Hunted (Eden, #2)

by Louise Wise

  Jenny stroked Diana’s head and tried to hush her but the baby’s cries rose. Frustrated, Jenny reversed from the tree, and put the buggy into forward motion and drove alongside the cliff top as the child’s yells became tired whimpers. Soon they were enveloped within the jungle once again. She headed towards the river and drove as close to where they left the boat as possible. She half expected it gone, but it was still bobbing in the current, tied to a tree root.

  The natives didn’t follow Jenny into the boat. They stood at the water’s edge and watched her solemnly as she rowed across. She climbed out the other side, and walked up the hill and down towards her home.

  It felt strange to be back. Everything was how she had left it, yet unfamiliar too. She moved around the rooms and in every room she could feel Fly’s strong presence. She held herself together, knowing if she broke down now she’d never pick up the pieces.

  In the corner of the kitchen was Diana’s cradle. Jenny fingered the fur that lined it. A knitted blanket was neatly folded on top. The wool hadn’t been as soft as she’d liked, but she’d been pleased with the colour. She’d dyed it using excretions of coral from the ocean—bright pink.

  She picked the fidgety child from the harness and laid her in the cradle, then stood back to watch her. The baby seemed restless, and had been since they’d left the honnards’ settlement.

  ‘Your daughter, Fly,’ she said to the house. She closed her eyes on her thoughts, and mentally gritted her teeth. ‘Oh, stop it, Jenny Daykin,’ she said. ‘He isn’t dead. Not dead. I’d know if he was dead!’

  With Diana in the cradle, Jenny grabbed a basket, and placed all the dry food she could find inside, and followed it with a flask filled with water. There was a chunk of bread on top of the cold oven. She’d remembered she’d taken it out just before they’d gone down to the beach for fish. She touched it, it felt hard.

  She recovered more clothes and blankets, and rolled them up in a foil cover and balanced them on top of the basket. Leaving the basket on the floor, she went out to the barn. This was where Fly kept his weapons.

  Jenny’s brain was in overdrive. She grabbed the fishing net and collected all their homemade medicine and put it into the net. In went the bow and arrows, fishing spears, garden tools, a sword.

  And Fly’s explosives.

  He had a thing for blowing things up. He was the reason the spaceship had crashed. She piled them all into the netting then picked it up and was about to hurry out when she noticed several cartons filled with the sap taken from the homicidal plant. Fly had secreted its juice after discovering it was inflammable; it made fire-building easier. She grabbed the cartons, but the lids were just muslin cloth tied with string and they’d spill.

  She put the net back on the floor and dashed back into the house. She grabbed some clothes and tore them up; cutting into them with a knife until they were in pieces. Bundling the fragments up she went back out to the barn and poked the torn bits of cloth into the sap until it was soaked up. Then she replaced the ‘lids’ and stood them in the net, and carefully lifted it up, making sure the cartons were still upright.

  Back outside, she looked over at the cattle. They were imprisoned by a trench surrounding their little stretch of meadow, and she didn’t know if she’d ever return to the house and her old way of life. She went back into the barn and dragged a large board across to them. Several of the cattle recognised her and brayed expecting her to offer them titbits as she often did. Instead, with a grunt, she threw the board over the trench to act as a bridge. They ignored it, and dropped their heads to continue to munch on the grass once they realised she wasn’t offering treats. They’d find the makeshift bridge if they had to. She ran back to the house where Diana was waving her little arms as wails ascended from her mouth. Jenny scooped her up making crooning noises. She sat on the settee and fed her. There was a pair of Fly’s broken shoes in the corner. She had been going to mend them—that domesticated life seemed so far away now.

  She closed her eyes, pushed away an emotion, and looked down at the baby as she suckled.

  ‘Was that all you wanted?’ she said. ‘Or do you miss your daddy?’

  The baby’s eyes closed, and a trickle of milk ran from her mouth. Jenny took her off the breast and laid her against her shoulder.

