The Human Wilderness (A New America Trilogy Book 1)

by S. H. Livernois

  The time had finally come. He was going to kill Simon.

  Eli burst from the alley into a narrow meadow bordered by a line of maples. Simon strode toward the trees and disappeared. Eli followed, searching the woods. He spied Simon a dozen feet ahead, weaving between the trunks, bobbing between shafts of midday sunlight and strips of shadow. Eli imagined Simon tugging Lily behind him, her little feet digging prints into the soft ground. Prints he hadn't chased fast enough.

  This time, Simon wouldn't disappear. No one was untouchable. No one should evade justice.

  Eli wouldn't let him.

  "Simon!" he yelled.

  The young man stopped, glanced over his shoulder. His eyebrows jolted upward. Then he broke into a sprint. The trees thinned and Simon raced into bright sunlight — a clearing. Eli matched his speed. He spilled out into open air and the light burned his eyes, blinding him for a moment. When they adjusted, Eli spied a dark shape: a towering, twisting oak, and Simon starting to crawl up its trunk.

  Eli pushed his muscles for a final sprint to the oak. It loomed high above the surrounding maples, almost as high as the wall. One branch stretched toward its lip, close enough for a man to jump precariously from the tree to the edge. Simon got a foothold in the gnarled trunk with the toe of one boot, reached for a knot with one hand, and pulled himself up.

  Eli lunged after one dangling boot, grabbed his ankle, and yanked.

  As Simon fell from the tree, he clawed at the air, grasping for purchase. Eli threw him down and he hit the ground with a dull crunch. Simon clutched his chest and sucked desperately for air. Eli picked him up by the shirt and shoved him against the trunk, his skull smacking wood. Simon slumped and Eli let him crumple to the ground.

  He imagined the boy's face crushed and bloody, every bone in his body broken, a knife in his belly. For Ben, for Lily. A thrill rippled up Eli's spine. He hovered over Simon, ready to begin. The boy peered up with glazed eyes.

  "Wait!" He held out a hand, palm first.

  Anger shot Eli's arms forward. He seized fistfuls of Simon's shirt, jerked him up from the ground, battered him against the tree again. The shirt tore under his grip.

  "Remember me?" Eli hissed.

  Simon stared at Eli open-mouthed, light catching the brown whiskers of his patchy beard. He nodded.

  "Remember Lily? And Ben?"

  Simon hung his head. Eli slammed him harder against the tree; a knot caught Simon in the back and he squealed. The sound was exciting, so he dug Simon's body against the knot again.

  "Did you even know her name?"

  Simon said nothing. Eli shook him and the man's head lolled on his neck as if unattached. His eyes drooped, puddled with tears.

  "Yes," Simon croaked.

  "You left her dead in the woods." Eli clenched Simon's jaw with his fingers and thumb. Simon whimpered. "Remember that?"

  Simon nodded once. Eli gripped his jaw tighter and a weak moan sputtered through Simon's lips. Eli had heard the sound before — from a man kneeling on a hardwood floor at his feet. He smelled of sweat and dirt. A voice purred in Eli's ear.

  Kill him. We have what we need.

  The urge to obey the order was irresistible. Eli squeezed tighter. Simon writhed beneath his hand. A cold knowledge shivered along Eli's nerves: he could kill Simon in a second. But not yet. He didn't want a clean, quick death. He wanted Simon to go slowly, like Lily did.

  Simon's hot throat spasmed against his hand. Fingernails mauled Eli's wrist and feet kicked his shins. Simon screamed under the vice of his fingers, as if trying to talk.

  I didn't think you would've killed anyone. You're too nice.

  The rage ebbed and a cold grief took its place; he felt Lily's eyes on him, the tears running down her cheeks. Eli loosened his fingers enough for Simon to suck in a mouthful of air. He coughed until his face bloomed red, then words spilled from his mouth.

  "I killed her and Ben. I did it. I had to."

  Eli's clenched his free hand into a fist, his jagged fingernails digging deep into his palm. The rage returned — his muscles tensed, and he swung the fist at Simon's cheekbone with a crack. He fell to the ground and Eli dragged him back up by the neck.

  "I had no choice," he said foggily, squirming. "I swear to you."

  "She was a child!"

  He imagined Lily's voice pleading softly in his ear.

