by Keri Lake
“I’ve heard an Alpha can’t be killed in his sleep. That your hearing is so acute, you wake to the sound of death’s silent footsteps.”
Over the burning kindling, I hear him snort. “Who told you these stories?”
“My father. He used to tell us the most horrible things lived on the other side of the wall. I never even saw a Rager in my life, until I was attacked by one a couple weeks ago.”
“A Rager attacked you?”
I can’t tell if he’s surprised that I survived, or that a Rager would want anything to do with me. “I was traveling with another woman. It dragged the two of us to a cave. I watched it rape her first. Then it bit her.” Telling the story aloud somehow sends a wave of distress through me, and I realize it’s the first I’ve spoken of it. “Afterward, it came after me, but instead of trying to rape me, it went right for my throat.”
“And you fought it?”
“Marauders. One of them shot it. Was strange … the way it looked at me just before.”
“You’re pregnant.” The assurance in his tone is unnerving, like I’m stupid for not having thought of that myself.
“What?”
“As young as you are, it would’ve raped you, no doubt. Tried to impregnate you. Unless you were already pregnant. Then you’re food. Would’ve fed you to your friend, to keep her strength up for the baby he undoubtedly tried to put in her belly.” He speaks of all of this so matter-of-factly, as if it’s not the most terrifying thing to come out of his mouth.
“How would it know if I’m pregnant? I don’t even know if I am.” I’m not. The likelihood is about as high as unicorns jumping down from the stars right now, thanks to my defective uterus.
“They smell it.”
“Just like they smell that you’re Alpha?”
“Yes. Their hunting senses are heightened.”
“If I was, in fact, pregnant, which I know I’m not, that would make Will the father. The only possible father.” I quietly absorb that thought for a minute. How utterly ridiculous and cruel the universe would be for making me pregnant with his child. “Sleeping with him was supposed to be a joke. To laugh in the face of the priest and Mother Chilson. Now he’s dead. And it’s my fault.”
“How is it your fault, when I killed him?”
“I’m the reason he ended up with Remus. The reason he joined Legion, at all. He hated the military. Hated fighting.”
In the silence that follows, I stare up at the stars, wondering if he’s staring down at me. If he can hear the remorse in my voice. The thoughts in my head that would surely clue him in on how little I want a child right now. How stupid we were for never even considering the possibility, however slim it might’ve been.
Resting my hands against my belly, I try to choke back the tears. “I can’t have a baby. Not out here. I’ll never make it out here. That wasn’t the plan. None of this was the plan.”
“The world doesn’t give a shit about your plans. As for the baby, you either try, or you don’t. There is no halfway.”
My muscles burn with the scowl I shoot back at him. “You’re not very sympathetic, are you?”
“No.”
“Fact number two confirmed.”
“What fact?”
“Another thing they say about Alphas. Your hearts are like stone.”
“You seem to know everything about me.”
“I don’t know anything about you.”
“Get some sleep. We have more walking to do at first light.”
“Where to?” I ask.
“Wherever that dog came from.”
Chapter 26
Sounds reach my ear in the black void. Growling and clicking. They intensify, until it seems as if they’re in my ear.
I shoot upright, my eyes opening to the glow of embers, and Yuma lying beside me, growling at something. Across from me, Titus sits facing the unseen threat somewhere beyond our camp, while my heart continues to pound inside my chest.
“What is it?” I whisper, squinting to catch a flicker of movement off toward the abandoned camp.
“Ragers.” Not a hint of worry in his voice, Titus settles back down on the ground across from me.
Falling back to sleep? How?
“Won’t they … Won’t they come and try to drag me off?”
“They might, if you don’t stop talking and go back to sleep.”
“How can you sleep with those things so close? It’s like trying to sleep when you’re surrounded by sharks.”
“Sharks only take notice when you’re moving around, or making noise.”
