The White Renegade (Viral Airwaves)

by Claudie Arseneault

  Pale and bloodied.

  Just like him.

  A strong wave of nausea sent him to his knees. He couldn’t do that. Hide among the bodies? He had grown up surrounded by these people, could name each one of them. And he’d watched them die, burned or shot. The villagers hadn’t covered the grave. Like it was waiting for him, ready to offer protection. Soon soldiers would arrive, and they would smash down every door in Iswood to find him. He had nowhere else to go. Either he hid with these cadavers, or he’d be one of them before the day was over.

  Seraphin heaved what little was left from his stomach—an acrid bile, mostly—then wiped his mouth. He used every bit of will he had to crawl forward. His fingers scraped on small stones, then gripped the edge. His eyes watered at the overwhelming stench. Seraphin whispered one last prayer for forgiveness, then slid down into the pit.

  There was a soft wet thud as his boots hit the first body. He could taste bile in his mouth again and forced himself not to retch. Somewhere in this pile was Leanna. He could be standing on her right now, for all he knew. Seraphin spotted an area where the bodies were more white and bloodied than blackened from burns. He crept along, trying his best not to look at his hands. He didn’t want to know if the brittleness under his fingers was burnt flesh giving way at his touch. Dealing with the horrid stink was already too much.

  When he reached the whiter zone, he lifted one of the bodies and squirmed under, hiding his head as much as possible. The stench choked him, but he had no choice. White hair would give him away. Lying under the townsfolk, encased in scorched death and bloodied grime, Seraphin inched his fingers until they touched the rough skeptar. He apologized in silence, over and over, but remained completely still.

  Pale and rigid, like the bodies around him, until the soldiers came and went.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As it turned out, there was one big flaw in Seraphin’s hiding plan: Iswood’s residents were preparing to fill the grave long before the soldiers left the village. They weren’t near the grave anymore, but he could hear his squad moving from house to house. Their shouts were distant, muffled by the houses between them and the weird daze that had settled over him as he waited. Seraphin breathed and moved as an automaton, now. He couldn’t even bring himself to care about the bodies serving as his camouflage. The recoiling horror of his initial crawl had receded, leaving behind a hardened disgust. When he overheard the villagers first speak about finishing the grave, he concluded he knew to leave.

  He slid out from under the body hiding him, then glanced up. No one in sight. Seraphin crawled toward the edge. His palms settled against flabby or brittle bodies, depending on their fate, but after two hours lying amidst the corpses, Seraphin no longer cared. He no longer noticed the terrible smell either. He reached the steep slope on the pit’s border, only three feet high, and straightened up, slowly unwinding to take a glance at his surroundings.

  No villagers guarded the grave. Not that surprising: it would be a heartbreaking job, and everyone inside was supposed to be dead.

  Seraphin studied the soldiers’ movements, on the other side of the village, and as soon as most of them were inside a house, he scrambled out of the grave. His feet loosened small rocks as he pulled himself up, and they rolled down to the bodies. Then he was out. He took a deep breath, stifled an unexpected sob, and sprinted. Seraphin expected a shout at any moment. A soldier calling his name or a villager screaming in horror. None followed his quick dash to the trees.

  He threw himself to the ground the moment he reached the forest, crouching behind a large trunk and curling into a tight ball. His breathing had turned into small, out of control pants. His muscles screamed from the sudden awakening, after an hour of stiffness. The short run had brought his bruises back, and his pain was coming through the dull daze of the last hours. He still needed to move, however. He had to make use of the time the soldiers searched the houses to get out of the general area. Alex would have left his things at the pale tree. Just getting there would mean hours of stumbling through the woods. Better to leave now, before his exhaustion caught up to him and caused him to fall asleep just leaning against a tree.

  With a deep sigh, Seraphin pushed himself back on his feet. He ignored the throbbing pain in his body and tried to find the strange, almost mechanical zone he’d reached under the corpses. One foot in front of the other. No choice. He refused to have come this far only to crumble into the woods. His hand once again wrapped around the skeptar and he pressed onward.

  *

  By the time Seraphin reached the dead tree, he was ready to collapse and never stand up again. He had no idea how long it’d taken him, but the sun was high in the sky and the day was growing hot. His torn and dirtied clothes clung to him, and the cut on his forehead prickled as sweat dribbled in. Every new step seemed impossible, yet he took them nonetheless. Behind him, thick smoke rose once more from the village. Some Regarians preferred their skeptars to be burned, to release their ancestors within. Judging from the smoke, that particular tradition had been quite alive in the townsfolk who’d perished yesterday. Seraphin whispered a few words for his family, resolved to one day come back and create a symbolic grave for them, next to their ancestors.

  As he turned back, he noticed a flash of red up ahead and smiled as he recognized Alex’s jacket. It was hung from a branch, probably because of the heat. The sight renewed his strength, and Seraphin hurried up the rest of the way. He found his friend sitting on the fallen trunk of his tree, and the sight of the half-dead pine sank his heart. Sometime last winter, while he was huddled in a small barracks with Stern, the elements had finally won their war. Seraphin’s throat tightened, his eyes watered. It was just a tree, but he stopped in his tracks and sank to his knees. Alex scrambled to his side right away, calling his name, but Seraphin didn’t look up. For the first time, tears were streaming down his cheeks and onto the ground.

