Endurance (4 page)

If only my ankle was stronger.

Her foot—not that she ever let anyone see it—turned inward. She’d created a brace to keep it from failing under normal circumstances, but this escape attempt would require great endurance. Thimble didn’t know if she could keep up with Stone, but without her resolve, he wouldn’t go. She knew that. They had gotten closer since Deuce had been sent away, and he’d wept in Thimble’s arms.

“She confessed for me,” Stone had whispered.

At the time, it had seemed vital to pretend to accept that judgment in order to keep their society functioning while they sorted out some better alternative. But that deception had been for nothing. They might as well have staged the rebellion right then for all the good it did later. Now the old ways lay broken with nothing to replace them. Thimble wondered if the cruelties and restrictions had been worth the resultant safety—it was a tough question and not one she could answer.

Bigger issues were crashing around the enclave, killing survivors. As she gazed around at the workshop, the torch crackling, an idea dawned. Dangerous. Possibly hopeless, but better than not trying. A slow breath escaped her. The stench grew stronger, which meant she didn’t have long.

Thimble got to work.

Six

The noises terrified him.

Stone knew it wasn’t manly to admit it, even to himself, but he hadn’t been raised for bravery. Right then, he had a crushing weight of pain for all the brats he hadn’t protected. As a Breeder, he had only one job—caring for the young—and that he’d lost them to an unexpected Freak attack didn’t make the failure easier to bear. The idea of fighting again made him want to vomit. Maddening echoes of those he’d killed rang in his head. Not monsters. Citizens. But it wasn’t
just
his life hanging in the balance. There was Thimble to consider, also.

So he did as she’d asked and found provisions. In his arms, Boy23 shifted and made a small baby sound against his neck. He didn’t talk yet. Sometimes he blabbered nonsense, but since the fighting had broken out he’d been scared and silent. He hadn’t even entered basic brat training. That started at three, and at eight they divided into subgroups. At fifteen they joined the caste for which they’d trained. But none of that awaited Boy23; he wouldn’t even remember the enclave, provided they survived. That didn’t seem likely.

Yet he wouldn’t give up. Not when Thimble and his brat needed him. Right now, she was working her magic to try and save them. He could do no less.

In the warren on the way to the workshop, Thimble met him halfway. Her halting step gave her away before she came into sight, a torch blazing in her hand. He took a step closer to her, as she represented everything he had left. The familiarity of her narrow face with its wide eyes and pointed chin gave him hope; it fluttered in his chest with a tight sweetness. He wanted to reach for her as he’d always done, tucking her beneath his arm. He would feel better if he kept Thimble close.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said.

That was her specialty, not his. In fact, he wondered what purpose he could serve, other than making her feel less alone. He could carry things, he supposed. Stone was accustomed to packing two or three brats around, one in each arm, and sometimes one on his back as well. That had made him relatively strong, at least. Her Builder friends had said he had a fitting name, because he was as stupid as the smooth, flat rock his blood had fallen upon in the naming rite. With his free hand, he touched the stone in his pocket for comfort and reassurance.

“What can I do?”

Quickly, she explained and then handed him the supplies necessary for his part. Because Thimble seemed sure it would work, he didn’t waste his breath on doubts. Maybe that was what he could do, then: show blind faith in her abilities, because without them, they were both doomed.

The resistance from the remaining Hunters had fallen silent moments before. Now there were only wet sounds, smacking, chewing, and grunts of pleasure. Wordless, he scrambled up and tied the rope as she’d requested. Metal shards and scraps, coils, things he didn’t even recognize, she handled with great expertise. It raised his respect further. She was just so
smart
. He did little more than hold the light or secure something in place that was too heavy for her to manage, but the whole time, he knew how much of a race this was. If they didn’t get it done—

No point in imagining how things could get worse. The enclave was already in ruins.

They worked tirelessly. If the Hunters hadn’t been able to defeat the Freaks, what hope did they have in open combat? Simple. Then they wouldn’t fight. A wave of warmth and admiration sparked through him as they completed their preparations. Only Thimble could have looked at the scraps left in the workshop and come up with a scheme to save their skins.

