Wanderers (11 page)

The knife had vanished from his hand, knocked out of his grip by Caleb's foot.

Lewt looked up, surprised, just as Caleb jammed a knee into his groin. The boy doubled over, grunting in agony. When he raised his head, Caleb drove his elbow into Lewt's mouth, and the woods echoed with the crack of breaking teeth.

Lewt fell forward, his hands to his bloody mouth. Caleb let him lie there only an instant before pulling him up by the tattered collar of his shirt. He was acting blindly, obeying the instinct he had tried in vain to bury. Now it was bursting up from someplace deep, unearthed by rage.

He couldn't deny it: the feeling was exhilarating. He couldn't have stopped if he had wanted to.

Lewt was nearly unconscious, his mouth oozing blood. With seemingly superhuman strength, Caleb hoisted him with one hand. With the other, he bent to retrieve the knife. He brought the blade to Lewt's throat and pressed it hard against the lump that bobbed there as the boy swallowed.

“Please,” Lewt said, spitting a few drops of blood onto Caleb's face. Instead of begging, he tried to bargain. “You can come with us, too,” he said.

At this, Caleb felt contempt mix with his fury. Lewt had not only learned nothing, he was offering one more bribe—the kind of deal he himself would welcome. That meant he still believed Caleb was like him—and the thought of it made Caleb want to destroy him.

“Wait,” Esther shouted, but her voice sounded faint, as if underwater.

It was then that Caleb noticed someone else was in the clearing with them.

It was a figure standing just past Lewt. Although it was thrown into deep shadows by the flickering torch, Caleb would have recognized him anywhere.

It was his dead brother.

It was Levi, whose rage, cruelty, and greed had come so close to destroying Caleb and everyone he loved. Levi now stared at Caleb, his familiar cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Finish him,” Levi said simply.

Then his brother's ghost vanished into the night.

Caleb tightened his grasp on the knife. It would be so simple to press it into the pale, soft flesh and slash sideways. And it would feel so right.

Yet he stopped. And as he did, he felt his anger subside.

He had done what needed to be done: He had saved Esther. He would not become like Levi; he would not drown in his own hatred ever again. He released Lewt, who dropped to his knees. Then he tossed aside the blade as if it burned his flesh.

“Get away from here,” Caleb whispered. “All three of you. And leave what you stole.”

Still at a crouch, Lewt nodded.

Caleb turned away. He was so tired, his limbs felt like lead, and there was a strange roaring sound in the distance, something approaching that he couldn't quite place. Yet he felt free. And he had won. He turned to Esther with a smile, but for some reason, she was staring at something behind him.

Her face was white with shock. She was trying to say something, but the roaring sound had grown so loud, he couldn't make out the words.

“Watch out!” she screamed.

It was too late.

Caleb felt time expand to infinity as the object struck him, as the white-hot blade entered his back and separated muscle from bone. His legs turned to liquid, to quicksilver. He took another step, then fell face forward, onto the dirt.

By now, the roaring sound was overwhelming. Beyond it, he was distantly aware of someone kneeling above him, someone who seemed to be saying his name.

It was Esther. Esther, whom he loved. Esther with her dark, spiky hair. Esther of the sudden giggle, the stubborn nature, the generous heart. She was gripping the knife now, pulling it out, but it all seemed so far away, miles and miles. The sound was so loud now, it was like a tornado.

And that's when Caleb realized what it was.

It was the sound of blood. It was the sound of his heart. It was the sound of his life slipping away, forever.

“Caleb,” Esther whispered.

Then she was screaming it.

Eli saw someone emerge from the woods.

Lewt was pushing the discarded bicycle. He moved slowly, as if every movement hurt him. By the loaded wagon, Tahlik and Quell stood on guard, the strange weapon pointed in Eli's face.

Eli noticed that Lewt was injured, his face bloody. He also noticed that he was alone.

“Where's Caleb?” Eli shouted.

