Wolfen

by Alianne Donnelly

  I don’t.

  I want to. I know I should. We couldn’t be in a better position with bags full of tools and supplies for trading. We’ve got weapons, we’ve got the mule; it’s a sweet setup.

  But there’s this thing going ‘round and ‘round in my head like an earworm I can’t shake.

  The more you have, the more you have to lose.

  And I’m not talking about rolls of duct tape.

  ~

  They made pretty good time on the freeway, until a mile-long crater forced them to detour.

  “What happened here?” Sinna craned her neck to see the graveyard of charred cars.

  “Napalm bomb.” Bryce had seen it before. “Back when the first converts showed up, people panicked, packed up their fancy soccer-mom cars, and took the fastest way out of town; crashed, piled up, choked off an escape route, and converts had themselves a feast. The president took advantage of it and ordered a ‘tactical counteroffensive strike.’ ‘Cause why waste an opportunity, right? Drop a half-ton of napalm in the middle of the biggest jammed freeway, and you can take out an entire horde of converts. Who gives a shit about casualties?”

  Bryce steered the mule away from the zone of destruction toward the much clearer smaller roadways—the safer route, even though their path weaved and zigzagged, costing them some time.

  At first, it was all bone-dry hills with a tree or two here and there. Then a massive rusted tower appeared—the remains of a wind turbine. A little farther on, farmland stretched for miles, abandoned fields overgrown with grasses and weeds. They passed a copse of cherry trees and grape bushes, but they were all dried out and barren. The strawberry field was somewhat better, so Bryce stopped the truck and they got out to eat. They harvested a handful each, happy to have found that much, and after a short break, they returned to the mule to keep going.

  At the very end of what seemed to be the beating heart of Californian agriculture, Bryce saw something he never thought he’d see this far south: a forest of evergreens with a faded, broken sign that read SANTA’S CHRISTMAS TREE LOT. Almost involuntarily, he eased off the gas and coasted to a stop.

  It was too ridiculous to comprehend. Christmas. In the land of endless, post-apocalyptic summer. The trees were carefully spaced to grow to eight, maybe ten feet in height. But after decades of neglect, they’d grown to twice that size and had turned into a real forest. It was a wall of dark green on every side, but it would be clearer in the middle where sunlight couldn’t reach. There was enough distance between the individual rows that passing through them with the mule might be doable.

  “We should stop here,” he said. If they managed to get the truck inside, the forest would provide a snug little hiding spot. “We’ll leave the mule, take what we need, and walk the rest of the way.” The more you have, the more you have to lose. Bryce would not hand all of their supplies to humans again.

  Sinna didn’t say anything.

  When he raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged. “What? I don’t know what to do in this situation. I mean, I can guess what you’re thinking, and I don’t disagree, necessarily. But we don’t know how much farther this place is—if it’s even there.”

  She had a point. For all they knew, Klaus could have been lying. Or he could have been mistaken. And even if his information had been correct sixteen years ago, there was no guarantee it still held true to this day. Too many unknowns to make any sort of educated guess.

  “How about a compromise?”

  Sinna gave him a guarded look. “What sort of compromise?”

  “We take what we can carry and follow this road on foot. If we don’t find anything by nightfall, I’ll double back to get the mule and we keep driving.”

  She chewed her lip, considering the choices. “The mule won’t charge in the shade.”

  “Nope. But we could cut a few branches to make a sun roof.”

  “What if we run into trouble?”

  “You’ll have your bow, I’ll have my swords, and we’ll know exactly where to go for a getaway car.”

  Sinna tapped her teeth together. “All right, I suppose we can give it a try.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Maneuvering the mule between the trees was tricky, like trying to thread a needle blindfolded with nothing but the sound and feel of branches scraping at the sides guiding him. Some bent to accommodate the intrusion, but many broke, leaving a visible hole in the green wall, one they’d have to camouflage before they left.