Traveling with him is the most frustrating thing. I can’t even tell if he’d be rattled by one dragging me off to a cave, or if he’d consider it one less mouth to feed. If an Alpha’s heart is said to be stony, then his is that with a side of apathetic gravy and callous biscuits.
Yuma continues to growl, but doesn’t move from his spot. I don’t know too much about dogs, except that most animals seem to have a sense of self-preservation and defense. The fact that he hasn’t darted off tells me he likely believes this to be the safest place, too.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I lie back down against the dog, keeping my eyes fixed toward the sound of the Rager, which inevitably keeps my gaze on Titus’s back. In the light of the fire, I study the scars beneath the layer of dirt on his skin. Long scars. Short ones. Circular and oddly-shaped ones. Many of them clustered like topography.
So much suffering etched into a single stretch of his body.
These aren’t battle scars, either. My father was a Legion officer and fought for most of my childhood, but he never came home with scars so horrific.
The marks on Titus are the vestiges of cruelty and abuse. This man has suffered things I probably can’t even begin to imagine. Has known pain, the likes of which I may never feel for as long as I live. He’s survived.
As I continue to stare at his back, a distraction to the Rager, my eyelids grow heavy with sleep. Placing my trust in the Alpha, I close my eyes.
Chapter 27
Heat warms my cheeks with the first rays of morning light, and I sit up from the ground to find myself alone at the campfire that has completely burned out. Looking around shows no sign of Titus, or Yuma, and the first twinge of fear skates over me.
He abandoned me.
I scramble to my feet, eyes constantly scanning over the terrain, and climb the rock for the path on the other side of it. It’s once I’ve made my way around the wall that I find both man and dog staring out over the open valley beyond, and I blow out a relieved exhale. At my approach, Titus glances to me and back, then points toward a patch of trees, one that seems so close, but I would bet is a couple miles away from us.
“I’m guessing that’s where he came from,” he says. “Wandering around. Probably smelled the fire.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“See if there’s anyone there. Any supplies. We’ll find a place to stay put for a few days.”
“Stay put? Won’t they come looking for us?”
“Yes,” he says, sliding the canteen over his head. “Remus wants you to produce an heir, and he needs me to earn his supplies. We’re too valuable for him to give up the search.”
“So, shouldn’t we keep moving?”
“So long as he believes you want to return to Szolen, he’ll head that way. We’re north--the opposite direction. If we stay a few days, they stay ahead of us.”
Reaching down to where Yuma’s stands between us, I drag my hand over his fur. “Huh. That was very wise of you.”
“Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.”
Without looking at him, I smile at the visual he’s planted in my head. “Then, lead the way, blind squirrel.”
Boy, was I off. The hike turns out to be more like eight miles, and takes a little over two and a half hours, which would be no big deal, if I’d eaten something this morning. Where Titus and Yuma damn near sprint along the path, I’m hobbling behind like an old woman.
<
br /> Having left early enough this morning, the heat isn’t as intense as it gets midday, thankfully, but by the time we breach the entrance to the forest, my head feels light, and my stomach ready to consume itself.
I stare ahead at Yuma, who trots alongside Titus like the two of them are friends now, and glare. Perhaps Titus was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared that meat the night before.
Yuma leaps ahead of the human Alpha, picking up the pace as he leads us deeper into the forest, over branches and foliage that scrape against my legs, adding a nice bonus hardship to a trek I’m already happy to quit.
Giving a quick glance over his shoulder, Titus shakes his head.
“You say a word, and I swear, I’ll throw a rock at the back of your head.” I’m practically dragging myself now, lagging about fifty yards behind, and the snug shoes have torn blisters on my heels.
“You’ll learn.”
“What? That every creature I come across out here is food? Even if he has a friggin’ nametag?”
“That you take care of yourself first.”
“That’s a very selfish way to live.”
“It’s the only way to survive.”
“If you’re completely alone, I guess it is.”
“Sometimes, alone is better.”
“A very alone person would say that.”
