The Watch (The Red Series Book 1)

by Amanda Witt

  Harding and Joe had stayed back, ten or twelve yards away from them, hiding in the shadows and the trees; I stopped there too, trying to make sense of the scene. There was so little light, so many twisted shadowy forms between us and them.

  First I saw a light-haired boy whose back was to me; it had to be Judd, whose shout I’d heard.

  He was facing off with someone—an adult—someone wearing black, and whose bald head gleamed in the darkness. Warden Karl?

  Warden Karl—if it was indeed he—was talking in a low voice, a voice meant to be soothing. His hands were up soothingly as well, showing that he held nothing. Then everything happened very quickly.

  The warden moved, lurched sideways, and at the same moment Judd raised his arm.

  “Judd has a gun,” Harding said, and I leapt forward, shouting.

  “No!” I cried. “He’s your father!” A gunshot drowned my words and the warden fell—surely not Karl, surely not—didn’t Judd know? Everyone talked about it, when we played our guessing games. Surely Judd knew.

  Sick at heart I kept moving, hurrying to Judd, who now was running forward, away from me, straight to the fallen warden.

  The warden wasn’t dead. He was getting to his feet and turning, looking behind him on the ground, where another body lay. He bent over the body for a moment, then stood upright.

  “That’s torn it,” he said to Judd, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders and glancing at me over the boy’s head. He didn’t seem surprised that I was there.

  “Is he dead?” Judd’s voice was too high.

  “Yes,” Warden Karl said. “He’s dead.”

  “He was going to shoot me,” Judd said. He was shaking. “He raised his gun and he shoved you out of his way and I had to, he was going to—”

  Warden Karl was shushing him. “You did fine,” he said. “You did great. But now we’ll have to hide you somehow.” I could tell from his face that he couldn’t think how to do that. Wardens who weren’t in the breeding program didn’t have houses of their own; they lived in the barracks together.

  “He wasn’t the only one who saw you take that gun from Alice,” Warden Karl said to his son. “There were at least three more who went other directions, trying to cut you off. You gave them quite a run—I was proud of you, boy—but now that we’ve stopped they’ll find us soon enough. We need to get moving again.” He was talking to Judd but his mind was elsewhere, searching for a way to save his son.

  Judd was crying now, tears running down his cheeks. “I killed him,” he said. “I just wanted him to go away, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t leave.”

  Warden Karl nodded, his face grim. I looked toward the form lying awkwardly on the ground, but couldn’t tell who it was. The scarred warden’s face came into my mind, the one who had threatened me. Was it him?

  “And I used up the only bullet,” Judd said plaintively.

  “What were you planning to do with it?” Warden Karl asked.

  Judd looked at me, then at the gun in his hands. “I was going to give it to Red,” he said. “I thought she could use a gun.”

  Warden Karl nodded again. “Because she’s in trouble. Because she’s your friend. She’s always been your friend, hasn’t she? Since she was back at school with you. She helped you with your sums.”

  Judd nodded and they both gazed fixedly at me. I knew Warden Karl was trying to distract Judd, and I tried wildly to think of something helpful to say, but I couldn’t think—ridiculously, I felt paralyzed with embarrassment. Here we were, on this horrible city meeting night, with a dead man lying on the ground a few feet away—a man that Judd, a twelve-year-old boy, had killed—and Judd and his father were standing there silently, staring at me.

  The back of my neck prickled. Somewhere out in the darkness Harding and Joe were staring at me, too.

  Then Judd broke the silence. “At the city meeting you went to Farrell Dean,” he said, and before his eyes dropped I saw a flash of something.

  “He was hurt,” I whispered.

  Judd nodded. “I know,” he said, but his eyes were still lowered. “He needed help and I didn’t, and so you helped him—and I saw the gun, and I took it away from the cook, and I wanted to help you so I followed the way you’d gone.”

  “You did great, Judd,” I said, drawing closer.

  “I followed, only they were following me, so I had to weave around to lose them, and I wasn’t sure exactly where you’d gone and then they were too close . . .”

  Behind me Joe stepped into the meadow, out of the shelter of the trees, and cleared his throat. “Best be off,” he said to me. “It’s not safe here.”

