Planet Urth

(Book 1)

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A novel

By Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

CHAPTER 1

Wind howls through the trees and rushes in the cracks of the cave, whistling shrilly.  I bolt upright, startled.  In the bleary moments just after waking from a deep sleep, I worry that they’ve found us.  When my eyes adjust, I see that we are alone and our defenses have not been breached. 

I sigh and feel the panic begin to leak from my body as my eyes sweep the familiar surroundings.  The sun has not risen yet.  Eerie, iridescent light trickles in with streams of air that carry the sweet, pungent zing of ozone.  Sharp and fresh, the scent fills the cave.  I wonder if my sister, June, smells it.  It is one of her favorite scents, the way the atmosphere smells before it rains.  But she is still asleep, her small body curled in a ball beside me.  I am tempted to wake her.  She doesn’t like to miss any opportunity for joy, as joy is a rarity in our world.  But she looks too serene to disturb.  With her eyes closed and her features relaxed, she looks her age: eight years old.  Her brow is not creased in concern.  Her eyes are not narrowed as they usually are.  Her face is smooth, innocent.  She looks at peace.  But I know that when she finally wakes, favorite scents or no favorite scents, peace will seep from her.  Daylight will appear to age her.  It always does. 

I watch her for several moments.  The familiar ache begins in my chest and quickly tightens my throat.  I swallow hard, gulping in vain against the lump of dread stuck there.  I don’t know why I bother.  It never moves.  I doubt it will ever leave. 

Thunder rumbles and shakes the cave’s stone walls.  Rain patters at first then drums loudly, the shriek of the wind accompanying it.  A violent storm is underway.  Still, June remains asleep, unbothered and unaware of it.  I almost envy her. 

Her eyelids flutter and a small smile tilts the corners of her mouth upward.  She must be having a pleasant dream.  I have forgotten what pleasant dreams are.  My dreams are never pleasant.  They are usually filled with dreadful images, and running, always running, without a destination in sight.  The veil between nightmares and reality is thin.  Some days, I have trouble distinguishing between the two.  I would have ended it all long ago were it not for June.

June is my reason to live, the only reason I still live.  She is my purpose.  I exist to keep her safe, for she needs protection from many things in this world.  It has been eight years since I’ve seen another human being that wasn’t my father or my sister, June.  I am convinced we are the last human beings on what was once called planet Earth.  I would never tell June that.  I tell her every day that I believe someone will find us, that we will one day feel safe instead of scared all the time.  But I know that is not true. 

I force a smile on my face each day, in defiance of the truth, in defiance of the ache in my heart, and tell June that one day our lives will be filled with calm and order.  It is a sharp contrast to the jumbled chaos of our day-to-day existence.  Most days the madness of it all weighs on me so heavily I contemplate scouring the forest for berries my father warned me against, and filling my belly with them.  Once, I came dangerously close to doing just that. 

A few weeks ago, I leaned against a tree trunk, mesmerized by the yellowish-orange fruit, and picked a handful.  I brought my hand to my mouth and parted my lips, tears of relief slipping down my cheeks as I envisioned an end to it all, to the never-ending tightness in my throat, the constant worry, the suffering.  I was about to eat several berries when my sister called out to me in the distance.  She was cheering excitedly about catching her first squirrel, which turned out to be a skunk.  I froze.  The gravity of what I was about to do hit me like a fist to my gut.  The berries fell between my fingers and dropped to the ground below.  “In a minute, June,” I yelled.  I needed time to collect myself and breathe through the swell of emotion crashing over me.  I had intended to take my life, had come dangerously close, in fact.  The actuality of it staggered me.  I was angry, scared, and grateful all at once.  I sprang to my feet and paced for several moments, panting like a wild animal, before I calmed down enough to plaster a tight smile on my face.  I returned to June and did not speak of what I almost did.  She never asked, and I never told.  I haven’t done anything that reckless or stupid since.  I don’t have the luxury of doing such things.

Now, as I watch the rise and fall of June’s chest as she takes deep, even breaths, I realize I was selfish weeks earlier.  I am selfish every time I entertain the idea of ending the yawning pit of sadness inside me for good.  She needs me.  She would not survive without me, especially since our father died a little more than a year ago.  He lived what I guess was a much longer-than-average life and passed away peacefully at the age of fifty.  In the days before his death, I promised him we would stay safe, and I would keep June out of harm's way and never give up.  He showed me how to do it, how to survive.  The rest, namely living, is a bit more complicated.

I lie back down and close my eyes, remembering all my father taught me.  I curve my body around June’s sleeping form, comforted by her stillness.  She doesn’t feel me there.  She continues to sleep.  The storm rages outside.  And the lump in my throat balloons to the point that I fear it will strangle me.

But in spite of the turmoil outside and the havoc rattling around inside me, exhaustion takes hold and pulls me on a dark and velvety tide.  I sleep until the chirping of birds wakes me. 

Sooty shadows still stretch across the cave I’ve called home for the last six years, but the light filtering in is considerably brighter.  My stomach clenches violently, rumbling and growling, and I know it is time to hunt.  Food has been scarce the last few days, leaving only small animals to trap and eat.  I have only caught rats.  They taste terrible, have very little meat on them, and always leave me feeling sick.  I crave the filling sustenance of boart meat, but haven’t seen one recently, not in the last three days, at least. 

The thought of filling my stomach with tender, succulent boart flesh forces me to sit up.  My back complains and my neck aches.  Too little sleep and positioning myself oddly conspire against me.  Regardless, I push myself to stand, shoving my palms and heels against the hard, rocky floor.  I scrub my face with my hands, and then stretch before pulling out the logs that are lodged between the wall and the boulder at the mouth of the cave. 

Six years ago, my father found a stone to cover the cave’s opening.  He spent months etching it, chipping away at its surface little by little, until it fit, rounded and able to roll bumpily.  With an assortment of wood stuck all around it, the boulder conceals us and keeps creatures of every kind from getting in.  The beings that roam the land after dark are deadly.  We cannot go out once the sun sets, not even in the event of an emergency.  No human being can, should any exist.  And together, the boulder and the logs safeguard us from Lurkers. 

The thought of Lurkers makes my skin crawl, as if thousands of insect feelers are scuttling across it.  The need for fresh air and light becomes urgent.  Large logs wedge the boulder into the mouth of the cave to keep it securely in place.  The logs extend from the boulder to the far wall.  I frantically clear them, working so hard I am winded.  When the last log is cleared, I rest my hands on my knees and gulp air greedily.  I brush my brow with the back of my hand and my eyes immediately go to June, still fast asleep.  I regret having to wake her, but the next task is too difficult to be performed by only me.  The boulder is heavy, and while I am at my prime at age seventeen, my strength is no match for the stone.

Reluctantly, I move toward her and sit.  I brush a lock of golden hair from her forehead. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I say. 

She stirs and slowly opens her eyes.  They narrow and focus on my face, erasing the smoothness of youth.  She suddenly looks all of her eight years, plus some. 

“Time to move it.” I thumb over my shoulder to the boulder. 

June groans and scrunches up her face.

“Come on, lazy bones,” I tease her.  “If you want to get outside and enjoy the long, warm day, I suggest you quit moaning and help me.”  I poke the tip of her small nose with my index finger.  She smiles, an expression that lights her entire face, then sits up and hugs me tightly.  The gesture loosens the tightness in my chest and I am reminded of what, or who, I am living for. 

“I do want to go outside,” June murmurs into my hair.  “I hate nighttime.”

Her words resonate in my bones.  She loosens her grip on me and sits back.  “We need to do a lot today, but if we have time left, we’ll go to the meadow.”

Her face lights up and her pale-blue eyes sparkle.  “Oh, Avery, you promise?” she squeaks, and her eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline. 

“Promise,” I say. 

She mumbles something about having the best sister ever and my cheeks grow hot.  I do not deserve her compliments. 

June scrambles from her sleep sack and stands.  Her long limbs are thin, her elbows and kneecaps prominent.  Our recent diet, reliant on rats as a source of protein, is taking its toll on her.  I curse myself under my breath for not doing a better job, for not taking care of her properly as I’d promised my father I would.

“Let’s move this thing out of the way,” I say more cheerily than I feel.

We must crouch to walk through the narrow, tunnel-like structure that leads to the mouth of the cave.  It is a tight squeeze, but we do whatever is necessary to secure ourselves. 

June follows, placing her hands beside mine.  A crisp breeze blows, cooling my skin just before we pull the stone until a thick rim of light appears all around it.  We continue until a brilliant glow pours into the cave.  I squint and shield my eyes with my hand as they adjust to daylight.

“Wow,” June comments, her eyes round with wonder.  “Look at the sky.  It’s so blue.”

She’s right.  The sky is bluer than usual.  It looks as if it has been scrubbed clean.  Not a cloud mars its perfection. 

“You know why it looks like that, right?” I ask.

“No, why?” She looks at me quizzically. 

“We had storms a couple hours ago, and someone slept through all of it,” I comment playfully and elbow her lightly in the ribs.  She frowns and knits her brow as if she’s done something wrong, not quite the response I’d hope for. 

“Were you scared?” she asks, her eyes pleading pools of crystal-clear water. 

“Nah, not at all,” I lie.  “The only reason I woke is because you snore.” I elbow her again.  This time, a wide, goofy smile spreads across her face that makes my chest temporarily release the stranglehold on my heart. 

“Yeah, well, it’s better than drooling like you do,” she teases me back.

“Hey!” I say with exaggerated annoyance.

“Come on, drool-girl, I’ll race you to the river!” She arches a pale brow and twists her mouth to one side before darting off into the woods toward the fresh-water river where we start our days. 

“No fair!” I call as I dash after her.

The air is cool, refreshingly so, when it rushes in my face as I race after June.  She is small and thin and quick as lightning as she streaks between trees and bushes, dodging vines and creepers.  Birds flit from tree to tree and chipmunks peep in annoyance.  All around us, the woodland wakes.  A new day has dawned.  Storms have passed and the grass is wet, but the mugginess is gone, the air is lighter, as if the world has sighed away a heavy burden.  But I know the Lurkers still exist.  I wish it were that easy. 

When I reach the river, June is there already.  Her hands are on her hips, and her chin is tipped upward, a sly smile rounding her cheeks. 

“I thought you’d never get here.”  She tries to sound smug, but she is incapable of conceit or arrogance of any kind.  She is better than that. 

“What can I say?  You’re fast, too fast for me,” I reply. 

Her smile broadens.  It reaches her eyes and makes them dance with pride. 

“Come on, let’s wash up and hunt.” I splash my face with water warmed by the summer sun.

June follows my lead and scoops handfuls of water and scrubs her face and underarms.  Once we are clean, I turn to her.

“We are going out a little farther than the perimeter today,” I say.  June’s brow furrows deeply and her eyes narrow to slits.  She folds her willowy arms across her chest and listens intently.  “Do you feel comfortable going off on your own out there?  Do you think you’ll be okay?” I ask, fearful that she is not ready yet.

She nods resolutely and says, “I’ll be fine.”

I place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as I smile.  I do not hide the pride I am feeling, or the relief.  Going beyond the boundaries we’ve observed for years is crucial.  The knobbiness of her shoulder is a painful reminder that if we do not push our boundaries, our food supply will continue to dwindle. 

“Great,” I say.  “I knew you were.”

June’s eyes widen at my words, gleaming with satisfaction, and my heart swells.

“I am going to get us a couple of rabbits for dinner tonight,” she says with steely determination. 

I admire her grit and wish grit alone were capable of snaring a pair of rabbits.  But it is not.  The sad fact is that June rarely catches anything, and has never caught an animal substantial enough to feed us more than once.  I feel confident today will be no different, but I respect her more than words can say for waking up every single morning and trying.  She is undaunted by failure, unsullied by it.

“Good,” I tell her and wink.  “I look forward to it.”

“Count on it,” she says.  Her posture straightens, so full of optimism and hope. 

I wish she would learn to hunt.  I hope she reaches her goal today.  She needs to be able to kill and prepare her own food as a precaution.  We live in a dangerous world.  If something were to happen to me, I want to know that she will not starve. 

“All right, let’s get going before the sun is overhead and the animals seek shelter from it,” I tell her.

She realizes it is time to separate and a strange look clouds her face.  Without warning, she closes the distance between us and wraps her arms around my waist.  “Be safe, Avery,” she says.  “You are my sister and my best friend.”

My throat constricts around words that are jammed there.  I swallow hard and try to talk, managing just a hoarse whisper.  “I’ll be fine, sis.  Don’t worry,” I tell her.  I hold her briefly, then gently push her away.  Our eyes lock, and I hold her gaze.  “We’ll go to the edge of the woods together.  Stay nearby.”  Nearby means that she is not to wander more than a few hundred spear lengths from me.  “I’ll signal when I get something.  Okay?”

June nods in understanding and we move through the woods. 

The forest is awake and humming with activity.  Birds dart from tree to tree, rustling leaves and branches.  Intermittently, a chipmunk scurries across the needle-covered ground and chirps loudly.  June is silent as we walk.  I watch her from the corner of my eye.  Her expression is concerned.  I reach out and take her hand.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I say.

She clutches my hand for a moment, then releases it.  “I know,” she says and smiles.  But I am unconvinced.  She is eight years old, a child by most standards, yet she must shoulder adult burdens.  It’s necessary for her survival, a point that I regret with every fiber of my being.

When we reach the edge of our safety zone, the trees grows farther apart and the area is brighter.  We are not as concealed. 

“Don’t go too far,” I tell her.

June’s eyes plead for a moment, shining with emotion.  “Love you,” she says.

“Love you, too,” I reply. 

Her demeanor haunts me as I watch her crouch low and move cautiously between spiny ferns and brush.  Why was she so worried?  Did she sense something I’d missed?  My mind starts spinning questions, rolling around in my head like a ball of barbed wire.  But I need to force them to the dark recesses of my brain.  I cannot worry or speculate about intuition or what-ifs.  Too much is at stake.  Eating takes priority. 

I walk for several minutes until I find fresh boart droppings.  My father once told me that long ago, before the war, boarts were called boars.  But like every other animal on the planet, the boars changed.  They mutated into a different species.  I quickly look all around, scanning the low growth for the pot-bellied beast responsible for the droppings.  I do not see one, but know it is near so I decide to seek higher ground.  The massive oak beside me is the perfect lookout point. 

With my knife sheathed at my thigh and my spear and sword in a scabbard at my back, I grab hold of the lowest branch and hoist myself up.  I climb from one to the next, scaling the tree cautiously, gently.  I do not want to disturb anything or make a sound.  I do not want to scare the beast and send it running.  I continue, gingerly navigating the dovetailed branches and only stop when the limbs above me become thin and fragile-looking.  I do not want to risk resting on one that cannot bear my weight and settle into a squatting position where I am.  I crouch low, balancing.  Unsheathing my spear, clutching it securely in sweat-slickened hands, I watch as nearby growth stirs and a boart comes into view. 

Minutes tick by and the boart doesn’t move.  The sun beats down through limbs and leaves.  Sweat stipples my brow and trails between my shoulder blades, but I do not dare brush it away or shift.  I must remain still, poised to strike when the moment presents itself.  The snorts and chuffs of the beast grow closer.  I do not move.  I barely breathe.  My muscles ache and tremble, and my knees protest holding the same position for so long.  My pulse hammers against my temples.  The beast continues to inch forward, creeping at a leisurely pace.  Hunger gnaws ceaselessly.  My belly rumbles, a sound so loud I worry it will frighten the boart and ruin any chance of eating for myself and June.  But it doesn’t.  I have it in my sight, my gaze zeroed in on it.  It disappears for a moment behind a dense thicket, so close to me I can smell its pungent stink. 

It reappears after several painstaking seconds.  Up close, it is enormous.  It must be nearly three hundred pounds.  Not that I would know that for sure.  The last scale I’d seen was when my father was alive and we’d stayed at a camp with other humans.  Then, I’d been weighed and told I was one hundred and five pounds and five foot one.  Years have passed and I’ve grown since then.  But the beast easily triples my girth.  Massive shoulders and hindquarters are connected by a rotund belly, and small eyes sit atop a generous snout.  Pointed tusks bulge from its lower jaw and saliva drips from its wide mouth as it sniffs a tuft of blossoms near the trunk of the tree I am perched in.  It continues to snuffle and grunt.  I grip the handle of my weapon so tightly my palm aches. 

When it is just below me, I jump.

The ground hurtles toward me.  All breath leaves my body and needle-sharp stabs of pain claw my legs as branches lash my thighs.  Bruises and cuts will result, but I do not care.  All I can think of is feeding my sister and me. 

My spear drives into the base of the beast’s neck before I land atop it.  I hold the spear steady with one hand while I unsheathe my blade and slice its throat.  It squeals, a tortured, awful sound, and thrashes.  Warmth gushes over my hand, covering my blade, but I do not let go.  And I do not let go of my spear either.  I hold fast and plunge it until the entire middle section of the spear is no longer visible. 

My chest heaves and every part of me quivers.  The world around me has gone quiet.  All I hear are my own ragged breaths and the fading shrieks of the stuck animal. 

Before long, the boart stops flailing.  Blood is everywhere–on my hands, on my arms, my legs, and my face, even feels like it’s coating my tongue, but it’s not.  It is just the heavy, coppery smell, so thick and overpowering, tricking my mind into believing blood has entered my mouth.  The boart’s weight begins to shift as it topples to one side.  I must keep my dagger from becoming trapped beneath its massive body.  I must keep from getting trapped beneath its massive body. 

I flick my knife to the side and hear it land with a soft thud in the grass, then yank as hard and fast as I can to pull the spear from the boart’s body.  I dive to the ground, reaching and stretching with every ounce of strength I have to throw myself clear of the beast’s fall.  I land hard just in time to avoid being a squashed blob underneath it, then whistle loudly for June. 

