Life would be so different out here. No lights, no nutrition center in a house to make sure you got exactly the right food every day. No Speekers blaring into your ear every second that you walked down the rubbery sidewalks of downtown. No long, classes or boring shifts in the Domes or at the Dumps. You could do whatever you wanted, whenever.
As I walked in the direction that I saw the column of smoke rising, I tried to imagine how these people must live, how they slept and ate. It was possible they grew their own food or even killed animals.
My path took me around countless trees, and I had to dodge roots almost constantly. At least there wasn’t any of the tall grass that had grabbed at my pants as I’d crossed the field between the road and the forest. I had no trouble seeing where I was going, but the stiffness in my body made the sometimes-jarring path hurt. I found myself wincing with nearly every step.
I’d been wrong, too. After twenty minutes, I was sure I’d walked a kilometer or more, but I still couldn’t see or hear any people. I did hear birds chirping and what seemed like an almost imperceptible hum. It wasn’t the hum of machinery like the CyJet or the things in the Enjineering Dome. This hum was almost more felt than seen. If I stood still enough, I thought I could probably feel the hum under my feet and on my skin. It was as if the voices of the birds, the trees, the other vegetation, and whatever other animals called the forest their home all combined into a faint rhythm I could just barely make out. Was it ever completely silent in the forest? I hadn’t noticed any noises last night, but I’d been so tired that I doubted I would have even heard Enforsers if they had shown up.
As I made my way through the forest, enjoying the strange, warm smells that came to me, I realized that the trees were growing more thickly and that there was more brush. I had to struggle pretty hard at times to break through some of the tight weaves of low trees and bushes.
I was making so much noise that it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when, as I drew even closer to the smoke column, two men appeared in front of me and I heard another step behind me. But it did and my heart felt like it jumped up to my throat. I had to stay calm despite my shock at actually finding people out here. What would they do with me?
As long as there was food involved, I didn’t really care.
“Don’t move,” the one behind me said. I glanced quickly behind me and then forward again. All three men carried black weapons that looked similar to the Keepers the Enforsers carried but more weathered. The men wore mottled pants and loose-fitting shirts—all of them in earthy tones. They also wore some kind of boot that I’d never seen, with thick soles and a dull, brown finish. Their hair was longer than the rules in New Frisko allowed, and the man behind me wore a beard.
After looking behind me, I stood still and put out my left hand. “It’s okay.”
“I said don’t move.” Something hard jabbed me on my back.
I winced. “I’m not.”
“Who are you?” asked one of the men in front of me. His hair was dark brown, whereas his companion’s was so blond that it looked almost white. “Where did you come from?”
“Nobody.” I felt defensive. I wasn’t trying to attack them. They could tell I was alone and beat up.
“Your name,” growled the blond. His voice sounded like the propulsion unit on an Enforser pod, high-pitched, breathy, and with a strange whine on the top end of it. “Now.”
“Nik.” I looked around. What was wrong with these guys? “Nik Granjer. I’m from New Frisko.”
The men in front of me looked at each other for a long moment. The blond turned to me. “What are you doing here?”
“I got away. I had to leave,” I said. “And why are you doing this? I’m just looking for some help.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place,” the blond rasped. “Go home.” The brown-haired one stepped closer to the blond and whispered in his ear. The blond shook his head. “Not worth it.”
“Look, I can’t go back.” I tried to keep my voice strong, but last night’s events were piling up in my head. My throat tightened. “But if you won’t help me, fine. I’ll go somewhere else.” I made as if to turn.
“Not yet,” the one behind me said. He prodded me with his weapon again. “First we get answers.”
“Stan,” the blond rasped. “We’ll get ‘em here.” He gestured to the small clearing where they had stopped me.
“Come on,” the brown-haired one said. “He’s hurt, Dolfo. He’s obviously in trouble.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the blond, Dolfo, said. “No chances.” He looked over my shoulder. “Bind him.”
