The Dead_Wilds Three

by Donna Augustine

The abundance of wealth stored here, alone with only this old man, made me nervous for him. How was he living in the worst place known and still alive with all this wealth?

  “You live out here by yourself?”

  “The people around here wouldn’t touch me. Even if they did, girly, I’m nearly two hundred years old. This life doesn’t owe me one more minute—no, one more second. If we’re going to get right down to it, I’d return a couple if I had my wits about me.” He laughed heartily at his own joke, and it was a robust sound that didn’t appear to come from a man of his vintage age.

  A large black crow that was perched on the back of a chair cawed, as if laughing with him. I noticed that was the only other living creature in the place, and the one he must have been speaking to when he opened the door.

  I’d never seen anyone quite like him. He looked like he could have lived the two hundred years he was claiming, but how was that possible? No one lived to two hundred. A lot of people in the Wilds didn’t live to fifty, unless you were like Dax.

  Bitters was stoking a fire under his kettle and I looked at Dax, eyes squinted with a this guy isn’t all here look.

  He shook his head, disagreeing with my assumption.

  Really? Two hundred? I mouthed. How was anyone supposed to believe that?

  Yes.

  “So, Bitters, you lived during the Glory Years, then?” I asked, still not buying his story.

  “Yes, I did. You don’t believe me? I don’t blame you.” He walked over to one of several chests lining the wall and started digging through it until he pulled out a framed picture.

  He handed it to me, and then tapped the glass where a young man in his twenties stood in front of a car. It was taken during the Glory Years, the heyday of civilization. The man’s arm was wrapped around a pretty young woman. It was a nice picture and all, but didn’t prove anything. Bitters could’ve found it in a ruin. I’d found plenty of pictures.

  “I don’t look much like that anymore, but still got the mole and the scar.”

  I looked down at the picture again and then at Bitters, with the same scar on his right cheek that ended at a dark mole shaped like a crescent moon.

  Was this guy really from the Glory Years? Two hundred? What was he? I would’ve asked, but I had a feeling it might be a rude question, and we needed something from him right now.

  “Glory Years, those were the days. Not that it was much different out here, mind you, but my wife insisted we live here. She was a witch. Said the cities and people drained the magic.”

  “What do you mean, drained the magic?” I asked.

  “She used to carry on how there was only so much magic in the world. I didn’t believe her until after the first wave of the Bloody Death started wiping people out. Then things got interesting.” I waited until Bitters turned his back, going to retrieve the kettle from where it hung over the fire.

  “Tea?” Bitters asked as he turned back around.

  “No thanks,” Dax said as I shook my head.

  “She died some time ago, but I was too settled to bother moving at that point,” Bitters said as he swirled his tea.

  “So she passed? I’m sorry,” I said, laying down the picture I still held in my hand and wondering if that was her.

  “Don’t be. She was a witch, and I don’t just mean magic, either. Bossed me about like crazy. Marrying her was the worst mistake I ever made.” He stopped his tirade to have a sip of tea before looking at the two of us as if we were suddenly unwanted guests. “What did you people want?”

  “Are you a chemist?” I asked.

  His robust laugh made a return. “Is that what they’re calling me?” he asked, and I nodded slightly, unsure of the desired answer this fickle man wanted. I shot a glance over at Dax, who shrugged like he hadn’t misled me.

  “I’m a wizard! You think living this long happens to just anybody?” His crow cawed and flew over, landing on his shoulder. “What are you needing? You came here to get something. You all do. Everyone wants something.”

  “We want to know what this is,” I said, holding out the bag we got from the Skinners. It wasn’t much, and I hesitated to hand it over to some guy that said he was a wizard and whose emotions seemed to rock back and forth worse than the ship in a storm.

  He walked over and took the bag from me before I came to my senses.

  Dax and I both waited and watched as he opened it up and gave it a sniff. “Doesn’t lack for aroma.”

  I smiled and nodded.

  “What is it?” Dax asked.

  “That’s what we want you to tell us,” I added.

  “I’ve got my ideas,” he said, but seemed more interested in looking at my gloved hand than saying anything. “You’re a Plaguer.”

  “What’s it to you?” I asked, taking a step back.

  He started reaching for me. “Let me see it.”

  “Why?” I asked, knowing he meant the brand. I wrapped my arms around my midsection, tucking the hand close to my body.

  “What’s your interest?” Dax asked, sounding more annoyed with the guy than I did as he stepped slightly in front of me. “She’s not your concern. Tell us what we came to find out and what you want in exchange, and that’s the extent of our business.”

  “All I want in exchange is to see her hand,” Bitters said, almost as obstinate as Tiffy on her worst day.

  I wasn’t a fan of being a freak show, but if all he wanted was to look at it in exchange for telling us that cure? Didn’t seem there were many options. I stepped forward, except I couldn’t get around Dax, who was still blocking me.

  “Why?” Dax asked, firmly in place.

  “Because I’ve seen those brands before and I want to see if it’s a fluke.”

  I forced Dax out of the way by making my will known, partially by bumping into him. “What’s a fluke?”

  “I’ll explain after I see,” Bitter said, holding out his hand for mine.

