by Coralee June
I still couldn't say it. Couldn't even think about it. I shook my head, willing the flashbacks and Josiah’s dead body to disappear from my brain. I had to fight. Punch. Scream. Anything to keep those thoughts away.
A byproduct of these nights was that it exhausted me to the point of dreamless sleep. I spent my days in a sore, tired stupor, but at least it kept the nightmares away. Huxley observed my face with interest, patiently waiting for my response. He was so damn patient lately. I wanted him to fight back. "I like punching you," I replied with a smirk, but I wasn't fooling him. I wasn't fooling anyone.
My time in Ethros broke me.
Commodore Cavil taught me how dangerous the world was. I wasn't prepared to fight for my life. I was a sheltered Walker. Stonewell Manor might have been a prison, but I was cared for. Josiah kept me safe from the evils of this empire. Then, when I moved to Dormas, that care and responsibility transferred to my guys. I loved knowing that they could protect me. Since experiencing true blinding fear, I would no longer take for granted the privilege of sleeping soundly. But I craved feeling confident in my own abilities. I wasn't strong enough in Ethros, but I'd be strong enough now.
Fighting also helped me reclaim parts of my broody Huxley. He stopped treating me like a glass figurine during our nights together. He made me feel capable, strong, and sexy. I treasured the moments that he let his guard down and let me forget about the anxiety and regret. Here, we were just two bodies being pushed to the limit.
"How about this," Huxley began, walking closer. He took the canteen from my shaky fingers and placed his plump lips around the opening and gulped. Droplets of water fell down his chin, and I licked my lips. He was so handsome. Our fights had helped him become even more toned. The white shirt he usually wore had grown tight, and I found myself getting distracted throughout the day. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy looking at his bare, muscular torso every night.
He caught me staring out of the corner of his eye. And after pulling the bottle from his lips, that damn lip quirk I loved so much appeared in a flash, disappearing before I could enjoy it.
We had agreed to hold off on all physical aspects of our relationships until we knew more about Cyler, Maverick, and Jacob. I was too traumatized by everything that happened and still recovering from our escape. It made sense at the time, but lately, my nights with Huxley had reawakened the craving I felt in Ethros.
"I'll spend an hour with you in training for every hour you spend with Patrick and Kemper."
I scowled, earning another lip quirk from Huxley. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend time with them. I craved them on a visceral level. I longed for normalcy and their touch. I wanted Patrick’s playful jokes and Kemper’s heated words saved only for me. But fighting with Huxley was easy. We didn't talk. We just moved until there was no strength left. If I were to open up to Patrick and Kemper, they'd want to talk. About my feelings, my reservations, my...grief.
I hated that word.
In so many ways, I was still the same girl from Galla. But Ethros had hardened me, and I wasn't sure how to bridge the girl they fell in love with to the girl I'd become. I started off feeling sad. I cried, circling around hopelessness and devastation like it was a prison of my own making. Then I felt nothing. Aside from the bursts of anger and lust I experienced during trainings with Huxley, I spent most of my days feeling nothing at all. I was numb. And somehow, I knew that being numb was worse. Much worse.
I debated arguing with Huxley, deflecting his offer with a snide joke—something I'd become good at. But instead, I let my shoulders slump.
"I...I can't."
I couldn't stand knowing that I was hurting them by staying away. Seeing the pain in their eyes, the disappointment, was killing me. They were mourning the loss of their best friends too. I was being selfish by shutting them out. Maverick always told me to not play the martyr. But here I was, feeling sorry for myself when I should be fighting.
"Yeah, you can," Huxley said while stepping forward and abandoning the canteen. It landed in the dirt with a thud. With his thumb, he lifted up my chin, forcing me to stare into his green eyes. "One hour, Ash. That's it. Then I'll let you try and punch me all you want. You know it makes you feel better," he said, gaze bright and daring.
"Fine."
"Good girl," he murmured while stroking a sweaty strand of hair behind my ear. There was a fire in his expression that wasn't there before, making my breath hitch. His smoldering hands left a blazing trail of tension down my neck. I wasn't the only one craving more. But I wasn't ready for that. At least, not until I had the rest of my guys back.
