The supplies Pastor had given them contained enough sustenance for a six-week trip. Despite that, Robinson felt something was missing. It wasn’t the caloric intake or the lack of nutrients—those things were perfectly calibrated for he and the mute sister. It was the taste. It was bland. Robinson remembered how much Pastor enjoyed food while on the road. Something about providing it yourself made it taste better.
After seven days of eating the pasty provisions, Robinson had enough. He longed for something different. He wondered if the mute sister was feeling the same itch.
“Any desire to do some hunting today?” he asked.
For the first time, the mute sister looked at him and nodded. As she reached for her bow, Robinson tilted his head to the sky and whistled for Scout. He was surprised when the mute sister touched him and shook her head.
“Want to do it the old-fashioned way, huh?” Robinson asked. “All right.”
It was midday, and a slight breeze came in from the north. They set off downwind and worked their way back toward the river they knew was a quarter mile to the north. After a quarter turn, Robinson stumbled upon some small tracks and pointed them out to the mute sister. She shook her head and pinched her nose. Skunk. Definitely didn’t want that on the menu.
They kept going, moving through the dry brush until they saw a rocky outcropping at the foot of a grassy field. As they moved closer, however, Robinson noticed a small dark burrow under the vegetation. Given its size and location, there was little question it was the den of a prairie rattler.
The mute sister drew Robinson’s attention and then signaled that she was going around the left side of the outcropping while he went to the right. He had a sense of déjà vu, remembering how they used to hunt together. There was no urgency to their actions, no communications or signals needed. And yet they moved in unison, eyes on a common goal. A goal that resonated in the lower part of every person’s brain. To hunt. To feed. Nothing built the bond between people better.
Sweat slid down Robinson’s cheek as he crouched in the low grass. His head moved slowly from right to left until he saw it. The animal stood sixty meters away chewing on a shrub. At first he thought it was an antelope. Then he saw the white fur on its rump and the lateral horns. Pronghorn. That was its name.
Robinson reached for the bow at his back before remembering he’d left his at the City of Glass. Though he itched to use the newfangled pistol, it seemed an unfair advantage. Instead, he pulled his sling from the loops of his new trousers. He was about to slip a rock into the sling when something moved in his peripheral vision. The mute sister. She’d already notched her bow and was settling in for a shot. The competitor in Robinson urged him to fire first, but he saw the stern look of concentration on his companion’s face and knew she needed this far more than he did.
The pronghorn’s head tilted up as the mute sister rose. For a fraction of a second, the two locked eyes. Then the string went twang. The pronghorn jerked and fell.
Robinson reached the kill site first, and like expected, the arrow had found its mark. A short spurt of blood pumped from its punctured heart before going still. He held up the wand Pastor had given him to ensure the pronghorn was affliction free.
“Thought you’d be out of practice,” Robinson said when the mute sister closed. Only she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking down.
“What is it?” Robinson asked.
The mute sister pointed to a trail at her feet and a pair of fresh boot tracks.
“Are these from last night?” Robinson asked.
The mute sister shook her head, pointed toward the sun and tapped her wrist twice.
Two hours before noon.
She pointed west, to the highway they’d spent all morning traveling down. Her point was clear. Someone had stood there to watch their approach. The footsteps led back to the east, presumably toward the river.
Was it chance that someone had happened upon them? Robinson wasn’t sure, but he hoped that was the case. The alternative meant someone had been waiting for them, and that made Robinson very nervous.
Chapter Forty
Allegiances
Pastor had always felt like an outsider in the City of Glass. On this day, he might have easily passed for one of its citizens, meandering through the vibrant streets, head down, lost in contemplation. With the sun casting the scarred half of his face in shadow, one might have thought him an artist deliberating his latest sculpture or a scientist meditating the plausibility of astral projection. But he wasn’t. The truth was he’d had trouble sleeping the past few days, and the stark reality of his situation was only now washing over him. He had betrayed a friend. It wasn’t something he set out to do. But he had done so in the name of duty. And now he was wondering if he could live with the decision.
Pastor liked the boy. Crusoe reminded him of the man he once envisioned himself to be. Strong willed and stubborn. Principled but impetuous. Someone capable of navigating both the treacherous roads of the world and the dark depths of its people—all while maintaining a compass reading of truth north. Pastor hadn’t been that man in nearly two centuries.
On the surface, the City of Glass did more than deliver on the promise of utopia. It was, for all intents and purposes, the crowning glory of mankind. Grander than the Parthenon or the Colosseum. More beautiful than the canals of Venice, more striking that the Pyramids of Giza. It was esthetically flawless even in its ever-changing form, the extant culmination of human endeavors. But underneath, its heart beat to a different pulse, one of pride and indifference.
In truth, he’d grown to loathe the place even though he knew he’d never leave it.
It was at that moment Pastor saw a familiar face moving through the crowd.
“Gesta!” he called out.
The curly haired man looked in his twenties, but Pastor knew him to be several years older than him.
“I’m running late,” Gesta said, frowning as Pastor fell in beside him. “What is it?”
“Have you heard any news?”
“About? Ah. You know as much as I do. Your young friend is on his way to … Arkansas, isn’t it?”
“Missouri. I thought perhaps Lysa had one of her birds following him.”
Gesta chuffed. “I think you overestimate her interest in the youth. Besides, as far as I know, the only person to send drones beyond the border is you.”
“Drones were available before pandemic. I was operating within my guidelines.”
“Semantics. Lysa was kind enough to agree to let your pale companion accompany the boy, and you took advantage of her goodwill. The girl should have been enough.”
“The girl is mute. That’s the only reason Lysa signed off on it. Because even if she’s captured by all the mysterious boogeymen out there, she wouldn’t be able to blab our secrets.”
Gesta ground to a halt. “I grow tired of your sarcasm. And, as usual, you miss the point. These comings and goings have the body on edge. Your infatuation with the outside threatens the prosperity we’ve enjoyed here for over two hundred years. One would think, given the many ways you’ve benefited from that prosperity, that you’d at least be inclined to cede to the oath you made.”
“How have I not?”
“I really don’t have time for this,” Gesta said as he continued walking. Pastor rushed to keep up with him again.
“You act as if it was my decision to send the eight. Need I remind you—”
“Please, no. The eight was one of the worst decisions to come out of the body in some time. Many of us saw the writing on the wall before the wagons were hitched, but some voices only carry so far. The point is you carry on as if you’re still out there, searching for answers when we have all we need.”
“What answers?”
Gesta looked around as if he’d said too much. Even he isn’t beyond paranoia, Pastor thought.
“Talk to me, Gesta,” Pastor said, pulling him into an alcove. “What do you mean?”
“It means is you’ve done your
part, and we’ve done ours. Now, we must all continue to serve the city and the lands beyond. Trust that the body has made the right decisions for us all.”
“A decision has been made? What decision?”
Gesta cursed. “I have to go.”
Gesta tried to slip by Pastor, but he pulled him back.
“The body was in closed session all day yesterday, but only a few of the masters were present. Did Lysa lead the meeting?”
“You know I can’t answer that.”
Pastor drew close. “You’re forgetting, Brian, who it was that taught you poker all those years ago. You’ve already given me the answer. Now, tell me what decision was made.”
“I can’t. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
Pastor jabbed a finger into Gesta’s chest. “Don’t think for a second I couldn’t beat it out of you. Even as old and decrepit as this body is, I’m still capable of taking a punk like you to the woodshed. And your oath would do nothing to prevent it.”
“And the birds would be on you in an instant. Then who would look after your precious forest?”
For a second, Pastor wanted to punch him anyway. Then he stepped back. As Gesta straightened his shirt, Pastor saw uncertainty in his eyes.
“Doesn’t it make you weary?” Pastor asked.
“What?”
“All of it,” Pastor said, waving his hands around. “The city, the people. The sky so perfectly blue day in and day out. I can’t be the only one who misses the clouds.”
“I miss the rain,” Gesta said. “At night I used to listen to it bounce off the gutters outside my window. That splash on the wet cement could always put me to sleep.”
“Would you go back if you could?”
Gesta shook his head. “No. Because the rain covered up sounds I’d rather not remember.”
“We all felt pain then,” Pastor said. “But at least we felt something.”
Gesta locked eyes with him.
“Please,” Pastor asked. “For old time’s sake. Tell me what she’s done.”
Gesta sighed heavily. He looked out into the city until he caught sight of something.
“See for yourself,” he said, nodding in that direction.
Pastor looked out and saw Lysa crossing the main square, heading for the Genesi. He stepped out and followed.
A short time later, Pastor had secured a place in an empty cubicle on the sixteenth floor. He looked across the void to the cubicle Lysa had entered, but his view was blocked by an obfuscating field. He could only see shadows hovering over something dark and oblong.
After half an hour, the door finally opened and Lysa walked out with Gesta and several other masters. It took him a second to understand why she was meeting with men and women of those disciplines. And then it hit him, and his legs went weak. He knew what they were planning to do.
Later that night, Pastor sat in the Medica, watching Friday’s chest rise and fall. He’d never seen the girl up close, but he found it oddly comforting that she looked exactly as Robinson had described. Fierce and beautiful. Exactly the type of woman he would have wished for the lad.
For his own part, Pastor had never felt more drained. Even that fateful day long ago when word of the spreading virus with the images of the dead first splashed across the TV screens as chaos spread across the globe, he was the only one that watched in silence. He had explained his non-reaction as shock, but he knew better. The truth was he had no family or friends before, so he’d been apathetic to what followed. Today he felt worse. Because now he had someone to care about, and the oath was keeping him from doing what he knew was right.
Sitting there, listening to the buzz of the life support equipment keeping this remarkable girl alive, he felt unworthy in her presence. And he felt worse because he hoped she never realized her deepest wish—to see Robinson again. Let the boy die out there, Pastor said to the higher power he’d renounced so many times, and I’ll make it up to him. Let his journey end painlessly for what I do now.
