Horde (Enclave Series)

by Ann Aguirre

  Fade shuddered. I started to draw back, but he set a hand on my arm. “Don’t move.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I know. I came across the space toward you, not the other way around.”

  “Is it awful?” I asked in an anxious whisper.

  “No. I want you too much to feel anything else right now.”

  I took that to mean he was extremely interested in breeding, a fact I could confirm through our double sets of blankets. “What’s the solution?”

  “I just … need a minute. Then I’ll go find some cold water to dunk myself in repeatedly.” The wry amusement in his tone made me smile.

  As promised, he rolled away, but without any of the prior repugnance he’d shown before. He was too preoccupied with minimizing embarrassment, I thought. In the brightening dawn, his cheeks were touched by high color, and Fade ducked his head as he crept out of the granary, presumably to find the icy bath he’d mentioned. I lay in my blankets for a few seconds, torn between discomfiture and quiet pride. It wasn’t something a Huntress would be pleased with, but the girl inside me was glad he wanted me enough to seek me in his sleep—and it was more than a physical need, I suspected.

  Smothering a smile, I crawled out of my pallet and rolled my blankets tightly, then stowed them in my pack. I checked to be sure I still had the splendid legacy of Longshot’s folio, containing the map of the territories with all his notes learned over long years on the trade runs. Thus reassured, I tiptoed over to Tegan, who was stirring on the other side of the room. As I knelt, she sat up, shoving the dark hair out of her face.

  “Let’s find some breakfast,” she said.

  I nodded. With quick fingers, I subdued my hair in the braid Momma Oaks had taught me to create, ladylike, but also good for fighting. I tied the tail with a scrap of leather, then trailed Tegan out of the building. She followed her nose to what looked like the barracks from Salvation, only bigger.

  Inside, the room was swarming with soldiers, all in grungy green. Some looked more alert than others. All were in various stages of breakfast. There was a food line, and with a puzzled look at Tegan, I joined it at the end. There was a place for us to get plates and cutlery, so we went through, telling men with spoons what we wanted. Most of it looked disgusting, cooked in such huge quantities, and a few items I’d never seen before, especially a dish that was lumpy, white, and brown. It looked filling, though, so I indicated it along with a thick hunk of bread. I also found some apples, so I took one of those as well.

  A glance across the room told me no tables were vacant. As Tegan came up beside me, I picked one at random with a few empty seats. The men shoveling their food down didn’t look up as we sat, merely kept eating with a single-minded focus that seemed unnatural to me now. I had gotten used to small courtesies in Salvation, I supposed, as down below, we devoured our meals as fast as we got them, fearing somebody might decide we didn’t merit that much food after all.

  Tegan cocked a brow at me. “It must be good.”

  “It’s terrible,” one said. “But edible, and we know better than to dally in the mess.”

  I repeated the last three words with a question in my voice.

  “Short for mess hall,” another man clarified.

  That didn’t help me, but Tegan made the connection. “Is this a military facility?”

  The question earned her a strange look, but the soldier proved willing to answer. “A long, long time ago, it was just a small town. After the first outbreaks, the army stationed men here, provisioned a base to receive and support survivors.”

  “Outbreaks of what?” I asked.

  Before the man could answer, a bell went off. I tensed—had my knives in my hands and was on my feet before anyone else at the table responded. Tegan just looked worried, but she still had her spoon halfway to her mouth.

  Then someone laughed. “You’re skittish, girl. That’s just the signal that breakfast is over and those of us on duty need to get on with training, the work roster, or patrols, depending on what we’ve been assigned.”

  “Good to know,” Tegan murmured, going back to her breakfast.

  Once the room cleared out, I said, “It sounds like they know more about what happened than the townsfolk did in Salvation, something more real than religious stories.”

  “No history is ever unbiased.”

  I considered that, eating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food. It wasn’t horrible, but it seemed like it needed something else, so I spooned some onto my wedge of bread, then took an experimental bite. Better.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s been a long time, but my mom used to teach me, before people got sick. There were books all over the university, and she read to me, explained things as best she could.”

  “And she said history is biased?” I wasn’t positive what a bias was. From school, I knew history was the study of things that happened in the past, but I couldn’t understand what Tegan was getting at. Surely something was either true, or it wasn’t.

  “Not on purpose. But people see things differently. So I might see a blue flower growing below an apple tree and write all about the blue flower whereas you might see only the apples. Your account would contain information about the fruit, never mentioning the flower.”

  “Because the food would matter to me more,” I said in sudden comprehension. “So it’s not that the people in Salvation are trying to lie. They just include the part of the stories that they care about.”

  “Exactly. Since they’re devout people, they interpreted the terrible things that happened in the world as punishment from God for their sins. I don’t think we’ll find that bias here.”

  Now I understood. Thoughtful, I ate my breakfast in silence, considering all we might learn in Soldier’s Pond.

  First, though, we had wounded to tend.

  Verdict

  The rest of the day, I helped Tegan.

