The Wounded (The Woodlands Series) Read online

  The realization came coupled with a bleeding graze on my hand, drawing my eyes back to the black rocks. I followed the way they scattered and built, collecting stature as they went. I smiled slowly. The beginnings of the black, craggy cliffs were to my right. We were close.

  I cupped my hand to my mouth and yelled out carelessly for Careen.

  She turned, whip-like, knowing instinctively what I was shouting about. I pulled myself up and started running, leaving the men behind.

  Careen grabbed my hand and we ran along the base of the cliffs, snatching looks upwards, searching for holes, signs. It suddenly felt like minutes were important, that if we didn’t sprint, somehow Pietre would be out of time.

  My mind felt giddy. How long had it been since I knocked Pietre out and ran for the wall? Two days maybe? It wasn’t long, but he was injured and unconscious and… I picked up the pace, grabbing at the sun-warmed rocks and levering myself forward. We scrambled over and around, pushing out when they were too high. Pelo and Rash wound their way behind us, picking carefully over our plough marks of snapped branches and dug-up dirt.

  As we headed around the biggest outcrop, I knew we were nearly there. I could feel it. I stopped abruptly for a breath and to steel myself, inadvertently yanking Careen backwards. I noticed Rash and Pelo had disappeared from sight. I stood, panting, searching for their clambering bodies, waiting, my eyes straining, my body wanting to propel forward. Where were they?

  I felt a burrowing panic with every breath. Clenching my fists, I cursed myself for letting him fall behind. How could I let him go when I’d only just found him?

  Careen tugged at my shirt anxiously, her eyes brimming with tears. A breeze tickled the back of my neck, and I shivered as it swept across my sweaty skin. It swirled along the ground and disturbed the bushes enough for me to see the two men shoving their way through the underbrush. I drew in a deep breath, relieved, and then spluttered.

  A heavy, rotten smell knocked at our noses. The smell of death.

  Careen surged forward suddenly. I caught her arm, jerking her back. She turned to face me, her eyes wet, her cheeks flushed and tight. “Let go of me, Rosa,” she said, shaking her arms half-heartedly. She was scared. We both were. Going forward meant finding the origin of that smell.

  It’s not him, I told myself.

  I shook my head, feeling my stomach turning and twisting at what I was about to volunteer to do. I’d seen Joseph die in front me. It was an image that I’d never shake free of. If I could spare Careen that, I would.

  I stood on my tiptoes to look Careen in the eyes and summoned my best fake courage. “I’ll go first.”

  She managed a tiny nod, turning her back to me. “Two minutes,” she muttered weakly to the tree trunk she was facing, looking like the tip of a match against the pale timber. “Then I’m coming after you.”

  Rash stumbled forward and hooked his arm in the crook of my elbow. I froze, remembering Clara. It added layers to my courage. I couldn’t lose anyone else. I didn’t care how irritating Pietre was. I let my hand fall from my hip and held on tightly to Rash’s cool hand.

  *****

  We moved forward, hesitantly. I grimaced, opened my mouth to speak, and gagged at the foul air that entered. It was so dense I could almost see it wafting past my face. A sickly green color, unmistakably rotting flesh. I pictured what I might find through the trees, as the breeze seemed to tunnel the swamp-thick stench directly towards us. I disliked Pietre, but I didn’t want to find his remains sprawled across the mud, torn to pieces.

  Why didn’t he just stay in the cave? I knew why… because he was a stubborn bastard.

  We dragged our feet, taking our time, but then I heard Careen shout that she was coming in thirty seconds, so we plowed through the curtain of smell, our shirts pulled across our faces, which did absolutely nothing. We got to a point where the smell was so bad that the source had to be close. I pulled the shirt down and breathed in carefully, immediately doubling over and vomiting water and bile. Rash took one look at me and hurled the contents of his stomach at the base of a tree.

  It didn’t make any sense. The smell was at its strongest where I stood, but I couldn’t see a body. I swallowed hard as I thought maybe the police had killed Pietre and buried him, but then surely the smell wouldn’t be this pungent. I scratched at the dirt with a stick, searching half-heartedly for evidence of a grave, when a flurry above my head caught my attention. Strands of hair waved over my nose like a small breeze had come out of nowhere, just to push more stink in my face. I ran my hands over my scalp, pulling my hair back, and then something wet splashed onto my hand.