The faint swish of wet grass and leaves sounds and before long, my sister appears.  At first she sees the blood covering my hands and splattered across my face.  She gasps and her hands fly to her mouth.  She cries out words that are unintelligible.

“Oh no, no, no,” she sobs.

“June, no, I am okay,” I assure her and point with a trembling hand to the boart carcass.

Her eyes widen.  “You got one!” she squeals excitedly.  “Oh wow!”  She bounces on the balls of her feet, clapping her hands, and I am reminded of her youth, of her innocence.  I suddenly wish she did not have to see the boart’s carcass.  But one day she will have to gut a boart on her own. 

“Come on, let’s prepare this boart quickly before the scavengers come out to play,” I say, referring to the buzzards and other winged predators that could announce our position. 

June assists while I carve enough meat to stuff ourselves for the day, as well as the next morning.  The boart is robust, its flesh plentiful, but we cannot take all of it.  It would spoil by midday the next day.  Wastefulness of any kind pains me, particularly when it concerns food.  If it were winter, every bit of its meat would be taken and packed in snow, then eaten for weeks.  Today’s kill is just for the day. 

We return to the cave with our haul and cook it immediately.  Cooking after the sun sets is off-limits.  The smell of roasting flesh would frenzy the creatures of the night and all but guarantee our deaths.  The thought makes me shudder. 

As soon as the meat is fully cooked, I offer the first piece to June.  She devours it immediately.  I nibble a chunk and watch as she reaches for a second then third serving.

“Be careful not to stuff yourself,” I warn her.  But it is hard not to.  The salty taste and the tender texture of the meat are irresistible.  Before long, I find myself ignoring my own advice and helping myself to more. 

“I have to stop,” I moan, but a full belly is blissful.  “We have to train still,” I say more for my own benefit than June’s benefit. 

“Aw, do we have to?” she asks and frowns. 

I level my gaze at her and do not say a word.  I do not need to.  She knows better, knows that it is imperative for us to train each and every day, to keep our senses sharp and our reflexes swift.  I never allow a day to pass when we do not train.  That is what our father taught us.  And June needs to become as good with a sword and spear as I am.  Her life depends on it, and so does mine.  Room for improvement always exists. 

“Can’t we just relax for a little while?” June begs.

I look to the sun, my mind warring with my heart, and realize there is plenty of daylight hours left.  June deserves a reprieve.  I owe her that, at least. 

“Okay,” I concede. 

Her head whipsaws from me to her food then back to me.  “Are you kidding?” she asks suspiciously.  “’Cause if you are, it’s not funny.”

“Nope, I am serious,” I say.  “Let’s go now.”

June doesn’t need to hear me say it twice.  She is on her feet before I am.  We make our way to the meadow quickly.  The clearing is overflowing with wildflowers that perfume the area.  I would love to run through the field and pick as many as my arms could carry but I am not permitted such an indulgence.  Instead, I settle for sitting on the outskirts of the meadow.

June plops down then flops backward.  I sit for a while then lean back on my elbows. 

Warm, buttery sunlight heats us from overhead.  A tangy, earthy scent infuses the air as we lay in the tall grass gazing at the sky, a vast blue canvas scrubbed clean by the early morning storms.  A butterfly flits past June before landing on her nose.  She giggles as the floppy-winged insect stops for a second then flaps and flies away.  The sound is sweeter than anything I’ve heard in a long time. I turn to face her.  Light washes across the top of her head, highlighting the natural gold of her hair.  It makes her appear almost angelic.  She closes her eyes and dozes while I fight the exhaustion that follows the adrenaline rush I had from killing the boart.  A full belly assists my physical fatigue. 

Before long, my eyes grow heavy and my body feels as if it is being rocked, cradled in warm arms, a sensation I barely remember but yearn for nevertheless.  I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 2

My eyes snap open, and immediately my heart batters against my ribcage.  I scramble to a sitting position, my eyes surveying the clearing.  Tears burn and blur my vision as I squint at the blindingly bright light all around me.  The sun is high in the sky, the heat blazing.  I realize I have slept for hours not minutes, and a sense of deep regret fills me.  A good portion of the day has been lost, wasted really.  Time spent sleeping that should have been spent training.  I exhale loudly, pinching the bridge of my nose as I do so.  This day has been marked by squander; first the boart meat, and now this. 

In my periphery, I see that June is still sleeping.  I am grateful she is okay, that she is still by my side, despite being annoyed that time, a precious commodity, has been lost.  I take a deep breath, calming myself before I wake June.  I do not want her to see my frustration.  After all, it is not her fault.  None of it is her fault. 

I twist my body and look at her.  Her hair is fanned out all around her, a riot of golden tendrils coiling around flower stems.  I hesitate for a moment then tap her arm.

“June.  June, wake up,” I say as I jiggle her shoulder.  “June,” I try a bit louder. 

June whips her head in my direction, her eyes wide and bloodshot.  “What, what is it?” she asks concernedly.  She looks dazed, still half-asleep.

“We both fell asleep,” I tell her, and she looks at me strangely, as if to say, “No kidding.”  I shake my head then add, “We slept a long time.”

She sits up quickly and I follow her gaze as it sweeps the meadow.  Little by little, what I have said registers.  A frown creases her face. 

“Oh no, I am so sorry,” she starts to say, but I interrupt her.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, June.  This is my fault.  I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

“No, it’s not your fault.  Please don’t blame yourself,” she says, and touches my arm lightly.  “It’s a beautiful summer day and you were tired.” She tries to excuse my negligence, but I have made a mistake and cost us valuable hours of daylight. 

I ignore her attempt to let me off easy. “Half the day has been wasted.  We never should have rested in the meadow in the first place.” I do not temper my aggravation.  “And now, we need to hurry to our spot and train.” I raise my voice, allowing some of the irritation I am feeling to slip out. 

Her face wilts and her eyes glaze with tears. 

“June,” I start.  “I didn’t mean to sound so angry.  I am not angry with you, just the situation, okay?” She seems unconvinced.  She tips her chin up and swallows hard, blinking feverishly.  “Come on, please don’t be sad.  I am a jerk,” I say, and know it is true.  I have hurt the one person in this world I share my life with, the one person I love.

Regret and self-loathing knot in my stomach.  June is only eight. I should not have taken a sharp tone with her.  It doesn’t matter that my anger was not directed at her.  I should know better.  My father always did.  He was calm.  He would be disappointed in me if he knew I upset June.

A cool hand on my hot skin yanks me from my brooding.  “I am sorry I am such a baby, that I cry when I am upset.  I wish I were more like you,” June says.

I clamp my eyes shut.  “No, you don’t,” I say.  I want to tell her she is perfect, that she is better than I could ever be, but my voice chokes when I try to speak.  I open my eyes then look away from her and chew my lower lip, gulping hard against the stinging pain in my throat.  But thin arms encircle my shoulders. 

“You’re not a jerk,” June says into my neck as she squeezes tightly.  “I love you.” 

I hug her back and tell her I love her too.  I do not let go until her grip relaxes.  I don’t know why she forgives me, but I am grateful for it.  She is the only thing that keeps me going.  I stand and offer my hand to help her up; the time to leave is upon us.  She follows me wordlessly, away from the field and back into the denser part of the forest.  We walk for several minutes, passing our cave, and continue until we reach an area my father constructed years ago, where trees have been stripped of their branches and trimmed, their bark removed so that the hard, inner wood is exposed.  Targets have been fashioned out of stretched animal hides and stained with berry extract for spear-throwing practice, and wooden swords have been designed so that June and I can spar without hurting each other.  This is our training area, where we prepare to fight for our food, to fight animals; to fight for our lives. 

A quick look at the sky reveals the sun is sinking fast.  Little time is left to spar.  I move toward our weapons.  The swords are hidden.  A large boulder sits in front of a thicket of thorny bushes.  Under the thorny bushes, our swords wait, wrapped in an animal pelt.  They are left in the woods, concealed by the bushes.  To any creature roaming about, the pelt and swords would go unseen.  But June and I know better.  I drop to my knees and reach for the skin, scraping my forearm as I hurriedly drag it.  I unroll it and toss one sword to June and keep the other for myself.  June catches hers clumsily, and then clutches it in her hands. 

Though the weapon is light in my hands, such is not the case for my sister.  The small muscles in June’s upper body bulge as she wields the wooden sword and takes several practice swings.  I know she is straining, but I must see beyond what is in front of me.  I must look into the future, a future that requires her to be able to defend herself.

I advance several steps and June and I begin.  June uses a small sword I practiced with when I was little.  I now use the one my father did when he was alive.  It feels different in my hands than the one I keep on me at all times, perhaps because it lacks the heft of its metal counterpart, or because it lacks the finely honed tip.  Either way, these swords suit our purpose, which is to exercise.

The wood of our weapons makes loud clacking sounds as they collide with each other.  When sparring with my sister, I exercise a degree of restraint.  Our sessions are for her benefit only.  After we finish, she rests, and I must sharpen my skills with the poles my father made. 

My father designed all that we see before he died.  I practiced with him throughout the years for more hours than I could count.  I loved sparring with him.  He trained me, fostering what he called my ‘gift’ until I could best him in a match.  Of course, the gift he referred to was my ability to swing a sword.  He said I was born with it.  I think it is a result of hard training.  Perhaps it is a combination of the two.  Whatever it is doesn’t matter.  All I am certain of is that I must continue practicing, keep my muscles strong and my reflexes quick.  The poles are helpful, but lack where instinct is concerned.  Subtleties are missing.  A being must be read when fighting; at least that’s what my father always told me.  I was able to beat my father by the time I was fifteen, always anticipating his next move, sidestepping it before acting faster.  He was a great warrior and was proud that I would win.  He never held back and he was never embarrassed.  I miss having an adult to spar with, someone stronger than me.  I miss sparring with my father.  I wish he were still alive.  But he is gone, and I am responsible for June’s survival, as well as my own. 

I keep that important point in mind every time I train with her.  My goal is to build her endurance and strength, her speed and instinct.  I need to build her confidence.  The way she hefts and swings her sword screams that she is not comfortable doing so.  I worry about her.  We have been working for months and her improvement has been minimal. 

In my heart I believe she should have existed centuries ago, back when children her age played with dolls and went to places called schools to learn about all kinds of subjects.  Sometimes I think a cosmic joke of some sort has misplaced her here instead of an era when she could have been safe and healthy and happy. 

The tension in my chest pulls, tightening painfully, when I look at her and imagine her wearing dresses the color of wildflowers.

My insides feel as if they are coiling like a snake readied to strike.  I focus the pain, focus the anger, and take it out on the poles.  Extending my arms, I swing the wooden blade, slicing through the air with a whoosh before it strikes wood, scoring it.  I continue, repeating the motion, but alternating between my left and right arm, swinging high and low, until my skin is slick with sweat and my throat burns.  My entire body throbs to a single rhythm and I feel alive, truly alive. 

Blood rushes through my body, drilling against my skin so hard I feel I could burst, but I do not stop.  I swerve and twist as I cleave the air.  I must be prepared in case they find us.  Other beings live beyond the woods we call home.  They rule the world and will kill us if they find us.  If they knew humans were living deep in the forest, that June and I exist, they would come for us. 

They used to be human, but have evolved into something far different. They now call themselves Urthmen, and they hate us in a way I do not understand.  They want nothing more than to drive humanity to extinction.  They may have already been successful for all I know, except for me and my sister.  I watched them kill hundreds when I was younger, my neighbors, my friends, my mother.  Back then, we lived in a village with others like us.  My father, sister, and I were the only survivors.  My father fled to the forest with us, knowing that the Urthmen do not venture deep into the woods, for they are not the most dangerous species roaming the planet.  Lurkers are.  They live in the forest.  They only come out at night.  And Lurkers would feast on the flesh of Urthmen as quickly as they would humans. 

The Urthmen live in the cities that used to be inhabited by humans, before our kind fell at their hands.  They rarely enter the woods by day.  Doing so at nighttime would mean certain death.  Even Urthmen fear the forest.  The only reason they would ever leave the comfort of their communities would be to hunt humans. 

I used to ask my father why the Urthmen hate us so much.  He said they fear our intelligence and they resent that we are unchanged by the War of 2062.  Recalling tales of the War of 2062 sends a shiver down my spine.  My father explained to me what happened to our kind, that we had brought this misery on ourselves.  Humans from different countries had warred with one another.  A powerful chemical virus had been created by a Middle Eastern country and released on the people of North America.  The attack caused the leaders in America to launch nuclear weapons in retaliation, destroying much of the world. 

North America, where I live, is the only place where life is thought to still exist.  It has been ravaged by chemical warfare, but life has continued.  I do not know for certain whether the rest of the world is inhospitable, but judging from the stories I’ve heard, I do not see how it would be possible.  The only reason many humans survived the war in the first place resulted from the mass underground shelters that had been created when the threat of war seemed imminent. 

Bomb shelters, as they were aptly named, were created for important people and rich people to take refuge in.  Hundreds of thousands of the rich and important people lived there for decades until their supplies ran out and forced them to come aboveground.  By then, they figured the diseases had cleared and that they were safe.  The diseases were gone, but something much worse awaited them.

When they surfaced, they were met by grotesque, distorted versions of human beings, abominations, who had gone mad from the chemicals and diseases.  Those abominations butchered any humans they came across, who had hidden and were unaffected by illness.  Some humans managed to get away, and they hid.

Two hundred years later, the offspring of those affected, the abominations, have evolved.  They look much as they had then.  They are grotesquely distorted versions of humans, and their intelligence is far lesser than a human.  They call themselves the Urthmen.  They now rule the world.  And even after all these years have passed, after watching the fall of humanity and the rise of their kind, the Urthmen’s hatred of humans remains.

I haven’t seen Urthmen since the massacre at the village I used to live in.  Thinking of them makes me pause and look at June. 

“Come, let’s go again,” I say between pants. 

“But we just finished a little while ago,” she protests. 

I beg her with my eyes to stop and she does.  She reluctantly stands and picks up her wooden sword.  We spar again, only this time I push her harder, challenging her, demanding with my weapon that she defend herself more intensely.  Her posture becomes more rigid, her strikes more purposeful.  Her lip curls over her teeth, and in her eyes there’s a steely resolve I’ve never seen before.  She is suddenly focused, pushing herself to her limits.  She is using her speed and agility to her advantage, darting all around me as she attacks unrelentingly.  Pride mushrooms inside of me. 

I smile broadly when she lowers her weapon to catch her breath.  “I am proud of you, June,” I say, and her spine lengthens. She is barely able to stifle the grin creeping across her cheeks.  “Oh, go ahead and smile,” I tell her.  “You should be happy.  You have made tremendous progress.”

June’s eyes crinkle with her smile.  “Really?  You mean it?” she says, and cannot keep the excitement from her tone. 

“Absolutely,” I nod.  “Maybe we should goof off more often,” I add, and arc an eyebrow at her. 

Her lips part briefly before snapping shut, as if she is not sure of the correct response.  I was being sarcastic, making fun of myself, really.  But she is uncertain. 

“Come on, give me your sword.  We are done for the day,” I tell her.

She hands over her weapon and I wrap both in the animal pelt and return them to the space beneath the bush. 

As we walk back to our cave, June comments on the sky.  “Wow,” she marvels.  “It’s so pretty.”

The sun has just about set and bands of pink and lavender streak the sky.  June has only seen a handful of twilight skies.  We seldom stay out this late.  Danger prowls when the sun goes down. 

With that threat in mind, I link my arm through June’s and pull her close, quickening my pace.  She rushes to keep up with me, and we make it to the cave just as darkness falls. 

As soon as we are inside, we roll the boulder in place and secure it with brush and logs.  We eat some of our cooked boart meat, then I light a small candle made from beeswax.  June settles into her sleep sack for the night. 

“Avery?” she calls as I roll out my bedding. 

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me some stories Dad used to tell us at bedtime?”

“Of course,” I answer as my mind’s eye produces an image of my father sitting right where I am, tucking us in for the night and sharing stories of years long-passed, stories his father told him that his grandfather had shared. 

I lie beside her and place the candle between us.  “Once, long ago, people like us, human beings, lived in big, sprawling structures made of wood and brick.  They were called houses.  Usually, only one family lived there, parents and children.”  I pause and look at June.  Her sack is pulled up to her chin, her fingers curled around the edge.  Her eyes are fixed on mine as she waits for me to continue.  “Inside the houses, they had little rectangles on the walls with knobs at their center.  When they moved the knob, lights would turn on.”

June laughs at what I’ve just said; the idea so far-fetched it is funny. 

“The rectangles were called light switches and they were pretty much what their name stated: switches that made light shine.”

June covers her eyes with her hands and shakes her head. 

“And the light switches were not alone.  There were other rectangular things called outlets.  People would plug tools into these outlets and they would work by themselves.”

“Like the picture boxes?” June asks, and drops her hands, her eyes lighting up with interest.

“Yes, people plugged their picture boxes into the outlets.  Picture boxes were like magic.  They would show miniature people inside of them that could speak loud enough for everyone to hear.  The people inside would perform and tell stories.”

June claps her hands over her face again and laughs.  “That can’t be true,” she says through giggles.  “There wasn’t any such thing!”

“No, there was,” I say.  “Dad’s father told him, and his father before him.  It is all true.”

She lowers her hands and rolls her eyes.  “Wow,” she breathes. 

“Oh, but there’s more,” I continue.  “There also used to be friendly animals that lived in people’s houses and they were treated like family.”

“No way!  Now I know you’re making that up!” she snorts and is overcome with silliness again. 

“I am not making it up,” I say and can’t help but chuckle softly, mostly at her delight.  “They were called dogs and they would lick people’s faces and let people pet them.  They would even sleep with the people they lived with in a big, cozy bed.  Great-grandpa told Dad that some people had clothes for their dogs.” I watch as June doubles over clutching her belly in hysterics. 

