by Scott McCord
“It means the island isn’t stationary. It’s moving the same as the Ark.”
“That would seem to be the case if the rest of our markers weren’t showing the same thing.” He shakes his head. “I’ve scouted every edge myself, and there is no evidence of slide. The guys are checking east and south again, but they’ll find this place is still pinned tight.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“Something phenomenal…something frightening.”
“Dad?”
His throat trips, and he nods faintly to himself.
“It’s growing, it’s getting bigger and it’s getting bigger fast. Before long this place could expand enough to reach the last island we colonized…connecting them...providing a channel between settlements. I’ve never seen this before, and I’m not sure why it’s happening here, but maybe the world is finally getting better.”
“That’s good, right? The people will be together. The pilgrims will have help. There’s more land, more resources, and more room for us to redeem people from Community.” He cuts a sharp glance, and for the first time I see he doesn’t intend for me to join the Utugi effort. He wants me to stay here.
“Not us, Mim. I hoped you—”
“Come on, you don’t think I’m going to live in New Hope, marry Slate, learn to spin, and raise three fat babies all named Jonathan, do you?”
He sighs. “No, not yet anyway.”
“I can say it without bragging, I’m the best Slitter recruit you’re ever going to get—top of the line, first-round draft pick. You may find somebody better, but I doubt it.” I want him to smile, but he doesn’t.
“I know,” he says.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The Ark.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Carving markers on trees is an ancient practice going back before The Split. The first Body—the original scientists—devised them as a way to measure the Ark and chart its progress. Different symbols mean different things—cycle, cardinal direction, and distance to edge.”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
“I hadn’t either. Community gave it up generations ago, about the time of the first cullings.”
“The Split? You’re talking about the Slitter rebellion.”
“I don’t think it was much of a rebellion, it was more of a…cleansing of ideology. A lot of people died, mostly those who disagreed with The Body. Refugees fled into the woods. Most were hunted down, but others survived, giving rise to the mythical scourge of Community—Slitters.”
“Wasn’t there some sort of treaty?”
“I don’t think so.” Dad pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s getting a headache. “Jack knows a lot more about this crap than I do. Ask him when we get back. What was I saying? Oh yeah—the markers. We came across some carvings in the last move and Cassandra thinks the Ark is edging south. Every island we’ve ever colonized is south, and she believes if the Ark keeps going, it will run aground on an air pocket sooner or later…could even be here. Cassandra doesn’t know if the Ark will roll right over or moor permanently…but it’s not going to matter once it hits. Community will have access, and if these islands keep expanding, and our settlements are all attached—”
“Community can get to every one of them.”
He nods.
“You think The Body will attack?”
“I know it will…and the pilgrims won’t stand a chance.”
“But we don’t know for sure the Ark is coming, and even if it stops nearby, we still have Outside to protect us. Besides, there’s no way to get to the other colonies yet…and there might never be.”
Dad shakes his head. “They’re just settlers, Mim. The Scorpions will—”
“You’re only guessing, and at least for now, it doesn’t change a thing.”
“It changes the number of secrets I have to keep.” He toes the ground. “We have to think long and hard about what we do next. But you’re right, for now we keep doing what we do. Let’s get back.”
Three more silent days through the woods, following a man who talks a lot less than I remember, is a recipe for wandering thoughts. By the time we arrive at the settlement, I’ve sorted through every imaginable scenario for convincing my friends in Community to join the Utugi…to build new lives in a new home with a new family. Things are so different, so much better than we were ever led to believe. The world is…wide open, and I want us all to have it. Gas and Ellie will be easy, but I’ll have to show Tommy and Will for them to understand. They’ll see, and when we’re together again, we can do some real good. Nothing will be able to stop us.
Dusk is still a few hours away, and the sun is burning lazy orange when we arrive in New Hope. Dad gives a sharp whistle and raises an arm to summon his men. He wants to know about the other markers.
“The southern marker is about seven paces inside the Edge,” one man says.
“The eastern edge is eight,” Slate adds.
“So it is growing,” Dad mutters.
The ferrymen don’t know how to take the news. They wait for a cue from Dad, but he offers no hint at all. Either they don’t know Cassandra is worried about the Ark running aground, or they haven’t realized what will happen if Community lands and gains access to a string of Utugi colonies.
“You don’t think it’ll pop, do you?” one man asks.
Dad rubs his face to clear his eyes. He looks tired.
“Don’t ever say that again. That will never happen, but it doesn’t mean these pilgrims won’t be scared shitless if a stupid idea like that leaks out. They’ll be lining up to go back to the Ark, so you put that crap right out of your head, and if I ever, ever hear it again, there’ll be more hell to pay than you can manage. I promise you that,” Dad growls. “Does everyone understand?”
Murmurs of, “Yes sir,” follow, and the conversation ends. They wait for Dad to speak again, but he doesn’t.
Slate finally breaks the silence. “There’s something else. I ran across some good-size bear tracks about two days out.”
“Where?” Dad asks.