  Uncle Eli, listen...

  "You don't understand," Simon wheezed.

  "Oh, I understand. And I know what you are: a murderer and a rapist."

  "No! I'd never."

  "I saw you."

  Simon tried to take in a breath, but Eli pinched his throat closed. The young man's eyes stretched wide, pleading for mercy, the whites bloodshot.

  Eli had seen that look before, too.

  Let's teach him a lesson. Kill them all.

  Eli felt the cold room. Three pairs of eyes stared up at him in the dim light, red from crying. One of them gawked with disbelief and desperation. Eli saw his reflection in their pupils but didn't recognize the cruel face. He shut his eyes a moment, opened them on Simon's purple face.

  His fingers dug into Simon's skin. He stared at his bruised knuckles, the flecks of blood. If he squeezed just a little bit harder, Lily would be avenged and the beast would be satiated.

  Just listen...

  Simon said he had no choice. That he wasn't a murderer, a rapist.

  Let go, Uncle Eli. Let him live.

  Eli stared into the man's bulging eyes and eased his grip. Simon collapsed to the ground and rubbed his neck. "It's not what you think. I had orders."

  Eli sucked in a long, shaking breath, shook the tension from his hands, tried to swallow his temper. He dug his heels into the ground and stared at a pile of dead leaves stirred up by the breeze, and listened.

  "I tried to explain it to Ben, but he wouldn't listen." Simon's eyes unfocused and a faint grin lifted his lips. A grin of, Eli thought, of admiration. "He tried to save her."

  Eli stooped in front of Simon, grabbing his shoulder. "What orders? From who?"

  But Simon was still focused inward. He whispered, "I didn't know I was leading them to some sick pervert. That wasn't the mission." His voice shook. "I swear it."

  Girls are always victims.

  The young man held his head in his heads; his shoulders trembled. Eli grasped the boy's wrist like a vice. "What was the mission?"

  Simon's dark eyes focused, glanced upward to hold Eli's gaze. He opened his mouth, but a different voice rang out.

  "What's going on here?"

  Eli spun around. A towering figure approached from the trees — a guard. Eli's stomach plummeted to his feet. He blurted out the truth.

  "Caught this one messing with one of them girls."

  The guard strolled into the sunlit clearing, nodding. Eli didn't recognize him — he had dark blond hair and goatee. He squinted in the sun, his pale skin wrinkling under a grime of dirt.

  "Let him go," he said.

  Eli scowled and gripped Simon's shirt tighter. "Let him go?"

  "Just do it." The guard's gray eyes bored into him, insistent but not unkind.

  Eli glanced back at Simon and reluctantly loosened his grip. Simon sank to the ground.

  "It's Eli, right?" He nodded, and the guard put a hand to his chest. "I'm Wyatt. Listen, you don't talk to this one. And you definitely don't beat the shit out of him."

  Eli ground his teeth and stared at Wyatt's boots. "You should see the girl."

  "Don't matter. He's above the law. And this here could cause a world of trouble for Mrs. Grant." The guard placed a hand on Eli's shoulder. "Trust me."

  Eli searched the stranger's face for malice and cruelty, tried to think of a reason he'd pretend to be helpful. He found none. "Sure, sure."

  Wyatt pointed down at Simon. "You'll keep your mouth shut, right, asshole?" The boy gazed up from the ground and nodded. "Now get out of here."

  Simon's climbed to his feet and took off without a word. Eli watched him vanish in
to the trees, the man who killed Lily and destroyed his carefully protected world. The man who had all the answers.

  "Why is he above the law?"

  Wyatt chuckled. "I don't ask questions. I just do as I'm told. If you want to live, you'll do the same." He clapped Eli on the back. "Let's go. It's dinner time. And Her Royal Highness won't like us to be late."

  Chapter 28

  The fifth day ended like the others, with Eli sitting at Olive's dinner table. He hid his hands in his lap, rubbing the fresh cuts and bruises on his knuckles until they were raw with pain. A punishment for what he'd done to Simon.

  A reminder of what he could become.

  Olive sat at the end of the long mahogany table, eating lamb and herbed potatoes from a china plate; a servant stood beside her waiting for further orders. Guards sat along each side eating cube steak and boiled turnips.

