Horizon (03)

by Sophie Littlefield

  A shout from the front of the crowd interrupted her thoughts. It was repeated, voices joining in, and in seconds it had gone from alarm to panic.

  Beaters. It had to be.

  They’d waited too long. The council had been wasting time, figuring that it was too dark to travel safely, and undoubtedly that was true—even if they’d used precious battery power they could not have safely covered any ground in such a large group in the darkness. But apparently, on this day, the dimmest glow of dawn was enough for the Beaters.

  “What do we do?” Cass asked, hollow with fear. To the rear of the crowd, they were safe, perhaps, for a little longer. But they had Smoke. There was no way that he was ready to stand and fight—even if he could defend himself as well as anyone as long as he had a gun.

  “We can’t stay here.” Red spoke quickly, firmly. “Anyone on this island is as good as dead, because there’s no way to keep them from swimming across now.”

  “All right. Let’s go.” Zihna didn’t hesitate. She pushed Ruthie’s stroller with surprising speed, and Cass followed. The trailer moved easily and it was not at all difficult to pull across flat ground.

  “Let me help,” Smoke protested. In the early morning, after several hours’ rest, he seemed more recovered than last night. He was sitting up in the trailer, surrounded by the cans and water bottles they’d packed, in a pile of mussed blankets.

  Cass put her hands on his shoulders. “Hush now. Close your eyes. Rest. Please, Smoke, please just trust me this time. We can talk about it later.”

  “Go, go,” Red urged.

  They caught up with the group by the time they reached the bridge. But there was a problem: the people running back across in the other direction, back onto the island—June, Karen and then Collette, the ringleader of their little group, her hands raised to cover her ears as though she could protect herself by shutting out the screaming. They raced past, heading for the community center, and others followed.

  The crowd had stalled on the other side of the bridge, people shifting around inside it strangely so that it was like a living organism, ebbing and flowing across the road, spilling over onto the land on either side. A cardboard box lay crushed, bright-colored fabric spilled out, the sleeve of a shirt flung out as if an invisible arm was pointing the way. Cass scanned the scene for Dor, for Sammi, but saw neither, and then she heard the cries above the din of the crowd.

  There were five of them, standing together on the other side of the road, past the drainage ditch and the cattle fencing. They must have come across ragged land rather than by the pathway—and worse, they must have been making their way entirely by memory, instinct, smell, because in this light they would be essentially blind, only able to detect the most basic shapes. Judging by how the things clutched at each other and stumbled, they might have been seeing almost nothing at all.

  Suddenly there was a deafening explosion behind the citizens on the bridge, followed by a second, smaller blast.

  Cass spun around to see the community center in flames, the top of it blown clear off, debris swirling in a red-orange cloud. Behind it, the quarantine house was nothing but a pile of burning rubble. Someone staggered out the front of the community center and collapsed on the porch, hair on fire. The screaming grew even louder, the terrified crowd caught between the ruination of the island and the Beaters ahead.

  “What the hell was that?” Cass demanded.

  “Holy…who would have done such a thing?” Zihna said. “And how—where would they get the…”

  “There were explosives in the storehouse,” Red said grimly. “Someone must have gotten into them, after it was unlocked last night.”

  “But why? What’s the point of—anyone in there was doomed anyway.”

  Maybe this was a more compassionate death, Cass thought, at least for Phillip. But if Owen had been involved, she somehow didn’t think compassion was what drove him.

  Yet there wasn’t time to worry about it. The Beaters had paused at the first flash of the explosions, but now they were staggering forward again, testing the air with their outstretched hands.

  “They must be able to hear our voices, or the rumble of the cars,” Red said.

  “They’ve probably been here all night. After they all took off, what do you want to bet some of them came back? Too chicken to come all the way to the water but…”

  “Why doesn’t someone shoot them?” Cass cried, but it looked like none of the people close to the Beaters were armed.

