by Tom Isbell
“Why’re you asking me this?” he wonders.
“Just curious.”
“Maybe, but we haven’t spoken in days, so I bet there’s a reason.”
Hope feels her cheeks burning and is grateful for the dark. She angles her face away from him.
“So what is it?” he presses.
Hope is suddenly unable to speak. She has the sense of what she wants to say, but somewhere between her brain and her mouth, the words are getting stuck. It’s like there are too many and they’re all jumbled together and she couldn’t form a sentence if her life depended on it. If she attempted to talk, it’d just be gibberish.
“Are you gonna tell me?” Book prompts.
“It’s like I told you,” she says, then quickly rises. “I was curious. Good night.”
Before Book can stop her, Hope slips into darkness, pulling the hood tight around her face.
As her fingertips trace her scars, she vows she will do whatever it takes to finish off Dr. Gallingham and Chancellor Maddox—even if it means sacrificing her life in the process. After all, she thinks, it’s the right thing to do.
24.
THE NEXT DAY, AS we trudged through falling snow, I thought of Hope. I wondered why it was she’d come to talk to me. Wondered what it was she couldn’t say.
“I have some thoughts about those numbers,” Twitch said, suddenly appearing by my side. One hand rested on the shoulder of Flush, who guided him forward.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“If it’s a code, it can’t be too complicated, because too many people seem to have it. And if they’re all expected to solve it, then there’s gotta be a simple solution.”
“Makes sense.”
“Which makes me think it’s gotta be a cipher—each number represents a different letter of the alphabet. The problem is, there could be any number of choices.” He recited the numbers; at this point, of course, he knew them by heart. “But maybe we’re thinking about them wrong. Like the four numbers in the middle. We’re assuming they’re ‘one, one, zero, three,’ but maybe they’re actually ‘eleven, zero, three,’ or maybe ‘one, ten, three,’ or maybe even ‘one, one hundred and three’? There’s just no way of knowing, except by going through and doing a literal translation. Which is what we’ve been working on.”
“Okay. So did you find anything?”
“Nothing definite, but I think we’re getting closer.” He looked to Flush, who removed a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was the chart, now more elaborate than ever.
“If we start with one as ‘o,’ then two becomes ‘p,’ three is ‘q,’ and so on,” Flush explained. “And if we think of the beginning numbers as four, fifty-three, ninety-two, twenty-one, one hundred and three, ninety-one and four, then we get something kinda interesting.”
“What exactly?”
“Robimar,” Flush read.
“Robimar?” I asked.
“Robimar,” he repeated.
“Is that even a word?”
“Not that we know of,” Twitch said. “But maybe it’s the name of a town. Or a person.” His excitement was palpable. “What do you think?”
“I haven’t heard of it, but it sounds like you might be getting close.”
“We think so, too.” And with that, he and Flush headed off, talking excitedly. It sure seemed that cracking the code would reveal what the Brown Shirts were up to.
When we stopped late that afternoon, we tied the prisoners to a grove of birch trees, and I removed the map—the one of the former United States. It had been living in my pocket ever since I’d ripped it from the atlas back at the Compound. Its creases were sharp to the touch.
I ironed it out on a rock while my index finger traced one town after another, looking for anything resembling Robimar. The names of the cities were exotic and foreign-sounding.
Great Falls. Excelsior Springs. Butte. Paradise.
I suddenly wondered what the name was of the town we’d seen in the Heartland. Maybe that was Robimar.
I had just returned the map to my pocket when Cat made a sharp whistling noise. Everyone stopped what they were doing, and the howls began a moment later. Wolves. Not just one lone wolf as Flush had hoped, but a pack. And there was something urgent in the cries. Desperate.
Sisters and Less Thans exchanged panicked glances and Cat took charge.
“Form a circle,” he said. “Then arm yourselves.”
Everyone scrambled to the grove of trees and got into position. With the prisoners in the middle, we all sat down around them, our backs to one another, our weapons out. And then we waited, listening to the mournful wail of howling wolves.
When darkness came, the yellow appeared.
Wolf eyes. I’d never seen so many in my life.
25.
HOPE COUNTS FOUR PAIRS of eyes—an easy enough number to bring down. Then a fifth pair appears. And a sixth. And soon it’s not just six wolves, but twenty. And then not just twenty, but fifty, then a hundred, all circling the Sisters and Less Thans, snarling and growling and nipping at the wind.
“Why don’t you untie us?” the Man in Orange suggests. “We’re pretty handy with weapons.”
“So we’ve seen,” Flush says drily.
“Then the smart thing would be to let us help you. There’s no way you can take those wolves down on your own.”
No one says anything, but Hope knows he’s right. On their own, the LTs and Sisters may be able to bring down several dozen wolves, but there are far too many to defeat them all. Eventually, the wolves will reach them.
Eventually, the wolves will win.
“Be smart,” the Man in Orange pleads. “Untie us now and we’ll never bother you again.”
Other Hunters say the same, begging to be let free. Hope hears them tugging against the ropes, the hemp scraping the bark of the trees.
She looks to Cat. He gives his head a shake, and it’s clear what he’s thinking. Arming the Hunters is just as suicidal as facing wolves.
“Come on!” the Man in Orange screams. “You need us!”
Maybe, Hope thinks. But if we’re going to die, better that it’s on our terms. Not at the hands of the Hunters.
The wolves continue to circle, launching their frenzied howls into the night. The sound raises goose bumps on Hope’s arms.
Without warning, three wolves make a dash for the circle. Arrows bring the first two down, but the third makes it through. He goes straight for a Less Than’s throat, and it’s a good twenty seconds before a Sister manages to kill it with her knife. The wolf collapses with a sigh.
The wolves continue to circle, and again a small group makes a break for it. Four wolves this time. Two make it to the circle and latch onto Sisters’ arms. The surrounding Less Thans and Sisters have to scramble to beat them away.
Hope shares a look with Cat. They’re being tested. The wolves are seeing how many they have to sacrifice to get through. Even as the pack continues to make revolutions in the snow, drools of saliva hanging from their teeth, they seem to be calculating their odds.
“Why don’t they just do it?” Sunshine asks. “What’re they waiting for?”
“The right moment,” Cat says, and leaves it at that.
The Sisters and Less Thans try to stay alert, but it’s difficult, mesmerized as they are by the circling pairs of eyes. Yellow dots in a black surround.
“Come on!” Sunshine shouts. “Just do it! Come and get us!”
The wolves’ howls sound like laughter. Finally, Sunshine can’t take it any longer. He throws himself to his feet and darts away from the circle before anyone can stop him.
“Sunny, don’t!” someone yells.
But he’s rushing straight for the pack of wolves, brandishing his knife, waving it rapidly back and forth.
Six wolves are on him before he can bring the blade forward. The beasts tear him limb from limb, ripping off arms and legs and hands and fingers, burying their snouts into the flesh of his skin and yanking out organs
and entrails.
Hope can’t turn away fast enough. It’s an awful sight … and sound. A couple of the Sisters retch.
Sunshine might have been brash, he might have been a bit of a braggart, but he was a Less Than just the same. He was one of them. It’s no longer just fear that hangs over the Sisters and Less Thans; it’s an overwhelming sadness.
“No one else goes anywhere,” Cat says.
But before anyone can stop him, Book rises and heads for the very center of the circle: the prisoners.
26.
IT WAS CRAZY WHAT I was thinking—downright stupid, in fact—but I knew we had to do something. Sunshine’s death proved that.
My hands were shaking when I reached the Man in Orange.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice brimming with relief. “You won’t regret this.”
He extended his body forward so I could slice through the ropes behind his back.
I withdrew my knife. But instead of cutting the ropes, I placed the knife tip at the top button of his coat and sawed downward.
