Otherborn (The Otherborn Series)

by Anna Silver

  “You’re not going back there alone,” Rye argued. “What if the Tigerians are still out there? Lying low? Waiting? I’m coming with you.”

  London rolled her eyes.

  “What about London?” Tora reminded him. “She doesn’t need the extra hike.”

  “She can stay here. It’s not that far. We won’t be long,” he countered. “She can rest in the tunnel.”

  London knew Rye was only being practical, but she couldn’t ignore the sting of his words. That he would just leave her here. Alone. That he was choosing Tora over her. Again. She narrowed her eyes at him and secretly told herself that if he left, if he followed through with his choice, he wouldn’t find her there when he returned. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of coming back for her. Of making her the third wheel. She’d rather feed herself to the dogs piece-by-piece.

  Tora focused her x-ray stare on London, cocking her head so that her angled bob rested sharply along her jaw on one side. In that posture, she had all the precision of an eagle, dissecting London with her scalpel-green eyes. Slicing her to the core and peeling away the exoskeleton London had so carefully constructed out of years of harsh words and irreverent behaviors.

  London cut her dark eyes away. Something about Tora made her feel uneasy. Exposed. Something more than the Seer’s obvious crush on Rye. And she couldn’t shake the sense that, while she’d been unconscious, this girl had filled the space she’d left behind, had been Rye’s confidante, the steely presence that forged their little band together, the decisive one. It was unnerving to be replaced then examined and put under the microscopic watch of the one who had replaced you. So that all your thoughts and motives were brought to light. All your tender, lonely, protected places were made vulnerable. By the one who threatened you most, who could use them against you. She felt suspended in Tora’s gaze.

  “No,” Tora said simply, breaking the spell.

  London took a deep breath. Relaxed.

  “No what?” Rye asked confused.

  “She comes with us,” Tora added, scooping up the little bottle of water the other Outroaders had left behind.

  “But she’ll only slow us down,” he argued. “London, tell her. You’re better off here. Resting. We can be back before midnight.”

  London studied Tora as she prepared herself to leave, tightening her boot laces, stuffing the water in a leg pocket, checking whatever else she had on her and peering around the tunnel.

  “He’s right,” she said quietly to Tora, trying to put a finger on this girl she could not pin down. She thought Tora was only after Rye. But if that were the case, why did she keep helping London? Why not take this chance to ditch her, to have Rye all to herself?

  Tora glanced over her shoulder where London leaned against a tree, all curled in on herself.

  London could feel the Seer’s eyes searching her own, reading something there that even Rye, with all his years of knowing her, was failing to see. A spark of sudden understanding lit Tora’s face. She seemed to know what London was thinking…of leaving. And for even more unfathomable reasons, she seemed to care.

  “She comes or you stay. Take your pick, Rye.”

  Rye huffed with frustration. “This is madness.”

  Tora turned back to the light of an afternoon sun.

  “Come on, London,” Rye said, offering her a hand. “We can’t let her go alone.”

  London glared at Rye and didn’t budge.

  “Come on, you heard her.”

  “You could stay. We could stay,” London offered. She couldn’t resist the chance to hold onto to him. To prove to herself that what they felt back in her tiny room in Capital City was real. Was still there.

  Rye hung his head, but London was the one who felt defeated.

  “Why?” she asked him, so quietly that she knew Tora would never hear.

  He looked at her then, and his face was so heavy with anguish that his normally rail-thin frame seemed to swell with pounds of worry. “London,” he said, speaking as low as her. “This is our fault. We did this to them. Don’t you see? The Tigerians raided the camp because…because they were looking for us.”

  London swallowed. “You don’t know that. You’re just being over-analytical again.”

  He shook his head. “I do know that. And you know it too. Whatever’s going on, with us—with Avery, the Tigerians are a part of it.”