The notion of an animal living with a person is preposterous.  Mammals are ferocious creatures to be avoided.  Most only come out at night, as their eyes are no longer able to handle daylight.  The thought of one licking anyone’s face is inconceivable. 

When June’s laughter calms, I continue telling stories until her eyes struggle to stay open.  After her eyes close, I blow out the candle.  The cave is plunged in darkness, but I am not afraid.  The dark of our cave is familiar, it is safe.  Beyond our stone walls is another story entirely though, one that doesn’t include friendly animals, magic picture boxes, houses, or families.  It is a world of violence and chaos; a world of danger. 

I fight to push the never-ending risk surrounding us to the back of my mind.  I know it will be waiting for me when I wake.  But right now I need rest.  I close my eyes and feel sore muscles relax before all the terror stills and sleep takes hold. 

Chapter 3

The constant rumble of my stomach wakes me.  Four days have passed since I caught the boart.  In those four days, food has been scarcer than usual.  Yesterday was the worst so far.  Typically, eating rats indicates a severe shortage of available food, but yesterday, I couldn’t even find any of them.  June and I were forced to eat insects, mostly crickets and grasshoppers.  I roasted them over an open fire and wrapped them in leaves to mask them.  But the distinct crunch when I bit down, along with the irreversible knowledge of what I was actually eating, surpassed what a thin green leaf could do.  I gagged on them, and so did June, barely able to keep them down once I swallowed. 

My body is demanding heartier nourishment, something more than crickets and grasshoppers.  Physically, I am exhausted.  Emotionally, I am in agony.  June looks thinner than usual, gaunt.  The few days of meager food have taken their toll on her.  I roll onto my back to avoid looking at her.  I am failing her.  Today I’ll venture past our safety zone to hunt.  It is a risky endeavor, but it is one I must take for June’s sake.

I twist onto my side.  All energy has deserted me, even though I slept through the night.  I am barely able to push myself up to a sitting position.  When I finally do, my limbs tremble, and a dull ache at the base of my skull persists.  I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, then force the corners of my mouth to lift.  I must keep a brave face for June.  I must smile even though I would like nothing more than to scream and cry.

I give June a gentle shake.  Her eyes open, and I immediately notice that the silvery sparkle in her blue irises has clouded to gray.  Her expression is bleary, and her cheeks have hollowed further. 

“Hey, sleepy girl,” I say.  My voice is chipper and I smile.

“Is it morning already?” June asks. 

“Yep, time to rise and shine,” I maintain my put-on cheerfulness. 

June tries to sit.  She hesitates.  Her hand goes to her forehead. 

“June, are you okay,” I ask, and cannot hide the panic in my tone. 

“Whoa, my head is spinning,” she says and closes her eyes.  Her thumb is rubbing one temple while her fingers work the other.  “I must not have slept well.  Did I toss and turn a lot?”

She did not toss and turn.  Movement of any kind wakes me.  June was still all night.  Hunger is what is exhausting her. 

“Hmm, maybe,” I lie.  “I slept like a rock, so I can’t be sure.” 

“That must be it,” June bobs her head slowly. 

“Listen, why don’t you stay here and skip going to the river.  I’ll bring back extra water and you can just stay here while I hunt.”

June’s sunken eyes search the stone floor as if considering my suggestion. 

“Besides, I am going out beyond our perimeter today.  Staying in the cave, or close by at least, would be the best thing for you to do.”

Her head whips in my direction as soon as the words have left my lips.  “What?” she asks, shocked.  “You’re going to go out where Dad told us never to go?”

I sigh and feel tremendous weight bear down on my shoulders.  “I have to, June.  We need to eat.  You need to eat.  We cannot live on grasshoppers and crickets.”  Just the thought causes a wave of nausea to quiver through my stomach. 

“Those things are disgusting,” June shivers and wraps her arms around her body. 

“I know.  And they are not enough,” I say somberly.  “So I have to go out there and get us something more, a turkey or squirrel.”

“I see,” June says thoughtfully then adds, “I’ll come too.  We’ll go together.”

“No!” I reply snippily.  June’s face withers and I immediately regret my tone.  “June, I am sorry, but you cannot come with me.  It is too dangerous.”

“If it is too dangerous for me, how come it isn’t too dangerous for you?” she asks as tears well in her eyes. 

I bite my lower lip, measuring my words carefully.  “June, I love you.  You are my family, my only family.  I will not bring you to an unsafe area and risk anything happening to you.” 

“The same goes for me!” she protests.  “You are my only family, the one person I have in this world.  What will I do if something happens to you?”

Her question catches me off-guard.  I am unprepared for how adult she sounds.  She has a valid point.  “June, you are staying here and that’s final,” I hate myself just a bit for treating her as I am.  “I am in charge and I say you must stay, okay?”

“Okay,” she says feebly.  Crimson ribbons streak her cheeks.  She is sad.  I have hurt her feelings yet again.  I cannot tell her that I value her safety over my own.  She wouldn’t understand.  Also, in her weakened condition, she would slow me down.  I have a long hike ahead of me and limited hours of daylight.  I do not have time to spare.  Hunting and cooking must be finished before the sun sets.  I try to appeal to her sense of duty.

“I have to hunt.  The animals in this area have scattered for some strange reason.  I need you here, ready with a fire going when I return so that we can cook and feast before sundown.” 

June’s stomach growls as if on cue.  “I am so hungry,” she says softly. 

“Me too,” I whisper.

“Have the animals around here learned to stay clear of us?” she asks.

My muddled brain entertains the notion for a brief moment before dismissing it as ridiculous.  “No, some have probably just moved on to other areas to eat.  Maybe some have found a lush meadow filled with sweet clovers.”

“Rabbits like clovers,” June says and licks her lips. 

I swallow hard.  My mouth is watering for tender, juicy rabbit.  My empty stomach rolls under and over itself like a wave, snarling anxiously. 

“Yes, they do,” I say.  “Hopefully I’ll get us a nice fat rabbit.”

“I am still worried about you going out there alone,” June says and her voice falters. 

“I’ll be fine,” I promise.  “I’ll come back, and with dinner.”  I smile broadly until I notice a thin rivulet running down June’s cheek.  My smile capsizes immediately.  “June, what is it?” I grip her shoulders. 

Her eyes lock on mine.  “I don’t know.  I am just so scared, all the time I am so scared.”

I want to tell her I am too, that she is not alone in feeling as she does.  I live in perpetual terror right alongside her.  But I can’t.  I need to be strong for her.  I need to hold us together.  “Everything is going to be okay,” I tell her as I draw her close.  “I’ll take care of you, I swear.  And I’ll come back.  I’ll never leave you.  I am coming back, always coming back.”  I blink back tears that brim and threaten to spill.  My throat is too tight to say another word, so I stay where I am and just hold her. 

Before long, June pulls away.  She wipes her face with her hands and tells me to go.  I race to the river with a small bucket my father left us and return with it filled.  June is grateful.  After a little more reassuring, I set off and begin my journey past our area of safety.

The sun has just risen and it is not hot yet, but it will be soon.  The air is balmy and the grass is coated in dew.  My skin feels clammy, but I am oddly cold.  I grip my spear tightly and use it as a walking stick as I navigate creepers and vines that slink along the forest floor.  My weapons and canteen are heavy, and I hope I do not have to go too far to find an edible animal. 

Hunger has heightened my sense of smell.  The forest is thick with the scent of evergreens and musty earth.  My eyes alternate between scanning the low-growing brush and the ground below.  I look for pinecones stripped of their seeds, for torn bark or bite marks of any kind.  I do not see anything but thickening vegetation.  I am also looking for impressions in the earth or droppings.  Either would indicate that I am on the trail of a mammal.  But I see neither.  Most would be active when the sun is positioned as it is.  Boarts eat all day long.  I hope I’ll be lucky enough to cross paths with another boart, but I do not see any signs of wildlife whatsoever.  I continue to press on despite feeling discouraged. 

The sun is beating down from overhead, penetrating the treetop canopy with blazing shafts of light, when the terrain becomes so crowded with growth it is difficult to continue at my brisk pace.  Earlier, I began pulling large flat leaves and twisting them before tying them to trees as markers to follow back to the cave.  My dad always told me I was a good tracker with an excellent sense of direction, but I do not want to risk breaking the promise I made to June.  I will not take any chances that involve a return to her after sunset.  I do not want her to worry. 

I still have not come across so much as a trace of a creature other than the occasional chirping of small birds perched in treetops.  I am about to turn and head back, to give up, when I hear the distinct sound of moving water, the gentle hiss and rustle of it rolling over land and rock.  Winding vines and undergrowth are giving way to more stony terrain underfoot.  The heavy brush thins considerably, and sudden thirst grips me. 

My body feels overheated and the back of my throat burns.  I want nothing more than to spear an animal and wade out into cool water.  But neither seems possible at the moment.  I continue for a bit longer and do not see rushing water.  I decide to sit, depression crushing my chest like lead.  Hunger gnaws in my gut, and I am forced to scoop a beetle from the dank soil and eat it.  I close my eyes and slip it between my lips.  All the while I suppress the urge to retch.  I chew fast and try my best not to think about what I have just eaten.  I chug the last of my water from my canteen, but still feel as if I may vomit.  I breathe deeply several times, willing myself to hold it down, until the feeling passes. 

After a brief rest, I stand again and hope to find food.  All of a sudden a high-pitched laugh slices through the silence.  I freeze in my tracks and my stomach plummets to my feet.  I hold my breath, listening intently, waiting, hoping my hearing is playing tricks on me.  The laugh sounded as if it came from June.  Who else could it be?  She must have followed me, putting us both at greater risk.  My heart thunders in my chest. 

I whirl around, half-expecting to see her, but find that I am still alone.  The laughter sounds again, persisting this time.  I follow it, wondering why she would draw attention to herself.  She knows better. 

I sheathe my spear on my back and I plow through bushes dotted with prickly balls, feeling them scratch and scrape my skin, but do not stop.  I must get to June before she gets us killed. 

Suddenly, the laughter is interrupted by another, slightly deeper laugh; a boy’s laugh.  I move faster.  Blood rushes behind my eardrums and my heart has lodged in my throat.  I shove forward, the ground beneath my feet pebbly, until I reach a gentle slope that leads to a narrow river.  The river snakes and winds until it ends finally at a lake.  And what I see in the lake makes every hair on my body rise.

A girl about June’s age, flops and flounders about.  She is laughing, delighted.  Next to her is a boy.  He looks older than the girl.  He, too, is laughing happily. 

I stand, hidden by more hostile bushes loaded with burrs.  My mouth is agape as my mind whirls in lopsided circles, struggling to make sense of what my eyes are seeing.  Human beings, children, are swimming in a lake just hours from where June and I live in our cave.  Other humans are alive!  My entire body trembles. 

The children continue to caper about and I find myself smiling naturally.  I hear a splash but do not see where it came from.  Are there more?  The idea is almost too much for my brain to handle. 

The water beside the boy stirs before a large form becomes visible.  And then I see him.  He breaks from the surface of the water and surprises the smaller boy, grinning wide and greeting him with a growly “Argh!”  The boy flinches then squeals in delight, but I cannot even look in his direction.  My eyes are fixed on the one who emerged from the depths and is standing now, his waist covered by water, while droplets trickle between the swells of his chest to the hollows of his stomach. He appears to be my age.  His skin is tanner than mine, bronze almost, and his eyes are so light they stand out and seem to glow. 

I know I should look away, scan the area and see if there are more, but I cannot.  My gaze is pinned and I realize I have not yet blinked.  Part of me is afraid that if I look away, he will be gone; that all of them will be gone, and I’ll wake from whatever dream or hallucination I am having. 

I take a tentative step forward, toward a thin tree.  My heart drills against my ribs and my belly feels as if it is filled with butterflies fluttering and flapping at once.  I rest my shoulder against its trunk and inch closer still, wanting to lean all of my weight against it.  But a branch snaps beneath my foot unexpectedly.  My sprinting heart stumbles, and the boy in the water with the glowing eyes looks in my direction. 

Though I am concealed by tall plants, bushes, and the puny tree, my breathing hitches and heat burns up my neck until it reaches my cheeks.  I know he doesn’t see me, cannot possibly see me, but I see him, and not just his profile either.  I see his entire face.  A strange tremor vibrates through my belly that has nothing to do with hunger.  He rubs his hand through his thick, dark hair and I am riveted by the cords of rippling muscles that intertwine and gallop down his arms. 

I am suddenly lightheaded and realize I have forgotten to breathe.  My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.  I am overwhelmed by thirst.  I reach a trembling hand to my canteen and remember it is empty. 

A sweet female voice calls out, and the boy with the pale, radiant eyes looks toward the sound. 

“Come on, guys.  Let’s eat,” the voice says. 

The children groan, and I watch as the older boy shepherds them out of the water, and guides them to the shore of the lake.  I follow him with my gaze.  It is trained on him as if acting separate and apart from my will.  He steps out of the water and, seeing him stand beside the others, I see that he is taller than I thought, and stronger looking. 

He shakes his head and water cascades from his hair and sprinkles the children.  They screech, their joy evident in their expressions, and I feel my own surge of glee rocket from a part of me I never knew existed. 

I watch as a woman approaches and embraces the children.  For a moment, I think she will embrace the older boy as well.  In those seconds, a hot tendril sparks inside of me that is anger and fear fused.  The sensation is completely irrational, but I am powerless to stop it.  She says something to him that I cannot hear.  He laughs, and the flame is replaced with an odd sense of loss.  But when he speaks and says the word “Mom” loudly, I am heartened.  The woman turns and faces the woods, where I am. Her face is creased, and she looks similar to the boy I have been watching. 

She continues to focus on the spot where I stand.  I think about going to them.  My muscles twitch as I debate.  But something inside me keeps my feet rooted where they are.  Just envisioning myself approaching them, speaking to them, to the older boy in particular, makes my breath short and shallow and my stomach free-fall.  I try to slide a foot forward, but my muscles are tense, too tense.  They begin walking toward an opening in the craggy shore and opportunity slips from my grasp like grains of sand.  I am left standing, watching the lakeshore, and feeling a pang of remorse. 

But my regret is quickly trumped by pure excitement.  I have seen human beings, others like me and June!  I press my back against the tree trunk and close my eyes.  I clinch my mouth with my hand and curb the elated yelp begging to be released.  I have not killed a meal for us and the sun is dipping fast.  I need to head back to the cave right away.  The hike here was long.  The hike back may be longer if I lose my way.  A potentially risky situation is looming, yet I am almost giddy. 

I spring to my feet and bound back, deep into the forest.

As I walk, I am lost in thought.  The older boy’s face is imprinted on my brain, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to focus on anything else.  I make a lame attempt at surveying the riot of tangled bramble all around me.

A tuft of glossy, russet fur catches my eye.  My concentration shifts from the boy at the lake and grinds to a razor-sharp point.  I train my gaze on it, watching it, stalking it.  The fur jerks then bounces, edging out of concealment.  That’s when I see a puffy tail, downy and round, popping from a cluster of weeds.  I unsheathe my spear as silently as possible, then creep toward it slowly, clutching my weapon, careful not to spook my dinner.  I move in to kill the rabbit.

I am just seven or eight paces from it, poised and prepared to skewer it, when it turns on me unexpectedly; whipping its small head so that I swear it is looking at me.  Large eyes, more forward-facing and predatory than I have ever seen, watch me.  A deep growl rumbles from its chest and its thin, black lips snarl back and reveal oversized, pointed teeth.  It hops away from me, a small cautious move that is not in keeping with its threatening demeanor.  I remain where I am, holding fast to my spear.  Its nose tics then it is perfectly still for a moment.  I prepare to strike, but am caught off-guard when it leaps into the air without warning, lunging at me with its jaw wide.  I do not delay and launch my spear at it.  The spike lodges right into its open mouth and pitches it backward until it sticks into the trunk of a tree.

The rabbit doesn’t move, and it is no longer growling.  A small flash of triumph flickers inside me.  June and I’ll eat well tonight.  I walk over and pull my spear, with the rabbit attached, from the tree.  I slide the carcass from my weapon and place it into a satchel made of animal skin then toss it over my shoulder.  I continue my journey to the cave, to June and the only home I’ve known, hiking at an energetic pace.  Tonight, I’ll sleep well.  My belly will be full, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel hope. 

Chapter 4

When I reach the woods near the cave, my cheeks ache from smiling.  I cannot recall the last time a smile born of genuine joy made me feel as I do now.  My insides hum and buzz with a trembling sensation, giving me a weird, jittery energy I have never felt before.  I have forgotten how hungry and tired I am and do not feel as though I have hiked the entire day.  I am practically bouncing, my stride is springy.  I spot June just beyond the opening of the hollow.  One arm crosses her waist while the other is raised.  I see that she is chewing the skin around her thumbnail.  She is pacing, lost in worry. 

“June!” I call out to her, perhaps a bit too excitedly. She instantly spins toward my voice, her face a mask of fear. 

“Avery!” her voice pitches up an octave.  “Oh gosh, are you okay?  You’re bleeding!” She rushes toward me.

I forget I have not washed since slipping the rabbit from my spear.  Gore still coats my hands and likely my face as well.  I am sure I have absently wiped sweat from my brow and temples and have smeared blood there.  Judging from June’s reaction, I look frightening. 

June descends on me and is plucking at my arms.  Her lips press together firmly, and a crease marks the space between her eyebrows. 

“I am okay, June.  No worries,” I assure her.  “I killed a rabbit and did not have time to stop and clean up.”

Her features smooth and she exhales noisily.  One hand splays across her hairline while the other clutches her belly.  “Thank goodness,” she breathes.

