The Hunt (The Wilds Book Two)

by Donna Augustine

  Strangers could be people from Newco, Dark Walkers, bounty hunters. There were so many undesirables that fell under the “stranger” label that it almost ruined the sampler bite I’d just taken. The potatoes didn’t taste quite so creamy anymore, the corn not so sweet, the gravy a little bland. Not bad enough that I stopped eating, but it certainly slowed my chewing down a fraction of a second.

  I looked about the table, measuring the general mood. Tank seemed even more annoyed with Lucy for some reason, which seemed to please her. Bookie looked concerned. Fudge was looking at her plate like she knew something, and Tiffy was now looking closer to forty than six.

  Tiffy was the first to speak. She calmly laid her fork down on her plate and asked, “And what exactly does this mean for me?”

  “You don’t leave the gates alone. No more sneaking out.”

  That was the end of any possible discussion on who these strangers might be, or any other rational discussions. Tiffy broke out into the loudest wail I’d ever heard coming from someone her size. The only thing that I could discern from her noise was something about not abandoning her friends. It was hard to be sure, though. To say her fit put a damper on the evening would be like saying a tornado was a little breezy.

  “Can’t they visit you here?” I offered up when she took a break to get a new lungful of air. I mean, they were invisible. No one was going to be able to stop them from coming.

  The only thing this did was set her off into a louder wail. There might have been a “no” in the middle of the screaming, but again it was hard to decipher. When it looked like she was settling in for the long haul, no matter what anyone said, the place evacuated quicker than if a skunk had just wandered into the room with its tail raised.

  Dax was among the evacuees, and only stopped long enough to stop by me and yell over Tiffy’s screaming, “Inventory tomorrow.”

  Ugh. I hated inventory. I didn’t pitch a bloody fit like Tiffy was doing, even though I was sorely tempted to get in on the action.

  But why was Dax telling me about inventory? This was normally a job I did with Tank, or occasionally Lucy. “What time does Tank want to leave?” I yelled back before he walked away.

  “In front at six.”

  I nodded, finding it easier on the ears than to join the noise. Dax had probably only given me the message because Tank had already run off to hide underground, where it was quieter. Bookie was rolling his eyes and stuffing a napkin with food as he ran out the backdoor, probably figuring the barn would be quieter than remaining anywhere in the house. Lucy had disappeared while I’d been taking a bite of potatoes.

  Unlike the rest of them, I valued a good meal too much to abandon it for some screaming. Tiffy took a momentary break, the room going silent and luring me into a false security before she let out the worst of it. The kid was really going to make me earn this one.

  Just when I thought the night was going to be unsalvageable, Tiffy stood and ran up the stairs, Fudge following her, alternating between trying to calm her down and yelling at her to stop. Tiffy’s screams started to die down, and I realized I was sitting here in front of a huge meal, just me and all this food. It was a sin to waste it and the ice was getting low in the cooler box, so I should just eat it to save Fudge from worrying about it going to waste. It was the right thing to do.

  Chapter 7

  I was chewing on jerky instead of eating bacon and sitting in the bushes instead of waking up slowly on a nice, comfy bed. I liked sleep. I liked it almost as much as I liked food. People who’ve had all the food and sleep they want don’t appreciate those things as much as they should. Gluttony and sloth needed to be embraced every so often.

  Why didn’t I have bacon? Why had I dragged my body out of bed at an hour that should be illegal? So that I could sit on a bunch of weeds and stare at a hole, a “trader’s hole,” to be specific. It wasn’t much more than a small wooden shack, but these places hadn’t gotten the name “hole” for nothing.

  It wasn’t like there were proper places to meet in the Wilds. Places like these were where everyone came to do their business, their trading, or make their—more often than not—underhanded deals. I knew Dax had some of his people trade his oil and gas from his mysterious rig here.

  I’d learned a lot of things this last month, like that oil was one of the reasons why we had sugar when so many in the Wilds didn’t. Why we always had fresh meat and produce, too, even when a crop failed and none of the animals went missing. I’d heard that oil had been big during the Glory Years, and even now, after the mechanical world had died, it was still holding its own.

  Before I set foot out of Newco, I’d had a romantic notion of everything having to do with the Wilds, but I’d learned quickly it was just as tough as the rumors had made it sound. After I’d sat in a few of these real-life, honest-to-goodness Wilds establishments, I’d realized I loathed these places. Most of them were filthy. The only thing worse than going inside one of them was being forced to sit in the bushes watching other people go inside them, while I was getting eaten alive by bugs, the variety that felt like they were pulling my hair. Everyone told me I was crazy, but damn if those critters weren’t stealing strands. Even still, with all of the downsides, I wouldn’t trade the Wilds for a million Newcos, no matter how many inventory sessions I had to do.

  I’d been doing this watching business at least once a week, ever since I’d decided to stay at the farm. When I worked with Tank, it was pretty easy. Lucy never shut the hell up. I’d never done it with Dax, even though he was the one that ordered them.

  Inventory, Dax called this. I called it bullshit. Dax wanted to chart how many Dark Walkers were coming and going in the area. He wanted to count them.

  I wanted to kill them.

