“We’re going to get some fresh air,” Swan said, and motioned for him to follow.
“Here” Fulvio lobbed the blackbirds, which landed by his feet. “While you’re out there, pluck the feathers so I can roast them.”
He glimpsed his grandfather, and the silly grin forming beneath his mustache. He remembered the furious glow of Fulvio’s eyes after he killed the blackbirds. Scrunching up his nose, he stooped to handle the birds by their feet. Swan helped by seizing the third.
“Stay right outside, no wandering,” Fulvio called after them.
Swan pried aside the wall of shrubbery and slipped outside with Fabal right behind. No sooner were they in the open than she spun to face him. “You’re going to help Knox, right?”
Jolted by her eyes beaming into him, he replied, “If I can.”
They plunked to the ground and began the task of defeathering the birds. Gathering a handful of feathers, he puckered his lips and blew hard. They floated soundlessly. That’s when he noticed Tibbles reclining on a tree trunk, watching them with his beady eyes. Fabal’s wave seemed ludicrous, but it was Tibbles wave in return which totally surprised him.
Fabal smiled.
“What’s it like living in Tallas?” Swan asked. “Is it fun with all the other kids to play with?”
Fabal had never thought about it before. Mostly it was hard work, with little playtime. “Er—I—yeah—I guess it can be fun. First thing in the morning, I have to go to the fields to pick strawberries, and then I go to school for half of the day.” He dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. “Sometimes, I sneak a couple of the berries. I’d get my butt paddled if I got caught.”
Her lips peaked into a cute smile.
“All the kids have assignments after class,” he continued since she seemed interested. He noticed her mouth twisting to the side and a bewildered look clouded her eyes. “Assignments are kind of like, um…chores, I guess.”
She appeared to understand, nodding.
“The best time is right after assign―chores, or before it gets dark. Some of us get together and play ball or something, so I guess that’s fun.”
She was having difficulty plucking the feathers with only three fingers.
“We don’t have brothers or sisters.” Fabal yanked at a resistant feather. “So it seems kind of weird that you have a brother.” He started on the second bird. “It looked to me like you were having fun.”
“He’s always bossing me around,” she said. “Knox can be a bully, but—yeah, we have fun. And with my dad dead, Knox helps a lot. I miss him.”
“Why did the Mediators take your brother? It doesn’t make sense, unless they had orders to bring in survivors.”
Her eyes narrowed, turning from bright blue to glaring indigo. “You mean—you don’t know?”
“Know what?” For a second time, he jolted, startled by her hostility.
“Weren’t you going be a mole?” She resembled a wicked cat ready to scratch his eyes out.
“Um—yeah. Next week, I was supposed to report for training.”
“And what do moles do?” She seemed to know the answer, but wanted to hear it from him.
“Okay, I give up.” He tossed more feathers into the air. “What’s going on?”
“Mediators use moles to find people with—with—” She appeared both infuriated and mortified, crimson stealing into her cheeks. In a soldier-like fashion, she stood at attention and, with an exaggerated flounce of her hands, indicated a head-to-toe motion, concluding with her abnormal fingers splayed in his face. “With this!” She dropped her gaze.
“No.” He didn’t want to believe her. “Moles look for water springs—and stuff, underground…and—”
“Mediators killed my father.” Her eyes again threw sparks. “They said my parents could live, but they’d have to hand over Knox and me. Fulvio arrived in time to save us, but not my father.”
“It’s not true.” His conviction sounded lame to his ears. “There’s no one in Tallas like—you.”
“You’re so stupid.” Sounding harsh, she crossed her arms. “The doctors experiment on people like me. Don’t you get it? We’re not allowed to live.”
He felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “My father would never do that.”
***
“Children, children.” Fulvio’s head appeared between the branches. “We can hear your dispute from inside. We need both of you in here now. Come, and bring the birds.”
Fulvio stoked the fire into a low blaze. A ball of smoke drifted upward and fled through several man-made portholes, innovative openings for oxygen and for smoke to sieve through. The ingenious construction of the underground hovel kept a person cool in the extreme heat of the passing day and warm during the chill of night.
