A hand on my shoulder sends a jolt of electricity through my body. “Sev?” the voice snakes through the haze, but cold seeps up through my coat, frosting my ears shut, the dead soldier’s icy fingers trying to find my throat.
“Sev?” The voice is louder. Yelling. The blackened face resolves into a pair of brown eyes. “Sev! What’s wrong?”
My shoulders lift from the ground and crash back down. How did I end up lying on the ground? I can’t fight the soldier’s iron grip bruising my arms. Water splashes across my face and the dark eyes become a face. Howl. Holding me down.
“Get off me!” I yell, jerking away from him.
Howl lets go, surprised. “You started shaking and fell over.” He raises my chin with one finger, appraising. “Are you sick?”
“No! I saw . . .”
“You saw what?” When I don’t answer, Howl sits back on his heels, eyebrows creasing in toward each other. “This is the third time this has happened since we’ve been out here. Not including that first night in the wine cellar.” He pushes a flustered hand through his hair. “How could you . . .” But then he takes a deep breath and starts over. “Are you taking Mantis like you are supposed to?”
I feel my face flush. “You hand it to me every morning and night. And watch me swallow.”
“Then what is going on?”
I take a deep breath. “I . . . see things. It happened back in the City a lot. Never this bad before. Except . . . except for the bottles.” I feel so ashamed. Dirty. Something is wrong with me, and I can’t talk about it. Not when a dead man was just speaking to me. “It hasn’t hurt you yet, so—”
“I’m not worried about you hurting me; I’m worried about you hurting yourself. What do you mean, you ‘see things’?” Howl unzips my pack, digging until he finds the plastic package of Mantis Dr. Yang gave me. He doesn’t seem to mind that I just told him I’ve been hallucinating. He just eyes the bottle thoughtfully. “Does it hurt?”
My mind struggles to find a way to deny what Howl has uncovered, to pull the secret back inside of me, where it will be safe, but nothing comes.
I don’t remember hallucinations happening at all before my sister, Aya, died, about two years ago. The week after I saw her shot down, I started having frighteningly real dreams. Dreams that woke me up screaming, dreams that didn’t go away even after I opened my eyes. It started happening more and more, until I was almost too frightened to go to sleep. Then came the daydreams, dark, twisted versions of reality, like the monster at the Aihu Bridge.
I shake my head, not sure if it is a response to Howl’s question or just an attempt to stop the world from spinning around me. “Just trying to keep you on your toes. Unpredictability: Boys love it. At least that’s what the nuns always said in our late-night girly talks. What did you find?”
His lips harden to a tight line, and for a moment I think he won’t drop it. But when he finally speaks, his voice is soft. “Nothing. They’ve all been picked clean.”
“Who would be out here killing Reds? I mean, if there’s no such thing as Kamar, like you say.”
Howl shrugs. “It’s no-man’s-land from here to the mountain.” He says it as if it’s a name, not just one of the many mountains we’ve walked over. “Most Outsiders stay clear. There were only Reds in the pile, though, so it must have been an ambush. Are you okay? You look terrible.”
I smooth a hand over my braided hair, picking out a few dead leaves and brushing the dirt from my back. “Better than they do.”
Howl glances toward the lifeless soldiers. “Not by much.” He puts the package of Mantis into his own pack and pulls out a bottle marked with Mantis’s characters. “I’m going to have you switch to these, okay?”
“You’ve had more Mantis this whole time?” A thread of annoyance cuts at my throat. “I’ve been so worried we’d run out. . . .” And why would it matter which Mantis I take? They’re all the same little green pills.
He pulls out three more bottles, stuffing them all into my pack. “And now you don’t have to worry anymore. You can carry it, if you want. Less weight in my pack.” He zips my pack closed and uncurls from his crouch next to me.
“The mountain . . .” I say it as if that’s the name of the place, the way he did, taking the hand he offers to help me up. “Did they do this?”
“Probably.”
“So they are the people we’re fighting. I mean, the people the City is fighting.”
