Mutt

by Evan Fuller

  ***

  Lydia watched Emery as he slept. When the eastern sky began its slow transition from black to gray, she woke Miren and Timothy, leaving Emery to sleep for another moment as they stirred. Finally she stroked his face, and his heavy lids parted.

  “Morning,” he groaned weakly.

  “It's time to go.” She leaned down to kiss him lightly on the forehead. “We should be home soon, and then you can sleep all you want.”

  “Sounds like heaven,” he said, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Hey, you changed my bandage.”

  “Your homemade one wasn't doing too much,” she said. “It's a good thing I thought to pack first aid supplies in the backpack.”

  “Thanks.” Emery fished around in the pockets of the hideous coat he had used as his blanket, producing a brown glass vial. “Green gave this to me,” he said. “It should keep me going for a while, at least.” He unscrewed the lid and consumed the fluid in one gulp, cringing and gagging as he swallowed. “Tastes like a corpse, though.”

  Lydia smiled. “I hope you don't know that from experience.”

  They set out, using the map from Emery's textbook as their guide. It had been drenched on Emery's first return trip, so the paper was flimsy and its ink had run. Still, it provided a mostly legible picture of their surroundings. “Timothy,” Emery said, cocking his head and holding the map sideways, “you're going to have to take over here.”

  He handed the map to the younger boy, who studied it for a moment before announcing, “It should only take us an hour, I think.”

  “That's good,” Emery replied, “because I'm not sure if I can walk much farther than that.”

  “You'll be fine,” Lydia said, hoping her prediction would be self-fulfilling.

  “Unless someone wants to rob and kill us,” Miren added brightly, “in which case we're screwed.”

  “Nice pep talk,” Emery said wryly. “Did Oliver let you borrow his optimism?”

  They moved slowly though the sparsely populated forest, passing the occasional cluster of huts or tents that constituted a village in these parts. Lydia had only been outside once before, and the experience had been one she didn't like to think about: the sooner they got home, the better. When they had been walking for nearly hour, the sun rose from its hiding place at the far end of the world. It was easier to see in the light, and they traveled more quickly, but it also made it more likely that they'd be seen. By the time another half-hour had passed, it was clear that they were nowhere near their destination.

  “Maybe we've been walking in the wrong direction,” Emery said.

  “How is that even possible?” Miren countered. “The sun is to the east. North is pretty easy to figure out.”

  “I don't think this map is correct,” Timothy offered. “Remember last time, Emery? It took us at least twice as long as we thought it would.”

  Emery shrugged. “I don't see how that could be; if anyone should be able to produce a good map of the area, it's the experts at the collegio.” He shot an exasperated glance at Timothy. “I hope you're not reading it wrong.”

  Timothy led on, but their strength was beginning to waver. Lydia, the only healthy one of them, watched helplessly as each of the others slowed, Emery weakened by his injury and the others by their illness. Lydia struggled to control the terror she had felt ever since Emery had entered the tunnel. It had waned for only a moment when he returned, returning when he revealed the gunshot wound. Emery was her rock, her center; if anything happened to him…

  Stubbornly, Emery never admitted that he needed a break, but after another hour, they could continue no longer. He finally collapsed against Lydia, inhaling sharply.

  “Let's rest for a minute,” Lydia told him softly.

  “I'll be fine,” he said, trying without success to twist his grimace into a visage of confidence. “Let's keep on—”

  “Emery,” Lydia began.

  “Actually,” Miren interrupted, “I could use a break.” Lydia locked eyes with her, whispering thanks. Finally, Emery was persuaded to sit.

  “Let me see that map again.” Timothy reluctantly handed the paper back to Emery, who leaned forward, one hand holding the map close to his eyes, the other supporting his drooping head. “For God's sake, Timothy, we should have been there ages ago.”

  “It has to be wrong,” Timothy said again. “We've been going the right way.”