  Warden Karl eyed him sharply, then turned to me. “You’ve got someplace to go?”

  I nodded. “Outside the city.” I didn’t know what else to say, how much to trust him. And even if I did trust him, as Meritt had said, even the best man could be broken.

  Warden Karl seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he flung up his hand. “I don’t need to hear any more,” he said.

  Beside me Judd sniffed, then faked a cough, trying to hide that he was crying, now that Joe was there.

  I came to a decision. “Judd should come with us.”

  Joe glanced over sharply.

  “It’s not like it’s safer for him in the city,” I said.

  Warden Karl’s face was inscrutable. He stood looking at me, running his hand absently along the top of his stunner. Then he gave one decisive nod. “Off with you, Judd,” he said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Take care.”

  Judd hesitated, looking up at Warden Karl. Joe reached out and took the boy by the elbow. “Let’s go,” he said, and with one last glance at his father Judd melted into the darkness.

  I couldn’t see Harding but I was sure he was still there, waiting for me in the trees. I couldn’t tell whether Warden Karl knew he was there or not. He stared at the darkness where Judd had vanished, then sighed and looked at me. “If you protect him half as well as you protect Meritt, he’ll be okay,” he said.

  I kept my face a careful blank. “I’ll take good care of him,” I said.

  The warden smiled approvingly at my evasiveness, and then his face hardened. “Promise me,” he said, and he looked like wardens usually looked, focused and dangerous. But I wasn’t afraid of him. We were on the same side.

  “Yes,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “I’ll take care of Judd. I promise.”

  Chapter 26

  The moon wasn’t up, but by now the clouds had begun to clear so that the stars overhead provided a little steady light.

  When Harding and I got back to our little group, we found it had grown in our absence. Meritt wasn’t there yet, but Ezzie was lying sprawled on the ground near Liza and Shawna, panting hard as if he’d been running for a long time. Cline was standing in front of Farrell Dean but with his back to him, guarding him, and Cook Alice was kneeling on the ground beside her son, talking quietly.

  As I watched, Alice reached out and began unbuttoning Farrell Dean’s shirt. When she gently pulled it open, he winced but shifted so she could ease it off his back. His injuries were bound to be ugly, but encouraged by her calm, pleasant expression, I drew near. When I went to kneel beside her, however, I noticed the tears on her cheek and caught the murmur of private conversation between mother and son.

  Feeling awkward, I muttered something—as if I had recalled a pressing matter—and backed away, an all too familiar pain shooting through me.

  Judd and his father, Farrell Dean and his mother. People were drawn to their own flesh and blood. They sought it, looked for it in the shape of a jaw, in mannerisms, in the sound of a voice. They wanted connections, physical connections, the magical echoes of themselves in other bodies, other lives. I wanted it. But my parents, if they were living, had never sought me out; and I’d certainly never seen anyone who looked like me. It wasn’t just the red hair—as Wanda was so fond of pointing out, I was small and “fine boned” as old Louie chivalrously p
ut it. Someone in my genetic background must have been small, too, unless I really was just a mutant freak.

  Ashamed of my envy and loneliness in this moment of shared danger, afraid Farrell Dean would glance up and read it in my eyes—and I didn’t begrudge him his mother, I didn’t, I only wanted my mother too, whoever she was—I turned away.

  A few minutes later Cline came to where I was sitting alone beneath an apple tree.

  “What are we waiting for?” he said, stopping just a bit too far away, as if I might be contagious.

  He knew exactly what we were waiting for, but because he disliked me, he wanted to make me say it. Fine.

  “We’re waiting for Meritt,” I said brusquely.

  To my surprise Cline looked uncomfortable. He shifted on his feet, glanced over his shoulder as if wishing for help. Then, reluctantly, he looked back at me. “He isn’t coming, Red.”

  “What? Why not?” Surely Meritt knew that going to the Guardians—the Guardian—was our only hope. He’d heard the Watchers talking, same as I had. Why wouldn’t he come?

  The look in Cline’s eyes was suspiciously like pity. “He was up in the tower,” he said. “You know that. That’s the only way he could have cut the lights like he did.”