  Not only did the bandages need to be changed, cuts and burns had to be tended. There were broken bones too and once we’d dealt with the long process of treating them, they also needed food and broth. I’d never seen myself as a caregiver, but since Tegan needed my hands, I was willing. I didn’t know as much as she did but I followed directions well enough.

  “No, hold that with your left hand,” she said briskly. “Don’t move.”

  She was so good with the injured, offering endless patience and kindness. I had less of her natural aptitude, but since I was only her assistant, not the doctor, my skill didn’t matter as much.

  By nightfall, I was as exhausted as I had been after the battle outside the Salvation gates.

  “How many of them do you think will live?” I asked Tegan.

  The room was starting to reek of putrid wounds, masked lightly by antiseptic and healing salve. In some cases, her proficiency and desire to help wouldn’t be enough. I felt sorry for those poor souls because a slow death was the worst kind.

  She puffed out a weary sigh. “Half, I hope.”

  That was even fewer than I expected. “It must be hard.”

  “I wish Papa Doc was here,” she whispered. “He could probably save more.”

  “You’re doing your best.”

  “It’s not enough,” she said, stalking off.

  I didn’t take it personally. Tegan wanted to save everyone but life didn’t work that way, no matter how much I wished otherwise.

  As I came out of the granary, I ran into Stalker; he had fallen in with the scouts and went out regularly with them. He didn’t look as if he’d rested much, his bones sharp beneath his skin and dark circles cradling his eyes. He jerked a nod, then moved to push past me. I stayed him with an abortive movement, not quite touching him. I suspected by his taut expression that there would be no more quiet moments between us, and that was for the best. False encouragement would be wrong when my heart belonged so completely to Fade.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “I just wondered what you saw out there and what the tri
p from Salvation was like.”

  “Awful. I had no idea if you were safe, if I’d ever see you again. And this time, I didn’t even get a kiss good-bye.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He had to know I was looking for concrete information about the terrain and the number of Freaks.

  “Forget it,” he said. “The colonel is waiting on my report.”

  It wasn’t hard to read his mood. “That’s not the only reason you’re hurrying off.”

  Stalker eyed me, his mouth flat. “I get it. You’d rather have him, broken, than me whole. If that didn’t clarify my chances with you, nothing would. But you can’t have what you want either, Deuce. I can’t be your friend, feeling like this. Give me some time, and then…” He shrugged. “Maybe. No promises. Just … leave me be.”

  “Take care of yourself,” I said softly.

  He strode off without looking back, shoulders straight. At least his leg’s healed. Part of me was glad it was over—that he’d finally given up. The rest felt bad that I’d hurt him and given him the wrong signals out of ignorance. Sighing, I went to the mess hall, where they were wrapping up dinner; I was among the last to be served, then I spotted Momma Oaks and the rest of my family across the sparsely populated room. I wove through the tables and sat down with them. They all looked a little better than they had the night before.

  “Have you heard anything?” I asked, regarding their official status.

  Edmund shook his head. “There’s a council meeting this evening to decide our fates.”

  “They wouldn’t just turn us away,” Rex said, but he didn’t sound as sure as he wished.

  I didn’t reply since the enclave made a practice of exactly that. In all the years I lived there, they’d made one exception—for Fade—and only because his will to survive fascinated them, the way he’d lived feral and alone, bereft of protection or support. That implacable core made me admire him more, even as I promised myself I’d always be there to fight for him. It was time someone did.

  “It sure is strange here,” Momma Oaks whispered then. “They don’t pray before meals, did you notice? And the women go around dressed like men.” She aimed a look at me, as if she’d just realized something. “Is that how you felt when you first arrived in Salvation?”

  I smiled at that. “Yes. But if I adapted, you can, too. I don’t think people here mind that you have your own customs.” But that brought a question to mind. “How come you don’t know more about the other settlements? I can tell none of you have ever been here before.”

  My mother looked shocked at the idea. “Of course not. Longshot handled all contact with outsiders. It’s been our policy for hundreds of years to limit our exposure to worldly ways.”

  “It was supposed to keep us safe,” Rex whispered.

  Edmund’s shoulders slumped a little. “Yes, we believed that by conforming to the covenant the original settlers made with heaven and by living plain, simple lives, God would spare us from the trials that plagued others.”

  “So … Longshot kept Salvation from being … sullied?” I wasn’t sure that was the right word, but my parents nodded, so I must be in the vicinity.

  “He acted as a buffer, handled all of our trade runs and when trappers and traders came to town, he did business with them outside the walls,” Rex added.

  That much, I remembered; I just hadn’t known why. “But if you were so worried about bad things getting in, why did you let the four of us stay?” Before, I just thought they were kind folks in Salvation. I hadn’t realized they were so insular. Now I was genuinely curious.

  Momma Oaks answered with a quote from the book Caroline Bigwater used to haul around. “‘Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.’”

  “You took us in because we’re young,” I guessed. “You thought we’d learn your ways.”

  Edmund smiled at me. “That’s not why we welcomed you, Deuce, only the official town policy on strangers.” Then his face fell. “Or it was.”

  “Don’t think about it,” my mother whispered.