I felt the gun shift at my back as the bearded man, who must be Stan, pulled some thick twine from a pocket. Briefly, I entertained the idea that maybe I could make a break for it.
But there was no point in that. Maybe they’d still help me if they got their “answers.”
Stan reached for my left arm and tugged it behind my back, going for my right arm too. I winced and hissed, dodging his second grab. “Hey!” he cried out.
Dolfo was on me in less than a second, using his weapon as a club on my side and shoulder. Fresh agony lit up my injured right arm and ribs and I nearly blacked out, dropping to my knees. What was wrong with this guy?
As I’d dropped, Stan had let go of my left arm, so now it was free to cradle my right arm tightly to my stomach. “Stop!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”
“Bind him!” Dolfo repeated, threatening me with his gun again.
Stan went for my arms and, although I tried to dodge again, he got both. He yanked my right arm and a volcano of white agony exploded. My vision went bright and then completely black, and I fell backward. Stan pushed me hard and suddenly I was on my stomach, the spears of pain flashing through me.
Someone was screaming. When my throat felt like it was shredding, I realized it was me.
I heard voices shouting as my awareness faded. I couldn’t believe the pain. I felt like a wild animal was suddenly chewing my arm off.
“Stop it! Stan, let him go!”
My arm dissolved into shards of flaming glass and I blacked out for a moment. When I came to, I was being pushed over onto my back. I had no movement in my right arm and it was throbbing along the entire length with blinding pain. My stomach heaved and all the water I’d drank earlier splattered across my chest.
Whoever was pushing me over shouted “Hey!” and let go. I felt him jump away from me.
Laughter echoed around me. It sounded a metal brush sliding down pavement—had to be Dolfo. “See where kindness gets you?”
“Shut up,” the man who I guessed was kneeling next me said. I opened my eyes. It was the brown-haired one, the one without a beard. He leaned closer. “You’re injured.”
I swallowed, trying to open my throat. I felt pulverized, totally empty. The pain in my arm stole any thought before it could solidify.
The man lifted my injured arm; the added pain simply made the bright throbbing glow hotter. I groaned and wished I could black out, maybe for longer. “No,” I said. The simple word sounded odd to me. Like I’d heard it through a long tunnel.
“Stan, Dolfo, this boy’s seriously hurt.” The man set my arm down, leaving it slightly bent on my torso. “Back off.”
“He could be faking,” came the raspy voice.
“He’s not. This arm’s broken, at least a little.”
“You’re too trusting, Mat,” Dolfo said. I tried to crane my neck a little to see where the blond was standing. The movement tugged my shoulder too much and another pain flared up. Would the throbbing ever go away?
“Shut up,” the man kneeling next to me said. Then he turned to me. “It’s okay. I can see you’re hurt.” His eyes moved away from mine and took me in from head to toe. “Badly. You’re a mess.”
I grunted. I knew that. Did they have anything that would stop this pain? I would almost go to New Frisko right now just to get some of the painkiller that the Meds handed out as needed. I needed a huge dose.
“My name’s Mat,” the man said. “Sorry about that. We’ll help you.” He looked up.
I wished they’d move faster. Tendrils of pain made their way from my arm into my chest. I felt like my whole body would be consumed. It had to stop. I needed something. Maybe the arm just needed to be cut off.
“Stan, Dolfo, come on. Let’s get him up.” I watched as Mat stood and moved to my left side. “But don’t touch his right arm.”
Being manhandled to my feet felt almost as bad as getting hit by rubber bullets. Mat pulled my left arm across his shoulders. “You can stand, so do it.”
I planted my feet, gritting my teeth. The throbbing wasn’t fading. I’d never felt this kind of agony before. I couldn’t catch my breath and my heart slammed loudly in my chest and behind my eyes. I felt tears streaming down my cheeks, but I didn’t care.
“Hold him,” Dolfo grunted.
