“I don’t know. I didn’t do it.”
Ruiz gritted his teeth and aimed the gun. The marines flinched. “Who else is in on it? Tell me!”
“I don’t know!” He meant it. If the torpedo exploded, they would all float to the earth as burning confetti. Hosanna would track their debris for miles.
The walkie-talkie crackled. “Sir!”
With his free hand, Ruiz tapped the button. “Go ahead.”
“The launch sequence has started! We cannot abort from the bridge! Someone has to do it manually!”
“Fuck this.”
Ruiz lowered the gun and darted toward the torpedo chamber. “Keep him here,” he said. As soon as he entered the room, his footsteps stopped, as if he’d run straight into a wall. The marines stiffened.
“Sir?” one of them said.
The lieutenant commander emerged at the threshold, walking backward, his hands behind his head. The walkie-talkie continued babbling, but Ruiz did not answer. “Come in, sir! Bridge to Ruiz, come in!”
The silencer of a pistol was plugged in Ruiz’s open mouth. He made a stifled choking sound as he backed up another step.
Fuck. This was not part of the plan.
Mort(e) the Warrior stepped into the hall, using the pistol to lead poor Ruiz by the lips. “Drop your guns on the deck.” Mort(e) said.
The marines placed their rifles on the floor. “Flat on your stomach,” Mort(e) said. “You can relax. The torpedo’s fine. Just a false alarm.”
While the marines splayed themselves on the deck, Mort(e) tore the walkie-talkie from Ruiz’s jacket and tapped the button. “Maintenance crew here. Situation is under control.”
“Who is this?” came the response. Mort(e) slammed walkie-talkie on the floor and smashed it under his boot.
“You said there was another way out,” Mort(e) said.
“There is,” Falkirk said. “Come on.”
Mort(e) gripped Ruiz by the collar. “You come with us. Hope you brought a parachute.”
Ruiz gasped. His teeth clicked against the silencer.
Falkirk rushed into the torpedo room and dislodged the deck plate right by the door. Underneath, two packs waited. As Falkirk handed one of them to Mort(e), the cat yanked the gun from Ruiz’s mouth and pointed it just past his shoulder. Falkirk turned in time to see one of the marines reaching for his rifle. Mort(e) fired. The silencer coughed in Falkirk’s ear, the shockwave so close it felt like a punch to the face. The marine returned fire. Bullets sparked off the ceiling. Mort(e) dragged Ruiz while shooting wildly, hitting nothing. Falkirk followed, staying low as another round shattered a light above his head. The three of them met at an intersection, where they took cover at the corner. The fire alarms blared, with the track lights blinking red.
Ruiz went limp. Only Mort(e)’s knobby hand on his collar held him up. The color drained from the human’s face. Falkirk saw a glistening red patch on the Ruiz’s shirt. He immediately clamped his hand over it.
“Ruiz! Ruiz, I’m sorry!”
The human coughed. His face twisted with rage. “We trusted you . . . you betrayed us.”
“We have to go!” Mort(e) said. He dragged Ruiz along, leaving a trail of blood. Ruiz groaned, his voice squeaking as the pain grew unbearable. Falkirk walked at his side, his hand stopping the blood. It felt so hot that he thought it would burn his palm.
“So sorry,” he kept saying. “I’m so sorry.”
“Where is it?” Mort(e) said.
“Two more doors. Keep going, I’ll catch up.”
At a bulkhead, Falkirk found a control panel and tapped in the code 0105—a panic code when the hull was compromised. A door sealed off the corridor, buying them some time in case the marines followed. When Falkirk was finished, he gazed at his bloody fingerprints on the panel.
Mort(e) waited at the end of the hall, Ruiz lying at his feet as if dropped from above. On the door behind them, yellow tape stretched across the threshold, warning people to stay away. Falkirk pushed Mort(e) aside and entered an override code into the keypad.
“You were supposed to drop out of the torpedo hatch if I didn’t make it,” Falkirk said. “That was the deal.”