  “Why would the Tigerians be a part of picking us off? Tell me that, Rye.” London didn’t want to believe that she had brought this on the Outroaders, even if they were holding her hostage. Like she had brought it on Pauly. And Degan. And Avery. Like she had brought it on everyone. And why wouldn’t Ernesto have gotten her already, before they ever left Capital City? He’d had plenty of opportunities. In the tunnels, he could have had her and Rye together.

  “Because London, the Tycoons are a part of it.”

  ~

  They decided to move slow, as stealthily as possible, sneaking through the forest like prey animals wary of every noise, nearly slithering on their bellies like snakes.

  Tora whispered to the others, “We need to pick up the pace. Wherever he went to hide, Reginald will return to the old campsite with the others once he knows the raid is over. It’s what we always do. Raid. Return. Regroup. Rebuild someplace else. Raid. Return. Regroup. Rebuild someplace else. This is our way. The only way the Outroads affords us.”

  “No,” Rye whispered back. “There could still be gang members out here, waiting for the campers to reassemble. Waiting for us to show ourselves. We can’t take any chances. We need to move with caution. London can’t handle much more anyway.”

  London huffed even though it was true.

  “I just keep seeing him in my mind, lost and hungry and alone. Or crying in the darkness. Or lying in a pool of blood. He could be attacked by coyotes or hogs out here. I can’t shake it.”

  “Are you using your Sight?” Rye asked.

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know. It could simply be my maternal instincts kicking in. Reg is everything to me. I hate this snail’s pace. It doesn’t feel right. Like we’re going to be too late.”

  Rye frowned. “That’s the chance you took when you chose not to leave London behind.”

  “Maybe you could both stop talking about me like I’m not right here,” London fumed.

  She knew Tora could have chosen otherwise. Could have let Rye go with her alone, moved faster, assured herself sooner that her brother was all right. But something in London’s restless spirit full of shifting pain had pushed at Tora like an impulse, urging her to drag her along. Probably, Tora figured they hadn’t spent all this time defending her near-lifeless body only to let her slip away and get herself killed. London still didn’t understand her relationship to the Seer, but she was grateful just the same. “Thanks, by the way,” she muttered at Tora.

  Tora stopped and gave London a hard stare, “My Sight has yet to give me all the pieces to the puzzle, but I know enough to know that you and your friends are important. To the Outroaders. To Capital City. To me.”

  “And to the Tycoons. This raid has proven that,” Rye added.

  “We don’t know that,” London insisted.

  Tora looked at her, “Raids are common enough for the Outroaders. Gang raids. Even competing camp raids, though we haven’t faced one of those in these parts since before Harlan took over. Not to mention thieves and wanderers, solo Scrappers looking for an easy horde to steal. Even animals. But never, never, the Tigerians. Never so many. Never for so long. Never with so much gunfire.

  “The truth is, as much as the Tycoons might like to do away with the Outroaders altogether, the Tigerians like us. We serve a purpose. We scrap and trade, bringing goods from much farther outside the walled cities than most dare to venture. And the Tigerians would never raid without explicit instruction from the Tycoons. They would never roll their fleet of trucks so far outside the city walls unless they were given the fuel and ammo to do so. Everyone knows, the police, even the
presidential compound, are a sham. The real law in Capital City is the Tigerians.”

  “But how do you know it was us that drew the order for the raid? Maybe the Tycoons have finally decided to clean house, or forest, or whatever,” London said.

  “We’ve been at our present camp for nearly a year. Too long perhaps. We’ve grown lax. There’s been nothing new or different about it, about us or the camp, except Rye. And Zen. And Kim. And most importantly, you, London. Face it, the Tigerians aren’t after scrap goods or even the Outroaders. They’re after whatever you became when you stood next to me in that dream.”

  ~

  It was nightfall when the three of them finally inched up to the northeast end of the clearing. A pale moon provided some light, and the trees cast long shadows, striping the ground. Rye insisted they hang back under the cover of the brush for a while, scope things out a bit before revealing themselves. Then he and London would stay put while Tora collected Reginald and gathered whatever supplies she could locate before meeting them back at that spot.

