The nagging worry faded slightly as they moved out, though Liam quickly became aware of just how many holes had been torn in his uniform. The night’s breeze was cool and his exposed skin quickly began to prickle with goosebumps as they marched. After everything that had happened, however, he was not about to let such an insignificant thing bother him. By the time Scott called an end to the hike several hours later, he had almost forgotten about it.
They made camp at the neck of a narrow valley, spreading bedrolls amid the camouflage of thick trees. It did not appear many would be sleeping, though. Most of the militiamen simply sat among the trees and warmed their hands as they clutched their rifles. Even those that did lie down did likewise.
To Liam’s surprise, however, he found himself the center of attention before he even had a chance to unroll the thick blanket that served as his bedroll. Jenn and Kathryn descended from the treetops once he’d chosen a spot. Kathryn especially seemed thrilled to reach him, though her enthusiasm faded somewhat upon discovering that the blood caked in his hair was dried and no longer good for drinking. Jenn, on the other hand, simply sat alongside him and warmed his chilled fingers with her much warmer ones.
The attention paid to him did not end there. Nora and Julie joined him as well, the latter wearing a knowing, weary smirk as she adjusted her clothes to feed her daughter. Nora occupied herself with hushing a very drowsy Adam and pulled a few small snacks from her pack, though her focus was wholly on Liam as she did so.
“So,” Julie whispered at last, breaking the silence. She gestured vaguely at Liam’s chest with a finger. “Care to explain?”
He blinked in surprise, glancing down to examine himself. Nothing seemed to be out of place, however. A half-dozen small holes had been torn in the fabric, but other than a few bloodstains—black in the thin moonlight—there was aught amiss.
“Explain what?” he asked.
“How many times did they get you?” Julie said.
Liam shrugged and quickly tallied the holes in his shirt. Doing so forced him to expose his fingers to the cold and he promptly returned them to Jenn with a grateful smile once the inspection was complete.
“Nine, I think,” he said. Hesitating, he wiped a bit of the dried blood from his hair. “Well, ten if you count my head.”
The women stared at him, exchanging looks. Something about the reactions suggested there was something obvious he’d missed and Liam turned from face to face in growing annoyance.
“What?” he demanded.
“They shot you ten times,” Julie echoed slowly. “And you healed… just like that?”
Even Jenn and Kathryn were staring at him now and Liam squirmed beneath their gazes.
“That’s what I do,” he said. “You all know that.”
Slipping her arm around his, Jenn leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder. Opposite her, Kathryn snuggled close as well and grinned broadly up at him.
Julie, however, merely sighed.
“I’ve seen you shot, kid,” she said. “Back in Abernathy, remember?”
“Of course I remember.”
“They got you once? Twice? And you were limping and shaking for hours. And you’re telling me the Occs got you ten times and you still killed them all?”
“I… suppose? I mean, Jenn helped,” he said. Then, after an irritated growl from his left, he added, “Kathryn too.”
“Fast and strong,” the girl agreed. “Liam-blood. Faster and stronger.”
Drawing her knees up to her chest, she arranged herself against Liam’s side and closed her eyes contentedly. This left her conveniently oblivious to the steely eyed glare Jenn aimed her way.
“It’s true,” Jenn agreed. Her expression softened as she turned from Kathryn to look at the other women. “He’s healing faster. I noticed it when we attacked the Institute. Our enhancements are too; the plants react faster when I make them do things.”
Julie winced suddenly and glanced down at her nursing daughter. Then she paused, expression growing thoughtful as she turned to Nora.
“What about you?” she asked. “Anything changing?”
Nora started to reply, then faltered and shook her head.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But I can’t really practice, so…”
Julie chuckled suddenly, smirking as she turned her gaze back to Liam. “I guess it’s your fault, then,” she teased. “The man with the special… essence.”
Liam didn’t reply. They’d speculated about such things in the past, of course, but he’d mostly written it off as coincidence. It made sense that, like practicing with a rifle or growing accustomed to long marches, his enhancement would get stronger with practice. But the notion that he might have something to do with Jenn and Kathryn’s increased strength was somehow disquieting. He’d been content to believe that anyone’s blood could have empowered Kathryn and that Jenn’s talents had simply improved through practice, like his own. The alternative was uncomfortable.
Apparently, Julie could read his discomfort easily. Her smirk turned to a comforting smile as conversation died. Reaching over, she effortlessly plucked Adam out of Nora’s lap and pulled her son into her own.
“Thanks for the help,” she murmured. “We’re going to sleep while we can. You lot should do the same.”
Liam nodded numbly but did not rise, even when Julie and Nora did. Neither did Jenn, though she did pry loose some of the foliage-armor from around her neck and brow. Carefully arranging them as a pillow, she guided Liam’s head down. Kathryn was already asleep and though she stirred slightly, neither Jenn nor Liam made any attempt to dislodge her from his side. Instead, Jenn simply stretched out alongside him, her head on his chest as well. With an outstretched hand, she guided a pair of her vines and used them to retrieve the blanket from his pack. This she draped over them.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
Jenn did not answer aloud. She nodded, slipping a slim, vine-wrapped arm across his stomach.
