Wilders

by Brenda Cooper

  They seemed excited though. Laughter welled out of groups of people here and there, and voices exuded a sense of pride. About the appearance of the big robots, for sure, but why?

  She made it to the bathroom in time. Each of the two women took advantage of the opportunity as well, one by one, everyone moving so slowly they must be stalling. They did not talk to each other or to her. Coryn had the distinct feeling that they were following orders.

  They weren’t doing anything nice to her or for her, but they probably couldn’t risk that even if they wanted to.

  The only comfort she took from their presence at all was that the older one’s look grazed hers, their eyes meeting for maybe a second or two, and there was no hate in them at all. More like compassion and resolve.

  The reason the women had stalled became clear when a third woman handed a square of cloth into the bathroom. They tied it tight across her eyes, an impenetrable shield of cloth that hung down over her nose and smelled of soap.

  They marched her forward, and for a heart-stopping moment she felt like there was a target on her back. She held her breath, bracing, although nothing happened.

  She couldn’t look down, so she kept her head up and shuffled her feet. Someone took each arm. Probably the women, since their hands were small and strong. They pulled her along, and she lost her sense of direction. Only after what seemed like far too long, she realized they were back at her tent. They pushed her so she fell into the tent, rolling toward the back.

  As they zipped the opening shut, the guard instructed her to leave the blindfold on.

  “Water, please,” she replied, surprised at how strong her voice sounded.

  “In a moment.”

  It took more than a moment. Eventually the tent door zipped open, and a cold cup bumped against her shoulder. Water. Odd that she could smell it.

  She drank, then handed back the cup, asking, “More?”

  No more came, and no food, and so she sat blindfolded, hungry, and still thirsty.

  The ecobots had come to the barn at Lucien’s request. They had saved her and Paula and taken away their attackers. So what were the ecobots doing here with the people who had killed Lucien and Liselle?

  No more water came, and no breakfast. She dozed fitfully and listened as much as she could. Her guard changed. Another man.

  Sometime in the early afternoon, it appeared that someone had bothered to remember she might have needs. The front of the tent unzipped, and small hands tugged the blindfold off. Light assaulted her, and she had to blink and blink in order to actually see. The same women who had helped escort her to the bathroom handed her a plate with bread, a small, dried apple, and a handful of nuts on it. She took it. “Thank you,” she managed. “Water?”

  A full-sized flask of water came in as well. The two women sat right in front of the tent, looking away from her. She thought about whether or not the flask could be a weapon, except that it made no sense to attack these two, who were clearly following orders. Not in the daylight anyway, since she couldn’t outrun the group’s robots. She ate and drank and, mostly satisfied, passed the plate and flask out to the women, who disappeared.

  They hadn’t made her put her blindfold back on. A small win. She tucked it into her pocket reflexively. When you have nothing, take what you can get.

  She really, really missed Paula, and the city, and the multiple AR worlds and the bridges and her bicycle.

  If she wasn’t careful she was going to break down, and that wouldn’t help her or anyone.

  Maybe she missed the bicycle the most, except for Paula and Aspen of course. If she had the bicycle she could escape. Where was Paula anyway?

  If only she could ride away from this damned tent and take a long downhill and feel the wind in her face.

  At least she hadn’t called Lou.

  Damnit.

  As it grew close to evening, the leader of the group peered at her through the mesh. He looked more tired than he had but also more confident. “Your robot isn’t coming, is she?”

  “Of course she is,” Coryn replied. “But she’s not going to break into a camp that’s this big. She’s out there watching for me.”

  “If she watches for you too long, you may not be here to find. We will be leaving early in the morning.”

  Coryn licked her lips. “I’m worth more than robot bait.”

  “We’re not taking new recruits right now, and we don’t rape. We value the women we keep.” He actually looked slightly regretful, although perhaps in an exaggerated way. She wouldn’t call it a caring look.

  “Then let me go. I have things to do.”

  “Yes, you do. You can call your robot in, and you can pray.”

  She wanted to ask what god he prayed to just so she could be sure and pray to another one. When she had said nothing for a long time he stood up and walked away.

  Half an hour later, more food and water came, and she got another blindfolded trip to the restroom.

  They left the blindfold on again. She reached up to take it off and her guard tied it tighter.

  What were they afraid she would see?

  She stretched out and started testing all of the tent’s seams. Metal poles held it up from outside, so there was nothing that would possibly make a good weapon inside. The near end had the zippered mesh and the guard. The far end had nothing but nicely done, tight, double seams. She ran her hand along the bottom of the tent, hoping for a weak spot or maybe a sharp rock under it.

  Nothing.

  She had her shoes and her coat. They had her wristlet, which they probably couldn’t get into since she was careful about security. She needed it to reach Lou. Without it she might have come all the way out here and risked all this only to wonder lost around the Palouse for years.

  So many mistakes. Clearly city smarts and books counted for almost nothing Outside.

  What would any of the vid heroes she knew do?