I rub a hand on her back, then pull it back quickly, remembering the blood.  I have been so distracted by what I saw at the lake, I cannot seem to concentrate.  It is a wonder I was even able to catch the rabbit I am carrying in my satchel. 

“You were gone so long.  I’ve been worried sick.”  Emotion causes her voice to crack. 

I am tempted to tell her about what I saw, to tell her about the children and the woman, and the older boy.  The words bubble inside of me before they are on my tongue, but I hold back.  She will ask why I did not approach them.  She will ask why I did not make my presence known.  I do not have a legitimate reason for not, other than panic. 

I panicked, and I am embarrassed.  I promised her that when I found others like us, I would embrace them, join them.  Strength exists in numbers, at least that is what I heard when I lived in the village years ago.  She would consider finding one human being a gift.  Four would be too wonderful to be true.  Yet it is true.  Four humans live a quarter of a day’s walk from where we stand.  And I froze.  I did not go to them as I said I would.  My cheeks burn with shame briefly, but I recover when the weight slung over my shoulder reminds me of an important aspect of my trip.

“I got this,” I pull my satchel from my shoulder.  “We’re having a fat rabbit for dinner,” I add with a smile.

June looks at me quizzically for a fleeting moment then smiles.  “Rabbit,” she says and nods.  “That sounds so good.”

I roll down the opening of my bag and pull the plump rabbit from it, showing her what is in store for us.  A grin lights up her entire face, and for a moment, I do not feel so bad about not approaching the others back at the lake. 

“Is the fire ready?” I ask.  “I want to cook this up right away.”

“Yes, I did just as you told me to,” she says proudly. 

I tip my head to one side and my smile widens. 

“Something is different about you, Avery,” June eyes me suspiciously.  “Something happened that you’re not telling me about.”

“What?” I say and stall.  “That’s crazy.  Nothing happened.”  I sound so absurdly dubious I don’t even trust me at this point. 

“Hmm,” June murmurs.  Her eyes bore into me. 

I shift uncomfortably.  My skin feels too hot, too tight for my body.  “Come on!”  I say and start to walk toward the fire.  “I can’t take another minute of being as hungry as I am.”

“I know.  I am starving,” June says and reminds me of the direness of our food shortage.

My smile shrivels.  I have been preoccupied with my outing.  I have been selfish.  While I was out, delighting in the realization that we are not alone, June was here, very much alone. 

“Well, let’s remedy that,” I say brightly.  I skin and prepare the rabbit then place it on a spit to cook over the open flame. 

“My mouth is watering,” June says as the mild, almost sweet scent of roasting rabbit meat infuses the air. 

“Mine too,” I admit. 

Once the rabbit is cooked, I serve June first.  She gobbles it quickly and I immediately hand her seconds.  Her appetite seems insatiable as she wolfs down the meat.  She gulps water and it dribbles down her chin. 

“Do you want more?” I ask.

“I do, but my stomach hurts already,” she reluctantly confesses.  “It just tastes so wonderful, and I don’t know when I’ll eat something this good again.”

“Hey,” I say, and place a hand on her forearm.  “You don’t have to make excuses.  Eat up.  And there will be more like it tomorrow.”

“There will?” she questions and her brow rises. 

“Yep,” I say confidently.

“How?” She leans in and her voice is just above a whisper. 

I lean in too and lower my voice conspiratorially.  “I am going back out tomorrow, going past our boundaries to hunt again.  We’ll feast for a second time tomorrow.”

“What!” June shouts.  Her features are screwed up, horror marking them.  “No!  You can’t!  I can’t handle it if you go again!  I just can’t!”  She shakes her head and waves her hands to punctuate her point. 

I am not sure what prompted this outburst but am eager to end it, to calm June.  “Whoa, whoa, hold on, June.  Calm down,” I say in a soothing voice.  I take one of her frantic hands in mine.  “It’s okay.  Everything is okay.”  I whisper.  “Talk to me.  What is going on?”

Tears stream down her cheeks, carving streaks through the dirt that has accumulated on her face.  She sniffles and turns her head away from me, as if embarrassed.  “It’s just that, well, it’s just that,” she stammers.  “I was so worried about you, worried you would not come back, that you’d be killed.”  Sobs beset her.  Her shoulders shake. 

“Oh June,” I say and wrap an arm around her shoulders. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” she manages and is barely able to choke out the words.  Her face is still angled away from me. 

I reach my index finger under her chin.  “Hey, come on, June, look at me,” I say gently. 

She turns toward me timidly.

“You are not going to lose me,” I try to comfort her.

Her eyes drop to her feet.  “Humph,” she mutters and makes plain her doubt.

“Listen to me, June; I am not going to leave you.  I am a warrior, just like Dad was.  He trained me and I am even better than he was.” I do not feel as if I am bragging; I am stating a fact.  “I only take risks that are necessary and make sense.  We need to eat so I need to hunt, and if there aren’t any animals nearby, I have to move out farther to hunt.  Do you understand?”  I hold her gaze and wait to see if the gravity of my words sinks in.

June nods and bobs one shoulder halfheartedly. 

“Good,” I say calmly. 

I drop my finger from beneath her chin then stand.  The sun is about to be swallowed by the horizon line.  We must hurry and clean up and get inside right away. 

June, as if reading my thoughts, begins poking the logs and embers with a long stick, breaking them apart.  I race to the river with our bucket and fill it with water.  Every branch that cracks makes my pulse rate spike.  It is late, later than I have ever been out in the woods alone. 

Water sloshes from the container as I run with it, stopping only when I make it to the fire. I dump half of its contents first.  The fire hisses and smoke billows as soon as the water touches it, then June rakes over the debris left behind.  We repeat this a few more times until we are confident the fire is out, and any remnants of it ever being there are gone.  We scurry inside and secure our boulder and brush. 

I light our beeswax candle, and June and I chat for a little while.  I tell her more stories our father used to tell me about the world before the war.  She listens carefully and laughs as she always does when I tell her of gas-operated vehicles humans used to get where they needed to go rather than walking.  The absurdity of it all makes her howl with laughter.  But soon, her eyelids droop and her yawns become more frequent.  She dozes just as I begin telling her about handheld devices that people used to talk to each other from great distances apart.

I blow out the candle then lie back with my arms folded over my head.  I reflect on the day, and my thoughts center on the boy at the lake.  I close my eyes and picture him, picture his sun-kissed skin, his dark hair and pale eyes.  I find myself wishing I knew the true color of his eyes, whether they are blue or green, or a color in-between.  I would like to see his face up close.  I would like to see all of him up close, to stand beside him and see how much taller he is than I am, or what he smells like.  I imagine he smells like grass and sunshine.  The thought makes my heartbeat quicken and my stomach cartwheel.  The boy at the lake was very pleasant to look at.  I hope to watch him again soon and plan to return to the spot tomorrow.  I’ll hunt, too.  But watching him is what I look forward to most. 

As I think about him, I begin to wonder whether I am pretty.  June tells me I am, but I have only seen my reflection in water, and even then, it mattered little.  My appearance has never been something I concerned myself with; until now.  At the moment, my looks, or more specifically pondering what the boy at the lake would think of my looks, is all I can think about.  Would he like the sandy color of my hair?  It tends to get streaks in it that are nearly white by midsummer.  His hair is so dark.  Maybe he would find mine unappealing.  And my eyes, my dad told me they are hazel just like my mom’s eyes were.  He used to say I look just like her.

I remember my mother’s face.  I remember her eyes, the way her irises looked, a light-brown palette speckled with green, gold, and blue flecks.  In sunlight they would lighten in color, the green and blue eclipsing the soft brown and gold, always changing, always unique.  They were so pretty.  She was so pretty. 

Reminiscing about her nearly knocks the air from my lungs.  I would love to see them again, just once.  But she is gone forever.  The best way to honor her memory is to look to the future, to live.  And living requires survival.  The cornerstone of survival is food.  I’ll hunt again when I wake.  I’ll return to the spot I went to today, far past the outer bank of the forest June and I have explored, where a river winds to a lake and four others just like us live.  I’ll indulge in watching the oldest boy and silently envy that the woman I assume is his mother still lives.  Perhaps I’ll work up the courage to make my presence known to them.  I owe it to June, to all the people that we have lost, to do it.  And meeting the boy with the tan skin and pale eyes would not be such a bad thing either. 

His face is the last image my mind produces before my eyes close and a tide of darkness sweeps me away. 

Chapter 5

I wake with a start, struggling to catch my breath.  My heart is racing, hammering as if trying to break free of my body.  My hand flies to my forehead.  The skin there is slippery to the touch, coated in sweat.  I look all around me.  It takes a moment for complete consciousness to return to me, for my brain to register that I am awake now.  Beside me, June is sleeping, snoring softly, swathed in inky shadows.  Just a thin stream of predawn light streams in and I know it is not time to rise, yet I cannot imagine going back to sleep. 

I comb my fingers through my hair and discover that the front is wet.  I am not surprised though.  I have had a nightmare, the same nightmare I have had almost every night for the last six years.  None of what I am experiencing is new.

I push myself up to a sitting position.  The act requires effort, more than I feel capable of using.  I exert myself against a rushing current of emotion that crashes over me, intent on drowning me.  My clothes cling to my skin.  I run my hand down my neck then over the top of my covering.  My body and sleep sack feel damp.  Though I am sweaty, tremors rack my body.  I draw my knees up and hug them to my chest, still haunted by the vivid images that flashed through my mind’s eye. 

When I sleep, a mere dream doesn’t plague me.  It is so much more, so much worse.  They are horrible, violent memories that replay in my head with striking clarity over and over again.  I relive the day my mother was killed. 

I rub my eyes, wishing to purge all of it from my brain, but know it is useless.  I cannot rid myself of the memory any more that I can rid the sky of the sun.  And just as night surrenders to day, powerless against the rise of the sun, I am powerless against recollections that are branded into my brain.  They are always with me, always lingering at the surface of the dark ocean of my heart I keep it in.  Each time it surges forth, it feels as if I am experiencing that day all over again. 

I was eleven years old, playing with June, who was just two at the time, on the dirt floor of the hut I shared with my parents.  I was making her laugh; crawling around on all fours, grunting and snorting like a boart.  My father sat on a tattered piece of wood and fabric he said had survived the war.  He told me it was called a couch and that people used to spend hours at a time sitting or lying on them.  I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do either.  The few times I’d sat on it, I found that it smelled strange, like decay and smoke.  Regardless, my dad did not seem to notice and rested on it, beaming each time a fit of laughter overtook June.  My mother sat beside him, her head nuzzled against his shoulder.  Every so often, she would rub her round belly and sigh.  My parents looked so content, so happy. 

I remember that moment.  I remember that it was the last time in my life I felt safe.  That moment ended abruptly. 

Screams ripped through the peace we’d been enjoying, piercing the very air we breathed, and echoed outside our hut.  My father jumped from the couch, a look of concern etching his features as he crossed the small space and went to the door.  I sprang to my feet and my mom leaned forward to the edge of the couch.  My father turned and leveled a serious gaze our way.  He told us to stay put; that he was going to see what was happening. 

More screams rang out, followed by a flurry of inhuman sounds.  My father glanced over his shoulder with his hand perched on the doorknob.  A look unlike any I’d ever seen flashed across his features; one filled with dread and fear, of awareness that life as we knew it had just changed. 

As soon as he opened the door, he was met by one of the men from our village. The man’s face was pale, his demeanor horror-stricken.

“They’re here, Gerald,” he told my father.  “The Urthmen have found us.” 

As soon as the word “Urthmen” was uttered, my stomach lurched before it nosedived.  We had spent our entire existence either fighting them or avoiding them, but never at our camp.  We’d always encountered them out in the forest when we’d wandered too far, but never near our camp, never close to home.  They’d never made it into our village; not until that night.

“How many are there?” my father asked, and the urgency of his voice raised the fine hairs on my body. 

“It’s hard to tell,” the man replied.

My father did not wait for the man to speak another word.  His look of worry was replaced with steely resolve.  He drew his sword and clutched it in one hand.  With the other, he reached out to my mother and helped her up from the couch.  Her belly was swollen, and pulling herself to her feet from a seated position was a challenge as she was eight months pregnant.  My mother scooped June from the floor and followed my father as he led us out of our hut and into another, one that had a tunnel burrowed beneath it that led deep into the woods as an emergency escape route. 

“Wait here,” he told us once we were inside.  “If I am not back soon, or if you hear voices close by that aren’t human, take the tunnel and get out of here as fast as you can.”

My entire body shook when he gave us his instructions, when I realized there was a chance he would not be with us, that he was preparing for his death. 

“Gerald, no,” my mother started, her voice smothered by emotion.  One hand flew to her belly while the other clutched June.  “We need you.  We can’t survive out there alone, if we even make it out there.  Please,” she pleaded.  “Please, come with us.”

“No,” he replied, his tone firm.  “I will not run and leave our people to die.  I am not a coward.  Besides, surviving the night with or without me will be next to impossible,” he said, grief lacing his words.  He looked at June and me then said, “Hopefully there aren’t too many Urthmen and we can fight them off.”

My mother’s gaze locked on my father’s face, holding him there for a moment before she hugged him and whispered something in his ear that I did not hear.  He said good-bye to her in a hoarse whisper.  He kissed June’s forehead and my mother’s belly then the top of my head before he walked out.  He left us there and went to join the others in their fight against the Urthmen. 

The hut where we waited was one of many that comprised a community.  Nearly two hundred humans lived there.  We were lucky to have found them.  The complex was tucked in the woods, deep enough within its protection that we were hidden from the Urthmen that patrolled, but far enough from where the trees grew close together and the terrain became too difficult to navigate.  A high stone wall had been built and was heavily guarded.  Lurkers shared the woods with us.  We needed protection from them as well as Urthmen.  No one wanted to lose the only sense of belonging they’d ever had.  No one wanted to lose the complex, or each other, but they did. 

As time passed, more men from our community placed their families in the hut with the tunnel beneath it and gave them instructions similar to the ones my father had given.  Many of the people left behind were women, children, and villagers too old or too ill to fight.  Some of them cursed and expressed outrage, but most of them just stood where they were placed, clinging to whichever family member they’d been left with.  We all wore the same expression.  We all looked equal parts terrified and confused.  I was anxious too; worried in a way I’d never been before about my father. 

My mother rocked June, cradling her tightly in her arms with their cheeks pressed together.  I felt pressure build in my body with such force it strained against my skin.  Tortured cries rang out; the sorrowful sounds of life ending brutally, of suffering, shrieked through the hollows of my core as they grew closer, and I thought I would explode.  All around me, women and children wept.  June wailed and even my mother cried.  I held my tears in, balling my fists so tightly my nails bit into the tender skin of my palms and drew blood.  I wanted to help.  I hated not knowing exactly what was going on, being incapable of playing a part in my own fate. 

When I’d finally reached my breaking point, I moved to the door.  With my hand on the knob, I turned to my mother and said, “I can’t take it anymore.  I need to know what is happening out there.  I have to know what’s happening to Dad.”

My mother’s face contorted.  “No!” she hissed.  “Come back here now and wait for your father.”

My mother had never raised her voice at me.  I never remembered her even being angry with me.  But she was beyond angry.

For a moment, my hand recoiled from the handle as if it were on fire.  Then I placed it there again and, ignoring my mother, I pulled it open. 

“Avery!  You heard what your dad said!” I heard my mother say, but I had already taken a step outside. 

My eyes swept the area just beyond the hut.  I didn’t see anyone, so I took several more steps, venturing farther.  And when I did, my brain was unable to process what my eyes were seeing all at once.  Urthmen were everywhere, flooding our village in a tidal wave of frenzied violence.  Many were atop fallen men, rearing their misshapen heads and baring their oversized teeth savagely.  The metallic stench of blood hung in the air like mist and I fought the urge to gag. 

“Avery, come back here this instant!” my mother called.  But her voice sounded muffled and distant, as if it were echoing from the end of a long tunnel. 

My feet felt as if they were being swallowed by quicksand.  I was unable to move, paralyzed by fear, by shock.  The carnage before my eyes held me hostage.  I tried to breathe, but each time I inhaled, my senses were assaulted by the smell of bloodshed.  I looked around for signs of survival, of any of my fellow villagers, but only saw countless mutant Urthmen slaughtering everything in their wake.  My gaze zeroed in on an Urthman who hefted a club high overhead.  The man beneath him was one I knew.  It was the man who’d come to our hut to warn us.  The Urthman was about to bludgeon him.  I wanted to scream, to shout for the beast to stop, but my voice was strangled somewhere deep in my throat.  I watched in horror as the Urthman brought his club down hard against the man’s head.  The fiend raised it again and hammered the man’s face until his features were pulverized.  When the Urthman had finished, gore had splattered all over his distorted face. 

I turned from the massacre, from what must have been thousands of Urthmen butchering our village, and ran back to the hut. 

Once inside, I leaned my back against the door and immediately said, “We need to leave now!”

“Avery, your father,” my mother began. 

“He’s dead, Mom.  They are all dead,” I said to her. 

My mother’s face paled.  She nodded slightly, agreeing that the time to leave had come.  “We have to leave,” my mother informed the others in the hut, but none of them were willing to accept what they’d heard.  They refused to leave and said that they would wait for their husbands. 

“There are thousands of Urthmen out there!” I screamed.  “All of our men are dead!  If you want to live you have to leave!”  But the others refused.  No one would follow us.  So we went alone. 

After opening a hatch in the floor, my mother handed June to me, and I climbed down a long ladder that led to the start of the passageway.  My mother followed right after me. 

A yawning pit of darkness stretched before me.  It smelled of wet earth and lime.  The only light I saw was feeble and came from the hut above us.  But it did little more than create a weak beam of light that crawled across the floor and revealed a narrow swath of glistening, gray stone.  The pitch-black shadows seemed to continue endlessly. 