Slate pulls his knife and kneels to scratch a map in the dirt. He draws a quick circle and an arc about a foot away. “We’re here.” He stabs the circle. “And the eastern edge is here.” He lifts the blade, indicating the arc. Slate is staring into the dirt, crafting his words with his map while Dad and the ferrymen look on.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing! I explode through the men, stomping down on Slate’s wrist, pinning it to the ground with my heel. Slate reaches up to defend himself. He raises an arm to strike, but I catch him with a sharp knee in the side of the face before he does. He sprawls out, momentarily stunned as I take the knife from the ground. Slate rolls to his feet, furious and ready to fight, but when he sees it’s me, his anger lapses into confusion. The ferrymen stand gaping, frozen by the unprovoked attack that came from nowhere.
I glare at Slate. I raise the knife, so he sees it clearly. “Where did you get this, asshole?”
“Dammit Mim, what the hell?” Slate touches the side of his head and inspects his fingertips for blood.
“If I have to ask again, they’ll be pulling this out of your ribs. Answer the question.”
“A tool-run. Damn, what’s wrong with you?”
“You took it from a Scorpion?”
“No, just some old guy and his wife. Like I said, a tool-run. They never even stirred.”
I squint to better read his face, but the shadows and late day sun make it impossible to tell if he’s lying. I tuck the knife into my belt and extend an upturned hand.
“Give me the case,” I growl.
Slate glares, deciding if he’ll do as I say or try to take his weapon back. I twitch, waiting for the attack. My fingertips slide to the knife, as options run through Slate’s mind. His eyes narrow…and then he figures pride isn’t worth what could happen next. Slate huffs and shakes his head as he unstraps the sheathe and slaps it in my palm.
�
��Here,” he says, “don’t hurt yourself…or anyone else.” Slate keeps his eyes on me for three backward steps, before pivoting to walk off. “Just so you know, danger girl,” he calls over his shoulder, “this isn’t the arena, and in the real-world, it isn’t polite to ask with your knee. You’ll have to be nicer next time, or I won’t be so obliging…I don’t care who you are.”
When I’m sure he’s gone, I push through the ring of silent men without looking at my father. I don’t want to know what he thinks about what just happened. I look for a spot to be alone, and find myself wandering around the site of the new meeting house. I lean my bow against the construction and pull up to sit on top of one of the walls. I take Will’s knife from my belt and run my fingers over the letters at the hilt.
“B-O-W-I-E,” I mutter, and then slide the blade into its case. This is a sign. I have to go back.
25
Will
The death throes of day ooze orange across the sky as dusk closes in to claim the world. The color of battle between light and dark will end as it always does, with the sun bleeding out purples and yellows and reds across the atmosphere, gasping its last breath as we stare up and enjoy the show. Daytime has to work, but night only has to be…darkness is the natural order, so no matter how bright the fire burns, we always end in black. Mim used to love sunsets like this…so did my mom.
Being off duty for the first night in seven or eight weeks makes me squirm—worried all the training and work I’ve put into my men will unravel if I’m not there to keep an eye on them. But Starter ordered me to take the night off. He thinks I’m wound too tight…taking things too personally.
Several weeks ago I split my first group into five, letting two pairs of my original men take responsibility for training another woodland squad. It’s not the best way to do things, but it’s efficient, and Starter has promoted me to oversee the entire program. My special force Scorpions aren’t exactly ghosts in the woods, but they’re competent…almost shadows—a far cry from the left-footed clods I started with. Scorpions have always been able to handle weapons, and they kill as easily as breathing, but the skills they’ve learned from me make them nearly invincible. Properly outfitted, they’re worth a dozen Slitters each.
Black and crimson are the pride of every Scorpion, but in the woods it’s a target color—easily seen and easily struck. The wrong clothing is a devastating tactical error. I speak with Ven, he speaks with Ayden, and every group in Community is temporarily licensed to trap Outside deer on the Edge. They stretch and tan the hides to make buckskin uniforms for my men in return for keeping most of the venison they take. The opportunity to stockpile meat and burn low, day-long fires, pushes the war-effort into full tilt. People are happy, prosperity abounds, and only soldiers think of battle…dreaming of victory, heroics, and coming home unscathed.
In a few days, my men will be outfitted in light brown uniforms, and it will be time. It will be time to make every Slitter pay for what they’ve done to Community…for what they’ve done to me. I stare into the bleeding sky above as vengeance tip-toes through my mind. I don’t notice Starter until he’s standing next to me.
“Looks like God is flying our colors. Must be a good omen,” he comments.
“What?”
“The sunset, it’s a beautiful one.”
“It looks like blood to me.”
Starter turns his head upward, reconsidering the colors in the sky. He smirks and shakes his head. “It does, doesn’t it?” He waits for me to respond but I don’t. “I know I gave you the night off, but Ayden wants to see us. He asked for you specifically.”
“When?”
“Right now.”
I follow Starter across the compound to a ring of Scorpions encircling Ayden’s tent. The guards part, and the closest soldier pulls the door back for us to enter. Candlelight flutters and shadows dance across the room. The Supreme is standing at a large table with Ven at his side. They look up as we arrive. No other members of The Body are present…just the four of us.
