Claimed: Faction 3: The Isa Fae Collection

by Heather Hambel Curley

  Nothing strange about that.

  But as we got closer, I realized what it was: a dried up river bed. There two rows of neatly spaced holes—eight total—covered with plastic wrap. In the center of each was a small rock.

  I looked at him.

  “It’s our sad attempt at water farming. At first we tried digging as far down as we could to find water, but all we got was damp sub-soil. Peter was a boys scout in his youth and, because of that, we were able to put these water stills together. Some plants at the bottom, a coffee can in the middle, and the plastic wrap on top. The heat of the sun evaporates any water from the soil and the leaves and it collects on the plastic wrap. Once it drips in the can, we have a few sips of water. Enough to get by, anyway.”

  My jaw went slack; I knew my mouth was hanging open. The can nearest to me had, as a high estimate, a tablespoon of water collected in the bottom. “This is how you’ve been surviving?”

  He nodded. His flicked downward and I could tell he was scrutinizing each can. “There’s eight cans and four of us. It works.”

  Wren. It was echoing through my mind, a whisper that seemed like it was burning into the interior of my brain. I tried to ignore it. “How many times a day can you do this?”

  His brow furrowed. “Only once.”

  “Jesus.”

  “We have a few trees on the other side of the lot. You’ll have to see it; it’s ridiculous. We have all these plastic zip top bags tied to the branches. We get about a cup of water a day from each.” He hesitated. “It’s been hard.”

  “I don’t know how you made it this long.”

  “We didn’t. Not all of us, I mean, at the beginning there were six of us. Daniel died within the first week from injuries. He was hurt during the Division…there was nothing any of us could have done. And Cass. She died maybe six months ago? God, I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “She was Lyta’s sister.” He brushed damp strands of hair off his forehead. “This water means a lot to us. You have no idea.”

  Stop! Please.

  I straightened up, straining my ears to hear it again. The outlands were silent, the wind was whispering across the rocks and sighing against mounds of dirt and sand. Further out, I could see where the rocks took over: an almost alien place, full of geysers, hot springs, and steam pots; where water from the earth could scald you. Maybe the sounds were from there; maybe it was the echo of a rock fall. An avalanche.

  I wasn’t hearing things.

  “We don’t head that direction.” He cocked his head in the direction I was staring. “Once upon a time, it was country’s first national park. It was protected and the land was treasured. Now? It’s hell. The ground crumbles away and leaves you in acidic ponds and alkaline streams. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Sulfur and brimstone. Fuck, I think it’s the entrance to hell.”

  “Yellowstone.”

  “Maybe once. How it’s no man’s land.”

  “We went there when I was a kid. We watched Old Faithful go off and I saw a moose. It was all very exciting.” I dipped my head down. Get off her—stop! It was clear; it seared my ears. My temple throbbed.

  I grabbed his arm, digging my fingertips into his leather coat. “Avi—“

  And there I heard it; this time, the ringing in my ears stopped. I heard it like we were standing right next to them.

  Screams. Pleading.

  “Shit.” Avi bolted in the direction of the trailer park. I was only steps behind him, digging my toes into the dirt with each stride; my hands were pumping along next to me like pistons, like it would be enough to lift me into flight.

  I should have turned around the first time, I should have heard them calling for help. Pain seared across my chest, my lungs seizing with the sudden exertion. I scrambled behind Avi as if I were his shadow and mimicked his movements to avoid tripping over rocks or turning my ankle on a shift in landscape.

  The tangy smell of smoke and rotted eggs—sulfur—hit my nostrils. It was like a punch to the face..

  Guns. A rifle and a pistol; two pistols. One bullet. A shotgun full of shells.

  A shotgun full of shells.

  Avi leapt over a overturned propane grill and threw himself on the back of a hulking man draped in beige and tan canvas. I saw him twist and buck—the man had a pistol and the sun gleamed off the barrel as he flailed—and with some kind of arch of his back and cross of his legs, Avi brought the raider down.

  For a split second, not longer than the pause between heartbeats, everything fell silent.