  I inspected it and had to hold my mouth with my other hand to stop from vomiting again. It was blackish green, viscous, and I have never smelled anything as putrid in all my life.

  A flutter and a caw drew my eyes to the sky. There, dangling from the branches like some grotesque puppet, was the deer Careen had killed, or at least parts of it. The one she had cut up and thrown into the tree to distract the wolves. We were surrounded by a circle of decomposing chunks of animal, and its head was dangling above me. It stared at me with rotted eyes, half its stomach pouring down the trunk. A black crow pecked at its middle. I stumbled backwards into Rash’s chest, heaving. Panicking.

  “Get it down. Get it down now,” I said, my voice a thin, hoarse whisper. “Oh God.” I turned, my stomach heaving again, but nothing came out. Rash pulled my hair back from my face and held me for a moment.

  Careen came bounding towards us just as Rash poked the carcass with a stick, and it fell in a sloshy heap at the foot of the tree. Her face flooded with relief. Pelo was right behind her.

  This was where we had started. This meant we had to be directly in front of the cave.

  I broke off a few pine branches still heavy with needles and laid them over the deer’s torso. Pelo patted me on the back and did the same. “Life given and life taken,” he muttered. I rolled my eyes at him, wondering how I could be related to someone so weird.

  *****

  In the light of day, free of slamming winds and snow, the cliff should have looked less imposing, more manageable. It didn’t. When I looked at it now, I thought maybe we flew up there the night we dragged an unconscious Pietre into the cave. It seemed just as likely. I grabbed Careen around the waist and pulled her close to me. She giggled. “Can you believe it?” I asked, my eyes tracking up and down the black mass.

  “No, I really can’t. It’s a lot blacker than I remember. But then it was dark,” she said. Rash raised his eyebrows at her nonsensical statement. I laughed shortly, cut off by the sound of shuffling and moaning coming from the cave entrance.

  Pietre’s face appeared, framed by shadow. Squinting into the light, he slid on his belly like a snake towards the edge, his face green and ghostly.

  Rash expelled a complicated series of swear words before scrambling up the cliff. When he got to the top, he dragged the soldier’s weak body up to lean against the wall before Pietre fell over the precipice like a blob of snow. He looked thinner, greener, sweatier and, if it was possible, angrier. But he was alive. He drew his hand back mechanically, his purplish swollen face set in a menacing grin.

  Poor Rash, the whir of the stunner warming up was not warning enough, and he was propelled into the opposite wall before anyone could do a thing.

  It took us a moment to react before scratching our way up the cliff, copying Rash’s adept moves. Careen reached the top first, breathless but happy, and Pietre’s eyes softened when he saw her. They collapsed together in an awkward embrace, Careen straddling Pietre to avoid his leg.

  Rash lay crumpled against the cave wall, his eyes closed, his mouth pursed in pain. I shook him, but he didn’t wake. I turned to glare at Pietre. “He was trying to help you.”

  Pietre ignored me and returned to Careen. “Did you complete the mission?” he asked, kissing her in between each word.

  Pelo stepped forward, and Pietre shrugged Careen off like an itchy blanket. He loo
ked Pelo up and down, extending his hand in greeting. “You’re the Spider?”

  “Yes,” Pelo answered, as he shook Pietre’s hand enthusiastically. Pietre narrowed his eyes and looked to Careen, who was now sitting cross-legged next to him, with a strange mixture of annoyance and relief creeping over her perfect features.

  “This is Lenos Bianca,” she said. Pietre raised his eyebrow at the last name, but said nothing.

  “And your mother?” Pietre asked, shifting his leg and turning a deeper shade of green.

  I turned from Rash, color creeping into my cheeks under Pelo’s unwavering stare. “She couldn’t come,” Careen answered for me. I waited for the taunting to begin, but Pietre let the issue slide, for now.

  Rash’s dark lashes fluttered. I grabbed a bottle of water, lifting it to his lips. He sipped and spluttered. “Whoa!” he said, chuckling. “What a ride.” I smiled and marveled at his resilience. He wiped his hands on his pants and extended his hand towards Pietre, introducing himself as a flash-fried Indian. I grinned, and Pietre scowled.

