next to them and she is a completely otherworldly being.

As the sentries open the gate, Reina beckons Nathan to her. He instructs the rest of us to bring today’s kills to the kitchen—which Claire and Sophia apparently misinterpret as “go on home, you’re done for the day,” leaving Elijah Sheppard and I to deal with the deer by ourselves—and then he and Reina begin to whisper. Although I can’t make out exactly what they are saying, I catch the two of them glancing in my direction as Sheppard and I head toward the cafeteria. At one point Reina’s gaze happens to meet mine, but there is no pretense of accidental eye contact or flustered glancing in another direction on her part; she wants me to know they are talking about me.

I keep my eyes fixed on her, determined not to be the first to look away, but Sheppard’s voice draws my attention away from the leader.

“Hey, want me to take it from here?” he asks, nodding toward the deer.

“What? No. It’s way too much for just one person.” Even with Elijah doing most of the work, pulling this doe has been no easy task.

He laughs. “You underestimate my strength, kid. Look, don’t you worry about me. I can handle it, really. Go check on your friend, take a nap, relax. Here, give me the hare.”

I make an effort to protest, but Sheppard refuses to take no for an answer, so I untie my kill from my hip and hand it to him. Once he has looped the cord around his own belt, he gives me a wink and hauls the deer in the direction of the cafeteria.

Free from my duties for the rest of the day, I decide to follow the preacher’s suggestion and see what Connor is up to, or if he is even up at all, since he was still asleep when I left this morning. I take the ten minute walk back to our house, ignoring the stares of the Sweetbriarans I happen to pass on the street. Part of me loves the way they shrink away from me, like I am some dangerous species of animal that is not to be provoked, but another part almost wishes they would ignore me like I do them.

When I enter our dwelling, I find Connor awake, lying on the floor, tossing a neon stress ball in the air. Hearing the door shut, he scrambles to sit up, a grin stretching across his face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy to see me.

“Hey!” he greets me cheerily. “How was the hunt today?”

“Pretty good.” I decide to leave out the part about how I completely disobeyed Nathan, and the part where Claire and I almost got into another fist fight, and also the part about Reina and Nathan whispering about me. “What have you been up to?”

“Ah, you know, the usual. Sleeping, sitting here, practicing using my crutches, doing my strengthening exercises . . . Dr. Lam says I’m making great progress. Look, she gave me this stress relief ball to play with. Here, catch!”

I have turned around to put down my rucksack when he throws it, and my first instinct upon turning to see the yellow ball hurtling toward my face is not to catch it, but to smack it from the air. It crashes into the wall to my right and bounces to the floor.

“Alright,” he says. “I guess not, then.”

“Sorry, reflex.” I pick up the ball and gently toss it back to him. He catches it and places it on the floor beside him, evidently deciding a game of catch with me would not end well.

“Hey, are you going to get lunch soon? Why don’t I come with you? Or maybe we could take a walk or something—you know, to help strengthen my leg. Or you could just stay here with me and we could talk for a while. We haven’t had much alone time recently, what with you being busy with hunting and patrol duty and all.”

I laugh. “You’re bored to shit in here, aren’t you?”

“
Yes
,” he groans, running his fingertips over his face in a frustrated clawing motion. “Nightshade, you don’t understand how boring it is sitting here all day. You and Dr. Lam are the only people I’ve seen in days. I haven’t left the house once since the town meeting. I swear if I don’t find something to do soon I’m going to beat myself to death with my own crutches.”

“Alright, alright, let’s not do that. Look, I’ll tell you what—I’ll get us some lunch, and after that I’ll be free to entertain you for as long as you like. You stay here—I don’t need you overworking that leg—and when I come back we’ll find something to do, okay?”

Connor contemplates my proposition for a minute, then finally nods in agreement. I can tell he is dying to go outside, to hobble along the cobblestone streets and see new faces and feel the winter chill on his skin, but I am reluctant to witness his reaction to the hateful glances these Sweetbriar folk are so good at giving. Keeping him inside is what is best for him.

I head to the cafeteria and, after waiting on a line of half a dozen hungry Sweetbriarans, pick up two trays of food for Connor and me. I am about to take our lunches and go when I notice Elijah Sheppard sitting at one of the tables nearest me. A young blond-haired boy of maybe six or seven sits across from him, and the two of them appear locked in an intense game of cards. Judging by the sound of the boy’s excited giggling and the expression of deep concentration Sheppard wears on his face, I can tell the preacher isn’t winning.

