I covered the distance to the blind where Stalker waited in a much shorter time than it took me initially. Straggling monsters gave chase, but it was a starless night, I smelled like a Freak, and other prey confused their senses. We needed to put some distance between the horde and us. If they found us later, a few at a time, we could fight in retreat, as necessary.
“You did it,” Stalker whispered by way of greeting.
Circling my hand in the air in a gesture that meant we’d talk later, I grabbed my gear. Stalker pushed upright; his knee had stiffened while he waited, and he muffled a sound of pain. Fade stood quiet, ominously so, but it wasn’t smart to linger. I heard sounds of pursuit; it wouldn’t take them long to figure out why my scent was confusing—and that other Freaks hadn’t already captured us.
The boys followed me, and I set the pace according to our injuries. Fade’s legs worked, but his ribs pained him, and Stalker limped even with the stick for support. As we moved, I listened to the distant growls and screams behind us. Normally I wouldn’t travel at night, in case we got lost, but necessity trumped caution. I made it to the forest’s edge before Stalker stumbled, his knee giving despite the wrapping.
Through gritted teeth, he admitted, “That’s it for me.”
Little as I liked it, we had to make camp. My eyes felt as though someone had rubbed hot coals in them, and exhaustion set into my muscles, leaving them sore. Even so, I was better off than the boys.
But Fade wouldn’t let me touch him. When I stepped close to look at his bruises, he recoiled. It wasn’t just a rejection; it was soul deep, vehement, reflexive.
“Don’t,” he rasped.
I hunched my shoulders. “Sorry.”
This wasn’t how I’d imagined it would go. He’s injured, I told myself. Head to toe. And you smell just like the Freaks that hurt him. Give him time. After he’s rested and you get a bath, it’ll be all right. Fighting sadness, I backed off and handed him Miles’s blanket; it stunk, but should be better than nothing. He took it without a word, and I wished I could read his face. But between the dark and the swelling, he might as well be a stranger.
Fade wrapped up, but he didn’t lie down. Instead he propped himself against a tree. “First watch,” he muttered.
Stalker said, “I’ll take next. Wake me in three.”
“That leaves me on third. Do you still have your dad’s timepiece?” I asked.
In answer, he flashed his wrist, and the faintly glowing hands showed in the dark. I had one more question. “Do you want my knives?”
“Please,” he said, his voice rusty with hurt.
Without fanfare, I handed them over. Then I offered my water skin, refilled at the lake. He drank deep and handed it back. He nodded at me in thanks, and then his eyes skittered away, like it pained him to see me. No more talking, then. I trusted the boys to wake me if trouble found us, not only because I was the most fit. After the day’s terror and stress, I passed out as soon as I went horizontal.
I woke to a stabbing pain and rolled sideways from sheer instinct. When I opened my eyes, I saw Stalker with stick in hand, but Fade was handling the Freak that almost disemboweled me. It had clawed me through the brush; fortunately, the thing was alone, and Fade fought as I’d never seen before, devoid of his usual elegance. His injuries probably accounted for some of that, as his movements were mechanical, like the toy men they sold at the mercantile. You wound them up and they moved their arms and legs, but there was nothing inside. He used my knives with calm, dead proficiency, and he killed. Efficiently. Silently. The Freak fell.
“We can’t stay.” Stalker’s frustration showed in the low growl. Pushing his wrenched knee might cripple him, but we had to move.
One Freak corpse in the vicinity would draw others. Though Fade hadn’t slept, he said not a word. He just shouldered Miles’s belongings, handed me back my knives, which I strapped to my thighs, and moved off in the dark.
It’s like he’s here, I thought, but not really.
Reeling with weariness, I grabbed my things and followed Fade. At night, his eyesight wasn’t as good as mine, but I’d speak up if he was heading off course. I had a general sense of where the outpost lay from here.
The remainder of the night, we walked without rest. By the dawn, I had to lend my shoulder in addition to the stick, or Stalker couldn’t have continued. Yet he held his tongue, the same as Fade, and their stoicism wore until I wanted to scream. I wasn’t used to this kind of weighty silence. It felt like everything had changed out there—in ways I couldn’t comprehend yet.
By the angle of the sun, it was past noon when the watchtower came into view. The sentry on duty fired in the air, letting the others know he saw us coming. Guards swarmed down the hill and, under Longshot’s orders, formed up a litter of joined arms for Stalker. The fact that he didn’t protest being carried back to camp told me he hurt fiercely. Fade followed, shaking his head at all offers of help.
In the light of day I could hardly bear to look at him. He’d suffered so much, and yet he stood determinedly upright, shoulders back, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. But before I could tend to Fade, I had to talk to Longshot.
The older man escorted us back to the outpost, shaking his head in wonderment. “You made it back. What happened out there?”
“I’ll tell it once,” Fade said quietly. “Not here. In private.”
Well, as close as we could manage, anyway. At the outpost, there were no walls to hide behind, except the ones in his night eyes.
As he led the way toward his tent, Longshot asked, “Where are the others?”
“Freaks got Ellis,” I answered. “I killed Miles for attacking me.”