  And then Soleil screamed my name.

  I whirled around, thrusting my hand up in barely enough time to connect with a man’s wrist. He was gripping the other pistol and crushing it down towards my skull. I wrenched his arm around as far as I could, but he was stronger than me. My grip was at its limit, my fingers were slipping—

  I lunged forward, hitting him in the throat with the heel of my hand. It was enough to stun him and he pitched forward, audibly retching. As he sank to the ground, I spun around and elbowed him in the face.

  The cartilage in his nose cracked and splintered; blood was everywhere.

  Wrenching the gun from him, I snapped the breech open. No bullets.

  There wasn’t time to celebrate. Just because I’d found the empty pistol, that meant there was still the rifle and the shotgun. One bullet.

  A shotgun full of shells.

  I walloped him over the head with the butt of the gun. The man went limp.

  The sound of a female screaming split through my ears; I looked up and saw Peter falling in front of my sister. A raider held Lyta by the hair and had her arms pinned up, while a second man was struggling to tear off her dress.

  I’d barely taken a half step in their direction when I heard an unearthly scream: a growl, a roar of anger. Tone barreled out from behind the closet trailer like a linebacker, throwing his entire weight into the man standing.

  I sprinted to my sister’s side, dropping to my knees beside her and Peter. “How many are there?”

  Soleil was sobbing. “I-I don’t know. We were just sitting here—“

  “No, I don’t need a backstory I need you to tell me how many there are.” I forced Peter upright, slapping my hand against his face. “Come on, buddy, wake up. Did they hit him?”

  “No, he’s just weak. I don’t know what it is.” She brought her hand to her mouth and shoved her thumbnail in between her teeth. “It might be something that he had before the Division and has run its course.”

  I yanked her hand out of her mouth. “Stop chewing on your nails. Figure out what’s wrong with him—and fuck, Soleil, tell me who has the shotgun.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Soeil.” I slammed her hand against Peter’s chest. “Fix him and try to remember.”

  I’d barely taken one step away from her when I heard her speak again. “You can stop this. You can stop them.”

  I knew what she meant—she wanted me to use my power, my energy, to knock them senseless. The thought crossed my mind but….no, no one could know. We were witches. The secret was supposed to stay sacred or, like Pa said, they’d hunt us. They’d burn us.

  I’d only use it to save Avi. Only if it came to that.

  “Wren.” She squirmed out from under Peter and carefully slid him to his back. “There’s five of them.”

  Great. I dipped forward and pulled my knife out of my boot sheath. Two with Tone, one with Avi, the one I’d knocked out. That left one here, somewhere.

  Not exactly ideal.

  Lyta started screaming incoherently. She’d fallen to her knees and was sobbing, her body doubled over either in pain or panic. In front of her, sprawled on the ground, was Tone. I couldn’t tell for sure what happened, but he was losing his fight. Fast. One man was down, but the other had him pinned—he was pressing his weight on Tone’s throat.

  I ran to Lyta and pulled her into my arms. She struggled at first but then she looke
d at me; she took a sharp breath and looked into my face, her eyes widening in recognition. Her arms latched around my waist. “Wren.”

  “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” I wiggled out of her grasp and pulled her to a standing position. “Go help Soleil with Peter.”

  “Tone—you have to help Tone.”

  “I will.” I shoved her back and then adjusted my grip on my knife. “Just go, Lyta, please.”

  I swallowed hard. I wasn’t sure I could do this again, end a man’s life just like that. The first time was different. This wasn’t the same situation.

  The backs of my eyes felt like they’d been lit up by fireworks. White hot explosions made my vision blur and I stumbled to the side, flopping forward and sheathing my knife. I could hear him breathing. It was jagged, panicked.

  The wisp of a man had a knife. He’d stabbed, he’d jerked his hand out first and blindly pushed cold steel into the raider’s flank. The wound was deep, the blood was dark red. It came from his core, but he was still armed. They still had a chance.

  The others will come.