“What’re you doing?” he asked.
I didn’t stop until his coat and shirt opened up like a robe, sliced through from top to bottom. Snow pelted his chest.
“Hey!” he yelled, straining against his ropes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I went to the next prisoner and did the same, cutting his coat and shirt from top to bottom. And then the prisoner next to him and the one after that until I’d gone to all of them, all fifty, slicing through their outer clothes as though gutting fish. They twisted and squirmed to avoid my blade.
“What’re you doing, Book?” Hope asked, but I didn’t answer her.
By now, the Hunters were yelling at me. Screaming. Cursing.
“What the hell?” “You can’t do that, ya little punk!” “We’re going to freeze to death out here!”
I turned to the Man in Orange and met his gaze. “I promise you: that’s not how you’re going to die.”
I thought of Cannon and the other LTs and that initial massacre in the mountains—how the Hunters had tracked them down and been so happy to finish them off. They’d even posed with the LTs’ bullet-riddled bodies like big game hunters on safari.
I don’t consider myself a vengeful person, but those memories allowed me to do what I did next.
Extending my knife, I swiped the blade across the lead Hunter’s stomach—one quick horizontal cut. Not deep enough to kill, just enough to draw blood.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the Man in Orange sputtered, writhing and twisting and tugging at his ropes.
I looked into his eyes and said, “What do you think I’m doing? I’m feeding the animals.”
I sliced a couple of the other Hunters, but not all. There was no need. Libertyville had taught me that the wolves had a taste for human flesh. The scent of just a little human blood would be enough. The other Less Thans and Sisters looked at me with questioning eyes.
“Time to leave,” I said.
Flush’s eyes widened. “And the wolves are gonna let us?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.”
No one said anything. It was a crazy, stupid, desperate idea.
“Book’s right,” Cat said at last. “Let’s try it.”
Slowly, so as not to startle the circling wolves, everyone rose—all 120-something of us.
At first, the wolves didn’t know what to think, and for the longest time they continued their revolutions. Studying. Inspecting. Their whimpers increased, whipped up by the scent of blood and the prospect of an easy meal. Their muzzles pointed toward the sky, sniffing the air. They inched closer, pawing at the ground, their saliva dripping onto snow.
“Follow me,” I said, and inched away from the circle.
The others followed single file behind me, sliding through the snow. With each step, we grew closer and closer to the circle of wolves. They eyed us suspiciously. Half of them ogled the helpless Hunters while the other half kept their eyes on us.
“Lower your weapons,” I said.
“Then we’re as good as dead,” Flush said.
“Lower them.”
Everyone did, reluctantly dropping spears and bows and arrows to their waists. Still, we gripped them tighter than ever, and in the darkness I could make out the whites of my friends’ knuckles. What I couldn’t see was how the wolves were reacting.
I was now mere feet from them.
The biggest of the wolves—clearly the alpha male—had edged his way around the circle so that he stood directly in my path. His snout sported a diamond-shaped tuft of white, and the husky growl that rumbled from his throat vibrated through my body.
I came to a halt when I was only a yard away from him.
“There’s no need to go for us,” I whispered to the wolf. “There’s more than enough food right back there. And they’re unarmed.” I gestured to my weapon as though he could understand.
I can’t say he got my words, but he stared me up and down, his eyes darting from my face to my weapon to the prisoners tied up behind us. After what seemed an eternity, he shuffled to one side. The wolves behind him did as well, creating a narrow passageway for us.
“Go,” I said to Flush, who was right behind me. “Lead the others away from here.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“In a bit.”
I stood there and made sure all the LTs and Sisters got through. I had no more reason to trust the wolves than I did the Hunters, and I needed to see that all of us made it out alive. As Hope passed, her hand accidentally brushed against mine. What surprised me was that even though our lives were in the balance, I felt a shudder of something when her skin touched mine. Recognition? Remembrance? Pleasure?
