by Gwen Cole
Durk laughs behind me and I spare him a glance. “My bad,” he shrugs.
Todd rushes me again, coming from the side. I duck low and hit him in the stomach, giving myself enough time to get on the other side of him. He swings wide before I can get out of reach. The knife skims across my shirt, slicing a tear through it.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to beat him, and that’s when I realize—I’m not supposed to. This is entertainment for Durk and his men, who probably love tormenting travelers like me.
Todd takes advantage of my hesitation. When I try to move away, he grabs the chain and jerks me forward. He plants his boot on the chain, keeping me in place and he comes down with the knife.
“Stop!”
Todd looks over at Durk, confused. I feel the blade of the knife against my skin, cold and sharp, a moment away from bleeding out.
Then he’s off, leaving me on the ground, my chest heaving and my back burning.
“What is it?” Todd growls.
“The Lawmen are coming,” Durk says. “Put your knife away.”
Someone curses.
I drag myself off the ground, but only have enough energy to sit on my knees. The wind almost pushes me over, and it cuts through my shirt and into the gash across my back.
I’m weak enough to be killed—I feel it.
I watch Durk and his men shift their weight nervously and hide their weapons. But the body of the man Durk killed hours earlier lies on the ground. Face up. Eyes staring at the clouds above.
He is so still.
The thunder of hooves comes over the small rise. I don’t know who the Lawmen are, or what they want, but they’ve already given me another chance to live—whether I wanted one or not. A half-dozen horsemen appear, all wearing long, black jackets. Each one with a white band around his right arm, some off-color depending on their time spent in the Wild. Maybe this is the gang I’ve heard so much about.
Durk’s men shrink away, allowing more than enough room for the newcomers. Horses spraying dirt from their hooves, throwing their heads back when they’re pulled to a stop. Only the leader dismounts—a bearded man with a rifle on his back. There is nothing soft about his eyes.
His boots hit the earth with a thump, his eyes seeing everything although he hasn’t even looked.
“You mind explaining what’s going on here, Durk?” He has a hint of an accent—the kind that comes from southeast of here, the same as the guy under the bridge. “I thought I made myself clear last time.”
“He killed one of my men,” Durk says, nodding to the man on the ground. I want to shout the truth but don’t have the strength. Even if I did, they wouldn’t believe me. “I needed to restrain him before we contacted you.”
He lies easily.
The man finally looks at me … and doesn’t look away. Without breaking eye contact, he comes closer. The clouds rumble overhead, the wind slicing through my thin shirt more with every passing second. His gaze is too heavy.
I stare at the ground when he stands over me. His boots are worn in the right places but still in good condition. You can’t find boots like that just anywhere. Good boots don’t fall from the sky—that’s what Dad always said.
Back in the days before, you could buy boots from a store. New boots. Not like today, when people try to sell me boots that have already been worn for years before their owners gave them up for something better.
Boots. Such a funny word for something so valuable.
I have no doubt someone will take my boots after they’ve killed me.
The man walks around me, pulling my thoughts to the present and away from boots. Slow and deliberate, like he’s examining at every inch of me and seeing right through my skin.
And then he crouches down in front of me, moving the cuff away from my wrist with two fingers and exposing the piece of red cloth that peeks out.
He takes his hand away and asks, only loud enough for me to hear, “Did you kill that man?”
My eyes flit to the body on the ground and then to Durk. They all stare at me.
I turn back and shake my head. “No.”
“I didn’t think so,” he says.
When he stands up, he snaps his fingers once and suddenly my ears ring with gunshots. I flinch, hands covering my head. Durk and his men fall to the ground, joining the man they accused me of killing. Seconds later, they’re all dead.
“I told him to stop lying to me,” the man says to himself. The only way I hear him is through the wind.
The men left standing are the ones with the white bands around their arms. They’re different than any other gang I’ve come across. They sit on their horses and wait for their next orders instead of digging through the pockets of the dead or looking for weapons and other valuables to sell. They aren’t even matching their foot sizes with the dead men’s boots.
Everything comes down to boots.
Boots and pirates.
I don’t understand.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask.
The man turns, his wide-brimmed hat shadowing half his weathered face. He glances down at my wrists again and says, “No, I’m not going to kill you. We don’t kill your kind…. We make an example of you.” He walks away, but when he passes Durk’s body, he pauses. As he stares down, one of his men comes over and unhooks the chain from my cuffs and pulls me to my feet. The gash across my back stings with every movement and my legs are numb. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m standing. I feel like light tinder, waiting for the wind to set me on fire.
The leader holds up his hand, stopping us as we’re about to pass, then bends over Durk’s body. With two fingers, he flips Durk’s jacket away, exposing his holster where he stowed my revolver. Durk’s own pistol is in his hand—a last attempt to save his life.
One of his men ask, “Captain Hatch?”
The man over Durk—Hatch—takes my gun and rises from his crouch, flipping it over in his hands. “I don’t see weapons like this every day,” he says. “No rust, but well used.” He pops out the cylinder, spins, and snaps it back in. “Clean, and the action is flawless.” He looks at me and says, “A gun like this only belongs to someone who knows how to use it.”
