Hunted (Eden, #2)

by Louise Wise

  She took ages to settle, but Molver had been unruffled and he’d rocked, patted and walked the baby up and down.

  ‘You’re really good with her,’ Fly said, as Molver finally sat beside the fire and began to eat. The baby was lying swaddled on the ground, her little body exhausted through endless bawling.

  ‘I told you, I looked after a baby on the ship while the parents looked for food.’

  ‘After we’ve found Jenny you can stay with us. You can live in Bodie and Matt’s old house,’ Fly promised in a sudden rush of gratitude.

  ‘I’d rather you help me find my friends.’

  ‘Gorjum and Saneg?’

  ‘They are good to me.’

  I bet they are, Fly thought.

  ‘They are probably looking for me.’

  Fly doubted that Molver would be important enough to warrant a search party but didn’t voice his thoughts.

  ‘Saneg and Gorjum will be for sure,’ Molver added confidently.

  ‘I’m surprised to hear Saneg’s survived,’ Fly said. ‘He was a broken man before the crash.’

  Molver’s face darkened. ‘I mended him,’ he said. Fly stared at Molver until the boy, as if unnerved, stood up. He said gruffly, ‘I’m going for a piss.’

  When he came back nothing more was said. He lay next to Diana, and seemed to fall asleep, and Fly, unable to rest, went back to the valley but a lot of it was under water, and the gap where he had been able to touch Jenny’s fingertips was no longer there.

  As the first sun rose, he shook Molver awake. Very carefully, so not to wake her, Fly picked up the baby and carried her to the buggy.

  Molver stamped out the embers of the fire and followed, looking bleary-eyed.

  Chapter Forty Three

  Jenny had cut and pulled off a lot of moss, but it left a residue of slime. There was no way she could climb up safely, even if she did, there would be no guarantee she could fit through the gaps and climb out. This final admission was a disappointment.

  She pushed hair out of her eyes, wishing she’d kept the tie that she used to keep it off her face. She was hot, and had stripped off the fur poncho and tied it around her waist. It was cloying in the cave, and even though she knew it was her imagination, she felt it difficult to breathe.

  Remembering Fly’s advice to follow the flow of the water, she moved in its direction. It was hard to leave the abundant natural light pouring in through the roof for the pitiful glints further down.

  Every now and then, she called out; ‘Fly!’ cupping her hands around her mouth to channel her voice upward, but apart from her echo there was never an answering shout. The water became shallow until it was only ankle high, and the moss that covered the walls lay like a carpet on the ground. She walked gingerly, knowing the greasy film could knock her off balance. The river seemed never-ending, but it was slowly moving forward and not pooling. It wasn’t unpleasant in the cavern, but Jenny didn’t think she’d ever enjoy the warm caves in the same way again.

  When she realised the cavern was becoming darker she berated herself for wasting time in cutting the moss and trying to climb the walls. She couldn’t even guess at the time of day; whether it was morning or afternoon but looking up at the gaps in the high wall and seeing they were dimming worried her. The dark of the tunnel and the winding river loomed. Jenny calculated that she was two hundred, or more, metres underground.

  She kept her mind on Fly and Diana as she continued forward, making sure she was following the flow of the water. She tried not to think about being lost underground and concentrated on her little house, and how she’d felt when she saw it for the first time when Fly took her there for its grand opening. She thought about how they first met, and how frightened she’d been of him. She was trying to think of the positive, to bolster her spirits but then had a horrible notion that this was her life flashing before her eyes.

  Water began lapping around her knees again, and she stopped to see if the current was still moving in the direction she was heading, and reassured, she continued forward. The water was still warm and pleasant. When it was up to her waist, she began to swim, dodging the geysers in the dimming light, and following the current.

  She swam past a tall column of rock before realising the cave walls were no longer on either side. She trod water feeling exposed in this great underground cavern. The cave’s long winding passage had opened up into a lake and the cavern ceiling, like fading disco lights, spotlighted into the cave so Jenny was able to see that the water was stagnant and a metallic grey colour. There wasn’t as much as a ripple on the surface.

