Outpost (Razorland 2)

“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.

On my fourth circuit, two boys stood watching me, wearing identical mocking looks. They elbowed each other, bolstering each other’s nerves, and then ran after me. They chased me around the side of the building, and I stopped, willing to confront them. At school, they picked on people who were different; girls through cruel whispers and mocking laughter, boys through more direct means.

I faced them. “Do you need something?”

“That depends. Did Mrs. James find a cure for stupid?”

The first pushed the second toward me. “Careful, it might be contagious.”

“I heard you go to the bathroom standing up,” the bigger boy said.

An odd sound escaped his friend—a combination of a snort and a chortle—like he’d said something both wicked and hilarious. Their cheeks went pink too. I guess I was supposed to be shocked by the allegation. I stared at them until they started to shift on the balls of their feet.

“Why do you keep running around the school?” the small one demanded. “Are you simple?”

“She thinks something’s chasing her.”

I was tired of this, weary of ignorant brats judging me like I was the strange one. These two deserved a lesson in manners, but if I taught it to them, I’d be the one in trouble. Somehow I curbed my temper as someone came up behind me.

“That’s enough,” Fade said softly.

You won’t speak to me, but you’ll rescue me.

It made me angrier that his presence could drive them away whereas I had to prove myself with my fists. Again. I’d been sent to Momma Oaks twice for fighting with the admonition if I did it again, I’d be whipped. Yet I never bothered any of these brats. They were the ones who wouldn’t leave me alone … but try telling that to Mrs. James. She’d made up her mind that I was an instigator.

“Thanks.” I brushed past Fade, unable to look at his face without a wave of unwelcome confusion and yearning.

Before he could reply, if he meant to, Mrs. James came out to chivy us inside. Fortunately, the school year was almost over. I had no doubt the teacher would use that time to torment me in ways that would make Silk proud. It didn’t matter. I knew my own worth. A Huntress didn’t rely on a bunch of brats for her sense of self, but on that last day, as class let out, I ran my fingers over the scars beneath my sleeves, reassuring myself I hadn’t dreamed it. Salvation had saved me, but its protection came with restrictions. Its rules didn’t permit me to be myself. Yet I’d been part of a community that needed me once. Maybe I would be again.

Someday. Somehow.

Confidences

After school, I checked in with Momma Oaks, who was cooking when I arrived. The kitchen had lots of gleaming wood, pretty curtains with touches of lace, hooks that held her spoons and pots, and cupboards full of food. There was also a table with a couple of chairs, where she and I sat to talk about my day. At first I found that odd, but she was determined to be a good foster mother. Since I’d never had a mother at all, I didn’t know what to do with her attention. I suspected the truth would make her unhappy—that brats of all ages messed with me and that I hated school—so I always said:

“It was fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?” she repeated.

I had no idea what she expected from me. Did she truly want me to complain? That would earn me a slap down below. This felt like a test I kept failing, so I tried, “Mrs. James gets on me a lot.”

“Are you cutting up in class?”

What does that mean?

“I just don’t always pay attention, especially during history.”

Her brow creased. “It must seem boring after your adventures in Gotham.”

I nodded, addressing the bread and cheese she’d set out for me. Eating several times a day was my favorite thing about Salvation. I had breakfast, lunch, a snack, and then supper as well, and not just a few strings of meat or a mushroom cap, either. No wonder everyone looked so fit; it was a land of unimaginable plenty, and at mealtimes, I minded the rules much less.

“Well, not everyone’s meant to be a scholar,” she went on.

“Were you?” I asked.

Her answer surprised me. “I left at sixteen and married Edmund. I’m an excellent needlewoman and a fair cook, but I was never much for books.”

“Me either,” I muttered, pushing away from the worktable. “Do you mind if I visit Tegan?”

She smiled, apparently pleased that I wasn’t going to sit and stare with a surly face at a pile of mending. “Of course not, Deuce. Be back by supper, mind.”

At first, she’d questioned calling me Deuce, because it was nothing she’d heard for a girl before, but when I showed her the bloodstained card and explained its meaning, she stopped hinting I should pick something else. I toyed with the fragile card in my skirt pocket, a relic of the enclave and the naming ceremony where I got my scars.

“I will. Thank you.”

I went out the door at a run, heading for the doctor’s office. Tegan was in the surgery cleaning instruments when I arrived; she smiled but didn’t stop her work. Without speaking, I commenced washing up beside her. It wasn’t hard, but cleanliness was important, particularly in her foster father’s work. Once we finished, she turned to me.

“What brings you here?”

With a shrug, I answered, “I just wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“How you’re doing.” I might’ve put that more tactfully, but I felt responsible for her, since I’d rescued her and dragged her out of the ruins. I’d also put a weapon in her hand and she had been injured—almost died—because I hadn’t taken the time to train her properly. Swinging a club didn’t make her a Huntress.

“So you’re checking on me.” Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “That’s sweet.”

“Are the Tuttles looking out for you?”

“They’re great,” she said. “Helping Doc, I feel important, like I’m doing something that matters.”

“You are.” That wasn’t even a question in my mind.

“Rest easy. We found a good place. I’ll always be grateful to you for getting me away from the Wolves and out of the ruins.”

One thing I’d always wondered but there was never a chance to ask, so I said, “Tegan, did the Wolves mistreat all their females?”

It was possible, of course, that they had been stupid and savage and that they didn’t realize harming the mother could damage unborn offspring. Just because my people understood something, it didn’t mean the gangs knew it as well.