  I jerked upwards and, in the same movement, ran to Tone’s side. The attacker saw me. He lessoned his grip on Tone’s throat, only to tug the tunic fabric away from his face. His mouth and teeth here bloodied and he spit on the ground—then he smiled. “I’ll have you next, princess.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. No one was looking.

  “Sed postero die vos.” No, you will die next. I didn’t give him any time to respond or even to mentally process what I’d said. I lifted my hands out and forced enough energy from my palms to throw him back and off Tone. He flung backwards and slammed against the nearest trailer.

  Holding my hand up, I crooked my fingers downward. The structure tipped forward; I made the movement again, this time holding up both hands and lowering my fingers at a slower pace. The single-wide tilted off center with ease and, with hardly a pause, toppled over.

  At the last second possible, I focused my mind on Tone and, with a quick sweep of my fingers, dragged him backwards by almost a foot. The trailer slammed down in front of him—and on top of the raider.

  The man never even screamed.

  I scrambled forward and dropped to my knees next to Tone. “Are you okay?”

  A deep cut trailed from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, narrowly missing his eye, and blood dripped from his nose. “Lyta…”

  “She’s fine.”

  “And Peter? Avi?”

  “I have to find Avi.” I pushed up onto my feet again, back tracking through the maze of trailers and buildings. He wasn’t where I’d last seen him. I saw the body of the man I’d knocked out and, further past him, blood splatters in the dirt.

  No one was there.

  I adjusted my knife in my hand and pressed forward, straining my ears to ear any out of place sounds or shuffles. There could be two of them left—two, plus Avi. I couldn’t risk hurting him; I had to make sure when I struck, I wasn’t stabbing blind. I had to be sure.

  I know what you are.

  I stopped walking. The sound was in my mind, but as loud and clear as if the speaker was right next to me. I held my breath; I listened for someone else’s breathing. He had to be close.

  I took a step forward.

  And another.

  I stopped, agains straining my ears for any sound of movement, any sign that I was being followed or hunted. Deep down, I knew I was. He saw me. Wherever he was at, he had be in his sights.

  Still another step.

  Kill you now or later. A reward either way.

  I stopped.

  Witch.

  Sharp pain seared through my brain—in my minds eye, I could see him above me; ready to pounce.

  I jumped backwards and tripped, my ankle rolling to one side and sending me sprawling out on my ass. The movement, though, was just enough: a figure from above leapt down, tucking and rolling where I’d just be standing.

  He was fast to his feet, leveling a shotgun at my head.

  A shotgun full of shells.

  I held my hands up to try and signal defeat or surrender—or at least get in position to knock him back. My heart was pounding in my chest, the cadence matched to the stabbing sensation in my brain. I’d known. Somehow, I’d known he was stalking me from the top of the trailer.

  That was impossible. Wasn’t it?

  “Please don’t hurt me.” I pouted. Maybe he’d be swayed by feigned innocence.

  “Shut up.”

  “You don’t want to do this.”

  “You don’t know what the fuck I want.” He pumped the gun like he was punctuating his statement. “Take your clothes off.”

  That wasn’t happening. I needed to distract him; if I threw an energy burst at him, there was the chance he’d fire before it hit him. If I aimed at the gun…same thing. His finger was hovering over the trigger, he was ready.

  Fuck. “Please—“

  “I’m not going to tell you again!” His voice was shrill, he was obviously in panic mode. “Strip. Now. Look, bitch, you’re going to die either way. I’ll give you a few more seconds to live or I’ll send you to hell right now.”

  I spit at him. “Vidi infernum.” I have seen hell.

  “You little bitch—“

  He never finished. A figure leapt down from the trailer roof, landing squarely on top of the him, and dragged him down to the ground. The shotgun dropped.

  Avi.

  I catapulted forward, scrambling across the dusty ground until I reached the gun. There wasn’t any way I could fire; Avi was wrestling with him, yanking the raider’s hair and trying to choke him back with what looked like a long metal stick.