  “What day is it?” Pietre asked, ignoring my giggles and Rash’s beaming grin.

  When we told him, his eyes rolled back and he hit his forehead, hard.

  So much cursing followed, even the trees were blushing.

  “You should have let me die,” Pietre said through clenched teeth.

  I wasn’t expecting gratitude, or much of anything, but this seemed extreme. “We have one day to get to the line. Otherwise, the others will be like sitting ducks waiting for us to arrive.” He pulled his broken leg up by the pants, bringing it closer to his good leg, making a pitiful squeaking noise as he dropped it down. “Now you will have to leave me, or you will never get to the Spinners in time.” He turned to Careen, whose lip quivered, her pale face blotched pink. Even looking as pathetic as she did, she was still stunning. Then Pietre did what I knew he would, he drew the knife from Careen’s thigh and placed it in her hand dramatically, patting it like it was a gift. She stared down at the blade, disbelieving. “I only ask that you end my suffering right here… don’t leave me to die a slow death of starvation.”

  Rash shook his head and stared at the ground. He didn’t understand. Everyone looked sorrowful. Heavy meaning dripped from their every move. Watching this, I had to hold my hand to my mouth. I was clinging to calm, but a laugh flipped out before I could stop it.

  “Ha!” I expelled. Pietre snapped his head to me and regretted the sudden movement, his body trembling in pain. His narrowed eyes only pushed me further over the edge, and I started heaving laughs of hysteria. Tears dripping from my face, I wiped them with my sleeve and rolled my eyes. I flicked my head towards Careen and said, “Just hold off on the stabbing for a few minutes, will you?”

  She pursed her lips, but sat back, the knife lying across her lap. I scrambled down the cliff and clomped towards a cluster of pines.

  *****

  In my mind, it was already formed. I drew the imaginary lines, drafted the dimensions, and started hacking away at the branches.

  A sharp tap on my shoulder startled me. “Can I help?”

  I wanted to say no. I wanted to say a lot of things that mostly involved swearing at and insulting Pelo, but time was not going to allow my rage. I nodded, with my back still turned. “Cut these branches to this length,” I said, pointing overhead to some skinny pines and using my arms to demonstrate the length. “Pile them here.”

  “Righto,” he said excitedly. He stood too near but I tolerated it, curling over my creation protectively, and attempting to work in silence.

  As I wound the nylon rope from my backpack to join the pieces together, I thought of Joseph, of Hessa, and, of course, Orry. I let their warmth wrap around me. I let the focus on building push out the focus within. Because inside I breathed in and out dread, thinking about whether Joseph was going to forgive me. I tightened and pulled, adjusted and streamlined, bringing my body in line, holding the anxiety in until I could do something with it.

  When I finished, Pelo clapped his hands. “Marvelous! Just perfect. Well done, my girl.”

  Ice glazed over those words, and I shrunk. I wasn’t his girl. Not anymore.

  *****

  Pietre protested. I knew he would. He cursed me and, although I had to argue that saving his life wasn’t a waste of time to get him onto the sled, I wasn’t really sure I believed it.

  We lowered him down the cliff with a rope under his arms, his body limp and useless, slamming against the cliffs, his mouth ejecting horrible moans of pain. Because that’s what he had decided to be, a useless creature whose only purpose was to make unpleasant noises.

  We laid him on the sled I’d made and re-splinted his leg. He slapped me away but he was weak, and I could easily overpower him. Pelo and Careen took the first turn of dragging him, and he bitched and moaned over every bump.

  We had to walk swiftly, but we didn’t have to run. Rash and I took the reader and scanned ahead. We were making good time and Pietre had gone quiet, which I should have taken as a warning.

  Five kilometers in, Rash and I heard a creak, crash, and a squeal from Careen. We ran back to them and found that Pietre had managed to flip the sled. I kneeled down and tried to lever him back in, but he was playing dead. His arms and were legs leaden, just the pure hatred radiating from his eyes gave away any signs of life.

  “Leave me,” he spat, a sheen of sweat filming his nasty expression. “I’m slowing you down.” I shook my head, and Rash helped me roll him back on. We took what little rope we had and tied him to the sled. It was humiliating, and I felt sick for doing it, but he wasn’t thinking straight.