Lewt looked at him, dazed, his eyes hooded and filled with hatred. “Where he belongs,” he said. Then he turned to his boys. “Let's get out of here.”

Eli stepped forward, but Lewt slapped him hard across the face, nearly knocking him down. His tone was a warning, almost compassionate. “You'll get worse if you don't watch it.” Quell raised his rifle and a moment later, the boy felt the butt of it slam into his back, sending him to the ground in a spasm of pain.

Rafe was already stepping over him to reach Lewt, his voice eager.

“Take me with you,” he begged.

Lewt laughed, although the sound had no mirth in it. “Why? You ain't got no idea where you going. You never did.”

“Because—” Rafe flailed for an answer. “Because you ain't in no shape to ride. You stay in the wagon and I'll drive you. The others got to pedal on their own.”

Lewt considered it and was surprised to find it made sense.

“I can do other things, too,” Rafe went on in a rush. He didn't intend to die with the others. “I can cook, I can clean. Whatever you want me to do.”

“All right,” Lewt growled. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You don't talk unless I talk to you first.”

“Okay,” Rafe said. “Yes. Of course.”

“Now let's go.”

“Ain't you bringing the girl?” Tahlik asked.

Lewt paused. “She ain't worth the trouble,” he spat.

The four boys—Lewt, Quell, Tahlik, and Rafe—climbed onto their vehicles. Quell kept the weapon pointed at Eli even as they left, taking everything with them.

After a while, there were no sounds except for their wheels bumping on stone and gravel.

Eli thought that, in the distance, he could hear a girl scream.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

B
Y MOONLIGHT
, S
KAR STOOD BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, TESTING THE
low-hanging branches of an oak tree. She did her best to focus on what she was doing and not pay attention to the chaos that was raging around her.

At first, the townspeople had trouble understanding what had happened. Then the shock of the news spread among them like fire through a dry field, leaving panic and confusion in its wake. Yet it was only after Lewt and his boys disappeared with Rafe that the full extent of their predicament sank in.

The outlaws had taken nearly everything of worth: not only their best wagon and bicycles, but their food, water, weapons, and tools. Now torches flickered and cast deep shadows into the night as people ransacked the remaining vehicles in a blind and desperate panic, clawing for anything of value. Fistfights erupted as enraged accusations filled the air. Someone set fire to one of the wagons, and the night filled with heat, acrid smoke, and pulsating orange light. Pieces of soot as big as leaves wafted across the sky as a child wailed, unattended, over the popping embers and smashing glass.

Like everyone, Skar was badly shaken by the murder. She had liked and admired Caleb, who was a good and brave person, someone who had always treated her fairly and with respect. She would miss him. She also had a premonition of how devastating his death would be for Esther, who had insisted on burying him herself. At the moment, Skar didn't even know where her friend was. Yet that was a relief: Esther was out of harm's way, far from the madness that had gripped the people of Prin.

In the meantime, the variant girl had something else on her mind that was even more pressing.

For the first time since she could walk, Skar found herself without a weapon or tool of any sort. Quell had taken her bow and arrow, and she had nothing to replace it with, no throwing stick or club, not even a paltry kitchen knife. While senseless battles raged around her and people fought over broken fire bowls and morsels of food, she alone realized that staying alive meant finding or making something with which she could hunt and protect herself.

At the moment, it was more important than even food or water.

Skar broke off a branch that seemed the sturdiest and examined it. Then she tested its jagged end, pressing it into her palm to see if it might be sharp enough to be used as a spear. But even as she wondered how she might be able to hone it further, the point bent and then splintered. Skar, who was accustomed to carbon-core arrows sheathed in metal and hunting knives with jagged steel blades, tossed it aside in disgust.

Wood was clearly useless. Until she could find a real weapon, she would have to rig a standby out of something man-made and sturdy: perhaps a sharp piece of aluminum, fiberglass, even plastic.

But at the moment, she did not dare approach the wagons.