“You need me,” Mort(e) said. “But I need you too.” He tapped the side of his head with his finger. Falkirk understood. The old cat really was going crazy—crazier than before, crazy for real this time. And he could not see this through by himself.
When Falkirk finished the code, a green light blinked over the keypad. The double doors creaked open, tearing the yellow tape in half. A howling wind sucked through the hallway, flattening Falkirk’s fur against his body. The whistling sound grew louder and louder.
“You sure about this?” Mort(e) said.
“Don’t worry!” Falkirk shouted. “We’ll fit!”
The doors opened to reveal what was left of a supply room. In the middle of the floor, a giant gash bisected the room—courtesy of the anti-aircraft guns at Camp Echo. Though narrow, with jagged metal pointing toward the ceiling, the hole could fit a grown husky and a house cat.
Ruiz remained on the ground, squinting against the wind tunnel they had created. Another siren went off, this time alerting the crew to a breach in the hull, a drop in pressure.
Mort(e) checked the buckles on his parachute. Falkirk pulled a roll of gauze from his backpack. He knelt before Ruiz and unspooled the fabric. He stuffed the wound with it, and the blood changed the white cotton to bright red on contact.
“Get away from me,” Ruiz groaned.
“Time to go, Captain,” Mort(e) shouted.
“We’re going to level everything,” Ruiz said. “We’re not taking any chances with you people this time.”
A despair washed over Falkirk that almost felt blissful in its completeness. He wanted to leap from the ship and let the wind carry him to the snow. The white takes you. The white takes you.
He forced himself to his feet. Mort(e) grabbed his bicep and pulled him along. In a daze, he stood there while the cat inspected his buckle. Mort(e) showed his approval with a pat on Falkirk’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Captain. He might survive. Now let’s finish what you started.”
The cat leapt through the gash in the floor, vanishing.
Falkirk stood over the opening. He turned toward Ruiz, then stopped. No. No need to look at the human again. It was over. That bridge had burned. He could only move forward now.
He took a deep breath, held it until his lungs felt ready to burst. He let himself fall through the opening. The ship lifted away as it released him. A terrible wind screamed in the voice of every person he had ever known.
PART III
Reunion
Chapter 12
Ken-ra
The lead scout barked, a signal for the others to stop. Mercy stood at the center of the single file line they had formed, where she would be safest. From there, she worked her way to the front. Her pup, the heir to the Mudfoot, rested in a canvas pouch strapped to her shoulders, where his sleeping body warmed her fur and his milky breath blew in her ear.
At the front of the line, Augur knelt by a rusted piece of metal protruding from the dirt. The lead scout, Creek, pawed at it, revealing it to be a train track. Though the overgrown grass covered the rails, the human engineers had built them to last decades. The bed of rocks and the sturdy wooden ties kept the railway intact.
Soon the entire party arrived: her bodyguards, Carsa, Mag, and Quick; the humans Friar and Preeta; and a wet nurse, the stray dog from Hosanna. The little one had quickly developed a big voice and could give away their position if they did not satisfy his thirst.
Urna arrived at the gathering last, carrying something in her mouth. Mercy bared her teeth while lowering her tail, which told Urna to keep still. Instead, Urna dropped a clutch of yellow flowers at her feet. They were the ones after which she was named. Her expression sa
id, Look!
They had not seen these flowers since the Damnable turned them all to dust. Mercy acknowledged Urna by exhaling loudly from her nose. They had more important things to worry about.
Every year, the Lupine Confederacy held the ken-ra in a different place, with the location announced at the last minute to throw off spies from Hosanna. This year, the directions they sent to the packs were simple: find the old train tracks and follow them north. How far exactly? You’ll know, came the response.
For as long as she could remember, Mercy had heard stories of the ken-ra. Dregger had attended every year since the Change. On his return, he would regale the pack with descriptions so detailed that the children listened with their paws half-covering their faces. Dregger told them of the marauders decorated in their finest war paint, the elders and their horrific scars, from missing eyes and ears to entire limbs sheared at the joint. The powerful cavalry riding on enslaved horses, the stallions so loyal that they would take a bullet for their master. For days afterward, Mercy’s sons would pretend to be the great warriors from their father’s stories. She would have to separate them when they fought over who got to be a Mournful, who got to wear red paint, who carried a scimitar.