“Hello, Will, thank you for coming,” Ayden whispers.
“Hero, I’m glad you’re here.” Ven nods without his usual grin.
“My captains tell me it was your idea to divide the special forces training and that it is you who recognized the flaw in wearing our black and crimson uniforms in battle. The lives you’ve already saved are impossible to tally.” Ayden takes a shallow breath to continue. “You and I, Will, have had our differences, and I have to be honest, your loyalty to Community has been suspect. You are a…maverick.”
He stares at me through the dim light. His pale skin turns his eyes to dark pits in his skull. I don’t look away.
“I guess tragedy changes us all. You have not allowed the deaths of your beloveds to go for naught, and I see you will exact a terrible cost on those responsible. Those who die, die in vain, if not first giving cause to Community. We owe your parents a great debt for the change their sacrifice has purchased in you.”
His words do not leave me cold. Ven and Ayden seem to have reconciled themselves to Starter, giving up on what they planned to do to him—have me do to him—in the arena. Perhaps the impending war is curbing old ambitions. I’m okay with the way things stand.
“Report,” Ayden murmurs.
“As ordered, we’ve closed down the Fangs and all Battle-outs are postponed until victory. Scorpion traditions are important, but we must match the Slitter horde with every man we have,” Ven states.
Ayden nods in agreement. “Continue.”
“My detachment has trained another fifty Scorpions…”
“Are they trained for woodland warfare?” Ayden interrupts.
“No, these men are brand new to the Scorpion Corps, but I’ve had them on blood-runs against the shepherds. They’re doing fine. We also have close to four-hundred militia who are armed, outfitted, and ready to fight.”
“Just citizens,” I say without thinking.
Ayden looks to Ven.
“They are armed, they follow orders, and there are four-hundred of them.”
“Formidable,” Ayden says.
“Yes, formidable,” Ven agrees.
Ayden turns to Starter. “And your report, Captain.”
“We have close to one hundred special force Scorpions waiting for buckskins. As soon as they’re outfitted, we’re ready.”
Ayden nods. “And our intelligence, where does that stand?”
“Not good,” Starter says. “We’ve been in the field, but we’ve been training on our side of Middle Ground. It’s best not to violate the treaty and invite an attack before we’re prepared. They know where we are, but intel on them is almost nonexistent.”
BANG! Ven slams his palm to the table. “What a bunch of crap. We’re two weeks from a major offensive, and you can’t even guess at the enemy numbers. Four-hundred men is nothing if we’re moving against a thousand.”
“Some things require patience,” Starter snarls.
“But nothing requires ineptitude,” Ven growls back.
Ayden raises his hand. “Enough,” he whispers, and the two men fall silent. “I think we can all agree that it is not a good idea to move on the Slitters without more information. Give me suggestions.”
“I could go on a deep survey—get eyes on the enemy. That’s the only way to know anything,” I say.
“A spy mission?”
“I can find them.”
“How long will that take?”
“A week, maybe a few days more.”
Ayden leans on the table. “That’s a long time, can we spare him?”
“Not for a week.” Starter shakes his head. “The men need him.”
“Who else can do this…deep survey?” Ayden asks.
“No one,” I say.
“There is one other, but he’s not military,” Starter says.
“Conscript him,” Ayden orders.
“Wait,” Ven objects, “you’re not talking about Will’s dangerball buddy, are you?”
Starter doesn’t answer Ven, he speaks only to Ayden. “His name is Tommy 14. He consulted on the initial woodland training, and he’s every bit as good as Will.”
“He’ll never do it,” I say, but Starter ignores me as well.
“He lost his mom to the Slitters. He’ll be happy to help. He’s a good guy.”
“Tommy 14 should be thrown in a hole,” Ven remarks.
Ayden puts up a finger to silence the conversation. “If Tommy 14 succeeds, we improve our chances against the enemy, but if he fails, we lose nothing. No matter what the Slitters do to him, he has no strategic knowledge to give. He cannot betray us. He’s perfect. Conscript him. Will, give him his orders. His mission begins first thing in the morning.”
“And if he refuses?”
“Throw him in a hole. I have nothing more. Leave me.”
Ven moves from around the table as Starter and I step for the door.
“Oh, one more thing,” Ayden says, barely loud enough to hear. “Starter, by my count, you have charge of roughly a hundred men. Is that correct?”
“I command one hundred special force woodland Scorpions,” Starter confirms.
“And Ven, what are your numbers?”
“One hundred ten Scorpions and four hundred militia.”
Ayden nods, still leaning on the table. “Given eighty percent of my military is under your charge, it is reasonable I promote you to Commander. Congratulations, Ven, you are now the ranking officer over the armed forces of Community.” I think Ayden smiles, but it is difficult to tell in this light. “Starter, you served my father well, I hope this won’t be a problem.”
“Of course not, Supreme.”
Ayden considers him from the shadows. “Good,” he says, and we step out into a world where the sun has already set.