  Something broke in his expression when I tightened the last knot to secure him. His face slipped down, and I saw a boy. A scared boy.

  I smoothed his hair from his face and he rolled into unconsciousness.

  *****

  After five hours of trekking, we stopped for a break. The light fell to dark, reflecting our mood. The promise of an icy night in the high, clear sky. We huddled in a semi-circle of rocks, eating and drinking from the supplies we had left in the cave. I volunteered to take first watch while the others slept. We were running on fumes. We had to rest.

  I propped myself up next to Pietre’s sleeping body and gripped the torch. As the sky veiled into night, I flicked it on, slicing through the misty air searching for floating eyes. Nothing. The woods were as quiet as death. It didn’t feel right.

  My eyelids were heavy. My eyes begged for respite. They flicked up and down like shutters, until they eventually gave up and closed. I slept.

  A hand clamped on my thigh like a pincer woke me suddenly. “You’re supposed to be on watch,” Pietre whispered harshly.

  I grabbed the reader. “How long was I out?” I asked, as I found the clock, sighing in relief when I saw I’d only been asleep for five minutes.

  “You can’t let them sleep too long. You have to get to the train line,” Pietre murmured softly, his hand still on my thigh. I shifted my leg and, when he didn’t move his hand, I used the torch to push it off like unwanted driftwood.

  “I know,” I snapped, irritated. We all knew what was at stake.

  Pietre turned his head to stare at me. His eyes shone like a wolf’s in the half-light. “You know I’ll never forgive you.” He snatched the torch from my hand and pulled his pant leg up, revealing a sharp lump the color of an eggplant, and almost the same size, protruding from his calf. Flesh was mangled around the lump, and a white splint of bone protruded from the wound. I gasped in horror before I could stop myself.

  “The healer,” I stuttered.

  “It’s too late for that. It’s infected. I’m going to lose my leg. You should have left me,” he said, “What good am I to anyone now?” A sob escaped his lips before he could cough to cover it up.

  I thought about comforting him, patting his shoulder and telling him he was still useful, drying his tears and holding him. It wouldn’t work. I would have to believe the comforting words to say t
hem and right now, he was as useless as he thought he was.

  I straightened my back and looked into his eyes. “I never thought of you as the self-pitying kind, Pietre. Get over yourself. You’re alive, and I’m not going to apologize for keeping you that way. If you’re as tough as you’ve always pretended to be, then losing a leg won’t slow you down.” I took a breath and sighed. “You can hate me. I don’t care. Aim all your insults and death stares my way. If it helps you get over this, then fine.”

  I crossed my arms, my heart beating fast, scared I had been too harsh. I looked down over the tip of my nose at him. His eyes softened a tiny bit, kind of like going from a diamond to a crystal, still pretty damn sharp.

  He sighed and nodded his head. “I still can’t forgive you,” he said lackadaisically.

  I stood up and threw him the torch, challenging him with my eyes. “You’re a Survivor, Pietre,” I said, “so… survive,” and I gave him the next watch.

  The light, plastic feel of the train beneath my fingertips was the most comforting sensation I’d had in weeks. I was going home. Home meant Orry and Joseph, and even if I didn’t know exactly where we stood, the idea of seeing them was too overpowering to be sensible about. I swept my hand over the doorway and found the pad to push to open the door, enjoying the oohs and ahs behind me as Rash and Pelo’s eyes widened in amazement.

  Rash exclaimed, “Wow! That’s freakin’ awesome.” I had to laugh.

  Pelo tipped his pointed chin at Rash and said, “See what a civilization can achieve when they’re not controlled, when their creativity, their ingenuity, is not suppressed and depressed until they’re nothing but mindless worker bees, servicing a queen they neither see nor believe in?”

  Was this how he spoke before? The thinnest waft of a memory got in my eyes. I swept it away. “Save it for the classroom, Mr. Bianca,” I said snarkily. He looked hurt for a second, but moved on to immersing himself in tactics and timing with Careen. How many people did we need to pick up and when? These were the things I’d barely paid attention to on the way over. I was too caught up in my self-inflicted misery over Joseph, and my apprehension towards facing my mother, that I’d let the others take responsibility for everything else.