“Ah, you beat me again!” Sheppard cries in pretend frustration, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re getting too good at this. I think you’re cheating.”

“No!” says the child, shaking his head emphatically and grinning all the while. “You just stink at cards.”

“Hey! That’s not a very nice thing to say. Come on, you, lunchtime is almost over, which means you’ve got to get back to school. I’ll show you who
really
stinks at cards tomorrow. And you better bring your A game, because I’m not going easy on you next time!”

The bubbling little boy grabs his tiny backpack from the table, flings the straps over his shoulders, and dashes out the door, still beaming from his victory.

“He’s cute,” I say as I approach. “Looks a lot like you, too.”

Sheppard smirks. “Oh, no, Ash isn’t mine. He’s Sophia’s nephew—he lost his parents a few years ago, so she takes care of him now. I just play with him during lunch sometimes. He’s a good kid, reminds me of my girls at that age.”

“You have daughters?”

His jaw clenches ever so slightly. “Had.”

Oh, no, I fucked up. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t— I shouldn’t have—” I try to find the words to amend my mistake, but to no avail.

“It’s alright, it was a long time ago . . . I’ve made my peace with it.” Then, switching back to his normal light-hearted tone, he asks, “Hey, want to play a round? I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I promised Connor I would entertain him for a while. He’s been bored to death sitting in the house all day and the longer I leave him there alone the better chance there is of him committing a crutch-related suicide.”

Sheppard laughs. “Alright, well here, take the cards,” he says, placing the deck in my hand. “Maybe you two can play a bit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely! Just bring them back when you’re done. I’ll be at the church most of the day, but if you can’t find me there then just stop by my house.”

After I thank him, I gather my trays and hurry back to the house before the food can get cold. Connor appears relieved to see me, as if the fifteen minutes I have been gone were almost too much for him to bear. After we finish our meal, I pull out Sheppard’s cards, the sight of which brings a grin to his face. He immediately begins to rattle off the names of a dozen games we can play, and since I have no preference of my own I let him choose whichever one he wants. As Connor shuffles the deck, I watch the cards fold smoothly over in his hands, bending and falling exactly the way he commands them to. There is something strikingly familiar in the image, and suddenly my chest tightens and I am filled with a strange sense of—nostalgia.

The memories come in flashes—memories I thought I had locked up in the confines of my brain long ago. Sitting at the kitchen table. My father’s callused hands shuffling a deck of blue paisley playing cards. My mother stirring a large pot with a wooden spoon. The smell of
arroz con gandules
cooking on the stove. The sound of laughter—my laughter—as my father let me win a game. Smiling, giggling, feeling
happy
.

As Connor begins to deal, I am snapped back to reality, though the tightness in my chest does not subside for some time. After he tells me the name of the game—War—and gives a brief explanation of the rules, we begin to play. He easily wins five games in a row, gently bragging with each victory.

“Wow, I’m kicking your ass,” he says. “Finally, something I’m actually better at than you.”

“How are you so good at this?”

He shrugs. “Alex and I used to play almost everyday. It helped keep our minds off of how hungry we were for a few hours. I guess my skill just developed over time.”

After beating me the fifth time, Connor evidently decides I am not much of an opponent and begins to build a house of cards. Together we delicately stack row on top of row until we have created a wobbly seven story mansion. As we are constructing the eighth floor, Connor attempts to stifle a sneeze but fails, blowing half the house over. He turns to me, shamefaced, and apologizes again and again for ruining our hard work, but I just smile and give him a shove, sending him crashing into the remaining half. I snort as he hits the floor with a look of stunned surprise, but before I can react he grabs my arm and pulls me down beside him. Soon we are wrestling on top of the card pile, laughing all the while, and it is not long before my sides ache and tears form in my eyes. Remembering his injury, I make sure not to be too rough with him, and after a minute I put an end to the game by allowing him to pin my wrists to the floor.

We stay like that for a little while, and during that time I look at him,
really
look at him. He is nothing like the boy I found hiding behind that building that fateful day. He is strong and beautiful, and no longer in a sad way, but in the genuine sense of the word. I remember the way I shunned him, chased him, ran from him, even wished death upon him just so I wouldn’t have to be near him. To think how different my life would be if I had succeeded in driving him away, if his perseverance had not outmatched my determination to be rid of him. Now I can’t imagine what it would be like not to have him at my side, to be alone again.

God, what is happening to me?