Shadows of Sherwood (13 page)

The cabin was an amazing find, but Robyn was far too exhausted and pained to feel much joy over the discovery. She felt relief, though.

It was warm, and it was quiet. Robyn flipped on the lantern. The batteries worked. The bulb cast a soft yellow light. This would be as good a place as any to hide out and wait. It crossed her mind that maybe her father had even built this place, exactly for this purpose, knowing she would go to the woods in a crisis and what she would need to find there in order to survive.

“Can we stay here?” Laurel cracked open a can of beans and steadily sucked them out.

Robyn wasn't sure. She wanted to believe Dad had built the place, but there was nothing to indicate his presence. No note, no clue. Just the few stockpiled provisions. Dad would have left something more, she was sure.

“We can stay long enough to eat, anyway,” Robyn agreed.

Robyn joined Laurel at the shelves of food and selected a can of peaches. She drank the syrup and ate the slippery
fruit. She pulled a blanket off the pile and wrapped it around her shoulders to ward off the evening chill. She picked up the old radio—it was so old it had a crank handle to power it!—and fiddled with it.

Robyn knew what it was only because Dad had a radio similar to this one. He and Robyn took it apart and rebuilt it once, on a Saturday, just for fun. She knew how it worked. When you turned it on, there was supposed to be static, unless someone was broadcasting. But when she flipped the power switch on this one, nothing happened.

Robyn took the fork she'd used to eat the peaches and unscrewed the back of the radio, tinkering to see what might be wrong. Not that it would do any good. No one used radio waves to broadcast anymore. But it felt nice to do something with her hands. Something familiar. Something of home. She fiddled with the radio for a while as Laurel sat across the room quietly scarfing canned goods.

Out the windows, the trees had grown quite dark. Robyn was about to tell Laurel they could stay the night, when the space between the screen corners began to glow.

“See,” Laurel said glumly, “it's everywhere. The message plays on all the screens in Sherwood.” “ATTENTION, CITIZENS OF NOTT CITY. A word from Royal Governor Ignomus Crown.”

Then Crown's face came on. “The glorious dawn of our new regime continues. From this day forward, I—and I alone—am the leader of this city. The events of the last twenty-four hours may seem shocking to some of you.”

Robyn grunted. “You think?”

“My fellow citizens, I urge you to place your trust in me. You will soon see that with the restructuring of Parliament, I have all of our best interests at heart.”

“Restructuring of Parliament?” Robyn echoed.
That's still what we're calling it?

“The Nott City Police Department and the Nott City Armed Forces have been joined into one unified military police force. As your former police commissioner, I can assure you that this union will best serve the people.”

The background noise changed to the sound of many boots marching and many voices chanting. Robyn wondered if right about now the people in the jail were also seeing this video clip of the military police marching in formation. Robyn herself had seen enough of the MPs up close and personal.

“Thanks to our new military police force, Nott City will be safe and secure.” A ratcheting round of gunfire, probably meant as emphasis, belied this claim. Laurel flinched as if the tree house was under attack.

“Our borders will be closely monitored. The Notting Wood, once a haven to thieves and bandits—those who have attempted to live off the land rather than participate in our booming economy—remains closed to the public. These changes are for your security and well-being. As ever, I remain your faithful governor.”

“Stay tuned for further developments in this exciting time. All hail, Nott City!” Crown's announcer concluded.
The screen glowed for a few moments longer, then sputtered to silence. The small cabin grew ominously quiet.

“Things are going to get bad,” Laurel whispered. “Very, very bad.”

Robyn shivered, feeling exactly the same. All the more reason she wanted to get back home as soon as possible. “Look, let's sleep here tonight, so we don't have to walk in the dark, and then as soon as it's light again—”

“. . . most recent announcement is no surprise to anyone . . .” Speech fragments, in a woman's voice, drifted out of the radio. Robyn had been absentmindedly fiddling with the tuning dial but not expecting anything to happen. She tuned back to the voice.

“. . . remind them, Sherwood, we won't give up without a fight. This is Nessa Croft. Signing off. Zero six thirty.”

“Cool.” Laurel beamed. “I've never actually heard her. Is that a radio? Can I turn the handle, too?”

Robyn nodded, handing it over. “Who uses radio anymore?” she mused.

“No one, I think.” Laurel cranked the radio enthusiastically. “Except Nessa Croft. She—”

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Laurel's explanation was interrupted by a soft, steady tread of footsteps on the stairs. Someone was coming.

Robyn and Laurel glanced at each other in alarm. They were trapped!

 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Boy in the Tree House

The boy who entered the tree house jumped about a mile when he saw Robyn and Laurel standing there. His eyes popped open wide. He looked at least as startled to see them as they were frightened to see him.

“Um, hi,” he said. Robyn thought that quite a weak opening on his part, which added to her optimism.

