Stranger

by Sherwood Smith

  Jennie lunged, her free hand reaching out, and mentally yanked at the sword. The man hung on, but it swung away from Indra. Jennie took out the man’s knee with a side kick, then brought her sword down on the arm of the next attacker.

  “Jennie,” Indra panted. All down one side his black clothes gleamed wet.

  With her power, she wrested a knife from the hand of his last enemy. It pinwheeled toward her. She ducked, swept it from the ground, and threw it back.

  A cool wind filled the air with glowing cinders and tumbling leaf-shaped flames. Jennie shaded her eyes and searched for the man with silver hair. She spotted him, closer now, though still surrounded by guards.

  Voske seemed strangely familiar. Jennie squinted, her eyes burning with smoke and sweat. A sword swept toward her. She dropped her hand and jerked it down until the tip hit the earth, then cut down her opponent while his weapon was still trapped.

  Again she searched. This was the first time she had seen Voske, but she knew that sharp-featured face.

  A flare of light and a shock wave knocked her back. A tree branch lay a few feet away, burning furiously. Jennie lunged up, swept her hand out, and knocked several weapons askew. The smoke was making her dizzy. Her head pounded, and she staggered.

  Voske was farther away now, surrounded by protectors. His silver hair glinted in the firelight as he spoke to someone.

  “Around me!” Sera shouted. “We’ll make a—”

  She grunted. A blurry shadow shifted away. The Ranger captain yanked a knife from her arm and hurled it at the shadow.

  Jennie threw her own knife in the same direction and heard a cry. A woman appeared where the shadow had been, a blade in her thigh. Frances tackled her from behind.

  Voske was still out of reach, but firelight fell bright across his face. And she had it: he was a taller, paler image of Sera’s son, Paco.

  But Jennie had no time for distractions.

  Sera pressed toward Voske, the remaining Rangers forming an attack wedge around her. Jennie couldn’t see Indra, so she leaped into his usual place behind Sera’s left shoulder.

  She was back in the rhythm, deflecting attacks as they worked forward, one step at a time. On her right, a Ranger pulled his pistol and shot a soldier, who dropped. He clubbed another one with his pistol grip.

  Sera fought off two men with her sword, then ran a few steps. Jennie picked up her pace, leaping over a fallen enemy. They were doing it! It was working! The battle would end right here, because Voske didn’t share command, he was the only force keeping his people together—

  “Take her down!” a voice shouted.

  Two, three shots rang out. Sera staggered, then her sword lowered, her head bowed. Another shot knocked her back, and she fell.

  Frances dropped to one knee, pressing her hand to her side. Blood spurted between her fingers.

  The enemy advanced, weapons raised. Jennie reached with her free hand and her mind toward the sword swinging at her. Her mental pull exerted so little force that her opponent didn’t even seem to notice. She stumbled backward, barely avoiding the strike, and tried again. Like an overworked muscle giving out, her power failed entirely.

  “Retreat.” Even her voice was gone.

  But the others had the same idea. Desperately warding off the pressing attackers, the Rangers hauled up their wounded. Jennie blocked, swung, and kicked her way to Sera’s still form. She picked up Sera’s sword, using both weapons to drive back the enemy.

  It was over. They’d lost, but she would keep fighting until . . .

  She swayed, almost losing her balance. The attackers in front of her tripped and fell as a narrow crevasse opened beneath their feet. Jennie thrust the sword through her belt and bent over Sera. Four shots. No one survived four shots, but Jennie checked anyway. No breath, no pulse. Sera was gone.

  Jennie pulled Sera over her shoulder. She was so light—

  “Come on,” José said in her ear. “I’ll take her.”

  She couldn’t speak. He dropped to his knees and laid his palm on the ground. Once again the earth rumbled, and a wave rolled through the dirt, knocking Voske’s soldiers off-balance.

  José rose, and took Sera from Jennie.

  You never abandon your team.

  She glanced back, and a few steps later, she scanned again. Someone was missing . . .

  I’m looking for Sera. I want her to be alive.