“Yes.” Howl’s face shuts tight, wariness cloaking his open smile as it always does when I ask too many questions.
“So, even if they don’t call themselves Kamar, how is going to them not betraying the City?”
“Because . . .” Howl can’t seem to let go of the word, drawing it out long as if while he’s still saying it, he won’t have to actually explain anything. “You haven’t been out here long enough to understand yet. Come on, we need to get moving. Less than a week to the Mountain, and I don’t want to run into trouble.”
“Could these Mountain people—the ones who killed these Seconds—be close?” I want to probe more, but dwelling on the dead men replants the Watchmen’s black, empty eyes and severed trigger fingers back into my thoughts.
“I don’t think so. These bodies have been here for at least a week. . . .” Howl freezes midstep, his head cocked to the side as if he’s listening. Each of the tendons in his neck stands out underneath his skin like a starving set of ribs, his jaw set so hard I can almost feel his teeth cracking under the pressure.
It looks almost like . . . fear.
“Howl, what . . .”
He puts his finger to his lips, listening.
Dread oozes through my chest and paralyzes me, the quiet noises of the forest suddenly sinister and dangerous. I can’t see anything that should be frightening on the ground or off in the trees. “What is it?” I whisper.
Instead of answering, Howl stalks off into the trees, feet silent on the uneven ground. When he comes back, the tense look isn’t quite gone, though it’s masked now by a smile. “Come on, we need to check something out.”
“What? You look like you’re about to dig yourself a cave to hide in.”
He squats down, fingers pressing at the exposed dirt, digging around a clump of pink flowers just brave enough to push through into the cold air. Squishing the dirt against his palm into a ball, he then tosses it up into the air and catches it again with the other hand. “Sounds messy.”
The knot of fear in my chest is slowly loosening, and pride takes over. I try to sound nonchalant. “What, then?”
Howl points to the ground, which seems unremarkable in any way. “People have been through here. More recently than the group that killed the soldiers. It took me a minute to figure out whether or not they could be within earshot.”
“So, not our mysterious and complicated mountain people you won’t tell me about?”
His mouth twitches as if he wants to laugh but is too polite to do so. “I don’t know if I’d call them ‘ours.’ Right now I think we have more in common with that detatchment of Reds we found than anyone else out here. Twice as dirty and just about as frozen. I’m not sure anyone else will take us in.”
Bending down, Howl wraps his fingers around one of the flowers and pulls, handing the bloom to me.
“At least with the dead guys, I’d know who I was dealing with,” I say, raising an eyebrow. But I take the flower, twirling the stem between my fingers.
Howl grins, but his eyes are strained. Worried about whoever is out here and trying to hide it. “Now I can’t tell you, because this is more fun. Maybe if I keep my mouth completely shut, you’ll explode or something.” And he starts to walk.
“Howl!” I call after him. “Aren’t Firsts supposed to tell the truth? It’s part of your science-Mantis-finding oath thing.”
His pack stares back at me, shifting on his back he disappears into the trees.
Running to catch up, I take my place a few feet behind him, though his pace is much slower than
usual. “What if you die? I’ll be stuck out here with . . .” Myself. The pocket that holds my new bottle of Mantis feels extra light.
The frustration rock solid in my stomach starts to grow until my whole midsection might as well be granite and dragging along behind me. What is it that made him run away? And why doesn’t he believe I’ll be able to understand it? Even worse than that, if he can’t tell me, does that mean he doesn’t trust me? That we aren’t friends?
I skip a few steps to catch up with Howl. “I heard a story once that the Chairman only employs mutes because he can’t stand the chatter from Thirds who can talk. Does that apply to sons as well?”
Howl grunts, fringes of hair bobbing up and down, just visible over his pack from behind him. He doesn’t react to the mention of his father.
“My roommate, Peishan, said it wasn’t all the Thirds serving up in your house. Just the Chairman’s hairdresser. She knows all the City secrets, all the Chairman’s stupid jokes, and how often he brushes his teeth. He trusts her because she can’t tell anyone else, not even her own family.”
Silence.