  From where they crouched, a few torches could be seen blazing around the central pit, but there would be no big fires tonight. Many tents were torn or collapsed, and buckets and chairs were overturned. Bodies lay scattered from one corner to the next. The campers who had returned were slowly dragging them to the western end of the clearing where a large pit was being dug by several Outroader men. London recognized Clark among them.

  “They didn’t take much,” Tora whispered. “The raiders. They just shot everything up, but they weren’t scrapping.”

  It was more confirmation that Rye’s theory was true.

  “Look.” London pointed to a body two men had lifted and were carrying across the clearing. “That’s Harlan. Isn’t it?”

  Tora winced and looked away as they tossed Harlan’s body on the pile of corpses. “They‘ll have to elect a new Elder now,” she said.

  “I wonder who they’ll choose?” Rye whispered.

  “I don’t know, but without my guidance, the camp is blind,” Tora told them.

  “You can’t help that,” London tried to comfort her.

  In the center of the clearing, just outside the body pit, the injured were gathering to be tended to. Abigail had clearly survived the raid and had probably been one of the first back to camp, tending to those who needed her most. Her frazzled hair hung in limp, knotted strands from a tangled braid, and her puffy face was flush with the intensity of her work. She barked orders to those around her, putting new stragglers just returning to camp to work as soon as they showed themselves.

  “I should be helping,” Tora whispered. “I feel like a traitor.”

  Rye started to comfort her when two men broke apart and made their way toward the east end of the clearing to drag fallen bodies back to the other side for burial. The first, a tall, slim man in overalls and mismatched shoes, had a deep, carrying voice that reached the three where they cowered under the cover of forest and darkness.

  “You heard Abby. It’s them Wallers’ fault. They brought the Tigerian trucks here. Led ‘em straight to us.”

  The second, who was shorter and a little younger, and marked by a blonde, fuzzy goatee, grunted as he lifted the ankles of a fallen woman. “Yeah, well, let ‘em show their faces round here now. They’ll get what’s comin’ to ‘em without Harlan and his precious Seer here to defend ‘em.”

  The other man shrugged. “Won’t be here past the mornin’ anyhow.”

  Then they shuffled off to deposit the woman at the mass grave.

  “Tora,” Rye whispered once the men were gone. “Tora, you can’t go in there. You heard that. It’s not safe.”

  “I have to find Reginald,” she answered. “Abby would never hurt me.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” London said. Suspicion came naturally to her. “Besides, who said anything about hurting you? It’s us I’m worried about. Those people in the tunnel, they know you helped us. You go in there, we’re doomed. They’ll never let you just waltz into camp without any explanations.”

  Just then, a shot fired through the dark, nearly sending London and Rye out of their skin. Through the clearing, they saw Abby bent over a body among the wounded, a rifle in her hands. The barrel still pointed at the person’s head.

  “What the hell is going on?” London demanded in her loudest, quiet voice. “They’re shooting people out there, Tora, shooting their own! And you don’t think that woman would hurt you?”

  Tora cast her eyes downward. “They’re mercy killings. For the mortally wounded. No point in letting them suffer.”

  “You can’t treat them? Give them medicine, a chance?” London asked, bewildered by what Tora called mercy.

  “We used the last of our antibiotics the other day,” Tora said, squaring London in her green gaze. “On you.”

  London didn’t respond. What could she say?

  But Rye was suddenly full of questions. “That’s what the tension was all about in your tent that night, the fight between you, Harlan, and Abigail. When you argued to use the dose on London, you, in turn, sacrificed one of your own.”

  Tora’s eyes went soft. “Abby understands the sacrifice better than anyone else ever could. By asking her to be London’s savior, we asked her to be another’s executioner.”