“What makes you think it’s mine?”
Hatch only smiles.
I’m led away and pushed onto a horse where they tie my handcuffs to the horn of the saddle with a length of rope. The rest of Hatch’s men mount, their wide-brimmed hats dark against the sky. I would do anything to have Cade beneath me and my gun around my hips. Here, I have nothing.
Then I think what nothing really means. Nothing is nothing.
Even pirates on lonely islands had something, didn’t they? They still had their lives and so do I, as I’m not dead yet. But I’m not a pirate, or at least I don’t think so. Dad described them as bearded men who looted towns and sailed away on ships, some never to be seen again. I still have never seen the ocean.
I’ve seen the big blue areas on a map before, but I’m sure that’s not really what the ocean looks like. I hope it’s grand.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever see it now.
Hatch turns his horse away from Durk and the rest of his dead men and starts east, back the way they came.
I have no choice but to go with them.
6.
Avery
For the first time in my life, I’m truly lost.
We ran into the night and never stopped, knowing they were tracking us but not knowing when we lost them.
When I lost them, I lost myself.
Back when Mom was still alive, she told Finn and I stories of sailors who used the stars to take them home, and how those small specks in the night sky could guide them anywhere like a map. I look to the dark sky now and see nothing. Sometimes I can make out the glow of the moon, which I’ve never seen, but the sky seems to mostly show me nothing—nothing that can take me back home. But it doesn’t matter, because I no longer belong there.
I belong with Finn, and he’s gone.
And even if we do end up going back, what will we be going back to?
The river next to us is unknown to me, along with the small mountains to my left, and even the wind that brushes the back of my neck is unfamiliar.
I know I’m as good as dead. I have nothing but the clothes on my back—boots, jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt. My bandana and goggles still hang around my neck, but they do nothing to keep out the cold.
No food, no shelter.
No home, no Finn.
I kneel on the bank of the river, unable to hold back tears. I’m breathing too fast and can’t control myself—I need to calm down and think. Jack nudges my shoulder, helping my heart slow to a constant, steady beat, reminding me I’m not alone.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I don’t know what to do.”
Only the wind answers, shaking me to my bones. From the way the sky looks, it’ll be dawn soon. The river moves slow and my eyes follow it, and that’s when I see something on the ridge about a half mile away. I stand, using Jack to steady me. Out here in the Wild, it’s like my strength is gone, blown away along with everything else that used to be.
There’s a person walking along the ridge, carrying a lamp flickering in the dark.
My body says to go to them, to ask for help or food, but my mind warns me not to. All my life, I’ve lived in a village where I could trust everyone, but when I went to Kev every week, it was the opposite.
I know nothing about the people in the Wild.
I push my fingers into Jack’s coat, remembering how numb and cold they are. With winter coming soon, it’s only going to get worse. I need to do this for myself and I need to do this for Finn.
Grabbing Jack’s reins, I start toward the light. When we come up on the ridge, where the land is flat and rolling with dust, the man with the lantern is almost close enough to make out his face. The light dips with every other step he takes, making his limp more prominent, and I catch flashes of scarred and weathered skin beneath his hat.
Before I change my mind, I call out to him. “Hello?”
He stops immediately, holding the lantern in front of him. “Who’s there?” He searches the night until his eyes land on me. “If you take another step closer, you won’t live to see the day. I give no leniency toward thieves.”
With one movement of his hand, he pushes his coat aside and takes a pistol from his hip.
“I’m not a thief,” I say.
“Not a thief, eh?”
“No.”
The old man comes closer. Then he freezes, staring like I suddenly appeared in front of him. “You ain’t from around here, are ya?”
I shake my head.
“What’s someone like you doin’ out in a place like this?”
I need to lie to him, not wanting to appear worse off than I am. “I was out riding last night and I got turned around.”
The man glances at Jack then back at me.
“That you did, girlie,” he says, smiling. “That you did.”
His pistol disappears and he grins wider, showing stained and crooked teeth. “Levi, at your service. And you are?”
“Avery.”
“Well, Avery of not-from-around-here, how would ya like some breakfast?”
“I really don’t think—”
“No, you’re comin’ home with me. Then I’ll point you in whatever direction you need to be.”
Levi throws his arm wide, inviting me.
It’s either go with him, eat a warm meal, and find out where I am, or stay lost and hungry. The choice isn’t hard, even though there is something unsettling about it. For the hundredth time, I wish Finn were here.
Levi leads me with his lantern, glancing back every few minutes to see if I’m still there. When the sky becomes lighter with day, he starts talking. First about the lack of fish in the rivers, then the rain that comes more often as winter draws nearer.
“You’re lucky we crossed paths,” he says. “I’m ’bout the only one around here who likes to travel at night instead of day.”
“Why do you travel at night?”
He spits on the ground and keeps walking. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I already told you.”
“That you did. But where did you say you were from?”
“I didn’t.”