  ‘For the record, I miss him as well.’ She nuzzled the baby’s head, losing herself to a moment of self-pity. Composing herself, she lowered Diana back into the harness, grabbed the basket of food and the net with everything she thought she’d need from the barn, and staggered to the boat under the weight of it all. She threw in the items, and with barely enough room for herself, carefully climbed on board and rowed across to where Bo and Zack were patiently waiting.

  They didn’t help her lift anything from the boat, or help carry anything to the buggy but followed behind as Jenny dumped it all in the back.

  On her return, she parked in exactly the same place where she’d found the buggy. If the Jelvias came back she didn’t want to give them any evidence of her existence, not after the honnards and Fly had gone to so much trouble in hiding her.

  Jenny left her belongings in the back of the buggy and took the fractious Diana back into the honnard camp. Her head whipped up at the sound of a loud howl from the lookout, but the tenor was different—lighter. As she looked, he raised his spear and howled again. He was notifying the camp of her return!

  Honnards came from their caves or into the dwelling from the forest, and Jenny found herself in the middle of thirty or more hairy cave people, and many more four-legged native-wolves who squatted and ‘grinned’ at her. She looked around wondering why she didn’t feel threatened. She couldn’t explain it. Only a few days ago she was terrified of these people—she caught herself as she thought ‘people’ and smiled.

  ‘I went for provisions,’ she said, and they chuffed at her. ‘I’ve plans to make and then I’m going to find Fly.’

  They stared impassively back, before going back to whatever they were doing before she interrupted them.

  Diana was snuffling against her chest for food, and emitted a wail every now and then. Melinda chuffed a welcome as she ducked inside.

  Jenny smiled at her, and pulled Diana from the harness. She laid her down, and turned to head out for the rest of her belongings, but the baby began to cry and stopped Jenny at the cave entrance.

  Melinda reached the baby first. Jenny’s first instinct was to stop her, but Diana’s wails ceased as the honnard scooped the baby up.

  The baby gurgled and leaving her the honnard’s embrace, Jenny ducked out of the cave to collect the rest of her belongings. It wasn’t until Jenny was struggling back with the provisions did she realise what she’d done, and entered the cave anxiously.

  They aren’t humans, you nut job!

  Diana was back to being fractious and the honnard was chuffing and huffing.

  Jenny put the basket of food down and shrugged out of her fur poncho to free her throbbing breasts. Milk was dribbling out of one at the sound of Diana’s furious cries. When Jenny had settled, Melinda brought the baby over and gently laid her in Jenny’s arms.

  ‘Thanks Mel,’ Jenny said.

  Maybe we could have a girlie night in tonight?

  ‘Would love to but I’m going into the mountains to find Fly.’

  Aw, but I’ve bought new shoes and want your opinion.

  ‘Sorry. Maybe another time.’ Jenny was resolute that the Jelvias lived in or over the mountains, and Fly was with them. She looked down at Diana as she fed her. Her bright Jelvian eyes stared up at her as she suckled. One of her tiny hands was splayed against Jenny’s breast and Jenny pushed her finger into Diana’s palm and watched the tiny hand curl around her. ‘Mummy’s going to find Daddy,’ she said. ‘But he might be dead, and Mummy might die too.’

  ‘Chuff-nardi, fari huff,’ said Melinda.

  Jenny looked up. ‘Sometimes I think you can understand me.’

  Melinda’s yellow eyes were emotionless as they s
tared back. They dropped to Diana. The baby had stopped sucking and was asleep. Outside, the natives howled. From scary, the sound was now a comfort. The baby gave a sigh of contentment.

  Jenny’s gaze returned to her baby’s; taking in her button nose, soft downy hair and her puckered mouth.

  ‘Chuff fari,’ said Melinda.

  ‘I know,’ Jenny said. ‘It mightn’t be my death, but Diana’s too, but it’s a risk I have to take.’

  ‘Ooffo-chuff fari,’ the honnard said and held out her over-long hairy arms, and Jenny had the strange feeling that Melinda was volunteering her services.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  ‘You broke my ribs,’ Molver said.

  ‘Lucky it wasn’t your neck.’

