Outpost (Razorland 2)

I saved you, Fade. Why do you hate me?

Maybe that’s why. Because you made him live with it.

Over lunch, Tegan cornered me. “I saw Stalker and Fade in town. What’s going on? They look terrible … and so do you.”

Knowing it was pointless to withhold the story, I led her away from the others. Then I summed up the events of the past days: Fade’s absence, the rescue, and the horde. Her face paled beneath its pretty color, and she stared at me, eyes wide.

“That’s…” Words failed her. “But it explains a lot. Stalker came to Doc’s last night. He apologized. He also said he knew that didn’t change anything, and I’m free to hate him forever, but … he’s sorry.”

“I’m glad,” I murmured. “I’m sure it doesn’t matter, but—”

“It does, actually. Hate is … it’s a weight … and when he said those things, I felt it go.” She paused. “I’ve considered what you said. I mean, what happened was terrible, but I understand that he didn’t know better.”

“I think bad things happened to him there too.” Pain taught people how to inflict more of it.

Tegan nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised. What’re you doing about Fade?”

“Give him time to miss me, I guess. It hurts when he pushes me away.”

Before she could reply, the head grower shouted at us, and we went back to work. Two days passed in this fashion, full of mindless tasks and haunting thoughts, until at last we were ready to make the final journey back to town. The wagons sat heavy, and the mules brayed in protest. I would defend this caravan with my life, not just because Tegan was part of it.

When the sentry shouted as the wagons moved out, I knew. Oh, I knew.

And my heart died a little.

This, then, was what they had been waiting for. After they destroyed the planting once, we established the outpost, and they couldn’t get close enough to do it again, due to our rifles. They spent the summer increasing their numbers—calling Freaks from far and near—and now they had a monstrous horde. In one fell charge, they would destroy our food source and starve us out, if they couldn’t breach the walls. In such numbers, they probably could; they just hadn’t figured out the mechanics of the task yet.

“They’re charging,” the sentry shouted. “Heaven have mercy on us, oh, have mercy.” I didn’t think he even knew what he was saying, or how much he was scaring the guards who lacked his vantage. “Look at them all, the land’s dark with them.”

“Shut it,” Longshot bellowed.

The sentry complied.

I listened along with the rest of the men while the elder barked orders. “We’re spread too thin, too few men for too many wagons. But I want you sons of Adam to fight like you never fought before. Drive ’em off. Protect these wagons at all costs. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” came the terrified response.

I took my assigned position, knives at the ready. The best riflemen would trail behind, picking off as many as they could before the first wave hit us. Growers, who had been unlucky enough to be sent out on this last, fateful day, ran for the gates. My heart in my throat, I watched Tegan go. She wasn’t fast, but the head grower was helping her. Gladness spiked through me. If they moved quick enough, then I didn’t have to worry about protecting them too. It was some distance, but I hoped they didn’t run into trouble, no random patrols lurking out of sight.

The crack of rifles made me spin, backing as we went. From behind us charged the first onslaught, and there were so many. So many. A chill spread over me. We can’t win this one. We can’t.

Not with that attitude. I trained you better. Part of me wanted to look for Silk, but the rational self knew she wasn’t here. She was just an echo of my Huntress half, spurring me on when courage might fail me.

The drivers lashed the leads tethering the mules to the wagons, urging more speed. Freaks fell with bloody gullets, as Longshot had taught the guards to aim for the biggest part of their bodies. No fancy shooting, he’d said. Just drop ’em. Sometimes he reminded me of Silk; only he was a whole lot nicer.

I had Miles’s rifle, so I drew it. This weapon would never be my favorite, but I did my share, firing again and again, then reloading with shaking hands. The recoil hurt. I fought on. Five, six, seven, I killed—and the other guards did likewise—but the horde appeared to be endless. Freaks spilled toward us in a hungry wave; the wagons trundled on toward the walls. If we held the monsters long enough, if we could—and if the growers weren’t hit from the other side—then our people might make it.

Even if it costs us everything.

I was happy Longshot had sent Fade and Stalker to safety. Tegan had gone as well. Therefore, I had nobody in particular to worry about. Fear slipped away. Utterly calm, I centered myself. No pain. No distraction.

Just buy some time. Slow them down.

“I knew it would come to this,” a guard said. He gazed skyward and then took his last shot.

Too soon, the vanguard reached us. I tossed down my rifle and drew my knives. Like death itself, I spun and slashed, whirling, dodging, blocking. Men fell around me, but I had been practicing for this moment from the first time I understood what a Freak was. Four of them attacked me, but they lacked my training. Their claws and teeth couldn’t compensate entirely. Numbers would, in time.

But I’d take as many with me as I could.

Two died swiftly beneath my blades, their entrails spilling in a pile at their feet, slicking the ground. The other two learned caution, and feinted at me, snarling, growling. The Freaks lost a little ground, as they still weren’t disciplined creatures—and some fell prey to the temptation to feed on the dead instead of fight. I noticed they weren’t eating one another, as the others, the weaker ones, had done down below.