“There’s that Viper’s tongue again,” he says, still not bothering to slow his pace.
“Right. I’m sure you’d prefer that I stay quiet and meek, like a good little woman, but I’d sooner scratch my eyeballs out and feed them to the vultures.”
“That’s an option, then?”
“Piss off, Titus. A hungry woman is a dangerous creature. I wouldn’t mess with me.”
He snorts, shaking his head, and if I were capable of shooting flames from my eyes, he’d be a charred piece of meat right now.
He shoves his hand into his pocket and comes to a stop, holding something out for me when I eventually catch up. “Here.”
“What is it?”
With a jerk of his hand, he urges me to take it.
I open the folded cloth and find a piece of meat from the night before.
“Figured you’d be hungry.”
“It’s warm.” I frown down at the proffered food, and as my stomach gets the best of me, I shove the greasy meat into my mouth. I have to stifle a moan on swallowing it.
“Kept it tucked inside my underwear the whole time.”
I snap a glare back at him, knowing he’s hiding a smile as he sets back on his path after Yuma. “I sure hope you’re joking.”
“Or what, Viper? You’ll scratch my eyeballs out and feed them to the vultures?”
I could tell him that his eyes would make for a better feast than the other balls on his body, but that wouldn’t be ladylike. Besides, he’d probably take off on a dead run, if I did, and I’d be left hobbling alone. “Since when did you become so snarky?”
“Since you woke up and decided to be a pain in my ass today.”
“Well, I hope you packed your favorite hemorrhoid cream because I don’t intend to keep my mouth shut anytime soon. Thanks for the meat, by the way.” Asshole.
He gives another quick glance over his shoulder. “I was joking. You’re welcome.”
The forest opens up to a clearing—an unkempt yard, with a broken fence and chicken wire that the dog leaps over. Beyond it stands a log cabin, slightly worn down with age, but sturdy enough to keep standing.
Titus slows his strides, scanning the place as we approach.
Life outside of Szolen is so different.
Here, the houses are fair game for anyone, whereas at home, each of us has our own place. Our own yards and possessions. When someone trespasses, it’s reason to seek out the Mediators, the peacekeepers in our community. Out here, there’s no one to seek out. No one to keep others from taking.
And no one to keep a person from shooting at us in self-defense, either.
Knife drawn, Titus climbs the stairs to the front porch, following after Yuma, who has already disappeared inside the house. He nudges me to the side, against the wall of logs, and rests his hand against my belly, peering around the door.
A marking carved into the wall of the house draws my attention from the distraction of his hand on me, and the way his fingers curve over my waist in a possessive sort of grip. A strange symbol of overlapping circles and lines, one Titus seems to take notice of as well when he runs his thumb over it.
Finger to his lips, he signals for quiet, and once he seems to think it’s safe enough, he steps inside.
With his touch still lingering on my stomach, I follow in after him.
The interior is surprisingly spacious and, in spite of the dirt, cobwebs, and scattered papers, well-kempt, as if it’s not yet been ransacked by anyone. The open area must’ve been a living room, given the couch, a small chair, a table, and a bear skin rug in front of a fireplace. While I look around the room, Titus disappears toward the back, as if still searching for a possible threat inside. The place doesn’t appear to have been lived in for a while, but it’s not entirely abandoned, either, something I discover when I open the cupboards and find cans of food. Well-stocked.
Grabbing two cans of corned beef hash, I smile at the prospect of eating something, as starving as I am.
A hard thunk echoes through the house, and I startle, dropping one of the cans on the floor, just missing my toe.
I make my way toward the rooms where Titus ventured off, and find him in one at the very back of the house. On the bed, a sprawled skeletal body lies outstretched, blackened with decay.
There are no marks, or any indication that he died by force, or trauma. Perhaps only by old age.
Or loneliness.