  Drawing in a breath, Edmund rubbed Momma Oaks on the shoulder. “We can build a life here, if we’re welcome. Surely even soldiers need good shoes.”

  I glanced down at the worn, poorly made boots that most of the men were wearing. “I’d say they’re crying out for you here.”

  “I’d like to apprentice and learn the family trade,” Rex said hesitantly. “I understand if you won’t take me back, though. I’m pretty old to start from the beginning and I’ve likely forgotten what little you managed to cram into my head, before—”

  Edmund smiled. “Of course, I’m happy to have you. That only applies if I can find a workshop here, of course.”

  Momma Oaks was scrutinizing the green shirts and trousers that everyone wore. “Their clothes are in rags. I wonder if they know how to weave or sew, here. I could set up a shop, too.”

  It was good to see them making tentative plans, imagining how they could build. Their hope renewed my own, fortified my determination to find the place I belonged. So far, I liked Soldier’s Pond better than I’d enjoyed Salvation—not that I had wanted the town destroyed. They took us in and kept us safe to the best of their abilities, and I’d always be grateful.

  Shortly after I finished my food, the rest of the men filed out. Rex rose to follow them, and Momma Oaks and Edmund did likewise. I came last, watching as the soldiers jogged toward a large building on the opposite end of town. I figured that was where the meeting would be held, more organized than the impromptu sessions Elder Bigwater called on the green. Curious and apprehensive, I slipped into the hall along with the last trickle of soldiers.

  Inside, there were rows of benches, similar to the mess hall, but none of them were stained, and there were no tables. The wood gleamed, attesting to the fact that they discussed serious matters here. I slid onto a bench beside soldiers I didn’t recognize. Spread throughout the crowd, I spotted a few familiar faces: Spence, Tully, and Morrow, though not Thornton—and I imagined he was mourning his fallen son.

  The colonel stood up front, talking to the same group who had agreed to let her send men to Salvation. Along with everyone else, I waited to see what the verdict was. I couldn’t make out the conversation from this distance, though I could tell they were still talking. The fact that they were meant I had reason to hope for a positive outcome.

  Once the room filled up, two men swung the doors closed, then locked it. They took punctuality serious in Soldier’s Pond. Then the colonel called the meeting to order by whacking the table with a small wooden hammer. The crowd quieted at once, turned expectantly toward the front as the council took their seats. Once everyone was settled, the colonel leaned forward.

  “A motion has been brought to permit these folks to stay as permanent residents.” In Salvation, people would already be shouting objections or support, but the room remained calm and orderly. Colonel Park went on, “I now formerly call this meeting to order to present our decision. Mr. Walls, will you do the honors?”

  The gray-haired man I remembered from their first emergency meeting stood. “Yes, Colonel.” He addressed the audience then. “After a lengthy debate, we’ve decided to offer provisional citizenship status to any families willing to comply with the terms, which are as follows: one member of the household, male or female, must volunteer for service and pass basic training, then take his or her place on the active duty list. The rest are then free to assume support roles in town.”

  Though I wasn’t sure, that sounded like joining the guard in Salvation. From what I’d seen of the training program here, it would be more rigorous; they took defense and discipline seriously. A support role must be someone who helped the soldiers do their jobs, likely by making shoes, boots, and uniforms. So that meant if Rex or I volunteered, then the Oakses could stay here and be safe. Well. Relatively speaking. Someone as smart as the colonel must understand the severity of the threat. Her scouts were good or Stalker wouldn’t be r
oving with them. He had little patience for incompetence.

  “Are there any questions?” the colonel asked. Silence. “Objections?”

  I expected a spate of complaints but the men and women in the hall merely nodded agreement with the decision. On some level, it made sense to permit new blood, but a favorable decision would never have been reached in the enclave. Resources weren’t quite as strained Topside, however, so Soldier’s Pond could afford to be more generous in their terms—and they still benefited from the influx of new faces. This ruling increased the size of their defense force.

  Tully and Spence whispered together, though I wasn’t sure how they felt about the verdict. Morrow was watching me, and when I caught his eye, he touched two fingers to his brow in greeting. The gesture made me lonely for Longshot. Once the meeting broke up officially, I strode to the front of the room, my decision made.

  “I’ll join up for the Oaks family.”

  The colonel frowned at me. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “While I admire your enthusiasm, you’re not old enough, Deuce. We require minors to be eighteen before they can volunteer.”

  Horror washed through me. “I’ve been training since I could hold a knife, ma’am, and where I’m from, you’re considered an adult at fifteen. Can’t you make an exception this once?”

  “I’m sorry. I respect your courage, but an adult from your family must fulfill the requirement. Come see me in two years.”

  That would be too late. Momma Oaks might be strong and resilient, but if Rex died in service to the town, she would have no children left at all. I didn’t think she could bear it—and even if she could—she shouldn’t have to. Edmund probably couldn’t pass basic training; I’d noticed the slow way he moved in the mornings, as if his joints pained him, and his back wasn’t the best from long years hunched over his workbench.

  “What about the wounded?” I asked. “Some of them have no surviving family.”