“That goes for all of you. This girl fights as well as any man here, and better than some, so I won’t hear any more of that. Is it clear?”
The rest mumbled an assent. Dinner was a muted meal, but gradually, the guards forgot the incident as their bellies warmed and they appreciated the sparkle of the bright stars overhead. With hot soup, a cozy bedroll, and a clear sky, things could definitely be worse.
After cleaning up, I sank down beside Fade and laced our fingers together. “You can’t threaten to kill everyone who bad-mouths me.”
“Why not?” he muttered.
“Mostly? Because they’ll start seeing me as your weak spot and they’ll use me to get at you. It doesn’t matter to me what they think of me. Only what you do.”
He leaned in and whispered, “I wish I could kiss you.”
“Save them up. I’ll take them all at once when you can.”
In reply, he brushed his hand over my hair. Shortly thereafter, Stalker and Frank joined us. The conversation grew more general, speculation on what the summer held and anticipation of how hard we’d have to work in the woods tomorrow.
Eventually, we rolled into our blankets as true night fell.
No nightmares came that night, but they would begin in reality soon enough.
Creep
The night passed in shifts, and there were enough guards that I wasn’t chosen to stand watch. It would be my turn the following day. Leftover soup and stale bread made up our breakfast. During our travels, Fade and I had discovered, quite by accident, that soup left to cook indefinitely on the fire became thick and hearty, and the constant heat reduced the chance of spoilage.
Living rough as we were, it made sense to use the knowledge we’d gained traveling north. I ladled out the food, the jut of my chin daring anyone to make a comment about my gender and the reason I was serving. After the meal, Longshot drew lots to see which half of our group went to the woods to saw the timbers for the watchtower. Fade and I drew short straws, but Stalker and Frank did not. The other eight men were older, and I knew them only by reputation. None seemed happy with the situation, and I suspected they were remembering the number of Freaks that had poured out of the forest recently.
On some level, I shared their doubt and fear; it seemed impossible to expect so few to act on behalf of the whole town—and yet the majority of Salvation couldn’t survive out here. Offering the Freaks free food in the form of helpless females and brats served no purpose. So we had to make this work.
One of the guards fell in step with me on the way. He was a short, stocky man with shoulders that seemed broader than he was tall. Iron-gray hair marked him as at least as old as Longshot, but he wore his face clean-shaven. I wondered how long that would last out here.
“Hobbs,” he said. We shook hands as we walked, as that was how one greeted another politely, Topside. “Jeremiah. But everyone calls me Hobbs.”
“Deuce.”
I didn’t have a surname; there had been no need down below. There weren’t enough of us for there to be a shortage of names, which came from our naming-day gifts. The Wordkeeper had told us from our earliest brat-hood that our names meant something special, and that whatever object our blood chose was sacred. That was probably more rubbish he’d made up, but I kept my card safe just in case. I’d shown it to Edmund during my first week here and he said it was a two of spades, an ancient playing card, liberally speckled with my blood. This object contained my essence, and they’d taught us in the enclave that something terrible would happen to us if we didn’t safeguard it.
“I know who you are,” he said. “I reckon everyone does.”
Unsure of how to take his comment, I slid him a sidelong glance. “Oh?”
He offered a reassuring smile. “You have your detractors, miss, but I’m not one of them. We could use a little more bravery in Salvation.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say.
I wasn’t used to elders being kind when they didn’t want something. Any moment, I expected him to order me to do something awful, for that had been my experience in the past. But he only walked in silence, eyes trained on the trees that grew closer with each footstep. Dread ratcheted up. I didn’t like dividing our forces, but I understood the need for a lookout post. That would permit greater weapon range for the rifleman on watch and even better vantage for distant threats.
Providing we survived this task.
The idea was for us to cut a young tree, small enough that two of us could haul it back on the ropes wrapped around our shoulders, which would be knotted into a type of harness. I didn’t know how to do that but the older guards did. What they lacked in combat prowess, they made up in other skills.
“Would you steady for me?” Hobbs asked. I must have looked blank because he explained, “Hold the tree while I saw it down.”
“Oh. Of course.”
I cast a glance at Fade, but another guard had already conscripted him. He nodded to show he was all right, and I hoped his back wasn’t bothering him much. I’d packed some salve in my things, so if I got a chance later, I’d apply another coat, but I had to be careful how much attention I paid him. The tentative peace Longshot had imposed with his barked order for equal treatment wouldn’t last long if the guards caught Fade and me acting like lovesick fools.
The forest rose to meet us, thorny brambles barring the way. With muffled curses, the men cut them back. I followed their lead, as they had greater physical strength. If Freaks attacked, I would leap to their defense, but it didn’t make sense for me to clear brush when they were better at it. I’d done some sneaking in the woods with Stalker during our journey north, but we’d never created any paths. I certainly didn’t know anything about cutting trees.
Within, the wood was shady and cool despite the morning brightness, green-cast shadows tinting our skin in sickly hues. Movement in the branches overhead reassured me. The birds protested our incursion with squawks and chastening chatter. I ignored their outrage and followed Hobbs to a likely tree—slim and supple, but not too heavy for us to manage.
“Put your hands here,” he told me, “and hold tight.”
I did as he ordered; this was something at which I excelled. For my whole life, I had done as the elders told me. Pity they didn’t know much about the world. This was a mindless task, so mine wandered, stealing down little-examined memories. I remembered the exiles—those sent on the long walk—and I fought down the spike of pain. When it kept happening, I should have known they were sacrifices to needless devotion to custom, not true lawbreakers. So far, I didn’t detect the same blind obedience in Salvation, but there was enough zealotry to make me nervous.