  I tugged the glove off and felt a tiny buzz when Bitters took my hand, and wondered if that was his magic. He turned my hand this way and that, holding it up to the light streaming through the window and then moving us closer to the fire to judge it there. I held my tongue, not wanting to seem overly sensitive about something that was part of my past, whether I wanted it to be or not.

  “This isn’t how it used to look, but I still see some remnants,” he said.

  “I cut off the original scar.”

  “Do you remember how they gave this to you?”

  “No.” All I remembered was the pain. I hadn’t looked at what they’d done, keeping my eyes firmly closed. It bothered me that I didn’t have more information, but I had been only four.

  He looked closely at it one more time before releasing it. I tugged the glove back on.

  “I don’t think that is a normal burn. I think it was caused by something else. I found it odd the first time I saw one and I find it odd now. You don’t bother doing something fancy to mark someone when they could’ve easily used an iron.”

  I had no answer for this, and neither did Dax.

  “What do you think they did?”

  His shoulders popped up. “How would I know?”

  He walked to where he’d placed the bag holding the cure, dropped its withered contents on his table, and chopped it in half.

  “This should do. You can come back in a couple days.”

  “You don’t know what it is now?”

  “I’m a wizard. Quality wizarding takes time. Not even I can figure this out in five minutes, even though I am the most brilliant wizard of my decade.”

  When neither of us moved quickly enough, he said, “We’re done now.”

  “I’ll be out in one minute,” Dax said, urging me toward the door.

  Not sure what he needed privacy for, but I didn’t ask either. Maybe it was some sort of beastly affliction he didn’t want to fess up to with me around.

  I left him in the hut, and as soon as I stepped out of Bitters’ place, I heard them. It wasn’t a sh
ock. I’d been half expecting them as soon as we got deeper into the forest and away from the main community, because the Wood Mist loved to lurk deep in the trees.

  There was no sight of shimmering, but they were close. “Shut up,” I said.

  They got progressively louder as I waited.

  “I don’t care what you want.”

  “Who were you talking to?” Dax asked as he stepped outside of Bitters’ a few minutes later.

  “Myself.” I tilted my head toward the hut. “Why did you want to talk to Bitters alone?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” I looked back at Bitters’ place one last time before we started making our way to the pickup point, where a pirate should be waiting with a dinghy soon.

  “You think this Bitters guy, wizard, whatever he is, can figure it out?”

  “He seemed to already suspect.”

  I ran my fingers over the leather covering my right hand. That hadn’t been the only thing he seemed to have a hunch about.

  “What are you thinking about his opinion on my scar?” It wasn’t a question I would’ve asked him yesterday. But today seemed strangely different in the way it felt almost like old times.

  “I’m wondering if the brand wasn’t so much about marking your skin as testing you.”

  I hated when we thought alike. “But for what?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the problem,” he said, and then we both fell silent as we started getting closer to the edge of the town and possible eavesdroppers.

  “Maybe we should stay local,” I said, looking about the place and wondering if it might be better to keep tabs on Bitters, and half of the last known cure.

  “We go back to the boat. I don’t want to heat this place up too much with too many people seeing you.”

  He was right; even this far out it wasn’t worth the risk. He’d been right back at the Rock too, but things were different now. I had a plan, and each set of eyes that landed on me and figured out who I was would bring the Dark Walkers that much closer.

  I hadn’t seen any yet, but they were probably still back east, focused on the Rock and the vicinity around it. I’d known all along being on the boat was the safest place, but it didn’t make it any easier to leave Bitters behind, and half of the only possible cure we had vulnerable.

  “It’s only a couple of days more,” he said.

  “I know that.”

  “The disease has been around a long time.”

  “I’m aware of that, too,” I said as I saw our escort nearing the dock, conveniently early.

  “Then what’s wrong?” he asked.

  And then I was startled by the warmth of his hand wrapping around mine, so similar to what Bookie would’ve done, and I answered before I thought about it. “Even if we had it today, it would still be too late.”

  He didn’t try and argue with me, and let go of my hand as I climbed into the boat.

  21

  My eyes popped open and I couldn’t get enough air in. I tried to calm my breathing, knowing Dax woke at the slightest noise. I didn’t want any more questions.

  The bunk squeaked as I shifted, and I ended up having to freeze in the most uncomfortable position to not make any further sounds. It was a miracle he hadn’t woken already. Then I heard him moving and realized I’d called the miracle a little early. I shifted into a comfortable position, the bunk creaking away.

  Dax walked over and stood beside me. “Move over.”

  “Why?” I asked, remaining right where I was. He started climbing into the bunk anyway, and it was move or get squashed.

  “What are you doing?” I asked while he took up more and more of my bed as he got settled, his shoulder pushing into mine.

  “Sleeping in the bunk with you.” He shifted about until I was left with barely any space between him and the bulkhead.

  “Why?”

  “Helping you get some sleep tonight so that I can get some sleep tonight,” he said, and then tugged half of my blanket over himself.

  “How does you sleeping here, and hogging my space, make me get some sleep?” I asked, as I had less than half of the room I’d had. “What makes you think that this is a good idea?”