Two more came, and they encircled me. I blocked four strikes, but the fifth landed. I stabbed the slashing hand, and the Freak hauled back, screaming its pain. Its murky, almost-human eyes glared at me from within the monstrous face.

“Did you think I’d just let you eat me?” I demanded.

“Eat me,” it growled.

I almost dropped my knives. Just a mindless echo. Not real speech. Right? Just in time, I recovered, stabbed the Freak through the neck. I took another with a spinning slash that Stalker had taught me. Another kill. Another. My arms were tiring, and I took two wounds in quick succession. Claws, not bites. Cleaner.

How much longer? I watched a man die in agony, screaming for his wife.

“The wagons are clear,” a boy shouted from behind me, a valiant messenger from Salvation come to tell us we had been brave enough for long enough.

“Fall back!” Longshot called.

The feeding Freaks raised their heads from our fallen dead, yellow fangs dripping blood, and watched us break. Some gave chase. Longshot held his ground, covering our retreat with fierce determination. He clutched Old Girl like she was the only woman he’d ever loved, and fired. Again. Again. I looked back to see he still wasn’t moving. Holding his ground as he fought for us.

“No!” I shouted. Turned. “No!”

“Go on, Deuce.” Longshot touched his fingers to his brow in a final salute and then pumped his weapon. Another Freak died. He was backing up slowly, giving them reason to fear him. He could make it if he would just run.

Come on, don’t do this. I need you alive.

I took two steps in the wrong direction, and I’d have gone back, if some guard hadn’t grabbed me. He half lifted me and ran. I beat at him as the Freaks overwhelmed Longshot, the man who had saved my life, all those months ago. The outpost commander went down firing under their combined weight.

The guard dragged me, still screaming, toward Salvation, toward safety. Toward the guilt of surviving when Longshot had not. Finally, the watchman slapped me, openhanded, and glared. “Don’t make his sacrifice worth nothing. He had a bad leg. He couldn’t have made it … they’d have taken him from behind, and he didn’t want to go out that way. Can’t you understand that?”

I could. I did. The Huntress in me respected his choice, but the girl wept endlessly inside, mourning the man who died a hero. I recalled standing on the wall with him, seeing him rub his knee. With bitter knowledge, I shut the tears away. Sometimes I had to be all Huntress or there was no surviving the pain. Someday I might let the girl cry for him, but not today.

“Let me go,” I demanded.

He took me at my word, and we ran together for the gates, open just enough for the survivors to slip inside. Of the twenty who had fought at the gate, four returned—the guard who grabbed me, two others … and me.

It seemed all too terribly familiar with the families waiting inside for word. Most broke down into sobs when they realized what a massacre it had been. Momma Oaks would be searching for me, frantic, her hand in Edmund’s. I couldn’t move. The area was a mess of wagons, mules, and weeping women and children. I scrubbed shaking hands over my face and sank down into a self-protective squat. My wounds didn’t matter since I didn’t care how badly I was hurt.

Longshot, I thought, and the name stabbed me. I hated him for being a hero.

Outside the walls, the Freaks feasted and prowled.

They weren’t going away this time.

Stalemate

Tegan found me first. Beneath my despair, relief stirred; I was so glad she’d made it back since I’d suggested she volunteer to help with the planting. If anything had happened to her, I couldn’t bear it. Eyes worried, she knelt in the dirt beside me, heedless of her skirt.

“Let’s get you to Doc’s office,” she said.

I shrugged. It seemed like a lot of trouble to get up.

Then she took a closer look at me. “You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” In more than one place, most likely. Because she seemed determined, I let her lever me up.

“Deuce!” Momma Oaks found us before we moved more than a few steps. Tegan fixed a stern look on her. “I’m taking her to my dad.”

I wondered if she’d noticed what she said and how Doc Tuttle felt about it. But he’d fought hard for her life and her leg, so maybe he was happy to have gained a daughter. His wife probably was too. In Salvation I’d learned that family ties didn’t always come from blood.

My foster mother went to hug me, and then stopped, hands on my shoulders. “Tegan’s right. You need medical attention. Edmund!”

He came up behind me and gently lifted me into his arms. I wouldn’t have guessed he had the strength, but in his shuffling way, he managed. My foster father delivered me to Doc Tuttle without mishap. On the way, my head went fuzzy, and my vision blurred around the edges.

“Another patient?” Doc Tuttle asked. “Damn those Muties. They’re keeping me busier than I like. Tegan, honey, get the soap and water and my instrument tray.” She murmured something that I didn’t catch, and he answered, “Yes, you can assist.”

I drifted off around the time Edmund laid me down on the exam table, and when next I woke, I lay in my own bed. Sitting up hurt more than I expected. Confused, I glanced beneath my nightgown and discovered four new scars, neatly stitched together. I’d been hurt worse than I realized.