"As much as keeping you to myself has been nice, I'm kind of tired of hearing them mope."
I'd spent time with them. We ate our meals together—in silence. We shared a tent. Hell, most nights after training, I’d crawl into bed beside Patrick or Kemper. The Scavengers assigned each of us jobs, so we were busy throughout the day, but I'd still see them, kind of. I just wasn't present. Not really.
I was hollow. A shell of who I was before. We’ve all changed. Patrick, my handsome and playful twin, wasn't smiling as much. I missed his sweet lullabies and kind smile. Kemper lacked his usual ambition. He felt like he'd failed us—failed me. And he’d practically given up on trying to fix everything around him.
Despite this, they pushed the boundaries I drew around myself. They'd linger in the tent. Hold me while I slept. Kemper kissed my cheek each morning before patrol, and Patrick made me breakfast. Half of me resented them for it, while the other half wished that they would push more. I needed someone to force me to get better, I needed someone to force me to stop being so self-destructive.
Fighting with Huxley made me feel alive again, but even that wasn't the real me. It wasn't enough. I guess they were getting tired of loving a ghost. What if they left me? Would they grow tired of waiting?
My expression must have echoed the fear I felt because Huxley then wrapped me in a huge hug. I sunk into his sweaty hold. Silent tears fell down my cheeks, dampening his chest as sobs made me shake.
"I'll talk to them," I finally said.
Chapter Two
Huxley and I walked back towards our tent on the outskirts of camp. We'd been staying with the Water camp close to the Eastern border. Huxley mentioned that Tallis regularly traded with them. It was a risk to come here, but it was our only option. Dormas was out of the question, for obvious reasons. And any alliances Cyler had procured dissolved once word got out that Cavil held him prisoner. The Elite blindly believed in Cavil’s authority and didn’t dare challenge him, and an alliance with us was exactly that—a challenge.
It wasn't easy getting settled. Aside from Aarav, the camp leader, most of the Scavengers thought it was too big a risk to hide us in their camp. I couldn't necessarily disagree with them.
Rumors of Cavil's instabilities traveled far and wide. We knew there was a target on our backs, and if found, we would put everyone at risk. Scavenger communities were constantly being pushed deeper into the deadlands by Cavil's growing army. The glowing woods weren't suitable for habitation, and the further you went, the worse it got. But the Scavengers adapted as much as they could, and we learned to adapt alongside them.
I learned more about the deadlands and its toxic water supply during my time here. Long ago, a contamination bled into the soil and the water, making everything glow. Long term exposure weakened a human’s immune system. It also made their bodies run less efficiently. It took more work to keep warm in the winter time, and they suffered many food allergies too. It was interesting to learn all they’d suffered just to escape the rule of the empire.
We made sure to settle far away from the others and tried to make ourselves scarce yet useful. Huxley, Patrick, and Kemper rotated patrol shifts, and I worked with the camp healer, Lilly. I liked my job. It helped me feel closer to Maverick. She was an old, grumpy woman with a mischievous attitude. She taught me about the different plant properties and methods of healing while chastising me for mo
ping about. Each time I learned something new, it felt like I was honoring Maverick. And each time she insulted me, my skin thickened. I appreciated the tough love.
We had a routine. It wasn't ideal, it wasn't home, but it was enough—for now. The worst part about the deadlands was living next door to Linda Stonewell. Since escaping with us, she’d also taken up residence in the deadlands. "I need to fetch water for Linda again tomorrow," I told Huxley in a low voice as crickets chirped around us. The canopy of glowing trees overhead shielded our view of the stars.
Huxley sighed before replying, "I don't understand why you help her." Serving Linda was a habit of mine. I'd spent years tending to her every need. Even with my new found freedom, I couldn't crack my instinct to care for her. I couldn't help but feel like I owed the widowed woman, somehow. Josiah, the only family she had left, died saving me. So if I had to bring her buckets of water to cope with the guilt I felt, then I'd gladly take the penance.
