The Human Wilderness (A New America Trilogy Book 1)

by S. H. Livernois

  Lily rolled her eyes and giggled. Again, the laugh died away and her face grew serious.

  "Before you came here, did you live in another settlement?"

  Derek spat another few venomous words in Eli's direction. A prickle began at the back of his neck and a patch of heat pulsed in his chest. Eli breathed deep and focused on Lily's face.

  He repeated the story he told anyone who asked. "Nah, I was by myself most of the time."

  "Did anyone ever try to kill you, like Simon?"

  "Sure, sure." Lily scowled slightly and bit her lip. "But that was a long time ago. Everyone was so scared."

  "What did you do?" Then, in barely a whisper, "Did you kill people?"

  More unwanted sensations sparked to life: the metallic tang of blood; its stickiness on his hands; footsteps in the woods; rain, pattering on a copper roof.

  "Nah. Course not." The lie burned his mouth.

  "I knew it." She nodded, content with Eli's answers. "I didn't think you would've killed anyone."

  "No?"

  "Course not. You're too nice."

  Tightness pricked Eli's throat. "You think so, huh?"

  He wanted those words to be true. With more time, maybe, they would be.

  Lily nodded. "And I think you were very brave the other day, too." She took his hand and squeezed it; warmth spread from his palm and up his arm. "I know you tried to save Mr. Toomie's life. You were his friend."

  "I did. Try to save him."

  Eli wanted to save everybody, every single person sheltered behind this wall. But if Simon was right, they couldn't fight the infected.

  No hope.

  "Looks like Mr. Monroe wants to talk to you," Lily said.

  Derek marched across the street and stopped in front of Eli, sneered, then addressed Lily. "You better go find your father, young lady."

  Lily peered at Eli from the corner of her eye and he nodded.

  "We need to have a tête-à-tête, you and me," Derek said.

  He shoved Eli, and he raised his palms in peace. The prickle at the back of his neck spread up to his head, down to his shoulders. The heat raged to a burn.

  "I know. I'm sorry. I meant no harm."

  "Harm doesn't factor into it. You stuck your nose in where it didn't belong." Derek held his hands in tight fists at his sides; his nostrils flared. "Just who do you think you are?"

  "No one." The tips of Eli's fingers tingled; the sensation rippled down to his palms, still raised and facing Derek.

  "Tell me. What's your job here, Eli?"

  Eli stared at the man's collar. "I'm the handyman, Derek."

  "What else?"

  "And a hunter."

  "Riiiight. Not a watchman." Derek poked him in the chest; Eli dropped his hands and they twitched into fists. "I protect this town, my home. You're the brute who kills things. Do we understand each other?"

  A crowd had gathered in the background. The music stopped. The Parasites kept howling.

  "We do," Eli said.

  "Then let me hear it," he said. Derek pushed him.

  The warning signs ignited: Eli's eyes widened, his lips pressed into a thin white line, his fists tightened into balled weapons. Nerves cracked in his neck and blood pumped hot through every vein. Eli breathed deep and unclenched his hands, held them at ease before him.

  "Say it," Derek said and shoved him again.

  The surge of blood and nerves pounded in his ears. Eli couldn't hear his own voice when he said it. "You protect this town."

  Derek grinned. "And..."

  A hand punched his chest again, but Eli didn't budge. He was the strong one, the dangerous one, the one who could inflict real damage if he needed to.

  "And?" Derek pushed him again. Pain slashed across his jaw and his head snapped back. As Eli's ears wrung, Derek said something else, but everything blurred and vanished. Eli saw nothing, heard nothing. Just blackness and muffled sounds pulsing in his ears.

  The next thing he knew was the feeling of a throbbing, hot muscle fighting against his hand. The throat shuddered and gagged and Eli squeezed harder to make it bend to his will. Someone groaned and sputtered. A face below him turned a sickly shade of bright red, eyes widened in terror. Hands groped at his, nails digging into skin.

  An eddy of excitement surged through Eli's blood. It was the same rush he'd felt when he killed the deer, and then those Parasites, and pretended wasn't there. But this was better and harder to ignore.