  For starters they’d have more resources. Maybe she could make friends with a guard. She scooted up toward the front, feeling for the mesh with outstretched fingers. There. She knew better than to reach for the zipper, but she called out, “Hello.”

  “Be quiet,” the man said.

  “I don’t understand why you’re holding me.”

  “Be quiet.” His voice was soft and very, very firm.

  “You could have just let us go when we saw you. We were going different directions. It would have been much easier.”

  He returned only silence.

  Someone came up and talked to him in hushed tones. After the person left, he said, “This is not your lucky day.”

  She sat with those words. “Is anyone going to bring me dinner?”

  He laughed a little. “I don’t think so.”

  Okay. But she needed strength. “Do you have any water?”

  He hesitated, but then said, “I’ll call for some.”

  She had been hoping he would carelessly hand her a glass, and she could bite him or pull him down. He did call, “Female guards, please. Bring water.”

  Before the guards got there, she heard something. Horses’ hooves. She tried to figure out how many horses. But she’d never heard them for real, and video representations of horses hadn’t taught her enough.

  More than one, anyway.

  She reached up and ripped her blindfold off. The guard wasn’t looking directly at her, but was squinting in the direction of the road. She reached up for the zipper, her heart pounding.

  Her movement must have caught his attention since he turned back to her.

  Damn. This was just a tent. She was being held prisoner in a tent by one man!

  She wanted to see the horses.

  No one was going to hold her hostage in a tent. She stood up and rushed at the door, only to be kicked in the face. Blood ran down her lip, tasting of metal and fear.

  She sat, swiping the blood off her face, rocking. Listening.

  More horses’ hooves. Something else they didn’t want her to see? She calle
d out to the guard. “Can they bring rags with that water? You busted my lip.”

  He didn’t answer her. Probably fascinated with whatever he was lucky enough to see out there.

  At least the blindfold was still off. She peered out, but it had started getting dark, and pretty soon it would be too dark to see.

  There were new voices. A female. She strained.

  It could be Lou. It had been years now, but she knew Lou’s voice.

  It made no sense. The voice came again.

  It could be Lou.

  And then, for no obvious reason, she was certain. She took in a deep, slow breath and bellowed “Lou!” with all of her might.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Coryn’s scream seemed to rip the very air in two. All of her anger, all of her fear from the last two days, all of her despair, and even the small, sharp pain of her split lip, all of it came out in that single aching screech. “Lou!”

  The mesh door of the tent ripped open. Her guard reached in, trying to grab her.

  She scooted away, her hands sliding through the blood from her lip, boots scraping at the tent fabric, barely getting any purchase at all. She kicked at him.

  He stepped back, ripped the rest of the mesh free, and came in after her.

  She managed to scream again, a wordless animal shriek.

  He reacted to the sound with fury in his eyes.

  Good, he hated screaming. She screamed again.

  He scrabbled around on the floor, searching for something. The blindfold, but she’d put it in her pocket. He backed up, and she kicked his face, catching his chin with a glancing blow.

  He grunted in pain. Good. She tried for a better kick. Missed. He backed all the way out of the door. More good. She twisted and dove, aiming for the door, hoping to follow him.

  He grabbed her arms and pulled her out like a landed fish, the toes of her boots scraping on the ground. He smelled of sweat and anger and dirt, his scent strong enough she nearly choked.

  She twisted one arm free and punched him in the stomach. He gripped her arm again, nails digging into her flesh.

  Pounding feet raced toward them. He held her face against his chest so she couldn’t see, and she braced, certain someone or something was about to hit her. The leader barked a command. “Stop!”

  The footsteps stopped and then came forward again.

  “Let her go,” the man growled, sharp and hard.

  Her captor released his grip a little, still tight enough to keep her from running.

  “Let her go,” the other man repeated. He did, dropping his hands so she staggered.

  She turned. Lou. Walking slowly up the street to her, moving casually and smoothly. A bigger Lou, muscled and tanned. Even though she’d always been confident, there was something more than confidence in her walk and her carriage. Maybe command? Other people besides Lou watched her. Her red hair curled around her face and across her broad shoulders; her lips were tight and thin, her walk full of purpose. She wore odd-looking tan pants, loose across the butt and thighs, tight at the ankles, and a flowing long-sleeved shirt the color of firewood bark.

  She met Coryn’s confused smile with a command to be still on her face.

  Lou had been telling her that all her life in one way or another; she obeyed.

  Lou kept coming, a casual smile playing across her face. The setting sun shone from behind her, masking the fine details of her features, haloing the back of her head. An angel come to Earth to save her sister.

  She was saved. Lou had saved her. Not Paula, but Lou.

  She wanted nothing more than to run to her sister and bury herself in her arms, but the look on Lou’s face held her back. Lou reached a hand out and touched her cheek. “It is you.”

  “Yes.” Coryn tried to read her sister’s emotions, but she got nothing. No relief, not even surprise.

  “Come with me.” Lou spoke directly to the leader. “Thank you, Bartholomew,” she said evenly, as if she were thanking a minion. “We’ll meet after dinner.”

