by Trisha Leigh
Pax’s face softens, and he pulls me tight to his side with one arm. The smell of spicy cinnamon and sweet apples kneads my bunched muscles in the brief moments before he releases me.
“We’re going to figure something out. If you can keep her out when you’re focused, there must be a way to do it all the time. Close off your sinum, somehow.” He lies down and holds the blanket up beside him in invitation.
The comfort of being next to Pax isn’t something I’m going to turn down tonight, conflicted feelings about Lucas and our relationship or not. Thankfulness for Pax’s presence starts in my head and trickles down to my toes. He knows about Fire, and that maybe I’m going to lead the Others right to us, but he’s still here. In the dark, with Pax on one side and Wolf at my back, I feel safe. I feel cared about. And even though we’re in an abandoned, ancient fort in the middle of nowhere, it’s nice. Maybe it will never be with Pax the way it is with Lucas. Every last piece of me accepts the knowledge that it will never be easy to be with him, whether we’re companions, friends, or something more. But we’ve had a breakthrough tonight. Kissing him eased the tension between us, if only a little, and I’m more comfortable now that we’ve acknowledged the spark we’ve been ignoring for weeks.
“It’s not your fault, what happened to the Sullivans,” I whisper. “I feel that way, too, about Mrs. Morgan, but we have to put the blame where it belongs. Because the Others did this. Without the veils, there wouldn’t have been anything for us to accidentally take down.”
He regards me in silence for several seconds, before a smile drains the uncertainty in his eyes. Then Pax sits up and reaches for his bag, rummaging for a minute before coming up with a pretty rainbow bracelet like the one he hasn’t taken off since the day I met him.
“Hold out your wrist.”
I do as he asks, curiosity thumping through me. It’s too much to bite back. “It’s just like yours. Where’d you get them?”
“Deshi has one, too. We…we found them.” He finishes tying the bracelet around my wrist, the waterfall of woven colors beautiful against my pale skin.
I think again how it looks as if someone rolled the earth and the sky into perfectly balanced threads. That they don’t look possible, somehow. “Thank you.”
“If I have to be in this with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”
***
Three days drag past before the weather allows us to leave Fort Laramie and head west. Mountains begin as rocky brown foothills but climb higher as the days pass, snow turning their crests white. It’s cold; I’ve never felt anything as bitter as the winds that numb me within a minute of stepping into them, and we haven’t found shelter in a building since leaving the historic site. It’s safer—and more miserable—but the insane chill helps me stay awake.
Our next major stop is Salt Lake City, and if everything goes well, we’re less than three weeks from Portland. Even though we’ve been walking though barren countryside and abandoned cities for what feels like forever, the remaining time suddenly doesn’t seem like enough to figure out how to find out what happened to Tommy or where the Others are keeping Deshi. And rescuing Deshi might be as important as finding Lucas, feelings aside, if we’re like our Element parents and gain power when all four of us work together.
Since I confided in Pax, the dreams have stayed away, but I’ve only slept a total of nine hours in three days. If I wait until the exhaustion is so complete there’s no way to fight it, I don’t dream at all. Pax stays awake and watches me in case he can see some kind of clue that I’m sinking into the hive mind so he can wake me up. It’s weird, knowing that he watches me while I’m asleep. The discomfort makes it even harder to close my eyes, which is fine except for the fact that I look terrible. The fort had an old wasteroom, and even though it wasn’t functional, the mirror reflected my haggard appearance. I’m starting to resemble the little raccoon that attacked Lucas at the end of the autumn, black rings around my scared eyes.
The snow has stopped, but the two-foot-deep drifts still slow our progress. We have fresh clothes thanks to the shop full of items, and in the maintenance closet we even found three pairs of snow boots. Pax’s fit pretty well, but mine are huge. Still, they save me the discomfort of traipsing across half the planet in wet shoes.