  Indra dropped to his knees and pitched onto his face. Jennie ran to him and turned him over. His eyes were closed. But when she put her hand on his chest, she could feel him breathing.

  Sobbing, she hauled on his arm, but he’d become a dead weight. She finally managed to wrestle him over her shoulder, but when she tried to stand, her knees buckled. Kneeling in the mud with Indra’s blood running down the back of her shirt, she thought, I can’t leave him. We’ll both die if I stay, but you never abandon . . .

  All I have to do is move him. It doesn’t matter how. She laid him down, got a grip under his arms, and began to drag him.

  The Rangers struggled with their burdens into the darkness. Jennie forced herself to match their pace, though she could barely lift her feet and her lungs labored. Indra stirred, trying to get his feet under him. Jennie halted, sucking in air.

  Brisa’s whisper made her jump. “The kids are safe. Sorry I couldn’t make it back sooner.”

  She held out a wad of cloth. Jennie tore it into usable pieces, her hands trembling, then pushed up Indra’s shirt. Brisa’s breath hissed in. It looked like he’d been hit with an ax; in the merciless moonlight she could see splintered ribs.

  Jennie did the best she could with the makeshift bandages, then she and Brisa got Indra to his feet and his arms around their shoulders. At first he tried to take his own weight, but soon they were dragging him. His hands were icy cold. His fire’s gone out, Jennie thought. The absurd thought kept circling in her mind, crowding out everything else, until they reached the wall.

  “They’re back,” someone said.

  “Let down the rope.”

  First they handed up Sera, then those too injured to climb. Jennie hauled herself over the wall. She was here. She was safe. She’d completed the mission.

  “Someone tell Dr. Lee we’re coming,” she croaked.

  “I will!” cried Rico. “I’m a Ranger.”

  Jennie walked from one moment to the next. Here was the pasture, pungent with clover, grass, and cow. Here were people saying words that she couldn’t hear. Here were cow patties, black circles among the silver-edged grasses. She could feel a shivery bubble of laughter rising up, but she kept it inside. If she let it go, she knew it would tear her apart, turn into tears . . .

  There was the Hill on the right. Here were her feet, dragging across the ground. There was Brisa beside her. There were people carrying Sera. She had to report, she had to . . .

  A hand reached past Jennie, and someone slid a hand under Sera’s shoulder. “Here,” someone else murmured. “Let me help.”

  Jennie’s vision swam, her ears roaring. No—a cheering crowd had gathered around them, more running along the path. Lanterns swung, highlighting faces with moving shadows as people yelled, hoarse and shrill, angry and triumphant.

  “You did it! You did it!”

  “Hurray for the Rangers!”

  “Rangers! Rangers!”

  They’re cheering us, Jennie thought. They’re cheering us. Euphoria expanded inside her chest, making her feel so buoyant her tiredness was forgotten, and she walked a little easier as two, then four people pressed in to help carry Sera, then more. Someone said, “Everybody lift!” Now they bore her high on a forest of hands.

  Jennie’s eyes blurred. The torchlight glimmered over the horrible looseness of Sera’s hands, her upturned profile. Behind them came another group carrying the wounded. As the growing crowd approached the town hall, the sentrie
s on the roof lifted their weapons and shouted.

  Sera, whom Jennie had known all her life. Sera the strong, the capable. Sera, the fastest runner in town before the sheriff Changed. Sera the quiet, with her penchant for deadpan humor.

  Her graying hair had made her look old, but Sera had been younger than Jennie when she’d first come to Las Anclas. Sera had visited Paco and the Rileys every time she was on liberty from the Rangers, patiently teaching him weaponry and riding in the hope that he’d be a Ranger too. Though he had the skills, he loved music, not fighting . . . and once Sera realized that, she had talked to the Old Town Band and arranged drum lessons for Paco.

  Paco, whose face Jennie had seen on the man who was trying to destroy their town.

  As they entered the town hall, people shouted in triumph. But Jennie blinked back tears as she watched Sera laid with respectful, tender care on a party table still covered with an embroidered tablecloth.