  It was a tight fit inside the glen, but Bryce had guessed right: where the sun couldn’t reach, the lower branches had withered away, leaving the ground covered in dried needles. Bryce took out his swords and sheared off the branches around the mule, effectively cutting a rectangular garage, until the whole roof, hood, and half the truck bed was bathed in the noontime sun. Not ideal, but it would do in a pinch.

  By the time he’d finished, Sinna was sitting with three full packs lined up in a row before her. She stared at them without seeing them at all.

  “Sinna?” Bryce laid a hand on her shoulder.

  Sinna jumped, startled out of her daze. Sheepish, she ducked her head. “Sorry, guess I’m a little jumpy lately.”

  He frowned, lowering to his haunches beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  The sad, lost look in her eyes stabbed him clean through his chest. “What are we doing here?” she asked. “I mean, I know what we’re doing, but…what is it for? We’re going to kidnap a girl and hand her over to the mad Nazi scientist, and maybe we’ll get Aiden back, maybe not—maybe we’ll all die. And even if we make it, then what? Look around. There’s no one left.”

  Bryce tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “There’s us.”

  She huffed a dry chuckle. “A handful of Wolfen. What does that amount to?” She shook her head. “People spent so much time and energy preparing for every possible way the world could end. How could they have not seen this coming?”

  Her rose-colored glasses were permanently off, then. Bryce was relieved. He’d been operating in a constant state of alert ever since they’d driven away from Haven, not because he couldn’t handle this on his own, but because he didn’t want to be the one to destroy Sinna’s ideals. If there was such a thing as a typical Wolfen female, Sinna was it. She was a caretaker down to her core. Didn’t matter what the situation was. Her first thought was always, “How can I help?” rather than, “How do we get out of here?” Bryce loved that about her, but it had the potential to put them both in danger. Case in point, the whole Randy situation.

  Still, seeing her unhappy tore at him. “Listen,” he said.

  Sinna looked up, expecting some words of wisdom, but he was the wrong guy for those. Instead, he tilted his chin skyward and closed his eyes to focus his other senses. Insects hissed and chirped. Not too far away, a woodpecker hammered at a tree, irritating the resident squirrel couple. High in the sky, a hawk screamed his presence. Worms burrowed in the ground below, rabbits dug in their dens.

  Feeling Sinna’s gaze on him, Bryce opened his eyes and attempted a smile. It felt awkward, but she didn’t seem to mind. “The world isn’t dead,” he told her. “It’s too big to succumb to a single species. The only thing humans destroyed was their own ability to survive in it. That’s all. The rest of us go on. We adapt. We live.”

  “I take it that works for you. Some kind of poetic justice, right? People were monsters, anyway, so the world is better off without them.” Sinna pushed to her feet, and shrugged on a pack. “Can’t say I blame you. But I just can’t see it the same way. It’s not all black and white. Not all people are bad. I can’t believe that.”

  He helped her strap on the quiver and shoulder the bow. “You’re right,” he said. “There are good people still out there; I’ve met some. Trouble is, being good puts you at a disadvantage out here. It makes you prey.”

  Past the fields and orchards, they were back to weaving between massive dry hills, only this time on foot, without cover or the peace of mind of a fast get
away. Little life showed itself in these parts, making it difficult to tell whether or not it was a natural phenomenon. Hills obstructed the view, valleys left them far too exposed.

  After a while, they started seeing signboards for Gilroy, Watsonville, and Hollister. They were approaching city limits.

  “What do you want to do?” Sinna asked.

  Bryce looked at the sky. “We still have hours of sunlight left.” If the convoy had been military like Klaus’, they wouldn’t have settled in a city. They’d have found a defensible location with natural resources for building a community, which meant they could be anywhere around these valleys, or miles and miles away. Bryce couldn’t see any immediate signs of life, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “We’ll circle around the city,” he said. If anything within ten miles was worth investigating, Bryce would find it. If not, the roundabout would bring them right back here. Then they could call the mission a bust and head back north.

  “All right,” Sinna said, readjusting the straps of her pack.