After Stone finished, he handed Boy23 to Thimble; he didn’t need to tell her to guard the boy with her life. She would. She’d kept him safe once before.
I can do this.
His hand trembled when he took the torch from her.
Light to drive away the dark.

“I wish I could—” she began.

Stone shook his head. “I’m fast. Comes from chasing brats all over the place.”

He didn’t mention her infirmity. Neither did she. Even if he’d been that much of a coward, she
couldn’t
finish the job. They’d be on her in two strides. With great effort, he calmed himself and focused on her dark eyes, gazing up at him with such confidence. She’d
always
looked at him like that, as if he was a little better than he knew himself to be. Maybe it was because during their brat-hood he’d thumped the ones who made fun of her. Soon, they stopped mocking her, at least within his hearing.

The noises drew closer. Feeding sounds—teeth tearing flesh. Movement stirred the air and carried a putrid stench. He’d never breathed it in like this before. A couple of times, in his early brat-hood, Freaks had pushed close to the enclave before the Hunters battled them back. There were no Hunters anymore. Just himself, Thimble, and Boy23.

Plus her brilliant traps.

No matter what it meant for his own safety, he couldn’t let anything happen to Thimble or Boy23. Somehow, some way, he’d get the two of them out of here. He smiled as he straightened, flaming brand in hand. Everything depended on his speed and his ability to remember where they’d laid the snares and trigger blades. His role was simple in comparison to the marvelous, deadly things she’d built…and so
fast
, too. He was bait, and he knew it.

The Freaks and Hunters had been fighting at the barricades. Deeper within, the enclave was laid out in sections: the brat dorm, the kitchen space, bath facilities, the fish pools, the Builder workshop, the common area, the Hunter lounge, and the living quarters for all citizens. The monsters sounded as if they’d reached the common area. Which meant they’d be in the warren leading to the workshop soon.

“Almost time,” she whispered.

“Hide.” It was the first time he’d taken that tone with her, the same one he used on the brats. Her eyes flared wide, but she obeyed, as the brats always did.

Time to run.

With an echoing clatter, an internal wall went down. Stone stood his ground, watching Freaks shove toward him. In the back, one of them scouted the situation, and then—inexplicably, it loped away. Before he turned, he glimpsed their mutated, monstrous features: pale skin cut with sores, yellow fangs, milky eyes, and bulging brows with sparse hair. Their bodies looked almost human: same number of eyes, arms, and legs, but their skin and their faces identified them as other. They raised their heads, scenting. They probably didn’t see well, so he waved the torch. Terror and revulsion wedged in his throat, but as long as feelings didn’t freeze him, it would be all right.

He waited until the first one ran for him, and then he wheeled, vaulting the snare, dodging right to avoid the spring-trap. The light in his hand blinded the Freaks, leaving them unable to mimic his path. Behind him, he heard the rope snap and the metallic clang, and then an animal growling in both pain and anger. He ran on, holding in his mind the deadly path they’d laid.

Deviation meant death.

Seven

Chills of pure terror rippled the skin of her forearms. Thimble curled into a smaller ball, wishing she could see, but she only heard the snick and snap of her traps. As if he sensed the absolute need for stillness and silence, Boy23 snuggled to her chest, knuckles in his mouth. If she raised up to look, the Freaks might sense the movement, not so much with their eyes, but from the stirring air. As long as she heard Stone running, it wasn’t over. He was so much braver than she’d known.

His footsteps bounded around, over, faster than the hungry Freaks slavering in his wake. Metal clanged and the Freaks screamed. Sometimes it sounded like weeping. The noises disturbed the brat in her arms and he cried quietly, his breath coming in little hiccups. He had to be beyond hungry and exhausted, but he could sense the danger. Otherwise he would’ve been wailing at the top of his lungs, as choleric young sometimes did.

“Shh, shh,” she whispered, patting his back. “Your sire will be back. He’s not leaving us.”

The wait seemed endless.

At last, Stone drew her out of hiding with a hand on her arm. His chest churned from the running, but apart from the sweat, he appeared to be intact. Snarls and moans of pain reached her ears. A few Freaks struggled in their snares; others had been killed outright. She heard monsters moving nearby, seeking prey.

“I should put them out of their misery,” he said grimly.

It was common knowledge that Freaks fed on their own dead, but they didn’t attack live ones. So the injured could suffer for a long time. Even as her stomach roiled, she nodded, digging through her pack to find a knife. She was grateful he had the nerve; for all her ability to create instruments of pain, Thimble didn’t know if she could sink a blade into flesh. That had never been her role, and so long as the enclave functioned, she’d only needed to craft. Now, that had to change.

One by one, the ominous sounds fell silent while she comforted Boy23, and when Stone returned with the torch, his blue eyes held a hard light. In that moment, Thimble felt like she didn’t know him at all. He kept the dagger in hand, large and intimidating in the swirling shadows.

“This should earn us some time to get away,” she said.

“If we can.” But he didn’t sound as hopeless as he had before. “We didn’t kill them all.”

“That would be impossible. Douse the torch and let’s go.”

For the first time in her life, Thimble went toward the barricades with the intention of leaving. Her heart thundered in her ears, but she ignored the fear. After taking Boy23, Stone helped her clamber over, and then they were out in the tunnels. Where the Freaks lived.

She swallowed her fear. The pack felt reassuring on her shoulders, filled with things she’d made with her own hands. Things that could save them.
The traps worked,
she told herself.
You can do this.

Here, it was so dark. There came quiet rustlings from behind them, other survivors scurrying for the exit as well, perhaps, but she didn’t call out. It would take all her ingenuity to save Stone and Boy23. Nothing compelled her to rescue those who had cowered while they laid the traps.

Though she’d never taken visual deprivation training like a Huntress, she closed her eyes and turned her face to either side of the tunnel. Stone waited beside her in patient silence. That was the thing she liked best about him—he never questioned her competence. Thimble didn’t doubt he believed she’d lead them to safety. And therefore she was determined not to let him down.

Things had changed so fast. Once, Stone had been so far beyond her. Builders didn’t socialize much with Breeders once they left the brat dorm. She’d noticed that he’d had less time for her after their naming ceremony, if not less affection, and it had cut her deeper than the three scars she bore on her arm, taken when she committed herself to crafting for the good of the enclave. Stone only wore one mark, representing his value as breeding stock. She’d known for ages that she cared more for him than she was allowed to—and that he went off to do things in the dark with other Breeders. That hurt, too, because she could never have more than his careless arm about her shoulders. And maybe he didn’t even want to do what he did, but the elders set the schedule for reproduction, and it was his lot to follow their orders.

It had been hers, too.

But not anymore.

“There’s air moving that way,” she said at last. “Can you carry a weapon as well as Boy23?”

“I have to, don’t I?” His voice was cold.

He wasn’t the simple, affectionate friend from her brat-hood any longer. These days had changed him forever. He’d killed. Maybe he wasn’t a Hunter, but he wasn’t a Breeder either. Circumstances had forced him to adapt, become some new thing. And she loved him from all angles. She had since he first balled up a fast and hit the boy who was taunting her.

Stone accepted the weapon she’d designed: a long wood haft with a metal spike attached. The Hunters had preferred knives and clubs. They said this weapon was too long to work in the tunnels, particularly in close quarters—and it was too likely to inflict collateral damage on a partner in the dark—but in her friend’s big hands, it looked right. She wondered if he knew what to do with it, or if he’d be insulted if she explained.

Probably not
, she decided. He’d always accepted that she was cleverest of what had been their inseparable trio. Their third—Deuce—had been gone what seemed like forever, and now the enclave was broken entirely. So there was no reason to imagine he’d mind an explanation.

“You don’t slice with that,” she whispered. “It’s meant to impale, throat or chest.”

Stone nodded. “I don’t have to be fancy with it, then. I can brace for their charge.”

“You need to be quick to disengage,” she warned.

“Or I’ll get it stuck and I won’t be ready for the next Freak.”