  In the Opticon, at the top of the watchtower, above the prison. With only one way out.

  “There’s no way he could have escaped,” Cline went on, and I wanted to cover my ears. “They’ve got him.”

  I felt my jaw set stubbornly. “Do you know that for a fact? Did you see them catch him?”

  Cline didn’t answer that question. “If you want to wait here until the Watchers find you, then wait,” he said. “But don’t take the rest of us down with you. Tell me where to find that Guardian. Give me a message so he’ll know we’re from you. Or don’t. But the rest of us are going.”

  He meant it.

  And he was right. We had to go, and Meritt wasn’t coming. He’d been trapped.

  Would they kill him? Of course they would. And why would they wait? He could be dead already. Meritt might be dead.

  Hundreds, thousands of images of him filled my mind. Meritt bent over my school desk, helping me with work; Meritt laughing, grinning his crooked grin; Meritt in the darkness, in the sunlight, in the wasteland, under the electric blue lights, shoving his dark hair out of his face, his gray eyes alight, distant, focused, teasing. Meritt leaning toward me, kissing me so quickly I didn’t feel it until he was gone.

  Hot tears filled my eyes, ran down my cheeks.

  “Hey,” Cline said, gruffly but not unkindly. “Save it for later.”

  But I couldn’t do this without Meritt. I wasn’t brave enough, old enough, wise enough. I needed Meritt. I needed Rafe. We all needed Rafe, but he was dead too.

  “Listen,” Cline said. “I don’t know what they’ll do to Meritt, or when. But we aren’t any use to him dead. Help me get the others someplace safe, and then maybe we can figure out a way to help Meritt.”

  Unexpectedly, he stepped forward and held out his hand. I reached up and took it, and he pulled me to my feet. Instantly he released me—he might get cooties—and stepped back.

  “Good,” he said. “Now all you have to do is get us to the Guardian.”

  Chapter 27

  In the distance an owl hooted. An image of the wild men rose in my mind, and I pushed it away. An image of Meritt falling, shot and bleeding, took its place. I pushed that away, too.

  Cline was gathering everyone together. He would take the rear, he had said, to help stragglers and to watch for trouble, and I was to lead the way. I watched Farrell Dean as he got to his feet, his mother helping him, and then slowly—having put it off as long as I could—I went to join the group.

  “This way,” I said, and pointed, and we headed for the gap in the wall.

  At the gap I went through and had begun to cross the wasteland when I realized I was alone. Turning, I saw that the rest of the group had paused at the gap.

  I’d forgotten. Most of them had never been outside the wall.

  As I watched, Joe and Harding came forward. Those two had cut trees in the eastern woods, the safer woods. Then Farrell Dean, whispering some word of encouragement to his mother, led her out; he’d probably been outside of the walls with Meritt or Rafe. Slowly, hesitantly, the rest followed.

  Silently they joined me. The wasteland glowed pale and cold in the starlight, eerie, but not as eerie as the shadowy trees with mist twining around them like ghosts.

  Once we were deep in those dark trees I had to stop again to get my bearings. Exactly where had I left Sir Tom? We’d parted in the daylight, and the woods looked different at night. I took a few steps forward; the whole group moved with me, right on my heels.

  “Stay here just a minute,” I whispered, and walked a few yards. Yes. This was the way—just over there was the rock where Sir Tom had sat down, and I’d changed clothes behind that smaller tree.

  I gestured. The others joined me and we quickly covered the short distance to the meeting place. There was no sign of Sir Tom, though on the large rock a streak of dark blood told me this was indeed the right place.

  “He’s not here yet,” I said, stating the obvious. “But he’ll come.” I hoped.

  The others shifted uneasily, looking around, gazing up at the tall trees, the patch of sky. No one wanted to sit, to rest. Shawna, Liza, and Alice stood close together beside Sir Tom’s rock. The guys paced back and forth in a sort of ragged patrol of the area. They looked twitchy, like cats waiting to pounce on something. Even Farrell Dean, clearly in pain, was managing to focus on the shadows and the trees.

