The Wounded (The Woodlands Series) (6 page)

Pietre opened his mouth to speak,
a dark hollow filled with hate. Rash turned and glared, all humor lost. “We’ve put up with you because you’re crippled,” he spat so cruelly I cringed, “but if you say one more word, I’m going to use your leg as a diving board at the next stop.”

Pietre let out
a disinterested groan, rolling his eyes, and looked out the window. He stared silently for several minutes, seething, until I started to forget he was there. Suddenly, his voice pierced the heavy silence as he sat straight up and yelled, “What the hell…?”

I followed the trail of his gaze and drew in a sharp breath
that stabbed me like an icicle. Hundreds of Woodlands soldiers swarmed from the woods, like a cracked open tree trunk full of black ants.

We all held our
breath, as if that would somehow stop them from discovering us. Each of our expressions showed the fright of cornered animals. Rash dug his dirty fingernails into my arm, his dark face pressed to the window, watching them with scurrying eyes. Careen and Pietre were tensed, ready to fight. We all knew if we were discovered, there would be no hope of survival. I forced myself to breathe, grimacing at Rash’s nails in my flesh.

Matthew crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back. “
Well, look at that,” he said in an unperturbed manner, like he was out bird watching or something.

They kept coming from the forest, their black and gold uniforms
dull and dirt-encrusted. The gold had lost it shine; the black a depressing shade of muddy grey. Some of them were so close that I could see their faces. Their sunken, sallow faces. Each one was as All Kind as you could get. And from a distance, you’d think it was natural. But their skin was smudged. Streaks of dirt mixed with streaks of what had to be makeup. The Superiors were so vain that they had made their soldiers up to look All Kind for their trek to the Survivor’s settlement. I focused on the closest soldier. His head hung low, his chin almost to his chest. A flash of something white swung from a band around his neck. His hair was dusted blond, but strong, dark roots sprouted from his scalp. A torn uniform hung from him, two sizes too big, and, like all of them, mud covered his boots to his knees. When he raised his face, his eyes were right on us, but unfocused and deeply tired, and one was brown and one was an unnaturally electric blue.

Matthew caught the l
ook on my face. “Contacts,” he whispered. “Colored lenses they put over the soldier’s irises to change the color. He must have lost one of his.”

It was over
in an instant as we shot past. But the information we managed to obtain from those brief seconds was priceless. The soldiers were exhausted, thin, and lost. And most relieving of all, they were headed in a completely different direction than the Survivors’ settlement.

With five minute
s to go, all of us began intently staring out the window. A penetrating sun swallowed the mist. It cast its warmth over the fields we passed with a smile. A smile I shouldn’t have taken literally. Pietre had dented me with his talk of leaving, of returning to the Woodlands. But I decided to wait for the Spider gathering and get all the information before I started kicking and screaming. There had to be an explanation and a change. Even if we wanted to unite or negotiate a treaty, I knew the Superiors would rather see us dead. And I mean see each and every one of us executed publicly and painfully in front of the Woodlands citizens.

The
Spinner lurched to a stop, and I felt the familiar rolling and clanging as the cars settled against each other.

The door swished
open, and Matthew and Careen carried Pietre out, his face stoic now that he was out in public. I sat still. My hands gripped the table, as my legs jittered anxiously beneath.

“Are we going or what
? I thought you couldn’t wait to show me this place?” Rash winked.

“There’
s more I need to tell you,” I said.

“
Yeah, I thought so,” Rash said quietly.

I gathered myself up, ready to tell him about what I’d done to
Joseph, when I saw my father edging up to our car. He turned sharply towards us, his eyes twinkling and arms spread wide. I clamped my mouth closed, and shot up like I was spring-loaded.

I held out my
hand, and Rash took it questioningly. “Let’s go,” I said, and pulled him through the door, bumping past my father and jamming my way through the other Spiders and Survivors, pushing our way to the front of the line.

“Rosa wait!” Pelo yelled after me. I didn’t slow.
I know the man was trying, but whenever I looked at him, the hurt of the past and the potential for future pain surrounded him like a fine, red mist threatening to poison me. I left him standing there, words suspended on the edge of his lips. They could wait a while longer.

A smile split my face when I pulled to a
halt in front of the Great Wall. Rash looked confused, but he didn’t cower. He didn’t cringe. He trusted me. I let the feeling of comfort wash over me. I didn’t care if it was temporary; it was home for now, and ‘for now’ was pretty much all we had anyway.

I yanked Rash violently towards the small door
at the base of the Wall. He looked at me doubtfully. The slick walls, mildewed from rain, smelled like an old mushroom. It was dark and uninviting, but it begged me to climb, to show, to share this with him.

“You ok, Soar?” Rash asked as he followed me up the stairs, slipping on a slimy step and swearing. “You’re acting a little nuts.”

