by Lan Chan
I manage to salvage seven knives plus the one I mangled. Leura makes a face when she sees me carrying the knives in a pouch I fashion by holding out the front of my shirt.
“That’s really disgusting,” she says.
“I know. But there’s no way I’m going to stick them back into the belt until I clean them up.” It takes a moment for me to remember my cleaning kit was inside my backpack and is now probably kilometres away from here. I eye the bottle of water Cora is taking careful sips from.
“Don’t even think about it,” Cora says. “We’re already stretching our supply further than originally planned. You’re not wasting it on pretty accessories.”
That’s easy for her to say. She’s got a wicked-looking machete strapped to her belt, and though the handle is worn, the blade has been sharpened razor thin.
I’m already regretting my decision to team up with them. In the end, I have to settle for wiping the knives clean using any leaves I deem non-poisonous. By the time we set off, twilight has blanketed the forest. After an hour, I’m covered in a layer of sweat. The exposed skin on my face and hands is stinging from multiple scratches as branches swipe me along the way. On the bright side it’s not nearly as cold as I thought it would be, but I guess the denseness of the brush acts as a wind buffer.
Gage sets a quick pace for us. I hope he knows where he’s going. The Citadel sits atop a manmade plateau carved from what was once a mountain. Each of the six regions is spread around the mountain like the spokes of a wheel.
Gage walks with Leura at the front of the procession, with Cora in the middle. I lag behind with Micah and Sully, though I can feel Sully’s impatience at how slowly we’re going. Even sore and slightly limping, she could overtake us in a heartbeat.
As the light wanes, the shadows become longer, and every so often I spot a pair of feline eyes tracking our movements. I can still see well enough, but I want my night-vision goggles. It’s difficult to entertain the thought of one of the thieves adjusting the specs from my personal settings. I hate people touching my things.
“You okay?” I ask Micah. He hasn’t spoken to me in a while. I assume he’s giving me the silent treatment as punishment for the things I said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” I want to go on talking. To justify why I had to leave him behind. I want to tell him I see how sluggish his steps are and how often he rubs his eyes to keep alert. Only I don’t because then he’ll remind me he’s the reason we’re not alone anymore. Even though I wish we were.
Micah doesn’t say anything, but he slips his hand into mine and I know he’s forgiven me. He’s done a lot of that in the four years since Papa and Portia wed. Micah copped the brunt of my displeasure at our parents’ union because he was so young and always underfoot. He bore it with extraordinary patience, and soon I realised he was shadowing me because of some ill feeling towards his mother and sister.
Up ahead, Gage turns back towards us. His gaze falls on Micah and then on me holding Micah’s hand. For the last fifteen minutes, I’ve suspected Micah has been using me as a crutch to keep himself upright.
“Let’s find somewhere to get a couple hours’ sleep,” Gage says. I can almost believe he does it for our benefit if I ignore how heavy his own blinking has become.
“We should stay under the cover of the trees,” I suggest. More out of habit than any real fear of danger. It’s just second nature for me to be wary of any big open spaces the Seeders have left free of vegetation.
“Where do you suggest we sleep?” Cora says. “Curled around a tree?” She shakes her head at me and moves in the direction of a small clearing lit by muted moonlight.
“Oh, wow!” Leura says when we reach the clearing. It turns out the light isn’t from the moon at all. It’s bouncing off the petals of a dozen clumps of iridescent blue flowers that give off a heady scent of musk and vanilla. Very few of the flower heads are open, but the ones that are look to be the size of dinner plates. The closed buds resemble giant blue balls. They remind me of the luminous flowers the Seeders grow in the Citadel gardens to use in place of outdoor lights.
Gage shrugs. “It’s as good a place as any.” I beg to differ, but majority rules and my opinion holds very little weight. We go about setting up camp. Micah becomes lost in his own world of widgets and computer chips. Gage throws his sleeping bag on the floor.