  Control, respect, power. The metallic tang of blood. Its stickiness on his hands. Gunpowder. Rain on a copper roof. A soul, flickering with life only at his will. His whim.

  Hands pulled against Eli's shoulders. Voices screamed around him. Something heavy struck him on the head and everything cleared.

  Rough pavement scraped his knees. Someone shouted his name over and over again. Hot skin in the palm of his hands. The whites of a man's eyes, a shock against the red.

  "Eli!"

  He felt a sharp jab to his spine as he hit the pavement, backside first. A jumble of legs and shoes gathered around him. Someone leaned into him, spoke into his ear. A familiar voice: Frank. Derek flipped to all fours, sucking air into his starved lungs. Hands pulled Eli to his feet.

  "Eli," Frank said, and slapped his cheek. Eli turned to him — his friend's eyes were frightened, his bushy auburn brows furrowed.

  And over Frank's shoulder, Eli spied Lily.

  People encircled the scene, gaping at Eli in horror, but he only saw that little girl and her terrified face, and the tears starting to pool in her eyes.

  Chapter 6

  Hope's jail had only two cells. Eli lay on a thin cot in one of them, the town's only prisoner.

  The jail was once the post office, and Eli's cell was the postmaster's old, cramped office. It was stuffy and windowless; a small oil lamp had been hung near a barred opening in the door. Beyond this orb of light, the cell and the rest of the building was velvet black.

  Eli lay with his hands raised above him so the light from the oil lamp would spotlight the purple bruises and cuts on his knuckles. He couldn't remember what he'd done. Frank said he had pounced on Derek and pummeled his face, wrapped his broad hands around the man's neck.

  The fear in Frank's voice when he described the scene haunted him. Eli had vanished for a second and become something else — a creature he tried to bury for three years.

  A door creaked open outside the cell. It clicked shut, and a hush of voices followed. Keys clanged and footsteps thudded over to the cell. Next moment, the door opened with a cool breeze and Frank's form appeared.

  "Hey there, son."

  Eli sat up and swept his legs over to the floor. Frank sat down on a stool in the corner and set down another oil lamp. Eli gazed at the floor, where orange light flickered across the tile. He spoke to Frank's shoes.

  "Is Lily okay?"

  "She's shaken up. Asking questions, of course."

  "What did you say?"

  Frank hummed in a soft baritone. Eli pictured him taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Just that sometimes we lose our tempers and don't mean to."

  He didn't mean to lose his temper, that was true. But what did it mean that he lost it anyway and nearly killed someone?

  "Tell her I'm sorry, will you? For scarin' her."

  Frank's warm hand palmed his arm. "Don't worry about that right now. I have some news for you. Look at me, son."

  Eli hung his head and closed his eyes, afraid Frank would look at him differently now.

  "Eli..."

  He pressed his closed eyes with his fingers, squeezing the tears from his lashes, and slowly glanced up. Frank smiled sadly, but didn't seem mad.

  "Your hearing is in the morning. And you can explain that Derek instigated the fight, humiliated you, that you tried to keep the peace."

  Eli shook his head. That didn't matter; he still wrung the man's neck. "How bad did I hurt him?"

  "Eli —"

  "How bad?"

  "Jane said he had a sore throat,
a few bruises. Maybe a fracture in his nose. She threatened to break it the rest of the way." Frank laughed. "Lily and a few others said Derek bullied you, that he pushed first, he punched first —"

  "It doesn't matter. I punched last. I choked him." Eli studied Frank's shoes again; heat spread from his face around his neck. "I don't want the hearing."

  Frank's feet shifted and he sat back, clearing his throat. "It's your right, as the accused."

  "I don't care."

  A pause. Frank leaned forward, elbows to knees.

  "Do you remember a year ago, when your friend Gus got in trouble?"

  Eli remembered. Gus was a half a foot taller than Eli and slow. One night when Gus was drunk, a man called him retarded. Gus pounded him half to death.

  "You stood up for him, told the council that people deserve second chances. That anyone could do what Gus did if pushed. Remember that?"

  "Sure, sure. But Gus was a good guy."

  "So are you."

  Frank grabbed Eli's shoulder, looking at him with eyes that were still kind and welcoming, despite what Eli had done. He looked away, shaking his head.

