Frenzy (The Frenzy Series Book 1) (6 page)

Inside the door, I untied and stepped out of my muddy boots and climbed the wooden staircase. Mrs. Dillinger was a widow, stern but kind. Her hair was gray and she wore glasses with frames that were too big for her face. She explained about her arthritis, how it crippled most that it afflicted, but she swore that staying busy kept her hands from drawing up altogether. Her legs were another story.

The woman wore her wrinkles proudly, telling me that she had earned each and every one throughout her nearly eighty years on this earth. She’d lost all but one of her three children; one in an accident, and one to the Infected. Her youngest son lived in town with his wife. Their two children were married and lived in town, too. The amazing thing was that she didn’t let the losses weigh her down. Having one son left, she doled out all of her love and attention on him, his family, and their extended families. She had a legacy to be proud of.

Right to business, Mrs. Dillinger straightened in her chair and pushed herself up, hobbling toward a bed where a bolt of fabric was unrolled. “You did well hemming the men’s pants yesterday. I think you have potential. I’m going to show you how to measure someone for a dress and how to cut the pattern based on the woman’s measurements.”

“Okay.” I cringed, thinking of how badly I blundered yesterday. How this woman thought I had any potential at all was beyond me.

A white envelope with the picture of a dress like mine on the front was on the bed on top of the fabric. “You’re my guinea pig today, Porschia. Hold your arms out. I’ll measure you to show you how to measure someone else.”

With my arms stretched wide, she measured my bust, waist, and hips with a tape, scratching each number onto paper. She showed me how to use the guide on the back of the envelope and how to cut the fabric according to the delicate pattern. “This isn’t going to last much longer, is it?” I asked.

Mrs. Dillinger smiled. “Nothing lasts forever. And, to answer your question, no. The pattern is almost useless. But if I could teach someone else how to measure and cut, that person could learn from me and carry on without it.” With a meaningful glance aimed my way, she smiled. I was probably her last resort. She had no other apprentice.

Avoiding her eyes, I admitted, “I’ve failed at everything I’ve tried so far.”

Mrs. Dillinger’s fingers stilled. She held her needle tightly between her thumb and forefinger and looked up at me. “What else have you tried?”

I sighed, looking up at her. “Baking, basket-weaving, working with the smith. The animals hated me. I think they knew I was scared of them. The only thing I can really do is clean.”

Mrs. Dillinger narrowed her eyes. “Nothing wrong in cleaning. I’m sure there are a lot of folks who could use help in that area. But I think you can do this. You’ll just have to set your mind on it. If you don’t give up on learning from me, I promise not to give up on teaching you. The most important thing is to be patient and not give up on yourself.”

She was right. I tended to give up too easily when things didn’t come easily. The hunt would be no different. I’d never stepped foot out of Blackwater. I had no idea what to do, but Father might be able to help me. I would just have to avoid Mother long enough to ask him this evening. But no matter how hard I tried to quiet my stomach, it roiled. Mother made it clear that I wasn’t welcome at my own home, even though by some miracle I had managed to meet her demand. No matter what, she would still find a way to push me out. Standing on my own two feet was my only option at this point.

“Thank you for teaching me. I’d like to learn.”

Mrs. Dillinger nodded and told me how to pin the pattern to the fabric, how to gently cut each panel, and then how to arrange them in order. She never stepped in or chastised, just offered guidance that was firm, but not demanding. In a place I felt sure that failure would find me again, I found hope.

When the sun crept below the hills beyond the Colony and Mrs. Dillinger and I were both squinting to see our work without candlelight, she stood up and pressed her hands to her lower back. “Time to go home, Porschia. I know you won’t be able to work as long tomorrow, but if you want to come and do a little bit, that would be fine.”

Tears stung my eyes. I knew I wouldn’t be able to go home after the morning rotation. I nodded and choked out, “Thank you.”

“Are you afraid?”

I was, but I was more afraid of walking out of the shop’s door and facing my own. “A little. I know it’s silly.”

“Nonsense. Fear is what keeps us alive when we’re in danger. It’s nature’s alarm system. Don’t ignore it just to save face.”

“Have a good night,” I told her, tugging down my dress sleeve.

“See you tomorrow.”

I rushed down the steps and eased the heavy wooden door closed beside me, making my way across the wooden porch planks and over the river rock to the cracked concrete beyond. Several people passed me and I nodded in greeting, but kept plodding toward the house. When I drew near, I could see the soft glow of candlelight flickering in the windows.

Fast footsteps came from behind before I could turn around. “Hey, Porsch!” Ford’s squeaking voice called out as he threw his arm around my shoulder. He was taller than me and chattered excitedly about his afternoon tending the animals and how Father had arranged a few jobs for him in town.

