by Susan Kim
Only then did she notice that something had fallen in the dust by her feet. She bent to pick it up. It was a broken bicycle wheel, its rim badly bent. Several of the metal spokes had sprung free from the hub, but they were relatively straight and, as Skar discovered, sharp-tipped. She wondered if they could somehow be turned into slender spears or even arrows. As she turned the object over in her hands, mulling its possibilities, she became aware of the silence around her.
She looked up and saw that three boys were standing still nearby, staring at her. Their robes were torn and muddy, and their eyes glittered in faces that were bleeding and blackened with soot and sweat. One of them held a flaming torch, which he jabbed in her direction.
“What’s that you got?” said the largest one. His voice was hoarse from shouting.
Wary, Skar showed him the broken wheel. “It’s nothing. It’s worthless. I thought I could use it to make—”
Another boy grabbed the object from her hands.
“Worthless?” he jeered, mimicking her. Two others had joined the group, and the five now circled her, moving in close. “Who says this is worthless?”
“You trying to steal, mutant?”
“Yeah, mutant. What else you got there?”
“You hiding anything under that dress?”
Skar was confused. These were the same people she had traveled with and lived among for many days; she had toiled and eaten and slept alongside them. She had even helped feed them, sharing what she had been able to hunt. Still, she was not surprised. Ever since she joined the people of Prin, she had always sensed that should the situation ever deteriorate, this might happen. When it came to living among the norms, it seemed she had always been on borrowed time.
The largest boy reached to grab her by the tunic, but Skar was able to duck away. She saw a gap in the crowd and made to dart through it; she was not much of a fighter, but if she could break clear, she knew she could outrun anyone alive. But Skar didn’t notice the one behind her who lashed out a foot, tripping her. As she pitched forward, she felt for the first time a flash of genuine fear. She twisted onto her back, one arm up to defend herself. But before anyone could move toward her, they were interrupted by a clear, loud voice.
“Leave her alone!”
Skar looked up, and so did the others. To her shock, she saw that the loner, Michal, stood there, veiled as always, with just a piece of her golden hair snaking from the side of her hood. Although she seemed tiny compared to the others, she stood straight and defiant, her fists clenched by her sides.
For a moment, the boys hesitated. Then one of them laughed. It was an ugly and brutish sound, and the noise seemed to ripple around the ring.
“Look who’s talking to us.”
“It’s the whore, sticking up for the freak.”
As Skar got to her feet, one of the boys shoved Michal into her, hard, as if to knock them both down; and again there was mocking laughter. But the girl regained her footing and Skar moved next to her. Before, Skar had barely spoken a word to Michal; now, she could only marvel at her bravery and shoot her a look of gratitude.
Around them, Skar sensed a shift in the dynamics. Although every muscle in her body was tensed and ready to flee, she understood there was now an unspoken game of dare going on. If either girl flinched or made a single move, if they panicked or attempted to run, the entire pack would descend on them like wolves.
Skar knew she stood a good chance of getting away, at least deep enough into the dark woods that they could not follow her. But from a glance, she guessed that Michal was no runner; she wouldn’t stand a chance. So Skar kept still, holding her ground with Michal as the others stared at them.
Several long seconds passed. Then the largest boy laughed again, although this time it was different. It was a dismissive sound, one of disgust, and as he made an abrupt gesture and turned to go, the mood was broken.
“Ain’t worth the effort,” the boy was saying to the others. “Let’s just go.”
A look of confusion passed among the boys. “Go? Go where?” one of them asked.
“Back,” the first boy said. “To Prin.”
Skar was so relieved, it took her a few moments to wonder if she had heard correctly. The idea made no sense. If the townspeople didn’t have enough supplies to last them the night, how could they survive the long journey home? And even if by some miracle they made it back, what did they hope to find there?
Yet to her disbelief, the other townspeople embraced the suggestion. Within a few minutes, a vote was held, and most of those who remained raised their hands, agreeing to head home to Prin. They would leave at once.
Skar noted those who kept their hands down. There were Michal and herself, as well as Joseph, Asha, and, of course, the baby, Kai. To her surprise, Rhea chose to stay. “I got no one to go back to,” the girl said, her voice bitter. The one called Silas opted to remain as well, his face drawn and pale. Esther had still not returned, but Skar knew that she would never agree to such a suicidal plan.
As for Eli, he attempted to talk sense to those who were leaving, even as they were reattaching the remaining wagons to their bicycle shafts.
“At least wait until morning,” he kept saying.
But no one listened to him; a few even shoved him aside. It was as if Lewt and his murderous crew still haunted the dark woods surrounding them: Returning to the open road with all of its dangers was clearly less frightening than spending the night there. Before long, all of the townspeople had either remounted their vehicles or had begun trudging up the steep road, helping to push the wagons. They took what little of value had been left, with only four bicycles in bad repair and worthless trash for those who remained.
Eli followed them to the main road and could only watch as they rode away into the darkness. Then he shook his head in disgust.
He was still reeling from Caleb’s murder. If only he had insisted on helping, Eli thought now, or ignored Caleb and just gone with him, he could have prevented it. From the beginning, Lewt had sized him up and known not to take him seriously. Perhaps he sensed that Eli had always been weak. Maybe he had been that way since birth. Eli looked down and kicked the dirt, hard.