Upon finding the train tracks, Augur ordered them to stop gawking and to march in their original order. For all they knew, a rival clan hoped to ambush them at this very spot. With the extra weight she carried, Mercy was grateful that her human companion took charge of the situation without waiting for instructions. He simply knew, like he knew everything. The scouts took their positions at the lead, the stronger but slower warriors at the rear, with Mercy and her inner circle of Urna and the wet nurse tightly packed at the center. Not an ideal formation, especially so far outside of Mudfoot territory. But after today, they would not need to worry about any of that.
Mercy wanted her sister to walk closer, but Urna maintained her distance. She was slow to accept the pup as her nephew. Upon first meeting him, she sniffed the pup and then stared at Mercy, waiting for an explanation. Mercy would not offer one. The Mudfoot had a future again, and Urna, of all people, would not be the one to question it. After the ken-ra, the baby would grow stronger by chasing Urna, wrestling with her, nibbling on her ears. Urna would serve the pack by making the child feel safe.
After a few miles, Augur allowed Mag and Quick to take the lead. Though he walked on two feet, Augur maintained a crouching stance with his fingertips touching the earth, so as to stay under the grass that rose on either side of the tracks. When Mercy reached him, he walked alongside her. He reached inside the pouch and stroked the pup’s head. Mercy could not picture Wex ever doing such a thing. The Damnable, and his lust for power, left him devoid of any affection. Even the act of mating seemed a nuisance to him, a task no different from patrolling the perimeter at nightfall.
As Augur leaned in to let the pup sniff his nose, Urna whined a little. She clawed at the dirt and wheezed. It meant, Are you scared?
Mercy huffed a quick no. But it really meant, Don’t ask.
“There’s no need to be scared,” Augur said.
Urna rolled her shoulders forward, bared her teeth, pointed her ears. All of those things together meant bad wolves.
“We liberate the wolves today,” Augur said. “The true wolves.”
“Did the Toqwa ever go to the ken-ra?”
“At first. But they saw where things were headed. Like your clan did. Only a matter of time before the Confederacy surrenders to Hosanna. In one way or another.”
Augur had spoken of the various pack leaders who secretly worked for the humans. Were it not for the Damnable cutting off their territory, Wex and his band of traitors would have surely sought their help as well, all while claiming to uphold the traditions of the Mudfoot. In many ways, the humans encouraged the hatred for Hosanna, so long as it allowed their clandestine wolf allies to maintain control.
“Dregger, no,” Mercy said. “Dregger never would have.”
“And now he is dead,” Augur said. “Quite the coincidence.”
Dregger so rarely spoke of his difficulties as leader. He believed that this protected Mercy when it actually controlled her. If only he had trusted her, perhaps they could have stopped Wex, saved her children. But then—
The thought forced her to slow her pace as she contemplated it.
—but then she would not be here, with this human who did trust her.
“I want to see horses,” Urna blurted out.
Mercy realized that her sister had never seen one before.
“Want to ride a horse,” Urna added.
Augur laughed. “You might, actually.”
At the front of the line, the scouts patted their feet on the ground—a warning. And this time, whatever they saw was so close they didn’t dare bark. Augur dropped to his knees and raised a fist, signaling the party to stop. Mercy’s tongue went dry while her tail danced about in a panic.
The pup’s cries began as a breathy whimper that drummed against Mercy’s spine. She heard something behind her. Turning, Mercy spotted the wet nurse approaching. This dog from Hosanna had become too clingy for Mercy’s taste, and her footsteps made too much noise. To make her stop, Mercy peeled her lips back to reveal her fangs. While the dog obeyed, the pup continued to cry out for his milk. Mercy tried to wriggle the pouch free. Augur’s warm hand on her side steadied her. With a tenderness she had never witnessed before—and could never imagine in a human—he lifted the pup, held him under his chin. He nodded to Urna, who leaned in and licked the pup. Mercy joined them, and the three formed a cocoon, shielding the young one from the dangers that awaited. They allowed the wet nurse to enter the circle so she could do her job.