Laurel, on the other hand, spooked like a prodded animal. She emitted a tiny shriek, then darted past the boy in a daring escape attempt that went a little too well. She threw her arms out to push him out of her way, but he willingly stepped aside, so all her momentum carried her out the door and—based on the thumping—sent her tumbling down the spiral stairs.

Robyn cringed.

“No, don't go,” the boy called. “Please.”

Robyn stayed. Laurel's fleet footsteps sounded like miniature thunder, fading in the distance.

“Who are you?” Robyn demanded, indignant. As if the cabin had actually become hers the moment she discovered it, and thus the boy had been caught trespassing.

The boy was well dressed, in a pair of fitted jeans and a slim suede vest over a dark green shirt. The boots on his feet were mud caked, but quality. He was short and lanky. Sandy blond and smiling. Perhaps a year or so older than Robyn. Draped over his arm was a very odd-looking cloth that appeared to be woven of sticks and branches.

“I'm just a guy in a tree house,” he answered. “Who are you?”

Robyn didn't know quite what to make of that. She stood tall and replied, “We thought it was abandoned. We—it's been a while since we ate.”

The boy dumped the sticks in a pile and went to the shelves and took down two new cans. He handed them to Robyn. She took one in each hand. Something was better than nothing. If she could even catch up with Laurel at this point.

“Eat all you want,” the boy said.

“Well, thanks.” Robyn moved toward the door.

“You don't have to go,” he said. He was still smiling. Friendly green eyes twinkled beneath the wavy, flopping locks of hair on his forehead. “I wouldn't mind the company.”

For the first time, Robyn felt wary. “Who are you?” she repeated.

“Call me Key,” he said.

Key was clearly older, but Robyn was nearly as tall.

“Robyn.”

“Go get your friend, Robyn. It's safe here.”

Key seemed nice enough. Nonthreatening. Robyn ducked back through the flap, wondering where to begin looking for Laurel . . . but she was right there. Crouched behind the door flap, fists clenched around a long, broken stick that was thicker than any one of her limbs. She had it raised up like a bat, a fierce expression on her face.

“Hi,” Robyn said. Her lips spun into a smile.

“Hi,” Laurel whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Robyn showed her the cans of food. “I thought you left.”

Laurel lowered the stick. She shook her head. “I never had a friend before,” she said. “I like it.”

Robyn motioned the girl close and hugged her. It was a bit awkward, their arms wrapping amid the cans Robyn held and Laurel's unwieldy bat branch. But the little girl rested her forehead on Robyn's shoulder and sighed softly. “So let's stick together,” Robyn said. She was pleased that Laurel hadn't wanted to leave her behind.

“Are we staying?” Laurel asked, still leaning into Robyn.

“Yeah,” she answered. “I don't think he's going to hurt us. Two against one, okay?”

Laurel nodded. Robyn released her and stepped back inside the tree house flap. “Key, this is Laurel. Laurel, Key.”

“Hi,” Key said.

Laurel, seeming suddenly very comfortable, strolled across the room and selected another can of food off the
shelf. She snapped it open by the tab and began eating with her fingers.

From a small box behind him, Key extracted a metal fork and handed it to the girl. “Here.”

Laurel folded the fork in her hand and, without missing a beat, continued shoveling food into her mouth.

Robyn smiled slightly. At least she'd done one thing right so far today. “We're just going to eat, and then we'll be on our way.”

“No trouble,” Key said. He moved closer to Robyn, offering her a fork as well.

She cracked one of the cans in her hand. More peaches. Her fingers brushed against Key's as she took the utensil. Was it her imagination, or was he moving closer still?

“How did you find this place?” she asked.

“Probably same as you. Followed the signs.”

“What do the arrows mean?” Robyn asked.

“They point the way,” Key said simply. He paused. “This is the kind of place you don't find unless you're supposed to.”

He was definitely closer. She concentrated on the fruit, but she could feel him near. He brushed hair out of his eyes and blew out a small breath.

“What's the deal with the radio thing?” Robyn commented. “That's weird.”

Key frowned. “I know. It's totally busted. I'm trying to find another one. I need to know what's happening.”

“I fixed it,” Robyn said. “I meant, what's the deal with Nessa Croft?”

Key leaned forward. “What? You heard her broadcast? What did she say?”

“Didn't really hear much.” Robyn related the small snippet they'd caught.

“Yeah. That's great. Perfect.” He seemed really excited, like those few words meant something to him. “Zero six thirty. I can't believe it. Thank you.”

“I can't believe any of this is happening,” Robyn admitted. “I don't know what we're going to do.” For a second, she thought that Key was going to reach out and hug her. So close he seemed. But when she raised her head, he stepped back again.

“You can eat here,” Key said. “You can even stay here.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Robyn said. An impulsive comment. Perhaps reckless.

Key's green eyes sparkled. “You don't. That's half the fun.”

But strangely, Robyn wanted to trust him; she considered his kindness to Laurel, the look in his eye. In the last day and a half she'd seen plenty of things that had made her fearful. Key was not one of them.

“We'll stay,” she said. “For now.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY