Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2) (7 page)

“This is Will, Oliver, Riley, June, and Avery,” Ross says, pointing to each of us as he says our names.

The women glance up.  Their shoulders hook forward further.  They barely look at Will, Oliver, Riley, June and I.  They mumble nervous hellos then quickly cast their eyes back to the ground. 

Warning screams through me.  I cannot pinpoint what is happening, what the reason
is for the women’s timid behavior.  All I know is that something is not right.  I decide to ask the first question that pops into my mind when I see them disappear through a doorway, out of the dining area, all the while with Ross’ watchful gaze bolted to them. 

“Aren’t they going to eat with us?” I ask.

Ross tears his eyes from the entryway the women just slipped through then looks at me absently.  “Huh?” he asks.

“The women, aren’t they going to eat with us?” I repeat my question.

“Ah, no,” the old man who was said to be Tal’s father answers with a chuckle.  “Nobody wants to look at their ugly faces while they eat.  Ha!” he laughs and puffs out his chest, proud of the joke he thinks he’s made.

“Dad, that’s not true,” Tal says tightly and shoots his father a
grim look.  “They just prefer to eat in the kitchen with their children.”  He looks at me again and offers an unnatural smile.

“
Their
children, as in those babies belong to
them
?” I ask incredulously.  The words spill from me before I can stop them.  My shock at his statement overwhelms me too quickly. 

Tal’s smile falters for a split-second. 
“Yes, they do,” he answers after immediately regaining his composure.  “Those women aren’t as old as they look.  They’ve just had hard lives.”

“Yeah, who hasn’t,” Will
shocks me by saying. 

His statement surprises me almost as much as the slightly embarrassed look on his face.  He shifts uncomfortably and begins a conversation about
tales his parents told him about how women and men used to pamper themselves before the war. 

“My father and mother shared stories they’d heard from their ancestors through the generations about all sorts of thing
s men and women used to do when human beings ruled the planet,” Will commands the attention of a small group of men from the compound.  Little by little, I am getting edged out of the circle.  “They would go to places called
salons
and have chemicals put on their hair, poison really, that would change its color or texture.”  A ripple of laughter erupts along with a series of affirmations that a few among them had heard similar accounts.  “Yeah, and if that’s not enough, they would go to places and have stuff injected into their faces to try to make themselves look younger.”

“I remember hearing something like that from my grandpa,” the old man, Tal’s father, says.  “Wish someone could’ve saved some of that junk.  We sure could use it here,” he says and laughs so hard he is beset by
a coughing fit. 

“Yeah, we could use it on the hags in the kitchen!” an unfamiliar voice chimes in.  “That would make things a lot easier for us.”

My insides simmer.  I wonder what exactly the man’s last sentence is supposed to mean.  How would the women’s appearances make anything easier for them?  I would love to ask, but Will is still addressing them.

“
The way people acted centuries ago, it’s no wonder the world collapsed.  Humans back then were completely crazy!” Will says. 

Hoots and laughter break
out all around me.  The moment seems surreal.  I am supremely uncomfortable and Will, who I thought shared my nervousness about the men, has officially been accepted by just about every man in the room.  I try to catch his eye as he is led to the table and offered a pile of what looks to be boart meat.  June and Riley sidle up next to me while Oliver is swept away on the all-male current.  When they are seated, we sit and do not wait to be served.  We fill a plate with meat and eat. 

“I hear women used to have people suck the fat from their backsides and shoot it
into their lips,” Tal’s father says as his gravelly voice rises above the others.  He puckers his lips and forces them outward.  “They would look like this and think they were pretty,” he struggles to talk while holding his mouth positioned as it is which causes an eruption of laughter.

“Oh man, you look
like you have a duckbill or fish lips or something,’” one of the men says.

“He does!” Will agrees and bangs the table with his hand as he doubles over laughing. 

“Well, which is it?” the old man barely manages as he splutters. 

“Don’t matter, you still look better than those crones in the kitchen!” the man who made the duck comment says and is laughing so hard tears stream from the corners of his eyes. 

Food and spittle sprays from the men’s mouths and the scene becomes one marked by ugliness in all its forms.  Seeing Will, gorgeous, golden Will, among them seems incongruous.  I don’t know what I’m more offended by, the men’s behavior, their words, or the fact that Will is immersed in both, and is right at the center of it all.

Apparently, I am not alone in noticing this.
  However, I am alone in feeling discomfited by it.

“Will sure is popular,” June says with a smile.  “Everyone seems to really like him.”

“Yes they do,” I say and do not mask my annoyance.

“Avery, what’s the matter?” June asks.  “I thought you’d be thrilled to find so many people.”

“Me, too,” I murmur under my breath.

“Then what’s the problem?” she persists and clearly heard my grumbling.

“It’s everything, the women, how they reacted to Ross and Tal and the others,” I start but my voice is drowned out by a roar of laughter that explodes all around us. 

June
’s head whips to where it began.  Will is getting clapped on the back. 

“How are you holding up?” I try to ask her
, but can barely hear the sound of my own voice.  “I know you didn’t want to come here,” I lean in and say a little louder.  I want to gauge her opinion of this place, of the people, but she seems absorbed by the noise and number of humans surrounding us.

When June’s attention does not return to me immediately, I decide to keep my thoughts to myself.  The possibility still exists that I am just overly paranoid due to a lack of sleep. 

I eat silently and tune into the conversations around me from time to time.  I remain vigilant though.  I try to scrutinize every move the people around me make, try to analyze their intentions.  It is draining, to say the least.  I have had little interaction with humans unrelated to me, and that was limited to when I was a child of about June’s age, ironically, when I lived within the walls of the compound I sit in now.  I find myself wishing my social skills were as razor sharp as my battle skills. 