"She's grieving," I told Huxley, not quite sure why I was defending her. I’ve comforted myself with the idea that grief is just love with no place to go—Linda Stonewell had no one alive to pour herself into. Since Josiah’s death, she has bottled up all the affection she never showed her son, and twisted it into a toxic rage she unleashed on me daily. She hated me because I didn’t have words left unsaid. I got closure. Dark, painful closure—but closure nevertheless. He died, and she never got to say sorry for her hand in his suffering. For all my talk of hating pity, I pitied her. Therefore, I was content to be her emotional punching bag. Just because I helped her didn't mean she made it easy on me, though. She called me every name in the book, spitting at my feet as I brought her food.
"You're grieving t—"
"Please, don't finish that sentence."
We continued to walk in silence as I thought of my strained relationship with Linda. She was struggling to acclimate to Scavenger life, and I understood her anger now. She spent a lifetime in posh comfort, then lost everything and everyone she'd ever known. Linda Stonewell had a loveless marriage and a loveless affair. The only person that actually loved her back was her son, and he was dead.
They all were dead.
"Payne was asking about you yesterday," I told him.
Payne was the one bright spot in our lives. His naive innocence was infectious. He made even Huxley smile and thawed Linda's icy heart. It wasn't self-preservation keeping her here, it was Payne. Payne also lived in the small tent next to ours with Mistress Stonewell. Their dynamic was odd at best, but it worked. She spent so much time fussing over him that sometimes she'd go an entire day without complaining.
"What did he ask?"
"He wants you to take him fishing again. He enjoyed that."
I wasn't sure what it was about Payne that made me less reluctant to share my feelings. He wanted to know about the brother he never met. And since I'd known Josiah the best, I found myself offering him little pieces of information when I could handle it. I'd even caught Linda leaning forward to hear my stories of her son. I wondered if she knew how truly close we were. Payne was a sweet child. Genuine. Kind. But terrifyingly smart.
Exactly like Josiah.
We were almost at our tents. I couldn't wait to wash off in the water basin and go to sleep. Today, I’d pushed so hard that I was certain I’d have a dreamless night. I was about to descend the path to our home when the drums started.
The thudding beat had no repetitive cadence or method. It was madness, thumping and filling the deadlands with its warning. One of the first things Aarav taught us when he agreed to let us seek refuge in his camp was if you hear the drums—run.
It was a warning repeated many times, chanted at dinner and whispered at night. "Is Patrick on patrol?" I asked Huxley, whose eyes were on alert as he scouted the woods around us. White, glowing trees cast shadows in the dark, and towered overhead. The drums made it impossible to hear anything else.
Looking to the sky, I saw the dim, green embers of a fire in the distance. We were only a few minutes away if we sprinted. "We have to go to him," I said as adrenaline flooded me. I started to turn towards the flames when a calloused hand wrapped around my elbow, pulling me back.
"You’re not going—"
"Sorry, were you just about to tell me not to go? Because it sounded like you were about to make another decision for me," I said with a growl, yanking out of his hold. I looked over Huxley's shoulder and saw the bushes shifting. I managed to shove Huxley's broad frame aside and crouch into a ready stance. I was ready for an attack— eager for it.
But instead of all the enemies I'd conjured up in my mind, it was Kemper that was barreling towards us. His long, lean legs moved impossibly fast.
"Ash!" he yelled, his voice frantic but determined. I warmed at the tone. Normally, he was so soft-spoken. It had been a while since I'd heard the commanding voice he reserved for our moments alone. He collided into me, cupping my warm, flushed cheeks. His blue eyes squinted as he looked me over. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"We have to get to Patrick." I pulled away then looked back towards the flickering flames and smoke off in the distance. My heart was racing. Kemper and Huxley exchanged wary looks when I turned my attention back to them. I saw the caution in their expressions. They had no intention of letting me anywhere near the danger, but I was done letting them control me. I stopped letting them make decisions about my safety when I lost Cyler, Maverick, and Jacob.