  No one spoke. The only sound in the vast room was the clinking of utensils on plates and the wet smack of a dozen people chewing. When everyone was finished and the plates were cleared, Olive delicately wiped her mouth and addressed her men.

  "What have we learned today?"

  The guards offered brief reports one by one. Peasants complaining about food rations. Others shirking their duties. Some speculating about the prisoner's whereabouts. The vague rumors about rebels planning a demonstration. The guards described the offenders, and the servant feverishly took notes. Olive rolled her eyes.

  "So the usual nonsense? Laziness, ingratitude, gossip." She craned her long neck down the table. "Any hint of what the rebels are planning? Any names?"

  The guards mumbled in unison and shook their heads. A hush fell. One of the men fidgeted in his seat and stole uncertain glances at Olive. She aimed her ice-cold glare at his down-turned face.

  "Spit it out," she said.

  "It's just hearsay, ma'am. And I'm afraid the news might upset you."

  "I'm always upset, Mr. DeNaro." She raised her eyebrows to demand he go on.

  "I heard rumors that one of the outsiders is involved." The man twiddled his fork in his hands. "Not sure which one."

  Olive's voice burst through the dining room like thunder. "Involved how?"

  Mr. DeNaro quailed. "I hear he tried to join the rebels."

  Olive leaned back in her chair and gazed out the tall windows. They revealed a stretch of backyard darkened by dusk, the golden leaves rustling in the wind like whispering ghosts.

  "What am I supposed to do about that? I can't touch him, can I?" Then, to herself, "Undermined by one of his own creatures..." Olive sat there quietly for a long minute, her face hardening to stone. "So," she called suddenly, "you've been awfully silent, Mr. Stentz."

  Eli clasped his hands and sat up straight in his chair. A dozen hard, suspicious pairs of eyes fixed on him; Eli set his face into a mask of calm. "Unfortunately, ma'am, I didn't hear nothing."

  "Oh, but you did, Mr. Stentz," said an amused voice. A smirking face peered up from his plate and looked at Olive; her eyebrows shot up. "I did as you asked, ma'am, and followed him."

  Eli's stomach sank. His selfish rage had made him careless.

  "Go on," Olive said.

  The guard — a slight man with black hair tied in a pony-tail — puffed up his chest. His smile broadened. "I caught him talking to one of the girls. For quite a while, if memory serves."

  Eli glanced down the table and found Wyatt; the guard met his gaze, his gray eyes narrowed, then stared at the table. Eli thought the man looked nervous — his jaw twitched.

  Olive pursed her lips and set down her fork. "Is that so?" Her bulbous blue eyes flicked to Eli. "There's no point denying it."

  Fear struck Eli dumb for a moment, but he wasn't afraid for his life. What he feared was that his death would seal the girls' fate. He had to think quickly. Denial wouldn't work, but neither would the complete truth. He met Olive's gaze.

  "I wasn't gonna," Eli said. "I did talk to one of them. She fell in the road and dropped her water buckets. I rushed to help. Asked if she was okay. It was instinct."

  "Instinct?"

  "Yes, ma'am." Olive glowered at him, and Eli forced himself not to look away. "The girl was hurt. And she reminded me of someone back home who died. She was like a niece to me."

  "Isn't that sweet," one of the guards mocked. The others laughed. Wyatt peeked up at Eli and nodded. He'd keep the scene by the oak tree a secret. Eli was breathless with relief.

  "Be that as it may, Mr. Stentz, next time fight the temptation to be the rescuer. Let her fall and break her neck."

  Anger kindled in his chest; Eli tried to ignore it and keep the emotion from crossing his face. "Yes, ma'am."

  A few guards grumbled; jaw muscles clenched and eyes narrowed.

  "Dinner is over. As usual, none of this intelligence has been useful." Olive spread her hands and glanced at them all with an annoyed expression. "Off with you."

  Eli rose to follow the others out, but Olive spit out his name with an impatient wave of her slender hand. She waited for the men to filter out, rose, and sauntered to Eli's side. She glared at a spot over his shoulder, and the fire in her blue eyes dulled.

  "What was her name? This girl?"

  "Lily. She was twelve."

  "What happened?"

  "She was murdered."

  Color rose to Olive's pale cheeks and the corner of her mouth twitched. Otherwise, she didn't react.