  Ms. Salazar glowed like a bonfire, her mouth crooked with joy and sorrow, as she crushed an exasperated Rico against her. Jennie’s euphoria broke like a soap bubble, leaving behind a residue of exhaustion, grief, and guilt. She couldn’t bear to hear Ms. Salazar’s words of gratitude and relief—because Jennie hadn’t protected Rico. She’d left him in the care of the other kids she was supposed to be protecting. They could so easily have been cut down along the way. And her choice had been wrong, because she hadn’t killed Voske.

  She hadn’t saved Sera.

  People were calling them heroes, but nobody had ever taught her the real cost of being a hero: if you survived, how did you deal with the guilt?

  45

  Felicité

  FELICITÉ WATCHED IN HORROR AS DR. LEE’S helpers carried Indra to the far side of the town hall, which they’d screened off to make a field hospital. Indra couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t.

  She had to find out.

  She left her mother’s side and pushed past the women guarding the entrance. Inside, people rushed back and forth, carrying basins and cloths. One of them collided with her.

  “Sorry,” she said, biting back an impatient retort. “I have to see—”

  The man didn’t wait to find out what she wanted. She skirted the table where she had uncrated bottles of antiseptic alcohol, and spotted the wounded laid out on folded blankets. No Indra.

  He was on a table. Grandpa Horst cut his shirt open, while Becky held a strand of ropethorn. Dr. Lee ran up, covered in blood. He braced himself against the table with one hand, hair hanging around his haggard face, then pushed himself upright and laid his other hand on Indra’s chest.

  Felicité squeezed past someone with an armload of bandages, peering to see if Indra was still breathing.

  “Where are those towels?” Dr. Lee asked impatiently.

  “Is he alive?” she asked. “Will he be all right?”

  He shouted—actually shouted at her—“Get out!”

  Grandpa Horst took her gently but firmly by the shoulder and steered her away. “Felicité, please give us room to work. Anna-Lucia, bring those towels!”

  She ran out of the field hospital. She almost tripped over Jennie, who was crouched on the floor. As Felicité stared at her, too stunned to think, Jennie held out her hand. A pebble rolled from the corner of the town hall, then jumped up and flew across the room.

  Jennie caught it with a sigh of obvious relief. Felicité couldn’t believe she was sitting there playing with her Change power. Was she wounded too? There was blood on her clothes and in her hair. Maybe a blow to the head?

  Daddy came in, leading a stream of people all talking at once. Felicité headed toward them—he would find out how Indra was doing. But he didn’t even seem to see her. He went straight to Jennie. “Give me your report.”

  Jennie got slowly to her feet. “We blew up the ammunition. All but a few barrels. But Voske and his bodyguards were nearby. Sera tried to take him out. She’s . . .” Jennie’s chest heaved, and she shut her eyes. “We failed.”

  He repeated, “But you blew up the ammunition?”

  “Yes.”

  That set some of the eavesdroppers cheering. Jennie winced, her lower lip trembling.

  Sera is dead. Indra might be too. They couldn’t kill Voske. It’s not a successful mission to her.

  Felicité’s father rubbed his jaw. “Now we might have a chance. We need to—”

  “Coming through.” Yuki pushed through the crowds, princely even with his hair covered in soot and blood. More archers followed, plus Ross, with Mia trailing behind, flamethrower strapped to her back.

  “We routed that army from the back,” Yuki told her father. “But the leader got away. Ross says he’s Voske’s lieutenant, a big redheaded guy.”

  Her father grimaced. “I know who you mean. He’s probably reporting our north side numbers right now. We can expect another attempt—”

  A huge explosion shook the building, then another. Some bottles fell off the makeshift shelves they’d made from stacked benches.

  People started gabbling questions.

  “Quiet!” Daddy shouted. “That’s got to be the gates.”

  Mother was at Felicité’s side, still smelling of verbena and sun-dried sheets, though her forehead was taut with strain. She had been overseeing everything, but now everyone milled around in confusion.

  “Tom,” she said. Felicité looked from one parent to the other as her mother asked, “Is it time?”

  Felicité knew what she meant: Is it time to use the tunnel?