“Dammit, Fulvio, there’s too much smoke.” Smelt attempted to kick dirt over the wood. “Can’t we eat something cold?”
“I’m not a cannibal—yet,” Fulvio said and fanned the wood with his hands. “I’ll tone it down after we cook.”
When the children returned from outside, Keeyla was petitioning the others. “Is it true?” Her piercing violet eyes strayed from a blank Tanya to Smelt, whose face screwed up, and then to Fulvio. “What Swan said—is it true?”
She wanted answers. Now. As she waited, it felt like millions of spiders were creeping over her skin and chafed her hands up and down her arms.
Fulvio’s face drooped. His eye’s sagged and grooves etched along his cheekbones. “Alas, much to my chagrin,” he said, “Swan is speaking the truth.”
“Doogan would never, ever do anything like that. I—I would’ve known.” Sounding breathless and repulsed. “Why would they use our children to hunt for…” she didn’t finish her statement.
“Mainly, my dear, to stop people from exterminating the Mediators,” he remarked. “If you saw an unarmed child coming your way, even if that child was a threat to you—would you kill the child? Unlikely. Young moles scout through underground territories and hidden caves so the Mediators won’t have to. Our people take flight. Some are lucky. While others…never come back.” Fulvio moved to a storage unit and unburied a hunk of snake meat. With the toe of his boot, he nudged a slab of slate into the fire and slapped the meat onto the rock. He added the birds, dropping them into the side embers.
Keeyla’s disquieting gaze fastened on him.
“We’ve traveled farther and farther from Tallas in hopes of forming our own district. Our goal is to be self-supporting.”
She pinched her brow in misery. “It doesn’t make sense. Initially, you explained that Addler thought those…people…” She didn’t know how to say the word without affronting those present, “brought disease, and Mediators purged them from the village. And now, you’re saying they’re hunting them down? To—to experiment on them?”
“Yes. Like lab rats. Medicinal treatments and healing drugs were at an all time low. Not to mention there had been only two surviving physicians to teach new interns. Whom I mentioned to you, Sese and Merkle. So conniving Elites proposed an appalling amendment. Instead of research and trials conducted on the village people or cadavers, it was sanctioned to retrieve those mutated souls on a needs-be basis.”
Fulvio hunkered down to the ground and, using two paddle sticks, flipped the meat over.
“You haven’t been in Tallas in years, how do you know all this?” she asked.
“I’ve already explained that remember? I have informants on the inside.” His mustache quirked as he licked his fingers. “As you’ve recently seen, we are in need of a physician. And knowing that Fabal would be reaching the age for enlistment, that’s when I sent my letter. But it was Doogan’s and your decision to make.”
Keeyla absently nodded. Yes, the decision had been made in the middle of the night.
It had been months ago when Goshen tapped on their door. She invited their neighbor in for a mid-afternoon snack of sliced apples and cheese. Doogan was at the Infirmary and Fabal was working in the barns. Th
ey’d discussed trivial matters. The topic of the new directive for children to be conscripted at such a young age cropped up. Keeyla’s temper had gotten the best of her. Goshen’s head continually bobbed, agreeing with her diatribe. It was then he slipped her Fulvio’s letter and placed an emaciated hand over hers. “I’ll help in any way that I’m able,” he said. Then easing his old bones from the chair, he hobbled home.
Doogan and Keeyla had conversed in hushed tones late into the night. Afterward, he’d embraced her with passionate desire as though it was their last night on Earth. Fulvio’s letter had set fire to them both.
***
Early the following morning, Fulvio and Zennith forged a path with Tibbles and Fabal close behind. Smelt’s horse and wagon brought up the rear of the caravan. Sequestered in the wagon bed were Horatio, Tanya, Swan, and, Mortmiller, his legs dangled over the back, beard blowing in the breeze.
“What’s your horse’s name?” Keeyla asked Smelt, striving to take her mind off their trip. She scanned the terrain from side to side, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
“Lady, that there’s a genuine pony,” he responded like she hadn’t a clue.
“Seems awfully overgrown for a pony.”
He peered at her with a sardonic grin. “They grows ’em big in this woodland. And her name’s Gingersnap ’cause she’s brown and snappy.”
