Wonderland (Deadly Lush Book 2)

by Harper Alexander

  Those, Jayx was keeping a close handle on.

  Until they were 'ready', whatever that meant. What tests do we have to pass before you would deem us ready, Jayx?

  Thumbing through ideas in her head, she picked at a knot in the railing wood and frowned absently at the gathering below.

  Today was weapons-crafting. Jayx had brought with him a whole bundle of bones – from what, Shiloh had never quite been able to identify – which he set to work showing his pupils how to sharpen.

  Shiloh toyed with her own bone knife, strapped to her thigh. There was another bound to her calf. She'd crafted them during the first run-through of the same lesson, and remembered thinking:

  We'll be the ones. The ones to overthrow the bloodthirsty tyrants hording Paradise.

  She still liked to believe it was true. We just have to stop this pattern of fattening ourselves up on fruit and snuggling closer to make room for more refugees.

  She almost snorted at the impression. Really, she wasn't giving Jayx enough credit. At the beginning of their time aboard the Dauntless, she had gone to him and said,

  “Make the island fear me.”

  And if nothing else, he masterfully stripped away the girl who feared the island.

  Perhaps more importantly, he'd given her the tools to be a self-taught force to be reckoned with from there on out.

  No one but herself motivated her to climb the mast daily just to stay limber. No one but herself motivated her to rise before the sun and strap on her boots and run laps through the sand for endurance. No one but herself fought back the natural inclination of fear in her own mind, enough to look toward the island and consciously coin sentiments like ‘Somewhere out there, there are antlers to mount on my wall’.

  Antlers to mount on her wall...

  Well, she didn't have a wall – at least not one that wasn't shared with any number of other refugees – but the notion stuck with her nonetheless.

  It dead-ended there, at least for the evening, but the spark had been lit. She shucked her ivory blade back into its sheath, determined that the rest would come to her after she slept on it.

  Something would come of it. She promised herself that. Because if she didn't do something... How long until the Tribal caught on to the fact that their quarry had all amassed in one convenient, 'safe' location, sitting-ducks ripe for a massacre if the savages managed to sneak aboard? There was always someone keeping watch, eyeing the shore and trees for any sign of trouble, and supposedly that would give them plenty of time to lift anchor and pull away if danger reared its ugly head, but Shiloh was convinced everyone was getting just a little too comfortable. And the island was one big, intricate network of surprises. For all they knew, there were underground tunnels and those among the Tribal who could breathe underwater, thanks to some extension of their enhanced genetics, and they would surround the ship from the depths, never spotted until it was too late.

  The longer this dragged out, the more Shiloh felt like the same old victim. Passive, vulnerable, and prone to being put on the defensive in an instant. Just sitting around waiting for the danger to finally realize her whereabouts and creep past its borders to reach her. And being a victim, being victim material, was not something she could ever entertain again. Sometimes she felt like she'd been more of a survivor than this back home, pitted against lesser threats, just because she'd spent more time 'in the field'.

  Restless conviction clicking into place, she turned away from the lesson going on below and stood gazing toward the island. The treetops were radiant from the illumination of the sun setting on the other side, making it look like they were aflame. The beach was like tarnished silver; iridescent shells shimmering in the twilight. As darkness fell, hundreds of jellyfish drifted to the surface of the water to eddy gracefully in the shallows, like neon pink and aqua lanterns. The usual flock of sirens danced about the ship, waiting for Lysander to play his music for them. The shimmer of their fins brought to mind oil roiling in the water, pearly and sinuous.

  This place was so confoundedly enchanting. Everything geared to draw you in, lure you closer, pull the cotton-candy wool over your eyes and rip your heart out. But Shiloh was determined to make it her home.

  What else is there?

  Here, at least, the apocalypse was beautiful. She just had to face those nightmares of spears and claws and antlers, and stare unflinching into their demon eyes. She just had to grab her nightmares by those very horns, and wrestle them to the ground. And there they would lie, a twisted heap of bloody antlers in the dandelion clover.

