The Watch (The Red Series Book 1)

by Amanda Witt

  We gathered near Sir Tom’s rock, with our youngest and our injured in the center and the rest of us circled around them, facing out, keeping watch.

  What if Sir Tom’s leg had gotten worse? What if he couldn’t walk, couldn’t come meet us? What if he’d sent Jensen with a message, and we’d terrified the poor creature into forgetting his mission?

  Or what if Sir Tom had died? After all, he was wounded.

  And then there were the wild men—how many of them, I didn’t know. But I was pretty sure they’d try to kill us if they found us. The guys had managed to pin Jensen, but they might not be as successful with those wolf-like creatures.

  Beside me Joe cleared his throat and I jumped. “Ahead and to the right,” he said softly.

  A low fern was swaying gently, though there was no wind.

  “What was it? Did you see?” I spoke as softly as he.

  “No.”

  I was in clear view; if it had been Sir Tom, he’d have seen me and shown himself. Or if it had been Meritt, if he’d gotten free and come looking for us—

  My heart leapt, but reality rushed in fast and hard, and I had to blink back tears.

  On the other side of our little circle Farrell Dean’s mother called out, “Who’s there?”

  I turned to look but Joe grabbed my arm. Where the fern had moved there now stood a tall and imposing figure, hair shining in the moonlight. Angel.

  And who was behind us? What had Alice seen?

  “Good evening,” Angel said. I felt movement behind me, people turning toward his voice, and I hoped someone had the sense to keep watching the other direction.

  “I see you found me. And you brought friends. That’s very good.” His voice was gentle, civilized, and just like that, with those few words, I felt again the strong sense of familiarity, of—strangely—safety. Wouldn’t it be okay to go with Angel? He had never tried to hurt me. And I only had Sir Tom’s word for it that Angel was responsible for Rosella’s madness.

  Then Angel stepped forward, further out of the undergrowth, and I saw that he held a long gun in both hands, nose pointed at the ground midway between us.

  “Keep him talking, Red,” a voice said, so softly I could barely hear it. It was Cline, from the other side of the circle.

  My mind promptly went blank. I was supposed to make small talk with Angel?

  “Talk,” Cline hissed.

  I said the first thing that came to mind. “One of my friends is injured,” I said.

  “I have medical supplies.” Angel said gestured toward the north. “Come this way.”

  “No,” said Farrell Dean. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  Angel raised his eyebrows. “Let me be blunt,” he said. “If you don’t come with me, you won’t last the night. There are things in these woods that would make your blood freeze.”

  I felt the group behind me move closer together.

  “I’m supposed to meet Sir Tom,” I said.

  Angel nodded. “You’re worried that going with me will hurt Tommy’s feelings. I respect that. Perhaps we should pretend that I captured you.”

  He must have seen something in my expression, for his own grew softer. “He’s told you stories about me,” he said. “Lies. The truth is, many of your people have come to me willingly. They left your city and sought me out, and I helped them as best as I could.”

  I’d never heard anything about that. Some stories said that not everyone tried to escape from the Guardians once they’d been caught by them. But seeking them out? As far as I knew, I was the first to willingly come to the Guardians. I didn’t know whether Angel was telling the truth or lying.

  Angel was still talking. “Tommy tells only what is useful to him,” he said. “He leaves out details of his own sins and regrets, and exaggerates mine. I will not hurt you. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done so long ago.”

  “Long ago? What do you mean?”

  He didn’t take his gaze from mine. “You must be very hungry, to be reduced to eating wormy windfall apples while waiting for your friends.”

  “You were watching me?”

  “No. I was watching over you.”

  I took a step out of the circle, toward him, but at the same instant he jerked around and pointed the gun at something behind him.

  “Split up!” Cline shouted, and everyone began to move, plunging wildly in various directions. I didn’t move—I didn’t know what was behind Angel, or whether to run away from him or to him.

  “Stay close,” Sir Tom called. “Split up but stay close.”

  He stepped out from behind a tree, his leg bandaged, his long bulky gun aimed at Angel’s head.

  “So, Angel,” he said. “Are you ready to surrender?”