“I love you,” he said.
Again, Jenn did not speak. This time, however, he felt the muscles in her cheek tense as she smiled.
***
The sky was significantly brighter when Liam awoke, though it took him a minute to realize this. Part of the delay was due to the dense canopy above him, but the remainder was due to the face peering down at him. He inhaled sharply, thrashing for a split-second before he recognized Scott’s features in the gloom. The man pressed a hand over Liam’s mouth and held a warning finger to his lips.
Pulling back, Scott glanced over his shoulder and handed Liam the rifle he’d left leaning against a tree the night before. At Liam’s expression, he cautiously waved him up into a matching crouch.
Liam glanced around. The whole of the militiamen were awake and similarly hidden, their attention focused on some spot in the distance. A few were staring down the sights of antique scopes, though most were unassisted.
Kathryn and Jenn were stirring. Driven by sudden panic, Liam clapped a hand over Kathryn’s mouth and held a warning finger up to his lips as the girl’s eyes snapped open. For a second, he thought she might bite him. Fortunately, she did not.
Jenn woke swiftly, retrieving the mossy pillow she’d constructed and pressing it to her collar. In an instant, the vines and bark began to interweave, securing her outfit into a single, continuous shell.
Only then did Liam turn his attention to the reason Scott had woken him. Even in the early morning light, he spotted the source of the disturbance instantly.
A column of soldiers who could only have been Occs marched along a narrow trail through the woods, several hundred yards away. There were dozens of them, at least fifty that Liam could see, and the front and back of the procession vanished amid the dense trees and sloping terrain, rendering their true numbers unknowable. Even more concerning was the intangible atmosphere about them. Where the Occ forces Liam had encountered before had been violent, well-armed, and cruel, there had als
o been a self-consciousness about them. In hindsight, it had felt as though they had been waiting for permission to exercise their authority.
These newcomers displayed none of the same reticence. They practically swaggered, carrying their pristine weapons with a professional comfort and seemingly unbothered by the terrain. Though they made no effort to move quietly, they did so anyway. Despite their nearness, Liam could not make out even a sound of their passing.
Meeting Scott’s eyes, Liam gestured cautiously—first at the Occs, then his eyes, then around at the militiamen. The question was clear.
Scott shook his head. No, the Occs were not searching for them. It should have been a positive turn of events but the man grimaced. It did not take long for Liam to grasp why. If the Occs were not searching for them, then they were headed elsewhere.
Namely, the very crossing that was their own destination.
Now, as always, the waiting was pure agony. Liam’s heart pounded as the column of Occs continued to pass by. And with each passing minute, his dread grew more intense. There seemed to be no end to the soldiers. Hundreds marched along in an endless stream, more souls than Liam had ever seen in one place. More than he’d seen in his entire life. It felt, for all the world, as though the entirety of the occupied territories had been displaced before his very eyes.
When at last the tail end of the Occ convoy appeared and then disappeared, it was Scott who breathed the most emphatic sigh of relief. He looked over, to the far end of the camp, and Liam quickly grasped the reason. Julie lay upon her bedroll, pale-faced and holding the mercifully silent Morgan against her chest. Her shoulders trembled and she made a weak attempt at a smile as they returned Scott’s gaze.
They remained in hiding for several minutes longer. When at last Scott rose shakily to his feet, the rest of the militiamen did likewise. Liam too, staggered upright, wincing at the ache in his legs and back. Jenn and Kathryn remained at his side, silent and waiting.
“They’re heading to the bridge, aren’t they?” he asked in a whisper.
Scott turned slightly, not quite looking at him. He nodded silently.
“How are we going to cross?” Liam asked.
Scott sighed, bowing his head and stroking the barrel of his rifle with a thumb.
“We’re not,” he said, at last. “That was at least two companies. Regulars, not conscripts. And I imagine they’ve got more coming from the north. Even if we had ten times as many men, there’s no way we’d even get close.”
“Is there anywhere else?” Liam said. “Another bridge?”
“Not nearby,” Scott said. He sighed, fidgeting distractedly, and Liam noticed several of the nearby militiamen eyeing their commander from the corner of their eyes. “But there’s a bigger problem. This crossing is nothing special. There’s nothing of value on the other side. But there’s no reason for the Occs to be sending reinforcements here unless they’re planning to cross. And our forces hold the other side.”
Liam’s sense of dread returned, bolstered by the memory of the casual professionalism of the passing soldiers. He didn’t want to know the answer, but the question reached his lips unbidden.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“It means they’re ready to fight. And I’d bet my left nut that every bridge from here to the basin has just as many Occs stationed there.”
Scott’s words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. Then, after a long moment of silence, he looked up and stared squarely at Liam for the first time that day.
“Can you swim?” he asked.
It was not a joke.
Chapter Four
A pronounced weariness hung over everything and everyone as the convoy departed an hour after sunrise. Though never given to much conversation, the lack of smiles or even whispers was painfully obvious, even to Liam who rarely noticed such things. As a result, those rare instances when the depressed atmosphere was broken stood out even more in his mind.
Even so, it was not until midday that he made any attempts at levity.