Within a flash, I was sprinting towards the center of camp. My tired feet pounded the hard ground as my warm muscles shook with adrenaline. I felt Huxley and Kemper at my back, following me as their shouts blended in with the warning drums. I could handle this, I could save Patrick.
I could save them all, right?
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I imagined all my guys at the finish line. I was no longer in the deadlands. I was in Ethros. I was running towards the men I loved. Dodging fallen branches and hanging tree limbs, I leaped over a puddle and stumbled a bit when my feet hit the muddy ground. This was my moment to help. I could fight. I wasn't helpless. The grass crunched beneath my feet, and the smoky air filled my lungs. I breathed in the woodsy scent, sprinting as I thought of all the people I'd failed—and all the people who had failed me.
No more. This was what I'd been training for, right?
Kemper called to me. He wanted me to wait. Huxley grabbed the back of my shirt, but I slipped from his grasp. My curly hair caught on a branch. My heart caught in my throat.
Tents started to appear along the trail, scattered around us. Men and women with white hair and deep frowns ran in the opposite direction, darting by us as we headed towards the camp's center. Their fearful faces were nothing but a blur in my peripherals.
"Ash, wait, let's see what's ahead."
But I didn't want to wait. I didn't want to be the girl that waited for others to right the wrongs of the empire. "We don't even know if Patrick's there," Kemper added. "He could be on the outskirts of the camp. I don't know his patrol route!"
When I broke through the clearing, a group of Scavengers had formed a circle around the fire. As I searched for Patrick in the haze, an arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me back. The air was knocked out of me when I collided with his chest, and I let out a hoarse scream. Nothing but strained air escaped past my teeth.
"There's a difference," Huxley began while trying to catch his breath. His chest heaved against my back. "Between being the hero and being fucking stupid." His lips were against my ears as he spoke, and a tear fell down my cheek. I wiped away the stupid display of emotion. It was blurring my vision, stopping me from tackling the task at hand. I wanted a fight. I wanted an excuse to prove my worth.
Huxley sunk backward towards a tree as I fought to pull away from him. My feet hovered off the ground, and Kemper gave me a look that made me fill with shame. I couldn't tell the difference between the pounding drums and my heartbeat. The loud beat, a thundering cadence of chaos.
There, in Huxley's arms, the warnings fad
ed away. The adrenaline subsided, and all that was left was shame. I knew I was being reckless. But that’s what happens when you have nothing to siphon your disappointment and anger into. You start looking for ways to let the pain out. Slowly, the thudding pulse in my ears calmed. I looked around, trying to get a sense for my surroundings. A clear voice echoed over the commotion, making my heart race.
"Are you an idiot? She needs a doctor. I demand you get your best healer here at once, or so help me, I will burn this camp to the ground. Don't you know who I am? I'm Jules. Motherfucking. Black."
Huxley dropped me in shock. It took me a moment to clear my head. Did I hear that right?
Jules?
I sprinted towards the fire where a group of men crowded around. I broke through the group, ignoring the various grunts of disapproval. I waded through the Scavengers until all I could see was sleek black hair and a scowl deep enough to wage wars.
"Jules?" I cried out, more tears streaming down my face. When her eyes met mine, her expression softened a bit, but not much. The last time I'd seen Jules, she was a pale skeleton on the brink of death. The vaccine rejection was claiming her bright life. Now, she had scratches on her cheeks and circles beneath her bloodshot eyes. She was thinner than before. Her frame looked malnourished, but she still commanded the attention of everyone within the vicinity. She was alive.
I didn't care that we only tolerated one another, I ran forward and wrapped my thin arms around her in a tight hug. "You're alive," I cooed as white-hot tears streamed down my cheeks. "I've been so worried."
A tentative hand patted my back, and I pulled away to stare at her. She stared deeply into my eyes, seemingly moved by my display of affection. I saw her relief, her fear, her sadness. It all swirled within the black depths of her gaze, and I let out a sigh I didn't know I'd been holding. "You smell awful," Jules replied, her nose wrinkling. I couldn't help but smile. I knew that was her way of saying that she missed me too.