The tunnel was huge, about ten feet wide and eight feet high.  It ran underground, beneath the stone wall and out deeper into the woods.  Years had been spent constructing it.  I never understood its purpose.  After all, I’d enjoyed the security and safety of the village for so long, I’d come to almost take it for granted.  But all that had changed.  Reality had come to call. 

I began to run, holding tight to June.  I could not clearly see what was ahead, but heard my feet slapping against the hard ground as I raced as fast and as far as I could from the hut we’d just left.  My heart contended with the sound, and I swore it echoed along with my footfalls down the tunnel. 

I looked over my shoulder, though I could not see my mother, when a loud thump rattled overhead and rumbled like thunder, shaking the walls all around me. 

“Oh no,” I muttered and June began to cry. 

“Just go!” my mother urged.  “Keep running, Avery, and don’t stop!”

Suddenly, a high-pitched whistle filled the air all around me, clawing at my eardrums, before an unearthly din howled out and resonated through the endless hollow.  The sound beat against my skull with such force I thought the bone would crack.  Urthmen had arrived.

Bloodcurdling screams immediately followed their call, the sound of women and children dying.  I covered June’s ears with both hands, trying desperately to shield her from their cries.  The people we’d just left, all of them, were most certainly dead.  I wanted to scream, to cry, anything, but could not.  I had to keep running. 

I pushed myself harder, faster, until my lungs burned and my muscles ached as I rushed headlong into the blackened abyss.  I peeked over my shoulder to see my mother’s dark form behind me and saw something that made my breath catch in my chest. 

Behind my mother, the tunnel was lit.  Four torch-wielding Urthmen made their way toward us, gaining ground fast.  In the firelight, I could see their faces clearly.  The closer they progressed, the more horrific they became.  Nearly transparent skin did little to cover the expansive, vivid entanglement of veins that webbed their malformed heads.  Lidless eyes shrouded in a thick, milky film darted wildly, bloodthirsty.  They did not have noses but two asymmetrical holes that appeared to serve the purpose of nasal openings.  Lips were also missing from their faces, though lines gave the impression that mouths may reside beyond them.  They were monstrous, my worst fear realized at the time. 

With my heart threatening to beat out of my chest, I pressed on, testing my muscles as they’d never been tested before.  But I was small and weak, and carrying June was hard. 

My mother caught up to me. “Keep going and don’t look back!”

She slowed down and I did not see her beside me anymore.  Then I heard her footfalls stop altogether.  I looked back. She stood there with her arms out in surrender.

“Run, Avery!” she yelled, but I stopped moving.  I could not believe what I was seeing. 

Panic seized every cell in my body.  “Mom!” I cried out.  “Mom, what’re you doing?”

She did not answer me.  She spoke to the four Urthmen that approached.

“Please don’t kill me,” she begged.  “I am pregnant.”

But her pleas fell on uncaring ears.  The Urthmen did not care that she was pregnant.  In fact, in hindsight, they probably saw the unborn child she carried as a bonus kill.

While my mother raised her hands and submitted, one of the Urthmen hoisted his club high in the air and whipped it forward until it crashed against her skull.  My world went completely still.  My beautiful, kind mother, pregnant with my next sibling, had been hit.  She sunk to her knees, a thin rivulet of blood streaming down her temple.  Another strike followed, and she collapsed to the tunnel floor.  And then the Urthmen swarmed, beating her feverishly.

I tried to scream, to shout at the beasts to stop, but I could not breathe.  My lungs refused to fill and remained frozen, like blocks of ice so cold their chill burned. 

“No,” I tried, but the word came out as a raspy whisper.

Pain radiated from the center of my chest and branched out, throbbing and aching as my heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.  My knees threatened to collapse beneath me.  The woman who gave me life, the one who protected me and taught me, fed me, and cared for me, was dead, murdered by monsters. 

I wanted them dead; all of them.  I wanted them to suffer for what they’d done to my mother. 

When finally I was able to draw a breath, I heard a female scream tear through the chaotic grunts of the Urthmen and soon realized the scream was mine.  And I wasn’t the only one to realize this. 

The Urthmen spun to face me.  “Get the humans.” One pointed a blunt, stubby finger at us, as his voice scraped like metal against metal. 

But before he could say another word or make a move toward us, his head was lopped from his body.  It tumbled from his neck and landed against the ground with a thud.  Two of the others with him turned and were carved at their waists.  They dropped to the earth below, eviscerated like the animals they were. 

When they fell, I saw my father square off with the last of the Urthmen in the tunnel, and for the first time in my life I saw him as the fierce warrior he was.  He looked deadly. 

The Urthman swung his club recklessly several times.  My father dodged his attack with the calm and poise of a predator.  The next swing the beast took was met with my father’s blade.  His sword glinted in the glow of the fallen torches right before it cleaved the Urthman’s arm.  The arm fell to the ground, and my father immediately veered and decapitated the monster. 

For a moment, my father just watched the fallen Urthmen, his chest heaving.  Then he fell to his knees, to where my mother’s body lay still, and released a guttural cry of agony so profound, I felt as if my bones shook. 

I wanted to go to him, to crumple into his arms and cry until my body was emptied of tears.  But the sound of footsteps approaching kept me in place, still holding June.  My father stood and ran toward me.  He ripped June from my arms, then flung both of us over his shoulders.  He took off, away from the looming Urthnmen, and sprinted faster than I thought was humanly possible.

Each step he took punished my ribs and back as I jerked and flopped against him.  But none of the physical pain I felt compared to the heartache of witnessing my mother being murdered. 

When we reached the end of the seemingly endless tunnel, my father stopped and began kicking a thick log.

“Come on,” he spat as he continued to kick a support beam.

“Dad, put me down.  I’ll help!” I shouted above the ferocious cries of the Urthmen echoing down the passageway.

He placed me on my feet and I helped him.  We kicked until the rafter gave way and he gripped my wrist.  We ran several yards then stopped again.  We climbed out of the tunnel.  We were in the forest.  It was dark and damp and there was a nip in the air.  Bare tree limbs gashed the night sky, black and skeletal against the navy heavens.  The musky, moldy scent of fallen leaves that I would’ve usually found pleasant terrified me.  I knew that Lurkers waited, their movement muffled by the hoots and calls of nocturnal hunters.  My father placed June in my arms, and then dug with his hands through leaves and brush until he pulled a length of thick rope from it.  He leaned back, pulling it with every ounce of his weight, until the sound of wood splintering snapped through the night.  Another beam toppled, only this time it was followed by a low growl, deep in the bowels of the dirt.  The growl rolled and shook, and I understood in that instant that the tunnel had been booby-trapped.  The passageway was collapsing on itself. 

Chunks of soil sprayed as it caved in.  Pebbles flew in every direction and pelted us.  Confused shouts turned to wails of agony as the Urthmen were buried alive.  But we did not stay to hear them go silent.  We ran. 

That was six years ago. 

Six years have not dulled the pain I feel each time I dream of that night. 

I swipe beneath my eyes with the tips of my fingers to clear the tears there.  I do not want to risk June waking and seeing me like this.  She doesn’t remember what happened.  She is lucky. 

Each day since my mother was killed, I regret that her body was left behind, that she will rest for eternity alongside Urthmen, monsters.  She deserved better than that.  I also regret that I spoke harshly to her and disobeyed her when I left the hut.  I never got to ask for her forgiveness.  Now it is too late. 

A silent sob shakes my body and I hug my knees to my chest as tight as I can.  I breathe deeply, trying to calm myself until it passes, until the knot of pain inside me loosens enough for me to breathe.  I must hold myself together.  I must be strong.  I concentrate on relaxing every muscle in my body and breathe through my nose, sucking in air until my belly puffs out.  I blow it out in a thin stream through my lips, repeating the process until I feel more in control of myself. 

I glance at June and see that she is still asleep.  She is unbothered by my crying seconds ago.  I am thankful for that. 

I force myself to lie back down.  My eyes burn and I am thirsty, but I close my eyes and push both discomforts to the back of my mind.  Neither is of any consequence.  I remain still and rest until threads of light slip through the cracks of the boulder and another day of hunting begins. 

Chapter 6

I doze on and off until light begins to spill through the openings around the boulder.  I am still shaken by the recurrent nightmare I had, by the past.  Time has not dulled the pain, and it has not ended the dreams.  They continue. 

My mother is still on my mind.  Her death weighs on me with untold heaviness.  My throat constricts around the sadness that has collected there.  I sit upright, not wanting to be still a moment longer and risk crying.  I kick the covering from my legs and stretch.  My movements cause June to stir.  Her eyelids flutter then open groggily. 

“Is it morning?” she asks, her voice thick and tired. 

“It is morning,” I say and my own voice surprises me.  It breaks.

June scrunches her features.  “Avery, what is it?  Are you okay?”

I hate that I have alarmed her.  “I am fine,” I lie and clear my throat.  “Must be the way I slept or something.  I sound like a frog, you know, a little croaky I guess.”

“Are you sure?” June looks at me with eyes so wide and vulnerable, I almost feel guilty for lying.

“I am fine,” I say and smile.  “But if it keeps up, I might be forced to leave the cave and find myself a sweet, deluxe lily pad,” I narrow my eyes and tease her.

She laughs.  The sound is just what I need.  Her laughter is delightful.  “Hmm, that might work.  But I am sorry to say you wouldn’t cut it as a frog.”

“I wouldn’t?” I ask with pretend surprise.  “And why not?”

June’s eyes sparkle mischievously.  “Well, for starters, you hate the smell of pond scum,” she begins counting on her fingers.

“You’ve got me there,” I confess.  “I do find it extra stinky.”

“Second, you hate eating bugs.” She marks her comment with her middle finger, tallying the second reason, then grins, proud of her clever remark. 

“That is a fair comment.  I find bugs as meals revolting.” I nod somberly as if she has clobbered me with her points. 

“And lastly,” she continues.

“Sheesh!  There’s more!” I throw my hands in the air then clutch my head and bow with feigned defeat.

“And lastly,” she says again with a stern look.  “You don’t even like frogs.  You can’t be something you don’t even like.  You have to like yourself.”  She nods her head.  She looks satisfied with all that she has said.  “So, no lily pad for you,” she concludes.

I clasp my hands together and interlace my fingers.  “Well, that settles it,” I say gloomily.  “I guess you’re stuck with me.  Lily pads are not in my future.”

June throws her head back and giggles.  Her laughter is contagious and I find myself smiling just before a small laugh slips past my lips. 

“Come on, silly girl.  It’s time to get up and start our day,” I tell her.

I stand and stretch and feel as if every muscle in my body is complaining at once.  June copies me and even adds a groan for good measure.  Together, we move the boulder blocking our cave and head to the river to wash. 

As we dab ourselves with water, I inform June of a decision I’ve made.

“So June, I am going out again today, past the perimeter.  I need you to do something while I am gone.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to hunt on your own today.”

June freezes where she wades and looks at me, her eyes round with surprise.  “Really?  You want me to hunt by myself?” she asks.  “I thought you said it is too dangerous when you are not close by, that I am not ready,”

“Well, maybe you should stay put and hang around the cave,” I toy with her.

“No!” she exclaims quickly.  “Uh-uh!  There’s no way you’re making me stay inside the cave by myself!”

“Oh, so you do want to hunt on your own?” I ask as if I don’t already know the answer to my question. 

“Of course I want to, and don’t you dare think about changing your mind, Avery!”

“Okay, fine,” I say as if she’s somehow convinced me.  “You win.  You can hunt.  But you need to be careful.  Be aware of your surroundings.”

“Yes!” She claps her hands and bounces up and down. 

“Calm down there, Miss Springy,” I tell her teasingly.  “I am not sending you out there so you can bounce and play.  You have to try to kill something for dinner, and you have to stay close to the cave.”

I meant to sound playful, but June stops bouncing and frowns.  She straightens her posture.

“I know I am not going today so I can play,” she says quietly.  “I am going so I can help.  I am going to hunt for us near the cave while you hunt farther out in the woods.” 

Her cheeks are pink.  I have embarrassed her.

“June, there’s nothing wrong with playing and bouncing around.  I love that about you,” I tell her.  “I was trying to joke around with you.  I guess I didn’t do a very good job of it because you are hurt.”  I reach out and place a hand on her shoulder. “I never want to hurt your feelings.”

I am surprised when she shrugs off my hand.  “I am fine,” she says.  “You don’t have to keep treating me like a baby ‘cause I am not a baby anymore.  I am eight, remember?”

She is eight.  How could I forget?  I was just a little older than she is when I held her minutes after she was born.  I remember twirling and bouncing when I first met her.  I remember what the magic of littleness feels like.  I do not want her to lose it.  I do not want her to feel pressure to grow up faster than she has to.  I am the adult, not her.  I am here so she can enjoy as much of her youth as possible while learning to survive in the hostile world we live in. 

On a whim, I decide to do something I have not done in a long time.  I bounce and splash, scooping handfuls of water and slapping my palms up before the water returns to the river.  When my hands collide with the water and smack it, droplets spray in every direction. 

June watches me from the corner of her eye.

I use both hands to ladle a generous amount then toss it up and whack it as hard as I can.  Water cascades over June’s hair.  She whips her head around and looks at me, rolling her eyes.  She is being stubborn. 

I ignore her stubbornness and continue to caper about, splashing and jumping and laughing.  At first, I fake my enthusiasm for June’s benefit.  But after a few minutes, my silliness becomes genuine. 

Before long, I am not alone in my frolicking.  June joins in.  She is splashing, stomping, and flopping in the water, splattering me with as much as she possibly can.  My hair is dripping and my clothes are soaked, and I laugh so hard my belly hurts.  June is laughing too.  She laughs so hard her eyes tear.  I guess she needs to see me let loose once in a while. 

“Ah, Avery,” she gasps, but doesn’t say anything more.  She doesn’t need to.  I can see the relief on her face.  She is not mad at me anymore.  “I am going to catch a boart today,” she says. 

I am shocked and proud at the same time.  The odds of June actually finding and killing a boart are slim at best.  I do not wish to sell her short or undermine her intention, but tracking and killing a boart is not an easy feat.  Regardless, trying will be good for her, even if it means we’ll eat a rabbit or squirrel I catch for dinner. 

“I would love to have boart for dinner tonight,” I encourage her and rub my empty stomach. 

“And breakfast and lunch tomorrow too.  I am going to get a big one,” she says and sets her jaw. Determination radiates from her.  June looks at me then unexpectedly says, “I can do it, you know.  I am ready.”

“I know you are, June.  I believe in you,” I say with certainty.  “Go for it,” I smile. 

She doesn’t smile, but her eyes shine with satisfaction. 

We play a little longer, then I am forced to remind her that my trip will be a long one, and that I must leave now if I want to make it back before the sun sets.  We return to the cave and I collect my gear.  I reinforce the fact that she must be extremely careful, and then I set off toward the lake. 

I walk through the forest hurriedly.  The rustle and stir of leaves keeps me alert.  I continually scan trees and brush for any sign of movement, or danger. 

The sun has just risen and the air is already warm and sticky.  The woods are rich with the smell of decomposing leaves and logs.  I walk for hours.  The air quickly becomes stifling.  I stop to drink for a moment, and when I do, I look down and notice large, tubular droppings, boart droppings. 

I notice a section of weeds that has been overturned.  A small hole has been dug. 

I narrow my eyes, press my lips into a hard line, and stalk past the uprooted earth.  I follow and watch the low-growing brush as I clutch my spear.  I lower my body when I move, my head moving from side to side.  I see more droppings ahead.  I continue until I find another patch of ripped-up growth. 

The faint swish of water in the distance distracts me from my trail.  My heart pounds.  I realize I am fast approaching the edge of the forest where the trees begin to thin.

I look to the trail then toward the direction of the sound.  The rush of water calls to me as if singing my name.  I know who lives near it.  I know I should stick with following the boart.  But I don’t.  I follow the strange flutter in my belly, the extra beats of my heart.  I move away from the trail and toward the lake. 

I pursue a different animal entirely.  I find myself moving toward the rim of the woods.  Thin trees are spaced farther from one another and lower-growing shrubs offer little shelter.  But I cannot stop myself from shuffling closer.  I want to see the other humans again, especially the older boy. 

I inch forward, creeping slowly, until I see the younger children. They are dunking clothes in the water and swirling them around.  The woman comes out and wrings what they’ve washed and lays them on flat rocks to dry.  The children watch and listen as she explains what she is doing. 

I see the silhouette of another person at the mouth of their cave.  It is taller and broader.  My pulse picks up speed.  He steps from the shadows, out into the bright, golden sunlight, and I have to remind myself to breathe.  He is even more beautiful than I remembered.  His bronze skin glows in the sunshine, and his short, almost-black hair sticks up on end and looks shorter than it did yesterday.  He must have just gotten it trimmed.  I am suddenly envious of whoever was lucky enough to run his or her hands through it, close enough to stare into his pale eyes. 

Mesmerized, I move closer.  I stand behind a sickly looking bush and poke my head out from beside it.  I am sure I look like an idiot but cannot imagine leaving.  I want nothing more than to march right over to the family and introduce myself.  I want to be close to the older boy for reasons I cannot explain.  But the idea of it seems much easier than actually doing it.  In fact, when I picture myself going there and speaking to him, when I try to build my courage, my stomach clenches and I feel nauseated.  I feel shaky and cold despite the sweltering heat.  Still, I know I must go there and overcome the intense nerves. 

I take another step closer, away from the bush.  As I do, a man comes up behind the boy. My legs feel spongy.  He is about the same height and has identical coloring.  He claps the boy on the back, then rubs his hand on top of his head playfully, messing it further.  If it is possible, his mussed hair looks better still.  He turns toward the older man and gives a lopsided smile.  I find myself smiling along with them.  I cannot hear what they are saying to each other, but the exchange seems playful, loving even.  I assume the man is his father, and I am struck with a pang of jealousy so sharp I clutch my chest.  The boy, the man and woman and the children are a family; an entire family intact.  I did not know such a thing was possible.  June and I were not as lucky. 