When the last Sister shuffled through, the alpha male and I made eye contact for a final time … and then I hurried to catch up with the others. As soon as I moved away from them, the wolves stepped back in place, completing their circle.
“Don’t leave us here!” I heard the Man in Orange cry out. “Please!”
Shoulda thought of that when you were attacking unarmed Less Thans, I wanted to say.
Maybe what happened next wouldn’t have happened in pre-Omega times. But as Frank had told us, wolves were different now. I turned around and watched as they edged closer to the Hunters, who were now yanking at the ropes and crying out in terror. I would have felt compassion for them … if I hadn’t remembered everything I’d seen them do.
The attack happened in the blink of an eye. Even as the alpha male was in the air, leaping toward the squirming figure of the Man in Orange, the other wolves were right behind. They pounced on the prisoners in a choreography that was both beautiful and awful.
The Hunters’ screams filled the night—a haunting sound that pierced my ears. But louder even than their screams were the snarls of wolves feasting on prey. Human bodies being ripped apart, bits of flesh and skin gobbled down. The wolves were desperate for food, and they wasted no time devouring the human meat.
“Keep moving,” I whispered to the other LTs, who’d also stopped to look.
We scrambled out of there, slogging through snow in the dead of night, moving faster than we ever had. The sight—and sound—of those wolves devouring the Hunters gave us all the incentive we needed. Some of the other LTs and Sisters offered words of congratulations.
“Nice job, Book.” “Good thinking back there.” “We owe you, man.”
Some slapped me on the back; a couple shook my hand.
Hope said absolutely nothing.
So apparently the Man in Orange was right. I was wasting my time.
27.
HOPE TRIES.
As she passes Book on her way out of the circle, she stretches out her hand to touch his. But either he doesn’t see her … or he doesn’t care. In any case, he doesn’t respond.
She can’t really blame him. Until she can gather the courage to say what she feels, things aren’t g
oing to change.
They march through the night and all the next day, and Hope doesn’t say a word to anyone. She walks well ahead of the others, not allowing anyone to get close. When they set up camp that next night, they’re hungry and exhausted and fall asleep immediately. Except Hope. She takes in her surroundings and dwells on what could be, what could have been.
Hope tiptoes between sleeping bodies, her path lit by the fire’s dying embers. When she reaches Book, she takes a deep breath, lowers herself to the ground, and places her hand on his shoulder.
“Book,” she says, giving him a gentle shake. “Come on.”
His eyes flutter open, surprised to see her. “Where’re we going?”
“You’ll see.”
She rises and strides off. Book stumbles to his feet and follows.
Hope leads the way through the dark forest, pushing aside branches, stepping through thickets. When she comes to a small creek, rimmed in ice, she stops a moment and absently strokes her necklace.
“Where’re we going?” Book asks again.
Hope doesn’t answer. She jumps the creek and resumes walking.
She walks swiftly now, more confidently. Book has to hurry to keep up. They come to what used to be a dirt road. Even through the snow, it’s possible to see the ruts from pre-Omega vehicles. Hope follows the road.
They climb a small hill, halting when they reach the top. They’re both breathing heavily. It takes Book a moment to understand why they’ve come to a stop, but then he sees it. There, nestled in the hollow of the hills, sculpted by moonglow, is a small cabin. It’s nearly in ruins—the paint is peeling, one window is shattered, there’s a gaping hole in the roof—but Hope inhales sharply at the sight.
“Is this—” Book asks.
She nods. Her former home. Where she grew up. Where her parents rocked her to sleep. Where she and Faith played in the small creek out back. Where her mother was brutally murdered.
They walk down the hill and approach the house, slowly, quietly, reverently. Hope can feel her heart pounding. The porch draws her first. It was where her mother was shot and killed a decade earlier. Hope reaches it and slowly climbs the sagging steps. The wood creaks and groans beneath her weight.