  A savage fight to the death over the last frontier.

  It was easy for this place to turn people into dreamers. It had turned Shiloh into a dreamer long before she'd seen its wonders firsthand, back when it was just some far-off fantasy, a legend of elusive hope, and she a starving victim of the apocalypse scraping out an existence in the ruins of the earth and the shadow of the sun. Now, having seen it, tasted it, attained it... She had Paradise fever.

  It had simply come time to combine the dreamer with the savage she had courted inside herself back home. It had been on a leash there, a hatchling beast she kept locked in a rusty cage to resort to when desperate, loathe to let her humanity mirror the corruption that had destroyed everything else. But here, humanity only existed within the scenario of their survival, because they were it. The only human presence. The only flicker of humanity there was left to protect. They had no choice but to walk the railroad tracks. To challenge Fate to a fight to the death on the railroad tracks, and hope to slay the demons guarding Heaven before their own demons caught up to them.

  If they could do that, the last stop at the end of the tracks would be the Paradise they had all dreamed of.

  The Paradise they thought they were getting when they stepped off the train at the first abandoned station, and walked into the nightmare that had taken over the dream.

  4 – Rabid

  There'd been another saying, Before. Don't tempt fate. Don't leave your hovel unless you have to, don't walk unarmed in the open space, don't linger with your back exposed, just don't bring attention to yourself at all.

  Because if you did, chances were there would be something waiting to take advantage.

  Shiloh didn't set out to tempt fate as her primary objective – at least, she wouldn't admit it to herself if she did, didn't trudge off into the jungle with that specific goal raging front and center in her mind, screaming “Come to me!” to the lurking cover of trees. But it was there in the back of her mind, a reckless tickle. Possibly some degree of ulterior motive, lurking in the jungle of her mind same as the island monsters she semi-sought.

  If anyone else had seen her slipping off into the trees, however, it would have been no secret that on some level she was looking for trouble. An overabundance of weapons strapped to her form was testament to that fact.

  There were the usual blades secured to her left calf and right thigh, but in addition to those there was one over either shoulder, a staff she used to spar with Jayx most nights, and secured along her belt was a throwing-star she'd 'borrowed' from Tace's signature stash and a pair of brass knuckles she'd pilfered during one of the looting trips out to the graveyard of boats wrecked among the labyrinth rocks.

  If she wasn't the poster girl for someone looking for trouble...

  Past the threshold of the island, into the depths of the jungle, through unfamiliar overgrown territory, it occurred to Shiloh that Fate was perhaps as ironic as it was an opportunist. For she was struck not by the raging violence that was known to inhabit the wilderness, but the vast, overwhelming loneliness. It was a quiet day, a thick, eddying tranquility saturating the perfumed air. She stopped in a sweeping glade to look around at the rippling wildflower emptiness, and a haunting nostalgia came over her. In that moment she truly felt how haunting the beauty of Paradise was, like a fairytale under a curse.

  Because even on a silent, peaceful day, the silence represented the fact that no human life thrived here, and the wh
y was a tragic, bloody memory trapped in the quietly blooming hush.

  A terrible secret, that only the flowers knew.

  The girl stood with a thousand weapons among the tranquil sea of flowers. Not for the first time, Shiloh found herself narrating her offbeat Paradise experiences in her mind.

  Shaking herself from the sentimental chill, she carried on with her quest.

  Well, where are you, rabid beasts? Doesn't anything want to jump out from the bushes and eat me?

  Little more than the hiss of a small, lynx-like creature lashed out at her from the foliage. It had a black, forked tongue, certainly unnerving as qualities went but not the type of demon she was looking for.

  Nice kitty.

  About the time Shiloh broke a sweat from her hike, it began to rain. It was the sudden rain of the jungle – clear one minute, a vanquishing downpour the next. Shiloh squinted up at the sky, a dizzying view of streaking silver darts. Sheets of water pelted her face and ran down her neck into her shirt. The sound, like clamoring static all around, a million droplets tap-dancing through the trees.