Mat’s grip on me tightened, but not painfully. Dolfo patted under my arms, then down my sides and legs. When he got to my zip pocket, he found the nanocutter and pulled it out. He examined it. “Looks useful.” He shoved it in a pocket of his light coat and finished whatever he was doing. Did he think I had weapons?
“Hey,” I said. “That’s mine.”
Dolfo stopped for a moment and fixed me with a bemused expression. “Not anymore.” He turned and nodded to Stan.
“Come on, it’s not far,” Mat said. He took a step. He nearly dragged me the first few meters, but I was finally able to get my legs to listen to me. Mat was a few inches taller than me, too, so I felt like I was being pulled and stretched the entire time.
I gulped air. Stan was walking ahead of us while Dolfo took up the rear. What? Did he think I was going to try to get away? Was he insane? Couldn’t he see the shape I was in? Anger at the treatment I’d received flared in me. Tucking my arm tightly to my abdomen to keep it from being jostled, I tried harder to keep up with Mat. Dodging brush, roots, and tree trunks became more difficult as Mat tried to support me through the walk. A couple of times I felt him nearly lose his grip. Once, I stumbled and slipped nearly free of him. I went to a knee, resisting the urge to stop my fall with my right arm.
“Sorry,” Mat said. He grimaced and helped me back up. “Sorry. You’re heavier than you look.”
I grunted.
After walking what felt like at least a kilometer, we rounded a hill covered in rocks, bushes, and trees and came to the camp. This deep into the trees, I hadn’t been able to see the column of smoke anymore, so I was surprised to suddenly see a large number of people, at least twenty, moving around a fire and several structures.
Our appearance brought the camp to a momentary standstill. Then voices were raised and people burst into motion. Several men approached at a run, grabbing guns from a row of weapons leaning against a rock. Women called to children, and it looked like they began to tear down the camp.
“It’s okay,” Mat called. “It’s all right. He’s not a Ranjer. He’s hurt.”
“He’s alone,” Stan chimed in. “Broken arm.”
Dolfo appeared, walking around us and toward the fire. “Unless it’s a trap.”
I wanted to punch the raspy-voiced blond man. What a bug-eater.
Stan called three of the men with weapons and sent them back out to patrol the forest. I assumed they were to take the place of him, Dolfo, and Mat.
Mat helped me sit on a small chair that looked like it folded up. “Wendy,” he called out. “Bring your kit.” He helped me out of my zip and dropped it to the ground.
A blond woman, her hair just short of her shoulders, jogged over a moment later. She was young, maybe three or four years older than me. She carried a black case with a soft covering. Snapping it open, she kneeled in front of me. “What’s the damage?”
“Not sure,” Mat said, touching the woman gently on her shoulder. “His right arm might be broken.” He bent and examined my elbow. “It’s torn up pretty bad.” He grimaced. “We didn’t help. Tried to bind him but he collapsed and screamed.”
As Wendy bent to examine my arm, I felt myself start to shake. The adrenaline from the pain and fear of the last half hour had obviously faded. I clenched my jaw, trying to hold myself together.
“What happened?” Wendy asked. She was trying to be gentle, but every movement of my arm felt like I was being stabbed.
I tried to explain, but couldn’t get the words out. I cleared my throat. Swallowed. “I fell. Hit my elbow.”
“What else?”
I met her gaze. She had lifted my shirt. Black and purple spots the size of small fists covered my torso. Wendy moved behind me and pulled the shirt higher. “Pull your left arm through.” She sounded like the Meds in New Frisko: zero sympathy.
Wendy worked my shirt over my right arm and dropped it to the ground on top of my zip. “You’re covered in bruises. Scrapes, too. A couple of cuts. Bullets, it looks like.”
I hissed as she touched a few spots on my back and neck. “Good to know,” I said. “Any painkiller?”
“Sure,” Wendy said. “But what happened?”
Was she serious? She was going to keep me in pain until I told her the story? “I had to get out of New Frisko. The Enforsers didn’t want me to.”
