Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) (32 page)

“I’m gonna get us out of here,” I tell him.

“Are we going home?” he asks. “
All
of us?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know that we’ll be going back to Minnesota. Not just yet.” The idea of returning to our simple life in Williams is at once impossible to imagine and achingly tempting.

“Where will we go?”

“New Zealand.”
If we can get there
.

“Why?”

“It’s where I’m living right now. And we have family there.”

“We do? Is that where you went when you left us?”

I flinch at his choice of words. “No. I went to Canada. It’s kind of a long story,” I add when I see his frown.

“Will we tell Sue?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’ll write to her.”
And what will I say?

“I bet she’s really worried about us,” Jack says. “First you disappear. Now us.”

“Did she bring you here?” I ask, flinching again.

“No. We came on a service mission with some other kids from church.”

“A service mission? How did Sue afford that?”

“She didn’t. Me and Maisy raised the money ourselves. And the church held a fundraiser.”

I frown, taken aback by the idea that the twins could come up with that kind of money on their own. More than I ever have. Maybe they already are grown up.

“So what happened?” I ask. “How did the Kaana get you?”

Jack shrugs, but I notice his face blench. “One day we were in the village with the others. Maisy wanted to look at some scarves a man was selling. I think she wanted to take a souvenir back to Sue. Next thing I know, someone is throwing a bag over my head. And then they took us to that place.”

“Did they hurt you?” I ask softly, holding my breath.

He shakes his head. “They looked through our stuff, and that was it. Left us alone in a room.”

“They didn’t tell you what they wanted?” I ask in surprise.

“No. They never said anything to us. Just brought us food in the morning and at night. But sometimes we could hear—” He breaks off abruptly, and when I see his face, I decide not to press him further.

As we walk, I think about what he told me. None of it makes sense. What did the Kaana want with my siblings? Why take two children to a prison cell but never make a ransom demand? Never ask them any questions? Did they figure out they were related to my dad? But how? And why would that matter? The twins weren’t even born when he betrayed the Rangi and came here with one of the
hiri.

I realize we’ve gotten ahead of the others, so I motion to Jack to sit down on a recently felled trunk—another casualty of yesterday’s storm. I take advantage of the break to remove my boots, peeling off my socks and rolling up my pants to inspect the blisters on my toes and heels.

“What happened to your legs?” Jack asks, pointing to the burn marks on my exposed skin.

“I got caught in an explosion,” I say.

That catches his attention. “An explosion? What happened?”

“I was trying to get rid of a bomb—didn’t quite get clear in time. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“I want to hear!” he protests.

“Maybe later,” I say, not exactly in the mood to talk about what happened at the Yakone fortress. I roll my pants back down.

“Did you get those from the bomb too?” Jack asks, pointing at the scars on my arm and cheek.

“Nope, those were from Rangi bullets,” Rye interjects, appearing suddenly from behind the trees. I meet his gaze for a moment, reading the accusation in his eyes.

Jack looks back and forth between us, clearly confused, but I don’t offer an explanation. I just get up to help Maisy. Her face is hot and red, and she looks on the verge of unconsciousness. We sit her down on a tree trunk and wait for the others, the tension in the air as thick as the humidity.

After a few minutes, Kai and Hana come limping into view. When they sit down, we pass around Hana’s canteen. Once it’s empty, I refill it in a nearby stream, and Rye hunts down more bugs to eat. We rest for a few minutes while Hana gives Kai and Maisy some medication. Still no wind.

We resume our march, repeating this pattern, and it’s not long before I begin to feel desperate. There’s no sign of a breeze, and I can’t help but wonder if the Kaana’s windtalker is responsible. If she is, she may succeed in killing us yet. A diet of baby bugs and limited water can only go so far when you’re hiking through a dense forest in eighty percent humidity. And two of us are injured. If we don’t find civilization soon, we’ll be joining the others who met their end in this merciless jungle.

When we stop for our breaks, none of us talks unless we have to. If we do, hunger and fatigue sharpen our voices. I don’t bother hiding my irritation when the others are too slow, and yet I would love nothing more than to stop walking altogether. My nerves are frayed, my whole body sore. I grit through the pain of my blistering feet and excoriated skin and focus on the ground ahead of me, feeling obsessively for the wind that never comes, denying the feeling that I’m getting hotter and hotter as the day progresses.

I’m not getting sick
, I tell myself.
I’m not getting sick.
But my temperature keeps rising, and I start to peel off some of my armor, abandoning my bullet-proof vest and utility belt in the jungle.

We keep walking. Always walking. My pulse rattles in my ears. The trees grow hazy and soft in my periphery.

And then, as the sun is growing heavy, I see something through the trees, and my pulse quickens even more. It’s a village on the bank of a small lake.

I call weakly to the others and stumble forward … only to slow down again a few feet later when I register what I’m seeing. Or rather what I’m not seeing. There’s no smoke rising from cooking fires, no barking dogs, no people tending their gardens. The village is abandoned.

Utterly defeated, I collapse onto a rock. Jack sits down beside me, and together we stare out over the shimmering lake. I fight the tears pooling in the corner of my eyes.

It doesn’t take long for the others to join us. No one says anything, and when I glance at Maisy’s burning red face, I feel despair set in.

“We can camp in one of the huts,” Hana says pragmatically, breaking the silence.

She leads the way to one of the vacant houses, and the rest of us follow. Inside, we make a bed for Maisy and Mokai out of some grass mats.

After we get them settled, Rye pulls me aside. I step with him out of the hovel.