  She noticed pillars of rock interrupting the exterior of the lake, and swam over hoping to find high ground or somewhere she could pull herself up and rest—and think. She could feel her hands pruning from the length of time she’d spent in the water already. She was also conscious that there couldn’t be much daylight left, and felt panicked at the thought of treading water in complete darkness.

  She reached the rock; it was covered in the greasy moss and couldn’t be climbed. She shivered; the tremor caught her off-guard and her brain, fogged with anxiety, struggled with the significance.

  Come on, Jenny! Think!

  She swam on, moving in between the pillars of rock looking for ledges to rest. She found a jutting rock, too small to climb on, but it was something to cling to. Her shivers had stopped, and she realised she was in warm water again.

  The rock broke and she found herself underneath the water. She broke through the surface and trod water. The spotlights in the high cavern’s roof were ebbing. She needn’t to act, and act fast.

  Swim back. Get back to the amber river where it’s shallow.

  She struck out strongly, thinking she was heading in the right way but her sense of direction was confused. She found herself in icy water again.

  She turned and swam in another direction and immediately found herself in the warm again. She glanced up at the ebbing pinpricks of light. Not much time. Striking out, she swam into the cold, but this time she kept swimming. Hope was telling her that it equated with the outside, while logic argued that it meant deep depths that the geysers couldn’t warm. She’d chosen to follow the hope of her heart.

  Her stomach gnawed with anxiety and her head thumped with the strain of keeping it together. Then the light seemed to switch off abruptly, and the surrounding darkness invaded Jenny’s imaginations. Her breath was uneven, and her heart was booming.

  Should have gone back to the orange river. Stupid woman!

  Keep going, the other voice said.

  Then she realised she wasn’t swimming but merely afloat as an undercurrent carried her through the cold. Blind, she was rushed faster and faster; the current pulling her forward until her shoulder hit something hard.

  She’d come to a complete stop, and wave after wave rammed her against a wall of sheer rock. The water conveyer belt had led to a dead-end.

  She took mouthfuls of water before grabbing hold of protruding rock, but her skin, softened from the length of time she’d been in the river, began to tear. She struggled to hold on; the waves slapped into her; pushing her against ragged rock.

  Coughing and wheezing she used the last of her strength to pull herself up onto the rock and lay, clutching the rock’s rough surface, as wave after cold wave fell over her. She tried to focus; to get her bearings.

  The cold water led to a dead end.

  You’ll have to swim back and find another way.

  Her thoughts were snatched as waves broke against her. Her head hit the ledge she was clinging to, and dizziness swamped her. She toppled into the water, and wondered what it would be like to drown. A riptide sucked at her feet. Pulling her down.

  She felt as if she was in a vacuum. The water had no substance, no essence. It was part of her; she was part of it. Nothing made sense. She was rolled, turned and sucked down and down.

  Her head hit rock, and her hands made the gesture of reaching for it, but it was fleeting. She was dying. Drowning. Every
thing was black. Still pulling her down, moving her forward. She was spinning. Then falling.

  She felt a brief icy chill of fresh air and then she was hitting water again; felt the prickles of ice against her skin and then abrasive white water as it swallowed her whole. The intense cold revived her mind, but it only served to flick on a vision of Fly and Diana. She wished she could have seen them together before she died.

  She was popped to the surface like a cork and had little time to notice that she was outside, she just managed a gulp of air before being sucked back down; she was turned and spun and spat to the top again. There was a brief moment where she saw her demise—the brim of a waterfall.

  Her mind was blank as she was carried over the edge. As she fell, she hoped her death would be quick and painless.

  She was capable of no other thought as the momentum of the fall took her down in a froth of bubbles, and the deluge spun her over and over. She was exhausted. Numb. Around and around she spun. Her chest was constricted. She couldn’t hold her breath anymore. It was over.

  The end.