I shift my weight from one leg to the next and a branch snaps loudly beneath my foot.  Everyone near the lake looks up.  Blood rushes to my cheeks and burns there.  Then it gets worse.  The boy takes off and runs toward me.  He is charging for the bush I am standing behind. 

For a moment, I cannot move.  I am utterly frozen.  But his fast-approaching footfalls force me to act, to move.  I stumble backward, then scramble behind a young spruce tree.  The boy stops at the bush I was just hiding behind.  My heart is hammering so hard I worry he can hear it.  I can see him clearly now.  He is close, too close, a fact that steals the air from my lungs.  I watch him, my body trembling with unfamiliar nervousness. 

His eyes are a brilliant blue-green, pale, like tropical water I once saw in a picture, and his hair is as dark as a raven’s feathers.  He is near enough for me to make my presence known to him, and him alone.  I know I should step out, yet all I can think is that I am dirty.  My clothes are filthy from the hike and sweat coats my skin.  But he is sparkling like a gem and I am a grubby stone. 

The knocking in my chest stutters.  My shoulders curl forward.  I realize I do not want to be seen.  I feel something I have never felt before.  I feel self-conscious, ashamed of the way I look. 

When the boy moves from the bush back toward the lake, I run away. 

“Hey, come back!” A voice calls out that makes goose bumps emerge on my skin.  It is him.  It is the boy.  He has seen me.  “Why are you running?” 

Heat blazes up my neck and sets my face afire.  Hot tears burn down my cheeks and blow back into my hair.  I do not know what I am more embarrassed about, the fact that I chickened out and ran from him, or the fact that he saw me looking as I do. 

I hear fast footsteps gaining on me, but I do not stop.  I am humiliated.  I wish I were braver.  I wish I were cleaner.  But I am neither.  And I do not want to meet him like this.  I push myself and move quickly, disappearing into the woods. 

I run toward the cave, back in the direction I hiked from, until the landscape becomes too tangled to run.  I slow then stop and listen.  I do not hear the rustle and crunch of footfalls atop brush and feel confident I am not being followed.  I crouch and catch my breath, and silently scold myself for running away.  Finding other human beings is everything June and I have ever hoped for.  I failed her.  I failed myself.  I have no idea what came over me.  I have faced off with boarts and other wild animals.  I have seen death and destruction that haunts my days and nights, yet talking to the bright-eyed boy with the suntanned skin terrifies me in a way I cannot explain. 

I rest for a moment until my breathing becomes less labored.  I stand, still feeling the effects of shame prickling my insides.  But when I turn, the prickling stops stinging and crashes to the soles of my feet.  In that instant I realize that my failure to talk to the boy with the bright eyes and tan skin is the least of my problems. 

Standing a fallen tree trunk’s length from me is an Urthman, glaring at me with lidless pits of blackness, the murderous eyes of a slaughterer.

Chapter 7

Murky black eyes the color of sludge are locked on mine, yet I do not move a muscle.  My mind screams for me to reach for my sword, to run, to do something, anything.  But my limbs are suddenly made of stone.  The forest has gone still.  I do not hear a thing, not the crackle of dry leaves, the buzz of insects, or the chirp of chipmunks.  Even the birds are silent.  The forest is scared stiff, too, holding its breath and willing the beast gone.  All I hear is the rush of blood behind my ears, and the frantic beat of my heart.

The Urthman opens his mouth, an oily pit of blackness, and a dark, vile tongue slithers out.  It slinks over his pointed teeth and I feel as if I might puke.  I force my eyes from his rotten mouth to the hand that clutches a club, just in time to see his arm tense.  In the space of a breath, he swings his weapon and I draw mine.  I raise it and block his blow just before it connects with my skull.  Still, the impact is powerful.  It knocks me back a few steps. 

I struggle but regain my footing.  The rhythm of my heart has passed panicked and is now wild, dangerously so.  He swings again, but this time I dodge it entirely and launch an attack of my own.  I swipe my blade, slicing the air horizontally, and carve a gash below his chest. 

He howls out angrily.  I have hurt him.  He looks down at the wound and sees that it is bad.  Glee tiptoes down the length of my spine.  I hoist my sword to shoulder height and summon all my anger, all my fear, and use every ounce of my strength as I swing.  The blade whistles through the air and meets with his neck, cutting through flesh and bone until his head falls from his shoulders. 

The Urthman’s body collapses to the ground in a heap and his head rolls into a bush loaded with burrs.  I am panting.  My entire body trembles.  I cannot believe what I have just done, it’s the first Urthman I have ever killed. And I am not the least bit sorry.  But movement in my periphery demands my attention.  I snap my head toward it and see another Urthman a few feet away.

His misshapen head shakes quickly, horrified by how easily I have slain his friend.  He turns and runs, afraid he will suffer the same fate.  I panic and take off after him.  The notion seems absurd.  Urthmen are what I have spent my life avoiding, yet here I am chasing one.  But I cannot let him go.  If he and the one I just killed were the only two scouting the area then he will return to his base and tell the others.  The rest of the Urthmen in the area will know that there are human beings living in the woods.  They will return with hundreds more and scour the terrain until they find us.  They will kill the family by the cave.  They will kill me.  They will kill June.  I cannot allow any of that to happen.

He is not far ahead of me, but he is fast.  I push myself hard, testing not only my speed but my agility too.  Exposed tree roots arise like gnarled knuckles of underground beasts, and vines snake and snag at my feet while thin branches whip at my legs and body.  Still, I pursue him.  I pump my arms and push my legs to their limit.  But no matter how fast I run, the Urthman runs faster.  He seems to be putting more and more distance between us. 

Hungry and exhausted, I am running out of energy fast.  I have just one option left.  I reach my hand behind my back and pull my spear from its sheath as I continue to run.  My muscles are spent and the weapon feels heavy in my hand–heavier than usual.  But I hoist it level with my shoulder and aim it as best I can while moving.  When the center if the Urthman’s back is in sight, I launch my spear with every bit of power I have left in my body and fall to the ground just after I release it. Fortunately, my knees and hands hit the earth before my face does, lessening the impact somewhat. 

My palms and knees throb and I have a mouthful of dirt, but I force myself up onto my hands to see if my spear landed anywhere near him. 

I am shocked when I see that I scored a direct hit.  The Urthman is slumped against a large boulder with my spear sticking out of his back.  He is still moving, but barely. 

I slide my feet beneath me and stand. I slowly walk over to the boulder on aching legs.  When I reach him, I yank the spear from his back.  He groans loudly, then rolls onto the ground on his back. 

My hands, which shook moments ago, have stilled.  I hold my spear tightly.  Its tip is poised just above the Urthman’s heart.  Black eyes rimmed in cherry red stare up at me. 

“Please, human, don’t kill me,” he begs. 

His voice scrapes like knives inside my ears.  I want to shout at him to shut his filthy mouth, that he is not worthy of sympathy, but the words get stuck in my throat.  A memory flashes in my mind.  I see my mother, with her hands held out in front of her in surrender, begging for mercy, begging that her life and the life of my unborn sibling be spared.  But the Urthmen did not show her mercy.  They took her pleas as an invitation to beat her to death. 

I feel my lip snarl up over my teeth and a dangerous emotion winds inside me tightly.  I squeeze the handle of my spear so hard the wood bites into my flesh.  My chest heaves and my breaths are short and shallow.  My body is drenched in sweat when I pull the tip away from his chest. 

The Urthman’s face relaxes, and his stubby fingers touch the area just above his heart. 

“I’ll tell them you spared me,” he says.

I watch him for a long moment.  I know I ought to feel compassion for him, pity of some kind.  I search my mind, the hidden hollows of my heart.  But I feel nothing for him.  I only feel hatred.  I raise my spear high in the air and stab down with it, burying the tip in his throat.  His final expression is complete shock as life leaves him.  A wave of satisfaction washes over me, but I do not have time to celebrate.  I look around carefully to see if there are more.  I scan the immediate area, searching tall weeds and brush, shrubs and small trees.  I do not see any movement, and I do not see any more Urthmen.  I need to get back to the cave and see if June is all right. 

As I run, I realize I should return and tell the family at the lake about the Urthmen.  I need to warn them.  But it is getting late, and Urthmen are not the only threat to us.  Lurkers will be out as soon as the sun sets.  And even Urthmen know better than to be out when Lurkers are out.  I hurry my pace even though my legs feel as if they will collapse beneath me at any moment.  Rest would be nice, but it’s a luxury I cannot afford.  I have a considerable distance to cover before I am home.  I will go to the family in the morning.  I’ll steel my nerves and approach them despite the wobbly knee feeling the oldest boy gives me.  I will not chicken out this time.  Lives are at stake.

Images zoom through my mind in a hazy jumble as I approach the woods near our cave.  I relive my mother’s death.  I relive the experience of claiming the lives of the two Urthmen.  In the moment, I felt as if her death was being avenged.  But in the calmer time that followed, I realized that until every Urthman falls, justice will never be served.  The score will not be settled.  And even if that moment ever comes to pass, I still won’t have my mother.  The thought makes my eyes as blurry as the pictures in my head.  I try to think about something else.  I immediately picture the family, the mother and father, the two young children.  I see him, the boy with the aquamarine eyes that shimmer like fish scales.  They make me feel better, happy almost.  They make me feel something else, as well, something dangerous.  They make me hopeful. 

I cling to that hope even though I fear it will slip through my fingers like the silk of a spider’s web.  It keeps me going.

I am overheated and drained and want nothing more than to wash and sleep.  When I reach the cave, June is nowhere in sight, and worry worms its way into my brain.  I examine the woods immediately in front of the cave.  I do not see her.  Panic floods every cell in my body. 

“June!” I call out against my better judgment.  If we are not alone in these woods, I have just alerted the enemy to my presence.  But June is my sister, the only flesh and blood that is mine on this planet.  I’ll risk my life to find her. 

She doesn’t answer, so I call out to her again.  “June!  Where are you?” I say louder. 

After a moment too long, warning is shrieking through my body, and I am about to charge into the woods and not return until she is with me. 

“Avery, over here,” I hear June’s voice echoing strangely.

I search the bushes, but do not see her. 

“Avery!” she cries. 

Her voice snares me like a lasso then pulls me.  I run in the direction of her voice and do not stop until I am deeper in than I’d like to be and standing before the base of a tree. 

“Avery!”

She sounds as if she is right beside me, yet I still do not see her.

“I got one,” she says, and it sounds as though she is speaking to me from the treetop. 

I look up and see her sitting on a thick branch.  I start to walk around the tree to see if there is an easy way to get her down and am met with the angry grunts of one of the largest boarts I have ever seen.  It is brown with an enormous patch of jet-black fur on its back, and its angry gaze is locked on me.

“Oh my gosh,” I breathe. 

The boart scuffs its hoof against the dirt.  When I look down, I see a boartling, small and plump, with a narrow spear through its neck. 

With my eyes never leaving what I presume is the boartling’s very angry mother, I kneel and grab the largest rock I can find, then wing it at her.  “Get out of here!” I threaten through my teeth.  The rock knocks her in her hindquarters and sends her scrambling. 

“See, I told you I’d get a boart today!” June squeals excitedly from the tree.  “See it?  See the boart?” She points to the boartling she skewered.

“Yes, I do,” I say proudly.  “Excellent job!”  I make no mention of the fact that she is hiding in a tree from the baby boart’s mother.  That detail is not worth bringing up. 

June climbs from the tree limb and clambers down the trunk.  When she is on her feet, I ask, “When did you learn to scale a tree like that?” 

She shrugs then marches up to her kill.  “Our dinner,” she says, and splays her hands out to her sides proudly. 

“I am so glad.  I wasn’t so lucky today,” I say and weigh whether or not I should mention my run-in with the Urthmen.  I do not want to scare her, but not telling her could be more dangerous than telling her. 

“Why?  What happened?” June asks. 

If I tell her, I decided, I’ll tell her after we eat.  I want her to have her moment to celebrate.  She deserves a victory.

“I didn’t track as good as you did I guess,” I frown.  “You are the hunter today, Miss I-speared-a-boart-for-dinner!” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and bring her in close.  “You did a great job,” I tell her again. 

She collapses into my arms and hugs me tightly.  “Thank you,” she murmurs. 

“Don’t thank me.” I nudge her with my hip.  “You’re the one who did all the work.  My hunting trip was a flop,” I say.

June laughs.  “I don’t know about you, but my belly is rumbling.  Let’s eat already,” she says.

I pull the spear from the boartling and hand it to June, then carry the carcass by its feet.  We bring it back to the cave and prepare a fire.  I roast the boartling and slice the meat from its bones.  We’ll have enough for dinner tonight, as well as breakfast in the morning.  I am very proud of June. 

We fill our bellies then put out the fire and wash up for bed.  After several stories, June falls asleep.  I did not tell her about the other humans and I did not tell her about the Urthmen.  I’ll tell her in the morning, right before I set out to warn the family by the lake that Urthmen have been in the woods, and that others may know of our existence. 

Chapter 8

As soon as my eyes open, the realization that today is the day I not only meet the boy by the lake, but tell June everything as well, makes my insides curl into a heavy knot.  Both are tasks I desperately want to fulfill, yet at the same time am terrified of fulfilling. 

Beside me, I feel June stir.  She typically sleeps later than I do.  I am the one who wakes her, but not today.  On this day, she rises with the sun. 

“Avery,” she whispers softly.  “You awake?”

I close my eyes and do not answer right away, stalling.  I know it is foolish of me, that there is no way around the things I must do today.  Still, I wish to buy myself a bit more time.  I wish I could roll over, pull the cover of my sleep sack over my head, and hide from the always-chaotic and scary reality that is my life.  But I cannot. 

“Avery?” June tries a little louder.

“I am up,” I say in a strong clear voice, startling both of us.

I feel June jump. 

“Sheesh, you scared me!” she gasps. 

“Sorry.” 

“Why didn’t you answer me the first time?” she asks. 

“Sorry,” I say.  I take a deep breath.  “Let’s get ourselves together and have some breakfast.  There are some things we need to talk about.”

“Talk about?” June asks, and a worried expression clouds her sunny features.  “Am I in trouble for yesterday, for being in the tree because of the whole boartling thing?”

“No,” I start but June talks over me.

“Because that mother boart was huge!  I mean, did you see the size of her head?  Her head was bigger than the two of ours put together!  I got scared.  Anyone would have.  Well, not you.  But most people, if there were any people,” June rambles.

“There are other people,” I say.

But my words do not register with June right away.  She continues thinking aloud.  “You are like a boart expert, a boart slayer.” She laughs at her own joke, and then her face goes blank briefly.  Her brows gather and she looks at me.  “Wait, what did you just say?”

“I said there are other people, other humans.”

I did not plan to tell her like this.  The words just fell from my lips like rain.  I do not know who is more surprised by what I’ve said, June or me. 

June bolts upright and twists her body so she is facing me.  Her jaw has unhinged and her eyes are wide.  “Other human beings?” she says, and her eyebrows rocket to the middle of her forehead.  “As in, more than one person?” She can barely get the words out. 

“Yes,” I reply. 

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims and explodes from her sleep sack.  “Where?  Where are they?  When did you see them?  How many are there?”  The questions fire from her in rapid succession.

“I saw them two days ago.  There are five, a family.  They live past our perimeter, out where a river and a lake meet,” I say, and hope I have answered all of her questions. 

“Two days ago!” she nearly shouts.  “And you’re just telling me about them now?” Her cheeks blush a deep shade of pink.  Her eyes have narrowed to slits and her hands are on her hips.  She begins pacing.

“Please don’t be angry,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t be angry?  Are you kidding me?  I am angry!” She stomps her foot.  “The one thing I have been waiting for my whole life, to find other human beings, and you wait to tell me?  It should’ve been the first words out of your mouth when you saw me!”

I have never seen June so angry.  She is livid with me.  I am not sure what to do.

“June, calm down,” I say.  “Please, I did not mean to upset you.”

“But you did upset me!” she fumes. 

“I am sorry, June,” I say feebly. 

A long moment passes between us.  June simmers.  But after a while, she nibbles on her lower lip and a small smile rounds her cheeks.  “I am not as angry as I seem, just disappointed.  I mean, really, how mad can I be?  I just found out we are not alone!” she squeals suddenly. 

I am impressed by how maturely she is handling my misstep of not telling her right away.

“So what are they like?  You said they are a family.  Are there any children that are my age?  I can’t believe this, Avery!  I can’t wait to meet them!  Tell me all about them!” 

She is exuberant.  She bounces and twirls and smiles from ear to ear.  I am afraid of what she will say when I tell her I did not speak to the family by the lake. 

“Well, uh, let’s see,” I fumble.  “How do I say this?”

“Just spit it out already!  I want to know everything!”

“I don’t really have much to tell,” I say quietly.

“Huh?  Why?” she looks at me, puzzled.

“I didn’t exactly, you know, go up to them and, uh, you know, talk to them,” I admit embarrassedly.

“What?” June shrieks.  “You didn’t talk to them!  Why?  Why in the world wouldn’t you talk to them?”

I lower my eyes to my feet.  “I chickened out,” I say, and my cheeks blister with shame. 

“You were scared?” June asks.  Her tone is softer, gentler.  I feel undeserving of her understanding. 

“I-I don’t know what happened to me,” I confess.  “I saw a little girl.  She’s probably your age, and a boy who looked about twelve, but then the older boy came out, and I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe or something.  I choked.  I wanted to go talk to them, but my legs were shaky and my belly felt all wobbly and squishy and I just couldn’t.” I feel so ashamed I wish I were a turtle with a shell I could tuck myself into.  I cover my face with my hands.  “I probably sound crazy right about now.  I am not making much sense.”

