Her of the Wood

by Veronica Watts

  Table of Contents

  Her of the Wood

  Book Details

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  About the Author

  HER OF THE WOOD

  VERONICA WATTS

  Determined to get out of a city where the lowest classes are subjugated into silent submission, Euodia sneaks onto a convoy of detainees being transported to the old lands to die.

  Her hope is rewarded when her group meets scouts from a small but thriving community. As Euodia learns to live and work in her new home, she struggles to shake off years of conditioning so that she can be honest with Ailie about her developing feelings.

  But just as she's finding her feet, and maybe her courage, a deadly disease sweeps through the community...

  Her of the Wood

  By Veronica Watts

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by C.A. Shaw

  Cover designed by Aisha Akeju

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition September 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Veronica Watts

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684313495

  Print ISBN 9781684313976

  For Cassidy,

  Thank you for your friendship,

  your talent, your beauty, and your understanding.

  And for my father,

  who instilled in me a love of the written word

  and who enjoys a good dystopia more than anyone I know.

  Thank you for pointing out meticulous grammar rules

  and adjusting my egregious errors with the use of 'lay' versus 'lie', in all of its tenses.

  Acknowledgements

  To my first readers, Phoebe and Annabeth,

  thank you for always getting back to me.

  And to C. A. Shaw, thank you for the editing prowess

  ONE

  Euodia leaves the tower through the tunnels. There are few people on the sidewalks here. The workers in the tower live in the tower. They eat in the tower; they sleep in the tower. She's carrying papers in case she's stopped, a request for a private worker from a woman named Orchid. They'll show she's transitioning from the tower to a private residence, a residence she can't allow herself to think about right now. That will get her through mid-city. Then she'll be in the edges, worker territory, where no one asks questions.

  She passes a worker on his way back into the tower and wonders if he was out on business or if he's taking a risk like her. Her eyes linger on him for a moment too long. He doesn't seem to notice. This is her first time out since she was brought to work in the tower. She doesn't think it's common for workers to come and go, but she can't be sure. She hopes it's common enough that she won't be stopped. There's no one else after that for a while, though her heart stops every time she thinks she hears a footfall. She's certain she'll strain her muscles listening.

  Eventually, the tunnel from the tower links up to tunnels from other city center buildings and those connect to the buildings from mid-city, where workers commute. She hops on an almost empty transport and stands by the railing nearest the doors. She doesn't speak. No one speaks. They stand and look down. A few brave souls look up and out, but they do not make eye contact. The train speeds along the old streets, cracked and full of weeds under the rusty rails. The street lights are on even in these early afternoon hours because the buildings here block out all light. They're supposed to be some of the tallest in the world, but Euodia doesn't look at them. She grew up in their shadows.

  As the car starts to slow, she looks up. The faces around her are beaten, subdued. They are what she feels herself becoming. She wants to look people in the eye and speak to them. She wants to help people. She looks back towards the lights outside the grimy windows. Her uniform had been a clean, dark black when she put it on this morning. It had stayed that way everyday in the tower, but she can already see residue from the unkempt streets on her shoes and some kind of tan powder has brushed itself against her leg. She has no idea what part of the city it's come from and brushes it away as best she can. She moves towards the door with the rest of the crowd when the train stops.

  Even in these crowds, those walking around her barely touch her. They know their boundaries. She's moving at a slower pace than most, trying to calm her nerves, but no one notices. They just reform the flow around her, like water pouring through the gutters and gliding smoothly around a piece of trash. She forgot for a moment that workers are invisible, even to each other. No one will notice her here.

  As the crowd moves from the platforms, the noise increases. Workers begin to talk, quietly, as unobtrusively as they can. They understand that as long as they keep their heads down, they can maintain a sort of autonomy. This is where they're allowed to be, but that doesn't make the guards any less frightening in their gear. Their knives and batons are always visible, and their glares always present. A worker is never allowed to forget their place, but they barter quietly, and sometimes, in the corners, they'll trade gossip and quick stories before scurrying back to their homes.

  Euodia looks over the browning fruit in a stall, hoping that no one sees her eyes dart up to the gate. There's a covered truck and three guards standing nearby. Just as she steps forward for a closer look, a car comes out of nowhere. The car is sleek, clean, obviously from city center, and a wave of fear freezes her until she realizes that it isn't here for her. She wants to escape, not be detained. She turns away, back to the stall, to collect herself and hears a crash behind her. When her breathing has calmed, though her heart is still pounding in her ears, she turns to look with the rest of the crowd.