On the fifth day since we left Fort Laramie, when I think we must be getting closer to Salt Lake City, the woods next to the highway grow dense. It’s lovely in the uncomfortable, quiet way winter can be beautiful, and I’m staring up at the snow-covered treetops when Wolf growls. Not a warning like he issued Pax that first day, but more menacing. Pax digs in his heels at my side, yanking me to a stop and behind a big tree.
A hulking catlike animal waits ahead, maybe twenty feet from where Wolf stands. My dog’s entire body tenses, tail and head lowered toward the ground and the fur between his shoulder blades thick and spiked. He growls again as the tan cat, at least twice his size, takes a bold step forward, then another. It slinks toward where Pax and I are hiding, black eyes flashing, like it plans to avoid Wolf and go right after us.
Wolf clearly isn’t going to let that happen, which should make me feel better, since the cat’s long, sharp front teeth are visible from here, but all I can feel is ice-cold dread running through my veins. Powerful muscles ripple under the animal’s thin fur as it sinks into a crouch.
“Pax, we have to do something. If they fight, Wolf will get hurt.” My whispers draw more attention from the predator, his gaze latching on to our hiding spot as he slides another few steps our direction.
Then the big cat leaps at us.
Wolf reacts, launching into its side and knocking it into the underbrush. I hear a scream, realize it’s mine, and sprint toward the ruckus before Pax can stop me. There’s nothing we can do. The animals are locked together, all snarling teeth and flashes of brown, black, brown, black as they tumble and snap, swipe and bite.
Wolf yelps, a pain-laced sound that reverberates straight through to my heart. The giant cat disengages and limps off into the trees. The whole fight lasted less than fifteen seconds, but Wolf saved our lives.
And now he’s not getting up.
CHAPTER 13.
I fall to my knees in the snow at Wolf’s side, relieved to see his eyes open and watching me. The red spots dotting the ground catch my breath in my throat, and the gash across the right side of Wolf’s chest and down his leg leak more blood onto the snow underneath him.
Pax crouches down beside us, assessing the situation with an enviable calm. My breath pants out in frantic white clouds. Helplessness tightens my chest as I watch my best friend bleed, and a quiet whine full of discomfort wheezes from between his jaws.
“We have to help him.”
“Okay. First, we have to stop the bleeding.” Pax sounds a little as though he’s reciting from a textbook, although not one we read in Cell. He offers a tight smile in response to my curious glance. “My Atlanta father is a Healer.”
He grabs a blanket out of my bag, quickly tearing three thin strips from one edge. “Wash off the blood, if you can. Use the snow.”
A couple of weeks ago fear would have stayed my hands, worry over the unpredictable nature of a wounded animal, but Wolf isn’t any animal now. He’s mine, and he needs me. Our eyes meet, his filled with trust and pain, mine surely reflecting horror. He doesn’t move as I grab a handful of snow and rub it across the deep gash. The cold clump in my hand turns watery and pink as blood continues to pump from the wound. “It’s not stopping.”
“Pack some in there.”
I do as I’m told, then move to the side as Pax ties two strips around Wolf’s chest and winds another down his leg. Thankfully, blood doesn’t soak through the material, at least not right away, but the fact that Wolf hasn’t tried to stand up snags worry deeper.
“What do we do now? He can’t walk.”
“Stay here with him. I’ll scout around for somewhere close we can shelter.”
“Wait. What if you get lost? What if that thing comes
back?”
He winks, but his heart isn’t in it. “The answer’s the same: Use your fire hands.”
Guilt digs under my skin when I realize Wolf’s lying here injured and I could have prevented the whole thing. Why didn’t I think to burn the attacker? Everything happened so fast and the huge predator was scary, but I need to be better about thinking on my feet. If I can’t even protect my dog from an aggressive animal in the woods, how am I going to shield an entire race of people from the Others?
Instead of sitting here fretting about my many shortcomings when it comes to protecting anyone, I get up and gather some sticks and logs, then build a fire beside Wolf. Ice crusts up around his nose and eyes, a strange sight because usually his face stays dry even when the snow blows from every direction.