“What happened?” asked a voice close by.
It was Asha, her face pale in the moonlight, who stood beside him, twisting her hands together. Clearly, she had witnessed everything: the townspeople fighting among themselves and then taking off. Yet it made no sense to her, and her brow was furrowed in bewilderment and concern.
Eli felt a flare of exasperation. “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know.” She glanced at the ones who were left, the small and pathetic band of people lit by the dying fire, and her features crumpled. “I don’t know.”
Eli hesitated, then relented. He put his arm around Asha’s shoulder and was startled when she clung to him, gripping his robes and burrowing her face in his chest like a child, a baby.
But of course, that was what she was, really.
Asha was helpless. She needed someone to take care of her, to cherish and protect her as if she were a newborn bird that had fallen from its nest. With a start, Eli realized he could be that person, Asha’s protector.
Her hero, even.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said into her hair. “I’ll take care of you.”
As he held her, his shame began to lift. He would have to rise to the occasion, he knew: He had no choice.
“You will?”
“I promise.”
Dawn broke.
A lone figure in a red hoodie lay curled on its side in a small clearing, motionless on a patch of fresh dirt. The earth was marked with thousands of claw marks.
As the previous evening had deepened into night and a sliver of moon rose high overhead before disappearing, a single set of hands had raked across the hard ground, over and over again. For hours, they dug deep into the packed red soil that lay underneath. Afterward, they scraped the mountain of loose soil and rocks into place, handfu
l by handful. Then they pressed everything down hard to prevent the ground from sinking when it began to settle.
Throughout, Esther’s eyes remained blank and unseeing. Her vision was directed inward, focused on images that kept playing in her mind over and over again.
Caleb, turning to her. Behind him, Lewt scrambling to snatch up the blade from where it had fallen, the metal glinting as it sliced through the air. Caleb’s face as he staggered, then fell.
Throughout the long night, Esther had not cried or uttered a sound. Nor had she taken a rest, despite the fact that most of her nails had been torn away and her dirt-caked hands were now raw and sticky with her own blood. If she could have done so, Esther would have kept digging for days; she would not have stopped until she had worn away not just her fingers but her hands and arms and body, not ceasing until she herself was somehow erased and at one with the earth and what lay beneath it.
She had not let anyone approach, once Eli had carried and lain the body by her. She alone had prepared it for burial. With stony face, she had closed Caleb’s eyes and smoothed his features, combed his hair with her fingers. Because she had no water, she took off her hoodie and wiped him with that, not caring that it grew black and crusted with his blood. Afterward, she slipped the stained garment back over her head. Finally, she dug his grave and buried him in it.
Now, even as the first rays of sunlight warmed her back, she turned her face to the soil, breathing in its overpowering scent. It would not have meant anything if the entire world were to vanish. Her mind was still reeling to grasp the impossible:
Caleb was dead.
Esther would never see her beloved partner again, never hear his voice, or feel the comforting warmth of his body when she awoke in the middle of the night, confused and afraid.
And she would never be able to ask for his forgiveness.
Esther thought of all the times she had argued with him, when she refused to give in or apologize out of either pride or stubbornness, and guilt and anguish pierced her heart.
With her usual recklessness, Esther had assumed Caleb would always be there for her, just as she would always be there for him. She had taken his love for granted, as if it were an eternal thing, as constant and unremarkable as the air she breathed. Now, she understood how foolish she had been, not to remember that life was nothing more than a thread that could be snipped by a momentary glint of metal. The two of them had shared only a few precious months; and she had wasted so much of it feeling hurt, picking fights, and bickering over trifles.
If she had known, Esther would have lived her life so differently.
But of course, now it was too late.
Joseph made his way through the dense underbrush with difficulty.
Neither he nor his cat, Stumpy, had ever been in the woods before. Yet while she seemed to find it fascinating, sniffing at rotted tree stumps and mushrooms, he was filled with crippling anxiety.
Still, he continued. Because of Esther.
After Caleb had been killed and the bad ones had fled, he had gone to his friend and tried to comfort her because she seemed so sad. But Esther had rebuffed his overtures, as well as those of Skar and the others. Joseph wasn’t good at reading emotions. Still, he knew what it felt like to want to be left alone and so, respecting her feelings, he withdrew. But now, it was well into the next morning, and Esther was nowhere to be found.
It was agreed that Joseph, Skar, and Eli should spread out and check through the forest for any sight of her. Yet there was no trace of Esther anywhere, either by the grave or in the surrounding area.
Ahead of him, the trees seemed to thin to some sort of clearing, and from that direction Joseph could detect a faint but steady thrumming sound. Stumpy had been exploring and now her tail lifted in interest as she trotted toward it. Also curious, Joseph followed her as the noise grew louder. He emerged on the bank of a river and cowered in panic even as his cat threaded her way down to the rushing waters.
“Stumpy!” he called. “Get away from there.”