  Angel laughed. “There’s a fine line between optimism and insanity,” he said, and then he turned and vanished into the dark woods.

  Sir Tom shrugged. “Come back, all you people,” he said. “Red Girl, tell them I’m safe.”

  “He’s safe,” I said, and if I sounded a bit unenthusiastic, Sir Tom didn’t comment. I went to meet him and slowly, more cautiously, the rest of our group came as well.

  Sir Tom nodded encouragingly at them. “Don’t you worry about Angel,” he said. “I’ve set Jensen to following him. He’ll let us know if he heads back this direction.”

  Then he turned to me. “If we may postpone introductions, Red Girl, we’d best be on our way.” He looked at Farrell Dean. “Can you walk?”

  “Yes,” Farrell Dean said. His face was frighteningly white.

  “Good man,” said Sir Tom. Shifting his gun to his other hand, he dug in a pocket and pulled out a small silvery package, which he tossed to Farrell Dean. “Unwrap that and get yourself around it,” he said. “It’ll give you a little energy.”

  Farrell Dean pulled off the silver to reveal a dark square. “What is it?” he asked.

  Sir Tom gave a bark of laughter. “Chocolate. A great delicacy of which you hitherto have been deprived. Food of the gods, young man. Giver of instant energy. It won’t heal wounds or mask pain, but it will get you through the next little while.”

  He glanced in my direction. “The next little while could be a bit tricky,” he said. “Everyone stay close.”

  Chapter 28

  We didn’t go in the direction I expected, north toward the sea cave. Instead we headed further south, into denser woods.

  It wasn’t easy going. My feet were tough from being barefoot for so long, but there were many rocks and sharp branches. Fortunately Judd and I were the only ones without boots, and I actually didn’t mind the pain. Now and then it made me think about something other than Meritt.

  I was frightened for him, but when I thought about it, I couldn’t believe he was dead. Though I felt panicked at the thought of leaving him further and further behind, I didn’t feel a permanent absence. Then again, I also didn’t feel as if Rafe were permanently absent, and he was most certainly dead and gone.

  A pinecone cut into my heel and I stumbled. Just ahead of me Farrell Dean soldiered on silently, his mother and Cline never far from him. His shirt was tied around his waist, and in the mottled and shifting light of the rising moon I could see thick welts and gashes on his back. Some looked scabbed over, but some oozed fresh dark blood.

  We reached a wide rocky section. I tried to pick my way carefully, but there seemed no good place to set my foot, and the rocks were small and sharp. After wincing through two or three steps, I paused, trying to think of a solution. I wished I had something to tie around my feet, but all I had were the clothes on my back.

  Ezzie tapped my shoulder and then squatted down in front of me. After a moment’s hesitation I climbed on and put my arms around his neck, careful not to strangle him, and he hooked his arms behind my knees.

  Up ahead Sir Tom was saying something to Alice. She nodded and turned to Farrell Dean.

  “This part is a bit challenging,” Sir Tom told the rest of us. “But we’re almost there.”

  He poin
ted to a steep upward slope on our right. “I have a cabin at the top,” he said. “It’s easy to defend because it’s hard to get to.”

  That was an understatement. The slope was loose dirt and pine needles—no rocks, no handholds. It looked impossible to climb.

  Sir Tom walked a few steps to a large tree and slapped its trunk. “I will bring up the rear,” he said. He gestured toward Joe. “You look like a climber. Am I right?”

  Joe nodded.

  “This young man will go first,” Sir Tom said. “Follow him up the tree. Climb as he does. After a bit you’ll see a rocky ledge on the right. You’ll have to stretch a bit, but once you get to the ledge, you’ll be able to climb the slope to the top.”

  As Joe started up the tree, Sir Tom lined up the rest of us according to some plan in his head: first Alice, then Farrell Dean, Cline, Liza, Harding, Shawna, and Judd.

  “You’re my lookout,” he said to Ezzie, and turned to me. “And you stay right with me. Angel is altogether too interested in you for my peace of mind. Even these two lovely young women did not distract him, and they’re rather more his usual taste.” He meant that Liza and Shawna were tall and more grown-up looking. At his words they looked uneasily at each other and moved a little closer to the boys.

