Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2)

by Martucci, Jennifer

  He rushes at us, all the while releasing a guttural war cry.

  “What did you do?” he demands. His voice is hoarse and raw, laced with sadness and hate. “You killed them! You killed all my fathers!” he screams and swings his blade in my direction.

  I block his swing easily and thrust my sword as our blades collide, placing all of my weight behind it. The boy pitches backward and totters for a moment.

  “Drop it!” I warn him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The boy’s chest is heaving. His cheeks are red and his eyes are wild. I know he is hurting, but his pain is not my problem at the moment. Especially since his father, one of the men my blade claimed, intended to kill Will and Oliver, and enslave June, Riley and myself.

  In my periphery, I see Will streak by. He is behind the boy within seconds and grabs him in a bear hug. The boy’s weapon falls to the ground with a loud clang.

  “You killed him,” the boy cries and resembles a trapped mammal. “You killed them all!” He flails and thrashes for a moment, but Will holds tight.

  “Your father and the others attacked us,” I say flatly once the boy is still. “And I think you know that’s what they planned all along. You knew what they were going to do. I defended my family and me,” I add and hear how easily I include Will, Oliver and Riley in my family despite knowing them for a short while.

  The boy’s head sags. He knows I am right.

  “I’m going to let you go now,” Will tells him. “But you need to be calm. No one is going to hurt you, okay?”

  The boy nods feebly before Will lowers his arms. I do not wish for more bloodshed. All of us have witnessed enough. I am relieved when, once freed, the boy rushes to where Tal’s body is slumped as opposed to attempting to engage me in battle again. He cries and drapes his body across him, and a small corner of my heart clenches tightly.

  Will closes his eyes and slowly shakes his head from side to side. I can imagine the thoughts racing through his mind. The loss of his parents is so fresh in his mind, it is a wonder he has not fallen apart completely. I move toward him and place a hand on his back. But my hand slips away quickly when movement to my side demands my attention.

  I spin in time to see a haggard face staring back at me. Scraggly lengths of wiry gray hair frame a face creased and leathered by time and elements. Watery eyes the color of soot squint at me then beyond me, to where the boy cries. The haggard face is joined by several others who shuffle and stop beside her. The women I saw earlier, the ones who carried trays of food and cleared the table after we ate, have returned.

  “What happened here?” the one closest to me asks and points with a gnarled finger toward the fallen bodies. Her voice drips with what can only be described as glee.

  I glance at Will then back to the woman. “They attacked the wrong people, I guess,” I say levelly.

  A throaty cackle breaks out spontaneously but is stifled almost as quickly as it began. Silence befalls the women. I notice the one closest to me first touch her right hand to her forehead then her belly then to her left shoulder and right. She then joins her hands so that her fingertips form a steeple and her palms are pressed together. She turns her eyes skyward.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she says. “Thank you for freeing us.”

  Some of the women nod reverently while others bow their heads. I haven’t the slightest idea what is happening or why they are behaving so peculiarly. I look at the old woman who gestured with her hands, puzzled. I look to the sky and wonder what or to whom she spoke.

  “Uh, my name is Avery, not Lord,” I say politely. “None of us is named Lord,” I add, mindful of the fact that she is old and likely mistook my name for another.

  The old woman chuckles softly. The sound rumbles from somewhere deep inside her chest. It is an odd, but not entirely unpleasant, sound. “I know you are not the Lord,” she says.

  Her words confuse me further. I glance at Will. He looks as baffled as I am. “Okay, then who are you talking to?”

  “We are talking to God,” the old woman replies. “We are thanking him for delivering us from the evil that has imprisoned us for years.” She speaks with a quiet respect and peace that I have never heard another speak with. I find myself wanting to learn more about God and how she helped them.

  “Who’s God?” I ask and feel my brows knit. “Does she live here too? How did she deliver you from, wait, what did she deliver you from again?”

  “Evil,” the old woman says. Her tone remains somber and humble in spite of my questions. “And God is not someone who lives in these walls. He is our Creator.” She turns her eyes to the sky again. “He is up there in heaven watching over us always.”

