Outpost

“Yes, dear, but you’ve been eating my food for years. You’re not surprised by it anymore.”

“That’s true,” he allowed. “I’d only be startled if it wasn’t wonderful.”

The older woman smiled. “You see, that’s why I married him. He’s such a smooth talker.”

Tegan and I both laughed softly at their silliness, but it cast a warm glow over the meal that didn’t fade even through the washing up. Once we finished eating, I picked up the games we’d left in the sitting room, and then I took a lamp, pausing to glance back at my foster parents. It was moments like these that made everything else worthwhile. Bad dreams and worse memories couldn’t touch me now. I felt safe, but it was frightening too, because I had something lovely to lose. A nervous shiver rolled through me.

“We’ll go up now, if you don’t mind,” I murmured.

“Of course not,” Momma Oaks said. “You girls have a good gossip.”

Tegan’s tread behind me sounded uneven on the stairs. I led the way into my bedroom, set the lamp on my dresser, and closed the door. Then I made sure my window was latched and pulled the curtain. Since I didn’t intend on going out again, I put on my nightgown and Tegan did the same. The two of us curled up on my bed, facing each other, legs crossed.

I spoke first. “How’s your leg?”

She pulled up her nightdress and showed me the scar, cutting livid purple across her thigh. There were three dark dots beneath it; I studied those with curiosity.

“It looks better, right?” she asked.

“What happened there?” I indicated the marks beneath the initial wound.

“I don’t remember Doc doing that, but I was out of my head with fever. Apparently he had to drain the wound, and since it was cauterized, he had to make three small incisions to let out the purulent fluid.”

“Purulent?” I repeated.

“Infected.”

“Did it hurt a lot?”

Tegan shrugged. “Probably. I don’t remember much of the first week, though I know you stayed with me as much as they let you.”

“How did he cure your fever?”

“He used a tea made of peppermint, yarrow, feverfew, and lemon balm. Nasty-tasting stuff.”

I guessed those were the names of plants. “But it worked.”

She grinned. “So it did. Doc was really relieved when I got well enough to complain about drinking it.”

“What do you call your foster parents?” I wondered aloud.

“Don’t laugh. But in private I call them Ma Jane and Papa Doc.”

Tegan wouldn’t wish to talk about her time with the Wolves, but I was curious about her. “What was your life before?”

“Before … the gang took me?” she asked carefully.

I nodded. “I remember my dam, but I don’t know who my sire was. I just wondered what it was like for you.”

She leaned back against the wall, her expression pensive. “When I was small, there were twenty of us. Four or five families.”

“Where did you live? In the ruins?”

Tegan rubbed her eyes, as if they itched with tears, but when she took her hand away, they were dry. “In the university science lab. It was a good place to scavenge, central, and the building had lots of useful stuff. We grew our own plants for a while, just outside, on the lawn. There were all kinds of seeds.”

“The gangs didn’t bother you?”

“Not when there were more of us. I was pretty happy,” she added softly. “I had my mom and dad, other kids to play with.”

“What was life like?”

“We grew food. Prepared it. I helped in the gardens, mostly.”

“You were a grower, then.” It explained why the gangs found no use for her apart from breeding. They didn’t plant things in the ground and wait for them to sprout; they scavenged and hunted to survive. “Why don’t you volunteer for the summer harvest? I bet they could use you in the fields.”

Tegan tilted her head in consideration. “I might, if it’s slow for Doc. There’s generally less sickness during warm weather.”

I already knew how her happy life came to an end. People in their small colony got sick and died off, one by one. She lost her dad first, and eventually, it was just Tegan and her mom, running from the gangs instead of living safe and happy in the university science building. There was no need to make her relive that.

Yet I had other questions. “Do you ever wonder why some people take ill and die and others get well?”

“Yes,” she replied fiercely. “And why some people never get sick at all. It seems there must be a system to it, but I don’t know what that is. Neither does Doc.”

“Frustrating.”

“That’s part of why I love working with him. I want to understand why the world works like it does.”

“I hope you can figure it out,” I told her.

“Me too.”

That seemed to be my cue to turn down the covers. I dimmed the lamp, but not all the way, and then I got in bed. Tegan climbed in after me. As I’d told her, the bed was big enough that we shouldn’t bother each other. It seemed miraculous that we didn’t have to hunt our breakfast; someone would cook it for us when we woke up.

“You know the Oakses have a son who never comes to see them?” I spoke into the dark, rolling on my side to face her.

“Why not?”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure. They had a falling-out, but I don’t know what it was about.”

“That’s too bad,” Tegan said softly. “I’d give anything to see my parents again. I miss them so much.”

“I know.”