  There was a vision of a little girl in front of her. She had large Jelvian eyes and red hair, which floated around her head in a feathery halo. The girl smiled, kicked her feet and then swam away. Then there was Fly. He was smiling, and beckoning her forward.

  Was she dead already? Were they?

  Wait for me! she yelled in her mind, and struck out against the undercurrent. Every fibre in her body screamed against the exertion. It had given up. Her body was letting her down while her mind yelled for action.

  From the white swirling water came a hand reaching out to her. Jenny recognised the scars and the shape of Fly’s fingers. She took the hand and was pulled away from the tumbling waterfall and white water, and towed to the surface. She burst up coughing and spluttering, and scrambled through the water to grasp a rock protruding from the water’s edge.

  She looked around for Diana and Fly, momentarily certain their presence had been real, and not an act of her survival instinct creating the allusion.

  The water was still a heaving mass of white, but it wasn’t pulling her down any more. She clung to the rock; still breathless still shocked. The water was coloured red around her. Her blood. There was a sharp pain in her head, along with the ache in her shoulder. She looked up. The riverbank was an almost sheer rock face and in her present state, too high to climb. But it was good to be out in the open again. She let go of the rock and allowed the flow to sweep her up the river. She tried to keep close to the rocky walls, and waited for when the structure changed.

  Soon, vegetation appeared on the rocks, and then the cliff edge became lower, until Jenny grasped a vine to stop her motion, and pulled herself out. She lay panting, then rolled onto her back and looked up at the sky. The moon was big and bright.

  She closed her eyes.

  Chapter Forty Four

  Fly tied the rope to the back of the buggy and tossed the other end down a pothole. Molver was hopping from one foot to the other, saying, ‘What if the rope breaks? What if a big bird eats me? What if I see another Jelvia?’

  ‘We haven’t seen another person at all since the valley, or bird, come to that,’ Fly said, tugging on the rope. ‘I think the explosions scared the birds and as for everyone else, well, many of them died.’

  ‘What if you pull the buggy into the hole?’

  ‘Unlikely.’

  They’d followed the underground springs with Molver being lowered into the ground to check on the current. But this time, Fly wanted to check it himself.

  ‘I just need to check that the water hasn’t changed direction,’ Fly went on.

  ‘Why can’t I go down?’

  ‘I want to look around a bit.’ He lowered himself into the crevice. ‘Besides, you calm Diana better than me.’ It was true, Molver had tied the baby to his chest, and every time she cried, he rocked or stroked her head and soothed her back to sleep. Fly didn’t want to admit to himself that the child was probably weak through lack of food. Soon, he’d have to focus his energy on getting some nourishment into her stomach.

  ‘What if a bird comes—’ Molver began.

  ‘Hide under the buggy,’ said Fly and disappeared into the gloom. Once his eyes became used to the dark he could easily see the red rock that was so familiar to the underground geysers. He climbed further down until he felt the warm water around his ankles. It wasn’t deep, and he felt for ground beneath the water. Once he found it, he let go of the rope.

  He looked back up at the opening. The silhouette of Molver’s head was peering in.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ he called. The pull of the water wasn’t as strong. It showed the ground had levelled out. The water wasn’t as warm, either. He left the rope dangling and began to walk with the current. He called for Jenny every now and then.

  He imagined her lying injured, or maybe she’d made her way back to the blocked up cave? Maybe she had her arm in the gap and was searching for his fingers? The opening had been sealed and the valley under water, he reminded himself, but he had this image of Jenny waiting in the cave for his return and it couldn’t be dislodged.

  The water was barely up to his knees, and he followed it forward until he reached a chunk of rock where it gently lapped against. He could hear gushing water. He pressed an ear against the rock’s damp coating. In the next cave, there was clearly the sound of water. He took his head away, and ran splashing through the lukewarm water where he saw a fissure in the rocky exterior.

