“Do you miss anyone from the enclave?” she asked eventually.
“My brat-mates, Thimble and Stone.”
Tegan propped herself on one elbow, curious. “What’s a brat-mate?”
“Someone who’s raised up in the dorm, the same time as you. Brats often bond into packs of three or four and stay close, even after the oldest ones are grown and earn their names.”
“Your brat-mates were older than you?” she guessed.
I nodded. “They left me behind … and it was awful. Lonely.” I realized then that I’d never told her the whole story. So much of our time and energy while we traveled had been devoted to survival.
“Then you had to leave them for good.”
In a rush I explained things to her fully—the rules about hoarding, the blind brat, how the elders treated Fade, Banner’s alleged suicide, and how the headman routinely sent people on the long walk to put fear into the enclave’s heart, which led to Stone being accused of a crime he didn’t commit. By the time I finished, I had a knot in my chest, and Tegan’s hand rested on my hair, not petting, just making contact, like she knew it was all about to overwhelm me. I hadn’t grasped that it still hurt so much, but the ache lessened as I fell quiet. Sharing helped.
“So that’s why you left. That sounds pretty horrible, Deuce.”
“It was,” I said softly. “I just didn’t realize that while it was going on.”
She sighed. “Because you weren’t raised to know better.”
A verbal reply was beyond me. So I nodded.
“In the ruins when you told me to give Stalker a clean slate, I hated you for it. But I think … I finally understand. Maybe he didn’t see that he was doing wrong, until later. Maybe he knows now. I’ll … try to judge him according to his actions.”
“I don’t care if you ever forgive Stalker,” I said quietly. “That’s between the two of you.”
“Thank you for that. Thanks for being my friend.” It was good knowing I had the power to comfort her too.
I hugged her words close to my heart as I fell asleep.
Disaster
A week after the party, I convened at the barracks before dawn along with the rest of the summer patrol. The days were warming up, and the light lasted longer; but for now, Longshot hoped to convey the planters safely to the fields under the cover of darkness. There had been a few runs at the walls over the past two weeks, but nothing like the numbers when we’d stepped outside. These recent strikes felt more like the Freaks were testing our resolve than really trying to get inside the town.
Or maybe they hoped we’d run out of ammo. But Salvation had been making its own gunpowder for ages, and the smith who worked with Stalker knew how to make bullets for the rifles, so it wasn’t likely that would ever happen.
Unless they got smart enough to attack the trade caravans that left for the other settlements in the fall. I forced that thought aside. Even if they were no longer creatures of pure instinct, as they had been, Freaks couldn’t be that crafty.
Longshot held the opinion that we’d decimated their population, and the rest of the season should pass uneventfully. I had seen too many shifts in Freak behavior to put my faith in that rationale, but I didn’t contradict our leader. He had more years of experience in this particular war, so I contented myself with following orders. That had been my lot down below too, and at least Longshot appeared to have a good head on his shoulders.
That wouldn’t stop me from keeping my weapons ready, however.
Fade greeted me by quietly taking my hand. Though I wasn’t comfortable with open affection, I didn’t pull back, and my forbearance paid off when he smiled in delight. I’d never get enough of his smiles, as I hadn’t seen many of them. Down below, he was known for his intense personal reserve and brooding air.
Stalker strode past us without a glance in greeting, joining the older guards, who seemed to like him well enough. I managed not to follow him with my eyes, but I heard his words in my head. He won’t make you happy, dove. He’s soft in ways you and I aren’t. Ultimately, you’re going to break him.
I won’t, I told myself. I, too, was softer than a Huntress ought to be. I’d proven it time and again, so that made me a perfect match for Fade. Didn’t it?
Pushing those doubts aside, I fell into formation as the party moved toward the gate. There were no wagons this time, just the planters walking inside our line for protection; they carried the tools of their trade: shovels, spades, hoes, and buckets for ferrying water from the lake that lay beyond the fields. In the past weeks, it hadn’t rained as much as the seedlings required, so in addition to weeding, we’d also be irrigating the fields to make sure there was food for the winter. Those were new words to me—“weeding” and “irrigation”—but I gleaned their meanings from the context.
The group shared a tense and sober mood … and after what happened last time we left the walls, I understood why. I slid my knives free from their thigh sheaths, attracting a glance from Fade. Then he nodded, acknowledging my instincts. With a shake of his head, he told me he disagreed with Longshot; the trouble wasn’t over.
Instead, I had the dark and unsettling impression that it was just beginning.
We marched out to the first field without seeing a single Freak, but the reason became clear. They’d already destroyed everything. Fragile green plants had been torn from the ground, and they lay dying, tiny roots exposed to the air. They had raked the neat furrows repeatedly with their claws until it was impossible to tell this had once been a site of renewal and hope.
To make matters worse, the Freaks had left us a sign, an unmistakable offering. We had lost six on our last patrol, two growers and four guards. Now there were six heads, mounted on stakes—just reasonably straight branches, true, but it reflected a forethought that chilled me to my marrow. These poor folk had been half consumed, faces and all, and the putrid, ragged skin showed slices of bone. They’d removed the brains, to eat I assumed, and left gaping holes in the back of the skulls.
A cry went through the growers as they noticed, and a few fell to their knees, some vomiting up their breakfasts, and others weeping for the lost. The guards held themselves more stoic, so their revulsion revealed itself only in the way they cut their eyes to the sides, unable to look on the desecration for more than a few seconds at a time. As for me, I took a long look, for this was the new face of an old enemy.