The fire seems to help, to calm him, and he even moves a little so he can press closer to me. I get out the thick tarp we took from the fort and spread it on the ground, then tug him onto it and stretch my legs out in the snow. I pull his head into my lap and scratch behind his ears the way he likes. His breathing sounds ragged, and I wish there was something more we could do to take the pain away.
Wolf closes his eyes, denying me the ability to verify that life continues to stir inside them, so I’ve been staring at his rib cage, making sure it rises up and down, for at least an hour. Even though there’s nothing I can do if it stops. I’m beginning to understand how Lucas felt the day we found Fils dead on the radiator—helpless and angry. And he had that fish for years; Wolf’s only been with me around a month.
It’s a strange thing, loving an animal. I remember wanting to know that love so badly when watching Lucas, but now that I have it, it’s terrifying. Wonderful, true. But the idea of having it ripped away is accompanied by so much pain it’s hard to fathom surviving it. The strength of my emotions surprises me. In some ways it’s even stronger than what I feel for Pax, or even Lucas. Because Wolf doesn’t want anything in return for caring about me. He almost died for us today. And he would have, had it come to that.
In this moment, it’s brilliantly clear to me why the Others chose to keep the animals separate. It’s not because of fear, or danger. It’s because of love. The emotions their unconditional devotion can inspire are too much to purge or to block, I bet.
Footsteps crunch through the snow and push me into a defensive position on my knees, but it’s only Pax. He shakes his head, warming his blue hands at the fire.
“Can’t find anything nearby, and the sun’s going down. We’ll have to make do here.” His worried gaze slides to Wolf. “How is he?”
I shrug. “Sleeping.”
“We should change the bandages again.” Pax kneels and rips apart more of the blanket, talking softly to Wolf as he unwinds the soaked crimson strips, cleans the wound, then rebinds it.
The trees offer some shelter, blocking the worst of the wind and creating a dark canopy above our heads. It’s still freezing, but that’s become a bit of a relative term these past weeks. Instead of complaining, Pax and I simply gather more wood. We drag the tarp bearing Wolf’s weight to the largest fir tree we can find, then settle on either side of the injured dog. A new fire springs to life under my trembling hands, and my jumpy emotions make it a little too big at first. It’s been a while since controlling the heat has been an issue, the mistake reminding me how much we still have to learn.
Pax falls asleep, but I can’t. Watching Wolf breathe does nothing but grind concern deeper into my patience. He’ll never be able to get better without resting, and every sound that emanates from the forest shakes him awake with a start, eliciting a whine of pain at the sudden movement. The fire stays strong, so at least he’s warm enough, but we need shelter.
When the night sky fades from black to blue to gray I ease to my feet, shaking the kinks out of my back from sitting against a tree trunk all night. Pax is slumped sideways, his right hand tangled in the thick fur across Wolf’s shoulders, and he frowns in his sleep. The expression shoots a new feeling into my heart, at least where Pax is concerned—tenderness. Since we met, so many of our interactions have popped and sizzled with attraction or conflict, but ever since that night at Fort Laramie, my emotions have managed to slip toward affection. We still keep our distance, physically, but it would rip me in half if something happened to him. As much as if Lucas were hurt or Broken.
A smooth piece of hair falls over Pax’s eye. I turn away, fighting the urge to brush it back, and start scouting the area for a usable sanctuary.
It’s amazing what trekking halfway across the planet on foot will do for a girl’s ability to navigate on her own. While Lucas and I couldn’t go in one direction without the aid of the stars, my brain now catalogues landmarks and senses when we’ve moved off course without me asking. This morning I take note of the rising sun’s position, then start looping in a circle around where we settled last night. Pax was gone about two hours searching yesterday, so I go farther. Four hours later, I find what I’m looking for and then make my way back to my friends.
Pax is awake, and the relief that washes out of his golden tan at my appearance warms me from the center. “Where have you been?”
“Looking for somewhere we can stay while Wolf heals. There’s something called a ranger station about an hour north of here. The windows are all busted out but the walls are standing.” I kneel next to Wolf, who gives my hand a halfhearted lick. “Do you think he’ll walk?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like it.”
“Well, we can pull him on the tarp, then.”