  An escalating roar came from the front of the crowd, and then two vehicles—the old dented Accord and a motorcycle—hurtled straight for the things. The motorcycle gained speed incredibly fast, and when it reached the edge of the ditch the driver leaned forward and lifted off the seat a few inches. Cass’s breath caught as she watched the bike shudder and jerk on impact but after a split second the rider miraculously righted the bike—

  black hair flashing silver

  —and oh my God it was Dor, it was Dor on the bike and he was headed straight for the clump of Beaters—

  And Cass was running, running through the edge of the crowd, knocking into people—why was everyone just standing there letting him do this crazy thing?—and then there was an earthshaking crash because the car following seconds behind Dor hit the ditch and couldn’t make the jump, its front bumper smashed into the earth, and she saw it crumple, saw the hood accordion against the berm what the hell had the driver been thinking and who would have even taken such a crazy chance—

  Cass ran past the smoking wreck, a burning smell coming off it, engine whining like no engine should and then going silent, a pop, another, a small defeated dying sound. And the windshield was red. It was splintered and red and what was that oh God, against the glass, inside the car, that thing that was someone’s head no matter how many times you saw the many ways a person could die you never got used to it, not ever—

  But Cass was not fast enough to catch Dor and he circled once and came back at the Beaters, who were moving at full sprinting speed now, at full speed himself and smashed into them and two went flying and one went down and one, somehow, got latched onto the bike and dragged and the bike tipped and hovered, defying gravity, before it slow-mo wobbled and fell and by then Cass was there.

  How had her blade come to be in her hand, it was her nature now, as running had become her nature in the days when she thought everything had been taken from her but she didn’t know the half of it, the days when she first found comfort in the tarry punishing blacktop of a summer afternoon. Sweat and ravaged lungs and legs pushed past their limit. And now she was a machine of a different sort, one who could wield a blade that had become like another arm, slash it down on the Beater who was crawling on top of Dor, watch the man who’d held her only days ago as he was sprayed with the blood of the monster and heave the thing off of him and step on its skull as she leaped to the next one.

  Behind her there was screaming but where were they, where was help? The closest ones backed away and ran, good God they were running, didn’t they know they couldn’t outrun this? They had to kill them, kill them all because a Beater would never stop. The cunning hesitation of moments ago, when they shuffled and snorted and bided their time, that was all over now as their instincts kicked in. Kill them or be killed. Kill them or be eaten.

  Dor rolled to his knees and swung his arm up and he took his shot before Cass could find the killing cut and its skull exploded, brains chucking on the ground like a spilled snow cone. And then she was being hauled roughly up by the armpit, Dor yelling to your right and with their backs against each other they stood in the field of gore waiting for the attack and finally, finally someone else joined in the fight, two more shots from the crowd and Dor took the last one down with the gun barrel pressed to its throat as it reached for him, hands scrabbling, humming-keening, like a lover reaching for him, and it never took its eyes off him even as it slowly dropped to its knees, a hole in its throat, its head finally toppling forward onto its chest as the re
st of it sank to the earth.

  “Are you hurt?”

  His hands on her arms hurt, his grip was iron. Cass shook her head, then did the mental checklist—none of them had been close enough to bite her. The blood alone could not infect; the pathogens were in the saliva. It didn’t matter anyway, in her case, because she was an outlier. But Dor…

  Already he was stripping out of his coat, his shirt, his body steaming in the morning chill. The sun had inched higher in the sky, and his burnished skin glowed rosy. Cass saw the fine hairs that trailed to his navel, the smooth planes of his chest bisected by two scars; she knew the map of his body like a town she’d lived in forever and she did not look away. She knew they all watched but she did not look away.

  She was pushed roughly aside. “I’ll check him.”

  Dana. Of course it was Dana. Though where the hell had he been during the fight, that’s what Cass wanted to know, as the crowd pressed forward, stopping at the edge of the rusted and ruined cattle fence. Some stood in the ditch. Many crowded around the busted car and then a gasp went up as a small man opened the door and pulled the body from the dashboard so they could see who had died, who among them had been brave enough to fight.