“He locked himself inside the room. I’m guessing so the dog wouldn’t eat him.” Titus hands me a sheet of paper, where a note has been scrawled in faded ink. “I can’t read it.”
I study the words on the page for a moment, only just able to make out a few that, with context, give the gist of the message. “It says to any travelers, feel free to make yourself at home. God bless. Roger.” I set the note onto the bed beside the man’s remains. “I’m surprised none of the people from the hive we saw back there found this place.”
“They stayed away.”
“Why?”
“It’s cursed. That’s the symbol carved into the wood out front.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He invites travelers into a house he believes is cursed?”
He rifles through the drawer of the nightstand, where only a Bible sits tucked. “He didn’t carve that symbol. If I had to guess, someone found this place, wanted to lay claim to it, so they did it to keep others away.”
“They might come back, then.”
“Unless they were killed. At any rate, this is where we’ll stay.” He shoves his knife into his pocket, and tosses the edges of the bedding onto the decaying body.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to burn, then bury, him. Or were you hoping to cuddle with him tonight?”
“If I wanted to cuddle a corpse, I’d have snuggled in beside you last night.”
With a snort, Titus lifts the body from the bed with ease. “Think you need to find some food to fill that mouth of yours, Viper.”
“It just so happens, I already have.” I hold up the one can of hash I didn’t drop. “I’ll make breakfast.”
A mouse scampers across the floor, and I jump back, nearly dropping the second can.
“Plenty to eat in this house.”
“I’ll starve before I eat a dirty mouse.”
With the corpse hoisted over his shoulder, he comes to a stop alongside me and glances down at the can and back. “What do you think canned meat’s made from?”
I frown at the faded picture of red chunks on the can’s label, and trail my gaze after him, as he tromps out of the room with the body. “It’s not mouse meat,” I mutter.
Hungry as I am, I ignor
e my grumbling stomach to explore the adjacent room, this one slightly smaller. Pictures hang from the walls of it. One, a white horse against a gray background, with Deftones written beneath. Another is the outline of a man with a raised fist and Rage Against The Machine. On the dresser beside a wooden bed stands a faded picture in a frame. A boy, who appears to be no more than thirteen, holds up a fish on a line, next to the creek where Titus and I stopped for water. Beside him, an older man leans into him, arm wrapped around his shoulder. A fit, muscular man, perhaps the size of Titus, who smiles with pride. And a much smaller Yuma, with his tongue lobbed off to the side.
I lift my gaze toward the window across from me, beyond which Titus slams a shovel into the dirt alongside two propped crosses, where I’m guessing the man’s son and possibly his wife are buried. The mounds have grown over with grass.
There’s a timelessness about this place. As if it remained untouched long after the Dredge.
More wandering leads me to the kitchen, and I set the can of hash onto the counter as I examine the stove.
Electric.
Odd.
Making my way out the front of the house, I back myself far enough to scope the roof of it, and find a solar panel there. The clearing of trees overhead gives just enough sunlight to keep it powered. Covered in dust and fallen branches, it’ll need to be cleared to work properly, but a twinge of excitement has me running back inside. I turn the knob on the stove to find the burners lighting up orange.
“You’re kidding me!” I clap my hands on a burst of laughter and search the drawers for something to open the can of food. My father once brought back a can of pineapple from the Deadlands and used a handheld contraption to remove the top of it. I vaguely recall what it looks like as I search the kitchen, and I find it in a drawer of utensils, as well as a stirring spoon. Another cupboard produces a pot--all conveniently stored, just like in one of the kitchens back at Szolen.
As the food heats up on the pan, I nab dishes from one of the cupboards.
The unnatural odor of the meat sends a wave of nausea gurgling in my gut, and just setting the dishes onto the counter in time, I race toward the sink and expel mostly fluids into the basin of it. Another torrent splashes against the stainless steel, gathering in a slimy pool that oozes down toward the drain. Much as I want to deny it, the symptoms of pregnancy seem to be rearing their ugly heads.