I hugged her in the dark but she didn’t weep. This was a loss grown old and dull, like a knife left out in the rain. But Tegan returned the hug with full strength, and it made me feel important, worthy of her friendship even if I didn’t come from perfect people. I’d bet none of her new friends received such confidences.

“Do you miss anyone from the enclave?” she asked eventually.

“My brat-mates, Thimble and Stone.”

Tegan propped herself on one elbow, curious. “What’s a brat-mate?”

“Someone who’s raised up in the dorm, the same time as you. Brats often bond into packs of three or four and stay close, even after the oldest ones are grown and earn their names.”

“Your brat-mates were older than you?” she guessed.

I nodded. “They left me behind … and it was awful. Lonely.” I realized then that I’d never told her the whole story. So much of our time and energy while we traveled had been devoted to survival.

“Then you had to leave them for good.”

In a rush I explained things to her fully—the rules about hoarding, the blind brat, how the elders treated Fade, Banner’s alleged suicide, and how the headman routinely sent people on the long walk to put fear into the enclave’s heart, which led to Stone being accused of a crime he didn’t commit. By the time I finished, I had a knot in my chest, and Tegan’s hand rested on my hair, not petting, just making contact, like she knew it was all about to overwhelm me. I hadn’t grasped that it still hurt so much, but the ache lessened as I fell quiet. Sharing helped.

“So that’s why you left. That sounds pretty horrible, Deuce.”

“It was,” I said softly. “I just didn’t realize that while it was going on.”

She sighed. “Because you weren’t raised to know better.”

A verbal reply was beyond me. So I nodded.

“In the ruins when you told me to give Stalker a clean slate, I hated you for it. But I think … I finally understand. Maybe he didn’t see that he was doing wrong, until later. Maybe he knows now. I’ll … try to judge him according to his actions.”

“I don’t care if you ever forgive Stalker,” I said quietly. “That’s between the two of you.”

“Thank you for that. Thanks for being my friend.” It was good knowing I had the power to comfort her too.

I hugged her words close to my heart as I fell asleep.

Disaster

A week after the party, I convened at the barracks before dawn along with the rest of the summer patrol. The days were warming up, and the light lasted longer; but for now, Longshot hoped to convey the planters safely to the fields under the cover of darkness. There had been a few runs at the walls over the past two weeks, but nothing like the numbers when we’d stepped outside. These recent strikes felt more like the Freaks were testing our resolve than really trying to get inside the town.

Or maybe they hoped we’d run out of ammo. But Salvation had been making its own gunpowder for ages, and the smith who worked with Stalker knew how to make bullets for the rifles, so it wasn’t likely that would ever happen.

Unless they got smart enough to attack the trade caravans that left for the other settlements in the fall. I forced that thought aside. Even if they were no longer creatures of pure instinct, as they had been, Freaks couldn’t be that crafty.

Longshot held the opinion that we’d decimated their population, and the rest of the season should pass uneventfully. I had seen too many shifts in Freak behavior to put my faith in that rationale, but I didn’t contradict our leader. He had more years of experience in this particular war, so I contented myself with following orders. That had been my lot down below too, and at least Longshot appeared to have a good head on his shoulders.

That wouldn’t stop me from keeping my weapons ready, however.

Fade greeted me by quietly taking my hand. Though I wasn’t comfortable with open affection, I didn’t pull back, and my forbearance paid off when he smiled in delight. I’d never get enough of his smiles, as I hadn’t seen many of them. Down below, he was known for his intense personal reserve and brooding air.

Stalker strode past us without a glance in greeting, joining the older guards, who seemed to like him well enough. I managed not to follow him with my eyes, but I heard his words in my head. He won’t make you happy, dove. He’s soft in ways you and I aren’t. Ultimately, you’re going to break him.

I won’t, I told myself. I, too, was softer than a Huntress ought to be. I’d proven it time and again, so that made me a perfect match for Fade. Didn’t it?

Pushing those doubts aside, I fell into formation as the party moved toward the gate. There were no wagons this time, just the planters walking inside our line for protection; they carried the tools of their trade: shovels, spades, hoes, and buckets for ferrying water from the lake that lay beyond the fields. In the past weeks, it hadn’t rained as much as the seedlings required, so in addition to weeding, we’d also be irrigating the fields to make sure there was food for the winter. Those were new words to me—“weeding” and “irrigation”—but I gleaned their meanings from the context.

The group shared a tense and sober mood … and after what happened last time we left the walls, I understood why. I slid my knives free from their thigh sheaths, attracting a glance from Fade. Then he nodded, acknowledging my instincts. With a shake of his head, he told me he disagreed with Longshot; the trouble wasn’t over.