  A man emerged from the western end of the camp, a small form draped across his open arms. He laid the bundle down at Abby’s feet, and Rye watched as she passed off the gun and knelt beside it, stroking its hair with a tenderness she had not afforded her other patients.

  “Reg?” Tora whispered.

  It was hard to see in the dark, but London was certain she could make out the still form of a boy about nine or ten. And by the Healer’s reaction, she guessed it to be Tora’s brother, who she learned had been staying with Abby while she was unconscious in Tora’s tent.

  “Is that him?” London asked. She’d been out cold for most of their stay in the camp. She wasn’t sure what Reginald looked like.

  Tora nodded and started to jump up, but Rye grabbed her shoulders, forcing her back down. “Tora, don’t. There’s nothing you can do for him that Abby can’t. You’ll only expose us and risk your own life.”

  “I have to,” she snarled at Rye. “He’s my brother!”

  “Tora,” London added, trying to help Rye out. “Rye is right. These people don’t consider you their friend right now. You heard those guys. You helped us. You were with us, hiding. They’ll hold you responsible, whether you give us away or not. It’s the next best thing to punishing us. You can’t go back there. Not now.”

  Tora stilled under London’s words, but they weren’t sure how long they could convince her to lay low. They couldn’t carry Reginald with them, too, not with London already slowing them down.

  But before they could formulate a plan, they watched Abby slowly rise and motion with one hand for the gun.

  “No,” Tora mouthed a breathy protest. Her eyes transfixed on the horror unfolding before her.

  Rye gripped her firmly from behind as she tensed, like a coil ready to spring. But he couldn’t cover her eyes.

  Her penetrating gaze fixed on the Healer as Abby lowered the gun to the boy’s forehead, looked away, and fired once.

  In that instant, London reached up and wrapped her hands around Tora’s mouth to stifle the scream that would have erupted through the camp, alerting everyone to their presence. It was a callous, self-centered move, but she’d done it to protect Tora as much as herself. She only regretted that she wasn’t strong enough in her condition to hold the girl’s mouth with one hand and cover her eyes with the other.

  They sat like that for an ungodly length of time. Rye pressed against Tora’s back, his arms wrapped around her chest, fixing her to the spot. London with both hands clamped firmly over Tora’s mouth, feeling the trickle of hot tears spill across her fingers. And Tora, with her evergreen stare, watching the life seep out of Reginald and into the sandy loam below.

  When at last they were cer
tain she had recovered enough control that they could trust her not to bolt the second they slackened their grip, Rye and London both eased off, giving Tora as much space as their little spot in the brambles could afford.

  In the darkness, the whites of Tora’s eyes shone like polished marble beneath a glaze of tears, and a chill London had not placed before ignited behind the green glass irises that probed with such abandon. London knew that chill. It was the same she had adopted when her father left. And her mother became a catatonic drunk. And Pauly was murdered. It was the chill that took up residence in the eyes of those who had witnessed the worst in others: betrayal, rejection, cruelty, and death. London felt she had seen death so many times now, it was like an old acquaintance. One she felt far more comfortable with than love or joy. Seeing that same chill in Tora made one thing unavoidably clear to London. Like a plague, she had infected somebody else. She had contaminated Tora.

  Tora turned slowly and moved away from the edge of the clearing, back the way they’d come, heading deeper into the woods. She paused for a moment, maybe sensing Rye and London’s need to say something, anything to acknowledge the atrocity of what she’d just experienced. But neither of them had the words to do so.

  Instead, she looked between them with callous resignation, her gaze burning straight to the black-eyed being they all knew dwelled somewhere inside of London, “Whatever it is you’re here to do, make sure it was worth my brother’s life.”

  NINETEEN

  Confessions

  “Where will they go now?” London asked in dry whispers across the little fire. They’d built it over a small patch of earth a ways east of the tunnel where they’d spent last night, once they were certain it wouldn’t be seen.