  Emery tossed the map on the ground between them. “Then why aren't we there yet?” Lydia tensed; she rarely heard Emery sound this upset. “I've had a long, long couple of days. Is it too much to ask, after I get shot and nearly eaten alive, that someone else takes over for just a couple of hours without screwing anything up?”

  Timothy stared at the ground, abashed. Doubtless he felt that Emery's criticism was unfair, but Lydia knew he wouldn't challenge Emery. She glanced at Miren and back at Timothy, waiting for Emery to say something to break the tension.

  Emery glared at Timothy for another moment before lying down on the forest floor. “If we're out here any longer,” he said, “I'll just draw my own damn map.”

  “Are ye' lost?” a voice inquired from behind all of them. “Per'aps we can direct ye'.”

  They turned to find a group of men behind them; Lydia had never seen them before, but Emery's face hinted that he knew who they were. He was back on his feet immediately, and Lydia saw the muscles in his jaw tense with the pain of the sudden movement. “No way in hell,” he muttered.

  There were three of them; one had a tattered cloth bandage covering a wound on the side of his head. “How very nice to meet ye' again,” he said. “And ye' brought some lady friends, I see.”

  Lydia was frozen in place; from the corner of her eye she saw Emery fumble for a weapon that he no longer carried.

  “Why don't ye' tell your guests who we are,” another of them said. “Only seems fair to me.”

  Emery sighed, moving ever so slowly to position himself between Lydia and the strangers. His eyes scanned the ground as if looking for a branch or stone within reach. “When we were out here last time, we stumbled upon these men's homes,” he said. “They wanted to hold me for ransom, and a fight broke out.”

  “Damn right it did,” the bandaged man said. “Ye' mangled my ear with that blow.”

  “We would've split ye' in two,” the second man said, “if the king's man 'adn't shown up. But keep telling.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The man stepped forward, seizing Emery's jaw in one hand and leaning forward until they were eye-to-eye. “I was enjoying your story,” he said. “Ye'll continue.”

  “Green broke up the fight and gave them a balm for the injured man's ear,” Emery said. He paused, apparently wondering whether to comply for the moment or to strike while he could. “And we left.”

  “The pureblood's forgetting one little thing,” said the third man.

  “I am?” Emery swallowed. “I really don't remember anything else.”

  “Ye' threw something at us,” the man hinted.

  “Oh,” Emery said, voice quivering. “It was the bag of dry food you packed for me, Lyd.”

  “That's it,” the man said. “We was about to cut ye' up real good, and ye' gave us your food.” Emery's expression was of terrible confusion. “Don't get me wrong, we 'ad every right to do what we did, and the next pureblood who appears in our backyard, we'll do the same. But ye' was getting away free, and ye' gave us food when ye' didn't have to.”

  “I felt bad about what had happened,” Emery explained, sounding as unsure as Lydia felt as to what point the men were trying to make. “I know it's rougher out here than where I come from. I don't have to worry about my next meal. But I didn't have time to stay; I've been trying to get medicine for my friends.” He motioned to Timothy and to Miren behind him. “They're from out here too, and they're deathly ill.”

  “I never 'eard of a pureblood who gives food to a mutt,” said the third man. “And I damn well never 'eard of a pureblood who
sticks 'is neck out to assist a mutt. I guess we never asked ye' why ye' were wandering in the wastes without your guns and your fancy auto-mobiles.”

  “That's why,” Emery said. “What I'm doing isn't very popular where I'm from.”

  “Well,” said the bandaged man, “it's popular with us. Kindness is something people out 'ere can't afford to spend, and people in Ridden'ouse never do.”

  “So you're not going to hack us up or hold the purebloods for ransom?” Miren asked hopefully.

  The men looked amongst each other. “Your call, Clay,” one of them said. “It wasn't my 'ead.”

  The bandaged man nodded. “Next time we find ye' wandering around, don't expect to get off this easy.” Then he grinned. “But today, I say we repay ye' in kind. Why don't ye' come dine with us?”