  He hadn’t only gone back and released the emaciated boy from his chains, he’d sat him on Pip before climbing on in front. The animal, jittery at the extra weight at first, was easily able to carry both of them across the savannah. Vegetation became thicker the lower they went. Fly was certain he was on the right side of the mountains now and was keen to reach the marshland he knew and understood.

  Pip was nifty on her feet, skipping and dancing around trees, scrublands and marshes. Fly urged Pip through the forest, taking care to avoid the bogs. It was only when Fly was satisfied with the distance he’d put between them and the Jelvias’ valley did he slow the animal.

  Soon, everything was becoming familiar. He was still further away from Jenny than he’d have liked, but at least he knew he’d be seeing her soon. Pip stumbled. The animal was steaming and deserved a rest, and he allowed it to stop. He dismounted, pulling the boy with him, and took the loop off Pip’s nose, making sure the main part of the chain was still around her neck and secured it to a tree branch.

  ‘You’re free to go,’ he said as Molver hovered around him looking anxious.

  ‘Go?’

  ‘You’re not my prisoner.’ Fly didn’t want him meeting Jenny. He wouldn’t trust any man, young or old, with his precious woman. ‘You wanted to go earlier,’ he reminded him.

  ‘I don’t know where I am.’ The boy was looking around with wide eyes. ‘It sounds different here.’ He stepped closer to Fly as an elecat screeched from a tree above.

  ‘Where were you going before I saw you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought… I mean, I had thought… I was with someone but he got caught—’ His face crumpled and Fly wondered if he was about to cry but then he straightened his posture as if he’d mentally composed himself. ‘We were going home. He knew the way.’

  ‘Home? No, don’t tell me. I’m not interested.’ Fly turned from him. ‘I’m going to catch something to eat. If you’re here when I get back you’re welcome to share it. If you’re not,’ Fly shrugged, ‘I couldn’t care less.’ He went to leave, and the boy called,

  ‘You will come back, won’t you?’

  Fly ignored his pitiful words; he owed him nothing and half expected the boy to have taken Pip when he returned, instead he had dug a small hole and filled it with bracken and wood for lighting, which Molver was busily doing by rubbing sticks.

  Fly dropped the small pot-bellied animal next to the hole, and Molver looked up.

  ‘I’m making a fire for you,’ he said. He was clearly used to such chores, and soon there was smoke and a spark, which he transferred to the bracken. Fly skinned and dismembered the animal as Molver blew into the flame to encourage a bigger fire.

  ‘We’re a good team,’ Molver said.

  Fly grunted in reply. He gutted the carcass and laid the remains over the hole, and every now and then, the boy would add more sticks or bracken to the fire and gently blow into it.

  The boy had pushed up his sleeves and Fly noticed fresh-looking wheals on the backs of his arms. His feet were bare and Fly saw old and thickened scar tissue on the soles of his feet. Fly was aware of the punishments the wardens inflicted. A whipping to the soles of the feet being the most painful. It ensured broken toes and a disability for several weeks while they healed. As he looked, he noticed his smallest toe was missing on one foot, and three on the other.

  ‘What’s your story?’ he asked the boy as the meat sizzled.

  Molver sat on a rotting tree trunk, its roots had lifted out of the soil and its long length was haphazardly lying on the ground. He picked at a fungus moodily, then peeked up at Fly from beneath a shaggy black fringe. Fly sensed he was deciding on what to tell him.

  ‘I was caught stealing, and for punishment sentenced to ride on the ship. When it crashed I managed to escape with a few others but was caught by the wardens. I’ve been living in the valley since.’

  The answer didn’t match with what he’d already said about ‘home’, and as if unsettled by Fly’s thoughtful stare, he looked away to check the meat. He turned it over, then continued to pick at the tree bark on the trunk he was sitting on.

  ‘Let me stay with you?’ Molver said suddenly. ‘At least for a while. The haryn can carry us both.’

  Fly looked at the “haryn”. ‘What made Jelvias think they could ride them?’

  ‘They tried with other animals, but these are the easiest to tame. They have all sorts of animals in the valley—’ he stopped and frowned. ‘I never saw you there. You’re not from the valley, are you?’