“How was Mr. Jent?” I teased. Mr. Jent was a crotchety old man who loved to bark orders and tell dirty jokes, even to my fourteen year old brother.

Ford just laughed. “Same old. I chopped wood for him all morning. You can imagine the jokes that stemmed from that alone.” I smiled but slowed as we approached the corner of the yard. “Mother’s happy,” he offered gently.

“Why?”

“Seems that you getting chosen for the rotation benefitted our dinner table tonight.”

“What? I don’t get extra rations until tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “It was one of my deliveries this evening. Fresh chicken sounds good right about now.”

My breath left in a whoosh. “A whole chicken?”

Ford sniffed the air so I did too, and my mouth began to water at the scent of fried chicken wafting from the house. “Hey, uh, listen,” Ford started tentatively. “About tomorrow, please be careful out there. Don’t leave the night-walker. They can keep you safe. I don’t know what happened with Cedes, but just stay with the vamp.”

I nodded, watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down. He’d barely mentioned her since she fell ill. “Think Father will help me learn a few things?”

“Like what?”

“Crossbow or knife. Something. Anything.”

Ford’s brows nearly touched. “I think he will. At least, I hope he will.” Father had been distant since Mercedes’ accident. He was pulling away, constantly making excuses to avoid being home. Mother harped about it constantly when she wasn’t raging at me. Luckily for Ford, he was her baby – her youngest – and being a male in the Colony, the least likely to disappoint her. He was a good kid, strong and hard-working. Opportunities were open for him everywhere.

Ford tugged me toward the door. Tiny remnants of splintered wood clung to his gray pants, the shoulders of his white shirt, and a few strands of his sandy hair. “You should wash up,” I told him before he opened the door with a grin.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He loved to ruffle Mother’s feathers.

Somehow the odor of the animals he tended this afternoon had seeped into his shirt and I covered my mouth and nose with my hand. Mother would be livid, but not at me. I smiled at my baby brother. Diverting her attention was his goal. I loved him for that, for his heart.

Ford groaned when he entered the house. He followed his stomach to the kitchen and I couldn’t help but follow mine. Mother was hovering near the pan over the fire as the meat sizzled and popped happily.

“Smells great, Mother,” Ford said, plopping into a chair at the table. Mother turned to look at him, her smile fading when she saw me standing in the room. She wiped her hands on the pale apron at her waist and turned away again.

“You made the cut. I’m surprised that they would want you, Porschia.” Her words were like tiny sticks shoved beneath my finger nails. They hurt like hell but wouldn’t kill me.

Ford straightened. “You should thank her, Mother. If it wasn’t for Porschia sticking her neck out, we wouldn’t be eating tonight and we all know it.”

Mother whirled around, finger pointing at Ford, ready for a fight, but Father’s booming voice silenced her as he stepped into the room. “He’s right. Leave her be, Miranda.”

Dinner was tense, spent chewing meat that was much too hot because we couldn’t wait to get something into our empty stomachs. It burned the roof of my mouth, but I couldn’t eat fast enough. I tore at the tender meat, ripping skin from bone, swallowing gristle and all. The bones on our plates were just that, completely cleaned. Chicken was all we ate because we had plenty. After next week, we would be starving again.

“You get your extra rations tomorrow?” Mother asked.

“After morning rotation.”

“Bring them home right away before you go to Mrs. Dillinger’s shop. You
are
still welcome there, right?”

I gritted my teeth. “Yes.”

“Good. Just leave them on the porch for us.”

Father didn’t have time to show me his crossbow or how to use a knife that night. He made an excuse that a neighbor a few streets away needed his help and hurried out the door, leaving us gaping at his retreat, but he did wake me when the sky was still black as pitch. The stars twinkled in the clear sky and on the ground, a fine layer of frost was laid. It wasn’t the first frost of late fall, but I still wasn’t quite ready for winter.

“You can take my lamp if you’d like,” Father offered as he led me down the steps of our house. I shoved my boots on and laced them up.

“Thank you, but I can find the way.” We only had one lamp, and Ford or Mother might need it.

I stood back up and looked at the lines on his face. They seemed deeper this morning than they did last night somehow, or maybe it was just a trick of the candlelight. Father held a handkerchief out to me. “For strength.”

“Thank you.” I took it, feeling something soft beneath the fabric.

“I want to see you before you hunt tonight. I’ll show you what I can this evening.”

All I could do was try to smile and ease the door open quietly. Greeted by the frigid air, I shivered as I left him behind.

“They won’t hurt you,” he called out to me.

“I know.” I
didn’t
know, but hopefully my false bravado calmed his nerves. In me he saw Mercedes, his daughter who entered the rotation, left on a hunt that she’d been on half a dozen times, and never returned. He saw loss, anguish, and regret. He saw hopelessness.