“That dog’s got to weigh seventy pounds, Summer.”
“I don’t care. We’re not leaving him. I don’t care if it takes all day.” My voice rises with irritation.
He frowns at the determined set of my jaw. “I was only making an observation. I wouldn’t leave him out here either. He saved our lives.”
Decided, we prepare to leave. Getting him to the station doesn’t take all day because Wolf reacts to our movement and struggles to his feet. His long white legs are a little wobbly, and we do set a slower pace than the one we’ve fallen into these past weeks, but it takes us less than three hours to reach the ranger’s station.
The interior of the building is cold because of the missing windows, but rugs cover the floor and there are bedrooms with actual beds. Furniture adorns the living room, arranged around a cutout in the wall that makes me squeal.
Wolf’s ears prick and Pax shoots me an irritated look. “What are you so excited about?”
“I know what this does.” I stride over to the cutout, crouching down to peer inside. The bottom is covered with piles of gray ashes, reminding me of the magicked room where I met the Elements for the first time.
Well, not technically met, since they didn’t know I was there, but still. They had one of these, and my mother controlled the fire they built inside it. I peer up, finding a wrought-iron handle that’s chilly under my palm. The sound of grinding cement meets my ears when I give it a push, and winter air flushes toward me from above.
It’s the same as the stove in the cabin, the way it piped the smoke outside, or how the window drew it away from my floor fire. These things are neat. “You put wood inside, then light it, and the smoke goes up there.”
Pax leans his hands on his knees, peering up into the darkness. He grunts. “Like the stove. I’ll go get some wood.”
Wolf looks as though he’s ready to collapse again, so I make him a bed of dry blankets in front of the fire holder. He lies down and I scratch his ears. A small, flat creature, an amphibian or reptile of some sort with bright yellow scales and purple spots, peers at me from the arm of the couch. Pax comes running in response to my shriek, shaking snow out of his hair, but the thing scrabbles down to the floor and disappears. I describe it to him, and we hunt it for five or ten minutes but find no trace. Exhaustion takes hold, even with knowing a scaly little creepy-crawly is lurking about, and we give up.
While I take care of the fire, which is crackling happil
y within minutes, Pax rips more strips from the blanket and changes Wolf’s bandages again. A closer inspection reveals the wound still weeps blood, but it has slowed considerably.
“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
“I think so. It’s a deep cut, but if we keep him still and clean it, it should heal.”
My heart swells at Pax’s willingness to care for Wolf, and the fact that his injury is going to keep us here at least a few days doesn’t seem to irritate Pax at all, even though we both know he’s in a hurry to get back to Portland. I lean over and press a kiss to his cold cheek, pulling away before it can turn into something more.
“Take your shoes off,” I say. “You’re getting puddles everywhere.”
Bright emotion shines in his eyes as he gets up and puts his boots by the door. “I’m going to take a look around.”
As reluctant as I am to leave the fire, it could be interesting to see what a ranger’s station entails. I don’t know what a ranger is, or why he lived out in the middle of nowhere, and it’s frustrating that I might never find out. Snooping around could offer a few answers, though.
It’s the first intact building we’ve run across in a long time, but every time we encounter signs of a previous life in the Wilds it reminds me that the perception the Others give off, that there’s nothing outside the Sanctioned Cities, isn’t true. They destroyed a lot, especially the interiors of the large cities they didn’t keep, but humans inhabited every corner of this planet. There have been more cabins alone in the woods and more tiny little towns along the big road than I ever would have believed. The Others stole more than the humans’ mental freedom; they took their space, too, and the ability to fill it how they chose.
I can’t help but wonder how many people must have died when the Others first came here. Cadi said they’d never encountered a species with as many emotions as humanity and that they Broke many before figuring out how to keep them both controlled and alive. Now that I’ve seen the size of Earth, I know a good portion of them must have been killed off at the beginning. The land we’ve traipsed through, the number of ruined homes we’ve passed…there is room for more people to survive than the number that live in the four Sanctioned Cities. Many, many more.