“I can’t swim,” Liam admitted.
Scott snorted and turned slightly to gaze at him from the corner of his eye.
“Figures,” he said. Sighing, the man returned his attention to the river flowing quickly in front of them.
Liam did likewise, struggling to ignore the hopeless dread growing in his gut. The river—the Tennessee, Scott had called it—was far, far broader than anything he had imagined. Its water was a dark, murky brown and stretched wide enough he had to squint to make out the individual trees crowding the opposite bank.
There would be no swimming it.
Fortunately, Scott was not frozen in the face of the river. He glanced around, spotted Jenn, and waved her over.
She came, crouching at Liam’s side and taking his hand with a gentle grin. No sooner had she done so than Kathryn, apparently bored with climbing and feeling left out, descended to straddle a nearby branch. She made no sound, but scowled slightly as she ruffled Liam’s hair with a foot.
Scott ignored her in favor of Jenn.
“We need to cross,” he said. “Can you make a raft?”
“A raft?”
Scott mouthed something that was probably a curse and launched into an explanation of what he was looking for. Jenn’s brow furrowed as she listened but she was already shaking her head by the time he finished.
“It won’t work,” she said quietly. “If you cut the wood like that, it’ll be too damaged for me to control.”
“What about vines?” Scott pressed her. “If I can get the wood to float, can you hold it together long enough to cross?”
Jenn fidgeted as she considered the matter. Her fingers tightened around Liam’s.
“Maybe,” she said, at last. “I think so.”
Scott nodded. “Good. How about if—”
“Boat.”
The single word, growled by one of the militiamen on lookout, took a moment to register. The instant it did, it sparked a flurry of frantic, less-than-stealthy movement. Scott and Liam threw themselves into the concealment of nearby trees, Jenn hauled herself up into the shroud of leaves above, and even Kathryn shifted into a readier position on her chosen perch.
The ensuing silence was tense and Liam was gratified to discover his fear was manageable. Peering out around the curve of the trunk, he cradled his rifle.
And waited.
The boat moved silently downstream, surprisingly graceful for a large vessel. A half-dozen men stood around on deck, carrying rifles and eyeing the riverbanks on either side with the efficiency of long practice. Several more were seated, steering and propelling the boat with long oars. These appeared ridiculously undersized to Liam’s eyes, but perhaps this was the point. The men worked deftly, and the boat drifted along without even a sound of disturbed water.
“Runners,” whispered a man to Scott’s left. He patted his rifle and lifted his brows questioningly.
Scott shook his head, then turned to regard Liam with a grimly serious expression.
“Keep out of sight,” he said.
Breathing deeply, Scott slung his rifle over his shoulder and stepped out of his hiding place. Before any of the men on the boat could spot him, he lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly.
The sailors reacted quickly. Several of the armed men dropped to their knees, rifles at the ready. Two others—the leaders, Liam assumed—began to converse quickly at the helm. Then, in a matter of seconds, they issued orders that Liam could not hear and the boat began angling toward them.
“Let’s pray this works,” Scott muttered, quietly enough that only Liam and the man nearest Scott on the opposite side could possibly have heard him.
Despite the boat’s size, the oarsmen managed to bring the vessel to a standstill approximately twenty yards from the shore. They remained at their posts, dropping their oars occasionally to keep from drifting with the current. The riflemen, however, shifted with each small adjust
ment, ensuring no fewer than three of them had clear lines of sight. They remained ready, fingers on triggers, even as a man in a long, tattered coat made his way to the forefront.
“Wèi?” the man called. His voice was quiet, just loud enough to reach them without carrying. Then, he leaned forward and squinted at Scott. “Or should that be howdy?”
“Either is fine,” Scott replied. “I’m looking to cross.”
The captain nodded and eyed the trees. Though Liam was fairly confident the man could not see him hidden amongst the leafy undergrowth, he couldn’t shake the sensation that the man was counting.
“How many?” the captain asked.
Scott hesitated, just for a heartbeat but long enough that Liam cringed.
“A few,” he said. “How much for two dozen?”
“Whatcha got?”
“I can spare a few rifles,” Scott said. “I also have bits, if you prefer.”
The captain shook his head. “Be too long ‘fore I can check em. Got any ammo?”
“None that I can spare.”
The captain muttered something over his shoulder to a man Liam couldn’t see. It was a moment before the man spoke again.
“Two dozen makes a’least two trips. M’trying to get south ‘fore everything goes to shit. Reckon you got anything else?”
Again, Scott hesitated. Then he sighed.
“Give me a second to check.” Stepping back from his exposed position, he glanced at Liam and Sessions, then jerked his head to indicate they should follow. Liam did so, fighting the urge to glance over his shoulder at the boat as Scott led them safely out of earshot. And, more importantly, out of easy rifle range.
“What do you think?” Scott asked.
“Well, we can’t stay here,” Sessions said, speaking first as he often did. “Longer we’re here, the more likely the Occs will stumble onto our trail. I don’t like it any more than you, Lieutenant, but I don’t see we’ve got much of a choice. Could be weeks before more Runners come through, if they come at all.”
Feral Empires: Fanning Flames Page 3
