Endurance (Razorland #1.5)

“If they find us, you’ll fight them off.” Her faith gave him confidence, and he touched the weapon beside him.

I can do this. I can.

As she shifted to pull a blanket out of her pack, her bad foot turned beneath her, and she cried out. Without thinking, he reached for her like he would one of the brats. Her shoes were simple, likely crafted by her own hands, and she wore a brace on her malformed ankle. By torchlight, her expression showed uncertainty.

“Can I look at it?” Though he hadn’t been the enclave medicine man, he’d often treated small injuries, as the brats were prone to hurting themselves. And given Bonesaw’s lack of skill, his own efforts usually yielded better results anyway.

She ducked her head. “It’s ugly.”

Stone glanced at her in surprise. “Nothing about you could be.”

Her smile startled him, and his breath caught. For a moment, he forgot what he was supposed to be doing. He unfastened the straps and then slid her shoe off. This ankle didn’t look like a normal one, and her foot turned inward. She was also swollen from the walking. He didn’t ask permission; he just took her foot into his lap and went to work with his fingers. Every now and then she whimpered, but he didn’t think it was because of the pain. When they had to move again, it would be terrible, but maybe this would help a little. It was all he could do. Her little moans and sighs tangled inside him in the most powerful of longings, more than anything he’d ever felt while doing his duty for the enclave. It was all he could do not to pounce and cover her in kisses.

Eventually, she pulled back. “Thank you. It’s the first time anybody’s ever seen—” Her expression filled in the cruel words others had used. “Well, since I was born anyway. I kept it covered up in the dorm.”

“I remember,” he said quietly.

“It always meant a lot

when you stood up for me.”

“It did?”

He’d always tried to do it so she didn’t hear what the other brats said. Most often a threat worked, but sometimes he’d smacked the others in the head when he had to, so they’d shut up. There had been one boy in particular who delighted in tormenting her; he was dead now, like most of the enclave. Terrifying thought.

“Yeah. I’m glad we made it this far together.”

Her words warmed him, and he reached for her hand. “Me too.”

Delicate, callused fingers laced through his. He marveled at what she could do with this hand that looked so dainty. These clever fingers had built the traps that saved their lives. To his delight, Thimble didn’t pull back, and the warmth comforted him.

She extinguished the torch with a handful of white powder. They could have used two hands to get ready for bed, but instead they managed, one-handed, to spread their blankets and lie down.

They fell asleep that way.

Chapter 9

Thimble awoke to snuffling growls and muffled thumps beyond the door. Her heart thudded in her ears. No telling how many Freaks were out there, but they knew they’d trapped their prey. She felt sure she could outsmart them again, but escape would involve fighting as well. She leaned over to wake Stone, but he was already alert.

So was Boy23. Judging by the food smeared on his face, Stone had managed to get some mushroom paste into him. She’d worried about what the brat would eat, as he didn’t even have all his teeth. They could chew meat for him, of course, but he needed milk, too, and she wasn’t a Breeder.

But they had more pressing worries at the moment.

“We need a plan,” she whispered in his ear.

He didn’t move, just listened while she outlined her strategy. After a curt nod, he leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek as he had once before. Because this moment might never come again and because she wanted no regrets later, she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his face to hers. It was a blind kiss, born of silent, hopeless longing.

His breath caught, and then he kissed her back, properly, because he knew how—of course he did—and she would’ve hated the why of it, except that his mouth was hot and fierce and sweet as clean water. She touched her mouth with wondering fingers as he pushed to his feet. In accordance with the master plan, she wedged herself at the back of the small room with Boy23 in her arms, out of range of Freak fangs, out of range of his weapon, even on the backswing.

His breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the confined space; she could hear his fear as clearly as the claws scrabbling against the metal. The door handle rattled. Beyond, the banging increased; they must be able to hear movement. Good ears, then. Probably good noses as well.

You can do it, she told Stone silently, and as if in response to her urging, he took his position, then unlocked and flung open the door. She couldn’t see how many there were, but he killed one cleanly, as if he had been practicing the movements in his head. Just as he’d said the night before: pierce, pull, pierce. His motions were economical, and he went for eyes and throats. Not fancy, as he’d said, but effective. Once Stone blinded them by slashing sideways across their faces, they frenzied, turning on one another in howling rage—and because they couldn’t see what they were attacking. Then he killed them out of mercy, not fear, no rage in his motions, but instead with an awful tenderness, as if these were creatures worthy of his pity. At the back of the pack, one Freak turned and ran, as if it sensed there was something different about its prey.

That behavior puzzled her. Thimble had never heard of self-preservation in a Freak before. Stone took a step.

“Let it go,” she said.

They couldn’t permit themselves to be drawn into a trap. But the change in behavior worried her. A Freak who displayed such intelligence constituted an enormous threat, as it invalidated everything the enclave believed about the monsters. It also meant the creature was capable of more than blind hunger; the thing might even be planning for their next encounter. A chill ran down Thimble’s back and she clutched Boy23 close.

