“Want some?” I broke the pastry in neat halves without waiting for his answer.
It was spring, and the school year was almost over—just a month left. I’d heard they tended fields during the summer, growing food to last the winter. Living down below, I’d never imagined food that sprang up from the ground instead of being hunted or found, but it appeared some of the stories Fade’s sire had told him were true. The mushrooms grew, but it wasn’t the same thing; that felt less magical.
For that season, they needed Hunters to watch over the plants and those who tended them. It was the only time they permitted patrols, a decision I questioned. With me in charge, things would run differently, and we’d sweep the area, killing enough Freaks to make them wary. I couldn’t survive three months inside these walls with nothing to do but pull a needle through cloth.
“Thought any more about what I said last night?” he asked.
“About leaving? Not until we know where we’re going. It makes no sense to run off without a plan.”
It wasn’t just the need for caution, not that I’d admit it to Stalker. In truth, I couldn’t leave Tegan and Fade, even if they were settling in better. There was a bond between the four of us, and we shouldn’t split up, even if Salvation seemed to be doing its best to sever that connection altogether.
“Agreed.”
“You still dealing well enough with Mr. Smith?”
It was a common name, so I understood, but it also referred to the man’s trade. His father before him had worked the same forge, making metal goods for the town. Salvation had been here, in its current form, for fifty years—or so they claimed. Mrs. James reported this was a historic site, dating back to the Aroostook War. I had no idea what that was, but it sounded like a made-up thing. I tended not to listen when she rambled about Salvation’s history. If I decided to stay, then I’d soak it in.
“He doesn’t talk much.” Stalker paused to eat the pastry, and then went on, “He’s teaching me to turn scrap metal into knife blades.”
“Sounds like it could be useful.”
“It’s the only part of this town that I can stand. Well, work … and you.” The trapped feeling reflected in his wintry eyes.
“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” I muttered.
It made me remember an awkward conversation I’d had with Momma Oaks, who disapproved of how I’d traveled with Stalker and Fade. That first night, she’d trod from the stairs, looking pleased. “There, now. Your rooms are ready. I have a spare, and a cozy cupboard off the kitchen, room enough for a pallet, I think.”
“I’ll take the small one,” I’d said. “It’s what I’m used to.”
“I didn’t intend to make you share with those roughneck boys.” In her tone, I heard what she didn’t say; make you share meant that’ll never happen under my roof.
I’d figured I knew what she was worried about, so I assured her: “We’ve been bunking together for ages. It wouldn’t be a problem. I’m not interested in breeding.”
“In … what?” Her face went pink.
Hm, I thought. If she had children—and Longshot had mentioned them—then she knew more about the business than I did. I decided she was messing with me, so I’d show her I could be a good sport.
“In all enclaves, there are those who sire brats to keep the population stable, the best-looking, brightest, and strongest.” She knew that, of course. “But everybody can’t do so or folks would starve. I’m trained for fighting and protecting, so I’d never do anything that could make me unfit for duty.”
“Oh, child.” Her eyes went liquid with sympathy.
I had no idea why, staring at her, puzzled. Surely they didn’t permit just anybody to mix their blood. That couldn’t end well. People would wind up stupid and squinty.
“I’m sure that’s how it was where you lived,” she said at last. “But it’s different here. People fall in love and get married. They start a family if they’re so inclined.”
So when Stalker started going on about how I was the only thing he liked about Salvation, it made me twitchy. The rules were different here, and I didn’t want him to get any ideas about us finishing up that sad, empty house and filling it with our brats. The notion made me clammy with dread; I’d rather kill Freaks any day.
“Friday, we’ll talk to Longshot about the patrols,” I said, changing the subject.
“You think he’ll take us on?”
“I hope so.”
Momma Oaks had told me that Longshot always captained one of the squads that ensured the safety of the fields. I wanted him to choose me for his team so bad I could taste it. He knew we were capable fighters; he’d seen our bloody weapons when he picked us up in the wild. And he understood that we weren’t tame, Salvation-bred brats. In fact, he was the only elder in the whole town who acted like he had more than a grain of sense. I suspected it was because of the supply runs. They’d taught him more about the world than the others could learn living within the safety of these walls. While they kept danger out, they also locked the ignorance in.
“They act like Freaks can’t change,” Stalker said quietly. “Like these walls are magic, not wood, and nothing bad could ever get in.”
“We got in.”
“But we look human.”
I caught the faint stress on the word “look” and I frowned at him. “We’re still human. We’re just not like the rest of them.”
According to Mrs. James, we were both bad as a barrel of rotten apples. She’d used that exact phrase in describing Stalker. Once, for falling asleep in class, she’d tried to whip him with a green switch, but he disarmed her so fast, she never saw it coming. Her face paled as he stood, slapping the rod lightly against his palm.
“I wouldn’t try that again,” he’d whispered in her ear.
Now she hated him, laced with fear, because he’d made her look foolish. A few of the Salvation boys studied Stalker from a distance, trying to copy his walk. Girls watched him too, when they thought he wasn’t looking, but he noticed everything. Mostly, he thought they were weak and useless, just a bunch of Breeders.
I pushed to my feet, packed up the remnants of my meal, and strode away. In the time remaining, I ran laps around the schoolhouse, which made people stare at me. But I’d get weak sitting all day; work kept the body strong.