  Alex drew him tight, letting Seraphin rest against their breasts and sob to his heart’s content. He had no idea how long he stayed there, unable to staunch the flow. Somehow, he’d made it all the way to Alex. He had walked into the Union’s encampment with his ancestors’ gun, pointed it at General Klaus Vermen, pulled the trigger and watched him die, then escaped the camp, dodged pursuit, and hiked to the rendezvous. Somehow. Seraphin clung to his friend, fingers digging into their shirt, until his weeping subsided. He took a deep breath, wiped his face, then smiled at his friend.

  “I’m exhausted.”

  Alex chuckled, then kissed his forehead. “I would never have guessed.”

  They seemed to be looking for something better to add. Seraphin shuffled to sit next to them, rather than in their lap, then turned towards Iswood. He’d cried over a twisted tree, but couldn’t do the same for his family. He tried to discard the thought, but it clung to him. He could shoot a man and watch the life vanish from his eyes, but he couldn’t cry for the people he’d loved. A long shudder ran up his spine, and he moved a hand through his hair. His fingers broke through caked dirt and blood, and he grimaced.

  “How bad do I look?” he asked.

  “Like you just crawled out of a grave.”

  Seraphin’s breath caught in his throat. Alex didn’t know. They couldn’t. And the absurdity of their answer, after Seraphin had spent at least two hours half-buried under a corpse—a body who most certainly belonged to someone he’d known all his life—made him snap again. He laughed. An uncontrollable and shaky laugh that earned him an unsettled stare from Alex. Seraphin put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, waiting until he could talk to explain at least a little.

  “I did, actually.” That didn’t reassure Alex at all. Their eyes widened in horror, and Seraphin had to raise a hand to stop them from replying. “It’s … okay. I think. The mass grave was my only choice. I prefer not to think about it.”

  Alex agreed with a nod. Their lips were pinched in disgust, but they didn’t push the topic. Instead they rose and returned to sit on the trunk, where Seraphin soon j
oined them. The silence stretched between them, heavy. Seraphin had no desire to talk about the last twenty-four hours, and he couldn’t muster the strength to find a proper topic of conversation. The truth was he should be on his way. The soldiers would extend their search for him. They might even notice Alex wasn’t around town.

  “You ought to go back,” he said. “Someone is bound to tell them about you.”

  “That we’re friends, and I’m mysteriously not in the village the day you escaped?” Alex shrugged. “I’m not sure they’ll do anything like that. Everybody looked up to your dad. The day they’ll betray his only son—after he avenged his whole family, too—hasn’t yet come. These people … well, they aren’t always the most welcoming, but I don’t expect them to sell one of their own to the Union army.”

  Seraphin closed his eyes at ‘one of their own.’ Did he count? Half the time they treated him as an outsider. He’d joined the army, stood by as they burned the Wet Lizard. Alex had a point, however. He was the last Holt alive and he’d taken down the very general behind this massacre. The townsfolk wouldn’t be so quick to answer the soldiers’ questions.

  “Still,” he said. “Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

  “That’s rich, coming from you!”

  “I’m sorry, but everything I did was very necessary.”

  Alex pushed his shoulder a little as a protest, but they didn’t deny it. “Either way, I’m not going anywhere until you’ve slept some. You don’t just look like you crawled out of a grave, Seraph, you look like you still belong there. Lie down next to your tree, catch some rest, and when you’re in better shape I’ll tell you where I hid your supplies.”

  “Hid?”

  “You heard me.” Alex grinned. “You’re not getting any of it until you’ve slept.”

  Seraphin considered a formal protest against this blackmail, but Alex was right. Now that he was sitting, he wouldn’t be able to take another step. He let his palms caress the fallen tree, then nodded.

  “Okay. Two hours, no more. You’ll get back to Iswood at nightfall, and I’ll have enough strength to get me to the closest stream. At this point, the one thing I’m worried about is dogs. They could use my spare uniforms to get them on my track.”

  Alex gave him a weird look, then snorted. “If anyone’s gonna follow a scent, it’ll be burnt flesh and death. You stink.”

  Seraphin sniffed. He’d been so numb to everything for hours, he wasn’t surprised not to have noticed. He just shrugged. “More reasons to get to the river. I might feel human once I’m clean.”

  His friend patted his shoulder briefly, then motioned toward the hard ground on the other side of the tree. Seraphin stretched one last time. He was eager to get out of his dirtied clothes, but he suspected he would need to take extra care with his spares and decided to wait until he was clean to change. He settled down near the tree, setting his back against the gray trunk. Alex grabbed their red jacket and, to his surprise, they snuck into Seraphin’s arms. He held his breath a moment.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Oh hush, Seraphin. You need to hug the heck out of someone, and I’m here. Don’t worry about the rest.”