“Done,” he announces. Leura rolls her eyes at him and it’s the first time I’ve seen him smile in, well, forever. I didn’t even know he was capable of smiling. When he catches me watching, his lips flat-line and then his sharp features settle into his usual scowl. I’m glad because I’m used to scowling Gage. Smiling Gage unnerves me and makes me confront the idea that underneath all the layers of animosity there might be a human. A human who believes with all his heart that I am the reason his father is dead.
“Do you want this?” Leura asks me. She holds out a thin sleeping bag with no lining in it whatsoever. “Cora and I can share.” I think of my waterproof, heat-reflecting, wool-lined sleeping bag that was stolen. This is the best the Farmers have, and she’s offering it to me.
“Wait, what?” Cora says. Leura elbows her in the ribs.
“Take it,” Leura insists.
I’m at a loss for words. I don’t want her to go without, but Micah hasn’t brought his sleeping bag along, and I can’t pass it up for his sake.
“Thanks,” I say. I wish I had something to offer her, but unless she needs a burn tended to, I am pretty much useless. I’m not used to owing people things, and I don’t like the feeling of being beholden.
Then I notice the girls gingerly touching sore spots on their arms where poisonous plants have scraped at them during the course of the day. Leura gratefully and Cora grudgingly accept a slather of cream each to tend their wounds.
I set up a sleeping spot for Micah and me close to the trees by draping soft fern fronds on the ground and laying the sleeping bag on top of that. Sully sniffs at the scented air, sneezes, and then stalks away to find somewhere less pungent to sleep.
Micah and Gage go off to set up the perimeter defences. It seems even I have underestimated the extent of Micah’s genius. He’s managed to build tiny electronic sensors with Velcro straps attached to them. The idea is to attach the sensors to trees around the camp in concentric circles. Each sensor only has a twenty-metre range, but spaced in rows of five, they’ll give us enough time to wake up and either defend ourselves or run.
The boys stomp through the trees on their return. I’m almost concerned something’s gone wrong until Micah bursts into laughter. How can they be enjoying themselves at a time like this? How dare my brother laugh at something a boy who hates me says?
“You’re making that face again,” Micah says. He loves saying that to me. In the beginning, it was an inside joke to make me feel better about my scar, but lately it has become his way of telling me to lighten up. I only wish I knew how to do what he wants. I can’t see a silver lining in this situation at all.
“Careful, Rory,” Leura chimes in. “If the wind changes, your face will stay that way.” She giggles and I find myself smiling back at her.
“That’s a lie your mother made up and you know it,” I say. Kadee used to tell me stories about the mischievous wind spirits that inhabit this land and how they would play tricks on people by freezing their face into whatever ugly expression they put on when the direction of the wind changed. “This is just my face. Get used to it.”
Cora mumbles something I can’t quite catch, but I can tell by her tone it’s not complimentary. Leura shushes her, but I just shrug and turn away to watch the trees. It takes me a second to realise when Leura comes up beside me.
“Hey,” she says. “Don’t mind Cora. She’s all bark.” I wave the explanation for her friend’s behaviour away. What do I care if Cora thinks ill of me? “Anyway,” Leura continues, “I just wanted to say thanks in case something happens and I don’t get the chance.”
“For what?” I say, gen
uinely perplexed.
“For Mum. Before your family, no one would hire her because of her leg, and I know it wasn’t your stepmother who chose to do so.” She turns reflective and becomes lost in grief. That’s when I know the reason she’s decided to go on walkabout is for her mother. Who did Gage and Cora come for?
“Who wants first watch?” Gage says.
“I’ll take it,” I say. “And Micah’s watch too. I’m not tired anyway.” Micah tries to protest, but I stare him down. He gives Gage a glance that seems to imply I’m being unreasonable again. I snatch the headpiece that serves as surveillance of the sensors from Gage’s hands and stomp away into the darkness.
“Watch out for that big patch of mud,” Micah calls after me, but he doesn’t follow.
The headpiece has been made to fit me perfectly. All of Micah’s inventions have been designed with me in mind. I don’t know how anyone besides Leura is going to be able to keep the headpiece on. More importantly, where has Micah managed to get the parts for this thing? Papa used to bring him broken things from the Citadel, but this seems way too advanced even for Micah. I get a sneaking suspicion that his hands were very busy while we were in the mansion.