  Dor, grimacing, put up his hands and turned slowly for Dana’s inspection. There were no marks on him, no new ones, anyway. Dor was blessed, if you could say that; he’d been in a dozen Beater attacks and survived them all. He nodded curtly at Dana and started getting dressed; Dana took off at a half jog to the car.

  “That car’s not going anywhere, but Dana’ll probably appoint a fucking committee to make sure,” Dor muttered.

  “What were you thinking?” Cass demanded, trying to keep the hysteria out of her voice. “The odds of you landing that jump—you could have gone on foot—they weren’t going anywhere—one more minute, or you could have, you could have shot them from this side of the fence, you could have—”

  “Cass.” Dor paused with only one arm through a sleeve, and reached for her. He cupped her face with one strong hand and forced her to look at him. “This isn’t the Box. Or haven’t you noticed that? Ten of these people aren’t the man George was, or Three-High or Joe or Elaine. If I’d waited, the Beaters would have split up and surged into the group and there’s no way this crowd could have responded, they’d still be standing there with their mouths hanging open and their pants down as they were tore into and there’s no telling how many we would’ve lost.”

  He let go of her, but Cass could feel the mark of his fingers on her skin. She felt bruised. But he was right. There had been no training in New Eden like there was in the Box. No drills. No security. They had the bridge and they had weapons and they thought that was enough. It was enough, until the day it wasn’t, and no one, including her, had seen it coming.

  “Who was in the car?” she asked softly, acknowledging that he had been right.

  Dor frowned. “Pulte. Should’ve been Hank, but he let Pulte drive first.”

  “Oh, no…”

  “Yeah, they were going to take turns. Hank’s—there he is. He’s got the fuel wagon.”

  Cass looked where he was pointing; there—on the other side of the crowd—was the three-wheeler Elsa had lovingly maintained and even took the kids for rides in it a few times in the yard, on special occasions. It was pulling a beat-up U-Haul trailer loaded with cans and gallon jugs and soda bottles, all of them filled with gas.

  “Fucking Pulte.”

  Cass said nothing. She’d known the guy, a little. Not much older than Roan, and in fact the rumor was they were together. But not until after he’d tried with Cass. He ran hot and reckless, and Cass had known what attracted him to her and hated it and stayed away. And he’d found his thrills elsewhere.

  Like in that car.

  “I have to go,” Cass whispered.

  “I hear Smoke’s with you.” Dor stopped her with a hand on her arm, his voice hard, his eyes unreadable. “That he’s made a remarkable recovery.”

  Cass only nodded, at a loss for words.

  “I want to see him.”

  It was hardly the time for reunions, but Cass was not about to argue. She led the way through the crowd, her heart pounding with adrenaline and fear and something else, some vague foreboding about Dor and Smoke.

  Smoke saw them coming and scrambled off the trailer, dragging his bad leg. He staggered toward them, his face contorted in fear and anger.

  “Dor—”

  “Smoke, it’s great to see you—”

  “How could you let her take a chance like that?” Smoke’s voice was choked with fury and he did not take Dor’s offered hand. “All she had was a blade, she—”

  “You’ve been gone for a while,” Dor said tightly, and slowly lowered his hand. “She’s tougher than you think. She’s done what she had to do.”

  Done what she had to do. There was no mistaking the implication in his voice, and Cass shot him a furious look. So he wanted their affair out in the open. Well, it was just as well; someone would tell Smoke soon enough. After the scene with Valerie at the water’s edge, it was common knowledge.

  Smoke looked from one of them to the other, his eyes narrowing. “I know she’s tough, MacFall. I lived with her, remember?”

  “Hey.” Red stepped between the two men. “Now is not the time. We can catch up later, my friends. Everyone’s fine, that’s what matters.”

  “What the hell, Cass?” Smoke turned to face her, his face twisted in fury and pain. “What were you thinking?”