In the vapor of their collective breath, Mercy felt the last barriers between her and these humans falling away. It was like Augur said: they were one people, with the same hearts pumping the same blood, the same story on the same land. The pup fell silent again, his head lolling to one side.
Some time passed—Mercy could not know how long. The scouts barked again, this time signaling that the danger had passed. The pack began to move at the moment that the pup fell asleep. Augur returned him to the pouch on Mercy’s back and gently ran his thumb along his forehead. No more words were needed. They continued along the dead railway, their footsteps so soft that the wind carried them off. Within minutes, the pup began to snore.
The distant howls began when the scouts came upon the remains of a collapsed bridge. An intricate web of vines had choked the concrete pillars of the structure until the middle gave out, leaving a pile of twisted rubble on the tracks. On top of the pile, two wolves stood guard, holding shotguns. Their howls summoned more wolves behind them, who answered with calls of their own. Judging from their yellow and red face paint, their bone necklaces, and the scimitars strapped to their belts, the guards came from the Mournful pack. As Mercy expected.
There was no point in approaching cautiously. The wolves at the summit already knew of their arrival. The howls invited them in, daring Mercy and her people to trust them.
The calls got louder when the guards saw the humans among the Mudfoot. To show they meant no harm, Augur and his comrades walked upright, arms outstretched. This small pack must have resembled the humans from thousands of years ago that Augur described, a pack with no hierarchy, only allies and friends, protecting one another through the long winters.
These guards would never understand any of that. Aiming from the hip, they pointed their rifles at the approaching party, something they never would have done to Dregger. The wolves had banned violence from the ken-ra. This one time a year, enemies would face each other as equals, as cousins. Or so she hoped.
The guard who seemed to be in charge pointed to Augur. “Not you. Wolves only.”
Mercy’s inner circle gathered around her. The wet nurse hid behind Carsa. Mag and Quick formed a wall in front of their leader. Urna pressed c
lose to her, shaking, but still holding herself together. All at once, they rose to their hind legs. Mercy decided to do it this way in case they needed to reach for their weapons. Besides, they already stuck out too much. Might as well do this one thing to show they meant no harm.
Augur removed his backpack and gave it to Mag. This startled the guard, who raised his shotgun. As Augur stepped away, the guards whispered to one another nervously. One of them said something about the Damnable. All these wolves believed the Mudfoot carried a disease of some sort. Mercy took some pleasure in their fear.
“I hope they like the gift you’ve brought them,” Augur said.
Before Mercy could respond, the pup squirmed in his pouch. The guards craned their necks to see. Augur reached for the baby and stroked the space between his ears. “You’ll know what to do,” Augur said.
“Yes,” Mercy replied.
He cupped his hand under her chin. She licked his cheek.
Mercy climbed the wall of rubble. The first guard waved her through, along with the rest of the wolves. As they made their way along the tracks, more marauders emerged from the trees. They quickly formed a gauntlet, barking and sneering. Some of them dropped to their front paws and growled so viciously that puddles of spit formed beneath their mouths. The pup awakened and immediately cried out for milk. The wet nurse reached for him. Mercy’s hand shot out and grabbed the dog’s wrist.
“No time for that. He will cry if he must.”
The Mudfoot tightened their small formation. The twins appeared the most nervous, with their eyes darting about, assessing all the threats around them.
“They’re children,” Carsa said. “Little brats trying to scare us.” She shook her fist at them. “You were sucking from your mother’s teats last spring!”
The tracks curved around a bend and ran along a rusted chain-link fence. The clearing in the trees spread out to reveal a dilapidated train station made of brick, with a partially collapsed roof, blown-out windows, and a dust-coated interior strewn with debris.
Malefactor Page 21