Ten metres from the camp, my boot sinks into the ground. I yank and it comes back covered in mud. Great. I backtrack and choose a tree within hearing range of the camp as my surveillance spot and climb up its smooth branches. The occasional whisper I hear from the camp has stopped. They must all be asleep. When I look over, all I can see is the soft glow coming from the flowers. I wish Micah had brought along some kind of hologram maker. Or that we’d chosen a better spot to camp. This is too conspicuous for my liking.
After about an hour without incidence, I allow myself to relax enough to eat the rations Leura handed us for dinner. A small piece of cheese and a thick slab of sourdough bread. There was an apple too, but I gave Micah mine. Tomorrow I’ll have to start keeping an eye out for edibles as we walk.
In spite of my outward nonchalance earlier, I find myself dwelling on the scar. I would never let anyone see how much it bothers me. Not even Micah. If I do that then the Seeders would win. As if they haven’t already, says a derisive voice in my head. I run my fingers along my left cheek to my ear. I know every bump and snag by heart. If I hadn’t jerked so wildly as Jonah was branding me, the iron wouldn’t have caught my ear as well.
I shake my head to free myself of disturbing thoughts, and that’s when I notice the troop of tiny possums scurrying away from the direction of the camp. Each holds a glowing flower in its paw. I lie on my front across a couple of branches and peer down at them. They’re about the size of small melons and too small to register on the sensors as a threat. As I watch, they proceed to eat the flower heads, then start rolling in the mud hole. Over the next hour, other animals arrive at the mud hole too. Small foxes come and lick the dirt as though it’s the best thing they’ve ever had. Pygmy koalas crawl from their eucalypt homes, scoop up a handful of mud, and then disappear again.
Out of curiosity, I slide down the tree and scoop up a little mud with my finger. It’s wet and grainy. Feels like mud. I lick a little. Bleh! It tastes like mud. I wipe the rest of it on my pants and climb back up the tree. By the time my shift is over, I am dead on my feet. I nudge Leura awake for her two-hour shift and am out like a light.
In my dreams, I feel something light brush across the bridge of my nose. A wolf growls. Somebody shakes me violently. “Rory! Wake up! Wake up!”
I think it’s Micah, but I’m too tired to care. Very briefly, I feel myself being lifted and more shouting, but then I’m slipping into a haze. There’s a gentle pressure on my cheek for a second and then cold droplets of water splash on my face. My eyes open reluctantly to harsh sunlight and Micah’s anxious eyes peering down at me. Then he raises his hand and slaps me hard across the jaw. The impact clears the fog in my brain.
“What was that for?” I yell at him as I sit up. His face is grim in the soft glow of the flower light, and his attention goes to something behind me. I turn and my mouth falls open. During the night, the luminous flowers have bloomed. Hundreds of spiny, fist-sized black scorpions spill from the flowers and crawl all over the floor and on top of Leura.
Cora stamps on as many as she can whilst trying to drag away a still unconscious Gage. “Don’t just sit there!” she says. “Help me!”
Micah is there at once, and between the two of them, they make good progress dragging Gage across the clearing.
Sully continues to growl, but she’s confused about how to fight such small prey and she’s wary of the stingers on their backs.
I can barely push myself to a standing position. The world spins like I’m on a carousel and my gut wrenches. I cover my mouth to hold back the vomit and see two even marks at the base of my thumb. I’ve been bitten.
Cora pushes me out of the way as she comes back for Leura. The scorpions spill out in seemingly unending waves. I can only stare dumbfounded as she kicks and stamps on any that come too close. One of them drops on her right shoulder from up above. Cora swipes at it, and in doing so she loses her hold on Leura.
I watch in horror as a pair of scorpions crawl on Leura’s neck. They pause like they’re contemplating the softest part of her throat, and then simultaneously their tails sink into the skin under Leura’s jaw.
Twelve
Cora peers at me and for the first time I see fear in her eyes. This is what finally snaps me into action. I race over and a swat the scorpions away. More converge on us.
