The Scourge

by Henley, A. G.

  I reach out to find the smooth wooden rails of the sled track, praying I don’t touch any of the creatures hovering around me. I’ll drag the sled and heavy oilskin sacks of water up the steep tracks, while doing my best to ignore the enraged creatures. This will be the most physically difficult part of the work. I can’t pull more than two bags in the sled each time, so I have to make three trips today: three sacks of water for us and three for the Lofties. Aloe said there will be more fleshies by the water hole.

  The air is still temperate for summer, but I’m sweating like the sun’s been breathing on me for hours. I wipe my face, trying to pull myself together.

  “Are you all right?” Peree asks.

  “No.”

  “You’ve done well so far,” he says. “Not many of the Sightless are brave enough to take more than a few steps among the flesh-eaters the first time. Shrike told me one woman refused to do her duty at all, and the people suffered for years because of her cowardice.”

  I’ve heard of this Groundling. She took her own life. I’m ashamed for her, but I bristle at his words. How dare a Lofty criticize any Groundling from the perfect safety of his trees, much less a Groundling who’s Sightless and faces the Scourge alone? I’m about to tell him what he can do with his praise, when I remember Calli’s warning. I doubt any Lofty would kill their one source for fresh water, but I don’t want to tempt Peree. I swallow my anger, grimacing at the bitter taste.

  I stalk away, following the sled track, leaving him well behind me in the trees. Under the low moans of the creatures, I hear gentle waves breaking on the shore and a bird trilling in the forest. Others join it, creating a joyful chorus of avian voices. For a moment the world feels peaceful and safe.

  But only for a moment.

  The flesh-eaters swarm around me. The small group that followed me through the forest was like nothing compared to this onslaught—the first crack of lightning before an electrical storm. Their rage and hunger grip me. I fall to my knees, my hands over my ears.

  One time I asked Aloe why she still fears the creatures, after all the years she’s walked among them. She told me she no longer fears the Scourge, she fears her own fear. Now I understand. I curl up on the muddy ground and drift away for a time, lost in a place darker than the deepest, blackest cave.

  After some time I hear something other than the terrible screams. Peree, shouting my name over and over. I ignore him. The cave in my mind is safe. But he keeps calling.

  Go away. Go away and leave me.

  He doesn’t.

  I have to get up. For Eland, Aloe, Calli, Bear, Fox, Rose and her baby. I hear the pleas of my people, each one in turn. Trapped in the caves, waiting for me to return with their life-sustaining water. Relying on me. I can’t fail. All these thoughts echo in my mind, and somehow, I’m standing again.

  “Fennel! Are you all right?”

  I raise my hand, and stagger down the slope to the water’s edge, the creatures following me like a fetid fog. Peree keeps shooting. The thumps mean one less nightmare I’ll have tonight, but I shrink from the thought of the bodies piling up, bodies that were once human. I grope along the end of the track until my hand finds the sled. Inside are two oilskin sacks.

  I fill them, secure the tops, and roll them up onto the sled. Then I shuffle to the front to secure myself in the harness. The sacks were made to hold as much water as I can pull with the sled, but I still struggle. When I rehearsed with Aloe I was fresh and unafraid, not exhausted and petrified as I am now. I pull the sled forward a few feet, and have to stop to rest. I try again, straining as hard as I can in the harness, but the sled barely budges.

  If I can’t make it up the hill, I’ll have to unload a sack. Which means I’ll also have to make twice as many trips as I now face. I put my hands on my knees again and choke back tears.

  Peree calls to me. “Fenn, listen to me. You can do this. You have the strength. Focus on taking a few steps forward. Just a few, then you can rest. Pull the sled.”

  I pull.

  “That’s it, and again.”

  I pull again. I do what he says, and focus on the next few steps. Step. Pull. Step. Pull. The sled inches up the hill, the water sloshing in the sacks behind me. I pray they don’t fall out.

  “Good Fenn, very good, not much farther. Bring the sled to the end of the track. I’ll lower the ropes.”