  Well, this would make it harder to hear or see or smell any island monstrosities that may or may not have been stalking her.

  Fetid corpse fruit, Shiloh huffed, and bit her cheek to keep from snickering at the phrase. It was one of many terms coined during a rare night of good cheer amongst the refugees, in which they traded ideas for alternative curses that might be appropriate for Paradise.

  Wiping the rain from her face, Shiloh threw a cautious glance over her shoulder before slogging off through the downpour to find a thicker canopy of cover. It was just her luck that the branches seemed to channel the rain today, rather than deflect it. Instead of umbrellas, the trees had turned into fountains.

  The moss underfoot was soaked in no time, becoming a squelching, slimy carpet. Bits of bark stuck to her boots, ferns flinging dew-drops of glitter as she pushed her way past. Birds alighted in the trees and fluffed up to stave off the brief cooling of tropical air. It was a colder rain than usual, not chilling by any means but if Shiloh hadn't been radiant from her hike it would have been a touch brisker than it was refreshing.

  Ducking through the dripping jungle, she emerged to a grassy expanse and stopped to take in the picturesque sight that greeted her. Across the clearing a pond carved a smooth glassy plane, and stepping stones defined a spotty path through the water to a gazebo planted at the center. The graceful stone frame was absolutely dripping with gold flowers – thick, twining rose-vines about the pillars and cascading tassels of wisteria dangling from the dome.

  Shiloh had never been here before. Charmed and keen on shelter, she crossed the clearing to the water's edge and traversed the stepping stones to the gazebo. Silver ripples bloomed around each raindrop that struck the water, a thousand perfect, spreading circles turning the pond into a kaleidoscope mirror. Stepping up onto the chipped ledge of the platform, Shiloh escaped the rain into the small garden dome.

  Wringing out her hair, she caught sight of a brilliant patch of artistic blue peeking out from beneath a layer of dead leaves that littered the platform. Curious, she used a boot to unearth the culprit, finding a beautiful mosaic inlaid in the stone. Spiraling layers of rich cobalt and burnished gold swirled like aerial waves edged in glitter, the fine, curved shards reminiscent of tightly-clustered rose petals. She crouched to run her fingers over the texture, taken once again by nostalgia.

  The Tribal had really done a number on this beautiful place.

  Shiloh passed her time waiting out the rain by uncovering the extent of the long-forgotten masterpiece, sweeping away the leaves and dusting off the textured layers with all the tedious care of some archaeologist on a groundbreaking dig. Then she sat atop her gleaming handiwork and tried to peg the pattern of the mosaic as rose petals or ocean waves, imagining it was an abstract map of the Utopian Sea and that glittering shard at the center was Paradise.

  After a time she rose to stretch her legs, gazing out through the pillars at the meadow now completely obscured by the downpour. It was then that she noticed the crystals of white that frosted the edges of the gold roses. Like snow, she thought, frowning at the oddity. She picked one to inspect it, holding the flower closer to her face. Smudging a petal between two fingers determined the frost to be a soft powdery substance. More like pollen than frost.

  Jayx had mentioned once that there was some manner of 'Winter' season in Paradise, during which the island was transformed by things like pale flowers and white pollen and fields of dandelion seeds. Was this a hint of that transformation, beginning to cast its spell on the island?

  She was so focused on a close-up of the frosted petal texture that she didn't notice the curtains of rain thinning, or the hazy form that came into play at the edges of her peripheral vision. But suddenly it dawned on her there was a figure-like tracing hovering in the murky distance she had tuned out, and a wash of foreboding bled down her spine.

  Bringing the figure into focus, she stared past the faded edges of the rose to a horn-crowned member of the island tribe. He stood in the flattened grasses of the water-logged meadow, vague behind the foggy, dripping air but all too stark against her Tribal radar.

  Of course he would come for her now. Now that she was cornered, trapped in a perfect little stone cage.