  “I had to, they were about to attack—”

  “Dor had it handled.”

  “He couldn’t have held them off by himself.”

  “Then you should have let someone else.”

  “No one else would!” Tears of frustration stung Cass’s eyes. The aftereffects of the adrenaline surge had left her shaking and trembling and she felt dizzy.

  “You can’t take risks like that, you can’t—”

  “You don’t get it, Smoke, this isn’t like the Box! These people, they’re soft, they’re afraid, they don’t—”

  “Ruthie needs you.” Smoke took her hand and pulled her toward him, turning his back on everyone else. “I need you,” he added, more quietly.

  Dor made a sound of disgust and strode away, back toward the front of the crowd. Cass did not allow herself to watch him go. She stared into Smoke’s eyes, the pallor of his winter-skin reddened by exertion, and knew that he did not mean that he needed her in order to become whole again or to finish healing. It was his spirit he was speaking of, but he couldn’t know how far she’d fallen, how little of what was good in her remained.

  Maybe he’d forgive what she’d done with Dor, but it wasn’t just that. She was weak now, a drinker, a shirker of duties. If she hadn’t given herself away to Dor, it would have been someone else, some other path to release. Cass was weak, she was barely able to take care of Ruthie, and there was not enough left even for her to care for her own damaged self. How could she reconstruct enough of her shattered soul to be anywhere close to what he needed?

  She shook her head. “Zihna,” she said, turning away. “I think I need to sit down. Just for a minute.”

  And Zihna, who made a specialty of knowing what people needed, pushed aside the blankets to make a place for her, and put Ruthie in her arms and when the crowd started moving again, a few moments later, it was Red who pulled the trailer and Smoke who pushed the empty stroller, using it like a walker, his face set in such grim determination that Cass didn’t doubt he’d walk to the end of the earth before he gave up.

  Chapter 25

  THEY’D GONE LESS than a mile before they heard the cries start up again.

  More Beaters.

  “Goddamn it,” Red said. “Who would have thought the fuckers would have it in them? They always go back to their nests at night. Always.”

  Cass jumped off the trailer, carrying Ruthie; there would be no time for resting now. She craned her neck to try to see but they were in the back of the crowd and
all she could see was the others, bodies with their burdens, and in the front the remaining vehicles. She searched for Dor, found him through the crowd, walking near the front, having abandoned the downed motorcycle.

  “Red,” Zihna muttered urgently. “We need to get everyone to the center.”

  Smoke was already reaching for Ruthie. “I can get this,” he said, settling her into the stroller.

  “You know I have to go,” Cass said.

  His jaw tightened, but he said nothing as he fastened Ruthie’s buckle.

  “They need me. There aren’t enough who can fight.”

  Finally, he looked at her, and she saw the grim determination written on his face. “It should be me, protecting you,” he said.

  “It will be, soon, I promise.”

  “Get me a gun, a blade, anything—”

  Cass looked away. “Yes. Fine. I’ll see what I can do. But meanwhile, please, please take care of Ruthie, okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” Smoke closed his eyes for half a second, took a breath. “Look, I’m sorry about—with Dor. I know I overreacted, I know I had no right, I just want, I need…”

  “Your place is here for now, Smoke,” Zihna said firmly, stepping in between them.

  Cass turned away from him so he couldn’t see her face, caressing Ruthie’s cheek, kissing her silky hair.

  “Go,” Zihna urged her, adamantly. “You too, Red. Cass, we’ll be fine.”

  “Zihna!” Sammi burst through the press of bodies, dragging Sage. “You have to talk to her, she won’t stay in the car—oh my God, Smoke, it’s really you, I can’t believe it—”

  Ahead, another of the Beaters’ frantic cries, and another. Gunshots and human screams mixed in with the other sounds in the field ahead. The sun breached the horizon, momentarily blinding all with the first rays of the day. People jostled each other in an effort to see or to flee. Several ran backward, dropping their suitcases, headed back toward the island.