“Give me your machete!” I say. She hands it to me without question. “Get her out of here.” Then I turn, suck in a long breath, and leap into the flower bushes. A second crash disturbs the bushes and I know Sully is with me.
I start hacking at the flowers with all my strength. The plan works. The scorpions abandon their attack and turn on me to defend their home. I slash and stomp my way through two bushes before I feel the sting of the first bite. One of them has managed to crawl up to my knee. The area immediately goes numb. I fling the scorpion away and make my retreat.
By now, Cora has managed to move Leura away from the campground. Sully and I try to lure the scorpions in another direction, but they only chase me for a short distance. They seem unwilling to go too far from their home, and after a while, I’m able to find the others.
They’ve collapsed not too far away from the mud hole. If I crane my neck, I can actually see the clearing. We’re not far away enough for my liking, but there’s no sign of the scorpions, and neither Cora nor Micah look like they’d welcome the suggestion that we should move elsewhere.
Micah gives my hand a squeeze when I come to kneel beside him next to Leura’s unconscious body. Gage has finally woken, though he rubs his eyes with the balls of his palm as though he can’t shake the sleep.
“It must have been the scent of the flowers that knocked us out,” Micah says.
I try not to say I told you so about the choice of campsite. Micah hands me a water bladder and I take small sips. After a while, I actually feel worse so I stop drinking.
By mid-afternoon, Leura is still unresponsive. She was the closest of all of us to the flowers. In addition to the punctures in the soft flesh under her chin, she’s also been bitten on both her arms and on her stomach. The skin around each puncture wound has turned blue, as though she’s been punched all over. My knee and thumb are the same, though I don’t complain because it’s not too painful and I’ve gotten away lightly compared to Leura.
With each passing minute, I feel time bearing down on us, but I can’t bring myself to mention it. By rights, I should be unconscious too, and I’m so grateful I’m still functioning. Come to think of it, why am I not passed out? My head is still too light to be contemplating anything serious, so I give it up.
Oblivious to our dire situation, Sully decides she wants to play. Her wet nose pokes my cheek as she sniffs around me. I go to swipe her away, but she persists. I smell sulphur and salt on her breath. She’s been eating the mud
again. That’s when it hits me.
I spring from my seated position and startle the others. “The mud,” I say. “The animals were eating the mud to counter the effects of the flowers.” I’m awake because I had a tiny bit of mud. It must be an antidote to this paralytic state. I start limping towards the mud hole as Gage picks up Leura and follows. My knee injury becomes a handicap and I slip and smash my knee on a fallen log. The impact rattles me, and when I try to get up, there’s a wet patch where I was bitten. Is that pus or blood? I continue forward as sharp pains radiate from the bite and up my thigh.
At the hole’s edge, Sully dives right in like it’s the most fun thing in the world, but I tentatively scoop up a pea-sized smear and place it as far back in my throat as I can so I don’t have to taste it. My saliva swishes the mud around so I’m practically choking on it anyway. I try not to think of what else I’m eating as the salty sludge makes its way down my throat. I roll up my pants and slap a handful of mud onto my knee. The pulsing burn subsides dramatically.
I waste no time covering Leura’s bites with mud. Then Gage opens her mouth while I place mud into the back of her throat. We wash it down with some water, and I massage her neck to imitate swallowing. Now all we can do is wait and hope.
My nerves are frayed between my anxiety to keep moving and waiting to see if Leura wakes. We’re now a full day behind, and as the morning sun creeps over the canopy, I think about just grabbing Micah and leaving.
I crouch beside a now dozing Micah, my hands tucked neatly into the pockets of my jacket. My mind wanders to Papa’s desperate plea. He wants me to go to the Citadel and find Thomas Dempsey. I would sooner have him ask me to march into the heavily guarded seed silos than have to see or speak to Thomas. His sister may be the Chief Warden, but Thomas Dempsey is the mind behind almost all the significant seed modifications for the last half century. If there were any Seeder my mother would speak a bad word about, it would be Thomas.