  The rose fell from Shiloh's grasp, a spatter of heavy velvet against the mosaic slab. Her fingers shot to the staff she had leaned against a pillar, her body humming with charged anticipation. She briefly questioned her sanity for ever seeking out this encounter, muttered something in her head about suicide, and then realized her only chance would be the element of surprise that came with her making the first move.

  Especially if that move was to dodge between the pillars of her cage and run for the hills.

  But something in her froze – a deer-in-the-headlights effect, perhaps, or maybe even some ill-advised tactic to lure him closer. The position Shiloh had put herself in glitched back and forth between victim and instigator in her mind, confusing her body, crossing wires between fight or flight, fight or flight.

  True to the slant of the board, the Tribal man sauntered closer. Spear in hand, saber at his side.

  Shiloh's chest tightened, her mouth going dry. This was it.

  And it really could be 'it' for you, you dimwit. She was an idiot. A reckless, glorious idiot.

  But as determined as ever to fell herself a Tribal trophy, and now extremely motivated to boot.

  Rippling with grunge-oiled muscle, the Tribal man crossed the meadow to the water's edge. As if his steps were lead-heavy, reverberating through the ground, a ripple vibrated out across the pond from the point where he stood. And there, a strange spell came over him. A shudder went through his body, and his eyes rolled partially back in his head. Shiloh's confidence wavered, recoiling a little, wondering what was affecting him. It seemed as though that might be the extent of it, but then his unfocused eyes glazed over, turning an unnatural, milky white.

  Nope, not doing this, came the quick-witted sentiment that volunteered itself. But it was already too late.

  As if possessed, the Tribal man's feet dragged forward, straying out onto the stepping stones. There was nowhere for Shiloh to go except into the water, or directly at him.

  At him, then.

  Her whole body tightened into a wad of nerves, and she rocked onto the balls of her feet, preparing to make her move. A crude attempt to calculate all the data of the scenario stuttered through her, like trying to dash past a swinging pendulum when there was music blaring in the background and she was counting to the wrong beat. One, two, off-by-a-million, GO!

  NO DON'T GO!

  It was wrong, all wrong. Common sense scattered from her brain like beetles running for cover, her feeble grasp on sanity rupturing into a million pieces to rival the mosaic at her feet. Her eyes went wide in utter, aghast terror at the quickly-escalating mistake she'd made.

  Hell on earth, that's some adrenaline...

  The il
l rush was astonishing, the thud of her heart almost bruising.

  Let fear serve as adrenaline. It's what Jayx always preached in his lessons. You could let it consume you, trip you up, or you could channel it and shift gears into the next level of human being.

  Time to see what you're made of, underneath it all.

  Each stepping-stone tier he conquered, Shiloh edged a step backward inside the dome, until her back pressed against a pillar. Ivy and petals tickled the hair on the back of her neck. The whole gazebo seemed to vibrate with her heartbeat.

  Two splattering heartbeats; one stepping-stone too close. Now. She bolted across the gazebo mosaic, thankful in some far-distant place of consciousness that she had swept away the dead leaves, lest she slip and slide over the decay-slick tiles. As it was, she had the traction she needed to dig in, push off, and vault up onto the railing to one side of the dome entrance. She lassoed a pillar with her arm and used it to sling her momentum around the column, over the rail, and to fly at her stalker from the advantage of the air. The silken sound of unsheathing metal punctuated a wordless battle cry as she swept out a knife and collided with his mass. She intended to swing at his head with her staff and stab downward with her knife on impact, but it was all so jarring and happened too quickly. While her staff connected with some point of his physique, she threw herself off-kilter as much as anything. As he toppled from the stepping stones she went down with him.

  They splattered across the concrete bottom of what proved to be a very shallow lake basin, spinning a few feet away from the path like rocks skipped over water. Shiloh's knife was lost in the spill, and she came up on her knees in the puddle-deep pond already feeling scraped and bruised and like she'd lost the upper hand.

  Strands of wet hair slung across her face, she sent her gaze to pin down how her adversary had fared. He was picking himself up likewise, training his milky eyes back on her, and for a moment they faced off like two wild animals on all fours, knee-deep in the fray of the wilderness.