We had lost two men—Ross Massey, who I didn’t know at all—and Jeremiah Hobbs. Grief built into a silent scream in the back of my throat. He had been kind to me. Respectful. I knelt by his body, heedless of the blood, and touched his pale, red-spattered cheek. A claw had disemboweled him. I covered the damage as best I could and readied him to be returned to his family.
Like Daniel, I thought, remembering my foster mother’s grief.
Tegan limped over to me and bent to rest a comforting hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry. He was a friend of yours, I take it?”
Fighting tears, I nodded and she drew me up into a hug. I stood for a few seconds with my head on her shoulder, and then I strode over to Longshot. “I’d like to escort the dead back to town, if I may.”
A few others volunteered, and he granted permission, obviously distracted. “Take the growers as well. There’s nothing more they can do today.” To the rest, he called, “Drag the enemy corpses away from the outpost, and build a fire.”
The men needed no further instructions. They knew they were burning dead Freaks both for hygienic reasons and to send a giant, smoky message. It remained to be seen whether it would instill fear or outrage. I had no ability to predict Freak behavior anymore. That troubled me, as did the stolen fire and the secret village, about which Longshot had done nothing. Putting those fears aside, I marched away beside the wagon, loaded with supplies and bodies.
Tegan walked beside me, making quiet conversation, and it steadied me. At the gate, she hugged me again. “I appreciate what you’re doing out there, Deuce. So do the rest of the growers … and I’ll see if we can make the rest of the town understand how important … and dangerous your job really is.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It has to be done.”
“I’ll still try,” she promised. It would probably make her feel better to do something besides clean Doc’s surgical tools.
I nodded in thanks and headed out with the others. By the time we returned to the outpost, most of the mess had been cleared away. But the fire still smoldered, and the stink was horrendous. The night, however, remained quiet. Maybe we had taught them a lesson after all.
* * *
We had been on patrol for nearly two months when Longshot summoned me to discuss our recon findings. “I’ve decided it’s best to leave them alone,” he said without preamble. “Right now, we’re maintainin’ the status quo. They’re not comin’ at us in overwhelmin’ numbers, and our assignment hasn’t changed.”
Longshot was a cautious leader, but not an incapable one. I didn’t disagree with his assessment, though Stalker would be furious at the wait-and-see tactics; he thought it would be best to put them all to the blade while they slept. That would clear the region for good, he said, making it safe for the human inhabitants.
“I’ll tell the boys,” I said.
“Do you think I’m right?” The question surprised me. No elder had ever asked my opinion with such sincerity, like my thoughts were valuable.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I suspect they’re waiting for something, but who knows? It might be years before they strike. Or they might have changed to the point that they just want to be left alone to hunt moose and deer.”
He said, more to himself than me, “I have an achy feeling in my bones.”
I shivered. He wasn’t the only one. And while it might be age catching up to Longshot, it didn’t explain my mood at all.
That night, after supper, I beckoned to Stalker and Fade. They brought their plates over with expectant looks.
“What did he say?” Stalker demanded.
“That an attack would be unwise.” He hadn’t explained, but I understood why. “We don’t have the manpower or resources to go on the offensive. We’re better off holding here and completing our mission. Salvation needs the food for winter.”
Stalker muttered a low curse. “I only volunteered because I thought I’d see some action. This is shameful.”
“What is?” Fade asked. He sat close to me, and I wondered if he was conscious of trying to send a message.
“To have knowledge of your enemy and do nothing about it.” The blond boy glanced at me. “You must agree. You’re a Huntress, right? How can you stand this?”
It hit me then. I wasn’t a Huntress. Not anymore. I had the scars, but not the office, for that way of life was gone. So I shook my head quietly. “I was once. Now I’m just me.”
Whatever that meant. I had instincts, of course, that had become part of me. I enjoyed the lull no better than Stalker, but sometimes one had to wait in order to succeed in an assignment—and I dreaded failure more than inaction. Still, it gave me no peace picturing the Freaks in their village, so close in relative terms, and so untouchable in our ability to do anything about them.
Stalker shoved to his feet, fire in his pale eyes. “I hate this. It’s worse than school.”
On that point, I could not agree. At least here, I served a useful purpose. He wheeled away, pacing toward the far edge of the camp. Stalker fixed his gaze on the dark and distant trees. I could feel his yearning to break free. With a murmured “excuse me” to Fade, I followed the other boy and put my hand on his arm. The muscles were rigid beneath my fingers.
“Promise me you’ll respect Longshot’s wishes, and you won’t go into the forest on your own,” I said.
He laughed, showing too many teeth; wildness burned in him. “What value could my pledge hold for you? I’m not from your fine underground tribe. I have no honor, right? I am not special enough to earn your favor.”
I had feared this moment would come. The fact that it had taken months instead of days spoke well of his self-control. But I hadn’t understood how he interpreted my behavior until it was too late.
“You’re not angry because Longshot won’t mount an attack on the village. This is because I chose Fade.”
“Is it?” he mocked.
I stared at him, waiting.
“Maybe. Help me understand, Deuce.”
That wouldn’t solve anything. The only answer I could give was one that wouldn’t make him feel any better. I had known Fade longer, trusted him more. He had chosen to follow me into exile. Those actions, no other boy could ever match.
But I owed him some explanation. “We have history.”