  But instead of spilling blood, I wasted pencils as I jotted down their most distinctive features and general descriptions in the notebooks he gave me.

  This was the gig, whether I liked it or not. For the record, I didn’t. I’d voiced my complaints pretty loudly from the get-go. I’d been informed via message that I could leave at any time. I’d countered that Dax was rigid. I’d received more messages that I could leave at any time. I’d tried several more times to let him know I didn’t like this plan—no one could call me a quitter, even if it was in the area of complaining. I’d received the same answer each time via surrogate: I could leave.

  Thing was, at the time I couldn’t leave, not after he’d dangled the carrot of being able to help me. I definitely wasn’t leaving now that he’d finally started offering me answers and telling me how things worked. He had me by the short hairs. Actually, I had really long hair. I wasn’t sure that statement was accurate, but a lot of other people with long hair used it when they were screwed, and “screwed” pretty much summed up my situation.

  I heard Dax coming back from wherever he’d disappeared to a couple of hours ago, and my patience was about as nice and fluffy as the dirt I was sitting on. I still had no idea why he was here today.

  He sat on his haunches beside me. I heard the sigh and then the headshake came. Another problem with him being here? He could complain directly to me while I was still in a spot to correct what he didn’t like.

  His finger tapped my sheet. “Not enough detail.”

  Tank and Lucy never complained when I gave them my list for the day, and all it had on it was tall, short, blond, or brunette. They just took it.

  Sometimes I’d hear a complaint passed through the grapevine from Dax about the lack of description a day later. I’d say sure, and then continue to do it my way. If he couldn’t take the time to complain to me directly, I hadn’t found any overwhelming reason to worry about it.

  Maybe that was why he came? To complain I wasn’t doing it right? Now that he was starting to hold up his end of the bargain, I might try and comply with his need for more details, but I still didn’t see the point.

  “Why do we need so much detail? Why are we watching them at all? If we were killing them, then I could unders
tand the purpose of these little trips. I don’t see what good counting them does.”

  He took my notes, his shoulder brushing mine and his thigh getting very close to my arm; not that he seemed to notice. I wouldn’t have either if he didn’t throw off energy like the sky was about to open up and a bolt of lightning was going to strike. Had he always been like this or was it getting worse?

  “The more information, the better. It’s about the bigger picture.”

  “I don’t care about the bigger picture. I’ll take a little one with a dead Dark Walker in it.”

  “Sometimes you have to wait for the things you want.” He looked at me with a blank expression for a moment, his eyes flitting to my lips and then back again, and I felt myself flush slightly. It was like he was running on full blast today. “You’re young but you’ll learn.”

  He was in la la land. I hated when people commented on how young I was, as if my age made me stupid or weak. I’d already shed Dark Walker blood and been through hell. I might be young in years, but I felt like I’d live an eternity, and my soul felt ancient. “I’m not that young, and what does that have to do with killing these suckers? Have you forgotten that I killed my first Dark Walker at the age of four and another one about a month ago? I’m plenty old enough.”

  His lips didn’t move, and his stare got kind of far off, even though he was right beside me. He broke eye contact and handed me back my list before looking to the hole. “They weren’t expecting it. It’s different now.”

  “Fine. Maybe it is, but I think we should see how different. Let’s get in there and fight the good fight.”

  “Not yet. I want to get an idea of their numbers. I help you; you do what I want. That’s how this works.”

  Get their numbers now that he had me, that is. I was the only one around that could identify them. How come I didn’t have more leverage in these negotiations? There was something seriously wrong with the way this kept working out. I wished I could pick up a book at the library specifically on how to deal with Dax.

  “You’re a beast. Not a scientist,” I said, the B-word slipping out along with my patience.

  A single brow arched. “And you look like a gatherer.”

  Ooh, that one hurt. “I’m a hunter and you know it.”

  “You might be eventually, but you don’t look like it now.” He grabbed my wrist and held it high, looking at my bicep. “You’d barely be an appetizer for the beast.”

  “So you do eat people!” Details like this were almost worth being called a gatherer.

  “No. But keep annoying me and I’ll make an exception.” He dropped my arm.

  I fell back onto my heels in the dirt and bushes. “Why don’t we follow them, at least?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “I want numbers first before we chance spooking them. Bigger. Picture.”

  “Well, this picture looks like a messed-up Picasso to me.”

  “How do you know about Picasso? Didn’t think that would be in any of your Moobie books.”

  I knew what he thought about Moobie, my spy reads. “No, he isn’t, but I have read other things in my life.”

  When he didn’t shoot a comment back at me, I turned to look at him, figuring I was missing the sarcastic reply that was probably displayed on his face.

  He didn’t look sarcastic, though. He looked like he was recalling something.

  “That’s right. They had classes there.”

  There was the Cement Giant. He was right, in a way. Once a week we’d had “class” where most of the girls in there pretended to pay attention, and you were guaranteed a passing grade no matter what you did, even taking a nap. It had been a farce for the public. See how good we are? We’re helping these poor souls so that you won’t have to think about them. Let us care for these sad, pathetic creatures.