  The car's hit the wall. It's smashed up pretty badly, but the truck is fine. She watches as the guards run to the car and seizes her opportunity, working her way to the side of the truck closest to her, opposite the commotion. She peeks around the corner to make sure she's still clear and sees them pull a driver from the car. Everyone knows how dangerous manual driving is, but right now, she's thankful for this driver choosing not to use his autopilot. She reaches around the corner and up into the back of the truck to find a handhold and climbs inside. She's barely sat down when a guard pops his head around the corner. He looks inside for a moment, and she doesn't breathe. Her heart stops; time stops, but he just turns and walks away, and the world restarts around her.

  It takes her a minute to catch up, to blink, to look around. Many in the group are older. Some are crying. A few are chained. There are three younger people on the truck, two men and one woman, and they all look angry. There's a stubbornness to them that she trained out of herself long ago. She looks at everyone, and the face she wants to see isn't here. She looks out the back, through the small slit between the fabric door
and the truck wall. She wants to believe she's coming, but any hope she had fades as the engine starts up. The alarms start, and the truck pulls out of the gate. She doesn't bother to look back as she hears the gates close.

  A pair of eyes catch Euodia's attention. The woman is old, very old. She's sitting on the floor across from Euodia, and she's been crying. Their eyes stay locked for a minute until the truck hits a bump. Euodia's made her choice. She has left Dracon, the only home she's ever known.

  They drive for hours, but the road hasn't been smooth since the first stretch outside of the gates. These trucks are the only things that ever drive out here, so it can't get a ton of maintenance. Judging from the way they've been tossed around, the truck's gone over a few small mountains. There were some strong switchbacks, but the road seems to have evened out, and she hopes they'll be out soon. Most of the crying has stopped. People are exhausted, but there is one woman still weeping gently, steadily, and it becomes the soundtrack to their journey. It's a sound Euodia expects to remember forever.

  She's resting her head when the truck jerks to a stop, tossing her forward. She hears the doors opening. The covering is pulled back, and she's blind for a moment, the full sun overwhelming. As her sight returns, she sees those around her shielding their faces and rubbing their eyes. Closest to the back, she is one of the first out of the truck. She maintains her balance and hops down as the guard pulls her from the back and pushes her to the side of the road.

  They all know what reassignment means. They grew up on the horror stories of those who are left in the wilderness to die, and most believe it. The woman still crying believes it. She's lying in the dirt just behind the truck. She reaches out to grab the guard's foot, begging. She misses as he steps forward to pull another down from the truck, and Euodia watches as the old woman reaches for her. Her gnarled hands angle the crying woman away from the truck, away from the guards. She'll only get a beating if she touches one.

  The three young workers are being unloaded now. The woman and smaller man stand and jump down from the truck when commanded. The guard, now standing inside the truck, nudges the larger man who is still in the process of rising to full height and is chained. The chained man cracks his neck and finishes standing, slowly. He is head and shoulders above the guard, who stares up and swallows, loudly. The chained man breaks eye contact and steps down from the truck. The release of weight takes pressure off the tires and adds a couple of inches to the truck's height.

  One of the workers unchains those who have been bound, leaving the largest man 'til last, before closing up the truck doors and heading back to the cab. The silence explodes. Workers are asking what they're supposed to do, how the men can leave them here, how they're supposed to survive. One of the guards looks back for a moment, smirks, and snorts. His answer is clear. They're not meant to survive this. A few quiet when they see this, and the rest stop as the truck pulls out of view. Only Euodia and the large man have watched in silence.

  There is the beginning of a forest slightly off the road, and Euodia walks towards it, staying within earshot of the group. The trees are thick enough to block most sight from the road, but they don't hinder her walking. She hears the water before she sees it, and not too far in, she finds a stream. She drinks and washes her face and hands before hearing the others come up behind her.

  Within a few hours, the large, young man starts to build a fire, and the two that she assumes are his friends collect wood. Darkness comes on fast, and most of the group fall asleep quickly. Euodia keeps herself awake as long as she can to watch the fire. It's died down to embers when she notices the old woman again. She's rolled away from the group, and she is quiet, but her outline is shaking with sobs. Euodia watches her for a minute before rolling over on her side and curling up for warmth. At least it's summer.

  TWO

  There's dew on her face in the morning, and the sun is already bright when she opens her eyes. A few of the others are awake, and a few are still asleep. Some are missing from their circle. Euodia stands quietly, moving away from the fire towards the stream. She washes as best she can, listening to the sound of the trees around her as they sway in the breeze. The forest continues as far as she can see, and the trees are taller than she would have guessed. She's seen photos of the forest, but none of them did this place justice. The only plants in Dracon are small and grown in pots or baskets.

  The trees creak, and she worries they will fall, but they seem sturdy enough. She closes her eyes and listens as the trees continue their morning stretching. The water isn't a steady stream. There's no faucet. This water has movement, changing in every moment. Each rock or stick that alters its path also alters its sound, and each sound mixes with others to create a constant irregularity. She smiles as she looks up, trying to locate the birdsong that's caught her attention as she feels the dappled sun breaking through the leaves on her face.