  When they came in sight of the first building, Bryce drew a knife, just in case. Following his lead, Sinna nocked an arrow.

  Together, they proceeded with caution, giving the city a wide berth so Bryce could spot a potential threat coming from a distance. It was slow going over dry ground and grass, but that was how he found the first track. Almost halfway around Gilroy with a few hours of sunlight left, there it was, nestled in the dust and protected from the wind by grass: a hoofprint.

  Bryce crouched and traced the grooves with a careful fingertip.

  “Is that significant?” Sinna asked.

  Oh, yeah. He pushed to his feet and looked for the next one. They were evenly spaced in an easy trot, headed out east. “A horse came through here.”

  “So what? We saw those fences back there, it could be wild.”

  “Wild horses aren’t shod.” Not only that, Bryce scented saddle leather, too.

  “Then…that means…”

  “That the son of a bitch German prick was right.”

  They walked the path marked out for them away from Gilroy toward Hollister. Bryce lost the tracks on the road, but he could still scent horseflesh on the breeze, which he followed to a dirt road, past more empty horse enclosures, to a eucalyptus grove.

  Then things got complicated.

  Two hundred yards ahead, the survivors had erected an old-fashioned wooden wall—massive trunks buried in the ground, tops carved into merciless points. Live trees stood as watchtowers at regular intervals, man-made platforms like tree houses creating perches for the watchmen. It was like a scene from a medieval fairy tale. From this distance, Bryce couldn’t tell what the watchmen were armed with, but they were definitely armed. Two sat in each perch, and movement between the spikes indicated walking patrols over the wall itself. A deep moat with a flimsy-looking wooden bridge connected the outside world to the spiked, cast iron gate.

  “Holy shit,” Sinna whispered, wide-eyed.

  “Yeah,” Bryce agreed. “You ready for this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bryce removed the arrow from her bow, and put it back into the quiver. “We come in peace,” he said, “until that’s no longer an option.”

  Sinna nodded, and put her hand into his. Bryce squeezed her fingers in reassurance, and then they walked out into the open, approaching the gate slowly so as not to seem a threat.

  “Halt!” a watchman called from the left perch. “Identify yourselves!”

  Bryce held his hands up. “We’re just travelers looking to trade. Maybe rest a night or two. We mean you no harm.” Which was more than he could say for these people. Six feet from the moat, Bryce leaned over to see it went down deep enough to break a man’s spine, and just to be extra sure, they’d planted spears in there. One wrong step, and a guy might find a hunk of wood protruding through his chest.

  “Put your weapons down!”

  Sinna looked askance at Bryce, and he nodded. She set down her bow, and he laid his swords on the ground before him. The smaller knives weren’t easily visible; he wouldn’t relinquish them unless he had no choice.

  “What are you trading?” the second watchman on the left demanded.

  “What do you need?” Bryce returned.

  “Nothing from the likes of you! Now get lost!”

  “I don’t think you want to turn us away,” Bryce said. He unzipped the main compartment of their supply pack, and held it open wide for the watchman to see. Most of its contents were wrapped in white packaging. A good contrast to the black bag, and the bright red crosses didn’t hurt, either. “We have medicine, bandages, things everyone could use.”

  The watchman leaned over the wall to take a closer look, but the face he made wasn’t promising. He eased back, and conferred with his friend before he returned with, “What do you want for it?”

  “Food. Water. A place to sleep for the night.”

  “This isn’t a hotel, friend. You should move along.”

  “Please!” Sinna cried. “We’ve been walking for so long. You’re the first people we’ve seen in days and days—”

  “Sinna?” a man said from the right perch.

  Sinna frowned and squinted, but the sun was against them, making it impossible to see the speaker’s face.

  “Sinna? Is that you?”

  “Dave?”

  The right perch burst into a flurry of uncoordinated movement as the watchman shoved past his flailing comrade to get down. “Open the gate!”

  “Are you insane?”

  “I know her!” Thud. “Open the gate!”

  Gears groaned, chains rattled, and the gate slowly lifted. The watchman came running out, face lit up with a brilliant smile.