  Seraphin smiled a little, and for a moment he thought he’d cry again. Instead the emotion remained stuck in his throat. He snuggled against Alex, one arm wrapped around them while the other rested under his head. Alex pulled the red jacket over them as a blanket of sorts, then wished him a good night. The sun was shining high above, but the moment Alex shielded them with the jacket, Seraphin closed his eyes and exhaustion caught up to him.

  *

  They slept together, Seraphin squeezed between the tree at his back and Alex in his arms. He was spared nightmares about his family or the previous night, and breezed through a handful of hours of sweet unconsciousness. When Alex shook his shoulder and whispered his name, Seraphin moaned against the return of throbbing pain. His head weighed twice as much as usual, and every muscle had stiffened into rigid bars. He rolled over, groaned, and swore. Alex couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

  “Rough day ahead?” they asked.

  “I guess.” Seraphin couldn’t quite bring himself to care. It could only get better, no? After all he’d endured, a few hours of painful walking wouldn’t kill him. He could stay on his feet until nightfall. That was all that mattered now: staying alive. “I can handle it.”

  “No doubts about that,” Alex said. “If you ask me, you can handle anything. What will be next?”

  The compliment made Seraphin smile. He sat up and massaged his legs. “I’m not sure. I’ll lay low for a while, find a dye that’ll hide the white hair, maybe go into Ferrys to see what the Union is like from the inside. I refuse to believe it’s all rotten.”

  “Next time you go after someone, you better let me help you.” Alex dropped the supply pack next to him, then snatched their jacket. For the first time, Seraphin heard the bitterness in their tone. “I might not walk into an army’s camp to shoot their general, but I’m not standing by and watching you do it again.”

  “You didn’t just stand by.” Seraphin poked his bag of supplies, then started rummaging through it. “Without you I would have nothing. No extra coat for winter, no food—”

  “Nothing to clean your pistol and recharge it, no solar burner to cook food, and no extra socks. I know that.”

  “There’s more. Alex if I had never met you, I would never have had the courage to do this. I might’ve been wrong about joining the Union army—heck, I’m probably wrong about a lot of things, a lot of the time. But at least I trust myself enough to act, and try, instead of letting doubts fester. And that’s because of you.”

  Stern had spoken of a little voice screaming, while Alex had stated they hadn’t felt right until they stopped trying to fit with one particular gender. In the end, both were saying the same thing: if he wanted to be happy, he’d have to trust his instincts first.

  Alex didn’t answer right away. They studied Seraphin in silence, then smiled a little. “All I’m saying is, I prepared this pack thinking it’d never be used, and that’s one of the worst feelings in the universe.”

  Seraphin almost apologized, but the words died on his lips. He wasn’t sorry, not really. He had done what he needed to, and he was thankful for Alex’s support. His hand wrapped around his pistol, and he took a deep breath. “I’ll warn you. Whatever is next, I’ll keep you posted. I have too few friends to leave them behind.”

  Once Seraphin had agreed to this, Alex dropped the subject. They shared a light meal—Seraphin knew he couldn’t keep anything heavier down—and Alex told some stories from his last summer as Old Walt’s apprentice. They didn’t linger on the fact the old man would’ve been in that basement, along with Damian Holt. Seraphin drew strength from the ordinary conversation. He would miss these chats more than anything, but he reminded himself Alex hadn’t been there most of his life. He had managed so far, and would again. Both Stern and Alex would be waiting for news from him, too. Seraphin might be alone in the next months, or even years, but it wouldn’t last. By the time he was ready to leave, a careful optimism had replaced his numbing exhaustion.

  Seraphin shouldered his supply pack, frowning as the weight settled against his back. Alex had been thorough, and it was quite heavy. The trek to the river would be rough, but at least he would have everything he needed. Alex stole a final hug from him, and for a moment they went on their tiptoes, and Seraphin thought they would kiss him again. Then their nose scrunched up and they clacked their tongue, drawing back.

  “You still stink. These things will have to wait for a time when you're less undead and more human.”

  They gave Seraphin a playful push, and he replied in kind. His cheeks were hot. He couldn't help but hope there would be more than a kiss next time. The tingling warmth he'd experienced when Alex had first straightened up on that rooftop had never vanished.

  “Then I shall be clean when we next meet. Until then … take care of yourself.”

&nbs
p; Seraphin’s voice had fallen to a whisper. If he didn't leave now, he might never find the strength. He waited for Alex to return his good wish before spinning on his heels and hurrying away.

  His heart tightened with every step down the slope. Seraphin threw one last glance backward, at the fallen tree he'd once admired for its resilience. The pale gray bark had already grown darker from dirt. It seemed at peace, lying on the ground, half its twisted branches broken. Perhaps it deserved the rest. Perhaps everything would be okay, despite its fall. After all, Seraphin had learned to stay proud and stand on his own just in time.

  The tree’s legacy was another he’d be proud to carry on.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Stories have always been an important part of my life. From reading to roleplaying to writing, I can’t think of a moment characters haven’t lived in my head and I’m proud to be able to share them at last. I’m also a biochemist hailing from Quebec City, where I spend the rest of my time advocating diversity, gaming, reading and geeking over squids and hot air balloons.