  Guided by his voice, I reach up for the ropes, and tie them to the sacks. He hoists them into the trees. The Lofties will deliver our portion to us at the mouth of the caves after nightfall, when it’s safer. The flesh-eaters don’t seem to see as well at night. I start again, skimming the empty sled back down the tracks, trying to ignore the creatures surging around me. I fill two more sacks and load them on the sled. Step. Pull. Step. Pull.

  Peree talks to me as I rest, my back against the side of the sled and my head in my hands, but I don’t register what he says. When he finishes lifting the sacks up, I haul the sled back down to the water. I focus on the rhythm of the work as much as I can, trying to pretend I’m in the quiet caves, stocking the storeroom. But it’s not the same, not by a long shot.

  When I finally finish, I step out of the harness and stumble back toward the clearing. The creatures still follow, but there are fewer now. Peree follows, too. I speed up when I reach the clearing. The trees on the other side are all that separate me from Aloe and Eland—from safety.

  The flesh-eaters seem to sense my desperation as I near the caves. They encircle me again. Aloe calls from the entrance, and I dive into the darkness. She pulls me into her arms.

  “Brave, brave girl,” she croons, stroking my hair. I let her soothe me, grateful to be alive. The scent of death recedes as the Scourge melts back into the forest.

  “Peree,” Aloe calls. “Tell Breeze we’ll collect our water at dusk.”

  “I’ll tell her. I’ll see you in the morning, Fenn.”

  The morning. When I’ll have to do it all again. I crumple in Aloe’s arms, and the tears flow.

  I wake before dawn. I don’t know how I know what time of day it is this deep in the caves, but I do. I give no sign I’m awake. I don’t want the day to find me.

  Adder met Aloe and me in the passage as we came in last night, already hurling questions at me. Did I fill six sacks of water? How many of the flesh-eaters did there seem to be? Did I hear any Lofties other than Peree?

  Aloe guided me past him. “Later,” she said.

  Calli and Bear grabbed me next, hugging me to them. Eland drove into us so hard we all crashed to the stone floor of the cave. Our shouts caused others to come running, thinking there had been a cave-in.

  Once I was seated, people brought me food and water. They touched me, speaking in whispers, sounding . . . reverential. My protection from the creatures was confirmed, and it gave them a new respect for me. Some asked questions about the Scourge, or about my Keeper, and I answered as well as I could. But no matter what else they asked, everyone wanted to know the same thing in the end: did the flesh-eaters show any signs of leaving?

  The Scourge typically stays for two or three days, but they could stay longer. Sometimes even a week or more. The elders didn’t speak of those times.

  A week. I’d been through one day.

  I won’t think about it. One step at a time, one minute at a time.

  Before we fell asleep, Eland asked me what it was really like to face the flesh-eaters. He seemed to sense I was holding back with other people, and he was right. But I wouldn’t tell him the truth either. Because the more I thought about it, the more shameful the truth became.

  I was afraid of the Scourge, and of my own fear, as Aloe had been. Dreadfully afraid. The only thing that forced me to my feet when I was crushed by my fear, persuaded me to move again when I was paralyzed by it, was a Lofty. A Lofty—oppressive and superior. They keep us in our place, literally, with their bows and arrows. But I wouldn’t have done my duty without Peree talking me through it. I would have failed my people, and myself.


  And what about Peree? He’s kind. Concerned. Funny, even. Things Lofties aren’t supposed to be. I’m not supposed to like him.

  So I told Eland a different truth. I told him Aloe was wrong. Protection from the Scourge isn’t the gift of our Sightlessness. It’s all part of the same curse.

  I think about this as he sleeps beside me, and I wonder how I’ll survive the day.

  Chapter Three

  I tremble as I approach the mouth of the cave. Invisible hands—rotting, diseased, and smelling of death—clench my throat. I stroke the velvety rabbit’s foot in my pocket to calm myself, and step out into the sun.

  Birds call from high in the treetops, and the wind plays with my hair, but otherwise it’s quiet. I take a few tentative steps toward the tree line, hoping Peree is waiting.