By now, the townspeople had torn apart some of the vehicles in their search for goods. Splintered boards were tossed onto the fire, twisted bicycle gears and broken shafts lay scattered in the road, and still the boys and girls of Prin fought over what wasn't there. When a half-empty bottle of water was discovered beneath a tarp, the boy who found it was pummeled almost to death by three others. In the commotion, no one noticed when someone trampled on the plastic container, cracking it open and spilling its contents. There was a raw desperation in the air that could only be spent through violence and anarchy.

Skar couldn't help but feel both sickened and uneasy. Her own people had often faced hardship and deprivation; but they had never resorted to lawlessness and pointless fighting among themselves.
It was like watching wild dogs tear themselves apart,
she thought,
so crazed by the smell of their own blood that they thought the other was the enemy.
For the first time, she wondered if she had been wise in fleeing the variant camp.

It was only then that she noticed something had fallen in the dust by her feet. She bent to pick it up. It was a broken bicycle wheel, its rim badly bent. Several of the metal spokes had sprung free from the hub, but they were relatively straight and, as Skar discovered, sharp-tipped. She wondered if they could somehow be turned into slender spears or even arrows. As she turned the object over in her hands, mulling its possibilities, she became aware of the silence around her.

She looked up and saw that three boys were standing still nearby, staring at her. Their robes were torn and muddy, and their eyes glittered in faces that were bleeding and blackened with soot and sweat. One of them held a flaming torch, which he jabbed in her direction.

“What's that you got?” said the largest one. His voice was hoarse from shouting.

Wary, Skar showed him the broken wheel. “It's nothing. It's worthless. I thought I could use it to make—”

Another boy grabbed the object from her hands.

“Worthless?” he jeered, mimicking her. Two others had joined the group, and the five now circled her, moving in close. “Who says this is worthless?”

“You trying to steal, mutant?”

“Yeah, mutant. What else you got there?”

“You hiding anything under that dress?”

Skar was confused. These were the same people she had traveled with and lived among for many days; she had toiled and eaten and slept alongside them. She had even helped feed them, sharing what she had been able to hunt. Still, she was not surprised. Ever since she joined the people of Prin, she had always sensed that should the situation ever deteriorate, this might happen. When it came to living among the norms, it seemed she had always been on borrowed time.

The largest boy reached to grab her by the tunic, but Skar was able to duck away. She saw a gap in the crowd and made to dart through it; she was not much of a fighter, but if she could break clear, she knew she could outrun anyone alive. But Skar didn't notice the one behind her who lashed out a foot, tripping her. As she pitched forward, she felt for the first time a flash of genuine fear. She twisted onto her back, one arm up to defend herself. But before anyone could move toward her, they were interrupted by a clear, loud voice.

“Leave her alone!”

Skar looked up, and so did the others. To her shock, she saw that the loner, Michal, stood there, veiled as always, with just a piece of her golden hair snaking from the side of her hood. Although she seemed tiny compared to the others, she stood straight and defiant, her fists clenched by her sides.

For a moment, the boys hesitated. Then one of them laughed. It was an ugly and brutish sound, and the noise seemed to ripple around the ring.

“Look who's talking to us.”

“It's the whore, sticking up for the freak.”

As Skar got to her feet, one of the boys shoved Michal into her, hard, as if to knock them both down; and again there was mocking laughter. But the girl regained her footing and Skar moved next to her. Before, Skar had barely spoken a word to Michal; now, she could only marvel at her bravery and shoot her a look of gratitude.

Around them, Skar sensed a shift in the dynamics. Although every muscle in her body was tensed and ready to flee, she understood there was now an unspoken game of dare going on. If either girl flinched or made a single move, if they panicked or attempted to run, the entire pack would descend on them like wolves.

Skar knew she stood a good chance of getting away, at least deep enough into the dark woods that they could not follow her. But from a glance, she guessed that Michal was no runner; she wouldn't stand a chance. So Skar kept still, holding her ground with Michal as the others stared at them.