“I’m fine,” I panted. “I just want to show you something before… before someone ruins the surprise.”

Tumbling towards the trapdoor at the top evoked the memory of
when we first arrived here. Climbing the stairs and looking out across the wall, at the endless stone tail that lay across the hills. It was terrifying at first, but it had offered protection. Jumping off the wall and onto the metal stairs behind the cloaking device that shielded the settlement, I had popped up and scared Joseph half to death. He hadn’t thought it was very funny, but I scoffed just thinking about it.

When we got to the top Rash paused, running his hands over all the carved names in the dark stones.
Grabbing his shirt collar, I jerked him up. I ran to the edge of the wall, my exhilaration making me ignore the obvious.

I could see my home, the
cracked, wooden shingles, the cobblestone path, and the plants starting to grow out of the cracks. I could see the town at the bottom of the hill, ramshackle, each building leaning against each other in a friendly, I’ll-share-your-weight kind of way. And I smiled.

My face fell.

No.

I gripped the edge of the wall as it hit me
. Hope drained out like someone had pulled the plug, everything gurgling and disappearing down a black hole.

I could
see
my home.

Something was very wrong.

Panic rose so quickly I had to snap my hands around my heart before it leapt out of mouth, and I died of fright.

There are things
I’d never forget. First kisses, first nights together. But I was sure over time as my skin went papery thin and my life started to fade, the memories would fade also. They would soften. Not this. This was more like burning. Like I was dying over and over again. I’d never forget this picture, this place in time. And it would kill me every time my mind brought it forth.

I dropped Rash’s hand and screamed
, nothing hollow or slow about it. The scream of a mother and a wife. Of loss.

I heard them yelling behind me, following my screams, jostling voices high on
adrenaline, slippery footsteps and squeaking sneakers. But I didn’t wait for them.

I jumped over the wall and onto the metal staircase.
My shoes clanged and echoed; the noise too loud and too quiet because it was the
only
noise. I wanted to cover my ears and shut it out, but I need my arms to push me faster, to run. Rash shouted out confused snippets of questions behind me. I didn’t acknowledge him as I skidded at the bottom and swung towards our cottage. And even though I knew they wouldn’t be there, even as my soul started to scrunch up in my chest in anticipation of not finding them, I still ran until my lungs burned. I clawed through the terrifying silence that shrouded the streets, ran past the Spinner that was paused mid-journey, between two stops.

The air was thick with
distress, as other Survivors began to fan out and search. But there was nothing, only our breaths, our shouts, and our cries.

I pushed through pain as the fast movement caught up with my aching h
ead.

Maybe they’re here.

They’re hiding.

T
hey’re safe.

They have to be.

Everything pulled in around one image that was so much more out of place than the empty streets and the abandoned carts. A teacup sat on a fence post, yellow with cracks running through the glaze. I stopped, turned, and walked towards my neighbor’s front yard slowly. I lifted the cup and peered in. Rings showed where evaporated tea had sat, and the stink of rotten milk crept up my nose. I hurled the cup to the ground, watching it smash and fragments of stained china roll hopelessly back and forth.

It was like everyone had disappeared in the middle of what they were doing.

I walked softly towards the c
ottage, sneaking up on it like stealth would stop the worst from happening.

The
house stood before me, the stone path winding towards something empty. It was untouched. No signs of a struggle, no obvious door-crashing, blood-smattering evidence to tell me what had happened, only that the door was ajar.

I
couldn’t move.

Rash
brushed past me and creaked up the stairs. Every sound was amplified because there was nothing to cover it. He turned and looked down at me from the porch. “What’s going on?” he asked between pants.

I put my hand to my mouth to smother a sob and then said, “Oh God, Rash. This is my home.
But they’re not here. They’re gone. Where is my family?”

*****

He pushed open the door, like he was afraid he may startle the occupants, but he needn’t have bothered. There hadn’t been anyone here for a while.

I padded in
carefully, scared to disturb this unholy, terrifying peace that seemed to drench the whole town. I ran my hands gently over Orry’s rug, which was thrown over one of our chairs. I heard the fridge clunk and hum, and I jumped, running to the door and opening it, twisting my face when I saw the wilted vegetables and unopened food containers.

Orry’s crib was standing in the corner, still made up. Our bed was the opposite. Sheets twisted and knotted. Pillows thrown on the floor. My mind crept towards when I last lay in that bed, the warmth and safety. Arms I had to be in
now, or I would scream. I looked out the back window. A blackened patch of dirt was the only thing that didn’t look exactly how I remembered it.

Rash kept a respectful distance. His eyes mov
ed back and forth from the unmade bed to the crib and back again. I stood in the center of the lounge and blinked one tear before I took off running again. I flew out, the door making a dead-sounding crack as the wood frame smacked the wall. Tearing down the center street that led to the town, I screamed Joseph’s and Orry’s names like a madwoman.