  “Fenn.”

  The compression in my chest loosens a little when I hear his voice. “Where are they? Are they gone?”

  “No. You’d better start moving toward the clearing.”

  I stand still, struggling with my cowardice. He’s right. I might as well get as far along as I can before they find me—I have to make at least two trips with the sled today—but I still don’t move. I don’t want to admit how much I was hoping the flesh-eaters had gone overnight. And I don’t want to admit how happy I am Peree’s here with me again.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Not really.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish–”

  “What?” What does a Lofty wish for?

  Branches snap in the forest in front of me as something hurtles through the underbrush. Many somethings. I start trembling again.

  “I wish the damn things would go burn in whatever hell they came from,” he says, as the creatures explode out of the trees. “Don’t move.”

  Bodies fall all around me, pierced by Peree's arrows. I try to block out the sickening smell, and the hideous screams, while a detached part of my mind admires the swiftness of his archery. The arrows don’t seem to let up, as if he’s found a way to loose them without the use of his bow. I picture them shooting from his mouth, the way we spit watermelon seeds in the summer, and a hysterical giggle escapes me.

  “Okay, I cleared a little space. You can go now,” he calls. “Watch it, though. There are a few of them on the ground to your right, and one behind you . . . are you laughing?” I tell him what I pictured, and he chuckles. “Speaking of spitting, have you ever heard of a camel?”

  “Another strange beast?” I move forward, my hands outstretched to find the familiar tree trunks along the path to the clearing. I dread finding something else, like the dripping flesh of the creatures. “What color are these?”

  “Nothing like tigers. Camels were supposed to be a light brown, same as the sands of the deserts where they lived.”

  “Deserts?”

  “Hot, sandy places with no trees or grasses, and little water.”

  “Sounds idyllic,” I say sarcastically. “But maybe no water means no Scourge?”

  “Then again, no water means nothing to drink, and nothing to water crops with.”

  I raise an eyebrow. What would a Lofty know about watering crops? It’s not like they’ve ever tried—

  A scream rips the air beside me. I slap my hands over my ears. A second later there’s a muffled thump. I shiver and move forward again, into the clearing.

  “Camels,” Peree continues, “were odd looking, with parts from many different animals, like the ears of a mouse, the coat of a sheep, and the nose of a rabbit.”

  “Sheep?” Mice and rabbits abound in the woods, thanks to being small and easily hidden from the flesh-eaters, but I have no idea what a sheep is.

  “Sheep . . . are a story for another day. Camels were interesting animals. They stored nutrients in great humps on their backs to use when food was scarce, and they could go a long time without fresh water.”

  “And the spitting?” An arrow parts the air in front of my face, and I jerk back. “Remember, no water for anyone if you kill me,” I joke weakly.

  “Sorry, I was demonstrating the purpose of camel spit. It was a warning, like my arrows, for others to back off. Although it wasn’t spit so much as, well, stomach contents.” He sounds like he might regret having brought it up.

  “Humped backs and projectile vomiting? Lovely.” I reach the far side of the clearing, behind Calli’s shelter, and walk to the beginning of the sled track. The creatures follow, of course. “Did your mother tell you about these . . . what are they called again?”

  “Camels.”

  “How did she know so much about animals?”

  “She knew a lot about a lot of things, but she never said how she learned it all. I think my father knew, but he’s never told me either. He doesn’t really talk about Mother now.”

  I remember he said he was fostered, mostly because he told me so casually. The subject of fostering isn’t really taboo among Groundlings; we just avoid talking about it. We don’t talk much about the Exchange, either. It only reminds us why we hate the Lofties.

  As Bream is fond of telling us, countless people were consumed by the Scourge after the Fall, generations ago. The scattered, frightened survivors saw that birds and tree-dwelling animals were safe. So they took to the trees, building homes in the tops, complete with rope ladders that could be raised when the flesh-eaters came. They fashioned bows and arrows and learned to use them with lethal accuracy to provide food and to protect themselves. But the trees were crowded and food was scarce. Resources had to be protected. People with dark coloring were arbitrarily forced to the forest floor to become Groundlings. The Exchange began soon after.