  At least Judd wasn’t thinking about the dead warden anymore; like the other guys he was pacing, staring into the darkness.

  When a twig snapped nearby, Cline and Harding moved before I could even see what had made the noise. They charged into the underbrush, Ezzie, Joe, and Judd right behind them. Alice grabbed Farrell Dean and stopped him from following; Shawna and Liza huddled closer together.

  We heard struggling, grunts, the thud of a fist on flesh, an infuriated scream. I was edging toward the sounds when Ezzie reappeared, followed immediately by the rest of them. They were dragging something that was digging his fingers into the ground, trying to claw himself back into the shadows, now and then letting out a tangled, angry stream of nonsense.

  Jensen.

  “He bit me,” Cline said angrily, stepping on the small of Jensen’s back and pinning him flat to the ground, though still he thrashed and struggled—uselessly, because the others were now pinning him down as well, kneeling on each of his arms and legs.

  “Don’t hurt him!” I said.

  “Red redder reddest!” the man cried, hearing my voice, straining to turn his head toward me. “Red redder reddest!”

  “What is this?” Cline asked. “One of the wild men? How does he know your name?”

  “No, this is Jensen.”

  “The wild men are worse than this?” Cline lost his balance and Jensen screamed.

  “Stop!” I said. “Don’t hurt him. Help him up.”

  “No way!”

  “Yes—” How to explain while Jensen was listening? I didn’t even know how much Jensen understood. “He gets a little confused sometimes, but he’s loyal to Sir Tom.”

  “Sir!” roared Jensen, struggling harder. “Sir!”

  Cline looked unconvinced.

  “Sir Tom won’t like it if we hurt him,” I said.

  Cline considered this, glancing around at the other boys. They shrugged.

  “He doesn’t have a weapon,” Ezzie said.

  Cline snorted.

  From behind me Farrell Dean spoke. “We’ve got him outnumbered.”

  “Jensen,” I said, drawing as close as I dared. I made my voice as crisp as I could. “Lieutenant Jensen! Hold still!”

  He stopped struggling. Cline threw an incredulous glance in my direction.

  “Lieutenant Jensen, we are going to release you. Stand to attention!”
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br />   After a moment’s hesitation, the boys stepped off Jensen’s body. Cline reached down and hauled him to his feet.

  “Attention!” I said again, firmly, and—to my amazement—Jensen put his feet together, straightened his back as much as he was able, and saluted. “Red redder reddest!” he said.

  Judd smothered a laugh.

  “Jensen!” I said crisply, glaring at Judd. “Have you seen Sir?”

  Beneath his shaggy, filthy beard, Jensen’s lips moved. No words came out.

  “He’s crazy,” Cline said softly.

  “Sir,” Jensen said uncertainly, slumping. “Sir?”

  “Sir will be here shortly, Jensen,” I said. Very shortly, I hoped—and what was I going to do with Jensen in the meantime?

  Inspiration struck.

  “Jensen!” I said. He stood straighter again. “Your orders are to find Sir Tom!”

  Jensen saluted but didn’t otherwise move.

  “Find Sir!” I said again. “Bring Sir here!”

  Again Jensen saluted.

  Farrell Dean spoke quietly in my ear. “I think he’s waiting for you to dismiss him,” he said.

  “Jensen! Dismissed!”

  Jensen spun and took off at a trot through the woods. Within seconds he was out of sight.

  The others stared after him, then turned and stared at me.

  “Pretty impressive, Red,” Ezzie said, grinning. “Too bad you couldn’t get the field workers to obey like that.”

  “Maybe if I’d pinned them to the ground first,” I said dismissively, though in truth I was pleased with myself. I’d kept Jensen from getting hurt, and maybe regained a few points with Cline—he’d never like me, but I wanted him to at least respect me, not think I was just a silly weepy girl.

  “Now what?” said Cline. He was rubbing one hand with the other.

  “Now we wait,” I said.

  Alice spoke up. “How bad is the bite?”

  Cline turned his hand over, studying it in the moonlight. “I don’t think he broke the skin,” he said. “He startled me, that’s all. He fights like a girl.”

  Liza heaved a pointed sigh. “He fights like an animal,” she said.