“Medica?” he called, tilting his head upward.
“Yes?” A smooth, female voice answered.
“Prepare nano-sweep on subject one and her fetus. Removal of all virulent agents is authorized. Cellular repair and reconstruction is also authorized.”
“DNA mapping is complete,” the voice said. “Molecular assemblers are now active.”
“Commence.”
Chapter Forty-One
Lost in the Night
Instincts were an expression of innate biological influences. Every species had them. Determining the difference between instinct and reflex begins by asking two simple questions: is the behavior automatic and is it irresistible? In the case of the mute sister, who looked over her shoulder for the twentieth time, the answer to both was yes.
They were being followed. Had been for at least twenty miles. And yet neither she nor he had seen anyone. For someone so adept at tracking, that single fact was maddening.
He had even sent out his mechanical bird three times to search behind them. But each time the bird came back and communicated that it had found nothing. She didn’t understand technology, though she no longer feared it as she once had. It was a tool like any other. In the right hands, it could function properly. In the wrong hands, it could be useless or even a danger.
They had ridden without rest since finding the boot tracks six hours before. Only once in that time did he ask if she was sure they were being followed. She had nodded curtly, expecting to see skepticism in his eyes. There was none. For all his faults, he did not doubt her. Once, she might have taken pride in that. Now, there was only pain.
He. Crusoe. Even the name felt foul in her mind. As if it, like the plague, might contaminate her just by thinking of it.
Crusoe. He was to blame for everything that had happened.
And the sad part was he had no idea why.
Back when they’d first met, when Crusoe had first helped them escape a band of marauders, her brother had viewed Crusoe with skepticism and ire. After all, he’d injected himself into a kinship that neither wanted nor needed him. She had watched her brother in those early days, felt his tension and anger at everything Crusoe did. His skill with his axes, his gift for navigating the old roads, his talent for the hunt. But the thing that angered her brother most was his bond with Pastor. It had usurped his own so quickly. Pastor would have never admitted it, but Crusoe filled a need her brother could not—one of true companionship and friendship. Their banter filled the hills with sharp arguments and booming laughter, each like a dagger strike to her brother’s heart.
Before reaching the farmers, she thought her brother might break them from the party. Then, the attack came and everything changed.
It came down to the blond farmer girl with blue eyes. She, like her people, had seen the strength in Crusoe’s actions and sought to honor it. Hold it. On the morning of Crusoe’s departure, the girl stood at the end of the field, watching him leave with tears in her eyes. The mute brother couldn’t understand how someone could leave such a mark so quickly.
In the coming days, he began to change. Those traits with which he’d once held competent, he soon embraced. Where before he’d been a loner, he now assumed a seat next to Pastor at the table of leaders. When it came to decisions of defense, his voice was consulted and heard. He organized the training. He got his sister involved with the townswomen. And slowly, surely, the blond-haired girl turned her eyes to him.
“It's passing fancy, nothing more,” Pastor had said to the mute sister in private, and she hoped he was right. “But even if it becomes more, they're too different to make it work. Her world is not easy, but until yesterday, it’s never been hard. See the way she watches him? She sees what she wants to—the young man’s build, his quiet strength. She doesn’t know a bear sleeps inside him.”
She used her hands to ask Pastor the question.
“Love?” Pastor interpreted. “It would make things difficult. That it in itself is both its blessing and its curse.”
The mute sister knew nothing of love, so his words were confusing. “I know it’s hard, but don’t begrudge him this,” Pastor added. “Calm days like these seldom last. There is always a storm around the corner. And when it comes, the bear will wake, and she will either grow fearful of him or fall victim to him. You’ll see.”
Only now, with so many months passed, did she see Pastor was right. Each night when she laid down her head, she wished for her brother and that he’d had more of those silent days.
“Could be the heat,” Robinson said.
The mute sister’s head snapped up. Robinson could see her mind was on something else. He nodded to the bird perched on his knee and stroked its head and mantle.
“Pastor said Scout had thermal vision. Like snakes. They mark predator and prey by fluctuations in temperature. But out here, under these conditions, the air is probably hotter than whomever is following us.”
The mute sister’s brow knit as she pointed two fingers down and then ahead.
“That’s different. Saah’s party is on mounts. Mounts leave heavy tracks, waste. And they’ve made no effort to hide their tracks, unlike whoever’s behind us. Don’t worry. I’ll send Scout up again after the sun goes down. If it doesn’t rain.”
Cassa lifted the glasses to his eyes and watched Crusoe and the girl dismount at the foot of the single-treed hill. So predictable. It was the only high ground in three-hundred-square meters, and they reached it just before sundown. They took it just as Cassa had expected them to do.
Spotting the pair had been pure luck. Cassa had left the Badlands two weeks before and ridden hard for seven of those days before coming down with some type of infection, likely from drinking contaminated water from an old well. It’d taken him two days to recover from the fever and another two before he gained his feet. That’s when he saw the pair.
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