  I follow her gaze to the navy sky. It is dotted with innumerable twinkling lights. I have heard the sky referred to as ‘the heavens’ before and often wondered about exactly what that meant. I’ve wondered who or what is responsible for the shimmering lights called stars and the ever-changing moon glowing overhead. Perhaps this God person is. I do not know. And while a part of me feels drawn inexplicably to the concept, now is not the time I expect to find answers.

  “Right,” I say to the old woman. Her beady eyes hold me, and for a moment, a strange feeling stirs in my chest, an indescribable lightness that bubbles from my belly to my collarbones. A broad smile splits the old woman’s face and a look of silent satisfaction shines in her stare. “Someone needs to go and release the girls chained up in the cabin,” I say and do not break eye contact.

  The old woman looks away first. She turns to one of the women beside her and with a sweep of her arm and a nod of her head, the other woman shuffles toward Tal’s father. She searches his belt until she finds a ring of keys. She removes it and lumbers toward the hut in which I found the girls. Another of the women who disappeared into the kitchen in the first moments we entered the compound leaves the group and goes to the boy beside Tal. She kneels in front of him and places a hand on his back.

  “Oh my poor son,” she says.

  The boy spins. “My dad is your son?” he asks through sniffles.

  A long pause stretches between them. “No,” she answers thoughtfully. “You are,” the woman adds in a shaky voice.

  The boy’s head jerks back. Confusion carves his features. “What?” he asks in a weak voice. “That’s not, it’s not, that’s not possible,” he stammers.

  “Oh my child,” she says. “They never told you. I know. But you are my son.” The woman swipes tears that trickle down her cheeks. “Those girls the men kept in the hut, they used to be us,” she says and gestures to the women with her. “We were who they created life with until we became too unappealing,” she concludes and lowers her head, saying the last word with such shame I feel my own cheeks warm.

  I rub my forehead and am horrified by what I am hearing.

  “How long have they been doing this?” I ask.

  “For as long as I can remember,” the woman answers. “And it wasn’t just here,” she adds and limply sweeps her arm, gesturing to the surrounding structure.

  Her words slither down my spine like a serpent. The women before me have spent their lives serving men, cooking for them, cleaning for them, and bearing children for them, all while enduring unspeakable abuses. Before now, the idea of something so awful was inconceivable. “All of you will come with us,” I say and see no other option. They are old and slow, but I will not leave them behind to die. “We are leaving tomorrow. We are journeying out of the forest and into the world beyond to find more humans.”

  Gasps echo among the women. They exchange startled looks. I hear the word ‘no’ murmured more than once, along with the words ‘crazy’ and ‘death.’

  “We aren’t going anywhere,” the woman with the long gray hair says. “There is nothing out there, only death.” Her comments are met with keen nods of accord.

  I feel my mouth open, and for a moment I am speechless. What the old woman has said, as well as the fervent agreement, does not make sense to me. “Urthmen h
ave been deep into the woods. They stormed the area where the river meets the lake. The forest thins here. They will come here too. It is only a matter of time,” I warn the women.

  But the woman with the long hair shakes her head. “No, we will take our chances here,” she says adamantly. “God will watch over us,” she adds and looks up at the sky.

  My mind struggles to comprehend her refusal to escape before being slaughtered where she stands in the coming days. I do not understand her stubbornness. But I realize it is not my job to convince her to leave. The choice is hers. Each woman will decide for herself.

  I look up at the moon and stars then back down at her face. “I hope he does for your sake, because if you stay and wait for Urthmen, you’re going to need all the help you can get to fight them.”

  “We will die for certain if we leave,” the woman replies willfully. I am not sure what she is so worked up about. I am concerned for her well-being, for her survival.

  “What will you do for food?” I ask to be sure she will eat.

  “I can hunt and provide for us,” the young boy chimes in. His face is puffy and his eyes are red from crying. “I am staying with them and I will hunt for them.”