I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and drop my hands from my face.  June kneels beside me.

“You don’t sound all that crazy,” she says soothingly.  “I can’t say I know what I would do if I came across another human.  I would probably chicken out too.”

She wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me close.  She does what I do to her when she is feeling insecure. 

“I should have gone anyway.  I should have gone even though I was scared out of my wits,” I say.  “I guess I am not as brave as I think I am.”

June shakes her head.  “You are the bravest person I know.”

“I am the only person you know,” I say.

“Not for long,” June smirks.  “And you are still brave,” she adds with a wink.

I shake my head.  “No, I am not.  I chickened out twice.  I saw them again yesterday, and I think the older boy saw me.  But like an idiot, I ran off.  Trust me, I am not brave.  I am a coward.”

June considers what I’ve said and I expect her to erupt and scold me.  I deserve it.  I had a perfect opportunity to meet one person from the family, to not be outnumbered or overwhelmed, and I blew it.  I ruined my chance by running away. 

“You were scared.  So what?” She shrugs.  “I don’t blame you.  I probably would have done the same thing.  Besides, we need to be careful, even with other humans.  What you did doesn’t mean you aren’t brave.”

“I don’t know, June.  Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared, that you do things without fear.  I always thought being brave means doing something despite being scared.”

She is quiet for a moment then tsks at me and smiles sadly. 

“You are mean to yourself, you know that, Avery,” June says, and rests her head against my shoulder. 

“And you are too kind to me,” I say and kiss her forehead lightly. 

She flashes a lopsided grin at me.  “Okay, so when are we leaving to meet them?” She claps her hands together in excitement. 

“I am going to them as soon as we wash and eat,” I say and emphasize the word I. 

“I am coming too, right?” June asks with a smile.

“No, June, you can’t,” I say matter-of-factly. 

“What? Why?” Her smile collapses completely.

“June, the family is not the only discovery I made in the woods when I went hunting,” I tell her.  Remorse swirls in my gut.  I am about to stab a dagger through the heart of her hope.

“What do you mean?” she asks, and I can see fear flicker in her silvery eyes.

I fill my lungs then blow out a breath through pursed lips. 

“Yesterday, on my way back from watching the family, I came across two Urthmen.”

Her face drops “Oh no,” she breathes.  “Oh, my gosh, no.” Her hands fly to her mouth, covering it. 

“I killed them both, but I think more are coming,” I say.

June looks as if she’s been punched in the stomach.  “You fought them?” she asks.  Her complexion is pale, and her bottom lip quivers. 

“Yes, I did,” I say.  “They are dead now.  But where there were two, there will be more.”

June throws her arms around my neck and a small sob trembles through her body. 

“You should never doubt your bravery,” she says, her voice a strangled whisper.  “I am so sorry that happened to you.” She weeps.

“June, no, no, please don’t cry.  I am okay.  I am right here. I got them,” I try to reassure her.

“But you were out there alone, and could’ve been,” she says, but her voice trails off.  “You could’ve been killed.”

June’s words send a chill racing down my spine.  She is right, of course.  I could have easily been killed.  There were two of them and only one of me.  What if there had been more? What if there had been a dozen?  The what-ifs rattle through my brain, through my bones, and any semblance of safety I ever had in these woods is stripped from me. 

True, something primal, something animal and ferocious overtook me when I faced off with the Urthmen.  But I don’t know if that was a one-time occurrence.  I may not be so lucky in the future. 

“I have to warn the others.  That is why I am going out there today.  That is why you can’t come.  In fact, I want you to stay in the cave while I am gone.  Keep your spear at your side and don’t leave it for a moment.”

June’s entire body is trembling.  She doubles over and clutches her belly.  I rub her back.

“I-I-I can’t do this.  I can’t be alone all day wondering if you are dead, or if Urthmen are coming for me, or both,” she says. 

I understand how she feels and wish there were another way.  But she is much safer tucked in a cave no Urthmen would bother to look in than out in the open with me.  No, that cannot happen.  I’ll go as quickly as possible and warn the family.  Then I’ll return to her.  And when I do we’ll decide whether or not we’ll leave. 

“June, the Urthmen were right by their cave.  They must know about the family.  Why else would they be there? I have to help them.”

June nods in agreement then adds, “Get them out of there.  Bring them here.”

As much as the idea of sharing our tight space with the older boy makes my stomach flop like a fish on dry land, the fact of the matter is that our cave cannot accommodate five more people. 

“We don’t have enough room for five people,” I tell her. 

“We can make room if they want to come, if it will save their lives.” She levels her sharp gaze at me.  She looks so much like my father my heart clenches.  She has his fire, his commitment.  I see it plainly now. 

“Okay.  I’ll invite them here,” I agree.  “You’re right. We cannot leave them to die.”

“Good,” she says, and somehow, she looks as if she’s aged in the moments that have passed. 

“You will stay here and ready this place for our company.  After we wash and eat, I need you to help me move the boulder to cover the opening so that you are as concealed as possible,” I tell her.  Her spine lengthens at news that she has a job.  “I’ll leave enough room for you and me to get in and out of the cave, but that’s it.  When the family gets here, we can open it further.  But while I am gone, I don’t want to take any chances,” I say firmly, and then add in a faltering voice, “You are too important to me.”

I do not like entertaining the possibility of ever losing June.  I am sickened by the idea of leaving her, but taking her is not an option. 

“I’ll be fine here,” she says.  “And I’ll get everything ready.  You have nothing to worry about.  Our new guests will feel welcome and comfortable.”

I want to tell her that I highly doubt any of us will ever feel welcome or comfortable in these woods after knowing Urthmen were here, but I keep that grim thought to myself.  She is calmer, and that’s all I care about.  If I am to fight for my life, I must preserve the one who is most important to me, the person I fight for, the person I live for.  My sister must remain as safe as possible, as healthy as possible, and as happy as possible in this sinister world we live in.  June must live for me to live to fight another day. 

Chapter 9

My heart pumps frantically and echoes the hurried pace of my footsteps as I journey through the forest toward the outer banks to warn the family near the lake.  My insides quiver and my mouth is dry, but I know the option to chicken out doesn’t exist.  I must overcome my overwhelming anxiety and go to them.  Lives are at stake, five to be exact, and that’s not including June and I. 

Despite the direness of the situation, the thought of crossing the thin strip of woods and coming face to face with them makes the contents of my full belly somersault endlessly.  For once, having breakfast seems to be working against me.  Every time I picture myself approaching the family, my food threatens to launch up my esophagus.  I take deep breaths to calm myself, but they are of little help.  I am still a nervous wreck.  But I must warn them.  I must warn the boy with the shimmering eyes. 

Just thinking of him sends a jolt from my stomach to my feet.  My knees feel weak.  I realize my fear is less about the mother, father, and younger children than it is about the boy who looks close to my age.  Thinking about standing an arm’s length from him makes me lightheaded.  Speaking to him might make me faint. 

What if I faint?  The question whirls through my head.  What if I see the boy with the aquamarine eyes, faint, and never even warn him and his family that they are in danger?  I’ll make a complete fool of myself and fail to accomplish the task I set out to achieve.  The worry joins the multitude of other worries swimming around in my brain and worsens the tumbling in my belly.  The last thing I need right now is to play out possible scenarios in my mind, especially ones that involve me failing, fainting, or falling.  Imagining any of those possibilities works against my waning courage.  I’ll get there in one piece, still standing, and I’ll warn them. 

I continue repeating that sentence in my head over and over.  It becomes a rally cry as I slip through the forest.  But with each step I take, the challenges to my self-confidence are replaced by the sensation that I am not alone. 

I quiet my racing thoughts and focus every bit of my energy on the space surrounding me.  Every twig that snaps, every shuffle of leaves and stir of treetops sets my heightened senses on even higher alert.  I lower my stance to a crouch, clutching the hilt of my sword as I dash through the woods.  I swear I feel eyes on me.  But what I believe are the sounds of footsteps following me stop me dead in my tracks. I unsheathe my sword and spin around, ready to fight.  I expect to see the deadly, milky-eyed stare of an Urthman.  Instead, I see a plump rabbit watching me with oversized eyes that sit unusually close together on its face.  I take bold step toward it, warning it off.  It hops away, but not before unhinging its jaw, showcasing its impressive fangs, and hissing at me.

I contemplate running after it and adding rabbit to our boart feast later, but I do not have the time.  Each moment I am not moving is a moment wasted.  I slowly turn from the rabbit’s path and head to the lake. 

My run-in with the Urthmen the day before has shattered my feeble sense of safety.  Now, as I tread in unfamiliar territory, I feel an added element of fear.  I believe these woods could be overrun with Urthmen.  I quicken my pace and jog; thankful for the boart meat I ate this morning.  It supplies me with enough energy to continue until the sun is high overhead and the twisting vines underfoot become so dense and tangled that I must slow down.  As I do, I hear the river and know the lake is nearby.  My moment has come.

When I reach the edge of the woods, where the trees grow farther apart and the brush thins, I see them.  The family is out of their cave and sprinkled around the lake.  I must go to them.  It is the reason I came. 

I slide one foot forward, and it feels heavier than usual, unstable.  I am dizzy and nauseated.  I feel cold though it is warm.  My palms are damp and the base of my throat throbs in time with my racing heartbeat.  My mind wills my body to move, but my body is reluctant to cooperate.  I am a quivering bundle of contradicting signals.  I do not understand what is happening to me.  I have slain wild animals, have fought and killed mutant beasts known as Urthmen, but those tasks generated less of a physical response than my current undertaking.  I feel as if I may need to vomit.  I pull in a sharp breath of air in hopes it will have the same effect as before.  To my surprise, it doesn’t.  Instead, my legs are shaking violently.  So I do what has become typical of me in recent days.  I duck behind a hostile-looking bush and stay there to try to build my courage.

My cheeks burn.  I am embarrassed of my behavior.  The family’s safety depends on me alerting them that a threat is on the horizon.  I cannot let them die because I am a coward.  I will not live with more blood on my hands.

I stand, emboldened by the knowledge that lives depend on me.  I close my eyes briefly, and then take a step forward, then another, and another.  I keep going, putting one foot in front of the other, until I am at the shore of the lake.  I see all of them, the entire family.  Each of their heads whips in my direction.  I quickly raise my hands up, my palms facing outward, in surrender.  I do not want them to feel threatened.  I want to communicate that I will not do them harm. 

“Hello,” I say because I do not know what else to say.  I have not seen another human being in a long time.  My socialization has been limited to June in the last year. 

Glances volley from one person to the next, and though I have been consciously avoiding looking at the boy with the aquamarine eyes, I turn my head and meet his gaze. A small smile plays across his lips. 

My breath catches in my chest.  I wonder if he is smiling at me because he is happy to see me, or if I have done something stupid.  Thankfully, his mother’s voice yanks me from fretting about it.

“You can put your hands down,” she says.  “You are not a threat.”

I am not a threat; to them at least.  But if they only knew of my hunting and sparring skills, that I killed two Urthmen by myself just yesterday, the woman might have thought twice about counting me out in the threat department. 

“My name is Avery,” I begin, but my words are suddenly smothered by the woman’s shoulder when she wraps both arms around me and brings me in for a tight hug. 

“Avery,” she says my name aloud.  “You have a beautiful name befitting your beautiful face.” 

I wonder how she could possibly know what my face really looks like.  It is buried in the space between her neck and elbow, but I keep that detail to myself.  She sounds as though she may cry and I do not want to upset her further.  Especially since I do not know why she is so upset.  I am perplexed by her words and actions.  She hugged me and complimented me, yet she is sad.  I do not know what to do.  I stiffen a bit and she releases me. 

“Oh, gosh, I am so sorry,” she says.  She brushes back tears with the tips of her fingers.  “It has been so long since we’ve seen another.” 

“We haven’t seen another human in a few months,” the man whom I presume is her husband says.  “Kate is just so happy to see you.  We are all so happy to see you.”

I awkwardly shift my weight from one foot to the other as I blink back the hot tears that threaten unexpectedly. 

“Oh dear,” Kate says and shakes her head.  “You’ve introduced yourself and here we are not doing the same.  I guess that’s what isolation does to people,” she says. 

I smile tightly.  I know all too well about isolation.  But I do not speak.  I do not trust that my voice will hold up.  I feel eyes on me, and if they belong to whom I think they belong to, I do not want to risk breaking down in front of him. 

“I am Kate, and this is my husband, Asher.  And these are our children,” she begins.  “This is my daughter Riley and my sons Oliver,” she points to the smaller boy, “and Will.”

Will.  The boy I’ve been watching for the last two days is named Will.  I say his name in my head and each time my stomach flutters.  I inexplicably feel like twirling.  I don’t, of course.  I look from face to face and smile at the new people I’ve met.  I mutter something about being pleased to meet them as my dad instructed me was proper to do if or when I ever met another human.  But when I get to Will, my smile capsizes.  He looks directly into my eyes and heat creeps up my neck and spreads over my cheeks.  A boy has never looked at me the way Will is looking at me right now.  Probably because the last time I saw a boy my age was when I was eleven and lived in the village, and even then, I had not seen many boys at all. 

“Glad to meet you, Avery,” Will says. 

My heart sets off at a gallop.  I wonder if he can see it bashing my ribs, if it is causing my shirt to drum visibly.  I bite my lower lip and look at my feet.  I am grateful when his sister Riley starts talking.

“Avery, I am so glad you’re here.  Another girl makes things even. You can be my sister,” Riley’s eyes light up, and she bounces on the balls of her feet the way June does. 

“Uh, thanks,” I say self-consciously.

“Who says she’s staying?” Oliver asks unexpectedly. 

Kate and Asher’s glances shoot in Oliver’s direction.

“Oliver!” his mother says with obvious embarrassment.  “Say you are sorry.”

“No, don’t.  You don’t have to be sorry,” I say quickly.  “I am not staying.  And neither should you.  That is why I am here actually.”  I dive into my purpose of coming without thinking.

Five sets of eyes land on me. 

“What?  What are you talking about?” Kate asks.  Her soft brown eyes are fixed on mine.  She is crestfallen.  “Why would you want to be alone?”

I look at her and Asher then to the smaller children.  “Maybe we can talk somewhere else,” I say when my gaze returns to them. 

“Oh, I see,” Asher says and takes my rather obvious hint.  Then to the children he says cheerfully, “Can you two go to the cave and collect the clothes?  We need to start our chores.”

The children’s faces droop, but they take off toward the mouth of the cave before their father utters another word.  I smile at Asher and he smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.  Worry seems to be weighing down his face.

Kate folds her arms across her chest and Asher places a hand on her back.

“So what is it you need to speak with us about?” Kate asks with concern.

“Urthmen are here,” I answer and watch as my words transform their demeanors. 

“Urthmen?” Will repeats.  His voice makes my scalp tighten and tingle, even though it should not.  The circumstances are grave, but I am powerless to stop the effect his voice has on me.  His hands rocket to his hips, fists balled.  “How do you know?” he asks. 

“I saw them,” I say.  “I killed two in the woods right beyond this lake.”

Will cocks a brow, as if he doesn’t believe me.  A quick look at his parents tells me he is not alone in his doubt that I could kill not one, but two Urthmen. 

“You killed two Urthmen?” Asher asks.  I hear the disbelief in his voice and feel my temper flare ever so slightly.  I am not used to proving myself to anyone.  I am what I am, and that is not up for debate or question.  If I say I did something, I did it.  In the world we live in, exaggeration doesn’t possess a benefit.  If any other humans exist in other areas, they either have the skills to survive, or they do not.  The ones who do not are likely dead. 

My spine lengthens and my shoulders straighten.  “Yes, I did,” I say in a strong, clear voice. 

“But, uh, you are so small,” Kate says and looks embarrassed by her words. 

“My size means little.  My father trained me well.  I hunt each day for my sister and me, and have killed boarts as well as the two Urthmen yesterday.”

Kate, Asher, and Will look at me skeptically.

“Believe me or don’t believe me.  I know what I saw and I know what happened.  The Urthmen are dead. I would show you their bodies, but I am pretty sure Lurkers took care of them as soon as the sun went down last night.  I came here to warn you,” I say as annoyance blisters inside of me.  I am not accustomed to this kind of interaction, the exchanges of secret glances, and the subtle facial expressions that doubt my integrity.  “I also came to invite all of you to stay at the cave I share with my sister.  It is a quarter of a day’s walk from here, so I suggest you gather your things and come along.  Do not waste any time.  We need to go right away.”

I expect the three of them to begin moving and gathering their belongings, but they don’t.  They stand perfectly still as if they’re made of stone. 

I clear my throat, wondering whether I imagined what I just said to them. 

“Uh, you guys heard me just now, right?” I ask quietly. My stomach feels like a bag filled with snakes slithering and rolling over one another. 

“Yes, we heard you,” Kate says, and tilts her head to one side the way I do when June is melting down.  “But I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say thank you for the invite, but we’ll be fine here.”

Her words do not register in my brain right away.  I am dumbfounded by what I have just heard.  “What?” I ask and hope I was wrong, that I did not just hear her say she and her family plan to risk their lives and stay where they are with Urthmen afoot. 

“We are not going with you,” Asher says and I feel as if I have just been punched in the gut.  “We are safe here.”

His face is so smooth, so calm, as if what I’ve just told him is so absurd, he cannot not even react to it.  But it is true.  Two Urthmen had been close to their camp, too close.  I want to shake each of them and shout in their faces that they are being ridiculous, that they will be found and killed.  But if I did that, it would solidify any ideas they already have about me.  The best thing I can do now is walk away and put Kate, Asher, Oliver, Riley, and Will out of my thoughts. 

“I see,” I say, and do not mask my disappointment and shock.  “I hope you are heavily armed.” 