Levi stops and looks back. I can see him better now that morning is coming. His wide-brimmed hat hides most of his white hair, but his face is full of lines and stubble. He reminds me of the traders in Kev—nothing but hard hearts and cold skin—those who travel through the Wild and become a part of it.
“Don’t be smart with me, girlie,” he says. “You tell me where you need to get back to or I’ll leave you here without a thought in the world.”
I open my mouth to say Stonewall, but stop myself. Finn isn’t in Stonewall. He’s being taken to Kev by the Lawmen, and that’s where I need to go.
“Kev,” I say.
He looks me up and down. “You don’t look like you’re from Kev. You look like a townie but not that type of townie.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m pointin’ out an improbability.”
Then he turns around and continues on, not caring for an answer.
When it’s full morning, a small cabin comes into view about a quarter mile away from a river swollen with rain that must have fallen somewhere north of here. Now that day is here, I can tell what direction we’re heading by where the sky is a lighter gray. It’s hard sometimes, depending on the storms that pass by and where the clouds are thicker. But Mom taught us everything she knew, and I know we’re heading north.
The closer we get to the cabin, the more I realize how thirsty I am. I can drink from the rivers Jack drinks from, but there’s always a risk of me catching something he can’t. There’s an outdoor well near the cabin with a man-made pulley system, but I don’t ask. Even if he doesn’t give me the safest feeling, this man invited me to his home, and Mom always taught us not to be rude.
Levi motions over to the fence behind the cabin where an old donkey stands near a trough. “You can put your horse in there. You’ll find some feed in the shed.”
I stop short. “You don’t have to share your feed.”
He waves me off. “I know some people. Give him as much as he needs, then come inside when you’ve finished.”
I walk Jack over to the gate, which squeaks when I open it, and the donkey lifts its head, attempting to look curious. Jack tentatively smells the animal and then turns to the trough, drinking deep, the same way I wish I could.
In the shed, I find a large bag of feed—enough to last months. This stuff doesn’t come cheap. One handful can fill a horse’s stomach for a whole day. A half-dozen saddles line the wall without a speck of dust on them. Saddles that have been recently used.
I take a large handful of food out to Jack, my stomach anxious, and look for anything else that may be wrong.
It’s not hard to find once I’m looking.
Along with the donkey’s small hoofprints in the ground, there are countless horse prints. Some fresh and some old. Levi can’t be the only one living here.
Mom’s warnings about the Wild echo in my thoughts, just out of reach. I wish I knew what’s truth and what’s just my paranoia. After Jack eats every last bit of feed from my palm, I rub his head and then go inside. Levi is bent over a pot of stew, and I’m surprised when I smell it.
“Is that meat?” I ask, my voice nearing the high end.
He doesn’t turn but answers, “It surely is. A day can’t go by when you don’t eat your meat.”
Sometimes we go weeks without eating fresh meat—or dried, for that matter. We have to rely on nutrition bars to get protein, and sometimes the occasional fish from the rivers. There used to be deer and rabbit in the Wild, if you went out far enough, but that was when you could still find edible plants, too.
They left us like they knew of something better.
Or they knew this place was goi
ng to hell.
“Sit down and I’ll get you a bowl.” Levi rummages through a dusty drawer in search for spoons, and I sit down at the small table. My stomach is nervous and hungry all at once. I don’t like being here, but he’s feeding me actual meat.
The moment he sets down a glass of water, it’s gone before he can grasp what happened. But he gives me more without comment, and even though I’m more than hungry, I wait for him to take a bite before I start eating. I savor every bit of meat, not wanting to swallow because then it’ll be gone. Mom always said things taste better if you’re hungry, and I wonder if this is one of those times.
“What kind of meat is this?” I ask. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
Levi sits back, lighting his pipe. “No? I suppose some of the vendors in Kev aren’t ones to advertise where some of their meat comes from. Gives people the wrong idea.”
He smiles—yellow teeth against brown, aged skin.
“Wrong idea about what?” I’ve stopped eating now—not knowing why.
“If people knew where their meat came from, they wouldn’t buy it, now would they?”
He takes another smoke, his eyes never leaving mine. My brain works abnormally slow, wanting to believe something besides what he’s saying. But I can’t, because it’s true. I should have known.
Somewhere far away, my spoon drops, splattering the floor with food that now tastes bitter on my tongue.
“You really didn’t think it was animal meat, did ya?” he asks, smiling again like it’s something funny.
“Is this why you brought me here?” Then I whisper, “To kill me?”
“I wouldn’t kill you, girlie,” he pauses and then continues. “You’re too young and pretty for that.”
I don’t know what to do, but I can’t breathe and my stomach lurches and everything in the room spins and I can’t make it stop. I stand up so fast my chair hits the floor, but he already has a gun pointed at me, the long barrel propped up on the table. I didn’t even see it before.
My hands shake at my sides—maybe out of fear or anger, I’m not sure. Because I am angry. He lied to get me to come here, gave me false hope of getting help when I needed it most. After everything I’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours, I won’t put up with more.