  “Have no fear,” he said as he cupped hands and gave Joe a boost onto the first branch. “I will not surrender any of you to Angel.”

  They didn’t look particularly reassured.

  Sir Tom sent us up at regular intervals. One by one my friends grasped the lowest branch of the tree and vanished into the darkness above. I could hear occasional murmurs—Joe warning about a tricky patch, Alice urging caution, a sudden thud and scramble as someone leapt from the tree to the rocky ledge.

  Finally Sir Tom pointed at me. “You next,” he said, and then turned toward where Ezzie had been keeping watch. Something in the old man’s face made me follow his gaze. Ezzie was gesturing silently at three forms—four—crouching on a large boulder just visible through the trees. From here they were merely shadows, dark forms silhouetted against the pale rock behind them. As we watched, one of the crouching figures stood.

  “Up,” Sir Tom said shortly, but before I could move someone spoke from the branches above.

  “I can’t!” The voice was high with anxiety, and it took me a second to realize it was Shawna.

  Harding said something in response, but she cut him off. “No, I can’t! It’s too far.”

  “Brace yourself against the trunk,” Harding said, his voice louder. I shot a glance toward the wild men; sure enough, they had turned toward us, were sniffing the air.

  “Get good and steady, and then jump. I’m right here. I’ll catch you.”

  “I’ll fall!”

  The wild men were sliding down from the boulder.

  “Get going,” Sir Tom said. I reached for the lowest branch and he boosted me unceremoniously up, the rough bark scraping my arms. The branches felt sturdier than I’d expected, but all the same I was careful to stay close to the trunk as I began to climb, hurrying to get out of the way so Ezzie and Sir Tom could get up too. I glanced back to see if they were coming.

  Below me Ezzie was reaching for the lowest limb. Sir Tom was behind him, standing on the ground, facing away from the tree. There was a flash of movement, and then he was slamming the butt of his gun against a human face—ugly, vicious, with strangely long and pointed teeth, but human. The wild man covered his face with his hands, blood pouring from between his fingers, and howled in rage or pain; above us Shawna shrieked as if in answer.

  Sir Tom turned away and swung at another creature. Why didn’t he shoot? He had a gun.

  Ezzie was in the tree now but he wasn’t climbing. He was crawling out on a lower limb, toward Sir Tom. As Sir Tom knocked the second creature to the ground, a third came out of nowhere and lunged at Sir Tom’s back, and Ezzie locked his arms around the branch and swung down, kicking the wild thing, knocking it off its feet. Before Ezzie could pull himself back up the first wild thing lowered its bloody hands from its face and leapt for Ezzie’s dangling legs. I screamed a warning and Ezzie jerked away, almost falling, kicking at the crazed thing scrabbling and snarling at him.

  A cracking sound split the air—not a gunshot, because Sir Tom was grabbing a limb, pulling himself up into the tree fairly far from the trunk, his gun slung over his shoulder. Ezzie gave one last violent shove and the wild man fell away.

  “Climb!” Sir Tom said, and I looked up and caught a glimpse of Judd, quite high now, moving fast. I followed him as quickly as I could, glancing down only to make sure it was Ezzie breathing hard behind me, not a wild man. Sir Tom, I could see, was right behind him.

  A flurry of anxious voices came from above. Judd said something I couldn’t catch. Shawna was crying and talking at the same time. Harding yelled a warning. Then the tree seemed to shudder. A large limb crashed down, breaking smaller limbs as it fell, catching against another branch just below the place where I stood clinging to the trunk.

  “I’m thinking we’ve about had enough drama,” Ezzie said dryly. But our trouble wasn’t over. There was Judd, standing safely on the rocky ledge; and there was the white exposed wood where the limb to the ledge had broken off. Now it was just a stubby projection, a foot or two long, reaching nowhere near close enough to the ledge.

  I stared at Judd across the gap, and he stared back at me round-eyed, his blond hair standing on end. I could hear the others scrambling up the slope above him.

  “What happened?” I said.

  “Harding came back to help Shawna. Both of them on the limb—and he’s so big . . .”

  “You went across it after it cracked?” He could have been killed.