Gingersnap nickered at the mention of her name.
Keeyla glanced Fabal, blathering as he rode the huge bear. Her lips twitched as she listened to him explaining the pretense of playing dead.
“When Larkson got shot,” he told the bear, “his whole body vibrated like he was hit by lightning, and then he’d dive to the ground and flop around for a minute. It wasn’t natural, but he sure was funny.” He giggled. “See, Tibbles, I know how to die. When the bullet hits, you’re in shock, and then—CABAM!” He smacked his hands together for effect. “You just drop dead. I’ll teach you how to do it.”
Tibbles head wobbled like he wholly understood. The boy didn’t seem the least bit bothered by their impending undertaking, but Keeyla fretted, wringing her hands together.
“You’re freakin’ me out with your hands rollin’ ’round like that.”
“Geez,” she said with disdain. Smelt’s uncouth tone made her cease. “Sorry.”
Tanya had supplied her with a fairly clean tank top, and Keeyla had been happy to burn her bloody shirt. She’d discarded the sling and now zipped up her jacket, warding off dawn’s chill. Intertwining her fingers, she frowned at blackened spots on her navy jeans. She scratched at the stains with her fingernail, liberating dried blood like miniscule dust particles.
“Now you’re really trying my patience,” Smelt uttered.
Keeyla rolled her eyes, wanting nothing better than to bonk this character on the head. Sighing, she peered at the pewter sky between swaying tree limbs, wondering how much longer she would have to endure him. Then as if speaking to herself, she said, “We just snuck out of Tallas and now we’re sneaking back in. It’s all so nonsensical.”
“Yup, and freakin’ dangerous.” He flicked the reins, urging Gingersnap up a grade. “Fulvio’s specialty is apothecary, healing herbs and plants. Occasionally, we’re in need of something that only Tallas can provide, like medication that even Fulvio can’t concoct. But now they’re putting up some kind of fence thingy, and it’ll be harder and harder to get through, especially with those bastards who shoot first and ask questions later.”
Keeyla had come across men lugging pushcarts of metal fencing and logs. The buzz circling the village was that the new barriers were to protect citizens. At least, that was what Zent’s intercom message had detailed.
“Hopefully it’ll keep out the three-headed snakes,” she said. The bumpy wagon ride was doing a number on her stomach.
“Naw, none of ’em down there. More ’an likely it’d be grizzlies.”
“With three heads?”
Smelt laughed. “Naw, jus’ two.”
“Hilarious.”
Anomalous creatures had infrequently crept into the village, but nothing as noxious or as large as the serpent. “We’d never seen anything like that monster we met near the wetlands.”
Smelt’s hair brushed his shoulders as he turned to look at her, his thin lips stretched into a crude grin. “They’ll come a huntin’ for warm tasty meat some day.” Revoltingly, his tongue lapped his lips.
Keeyla frowned as the caravan came to a halt. Up ahead, Fulvio reined Zennith around to face them. In a measured trot, he pulled up between Tibbles and Gingersnap. “I’ve seen Mediators patrolling this area. I know it’s far from the village, but I’d prefer to be vigilant. We must keep our ears and eyes open.” He looked over Smelt’s shoulder and said, “Horatio and Mortmiller, watch from the rear and sides.”
Mortmiller hopped off the wagon to scrabble behind.
“Tanya and Swan,” he continued, “fine-tune those ears to the skies, listen for heliocrafts. Smelt and Keeyla, be alert—and stop gabbing. Tibbles, you know what to do. If detected, we disperse. If that happens, we regroup at Three Rocks.”
Everyone nodded except for Keeyla and Fabal.
“But, Fulvio.” Fabal stared at his grandfather. “I don’t know where Three Rocks is.”
“Don’t be concerned, little man. Tibbles knows, and he won’t leave you.” Fabal tightened his hold on the bear’s fur. “And Keeyla will be taken care of by the others.”
The group continued to navigate a corkscrew path. Expansive plots of angry sky came into view as the forest began to dwindle. The condensed fragrance of moisture filled the air and threatening clouds obscured the sun. The morning would be laborious if accosted by a drenching rain.