Few
questions come my way and distract me from my intensive watchfulness. 

“So where’s your kin
, your mom and dad?” Tal’s father asks.  His question is ordinary enough, but it is his demeanor, the way he regards me, that gets under my skin.  He examines me as if he is able to see through my clothes and lay eyes on my bare flesh. 

“Dead,” I offer a simple one-word answer.  I have no desire to chitchat on the subject of losing my parents.  And the fact that June is my sister is obvious given our many similarities
even if I hadn’t told Tal and the others earlier. 

Halfhearted condolences are offered by the few men near me then they resume conversing with one another.

While the inquiries are scarce, the lingering stares are abundant.  They last longer than curious glances.  I cannot put my finger on what exactly it is about the men that has me unnerved.  So they’re looking at me, what’s the big deal?  Maybe Tal was right.  Maybe the men are acting strangely because they haven’t seen many women in their lives. Trying to convince myself of that is difficult. 

As if sensing my inner turmoil,
Will smiles warmly at me several times while we are in the eating area.  He seems to be relaxed and enjoying himself.  Why that irks me as much as it does remains a point I wish to examine further.  I also wish I could ask Will what prompted his turnaround.  If I didn’t know any better and was seeing him for the first time with the men around him, I would think he’d spent his entire life with them.  But I can’t now, not when there is a crowd of strange men leering at me. I hope I am wrong about them, that everything is a figment of my exhausted imagination, and that being peeved with Will is encompassed in that.  He looks as if he is having a good time.  I wish I could say the same for myself.  But I can’t.  I do not feel as if I have his support, and that leaves me perplexed, and angry. 

I chew my meat but bitterness continues to ris
e in the back of my throat.  Forcing myself to eat is necessary.  I need to attempt to keep my strength intact.  So I keep going, swallowing bite after bite, all the while I watch and listen. 

W
hen I finish, I look around and see that most of the men are leaning back, their assorted array of bellies round and full. I am still rattled by the circumstances.  That feeling is compounded when the women return and clear the tables.  They file out from the doorway they disappeared through and dutifully remove the metal saucers on which our food was served.  As they do, they do not make eye contact or say a word.  But when the women are close to me, I am able to look at them closely.  I examine their skin. It looks thin and heavily creased and bears an unhealthy grayish pallor.  Their complexions look as if they have not seen sunlight in many years.  I purposely place my face directly in the line of vision of one of them.  Her eyes flicker from my face to the table then back to me.  Desperation scrawls lines around her mouth and forehead.  Despair flashes in her dull irises before burning out like a tiny ember in a rainstorm. 

The expression haunts me.  I cannot focus on the rest of the time I spend in the dining area.  When Ross speaks directly to me, I must ask him to repeat himself as I am lost in thought, trying frantically to decode what I saw in the woman’s eyes. 

“We had the women set up a cottage for you and your family,” he says.

For a moment, my mind scrambles to figure out what he means by
cottage
.  I realize he is talking about the huts in which villagers used to live.

“Thank you,” I say and nod stiffly.  I do not trust myself to say anything more.  Without my weapons
to protect us, I will not risk saying anything that might get us killed. 

We are led down a long hallway and out into an open courtyard.  Small structures with thatched roofs continue for as far as I can see. 

“Wow,” Oliver’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of it. 

“Is this where I was born?” June asks me with quiet wonder in her voice. 
She has stopped walking while the others continue toward a nearby hut.

“Yes, this is where you were born and lived for the first two years
of your life,” I reply, but wonder does not shade my words.  Hurt does. 

We continue walking until we reach the entrance to the place we will rest for the night. 

“Here we are,” Ross says and grins so wide his smile turns frightening.  He splays one hand out at his side to showcase the cozy interior of the hut lit by what I guess is an animal fat-fueled lantern.  “You should all enjoy a night of deep, worry-free sleep.  Two men will be on the wall patrolling.  But don’t worry, the night beasts don’t live this close to the edge of the forest, and even if they did,” he adds with pride, “They wouldn’t be able to make it over the wall.”

He did not build the wall, yet his demeanor suggests he assumes credit for it.  I met the men who placed each stone by hand.  They were good and decent men who walked for miles in sweltering temperatures to wash their clothes in rivers and hunt to feed the village.  Women and children ate with men, and no one wore looks of anguish on their faces without illness or death as a cause.  The men who built the wall were not like Ross at all. 

“Thank you,” Will says to Ross and clutches his shoulder familiarly.  “This is terrific.  We are grateful for your hospitality.” 

Will turns and looks over his shoulder at me, as if prompting me to add to what he’s said.

“Yes,” I say with a forced smile. 

An irritable expression races across Ross’ face like a storm cloud overtaking a clear sky.  He recovers quickly, but not before narrowing his eyes at me.

“Okay then,” he says and claps his hands loudly.  “Have a good night and I’ll see you all in the morning.” 

Ross turns and leaves us in the hut.  The children set about inspecting a stack of sleep sacks that are in much better condition than the ones June and I had.  I immediately move toward Will and tug his arm.  I pull him
out of earshot from the children.

“What’
s going on with you?” I do not waste time and demand.  “I thought you were as freaked out as I am, what with the women and the weird interaction and everything,” I say sharply.

“What’re you talking about?” Will snaps back at me. 

“What am I talking about?” I unleash on him.  “Have you lost your mind?  Don’t you remember how that old guy looked at me when we first got here?  And what about the children,
the babies
, with those old women, none of that strikes you as odd?”