  The classes hadn’t been pretend to me, though. I’d learned everything I could. They’d been the highlight of my week for too many years to count. The bitterness swelled, and that was when I thought of the fact that the place was rubble now. It helped; a little, anyway.

  I liked to pretend I’d never been there. And even if I was forced to remember, I certainly wasn’t looking to talk about it. I hated talking about that place. There was no reason to. It was over, and I’d eventually figure out a way to torch the memory from my brain.

  He turned toward me. I don’t know what he saw in my face, but there was a single nod and I knew the subject was dropped. It was about as close to an apology as I’d ever gotten from Dax on anything, but the nod and following silence sufficed.

  I’d decided apologies were like Kryptonite to him. I didn’t need the word to know the feeling. He didn’t throw heaps of salt into my wounds, and I returned the favor by not twisting the knife in his with any mention of his brother. We both had experienced enough festering wounds to understand pain.

  He knew loss. Even before his brother passed, he’d been scarred. I’d sensed the history in him because I’d walked the same path of loss, and once you’d walked that dark road, you spotted it pretty easily, knew the twists and turns like you were right at home.

  Damn it. There I went, getting all soft and stupid when there were monsters to kill—or watch, in this case. Which brought me back to a much more pressing matter that had everything to do with now, and that was all that mattered. In my opinion, yesterday could go fuck itself. I didn’t need it anymore. Today and tomorrow were much more interesting.

  I got my psyche all nice and neatly packed up again. The packing took a little longer than it used to, with a couple more ghosts to cram into the box I kept under lock and key in my mind, but I managed. “Talking about the bigger picture, mind explaining what this picture actually is for me, since I’m not great in the abstract?”

  “This is the way it’s going to go. We get a count. Then we find their base. Then we strike. In that order and on our schedule, methodical and concise. Is that something you can live with?”

  And cold. He’d left that word out, but it hadn’t really needed to be said when it came to Dax. He was either glacier cold or burning you with his fire. There was no middle, but it worked for me.

  “Killing Dark Walkers? Oh yeah, I can definitely live with that.”

  Chapter 8

  Up too early again, but this time I didn’t mind. The sun had gotten up before me and I had time to grab breakfast in my spot before I met Dax by the old tree.

  It was going to be a good day from the looks of it, as Lucy wasn’t in her spot, which was irritatingly within earshot of mine on the back porch. I was halfway through my eggs when Tiffy came and sat beside me, her head shaking slightly, a sad little half sigh escaping her lips.

  “It didn’t go well the other day,” she said as she settled next to me on the edge of the bench.

  “What didn’t go well?”

  The question set off another round of head shakes. “The meeting with my friends, and now I can’t even talk to them and try and fix it.”

  Ahhh, the invisible friends and her had a falling out. The kid had almost gotten me nervous for a second there, making me think something was really wrong.

  “Oh. I’m sorry about that.” I leaned back and shoveled some more eggs in my mouth as I took in the morning sunshine and watched the people milling about. There was something very pleasant about watching people go about their day, getting up with the sun and working outside in the fresh air, no worries about monsters coming to get them. Made a calm, nice life almost seem possible.

  “No. I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s going to be good. I did try.” Tiffy patted me like she did when she was trying to console me. Where had she picked that up? Must’ve been something from Fudge, although I’d never noticed Fudge patting anyone.

  “I’m sure you did your best,” I said around a mouthful of bacon, having no idea what she’d tried. Her hand repeating the patting motion, like maybe if she patted me enough, it would be okay.

  “Oh, Dal, if you only knew. I t
hink I managed to salvage some things, but I’m not sure. Time will tell.” Every other word was long and drawn out. If we were back in Newco, the kid would’ve been destined for the stage with her dramatics.

  “I’m sure it’ll be okay, Tiffy.” I gave her a couple pats back with my free hand, figuring maybe it worked for her.

  Dax stepped out onto the porch, looked at me, and said, “Let’s go.” I nodded and he walked back in the house. Time for some more practice, and I was raring to go.

  I gave Tiffy a final pat on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Tiffy. Why don’t you go see if Fudge has some chocolate stashed away for you?”

  She put her arm to her forehead, shielding her eyes. “No. I just need to be alone for a while.”

  “Okay, then,” I said, and left her on the porch. I dropped off my plate in the kitchen and gave Fudge a warning that Tiffy was having one of her spells before heading out to meet Dax.

  * * *

  I was in the middle of the woods looking at my old friend, Mr. Assassin Tree. So we meet again, my admirable foe. Of course I said this in my head and not aloud, not wanting to open myself up to Dax’s mockery and scorn of the facial variety. Also, technically, it really hadn’t been very long. My foe and I met quite often, at least a few times a week, and always on Sundays. It wasn’t like I had been sitting on my hands completely while Dax saw to his more important matters.

  “Stand here. You’re going to throw this knife at that target until you hit it.” He pointed at the left eye of the assassin. Of course he did. He’d noticed that the left eye was less damaged then the rest of the face. I could nail the nose and the right eye, even the mouth. For some reason the left eye was always a pain in the ass. Of course, I could still do it, or had been able to since last week.

  I let the knife fly from my fingers and it landed exactly where I wanted.