  He heard Molver shout something, but ignored him. He pressed an eye against the crack. If he’d been keen to admire the beauty of the next room he’d have been in awe of the red rocks, the amber steam and the turmoil of red and orange water as it gushed to pour out into another cave somewhere.

  Fly pulled back and ran back the way he’d travelled. He jumped for the rope, and climbed up. Molver was under the buggy, on his side, hushing, unsuccessfully, the baby as she bawled.

  Fly gathered up the rope and threw it in the back of the buggy, then turned and pulled Molver out by his ankles, and the boy yelped in fright, his hands instinctively going to protect the baby.

  ‘It’s OK, only me,’ he said. He helped the boy up saying, ‘We need to head that way.’ He pointed towards the sandy lowlands. ‘The hot springs have divided at this point, and I think, hope, Jenny is ahead of us. The current is strong, and it would have carried her quite fast.’

  Molver scrambled to his feet. ‘We need to find a Hooboo tree first,’ he said. He was frowning and looking angry. ‘I know Jenny is your priority, but we need to find some food for this baby.’

  ‘Hooboo?’ Fly had to raise his voice over the baby’s bawling. ‘It isn’t a case of priority. Jenny’s the only one who can feed her.’

  ‘We might not find her, have you thought of that?’ The boy was glaring at Fly; two spots of colour highlighted his cheeks beneath the dirt. ‘We need to stop looking for Jenny and find food for your baby.’

  Fly glared at him. He didn’t appreciate having a young boy tell him some home truths. He climbed into the buggy without saying a word as Molver scuttled around to the other side.

  ‘A Hooboo is a tree which has fruit with a thick creamy juice. We started planting them in our camp.’ He was unscrewing the water flask as he spoke, and dipped the corner of the rag inside. The wetted rag was used as a pacifier. The baby flinched at the coldness against its mouth and stopped crying momentarily, but then began bawling again. Louder than ever, her little fists waving in anger. Molver dipped in the rag again, and this time the baby sucked at the cloth. She would have filled her mouth had Molver let go of the end. He fastened the other end to the backpack and the baby began to suck furiously on the rag. ‘They seem to grow near to the big lake.’

  Fly threw out a hand. ‘Show me the way.’

  ‘I don’t know the way.’

  ‘Shut up then. Think I don’t know the baby needs food?’ He set the buggy into motion and angrily looked at Molver’s bent head as
he nuzzled the top of the baby’s head murmuring noises of comfort as the child whimpered. The baby’s head burrowed against the boy’s chest as if seeking a nipple. Fly stared, he whipped his head away, but then turned to look at Molver’s chest again.

  ‘It’s called Hooboo because of the sound the wind makes through its branches,’ Molver said in a softer voice. He pulled out the unwanted rag from the baby’s mouth as she sobbed, wet his small finger, and allowed her to suck on it. ‘But any fruit would do. I could mush it down with water.’

  Distracted, Fly had to swerve to avoid a wide crack. He thought back to Molver not wanting him to tie the rope around his chest, and the time he became hysterical when he left him alone to go into the valley, and of how he visibly softens whenever he mentions Saneg. And of course, how gentle and natural he was with the baby.

  Fly began to scoff himself. But then, why not a female stowing away and surviving? He hadn’t disbelieved a boy could manage it, so why not a girl? And it made more sense knowing how Gorjum and the others tried to protect Molver.

  The last female Jelvia!

  Chapter Forty Five

  Jenny’s eyes flashed open, then she rolled onto her side and was violently sick. She lay back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The movement caused a painful spasm in her shoulder.

  She stared at the sky. At the stars. They were beautiful. She was out in the open, and better still, alive!

  Tentatively, she touched her forehead and felt a lump. She pulled her hands away and looked at her fingers. Blood.

  She sat up, and when the dizziness passed, climbed to her feet. She looked around at the plateaus; it looked like she was at the bottom of a mountain. There were deep hollows in its base, but Jenny was reluctant to shelter in one for fear of being trapped again. Somehow, she didn’t think she’d ever enter a cave again.