  "Normally I'd have you killed for breaking the rules." She studied his face and swallowed hard. "The others wouldn't have helped that girl. They would've dragged her behind a tree and —" Olive stopped and cleared her throat. "Never mind," she whispered.

  Eli nodded at his feet. Olive placed a cold, silken hand on his cheek and drew his head upward. Those eerie, dead blue eyes traced every curve of his face. Eli was surprised to see tears puddling at their corners.

  "You're just a simple thing, aren't you?"

  A prickle of temper pinched the back of his skull; Eli bit the inside of his cheek to quiet it. "I don't require much, ma'am."

  She grinned. "Well, since you didn't do anything particularly useful today, take the prisoner home. He's still in his cell." She handed him a set of keys. "Don't disappoint me again."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  The prisoner was curled in a corner on the floor of his cage, sleeping with his back to the wall. Eli hated to startle him awake. He tried to speak softly.

  "Time to go home."

  The man flinched and slowly turned over. A bruised face peered blearily up at Eli, one eye swollen shut, the other blazing with hatred and fear. To the prisoner, Eli was the henchman, the punisher, the enemy.

  Hopefully not for long.

  Eli unlocked the cage and dipped inside. He grasped the prisoner gently by the elbow, helped him up, and swept his arm under his arms. He led the man, limping, out of the cage, across the basement, and up the stairs. With each step, he moaned in pain, and needles of guilt stabbed Eli's gut.

  Upstairs, Eli released the prisoner and shoved him through the kitchen and the living room so Olive could witness his rough obedience. On the porch, he demanded, "Where's home?" in a gruff voice in case anyone was listening. He tugged the prisoner down the stone path to the main road.

  But when Olive's house was far behind, Eli shed his role. He found his real voice.

  "I ain't your enemy," Eli whispered.

  Night had fallen, so the street was silent and empty. Eli eased his grip on the prisoner's elbow and swept his arm under his arm again to carry the man's weight.

  "What?"

  Eli spoke quickly. "Simon came into my town, kidnapped a girl named Lily. Killed her not far from this place. I know more girls were taken. I want to help you save them."

  The man's mouth hung open in disbelief. "I'm supposed to just believe that? You beat me half to death."

  Eli hung his head. "To make her trust me."

  He tugged the man down the road in silence, their pace slow and painful. Everyone had retreated to their cabins, the onl
y sign of life a sea of little orange windows flickering with firelight. Parasites called from the emptiness outside the walls, their voices like keening wolves. In the thick, oppressive quiet, Eli's desperation grew.

  "You have to believe me." Then, more to himself, "I've been through hell to get here."

  The man pointed left, to a warren of cabins stretching into the black night. "Stop here." He stared off blankly, rubbing his chin.

  "Neither of us can do much alo —"

  The prisoner thrust up a hand for silence. He searched over Eli's shoulder, down the road in both directions, behind him. "Go to the east end of town just before dawn. There's a spring house there. Wait for me. We'll talk."

  The prisoner limped into the muddy lane. He bobbed between the cabins, then turned right; orange light split the dark for a second and then disappeared with a distant thud.

  Eli allowed himself a small smile of victory and climbed back up the hill to Olive's.

  Chapter 29

  Eli stood by the spring house in the west end of town. The little building sat close to the wall in a clearing enclosed by birch trees. Dawn was near — a waning crescent moon had dipped in the east behind a gauze of clouds as pink light spread from the horizon. Beyond the trees, distant buildings jutted through a swirling fog.

  Blood rushed through Eli's veins, energizing his limbs. He paced to calm himself. A rescue plan had already formed in his mind: one man would sneak inside the guest house, the other would let him in. Perhaps they could escort the girls in pairs to the oak tree. Eli brightened at the thought of their white dresses billowing in the air as they jumped over the wall.

  The other nameless girls would soon be free and going home.

  Twenty minutes passed; the sun broke free of the horizon and the fog thickened. Parasites howled on the other side of the wall.

  Eli began to worry, though the prisoner should've gone unseen during the dawn shift change. But maybe someone overheard their talk, or the prisoner had betrayed him.

  Something rustled in the dark. Eli's nerves prickled, pinching his skin. For a moment, he expected a guard to emerge, weapon drawn. He stiffened, waited. Footsteps sounded to his left and he turned to face them. A figure advanced through the fog.