  They shuffled, they punched and grunted; I heard the smack of fist on flesh and the snap of fingers being yanked out of sockets. There was cursing and punching. And then I heard an odd thwack: the sound of someone dropping a melon on a hard ground.

  Avi shoved himself upward and onto his feet. Blood was streaked across his face—I couldn’t tell if it was his or the man’s—and he glanced at me. He adjusted his grip on the metal rod; I now realized it was rebar.

  I swallowed hard.

  With one final, ferocious glimpse at me, he pulled his arm back and swung at the raider. He thrashed him; he beat him until blood arched through the air.

  He never spoke.

  And I looked away.

  Thirteen

  We’d reached the junction of a season and, although I wasn’t sure what that meant in the grand scheme of the Division and the Fall (as we’d come to call it), the days were getting hotter and the nights colder. Something with nature was wholly off kilter; whereas we should be transitioning into an altogether different climate, we were instead experiencing temperature extremes on a daily basis.

  Instead of worrying about what it meant or didn’t mean for our future, I tried to learn from our new found friends. I helped Tone with water, Peter tried—and immediately gave up—teaching me to cook. I was pretty useless, though, as our crops started to slowly grow, I was able to help cultivate our baby plants.

  I kept my powers in check.

  The new day dawned hot and humid. I traded in my tunic and corset for a while shirt and ill-fitting capris pants I found in one of the trailers. Soleil didn’t seem bothered by the heat. In fact, she’d claimed a rock out in the middle of the wasteland, in the most shadeless, barren spot she could pick. She’d been sitting there since I’d gotten up.

  Lyta handed me a plate of unidentifiable brown slop. “Your sister is weird.”

  “Well, you’re not wrong.” I sniffed at the plate. “What is this?”

  “We tried refrying the beans from last night. And when I say we, what I mean is Peter. Peter tried to refry the beans from last night. He says it’s high in fiber.” She wrinkled up her nose. “For what that’s worth.”

  I took a bite of the slop: it was mostly bland, with a faint aftertaste of salt. I gagged. “How long has she been out there?”

  “Since she refused to eat
breakfast.”

  “Did she say why she went out there?” I wasn’t sure I cared, but curiosity got the better of me.

  “She says she’s looking for radiation.” Peter limped over to us and flopped down on a folding metal chair. He dragged his arm across his brow. “Can you find radiation like that? I mean, does it just show up with a big sign like, hi, I’m radiation!”

  I shrugged. “Probably not.”

  “She’s going to get heat stroke.”

  “And I should be concerned about that…why, exactly?” I took another bite of the beans, quickly gulping down water to force the mash down my throat. “Most societies consider her an adult. I can only do so much, Peter, you realize this.”

  “Someone should tell her she’s being stupid.”

  “As much as that tickles me…” I considered it for a moment and then shook my head. “No, that requires actual effort. I’m good. But, by all means. Go if you must.”

  Lyta snorted.

  Peter opened his mouth to respond, but immediately his expression changed. “Avi, Avi oxen-free, good morning. We have refried beans for breakfast and water. I wanted to boil and eat the corn husks from last night, but Lyta threw them in the fire.”

  “Corn husks?” Avi cocked his eyebrow upward and sat next to me. He leaned over and pressed his lips to my cheek. “That sounds like the food my food should eat.”

  Peter scoffed. “I’m trying to change our menu up. Don’t get me wrong, I like grubs and shit as much as the next person—“

  “Nobody likes grubs, Peter.” Lyta handed Avi a plate and a spoon. “Stop pretending and just embrace it. We’re eating bugs to live. Bugs. Fishing lure.”

  Avi tapped his spoon against his plate. “Wait, did you put grubs in the beans?”

  “Jesus, what do you take me for?” Peter scoffed. He smoothed his hair back. “I put grubs in the tamales last night. All that is, is beans, salt, water, and heat.”

  “You know, I’m not really all that hungry yet.” Avi put his plate on the ground and reached over, taking my hand. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Uh,” I glanced at the others; Lyta was obviously pretending not to listen, but Peter was full on watching. “Sure?”