  “Not until they’re breaking down the door,” he said. “Wait.”

  People parted like blades of grass as a black-and-white rat raced in. Trainer Koslova worked the crumpled paper out of its harness. There were no words, just a smeared scrawl: a line, with a big X in the middle, and then a smaller X through the line an inch or so away.

  “They’ve blown the gates,” Felicité’s father said. “And part of the south wall, from the looks of it near the south forge.”

  “Felicité, let us take the children into the storeroom, where it’s quieter.” Her mother’s glance was full of meaning.

  She was about to agree when Daddy shook his head. “Wait, Felicité. Valeria, you go ahead.” He pulled Mother up against him and kissed her fiercely. Then he turned away. “Yuki. Take your team. Find the sheriff. Tell her to protect the south generator and the armory. You’ve got to collect everyone you can and hold the gate. Voske must be sending everything he has against us now, since he’s lower on ammo than we are. If they get inside the town, we’ve lost.”

  “Got it,” Yuki said. He drank from the canteen someone had started passing around before he ran off.

  Felicité’s father beckoned to Jennie and the few Rangers with her. “Put together a team. I’ll pull everyone from the east wall. Half will reinforce those on the roof here.” The crowd looked upward, as if they could see the sentries. “The rest will join us in a flanking move from the east. Hit them from behind. Our target will be the breach by the south forge. I need the best fighters up front.”

  “Can we have Ross?” Jennie asked.

  “Whoever you want. Just do it fast.” He took Felicité’s arm. “Darling, I want you to stay with me. I might need you to run an errand, and I need someone I know I can trust.”

  Her stomach clenched with fear. She knew perfectly well that he would only take her with him if he believed that the town hall wasn’t safe. “Of course. Let me get my things.” She reached for her hat.

  “Your bow? Good thinking. Do we have any extra arrows?”

  “Yes, my bow,” Felicité said belatedly. She picked it up from where she’d left it after handing the children off to Judge Vardam. The quiver was empty, but there was no point adding to her father’s worries. She picked up her veiled hat and tied it on firmly, and made sure her scarf was wrapped tight around her throat.

  “N
o! No, she can’t—” someone yelled, and then cut himself short.

  Dr. Lee put his hand on Paco’s shoulder. Paco jerked away and ran into the hospital. Dr. Lee went after him.

  Felicité followed, as if pulled by a magnet. She had to see, to know.

  Paco stood rigid at the table where they had laid his mother. No one had covered her face, or the faces of any of the dead; all the blankets were needed for the living.

  Daddy walked across the room to Paco, who looked older, his chiseled features gone blank and numb. Yuki lingered in the background, looking uncertain.

  Felicité’s eyes stung as her father pressed his own rifle into Paco’s hands. “We need you, Paco. We need everybody, so no more of our people die. Take my weapon. Help me defend the town.”

  Paco’s jaw tightened. “Okay, Mr. Preston.” He stuffed the powder and ammunition into his shirt.

  Felicité tried to spot Indra, but she couldn’t see him, and though she wanted to ask about him, the words stuck in her throat. She walked out and found Jennie leaning against a wall, with Mia and Ross hovering around her, as concerned as if she were one of the wounded.

  All of Felicité’s feelings surged up. She meant to keep control, but she couldn’t bear it. Sera dead, Indra maybe dying, after a mission led by Jennie. But Daddy still thought that mutant could do no wrong—he was making her a team captain. The team captain. When all she’d done was get back alive.

  Jennie got forgiven anything because her Change was invisible. As long as Daddy didn’t have to see it—as long as Jennie wasn’t a monster—he could pretend she wasn’t Changed at all. If Jennie had been the one who grew scales and gills like some hideous fish creature, he would have never let her into his Rangers, never trusted her, never smiled at her. Never treated her like she was his own daughter.

  The words came out as though someone else spoke. “This is your fault, Jennie.”

  “I know,” Jennie said, closing her eyes. “I know.”

  46

  Mia

  MIA HEARD A VERY FINAL-SOUNDING CLICK AS THE town hall doors locked behind her.