  Fly sat against a tree and watched as the “haryn” ducked its head to nibble at the vegetation on the ground.

  ‘You’re very young,’ Fly said ignoring his question. He watched the guarded look cross the boy’s face.

  ‘I’m older than I look,’ he said.

  ‘You must be,’ Fly said, ‘else you’d have been no more than a small child on the ship. And there were no children on board. Unless you were one of the runaways.’

  Runaways were a regular occurrence, and a blight on the Itor community. It wasn’t just individuals running away but entire families escaping from Itor society. They struck up secret communities until the authorities blew them apart. It had been part of Fly’s job to track them down and kill them. Fly had made a name for himself as being able to find and kill them quicker than anyone else. His face, with its scars, was easily identifiable and he wondered if the boy knew of his reputation.

  The boy turned away and began poking the fire with a stick as Fly openly observed him. He was tall and lanky and maybe looked younger due to being half-starved. If he filled out, he’d probably look older. His hair was straggly and his clothes, as already noted, grubby but well-made. He couldn’t imagine the wardens allowing him to wear such well-made clothes.

  ‘You said “home” earlier. “We were going home”,’ Fly recited the boy’s words.

  Molver looked at Fly nervously. ‘A few of us escaped and we were going to make a home for ourselves. Away from the valley,’ he added.

  Fly leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. The cooking meat was making his mouth water, and his stomach rumbled. He’d stuffed a few cartons of dried food in the net bag for Jenny and he hoped she wasn’t hungry. Her face filled his mind; it was a face racked with pain as contractions filled her body. His eyes snapped open and caught Molver as he looked hurriedly away.

  They ate by pulling strips of meat from the carcass and filling their mouths as the meat cooked. Molver turned it regularly looking for cooked meat, and made noises of satisfaction with every mouthful.

  ‘How soon did the wardens regain control after the ship crashed?’ Fly asked.

  ‘Straight away,’ the boy said, his mouth full.

  ‘How many wardens survived?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Fly realised he wasn’t going to get much out of him. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to reveal anything, but more than likely because he wasn’t very bright. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘If you were eighteen you’d have been practically a baby at the time of leaving Itor.’

  Molver chewed, swallowed and said, ‘I’m probably older. I’m not very good at counting.’

  ‘And what was y
our training on Itor?’ Fly asked. He didn’t believe a word the boy was saying, but was interested in his answers nonetheless.

  ‘Medicine. I wanted to be a contract killer but I didn’t have the physique and someone advised that I try medicine.’

  The answer was mechanical, as if he’d said it countless times. Fly stared at him wordlessly. Then, ‘How have you survived up until now?’

  ‘Keeping my head down and doing exactly as I’m told, until I blend, blend, blend. It’s worked OK so far.’ He picked off another slice of meat and stuffed it in his mouth. ‘What’s the story on you?’

  ‘I was a prisoner in the basement when the ship crashed—’

  ‘Were you tortured?’

  Fly could see Molver’s eyes glinting; but it wasn’t with malice. More like empathy; it was an emotion he’d seen many times in Jenny’s eyes—and something he was only just learning. ‘They tortured everyone. It’s what they do,’ he said, his eyes dropping to Molver’s feet.

  ‘I didn’t want to survive it. Not at first,’ he said.

  ‘Not many do.’

  ‘How’d you escape?’ Molver asked.

  ‘I was stuck on the lower deck. When I managed to escape, everyone had gone. I assumed I was the only survivor of the crash. There were a lot bodies.’

  ‘When did you realise you weren’t the only one?’

  It was Fly’s turn to hesitate. ‘Recently,’ he said. ‘So how many survived the crash in the end?’

  Molver’s face was full of activity as he thought. He was different from any Jelvia Fly had met before. ‘Billions.’

  The ship could only hold a few thousand at the most. Fly stared at him as he chewed on his food. ‘How have the wardens maintained order?’

  ‘Not all are wardens. Some are prisoners turned wardens.’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘The wardens have weapons, but they’ve stopped killing the prisoners because they were running out of people to do their work. They have captured prims for the most dangerous jobs because the prisoners have become too valuable.’