I pull my long braid over my shoulder, more snarl than actual braid at this point. “You already know all of my secrets. And you seem to have the no-talking thing down. So if you were planning to start a new career as a hairdresser, I’d be willing to let you try mine.”
“I think the only way to fix that braid involves a knife.” Howl pauses to brush his fingers across a tree trunk where a few strips of bark have been rubbed away. “Now, how do I turn you off again? Mute would be good right now.”
The curt reply stings a little, but I don’t let it stop me. “You have to know the magic word. It isn’t the name of my firstborn child, or ‘open sesame,’ or anything about my hair, so don’t bother.”
Howl doesn’t look back this time. “What about ‘please’?”
The cold sinks in deep this morning and my healing ribs ache from shivering. Howl stops every ten feet to look at each displaced pebble in our path, making me think of a child wearing his dad’s uniform hat and coat, striding around and issuing orders as he plays at being much bigger than he actually is.
“You seem kind of anxious, Howl. Would it cheer you up if I ate an apple this morning?”
He finally looks at me, half a smile pulling at his mouth. “I didn’t pick any for you today, so you’d have to fight me for it.”
“I’d win, too.”
I skip a step back when Howl unbuckles his pack and drops it to the ground, wondering if he means to take me up on that challenge, but he just answers in a conspiratorial whisper, “I fight dirty when I’m protecting my food. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to spot the people who passed through here before they hear your voice and die from an overdose of secondhand perkiness. Like I said, I don’t think they are soldiers, but I don’t think they are . . . our people either. And I don’t want to stumble across a nest of Wood Rats by accident. Especially not in the land between the City and . . .” He purses his lips, then amends, “Anyone living this close to the City.”
Dropping his pack behind a rock, Howl gestures for me to set my pack down as well. By the time my things are hidden, he’s already ten yards away, dark hair barely visible through the underbrush.
We dodge through the woods until I feel ridiculous trying to follow his lead. Elbowing my way through frozen dirt on my stomach and ducking behind bushes seems more conspicuous than walking like a normal person. I’m about to suggest this when he puts one finger to his lips.
Howl huddles under the bare ribs of a bush, the branches sticking weakly out from a dusting of dead leaves. Through the bush, I can see a scrap of mud-green canvas.
The sight of something man-made has me on the ground with my heart pounding, mind full of all the stories they tell about the people who live Outside. After all these days of wandering alone, the idea of other people seemed vague. Unreal. But ahead of us is a very real tent, and real live Wood Rats live in it. The scavengers that survive Outside are definitely something to fear.
Howl gestures for silence again, pointing to his mouth and breathing deeply, a sharp contrast to the short, scared bursts coming from me.
Putting a finger to his lips, Howl touches my shoulder and shakes his head. When he places his other hand on my stomach, it sends a panicked jolt through my abdomen, and I jerk away. Howl rolls his eyes and points to my shoulder. He puts a finger on his own shoulder and breathes in with an exaggerated shoulder movement, shaking his finger. With a hand on his stomach, he takes slow breaths that come from much deeper.
I try it. Much more quiet and controlled. I even feel calmer.
But it’s too late.
A click sounds behind me, ripping through the cold silence like a clap of thunder. Howl’s eyes fasten on something behind me.
I turn to find a weather-beaten old man standing over us, gun trained on Howl. He doesn’t blink when Howl’s hand slips up into his jacket. He just shoots the tree behind us, sending a flurry of birds into panicked flight. “Don’t move. No use for whatever you’ve got hidden under there.”
I agree. I happen to know it’s the knife that disappeared from my pocket down in the Chairman’s basement. Howl uses it to cut our army-ration dried meat into strips so we can eat while we walk. It isn’t very sharp.
“Hands up, both of you.” The man’s eyes stare at Howl until he does as he’s told. “Now stand up.”
I roll over to my knees and inch to my feet. Howl creeps up in front of me as he stands, one hand over his head, the other extended out in front of me as though his arm is going to make a difference if this Outsider decides to shoot me.
