Warchild: Pawn (The Warchild Series) (17 page)

CHAPTER ● TWENTY-TWO

It sounds like a young girl. Her shriek
is shrill and pierces the air, filling the void in my wake. She’s screaming,
“No, no! Let me go!” as I spin in circles hunting for the source.

When I find it, I see only one thing
that tells me all I need to know.

Long red hair.

Frantic, I shout for Tom Barner to
go help Dale and Cherise, and then I break into a run. I jump over people and
campfires. I shove men, women, and children out of my way. They’re all turning
to see where the screams are coming from. If they don’t see me coming, if they
don’t move out of my way soon enough, they’re sent tumbling into one another
like that game we used to play back in the village, the one with the ball and
pins.

Four men are climbing into a tree. They’re
holding Teresa by her arms and legs. She’s thrashing, trying to break free, but
they’re too strong.

“Let go of me,” she screams again. “I
didn’t do anything.”

A crowd gathers beneath the largest
branch that hangs out over the campsite. A man in a blue jacket hands a rope up
to one of the four men. A noose dangles from the end.

I’m screaming for them to stop,
flailing through the crowd as fast as I’m able.

Why can’t I fly now? Why can’t I
lift off the ground and soar over top of everyone in my way? I concentrate on
doing it—I see my feet lifting off the ground, going up, up, and over, but it
doesn’t happen. I’m stuck in a sea of onlookers, shouting for the men to let
Teresa go.

She wails and tries to break free. One
of the men almost falls and regains his balance just in time. He teeters on the
limb, latches onto the one above, and holds himself steady while the other three
shimmy further out, dragging the young, redheaded sniper behind them. When all
four are in place, one of the men wraps the noose around her neck while another
ties the loose end to the limb.

I manage to work my way through the
crowd and stop below them. Out of breath, not from exertion but rage, I point
into the tree and shout, “Get her down, now.”

“Who’re you?” the first man asks, as
if he doesn’t know I’m in charge.

One of the other men in the tree
laughs and says, “He’s new here.”

“Caroline Mathers. The superior
officer and an official representative of the PRV, and as your government delegate,
I’m ordering you to get her down before I have to come up there.”

A different one shouts down, “We
know who she is. We know what she did.”

Teresa sits on the limb beside them,
shaking. “Caroline, tell them. Tell them that I helped you.”

“Who told you?” I ask, wondering who
betrayed my confidence. James. It has to be James. “James!” I scream. “Where
are you? Get over here, now. Who told you men who she was, huh? You let her go,
and get her down from that tree. She’s under my protection and so help me, if
anything happens to her—James!”

The man in the blue jacket, who
handed up the rope, shouts to the crowd around me, saying, “This right here is
a damn blackcoat sniper! How many of
your
kin did she murder two days
ago?”

More angry shouting from behind me. I
spin around, clenching my teeth, and howl right back at them, “But she also
saved
us. She killed every single one of those eight men to protect you. Look how
young she is. She was following orders.” And then to the men in the tree, “You
saw me this morning. You know what I’m capable of. Get her down. Final
warning.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Miss
Caroline. We’re following orders, too.”

“On whose command? I’m the only one
who gives orders around here. Who told you to do this?”

I hear a voice so close to me that I
jump.

Finn says, “I did.”

“Why?” I shove him. He’s sturdier
than he looks. He doesn’t move. With my teeth clenched, I growl, “You don’t
have the authority.”

“She’ll betray you, Caroline.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can feel it. I found you, didn’t
I?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Finn turns his eyes up to
Teresa, who sits on the limb above our heads. “When were you going to do it? Show
Caroline the knife, Henry. It’ll be right where I said it was.”

The man with the bushy black beard
grabs Teresa’s left pocket and yanks, ripping the material, exposing part of
her pale leg. Strapped to her upper thigh is a short knife with a thick, black
handle.

Finn says again, “When were you
going to do it?”

Teresa’s face twists in anger. Her
eyebrows dip. Her forehead pinches together in the middle, creating a deep
crevice on her brow. She works her mouth around and then spits at him. “It
doesn’t matter. You’re all going to die, you bunch of PRV scum.”

From nearby, I see Crockett and two
of her men hold their arms high, cheering. She disgusts me, and I think that
maybe I should’ve let James kill her on the day they fought.

Finn shakes his head at her,
chuckles, and looks back into the tree. “Henry?”

“Yessir?”

“Show this young lady out,” Finn
says, and I don’t try to stop them when they push her into the open air.

***

Hours later, it’s pitch black in the
forest, except for the distant glow of burning embers underneath improvised
canopies.

I’m keeping watch, taking a turn
while others get their rest. I can’t sleep anyway. Every time I close my eyes,
I can see her swinging.

The campfires have all but died out,
and my people—are they
my
people?—are sleeping soundly with a few
exceptions. A baby cries on the far side, the high-pitched wailing traveling
easily through the trees now that the ever-pouring rain has dwindled to a
drizzle.

It does that—gets your hopes up. It
can be pouring for days on end, and then it’ll taper off, just enough to make
you think that life may have some color again. Just enough for you to think
that maybe, just maybe, you’ll get to see the stars one more time before you
die. Like if you strain hard enough, you’ll get to see a speckle of brilliant
blue beyond the pallid gray that hovers overhead like a morose blanket.

Then, right when you think that
there’s a chance—some hope of light and life opening up—the heavens release,
and God’s waterfall drenches you once again—never ending. Always.

This retreat to the capitol has been
like that. Run, run, run, and when you think you’re safe, that there might be
that blue sky of hope at the forefront, something slams you down again, yanking
the good possibilities away.

I thought we were out of the clouds.
I thought we’d made it beyond the storms.