  There is noise by the fire, so she heads back towards the others. She will look for the bird again later. Most people are shuffling around now. The large young man walks up about the same time that Euodia does. He's carrying an armful of firewood and drops it rather unceremoniously. The one man still sleeping wakes with a start.

  The younger woman and a thin man are cleaning fish, which grabs everyone's attention. "It's not much, but it'll have to do." His voice wavers a bit, nervous, the first to speak. Euodia looks around and tries to remember all of the people from the group. There are six here and three that must be off in the woods. She thinks about the protein bars in her pouch, all she was able to take without raising suspicion and debates the needs of her own travel against the importance of creating friendships. She knows nothing about the land, but some of these people obviously do.

  By the time the fire is going hot, the fish are clean. Euodia had no idea that there was so much involved in the preparation of either the fire or the fish, and for the first time, she doubts her ability to survive outside of the city. The fish cook quickly, and the young man who caught them walks around, cutting a portion for each person. He has a knife, which could be the most useful thing she's seen. She thanks him for her portion, and when they've all finished their meat and are still hungry, she stands.

  She opens each bar and breaks them in half. Two of the people from the woods have returned. She hands a piece to each of the seven people around her and places the last back in her pouch, to save for the last woman. They watch the fire die down for a while. The crackling comforts Euodia, keeps her mind from wandering too far into fear.

  It's one of the older men who finally speaks up. "Thank you." He looks at the trio and at Euodia. "We should make plans for how we will get our next meal."

  "Why?" The answer is almost immediate, from the middle-aged woman in the same city center worker uniform as Euodia. He stares at her. Her voice cracks as she continues. "We all know we're going to die out here. Why should we fight to delay the inevitable?"

  "We don't know anything of the sort, and if you really thought that, you wouldn't have eaten that food this morning." The young woman's eyes are bright with anger but there's also fear in them. After staring at the man for a moment, she drops her gaze, and her body seems to melt inward a little as she wraps her knees into her chest.

  The old man speaks up again. "We will die if we don't try. That much is certain, so we have to do something, right?" He smiles as if they're all just bored and he's suggesting games to prevent cabin fever. "Now I used to run a vegetable stall, so I might be able to find some things I can recognize as edible in the woods. Our friend here has us covered for fire, and these two provided us with fish. What else can we do? Who else has something to offer?"

  There is quiet for a moment, more than a moment, but the older man just looks on, seemingly unaware of the strained silence, waiting for someone else to think of something. Euodia has already given the one thing she brought that could be helpful. Those bars were all she had to offer, and while they were appreciated, they were not a renewable source of assistance.


  The other city center worker, the woman who didn't see the point, lay back and looked up at the sky. Perhaps she didn't see the point because she, like Euodia, didn't have anything to offer. Euodia didn't want everyone to associate her with the woman, so she spoke up. "I don't have any skills. I worked in the tower, so unless you've got a young lady who needs her pre-cooked meal served, I'm kind of useless." The reality of that statement stung, and it took her a moment to recover. "But I would like to learn anything I can."

  "Thank you..." His voice trails off, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

  "Euodia," she answers.

  He smiles respectfully. "Thank you, Euodia. I'm Jenson."

  He looks around, waiting for a minute to see who will continue. The large man speaks up next. "I'm Rayne. I worked food cultivation, so we travelled out to the fields, and sometimes the trucks would break down. We learned to build fires when we were out overnight." Rayne's voice is calm, full of acceptance. He seems at peace with the situation in a way that not even Euodia feels, and she chose to be here.

  Rayne looks over to his friends. The young woman in the group of three speaks up. "Hello." The word is full of obligation. She does not want to be here, but she is trying to do the best with what she has, no matter how angry she is about it. "I'm Henley. This is Thackery." She nods to the other young man, the one who brought the fish. "We also worked food cultivation. Um, they pulled us when they found out we were with each other. Rayne there refused to let them take us without a fight."

  Thackery nods in agreement. "He knocked two of them out, and I think I saw a broken arm." He's smiling, pleased that his friend stood up for him. Rayne tenses up as they talk and looks directly into the fire. The rotation goes to the right after that. There is another older gentleman who introduces himself as Norten. He says he worked in delivery. He doesn't volunteer any more.

  Then there's the older woman. "I'm Callie." Her voice is shaky, like the rest of her, but her smile is kind and open, and her eyes are still bright. "I've always worked with textiles, and I think I can probably find something that I can weave into sleeping pads for us. I don't know about anyone else, but the ground did not do me any favors last night." She stretches her back, and smiles.