  "There's a reason people here don't trust me."

  Eli stood and walked past Frank to the door and peered between the bars. Outside, a guard stood at the window watching the street. Protecting the town — from Eli. That would still be true whether or not the walls stayed up or he lived to see all the survivors together.

  "Eli, good people are capable of evil things. It doesn't make them evil, too. I know what I'm talking about."

  Eli left the door, sat back down on his cot, and stared at the floor.

  "When's my punishment tomorrow?"

  "After breakfast." Frank sat back, crossing his arms. "There's something else you should know, too, but I doubt it'll go anywhere."

  Frank paused. Eli's blood froze.

  "Derek has asked that you be banished." He added quickly, "And we have to consider it, per procedure. Probably tomorrow night. I'll be there, though."

  Frank put a hand on Eli's knee and Eli nodded. Frank picked up his oil lamp and with the other hand, fished something out of his pocket.

  "From Anne. Eat."

  Eli took it and sniffed — a chunk of venison. "Tell her thanks."

  Frank stood at the door for a moment; he pointed a gnarled finger at him. "You rest. If you won't defend yourself, you're going to need your strength tomorrow."

  He turned the doorknob and slipped out, plunging Eli's cell into darkness once again. Outside, the jail's front door clacked shut and Eli was left with the guard. He lay back on his cot, put an arm behind his head, and dropped the venison to the floor. He closed his eyes, but instead of drifting to sleep, his mind wandered to what he did remember.

  He remembered the hateful energy, the anger and bloodlust of that dark creature inside him that sprung from his soul so easily. He enjoyed what that creature did. When he squeezed Derek's throat, the taunting and disrespect stopped. Fear took its place, and a man who could inspire fear had power.

  Eli wondered what kind of person felt like that.

  The rope tying Eli's wrists burned his skin. A guard held the other end like a leash and led him down the main street, from the jail to the intersection.

  Eli shuffled behind him, his eyes downcast. The townspeople filled the streets where, two nights before, they'd all joined to celebrate. They murmured in faint, frightened voices as he followed the guard to the stage where the musicians had played and climbed the steps.

  A wolf among sheep.

  Eli was shoved into a chair placed in the center of the stage. Tobias stood next to it; he'd swapped his T-shirt and shorts for slacks and a button-up shirt. The audience focused, and he spied a face, hovering just beyond the crowd. His stomach fell.

  Lily leaned against a lamp post on a corner; Simon stood behind her.

  A voice hollered out from his left.

  "Eli Stentz," Tobias began, "you stand accused of assaulting Derek Monroe, a fellow citizen of this settlement, two nights past, the first week of August, 2042. According to our laws, the punishment for committing physical violence against another person is to be beaten with equal severity yourself by your accuser. Mr. Monroe, please step forward."

  Derek sidled up the steps and marched across the stage; he loomed over Eli, legs parted, hands held at ease.

  "What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Stentz?" Tobias asked.

  Eli looked up at Derek and choked out: "I'm sorry."

  A smile curled the man's lips.

  "You may begin." With that, Tobias left the stage.

  Eli saw Derek reach into a pocket and take out brass knuckles, which he slipped onto his fingers. He lurched his arm back with a smile.

  The first punch crunched against Eli's cheekbone. Pain crushed deep through his sinuses.

  Harder.

  The next struck his nose; blood streamed down onto his lips and into his mouth. His eyes watered and the crowd swam in the tears. A few people cheered, but most stood silent.

  Harder.

  The next punch smacked against Eli's ear, and for a moment an earsplitting ring filled his head.

  Harder!

  Another punch, to the temple this time.

  The pain didn't cut deep enough. It didn't slice the memories from Eli's mind, remove the guilt or the burden. Eli gazed up at Derek as he swung his arm back again and whispered "harder," but the man didn't hear him.

  The next punch hit his nose again and Eli heard it snap. The punishment still wasn't harsh enough.

  "Harder!" Eli said.

  Derek cocked his arm back for another strike. Eli closed his eyes and welcomed it. Waited.

  "That's enough!" a voice called.

  The blows stopped.