  He repositioned the pillow under his head. “I’d tell you but I don’t think you’re going to like the answer.”

  Oh no, he wasn’t pulling that crap on me with his top-secret reasons when the real reason was probably that the floor was too hard. “Tell me anyway.” I was propped on my elbow, staring at him and daring him to withhold.

  He was completely calm as he stared straight at me. “Because you’ve been sleeping with your hand curled around my jacket, the one you have stuffed beside the bunk. If my jacket is helping you sleep then I figured I might work better.”

  I froze, my stare-down turning into something that had a bit less spine involved. “I was using it as a pillow, was all.” I turned quickly and settled in, looking at the wall.

  “Except you weren’t using it as a pillow.”

  “Yes, I was,” I said.

  “I would almost believe that if you hadn’t taken another one of my shirts since I’ve been here.”

  I’d lifted it from the laundry, paid Stinky to tell Dax that it had been ruined, and hidden it under the blankets of my bunk. How did he know? I’d never been so glad for a dark cabin as my skin lit on fire.

  I wasn’t saying anything. I was mortified beyond speech, and there was no lie or excuse that was going to climb this mountain of evidence. How did you tell someone you were trying to kick out of your bunk that you fell asleep better when you could smell their scent next to you? Even the thought of uttering those words made the heat in my face spread down to my neck.

  “I make you feel safe. It’s not a big deal. To be honest, it’s actually kind of cute.”

  I pulled the blanket over my head. If any more blood left my heart to swarm to my face, I was afraid I’d have a heart attack.

  * * *

  I woke up in the crook of his arm, my fingers gripping the front of his shirt while my leg laid claim to the top of his thighs like I had the right. After all my carrying on about him sleeping beside me, I was stretched out on him like he was my life raft in the ocean.

  How to extricate myself was the problem now. He wasn’t moving. By some miracle of the Wilds, could he actually be sleeping? Please, please! Let it be so. I needed one miracle to finally stick.

  I also needed to work quickly and in order of priority. The leg was the worst offender. If he woke to the rest of me gripping him, it would be bad, but the leg was oh so much worse.

  I tried to brace my body and lift my leg a fraction of an inch at a time, waiting with my breath held to see if he was going to wake up.

  He turned on his side, slipping from my grasp as his breathing remained deep and even. Was he ill? I’d never seen him sleep like this before. I’d worry about it later.

  All body parts detached and accounted for, I strategically sought a way off the bunk without touching him again. It was tough, but being able to utilize a spot between his calves and the wooden rim, I was free in under two minutes and out of the cabin in under three. No one would be the wiser about my apparent need to cling in my sleep.

  * * *

  “Hey, Marty,” I said as I stepped into the galley and found him in his usual spot in front of a pan. “Eggs?” It was always eggs, but for some reason I kept thinking he was going to surprise me one of these times. Or maybe I was just hoping? Either way, it never happened.

  “It’s always eggs,” he said, and then scooped a portion onto a plate that was nearly twice what I normally got.

  “Thanks.”

  “Share them with your man. This way you don’t dirty two plates. My hands get wrinkled.” He looked down at his fingers and then to me. “I don’t like that.”

  My brain was stuck on only one part of what he’d said. “I don’t have a man.”

  “You’re saying Dax ain’t your man?” His eyebrows met almost in the middle. “Sure seems like he is
.”

  I didn’t want to know how it seemed. Was actually too afraid to ask. “It doesn’t matter what it might seem like. He isn’t.”

  His eyebrows seemed nearly stuck together and his mouth twisted. “I think he is.”

  “I just said he wasn’t, and I don’t want his eggs.” I grabbed the spoon from him and dumped half the contents of my plate back into the pan. Well, almost half. At minimum, a good quarter.

  “But it seems like—”

  “Are you not hearing me?”

  “Yeah, but I got eyes and ears too, and they see real clear.” He took his spoon back and used it to point out said features.

  I took my plate, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut and stop arguing. It was getting me nowhere and I could be eating. Plate in hand, I went up on deck and grabbed a seat by the bow, in line with where a few of us sat every morning.

  The second I settled down, Buck, a guy I’d played poker with more than a few nights, scooted away from me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” he said, keeping his eyes on his plate.

  “Move back over here this instant.”

  “I like where I am,” Buck said, which was ridiculous considering he was now elbow to elbow with Stinky on his other side.

  “Fine.” I scooted across until there was only the tiniest sliver of room between us.

  Buck jumped up, looking like I’d just put a gun to his head. He moved to the other side of the ship and remained standing. Stinky, who’d been sitting next to him, looked at the now open space, decided to be preemptive, and stood before he was the one right next to me.

  I stood myself and waved my hand at the empty crates that we used for seating. “You can all sit again, you big bunch of chickens.”

  I went and leaned against the rail, like I wasn’t afraid of falling in. The eggs tasted worse than normal, even though Marty made them the same every day. I took a couple more bites before I gave up and went to find the source of my problems.

  Dax was getting his own eggs by time I found him.

  “I thought you were going to share,” Marty said, shooting a dirty look at Dax’s plate when I stepped into the galley.