The men cut Teresa down not long after
her legs stopped twitching, but it doesn’t matter that they dumped her body in
a shallow grave. I can still see her hanging there in my mind. I look over at
that godforsaken tree, and the image of her dropping ever so slowly until she
reaches the end of the rope and—

“Caroline?”

I wipe my eyes and look up at James
standing next to me. He’s a massive man, but he’s so quiet, and I think of
nicknaming him Ghost. “What?”

“You should get some rest.”

“I’m on watch. Go back to sleep.”

“Soon. I came to tell you that
Crockett and her men are gone.”

“They left?” I find it hard to hide
my relief. They’re excellent marksmen, but they’ve been the cause of more
ruckus than they’re worth. I’m glad they’re gone. Saves me the trouble of
shooing them out of camp on my own.

“An hour ago. She told Marla that we
were too slow, and she wasn’t going to die for this sorry group of slaves.”

“Do you blame her?”

“Good riddance, I say, but no. I
can’t.” He flops down beside me and holds out a flask. “Have some.”

I take it and gulp, expecting water.
Instead, it’s a sharp, foul taste that burns my throat, and I cough, feeling
like I swallowed coals from a campfire. My eyes water, and my stomach grows hot
on the inside. When I can speak again, I ask, “What was that?”

“Sour mash. It’s made from corn. One
of the men we picked up yesterday said he made it at home. I’ve had it before,
but it’s been years.”

I cough again and wipe my mouth with
a dirty sleeve. I’m covered in mud and grime. My clothes are filthy. It’s
amazing how much I miss bathing in the river, no matter how freezing cold it is.
I spit flecks of dirt away from my lips, along with the disgusting taste in my
mouth. “Why would anyone drink that?”

“It makes you feel good.”

“I don’t see how. It tastes awful.”

“It also makes you forget for a
little while.”

I look over at him expectantly. “It
does?”

“At least until tomorrow morning.”

“Give me that.” I yank the flash
from his hand and take long, full swigs. My throat sears, but I try to ignore
it.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy,” James says. “Not
too much.”

I cough again. My tear ducts pour
like their clouds have opened up. “The more you drink, the more you forget? Is
that how it works?”

He laughs quietly, takes a drink,
and screws the cap on. “Only to a certain point.”

I lean back against the maple and
rest my head on the slick, slimy bark. My hair is so disgusting that it doesn’t
matter anymore. Not that I cared that much before, but now it’s useless to even
bother. I want a bed. I want shelter. I want to be warming my toes in front of
crackling, burning logs inside my hut, rather than placing my boots beside a pathetic
fire pit, hoping they’ll dry enough so that water doesn’t squish out with every
step. The plastic bags we use to cover our feet are falling apart, and I can
imagine the skin will begin to rot off if we can’t dry ourselves under a roof
sometime soon.

And that’s just us. James and I, his
Republicons, and Finn, the ones who were fortunate enough to have protection
for our feet are doing okay for now. The citizens with us, who were rushed from
their homes, will likely need medical treatment for their disgusting feet.

Minutes pass. We sit in silence. James
unscrews the flask’s cap and takes another swig, then offers me some more. I
take another small one for good measure.

“We’re almost there,” he says. It’s
an absent, blank statement, like he can’t think of anything else to say. It’s
either that, or he doesn’t want to say, “I told you so,” about Teresa.

“Tomorrow night,” I agree. “If we
have luck on our side, we should get close enough that we can see Warrenville.”

“You’re sure? You’ve never been,
have you?”

“I’ve heard stories. Some of the
Elders in our village have been there before to visit family or pick up
supplies that we couldn’t salvage. When we get close enough, there’s a high
ridge that’s supposedly a couple of miles away, and they say that there’s a
huge clearing and you can see down into the valley. It’s big and wide, with a
river running through the middle of it, and there are roads that make it easy
to travel. Can you imagine that? Not having to walk through wet grass and
leaves anymore?

“They said that years and years ago,
before the rains came, you could stand on top of the ridge, and the sun would
rise and create this perfect wedge of light right through the middle of the
valley. The river would shimmer like a golden road leading right into the
capitol. But if you were there at sunset, the sun shining from the opposite direction
made the whole valley look like it was on fire.” I’m rambling, and I can tell
that I’m rambling, but I don’t care. The sour mash has warmed me from the top
of my head to the tips of my wet, wrinkled toes. I feel light. Happier, maybe,
if that’s possible.

When I move my head around too fast,
the forest spins.

I giggle, and James asks me if I’m
feeling better.

“Yeah, some.” And as soon as it
shows up, it’s gone again. Somehow, my being okay reminds me that we, as a
group, really aren’t. I yank the flask from his hand and take another deep
pull. I swallow and notice that the burn isn’t as strong. “What happens when we
get there, huh? They’re still coming. The DAV army is right behind us, and their
vanguard might even catch us before we get to Warrenville, and that’s only
five
hundred
of them. The main army is still out there and they’re not too far
behind either. If what we were told is true, the PRV government doesn’t have
any weapons to defend itself with. They’ll run right over us, James, and all of
this will have been for nothing. By this time next week, we’ll be marching
north again.”

“That’s enough,” he says, smiling. He
takes the sour mash away from me and pours it out. It’s probably a good idea,
because I can’t feel the tips of my fingers. James puts his arm around my
shoulders and gives me a squeeze. It’s affectionate and warm, like a brother
hugging a sister. I’m an only child, but I can image that’s what it would feel
like. He says, “Do you want to know why we followed you? Why we allowed a girl
your age to give us orders?”

I lift my head to look at him. My
vision blurs. “I promised you a reward, but you knew I couldn’t keep it, didn’t
you?”