  Once a year all the weaned Groundling and Lofty babies are sorted. The fair-haired, light-eyed children are taken by the Lofties to live high above the ground, in the sunlit warmth and security of their tree-top aeries. The dark babies are taken by us, to live in fear of the Scourge.

  I was a Lofty baby, born with the wrong coloring, and without sight. I often wonder who my natural parents were. If they were relieved to see me go. Raising a Sightless child in the branches of trees can’t be an easy prospect.

  Peree swings between two trees, the branch he hangs from groaning under his weight. “There’s the track . . . but you know that already.”

  The sled’s at the top of the track, where I left it yesterday. I pick up the harness and begin dragging. The bottom grates against the wooden tracks. Almost instinctively I know the noise is attracting attention of the wrong kind. The hair on my arms stands up as if preparing to run.

  “Here they come,” Peree says bleakly.

  Flesh-eaters throng around me like flies on a carcass, and fear shoots through the top of my head, blocking out almost any other thought or feeling. It’s all I can do not to sink under the weight of it. I sing under my breath, a song the men sing as they prepare for hunts, meant to build courage. The whistling of arrows and the sound of bodies hitting the ground are my accompaniment.

  I pull the empty sled down to the water’s edge and fill the first sack while the water laps around my ankles. It’s cool and enticing. I want to swim out. All Groundlings can swim, and I’m no exception, but as far as I know the creatures can’t. One survivor supposedly escaped the flesh-eaters by treading water for hours before slipping safely back onto land after nightfall.

  I’ve never swum alone, but I think about trying it now. I take a few steps farther into the water, the sack slipping out of my hand. The urge to dive in is powerful. After a moment I grasp the sack more firmly, and turn around.

  Dragging the sled, with the sounds and smells of the creatures fueling my fear, is almost unendurable. I want to cry, or scream, or commit some terrible act of violence as I pull. But each time I near the top of the hill, Peree’s calm voice—equal parts encouraging, coaxing, and soothing—keeps me moving forward. Still, by the time I tie off the last sack, I feel like one of the creatures—miserable, and mostly dead.

  I trudge back through the forest to the caves. Peree speaks as I
step into the darkness. I’d almost forgotten he followed me.

  “See you in the morning.”

  More to myself than to him, I mutter, “I hope not.”

  I sit with Calli and Eland later, the rough wall jabbing into our backs. Dinner is dried rabbit and rehydrated beans from the storeroom. I should eat to keep up my strength, but I’m not hungry. The dense, wrinkled texture of the meat is how I imagine the creatures’ skin feels. When I try to swallow it, I gag.

  “Bream was even more boring today than usual,” Calli complains. Eland snorts in agreement. “Between the darkness and his voice, I barely stayed awake. Bear kept poking me when I drifted off, thank the stars.”

  “He was talking about the Fall again,” Eland moans.

  We could all recite Bream’s rotating lectures about the Fall of Civilization—and we sometimes did when we were confident we wouldn’t be overheard mocking him. But I have to admit that experiencing the cause of the Fall firsthand over the last two days gave me a new appreciation for the terror our ancestors must have felt as the Scourge overtook them, turning them one by one into the vast numbers of creatures that now roam the earth.

  “Have you ever noticed that he almost seems happy about it? Like we brought it on ourselves or something?” Calli’s voice is pitched low. “Sometimes I wonder if he thinks we all deserve to be, you know, consumed.”

  “Calli!” Eland says, sounding scandalized.

  “Well, he is obsessed!”

  “Aren’t we all?” I say. “Without the Scourge we wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. We wouldn’t have to hide in these caves. We wouldn’t even have to live on the ground. We could live in the trees, or in the City, or even in deserts, if we wanted. Maybe we could find a camel, or a tiger–”

  “What? What are deserts? And tigers? What are you talking about, Fenn?” Calli asks.

  I feel them staring at me, and I wish I hadn’t said anything. Suddenly, loud voices ricochet across the cave.