  “That finished it off. I’m sorry, Red. I thought it would hold.”

  “Is anyone injured?” Sir Tom called from below.

  “No, Sir,” Judd said. “At least, not bad. Shawna twisted her ankle or something. They’re getting her up the slope.”

  I looked down at Sir Tom, waiting for direction. The rocky ledge was about fifty feet above the ground. Now, with the limb gone, it was impossibly far away from the tree.

  “Go on up to the next branch, Red Girl,” the old man said.

  Clinging to the trunk I climbed to the next good branch on that side of the tree, several fee higher but not nearly long enough for my taste.

  “Ease on out,” Sir Tom said. “Young man, clear the way.” Judd disappeared from view. Cautiously I crawled out, above the broken branch, my palms slick with nervous sweat. Now I could see the ledge again; I was more or less above it, but it was a long way down.

  “Go as far on the branch as you can, Red Girl,” said the old man from beneath me. “Get a good grip, ease off the branch, and then drop.”

  I did not like this, not at all.

  “You can do it, Red,” Ezzie said, his voice sounding oddly strained.

  What choice did I have? I took a deep breath and lowered my legs off the branch, balancing on my stomach. Cautiously, I shifted my weight and let more of me slide off, the bark of the limb pulling up my shirt and scraping at my skin, until I was dangling in thin air, held up only by that slender limb.

  I was afraid to let go. What if I hit the ledge and rolled off? The ground below was a long way down, and if the fall didn’t kill me, the crazy things who’d attacked Tom and Ezzie probably would make me wish it had.

  “Go!” Sir Tom ordered.

  I let go. There was a split second of falling when I thought I had missed the ledge, but then I landed hard and fell to my hands and knees. I didn’t roll off the ledge, and as best I could tell, nothing was twisted or broken. Hurriedly, my heart pounding, I scrambled away from the edge and up the slope, and immediately Ezzie dropped from the high limb to the ledge behind me. He landed on his feet, staggered, and fell against the slope of the hill.

  Sir Tom was right behind him, landing smoothly in a crouch just a couple of feet from Ezzie. He grabbed Ezzie under the arms and pulled him to his
feet, then hurried us up the slope before I’d had time to catch my breath.

  “Go, go, go,” he said, nudging me forward. He still hadn’t let go of Ezzie.

  The slope was doable but still not easy. Though rocks and thick roots were plentiful, the soil was loose and every handhold had to be checked. More than once a handful of dirt broke free and sprayed down into my eyes. Half-blind and coughing from the dust, I had to focus completely on putting one hand in front of the other, on not making a mistake that would send me sliding back down.

  At least it would be hard for the wild things, too, I hoped. How well could they climb? And why was Sir Tom rushing us now—were they chasing us?

  That thought gave me enough energy to claw myself up the rest of the steep slope, finally pulling myself over the edge, where I collapsed onto my back, panting, my eyes watering and stinging with dust.

  When my heart stopped pounding in my ears, I sat up. Nearby the others were moving around, talking in low, worried voices. Shawna said something about blood—her voice was thick with tears, but she sounded like she was giving orders.

  “Use this,” Sir Tom said, and I stood and hurried forward.

  Ezzie was lying on his back, his arms flung wide, his fingers twitching. Harding was bent over him, ripping his pants leg open. Shawna took a small jar from Sir Tom and brushed Harding aside. She touched Ezzie’s leg and he cried out. Harding braced Ezzie’s arms to hold him still, and Cline and Joe stepped forward and held his feet. They were pinning him to the ground, just like they’d pinned Jensen.

  I got up and went to get a better look.

  Ezzie’s left leg had four long angry cuts, running from just above his knee almost to his ankle. Shawna was sprinkling the gashes with yellowish powder from Sir Tom’s jar. A burnt smell reached me; Ezzie cried out again; beside me Liza turned her face away.

  Then Sir Tom’s voice rang out. “Carry him inside,” he said, and I raised my head and finally noticed my surroundings.

  Sir Tom was standing at the door of a tightly built cabin made of whole logs. It stood in a narrow, rocky clearing, from which the land dropped sharply away on all sides. Below us on three sides were trees.