  "No," Eli mumbled through swollen lips. "More."

  The world spun and Eli's head snapped back, heavy as lead. Confusion and drowsiness set in. There was a burst of voices, cheers, and claps. Tobias spoke. Eli peeled his swollen eyes open; his neighbors were drifting away from the intersection, leaving it empty. One set of footsteps thudded away and off the stage, another approached him. The rope loosened and fell to the stage.

  Silence fell. Eli sat in his chair, alone, bleeding and throbbing. Darkness swooped down on him for a moment and he lost time. Footsteps woke him and he opened his eyes to a figure leaping up the stairs to his side.

  Jane.

  She held a small bag in her hand and was scowling, as usual. She knelt at his feet. "Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with these people?"

  She dove her hands inside the bag, fished out a piece of cloth, and brought it to Eli's face. As she patted away the blood, he gaped at the freckles splashed across her nose and the gold flecks in her eyes and wrapped his hand around her wrist. She wrenched it from his grip and went back to her bag, pulling out a small bottle. She doused the cloth in some liquid and brought it up to his face again. His wounds stung beneath the cloth.

  "Stop. Don't fix me up this time."

  "These will get infected."

  "I said no, Jane."

  He swatted her hand away. She backed up, flung the cloth back into her bag.

  "Fine. But I am going to fix this nose."

  Before she could stop him, her small hands shot up to his face, grasped his nose, and yanked. White hot pain cut through the center of his face and into his head.

  "You want to be punished? Well, there you go! Enjoy it."

  She stomped off and back down the street. He watched her go, quick and angry. The townspeople drifted away from the intersection as well, on to their daily chores. It was Sunday, and on Sundays Eli and Squirrel checked their snares and trotlines, set new ones. But this day, Eli sat in his chair as the world passed by. He studied the familiar buildings and streets, took in the smell of cook fires and animal manure, the thwack of axes, the eruption of laughter from somewhere in town, birds singing. He pursed his sore lips and tried to sing along with a song sparrow; the tune sputtered from his mouth, joyless.<
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  The sun reached its peak overhead and cooked Eli's skin. People walked through the intersection on their way to the dining hall or home for lunch. They stared at Eli, still sitting in the chair, high above the street.

  The sun sank lower. The pain of Eli's bruises faded to dull throbs, and the blood dried. People ambled by again, this time heading for supper. When dusk began to fall, Eli finally stood up. His head swam with hunger and sickness and weighed a ton.

  Weak and nauseous, Eli slogged down Hope's now-quiet streets to Frank's house. It was yellow with white trim and had a large wraparound porch, where Eli had spent many nights swaying on the porch swing, talking to his friend. As Eli approached, he spied Frank sitting there already, a drink in his hand, swinging back and forth with rhythmic creaks.

  Frank stopped swinging and stared, muttered "Jesus" under his breath.

  Eli stood at the base of the stairs, looking up. "It looks worse than it feels. Did you tell Lily I was sorry?"

  "I haven't seen her today. But I will."

  Eli nodded, gazing down the familiar sidewalk, up at the oak tree in Frank's front yard. From the corner of his eye, he saw Frank stand up and cross the porch, heading for the stairs. He was going to say something comforting and try to make him feel better, but Eli didn't want that.

  "Thank you," he said and walked back home.

  Chapter 7

  Eli woke to the sound of a howling voice. It begged him to join the tribe, lose himself, and forget everything.

  Still in that twilight between sleeping and waking, he curled into a ball and drifted off enough to dream. He saw his own face, sallow and thin, clothes hanging from his bones, face in the crook of Squirrel's neck, grinning. Then he was running down the same twisting hallways echoing with screams.

  He woke with his heart pounding and opened his eyes — his bedroom window was still black. Eli shook the dream away, rose, and swept his feet to the floor. He rubbed his toes on the cold wood, stood, peered between the blinds at a street still too dark to see. Snapping the blinds shut, he crossed blindly to his rocking chair, where he'd laid out his clothes the night before, and slipped them on in the dark. He lined up the buttons of his shirt with the fly of his pants, smoothed the creases, put on a sweater and a warm jacket. From the corner by the door, he picked up his pack, stuffed to bursting.