He knew animals were immune to the waterborne disease and that she could drink without problem. Still, he didn’t like the possibility of his cat getting her paws wet; she often slept on his chest. And if she fell in, he had no idea how he’d be able to retrieve her. He was so busy trying to coax the animal from the steep banks that at first he didn’t notice what she was looking at.
A girl was standing still on a large, flat rock in the middle of the stream. Her eyes were shut and her face lifted to the sun. On both sides, the deadly waters rushed and gurgled past, splashing so close to her feet that Joseph flinched.
“Esther!”
Confused, Joseph noticed the smaller rocks she had most likely stepped on to get to where she was, but none of it made any sense to him.
“Don’t move!” he called. “It’s very dangerous where you are!”
At that, Esther opened her eyes. Then as Joseph’s confusion and panic mounted, she lifted her arms from her sides and bent her knees.
It looked like she was going to jump into the water. But that was impossible.
At the moment his mind struggled to make sense of what he saw, Joseph noticed something equally bizarre going on a few yards away, on the opposite bank. Out of the brown and gray of the January landscape stepped Skar. She moved in a way that reminded Joseph of a cat, with deadly intensity and focus.
Before Joseph could speak, everything seemed to happen at once.
Esther sprang toward the water at the same instant Skar launched herself from the shore, tackling her. They landed, hard, on the flat rock. Esther was fighting, trying to claw her friend in the face as she struggled to break free. But the variant girl was stronger and was soon able to subdue Esther, twisting one of her arms behind her back and jerking it upward between her shoulders.
Skar seemed to be saying something to Esther, something that Joseph couldn’t hear. Then, without loosening her grip, Skar yanked her friend to her feet. She forced Esther to walk ahead of her on the smaller rocks that led to dry land. Once they reached the shore, she released Esther’s arm, but still kept secure hold of her wrist.
Throughout, Joseph watched in astonishment.
Although he was confused, he understood that somehow Esther had been in danger and that Skar had saved her. Yet there was still no explanation for why Esther had been standing in the middle of the river in the first place. No one would put herself at such risk on purpose, would she? Not unless, Joseph realized with sudden clarity, she was sick or confused.
They would have to watch over her, he thought, until she got better. It was an odd and uncomfortable idea, for he knew he had always depended on her. He could not help hoping she would get better soon.
And as he was mulling over these disturbing thoughts, he heard something odd from the other side.
For the first time since Caleb had been killed, Esther was crying.
Alone, Skar made her way back through the woods.
She had spent much time tending to Esther. The first thing she did was send Joseph to fetch a clean cloth, which she used to wipe and bandage her hands. Then, after making certain Esther did nothing else to hurt herself, Skar merely allowed her to cry, cradling her in her lap and stroking her head until her friend fell asleep.
Skar knew that tears indicated that healing had begun; still, she didn’t underestimate the depth of Esther’s anguish. Crying was no guarantee that her friend would not try to kill herself again. But at least for now, Esther was asleep, and Skar knew she was needed at the makeshift camp to attempt to find food and water for herself and the others. After much trial and error, she had cobbled together a crude weapon: a throwing stick that could launch one of the bicycle spokes she had sharpened. So she left Esther alone with Joseph, who fluttered about, wringing his hands with anxiety and concern.
Skar was approaching the camp when a movement in the underbrush made her freeze. She relaxed when she saw it was a person in white, kneeling behind a tree, apart from the others. It was Mi
chal, her head bowed as she knelt over a pile of discarded clothes. As Skar drew near, Michal glanced up, startled.
“Oh,” she said. “You scared me.”
Dappled sunlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the girl’s bare face. Skar had caught her as she was attempting to clean herself, rubbing her hair with a sweater; it was the first time Skar had seen her without her heavy veil. An instant later, Michal seemed to realize this, too. Blushing, she seized the long white cloth that lay next to her and began winding it around her once more.
“Don’t,” said Skar.
With reluctance, Michal stopped, her head bowed. Skar knelt in front of her. Then she reached out and took her by the chin. The two girls stayed like that a moment. As if making up her mind, Michal tilted her head back with an air of defiance, revealing her face.
She had eyes that were a startling cornflower blue, but one of them was red-rimmed and staring, the lower lid dragged down and perpetually weeping. Her face was a smooth oval marred by great gouges of melted flesh. Her nose was no more than a misshapen lump, and one side of her mouth drooped open, the red gums glistening past the mutilated lips. Only her hair, honey-colored and soft, seemed untouched.
For most of her fourteen years, Michal had been used to being gawked at because of her beauty. She took it for granted, considering herself lucky; for although she had no control over her looks, they were what had made Levi choose her, allowing her to live in unheard-of wealth and comfort. Since the attack, however, she had learned what it felt like to be stared at with horror, disgust, and derision.
Yet the person who knelt before her now had no such judgment or cruelty in her gaze, only thoughtfulness and kindness.
Although they had barely spoken, Michal had liked the variant girl with the mysterious lavender eyes from the start. On the first day, Skar had shared her own food and water with Michal when she saw there wasn’t enough to go around. So when Michal saw her surrounded by those thugs the night before, it hadn’t crossed her mind not to come to her defense. Now she felt herself relax at the touch of Skar’s hand, as gentle as a bird’s wing on her chin.