  I eye the boy. “I’m sure you can,” I say and hope for the women’s sake he does not possess the tendencies of the other men who ran this compound.

  “But you still need to talk it over with the girls from the hut,” I say. I glance over my shoulder and see Will, who has been pacing silently until now. He furrows his brow and looks at me, puzzled. I shake my head from side to side slowly then return my attention to the woman. “Talk to them,” I continue. “You owe them that, at least, a say in what they do, right?” Will walks to where I can see him. He looks at me then to the boy and the women, a troubled look veiling his features.

  “It will be a long time before they are right again,” the old woman says. “They need calm. They will need to stay too,” she says with finality.

  “Just talk to them, please. Give them the option one way or the other,” I say and I hear exasperation creep into my tone.

  “You won’t be safe here,” June voices her opinion by adding.

  “You won’t be safe out there,” the old woman counters confidently. She tips her chin high then adds, “You are walking toward certain death.”

  The woman’s tone, though quiet, is filled with arrogance born of certainty. She is completely convinced that she is right to stay and that we are wrong to leave.

  June plants her hands on her hips and tips her chin to match the old woman’s stance. Her posture is defiant. “No we aren’t. We have Avery, not some imaginary cloud friend,” she says.

  I feel heat warm my cheeks and know they are a deep scarlet hue. I am thankful for the night, for the darkness. No one can see me blushing. June overestimates me. I worry she looks up to me too much.

  “I’ll discuss it with the girls,” the boy speaks up before a squabble ensues. “I’ll tell them what choices they have.”

  “Good. Thank you,” Will says.

  “Then it’s settled. You will talk to the girls and let us know in the morning what their decision is, and we need to sleep if we’re traveling first thing in the morning.”

  “We will see you at daybreak,” the woman says. She looks at June. She narrows her eyes and purses her thin, cracked lips. Clearly, she did not appreciate June’s cloud-friend remark. I step in front of my sister protectively, placing my body between June and the old lady. The old lady’s gaze goes to my face and she adds, “Best get inside your hut. We need to take care of our dead.”

  I watch for a moment, unsure of what she means by ‘take care of’ her dead. But when she shambles toward Tal’s father’s body, joined by another woman, and lifts his ankles and begins dragging him, her words become clear. She and the other woman plod down a small pathway with rows of huts on either side. Tal’s father’s head and body bump along unceremoniously and leave a smear of crimson in their wake. The other women remaining follow suit and drag another of the men on the floor by his ankles and haul him to an undisclosed location.

  “Ugh,” June says and presses her face into my arm.

  “You said it,” I agree.

  June yawns and tries to conceal it with her hand. Her eyes are bloodshot and her skin is paler than usual.

  “Let’s go inside and get some shut-eye,” I say and begin ushering her inside the hut we began our night in.

  “I think one of us should keep watch tonight,” Will grips my upper arm lightly and says in my ear.

  His hot breath against my earlobe sends chills racing over my flesh. He is right, of course. I just need sleep so desperately, I can’t imagine being the one to sit vigil.

  I turn and face him, about to volunteer when Oliver speaks.

  “I’ll do it,” Oliver says and I nearly weep with joy. “I’ve gotten the most sleep out of all of us in the last few days so I’ll do the first shift.”

  “Thank you, Oliver,” I say and resist the urge to hug him. “If I don’t get some sleep, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk at all in the morning.”

  “No problem, Avery. It’s the least I can do. You keep saving us all the time,” Oliver says and looks away sheepishly.

  “Thanks again,” I add. I ignore the comment he made about me saving them all the time. I don’t have the strength to argue that he and his brother would do the same for us, and retreat to the hut.

  Once inside, I close the door behind me, leaving Oliver at his post. I am not surprised when I see June and Riley nestled close to one another, their eyelids heavy. Will lifts his sleep sack. He makes a production of shaking it. I look at him and wonder why he is doing what he is doing. I also wonder whether I should do the same. I quirk an eyebrow at him, and he stops and carries his sleep sack over to where mine is unrolled. He places it next to mine and lies atop it, propping himself up on one elbow while facing me. I do the same, mirroring his position.