“I could try the lake for fish,” he offers, watching me closely.

I hesitate for a moment, blinking through the haziness in my brain. To fish he needs a weapon. If I arm him, he might try something. But we need food. Besides, he’s had plenty of opportunities to double cross us, and it doesn’t seem likely that he’d do it now when he’s hungry too.

“Here,” I say, pulling Paika’s knife out of its sheath.

“Nice blade,” he says.

“Don’t lose it.”

I tell the others where we’re going. Mokai hands me his rifle, and I drag it in the dirt as I follow Rye down to the lake. While Rye sharpens the end of a stick, I find a rock and sit down with Kai’s rifle poised precariously across my lap.

When he’s finished, Rye pulls off his shirt and wades into the water. His defined chest and arms seem to be the only thing in focus. I can’t tear my eyes away as he raises the makeshift spear and waits, watching for fish.
Just like it used to be.

After only a few moments, he stabs the stick into the clear lake, and soon he’s bringing his catch onto the shore. When he’s collected a pile of small, silver fish, he plops down on a rock not far from me then sets to work cleaning them.

I watch him working from the corner of my eye. I can’t help but notice the familiar details of his face—the hard line of his jaw, the straightness of his eyebrows, the hair that stands up on the back of his head. But I also notice details that I didn’t before. Two freckles on his neck. A patch of stubble-free skin near his mouth. Small crinkles around his green eyes. And of course there’s a tension between us that didn’t used to exist, born of the discovery of generations of hate—and from our mutual attempts to kill each other. It’s disorienting, especially when I recall how natural it once felt to sit near him, at a lake not too different from this one. Like returning to a place you knew as a child and finding it exactly the same as it was, only completely different from how you remember.

“I can help,” I offer.

“It’s fine,” he says shortly.

“Really, I—”

“There’s only one knife,” he interrupts. “And you need to keep pointing that gun at me.”

“Well, that’s because I can’t trust you,” I retort.

“I suppose you can’t, being you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“People who lie think everyone else is lying too. They don’t trust anyone.”

“I don’t trust you because you’re a Yakone.”

“And you’re a Rangi.”

“That’s right.”

“Then you better keep that gun ready.”

I clench my jaw and look away from him, out over the water. What was I thinking, that things could go back to the way they were before? No. It will never happen. It
can’t
happen.

My head is spinning, and everything seems blurry.

When Rye has cleaned out all the fish, he returns my knife to me then places the fish inside his shirt and carries the load like a satchel back to the hut. I trail behind, and I can tell by the stiffness in his shoulders that we’re both acutely aware of the barrel I have pointed at his back—though he probably doesn’t realize how hard it is for me to hold it steady.

When we reach the hut, I pause on the threshold, dizzy and nervous about facing the people inside. I’ve been waiting for weeks to rescue my brother and sister, but now that I’m here, I don’t know what to say, how to explain why I left or what’s going to happen next. I feel inadequate. Awkward. Maybe it’s the way Maisy’s eyes constantly dart around, avoiding my gaze. Or maybe it’s just the buzzing that’s invaded my brain.

“D’ya catch something, then?” Hana asks when she sees us.

Rye reveals the fish.

“That’s a bloomin’ relief,” Hana says.

After several attempts, we finally get a fire started; luckily, there was dry wood stored in the house.

While we wait for the fish to cook, Hana turns to look at me. “Oy,” she says. “You don’t look so good. How’s your back.”

“It’s fine,” I mumble.

“Gizza look.”

She helps me strip off the top part of the Kaana uniform and then the tarp and bandages underneath.

“Not so good, mate,” she says. “The scabs look infected. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I repeat.

“I better give you something.”

“No, save it for Maisy and Kai.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I don’t want you to waste it on me.”

Hana grumbles under her breath, but she takes my bandages and lays them out to dry. I cover myself with a blanket from her pack and lie down on my stomach. As I work myself into a more comfortable position, I notice Rye looking at me, or rather the
hirimoko
on my back. I meet his gaze defiantly.

“Give me your canteen,” he says, turning to Hana.

“What for?” she asks suspiciously.

“So I can fill it with water. What do you think?”

She reluctantly hands it him, and he leaves the hut. He returns a moment later and sets the canteen over the fire. Then he pulls the leather pouches out of his pockets and begins sorting through them. When the water is boiling, he opens one of the pouches and adds its contents—a handful of dried plants—to the canteen. Then he takes it off to steep.

After the brew has cooled, he hands me the canteen. “Drink this,” he instructs.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Tea.”

“I guessed that much.”

He sighs. “I got these from the Kaana. They claim there’s a plant to heal every sickness known to man in this jungle. This is a healing blend. It will help with the infection.”

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“Will you just drink it?”

I raise the tea to my lips and take a sip. “It tastes awful.”

“Drink more.”

I obey, watching him over the lip of the canteen.

“Good. Now give it here.” He takes the canteen from me and takes it over to Mokai. Then he gives the lion’s share of the drink to Maisy.

Hana watches disapprovingly. “I don’t like this mumbo jumbo. He’s probably poisoning you.”

“If I wanted them to die, I wouldn’t have to do anything,” Rye counters angrily.

Hana’s face darkens, obviously feeling her skills as a healer are being slighted. But before she can fire off a retort, Rye pulls the fish from the flames and begins passing them around.

I stare at the fish in front of me, keenly feeling the smoke from the fire, the closeness of the hut. Too many things today have reminded me of the journey I shared with Rye to the
Wakenunat
, of the way it used to be between us—and how different it is now.