  “Dave!” Sinna cried, and ran right into his arms.

  32: Sinna

  The night is darkest before dawn, the old saying goes.

  I’ve learned a thing or two about light and darkness recently. When you see light at the end of the tunnel, watch out. It could be a train about to mow you down.

  ~

  They collided in the middle of the rickety bridge, neither all that steady. Sinna squealed when Dave tried to pick her up, and they teetered on the very edge, but he managed to find his balance and set her down again.

  “You’re here,” he said. “You’re alive!”

  Sinna laughed. “And you got new glasses!” A pair of perky red rims sat on his nose, sporting three little grooves in the top corners where some kind of decorative stones had fallen out. He looked exactly like he had two weeks ago: an inch taller, than her, with straight brown hair falling over kind brown eyes. His cheeks had filled out some, but he was still as lanky-thin.

  “Quick, how many fingers do you see?”

  Dave laughed, and swatted her hand away. “I see you’re still a mouthy pain in the ass, is what I see.” He pushed the glasses farther up his nose.

  “David!” one of the watchmen called down. “You know the rules!”

  Dave’s eyes widened. “Right! No dawdling in the doorway. Come in, come in, or they’ll close the gate on us.” He took Sinna’s hand to pull her along, then did a double take at Bryce.

  Sinna followed his gaze, and frowned. Bryce had gone stone-faced, watching them. He’d also sheathed his swords and slung the supply pack over his shoulder, but he clutched her bow so hard, the synthetic material nearly groaned in his grip.

  He stalked across the bridge like a predator ready to pounce and stopped a half-foot from Sinna, staring her down.

  “In or out?” the watchman snapped.

  “You heard him,” Bryce rumbled, so low his voice was more growl than speech. “What’ll it be, Sinna?”

  It took her a moment to realize he was holding out his hand. By the time she reached out for it, he’d already given up and brushed past Dave. “Move it, Spectacle Man.”

  “Uh, r-right, yeah.” Dave hurried through the gate after him.

  Sinna followed slower, cautious after Haven. She felt like she ought t
o say something to Bryce, but had no idea what. Why was he so angry with her?

  The gate lowered on chains attached to massive, notched wooden wheels on either side. A latch neatly fit into the grooves, keeping the wheel from turning on its own. A simple, genius design.

  And a good thing to remember, if they had to make a quick getaway.

  Bryce must have come to the same conclusion as he scoped out the watch towers and their ladders. Sinna could guess what he was thinking. It’d be a lot easier—for him—to scale up to the catwalk and jump down on the other side. Even with the moat, he’d probably land on solid ground without breaking a sweat. Humans couldn’t do the same. Hell, Sinna couldn’t, either.

  Once the gate was closed, six men with spears surrounded Sinna and Bryce. “Weapons down!” the one from before shouted.

  “Easy, Shane, I told you I know her.”

  Shane yanked Dave away. “I said weapons down. Now!”

  His agitated voice brought the blacksmith, carrying a massive hammer and a red hot sword, out of his cottage. “What’s going on?”

  Bryce stepped up behind Sinna, his shadow falling over her like a menacing cloak.

  “It’s under control, Jason,” Shane called without taking his eyes off of them. “Go get Sarge. I’ve got this.”

  “Whoa,” Dave said. “There’s no need for that. I can vouch for them.”

  “Don’t make me tell you again!”

  “Seriously, people, they’re my friends!”

  “Get him out of here!”

  Another watchman broke formation to grab hold of Dave.

  This was quickly getting out of hand. “Wait! Okay! It’s okay,” Sinna said hurriedly. “Look, we’re putting our weapons down.” She removed her quiver, set it on the ground, then nodded to Bryce to remove his swords. His jaw muscle twitched, but he placed the scabbards and all of their packs down in front of his feet.

  “All your weapons,” Shane demanded.

  “Is this how you treat all guests?” Sinna snapped.

  “Only the ones who get past our gates,” the watchman returned.