  “What was that all about?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Will answers. “I guess I just don’t want to sleep on something those men stepped on.”

  “I understand,” I say. I inhale deeply. “I can’t believe that there are humans in this world who harm one another. I just don’t get it.” I pinch the bridge of my nose then rub my forehead.

  “I know. It doesn’t make sense. We’re all fighting the same fight, just trying to survive.”

  “It’s true. I just don’t understand. I mean, what Tal, Ross and Jay and the other men did to those women, it just, I don’t know; it blows my mind. Girls around my age, chained up, naked and dirty,” I say and feel a turbulent rise of anger swell inside of me. “I keep picturing their faces. Streaks were carved through layers of filth and ran from their eyes to their chins. Their gazes were hollow, haunted, as if they’d been broken,” I say through my teeth. I swallow hard. “They were breeders. One was pregnant and the men kept going to them, taking them against their will. They thought they were doing something noble, that they were repopulating our species,” I huff.

  “Oh my gosh,” Will breathes. “That’s what happened.”

  “Yes,” I answer, disgust burning hot inside me.

  “And they wanted Riley and June here, too, and you,” Will adds.

  I cannot see his face clearly and do not know what expression he wears, but I hear the tightness in his voice. I imagine he shares my revulsion, my red-hot fury at the notion of anyone trying to harm my sister or his sister.

  “The thought of anyone touching,” Will starts to say but cannot finish his sentence.

  I reach out my hand, hoping it will land on his shoulder, but I cannot see well enough to judge properly. When my hand lands on the warm swell of his chest, I breathe in silently, but do not release my breath. I feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. It quickens and I begin to pull my hand away. Will’s hand lands atop mine suddenly and I feel my own heart begin to riot within my ribcage. I am still holding my breath, reveling in the f
eel of his large palm covering my mine. I also feel the solidness of the muscles underneath his shirt and just beneath his skin.

  “When I think about what they wanted to do to you,” he says. His voice startles me slightly. I was lulled by his heartbeat, enjoying the odd sensation whispering across my skin. “It makes me insane with rage,” he says.

  My heart stutters as my brains works to make sure my ears heard what I think he just said. He was mad about what the men wanted to do to me? The idea is confusing. Why would he care in the least? I am not his sister. True, I am part of his life now in a way that connects us, but I have not shared my life with him as Riley and Oliver have.

  “I want to protect you,” he says in a voice low and filled with tenderness.

  He begins stroking the soft flesh on the top of my hand. My scalp feels as if it has shrunk and is now two sizes too small for my head.

  “But I haven’t been able to protect any of us so far. I haven’t helped at all,” he adds and laughs once. It is a quiet, self-depreciating sound.

  My fingertips tense involuntarily and grip his powerful chest. “No, that’s not true,” I disagree with him. “You’ve been,” I start but am suddenly breathless. “Perfect,” I manage in a weak voice.

  “Avery,” he says my name and goose bumps race across my skin. “I admire so much about you, how well you hunt, how good you are with June, your bravery, and don’t get me started about your skills as a fighter,” he adds and I hear that he is smiling before I strain to see his teeth, pale against the darkness. “And you’re beautiful,” he says seriously. I no longer hear or see his smile. “I want to be what you are. I want to be what you need.”

  The tremor in his voice sends a tremor spiraling through my core. He thinks I’m brave, and good with June, that I am a good hunter and an excellent fighter, and he thinks I’m beautiful! My mind is swimming laps around a lake of happiness. I am dizzy and cold yet my insides feel as if they would rival the surface of the sun on a midsummer day. I want to tell him that I think he is beautiful, that I have never seen anyone or anything quite as beautiful as he is. I want to tell him that when he is near, as he is now, I cannot think straight, I cannot breathe properly, my entire body goes haywire and I do not know whether I am sick or losing my mind or both. But the words do not come out. Dizzying, overwhelming excitement has seized my ability to speak apparently.