“It won’t work,” he assured me. “They can prowl outside all they want, but if they get hungry enough, they’ll charge, and we’ll put ’em down.”
I wished I shared his confidence in the power of walls for keeping bad things out. Down below, we had barricades, of course, but we hadn’t relied on them exclusively. Patrols went out to keep our territory clear, and it made me uneasy to think of Freaks gathering. Who knew how many were out there? I remembered Nassau’s fate; that was the closest settlement to where I’d lived down below. When Silk—the commander of the Hunters—sent Fade and me to investigate, the reality was worse than anything I’d imagined, Freaks feasting on the dead after they annihilated the living. It scared me to imagine such a fate here, where citizens weren’t as tough. They had more guards, of course, and not all of them hunted, as we did down below. More citizens lived in Salvation, so they could spread the work out.
From the other side of the wall came the distant bark of someone’s gun, and then the bell rang. Just once, which meant a kill. Two bells indicated incoming. I’d never heard more than two bells, so I didn’t know if there were other warnings.
“How many signals are there?” I asked Longshot.
“Twelve or so,” he answered, raising his weapon. “It’s based on some kind of old military language, dots and dashes.”
That didn’t clarify anything, but before I could ask, movement in the perimeter caught my eye. As two Freaks ran toward the wall, Longshot sighted with Old Girl and dropped the first. It didn’t seem sporting when the creatures had no ranged weapons, but most of the citizens here weren’t trained to fight, either. A breach in security would be disastrous.
As I watched, the surviving Freak knelt beside its fallen friend and then shrieked as if we were the monsters. The sound echoed in the trees, full of grief and loathing. I glanced at Longshot, who was holding fire. The thing didn’t run, although it could have. Its eyes glittered in the lamplight, showing madness and hunger, certainly, but tonight I saw something more. Or thought I did.
It’s a shadow, playing tricks.
“Sometimes they sound like they have minds in their rotten heads,” he said, as if to himself.
Then he took the second shot, so the other died beside the first. Afterward, Longshot rang the bell once, paused, and then once again, reporting his kills. The townsfolk had learned to sleep through the racket. This information was for the guards, so they could track how many bodies surrounded the town. In the morning, they would send an armed crew to drag away the corpses, far enough that if they attracted other Freaks, they could feed without the good folks of Salvation having to watch. I approved of the practice; fortunately, the people here didn’t have to be lectured on the importance of proper hygiene.
That was the only thing Salvation had in common with College, the enclave where I had been raised. Up here on the safety of the wall, my knives couldn’t do any damage, and I hated being useless. Stalker took no better to being cut out of the action. He had a valid point when he’d said, months ago:
You, you’re like me.
I’d replied, You mean a Hunter?
Yes. You’re strong.
It was true … but here, physical strength didn’t matter. Neither did training. They wanted us to learn new roles and forget that we’d once led different lives. I found it tough, as I’d loved being a Huntress. Yet Salvation offered no similar role for girls; I couldn’t even wear my own clothes.
For some time, we listened to the gunfire, until the bell stopped tolling death. Gradually the night noises resumed—and that was another way you could tell Freaks had retreated. When all the animals went still and silent, an attack had to be imminent. Now the hush filled with the peculiar churring of a bird whose name I didn’t know.
“What is that?” I asked Longshot.
He always had the utmost patience for my questions, and this was no different. “Nightjar. They come for the summer before heading south again.”
Not for the first time, I envied the birds’ freedom. “Thanks. We’ll get out of your way before someone catches us here.”
“Appreciate it.” Longshot kept his eyes fixed on the trees.
Stalker glided down the ladder with the grace that made him such a phenomenal fighter at close range. We took every opportunity to keep our skills sharp because, deep down, I couldn’t believe the guns would last forever. Life down below had taught me to believe in nothing as much as my own abilities; Stalker’s upbringing in the Topside gangs had given him a similar philosophy.
They’d placed Stalker in a different foster home, where he could do valuable work—therefore, they apprenticed him to the blacksmith—and Stalker said he didn’t mind learning how to make weapons and ammunition. Tegan stayed with Doc Tuttle and his wife; it was a long month while she fought infection. I stayed with her as much as I could, though after the first few days, they made me go to school. Three weeks ago, she joined us in the schoolhouse. In the afternoons, she assisted Doc with patients, cleaned his instruments, and generally made herself useful. As for Fade, he went to live with Mr. Jensen, the man who ran the stables, and he cared for creatures like the ones that towed Longshot’s wagon.
Of us all, only I remained with Edmund and Momma Oaks. She kept me busy sewing, though I had little aptitude, and it annoyed me to be saddled with Builder work. They were wasting my potential. I didn’t see any of my old friends as much as I once had, and I hated that too. Sometimes I missed the house by the river, where nobody told us what to do.
These musings carried me through our silent progress away from the wall. By tacit agreement, Stalker and I didn’t head to our respective beds. Instead, we had a secret place within Salvation, as we were forbidden to go into the countryside, a half-finished house near the north side of town. They’d gotten the roof on, but the interior hadn’t been smoothed out, nor had the second story progressed past beams and slats.
Some young couple had planned to live here once they married, but the girl took a fever and died, leaving the boy wild with grief. Momma Oaks told me he went out into the wilderness without so much as a weapon. It was like he was asking them to kill him, she’d said, shaking her head in disbelief. But I reckon love can do strange things to a body. Love sounded terrible if it made you so weak, you couldn’t survive without it. Regardless, their misfortune left Stalker and me with the perfect place to hide and talk—and spar.