Stalker strode up a few minutes later, and to my surprise, Fade waved in greeting. The blond boy paused, brows drawn in obvious puzzlement. And then he maneuvered around a cluster of men to join us. If Stalker thought I was better than our fellows, then they didn’t rate with him at all. I shouldn’t have smiled at the implicit insult, but in truth, I didn’t think highly of our comrades, either. If they’d been Hunters at heart, they would’ve stepped forward of their own free will. Yet they didn’t deserve to die for their timidity.
Fade shook his head at the both of us, though I doubted the guards had noticed the silent interplay. “We have to work with them.”
“There might be hope for some,” I said softly. “Brats can be trained.”
Both boys took a second look and Stalker laughed. “Old brats.”
A few minutes later, the rest of the men turned up, sullen and unhappy. Longshot spoke for a few minutes about his expectations, outlining his plans, which were logical and well conceived. There would occasionally be town furloughs, after the first week, where two guards rotated in and out. That, he said, should cut down on soldiers deserting their posts.
“It’s gonna be tough,” he went on, “but we stick it out or the town starves. That’s a fact. Them Muties have figured out how to hurt us, and we can’t let that stand. It’s been a long while since we had a proper war, but I’m afraid it may come to that.”
The guards murmured, some worried, others speculative. We fell into formation, two by two, and marched through the dawn, our advance blessed by the rising sun. Maybe it was just the normal progression of the day, but as it grew brighter, I could almost believe that luster meant something special—that we would succeed—and the damage wouldn’t be catastrophic.
Seventeen growers met us at the town entrance with wagons full of seeds. This time, they appeared cowed, none too eager to return to the fields. If anything went wrong, Salvation wouldn’t have the supplies to plant a third time. And I tried not to contemplate that outcome. One of the planters distracted me by lifting a hand—and when I stepped closer—I recognized Tegan with her hair bound in tidy braids and wearing a length of cloth around her head to protect her from the sun.
I hurried over to her. “How does Doc feel about you volunteering to help with the harvest?”
“He required some persuasion with all the problems we’ve had this season, but they were short on willing hands, and I know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll watch your back,” I promised.
Tegan nodded. “I know … or I wouldn’t be here.”
Longshot hollered for the guards to fall in so I waved as I went back to formation. There was no fanfare as the gates opened. None of the townsfolk came to wish us well as we went out to protect the fields. It was just as well; it would have made leaving harder for those who were, at best, reluctant.
“Stick close to the wagons,” Longshot ordered. “I want guards posted on either side, and keep a sharp eye on the tree line.”
“Yes, sir,” I murmured, along with nineteen others.
I sniffed the morning air, seeking any sign that all wasn’t as it should be. Only the scent of green grass broken underfoot reached me, chased with faint animal musk, and the sweetness of white flowers, unfurling in the distance. I found constant beauty in this new world; it had not yet become familiar to me, and I marveled that natives could find so little to enchant the eye.
Likewise, the birds assured me things were safe for now. Flashes of color fluttered in the green, aerial maze. This morning they chirped and whirred and churred their morning songs, undisturbed in distant boughs. Yet the peace was unnerving, for we had trod this path before, and we knew that danger lurked within the twisted tangle of branches. For a Huntress, waiting could be infinitely worse than fighting. I fingered my knives as we grew closer to the first field, ruined with runnels of Freak claws. Only dead plants remained, so dry and brown that it hurt to look at them. They’d represented the hope for the town’s survival.
We’ll do better this time. Longshot has a plan.
Shortly, he proved me correct in my assessment. He barked instructions to the growers riding in the wagons, telling them to get down and get to work. Tegan shouldered a bucket, which had a long strap attached, and her partner—an older man who seemed protective—carried jugs of water. She would put the seeds in the ground while the man covered and watered them.
I paid close attention to them as they worked the fields, but I had to watch all the growers. The rest of our cohort stood guard with me, watching in all directions. I could tell many of them were frightened by the way they clutched their weapons.
Frank Wilson, the guard I’d fought to earn my place, came over to stand with us. He looked about twenty, though he might be older, based on how people aged Topside. His brown hair needed cutting, and a beakish nose dominated his narrow face. To his credit, Frank wasn’t rigid with dread like the rest. I didn’t know if that meant he was brave or foolish. Some Hunters were both in equal measure, but Silk once told me that only an idiot feared nothing. Smart Hunters knew when situations were dangerous, and made the choice to risk their lives for the good of the enclave.
“Can’t believe we’ll be outside all summer,” Frank said, shaking his head.
Stalker eyed him with dislike. “We spent the whole winter outside.”
Technically, we spent it in a little house, but Frank seemed so impressed with our survival skills that I lacked the heart to disillusion him. Fade was watching the tree line, as Longshot had said, seeming to pay the exchange little mind. Just looking at him filled me with warmth, but I didn’t let the feeling distract me.
“I heard about that,” Frank said. “Did you really come from Gotham?”
If I had a new knife for every time we’d been asked that, I wouldn’t be able to carry them all. I let Stalker field the question.
“It’s true,” he answered.
“What was it like? Were there horseless wagons and flying carriages?” Right then, Frank seemed younger than I’d initially thought.
“Of course,” Stalker said, playing with him. “There were also fountains with all the cider you could drink and shining towers of pure silver.”
Frank colored. “Sorry.”
I took pity on him. “It’s all in ruins.”