  She turned and walked back the way she had come, clearly expecting Coryn to follow. Coryn did, relieved and still frightened, her clothes in disarray and smeared with blood. She tried to straighten them. At least her lip had stopped bleeding.

  As they approached the small town, Coryn struggled to take in details. Ecobots lined the edge of the road, parked docilely on a hard surface that had been created out of wood and stone and gravel. She hadn’t even noticed it on the way in. A single cook fire gleamed dully in the dusky light, with three women bending over it. One sprinkled in spices, another stirred, and a third held a tasting spoon. Such a strange, old-fashioned way to cook.

  Lou slowed down enough for Coryn to catch up. She whispered, “We will eat with these people. You will say nothing unless I ask you a question.”

  Coryn swallowed. “Okay.”

  They stood outside the cook tent, watching for a few long moments as a line gathered. Lou handed Coryn into line behind the last of the men and the first of the women, the tall one that had given her orders when they gave her restroom breaks and had tied the first blindfold over her eyes. Coryn nodded at her, and she nodded back, her face still and blank but her eyes dark with emotions Coryn couldn’t quite read. Maybe curiosity, or even resentment.

  Bartholomew stood in front of the line, but waited. He gestured, and Lou walked in front of him, taking the first bowl.

  Wow. She replayed the tiny scene in her head a few times. It seemed impossible. Equally strange, none of the women around her said a thing to her. They were not nice. Not polite. But neither were they mean or condescending.

  Coryn got her food after the older woman who had guarded her. So whatever was going on, Lou was in first place, and she was second among the women. That had to be because of Lou; she’d been a prisoner and maybe about to die.

  Now she stood in some place she didn’t understand at all, free of the tent and free of her death sentence and more confused than she’d been an hour before.

  Had every one of Lou’s letters been a lie? Everything? Had Lou started down whatever path she was on before she even left the city?

  People grouped around low tables to eat. Coryn approached Lou, who sat with the leaders, all men except for the one woman Coryn had been put right behind. Lou gave her the not now look, and she sat by herself, on a rock, eating the soup. It had more vegetables in it than yesterday, and some pasta, and it tasted a little more of herbs than pepper, and it was fabulous. As an experiment, she took her bowl and cup back and went to the restroom by herself.

  No one followed.

  She used the blindfold and the thin stream of cold sink water to wash the blood from her face. She was getting a substantial fat lip. But she would live.

  She would live.

  She let that thought sink in, and only as the idea of life sank in did she realize how sure she had been that she would die.

  What had happened anyway? How did Lou know these people, and why did they defer to her? They were murderers.

  What was Lou doing with the people who had murdered Liselle?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Even in the dim light, the scratched mirror in the latrine suggested she looked better than she had as a prisoner, other than the burgeoning fat lip and the beginnings of two respectable black eyes. She walked back to camp, still a little shocked that no one stopped her. She paced up and down the road, trying to stay warm and awake and to understand her situation.

  Lou and the leaders sat apart from everyone else, talking and making notes on a slate. A group of three people wandered from ecobot to ecobot, using clipboards and climbing up and down on the machines, looking tiny on top of the biggest of the bots. During this, the ecobots did nothing.

  She walked toward the big robots, but one of the drably dressed women, who had clearly been watching her, blocked her way. “Do not go there.”

  Coryn stood her ground for a moment, but then remembered the tent and the guns. It wasn’t worth disobeying. She looked th
e woman directly in the eyes, which were a shocking blue, the color of Lou’s eyes, and wide with intent. “What would I see if I did?”

  “Nothing you would understand. Go.”

  She went. Maybe Lou would tell her what was happening.

  She paced awhile longer. People watched her, but from a distance. The cook fires were out again, the camp dark, the stars spread like fancy sea salt on the sky.

  The ecobots began to emit a low, electric hum. They rolled away, one after the other, a long line of a dozen big machines. She heard them long after the darkness had swallowed them.

  Once they were gone, she stood up and walked around. No one bothered her, so she started making bigger circles, looking for anything more interesting than watching Lou talk with the man who had killed her best friend.

  Near the edge of camp, she spotted five horses in a small pen. A low light had been rigged so that she could see them even in the almost dark. They were smaller than she’d expected, and noisier, stamping their feet and tossing their heads. They whickered as she approached the makeshift corral. She put a hand out, and a voice said, “Flat. They’ll nip off your fingers.”

  A relieved heat bloomed in her center as she turned to step into Paula’s embrace. “You’re okay.” Her whole body shook with relief. “I hate being separated from you. Let’s just skip that next time, okay?”

  “You’re the one who made me go,” Paula pointed out.

  “I thought they were going to kill me. They . . . they said my luck had just about run out. The . . . they weren’t going to feed me dinner. The only reason they didn’t kill me is they wanted you to come back so they could capture you.” She withdrew a little from Paula’s arms, looked up into her face. It was so good to see her. So good. “Do they know you’re here? They were using me as bait for you, and they wanted to hurt you or keep you, or maybe reprogram you, like Erich.” She grew cold at the thought. “Don’t let them see you.”