Fetid blood spattered the broken stones; she smelled it, rotten, like bad meat, but also sweet and metallic. Until this nightmare started, her world had been comprised of things, not actions, except for those that created things. She longed for the safety of her workshop, but it was no more. Now she must find another way to live.

At least I’m not alone.

Thimble pulled herself upright using the shelves, breathing through her mouth to block the stench of their putrid blood. Next to her Boy23 chattered; rest and food had cheered him considerably. With chubby fists, he pulled at her hair. Such a dear pain. The pile of corpses stood nearly to her knees outside the doorway, and before them, Stone—with her weapon in his hand. The elders would have said he was too dumb to survive such a catastrophe, and she too weak, but they’d proven them wrong. Together, they were whole. Together, they had a chance.

He reached across the carnage to take his offspring. Even though she had no claim to him, Boy23 felt like her brat too.

“It’s safe,” he said. “And you were right. Using the threshold to keep them from surrounding me? Genius.”

“You’re big enough to block the doorway. It was a good guess.”

“You knew it would work.”

“I hoped.” She’d watched the Hunters train more than once, because that had been her friend Deuce’s favorite pastime. During those sparring matches, Thimble often predicted the winner from analyzing fighting styles. Sometimes she’d plan counter strategies in her head.

“Bah,” Boy23 babbled, waving his arms in the air. “Bah bah bah. Bah!”

A single step sent anguish shooting up toward her knee. The long hike the day before had taken its toll. Exhaling a staccato breath, she knelt to fasten her brace, though her ankle was nearly too swollen for her to secure the straps. Determined, she ignored the pain and tightened them further.

I won’t slow him down. He needs me. I have to be strong for Stone and Boy23.

He slung his pack over his shoulder, and then hers, before she could protest. Then she decided not to make an issue of it. He was stronger; she was smarter. If they played to their strengths, they would make it. So better not to insist when it would be all she could do to keep moving her own weight forward, let alone her share of the supplies. Stone set his weapon against the wall as Thimble moved toward the doorway. Without asking permission, he wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all. He spun her out of the closet and into the tunnel with the sheer physical power that had made him a popular Breeder.

“I don’t want you stumbling over those,” he said softly.

Ah. The corpses in the dark. She was just clumsy enough to do it, too, and wind up face-first in reeking blood. Then her stink would draw all Freaks within sniffing distance. Best not to test her luck. But she also luxuriated in his strength; the arm curled around her felt sure and safe.

Too soon, he let her go. It took the pleasurable chills much longer to die away, and at least good feelings distracted from the steady throb of her weak foot. Crippled. Malformed. Flawed. Once, she’d overheard the Wordkeeper discussing her with Whitewall. It had been just before her naming ceremony, and she’d been so excited that she had sneaked up on them during a private meeting to discuss her prospects. She’d never forgotten his words.

“I think she’s worth her keep,” the elder had said. “Our predecessors chose well.”

The Wordkeeper had nodded. “Her deformity doesn’t affect her hands, so she’s able to work. Useless as anything but a Builder, of course.”

“At least she shows aptitude and desire,” Whitewall had said.

“Unlike most brats. Do you think she knows how close she came to being Freak food?”

She hadn’t, until that moment. Thimble crept away, cold with terror and shame. In silence, she wept with her knuckles jammed against her teeth. Thereafter, the scene of her birth haunted her. She could see it in her mind’s eye, as if she’d been watching, gazing down on the squalling little red-faced thing. The elder who ruled before would have studied her foot, turning it this way, and that. She saw the discussion that took place, an argument, really, and then someone with a modicum of kindness prevailed. They decided not to leave her out in the tunnels to die.

Which made it so ironic that her life had come to this.

Chapter 10

You’re such a Breeder.

Though they had countless other things to worry about, Stone kept thinking about that kiss. He wanted to ask her about it, but if he read too much into it, she might feel awkward, given they only had each other now. I shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t allowed to lie down with Thimble and touch her as he had others.

But those rules don’t exist anymore.

And she made it more. She made it better. Sometimes, in breeding, there was kissing, but with her, his whole body caught fire. A tremor ran through him, just remembering her soft lips.

So he kept thinking. The days passed in endless monotony. Tunnels led off in so many directions that he had no clue where they were anymore. To rest, they found small spaces they could block off in some fashion, and then they continued, though what they were looking for, he had no idea.

Sometimes he fought. It was easier than he’d imagined it would be. He smelled them long before he saw them, giving him a chance to give Boy23 to Thimble. The Freaks weren’t as big as he was. They were thin and wretched things with wild eyes and keening voices. Stone often thought they sounded sad. And why not? Who wants to be a Freak?

This time, four came at him with ferocious growls. Thimble fell back with the brat in her arms, giving him room. She never doubted. Never panicked. While he worried that her trust might be misplaced, he didn’t falter. He went for soft spots, away from the bone. In through the eyes, the throat, up through the chin. He’d learned so fast, the best ways to kill these things, and it sickened him.