“Why? What’d you do, kill someone?” Wendy had made her way all the way around me and now crouched in front of me.
A beat. Then another heartbeat. Bren. Again, I couldn’t speak. My face heated up as the image of Bren’s dead face hit me. Yes. I’d killed someone. Grief and guilt made me want to curl into a ball. I looked away, my vision blurring.
“Hey, no. No, sorry,” Wendy said. Her hand, hot and gentle, touched my knee. I looked down at her arm. It looked strange. “I’m sorry. It’s okay.” I heard her pull something from her open case. “Here. This will help the pain.”
The sharp jab of the needle was almost undetectable against the flood of agony that still throbbed in my arm. “Can you move it?”
I was glad that her questions had stopped and that she had given me the shot, but I almost regretted that she didn’t ask more. The need to unload the burden of last night was suddenly almost too much. “No, not much.”
“There’s a lot of swelling, but I don’t feel any major break. We’ll image it in a few minutes.”
“Do you still need me?” Mat asked. I glanced up at him. He was watching a group of men, with Dolfo and Stan at the center, who were talking near one of the tents.
“Not for now.” Wendy offered Mat a warm smile. He touched her shoulder again and moved away. “Is that kicking in?” She searched my face.
Miraculously, the painkiller she’d given me had brought the agony in my arm down some. I didn’t dare move the arm for fear the pain would come back. “I think so.”
“We’ll give it another few minutes, and then I’ll image it so we can figure out what’s going on in there.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes, dark green, held mine tightly. “You’re going to have to tell us what happened sometime. You need to be ready.”
I nodded. The pain dropped another notch. “Okay.”
“Let’s start with your name,” Wendy said.
“Nik.” I glanced around the campsite. People had gone back to their tasks but were no longer taking down the campsite. They were moving slowly, and everyone looked my way every few seconds. “Nik Granjer.”
Wendy put her hand back on my knee—there was still something strange about her arm—and she stood. “I’m Wendy.” She followed my gaze and then turned to me again. “We’re Wanderers.”
I heard the way she said the last word. It was how people of New Frisko said they were “Friskans.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. I sighed as the pain in my arm settled to a dull throb.
“We don’t belong to a city, or any person. We live the way we choose.”
That sounded incredible. “But they let you?”
“They try to find us,” she held up her left wrist, and I realized why her arm seemed so
strange-looking. “But no Papas means no tracking device. And no knockout.”
I glanced at my left arm. “I don’t, either. Have the tracker, I mean.”
“I know. If you did, you wouldn’t be here. We scanned you.”
“I took it out before I left New Frisko.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Really? Good with tech? You might come in handy.”
A little seed of hope planted in me. “I can stay?”
Wendy pulled a complicated-looking device from her bag. She unfolded a cuff and slid it up my arm, widening it as she pushed it. “I don’t know. That depends on a lot of things.” She held the cuff just above my elbow. The device activated with a soft beep.
This was her imager. I’d never seen one so compact. The ones that the Med Teks in New Frisko used were much larger.
The group of men, now including Mat, Stan, Dolfo, and three others, approached and stopped in front of me.
“Who are you?” This was asked by the shortest of the men; he had to be shorter than me by an inch or two. His reddish-brown hair was long but well kept. He had a narrow beard just under his lip that went in a straight line down his chin and stopped right above his Adam’s apple.
“Nik Granjer.”
“You came from New Frisko?” I wondered if this guy was the leader of the group.
“Yeah.”
“Why?” His blue eyes were the color of an early twilight sky. “Why did you leave?”
I swallowed, fighting back the image of Bren on the street. “Something happened. I couldn’t stay.”
“What happened?”
“Small stress fracture in the ulna,” Wendy said, standing. “That’s why it hurts so much, but it will heal okay if you keep it immobile.” Her eyes met mine.
Grateful for the moment she’d given me to gather my thoughts, I decided to tell the whole story. “I might be immune to the Bug.”
Beat Page 10