Chapter 21
Basta, your men are getting sloppy,” Crigg Oliver spoke through a diminutive mouth overwhelmed by chubby cheeks. “First, Keeyla McTullan and the boy, and now this.” Crigg paced from one side of Basta’s office to the other. Heavier than most men, he’d been suspected of dipping into the rationing goods.
“Do you think I wanted this to happen, Crigg?” Basta dumped onto his chair behind the desk, his face mottled with scorn. “One of my men is dead, and another just lost an arm protecting people like you.”
Crigg pancaked his hands on the desk, he never liked the despicable Basta. “Those…creatures should’ve been taken out before they hit the village. All hell’s broken loose and Addler’s quick to ram it down my ass.”
As Head of Acquisitions, Crigg dealt in people—mutated people. The more captured, the more Pomfrey felt his miracle of perfection was achieving fruition. Furthermore, after all these years, Pomfrey had finally decided to elect a new Elite, and Crigg was top man for the honored position. He counted the days until he moved into the mansion, and he didn’t need Basta to screw things up.
“Basta!” Spit shot from Crigg’s mouth as he yelled. “The fence should’ve been done by now. I’ve given you months.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of Basta’s unsightly scar, which was turning ruby red.
***
Basta settled his spine deep into his seat, composing his thoughts. Crigg had been a thorn in his side since the promotion. And when Crigg had ordered Vanek to spy on him, it was the last straw. He was biding his time, hoping for a checkmate move.
“The fence should be complete within the month. After today, the entire village will more than likely get involved.” He’d had been in the process of cleaning his gun when Crigg burst into his office. Now he fingered the revolver almost lovingly, the thought of inserting the barrel into Crigg’s mouth and pulling the trigger made him smile. He slipped the temptation into the top drawer of his desk. “Citizens didn’t like the idea of being trapped by a barricade, now they’ll believe Zent when he says it’s for their protection.”
Basta retrieved a cigar from his pocket. He snipped the end with a jackknife, rolled it between his fingers, and placed it in his mouth. Cigars were hard to come by, and he relished each toke. Lighting the tip, he sq
uinted at Crigg pacing in front of his desk. Drawing on the stogy, he closed his eyes, savoring the flavor like it was a gift from the gods, and expelled a slow, smoky stream. “Anything else you need to say?”
Crigg straightened his back, brushing his palms together like he was eliminating dirt. “I wanted to say your first priority is to finish the fence. However, I’ve spoken with Dr. Sese and he says their specimens are nil.”
“I can’t split my men in two.” Internalizing his wrath, Basta felt a boiling sizzle veining through his body. “Overseeing the barricade and patrolling the perimeter is taking its toll. Do you even realize how far we have to travel to find mutants, if any, to die for Pomfrey’s cause? Years ago, they settled close to Tallas. Recently, they’ve concealed themselves farther in the mountains. I can’t imagine why, can you?” His tone bordered on ridicule and sarcasm.
“That’s because you’re capturing them the wrong way.”
Basta’s eyebrows hopped to his forehead. “What’s that you say?”
“You should’ve snatched one at a time while they were alone, so word didn’t spread in their little deformed circles.”
“I always knew you were an dipshit.” Instead of bounding to his feet to throttle the guy, he opened the drawer and laid his revolver on the desk. “Get the hell out of my office.”
Crigg’s lips divided to say one last word, but as Basta fingered the trigger he appeared to decide against it, and, pivoting on his heels, swept out the door.
Calming himself, he dragged serenely on the cigar. A cloud of smoke wreathed his head as he contemplated. He’d fought hard for his rank. Ruthless and brutal, that was what citizens said about him, and indeed, his scarred face fostered their gossip. Basta’s reputation had facilitated in maintaining command as Chief Mediator.
He climbed to his feet and breezed through the smoke. Halting to look in a mirror hanging on the wall, he removed the cigar from his mouth. He thrust aside his dark brown hair that covered his forehead to view the ugly scar. It cleaved from the middle of his hairline, down and across the ridge of his nose, and twisted to his right cheek to his jawline. It had healed into a fleshy lump of pink skin. After eight years, it still caused him to recoil.
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