The man’s eyes widen as he takes in the First mark scored into Howl’s hand, the scar white against his skin. The angry set of the man’s mouth hardens.
“What are you and your little girlfriend doing breathing so loud near our camp?” His voice is a rasp. Harsher than before. “You part of the extermination forces that run through here?”
“The what?”
Howl’s elbow presses against my shoulder, an unmistakable Be quiet. “We’re on the run. Away from the City.”
“I guess that explains the First mark and . . .” He gestures to the shiny patch of melted skin that makes a star on my hand. “She infected?” The gun is suddenly pointed at my head instead of Howl’s.
Howl’s protective arm pushes against me again, tensing as if he’s about to jump the guy. Instead, Howl just says, “No. We’re not infected. She used to be a First.”
The man nods thoughtfully. His voice is still rock hard when he finally speaks. “Care to join us?”
Howl swallows, staring at the gun still pointed at my head. His sleeve grazes my collarbone as he lets his arms fall down, and he grabs my hand.
The weapon clicks again and the man lowers it, waving us toward the strip of green I saw through the bushes. I can just see a small clearing, a canvas tent streaked with mud occupying one edge. A fire-blackened pot suspended over a smokeless Junis fire spouts steam up into the morning chill. It smells like dirt and unwashed humans. And boiled cabbage.
As we get closer, a woman steps out from behind a tree, hair silvered with age. Where the man’s years of exposure and hardship crack through, her face wrinkles and bends. Softer. “You okay, Cas?” she asks.
The man nods and pokes a thumb in our direction. “Couple of City strays. Nothing we can’t work with, Tian.”
Tian looks us over, taking in our dirty clothes and cheeks red with cold. “Pretty far away from the walls to look so well fed. Where are your supplies?”
Howl squeezes my hand before I can speak, “We dumped them a few days back. Thought the Reds were after us and we couldn’t move fast enough to stay ahead.” Hanging his head, his voice takes on a dejected whine I’ve never heard before. “We figured with a few days’ worth of food and water, we would be able to find help.”
“You aren’t worried about running around in the woods with nothing? City kids who grew up with Mantis?�
�� She doesn’t look angry, just unconvinced. Cas sits down in front of the fire, looking away from us, but his hand stays close to the gun. “What kind of trouble is worse than risking a brush with a clan of infected out here? Not much I wouldn’t do to get behind those City walls.”
“We had to leave.” Howl’s voice cracks. “We were as good as dead in the City.”
Tian raises an eyebrow, blinking at the traitor brand unmistakable on my bare hand. Or maybe she’s looking at both our hands, so awkwardly intertwined. “Sweethearts?” Her voice is tinged with pity.
Howl grasps my hand even tighter, and I know it is my turn to speak. When I do, my voice grates, inches from pretend tears. “It was because of me. My mother, really. There was no point in staying after what she did.” It feels odd to twist the truth into this lie.
The old lady purses her lips. “Things are tough even in the City these days, I guess.” A trilling whistle sounds from her lips and two men step out from the fringes of the wood, guns lowering as they walk toward us. A young girl pokes her head out of the tent, her hair bound up in a dirty scarf. She gives us a quick glare before clapping the flap shut again.
The dark-haired men sit by Cas at the fire, almost identical in appearance. One is lazily unconcerned with us, the other openly watching and interested.
Tian jerks her head toward the men. “These are my sons, Parhat and Liming. The little one in the tent is June.”
One of the men, Liming, catches my eye when she says his name, giving me a start. His eyes are bright green against his sun-dark skin. Green, like the invaders, like Kamar . . . or maybe this Mountain place we’re going. I squeeze Howl’s hand, trying to get his attention, but he ignores me.
Parhat doesn’t look up from the boiling water over the fire. He rhythmically taps a scarred wooden bowl against the three-legged stand that suspends the pot over the crackling wood.
Something inside of me relaxes. It’s hard to be frightened of a family cooking dinner. Maybe Outsiders aren’t as bad as I thought. Maybe there are people with green and blue eyes who aren’t part of the army trying to destroy my home.
Last Star Burning Page 10