I stalk off toward the woods. Scalding tears stream down my cheeks.  I know their names, I have met them, but I wish I hadn’t.  Now I know more people who will die.

I am just past the area where I hid behind the bush when a voice calls out to me. 

“Avery!  Hey Avery, wait up!” Will exclaims.

“Quiet!” I hiss.  “Do you want to announce where you are?” I ask heatedly. 

His features rumple and he stops walking for a moment. 

“What do you want, Will?  Did you come to mock me as I leave?” I do not hide my frustration. 

“No,” he says.  “Nothing like that.  I just want to talk to you.”

He stops an arm’s length from me.  This close, I can see every detail of his face, the brilliant blue-green of his pale eyes, the dip of his upper lip just below his straight nose, and the smooth, even quality of his skin.  It looks as if it would feel like a rose petal.  Still, I am angry that he and his family treated me like a liar, and chose to stay and face certain death rather than listen to me. 

“What do you want to talk to me about?” I huff.  “Didn’t you and your parents say everything that needed to be said back there?”

“Why did you run from me yesterday? Why did you run away?”

I want to tell him I was afraid, that the thought of talking to him made me so nervous my legs froze, that I am still nervous, but the words die on my lips. 

“Turns out it was the right thing to do,” I say.  “I should never have come back.”

A pang of hurt flickers in his eyes.  I regret being so harsh.  I open my mouth to tell him I am sorry, but he speaks first.

“I am sorry about how my parents were, how I was, back there,” he says. 

I am too surprised by what he has said to respond right away.  My mouth is agape and an uncomfortable silence fills the space between us.  I consider bolting out of sight, but my legs are leaden once again. 

“You are?” I mumble. 

“Yes, I am,” he says and reaches out.  His fingertips graze my forearm and send a euphoric shock of bliss racing straight up my arm and down my back.  “You put yourself in grave danger to do the right thing, to come back here and warn us.”

“So you believe me?” I am mesmerized by the pastel azure and emerald in his eyes that undulate like waves in water. 

“I do,” he says and holds me with his gaze. 

“Then you need to talk to them.  You need to get them to leave as soon as possible.  It is not safe here.  The Urthmen I killed were here, just past where we are now, in broad daylight.  And if they were here, others know about the area, they know about you.”

A crease forms between Will’s brows as the weight of my words settles on him.  A small muscle by his jaw flexes. 

“Please,” I continue.  “Get your family out of here.”

“I will.  I’ll convince them,” he says.  “I do not want to be like the others we’ve met over the years.

“Others?”

“Yes, the other humans we have met.”

“You have met other humans?” I feel my eyebrows rocket toward my hairline.

“Yes, we traveled for a long time before we settled here and saw many like us, colonies, in fact.  But the ones we found hid and kept to themselves for the most part.  They are killed off regularly.”  Will frowned.  “I think that’s why my parents are so hesitant about leaving.  This is the first real home we’ve had, and it’s close to the river and lake.  We have everything we need here.  It’s much better than what most have.”

“I understand,” I say.  I want to tell him about the village I lived in, about my mother and father, about June.  There is so much I want to say, but time is ticking.  I need to hurry back before night falls.  My journey is long. I wish I could stay here for hours, gazing at Will and exchanging stories.  But I can’t.  “I have to leave.  I have to get home before the sun sets.”

Will’s shoulders sag.  I would have missed it if I weren’t so focused on everything about him.  I saw the small change in his posture.  I wonder whether he is disappointed that I am leaving.  The idea makes my insides teem like a full beehive. 

“Oh,” Will says.  “So this is it?  This is the end of our, uh, you know, meeting each other?” he says nervously. 

“No,” I say and surprise both of us.  “I’ll come back tomorrow. I’ll see if you’ve convinced them to go.  If they decide to come with me, they will need me to lead the way to the cave I share with my sister.”

Will’s lips collapse to form a hard line.  “Is it safe for you to come back?”

“According to your family, yes, it is,” I say bitterly, and as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. 

He stares at his feet then, he glances at me through a thick fringe of dark lashes. 

“I’ll be as cautious as I was today,” I say.  “I am always careful.  My sister is young.  She needs me.  I am all she has.”

“And you risked yourself to come here and warn us.” His voice is thick with apology.

“Yes,” I say honestly.  “I did.”  My words hang in the air between us for several beats.  “I must go.” I tell him again.

I turn and begin to walk away from Will. 

“What is her name?”

“Who?” I twist and ask.

“Your sister, what is your sister’s name?”

“June.  Her name’s June and she is about the same age as Riley,” I say with a half-smile. 

Will’s face brightens.  “Tell June I say hello, okay?”

“I will,” I reply.

I turn and resume walking.  I sense Will’s eyes on me and feel my cheeks flush.  My trip was not a success by the standards I set forth when I left, but I am pleased, nevertheless.  In fact, I smile so broadly my cheeks hurt.  I replay every word he spoke, how he looked when he talked, and most importantly, the moment when he touched my arm.  Though brief, the contact was like lightning bolting beneath my skin, exhilarating and delightful.  My entire body shivers like leaves in the wind.  I have no recollection of ever being touched by another human who was not related to me.  Will was the first.  I wonder what it would feel like to touch him back, to run my fingers over the lean cords of muscle that twine up his forearm.  I hope to find out, and that hope twists in my chest. 

Hope is dangerous.  Humans are an endangered species.  Still, I find myself indulging in it, imagining a future, a life with Will in it.  Even if my hope is futile, I enjoy it while I walk.  The distance seems smaller and time passes quicker as a result.  I have not prepared for how I’ll tell June about the family’s rejection of my offer.  I do not know what I’ll say or how I’ll tell her that I plan to go back there for a fourth day in a row, knowing fully that Urthmen have infiltrated our safety.  I am certain of only two things: I’ll pass along Will’s message; I’ll share his greeting with her.  And I’ll go back to him in the morning.

Chapter 10

I walk along and feel as if my feet are barely touching the earth as I make my way back to the cave to June.  A smile continually tugs at the corners of my mouth.  I keep picturing Will, the way his eyes glowed against his tan skin and nearly black eyelashes, the way his lips moved when he spoke.  Just remembering the sound of his voice sends a wave of tingles from my scalp straight down my neck to my arms.  Goose bumps appear on my skin though the midday sun is sweltering.  I am happy in a way I have never been before.  I cannot wait to return to the lake, to Will, in the morning.

Despite my happiness, though, I remain vigilant.  My eyes continue to scan the surrounding woods.  And the sensation that I am being watched returns.  Only this time, it is more than just a paranoid concern.  I feel eyes on me.  Someone or something is drilling their gaze right into me.  I am sure of it.  The realization drains any excitement I’ve been feeling. 

I slow my pace and examine the area before me.  I see nothing, not even the slightest movement stirs the leaves.  I turn and look toward the direction I just came from.  I study the dense bushes for any sign of disturbance, but again, I see nothing.  Everything looks as it did.  I begin to wonder whether I am imagining things.  For a moment, I try to convince myself that I am, that my overwhelming excitement has sent my senses into overdrive.  But no matter how hard I try to tell myself that, I still have the feeling, the heaviness of being a target.  I feel as if I am being stalked.

Awareness slinks down the length of my limbs and the fine hairs on my body stand up at attention.  I am being hunted.

My hand reaches behind me slowly.  The rustle and swish of branches causes me to grip the hilt of my sword.  I stop walking and listen.  Above the caw of birds and the chirp and scurry of chipmunks, I hear heavy footfalls.  I silently unsheathe my sword and hold it out in front of me, gripping it with both hands. 

My heart is banging against my ribs and a rivulet of sweat trickles between my shoulder blades and slips down to the small of my waist as I wait for whatever or whoever has been tracking me to make an appearance. 

“Come out!” I shout as the stress of waiting to be confronted takes its toll on me.  “Come out and face me!  I know you’re there!”

I do not get a verbal response, but hear a throaty huff instead, and every cell in my body floods with adrenaline.  I am under attack.  Urthmen are undoubtedly positioned and poised to ambush me at any given moment. 

I squeeze the handle of my sword.  Every muscle in my body is tense.  I take two wary steps on the path I’ve been on, but halt when the sound of crunching twigs echoes through the ether.  I stiffen and look in the direction of the sound.  Low-growing bushes part.  Prickly fronds shift, and I move in for a closer look. 

Cautiously, I approach the cluster of spiny plants.  As I do, I see a large snout jutting among the tangled mess of branches.  The snout is connected to a boart, but not just any boart.  This one looks familiar.  I saw it just a day earlier, the one I assumed was the boartling’s mother, the boartling June had killed.  I recognize the unmistakable swath of black fur that interrupts the otherwise all-brown coat. 

Small, closely set eyes glare at me, and saliva drips from its wide mouth, over pointed tusks that protrude like deadly spikes.  A bristly tuft of fur at its nape stands on end and quivers like quills and it grunts first then emits a sound that can only be described as a wail.  The sound freezes the blood in my veins and I clutch my sword, ready to act.  The boart bursts from the brush, charging at full speed.  I do not have time to stab it so I take the only other option I am left with.  I dive out of the way, narrowly avoiding being gored by her lethal teeth. 

I nearly lose my sword when my body meets with the hard ground.  I roll to my side and scramble onto my hands and knees then spring to my feet. 

The boart stops abruptly and turns.  Her eyes lock on me and suddenly, the feeling I had earlier and then again a moment ago gels.  I was not being hunted by Urthmen.  I was being stalked by an angry mother boart.  She is avenging the death of the boartling, her boartling, June killed yesterday.  Though the notion seems farfetched, it is the only likely one.  Boarts do not simply attack unprovoked.  At least they never have before.  I also thought that rabbits did not attack.  Apparently, I know less than I thought about the new, ever-evolving animal kingdom.

The boart rotates her bulky shoulders and scuffs her hoof against the earth.  Her eyes narrow to gashes, and then she lets out a guttural cry and charges me again.

I sheathe my sword just before I turn and put my head down and take off.  I push my legs as hard as I can, demanding they run faster than ever before.  Thin branches whip my face and thorny vines lash my legs.  But I do not care.  A boart is after me, hoping to impale me with its massive tusks. 

I glance over my shoulder and see her hefty form barreling down on me.  Her back is almost as tall as I am, and her tusks match the length of my arm from elbow to wrist.  If she sticks me with one of them, I am dead. 

The terrifying reality of my predicament propels me forward.  But my speed is no match for the boart.  She is faster, stronger.  Out of desperation, I dip behind a tree and watch her blaze past me.  But the moment she becomes aware of what I have done, she skids to a stop.  I do not waste a second of precious time and bolt in a different direction.  I attempt to dart through thick, interlocked growth, but the patch is closely packed and makes running difficult. 

I hear the grunt of the boart and see that she is tearing after me, plowing a path through the solid foliage.  I cannot fight the boart as it charges me.  Even if I stab it, I’ll be hit and killed for sure.  Without any other choice, I run from her.

My feet slap against the dirt as I sprint, but my effort is useless.  She is gaining on me.  A quick glance over my shoulder confirms as much.  And when my gaze returns to the path I am headed on, I see I am at the top of a steep ridge.  I do not remember climbing a hill as I traveled to the lake.  But then I also did not have a boart that probably quadrupled my weight and nearly matched my height on my heels.  I try to turn and avoid the sharp descent, as well as getting hopelessly lost in the forest, when my foot snags on an exposed root that pokes out from the soil.  I stumble and find myself tumbling down the embankment full speed. 

Pain erupts across my flesh, blasting against my body like hot coals, as I plunge faster and faster.  My left side topples over a sharp stone.  I scream, unable to harness the agony in my ribs, and still, I am falling.  I clutch my head in my hands to protect it and feel my forearms being shredded by rocks and sharp branches.  At the base of the mound, the terrain lips and hurls me into the air.  I expect to smash into a boulder or tree trunk and break every bone in my body, but I am surprised when I land against a spongy surface that absorbs my weight and rebounds it so that I bounce, springy and in midair. 

I look up, grateful that I did not crash into a boulder or tree trunk, only to see the boart careening down the ridge.  It is heading right for me.  Suddenly, I think I would have been better off having my bones shattered by the boulder or the tree rather than being demolished by the largest boart I have ever seen.  I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, bracing for the impact.  All the while, images of June and Will and the life I would miss flash in my mind’s eye. 

I am shocked when the boart lands just a leg’s length from me.  It sticks to the flexible material I am leaning against, hovering above the ground.  It squeals and flails and appears to be stuck, but I can barely hear or see its tantrum.  I am panting and crying and mumbling all at once, tears blurring my vision.  I try to move my hand to my face to rub my eyes, but feel resistance.  My skin is being tugged.  My arm is stuck.  I wriggle and twist, trying to free my arm, but my entire body is stuck to the squishy net-like structure that prevented me from launching into the woods.  I feel my sword sliding around at my back.  I want to be still but can’t stop the panicked squirming of my body.  I attempt to kick my legs and use my heels to free myself, but my movements are a waste of time.  A loud clang, the distinct sound of metal clashing with rock, and the immediate loss of weight at my back means my sword has dropped to the ground below.  Held by the gummy meshwork and stripped of my sword, I am frightened.  I frantically search all around me.  My head is not connected to the tacky substance, so I am able to look beneath me and above me. 

Sunlight filters through treetops and illuminates the odd pearlescent threads that crisscross intricately between two sizable trees.  When it does, it reveals I am trapped in a net of some sort, a web.  Overhead, I see bones, many bones arranged neatly, that resemble the skeleton of a boart. 

My mind struggles to think of what could have created the sticky snare I am caught in.  Urthmen come to mind.  Perhaps they’d fashioned this to capture humans.  Maybe this is what the two I killed yesterday built and I just caught them as they were leaving.  Thoughts spin in my brain, burrowing into murkiness faster than a grub burrowing into soil.  If that is true, if Urthmen built the web, then June is in danger.  My eyes are wild as they roam the web for weakness.  But the terrified glimpse of the complexity involved in its construction makes me think the Urthmen would not be intelligent enough to make something so elaborate. 

I curl my torso forward and pull with all my might, trying to separate from the sticky mesh.  But all that happens is the skin on my back stretches and pulls, hopelessly stuck.  I cannot budge.  Angry shrieks and protests from the boart remind me that it is also trapped.  It flails and fights but is not strong enough to free itself.  It is a powerful beast, much tougher and much stronger than I am.  Yet it, too, is ensnared.  My situation is far worse than I ever dreamed possible.  I’ll either die at the hands of whatever has me trapped, or I’ll die at the hands of a Lurker.  Either way, I’ll die this day.  And what’s worse is June will not be able to roll the boulder in place and cover the opening of the cave to secure herself.  She will be wide open, a midnight treat for Lurkers.  She has been issued a death sentence. 

Tears rain from my eyes and stream down my cheeks.  I cannot bear the thought of June being butchered by a Lurker.  I twist and pull again, and this time it is not the boart’s cry that pierces the forest.  It is mine. 

I remain bound to the web until the sun sags low in the sky.  One arm has lost feeling.  It has been perched over my head since I first landed here.  The rest of my body aches from the fall and holding my awkward position.  But none of that even matters now.  If I make it out of the web alive by some stroke of luck, I’ll never make it back by nightfall.  I’ll be dead before sunrise one way or another.  I allow my chin to fall to my chest and close my eyes, when a quiver on one of the strands I am stuck to vibrates.  I see something moving at the base of the web.  The bushes shimmy.  I strain my eyes to see what is coming, to finally meet my awful fate, and when I do, I learn that nothing I have seen in either reality or my worst nightmares has prepared me for the sight before me.  Shock prevents my gaze from leaving the creature that slowly scuttles onto the lowest fiber of the web. 

Armed with eight leathery looking legs with prominent joints that bend and flex as it creeps, and a fleshy body sectioned into two defined segments, both coated in tawny fur, the being makes its way up the silken thread.  The closer it looms, the clearer my vision of it becomes.  An insect face with five amber, feline eyes watches the boart.  Its body is as long as mine only much thicker.  Bulky, pronounced muscles flex as it walks.  I want to scream, but the sound is smothered by my heart firmly wedged in my throat.  I am thankful for that, because the boart is shrieking and carrying on.  All the sound and motion seems to be encouraging the beast. 

The spindly legs of the creature reach the lower half of the boart.  The enormous boart thrashes again, but like me, it is attached solidly.  All the while it cries and screeches as the creature reaches its head.  The creature perches its colossal form atop the boart and rears the upper sector of its body.  Each of its five eyes is a bottomless pit of doom.  Its mouth opens and two huge fangs, glistening with a thick, iridescent substance, extend from the roof of its mouth.  It lowers its mouth to the boart’s neck, then in one lightning-fast motion, it buries its fangs into the boarts throat. 

The boart yelps and cries.  It is the most awful, anguished sound I have ever heard an animal make.  I am sickened as small whimpers pass through my lips.  The boart is in agony.  But the more the boart howls, the longer the creature’s fangs seem to grow.  My eyes widen in horror when I see their tips poke through the other side of the boart’s neck coated in red.  The boart stops moving, and the fangs retract suddenly.  The creature backs up slowly.  Its golden eyes are now on me.  It scurries off the boart unhurriedly, watching me with the eyes of a skilled predator.  It takes every bit of restraint I have to keep from screaming.  I know screaming will not help me any more than the boart’s cries helped it.  Instead, I feverishly try to free myself. 

My entire body trembles, as the milky filaments all around me quake.  I pull my arm, wrenching my shoulder until it feels as if it will separate from my body altogether.  But I do not care.  Anything will be better than enduring what the boart endured.  I tug and yank.  Skin stretches to its limit, but I ignore the pain.  I continue to pull with strength I never knew I had as the beast draws nearer.  My skin starts to tear from my forearm and I am flooded with a sick sense of relief.  The stinging is torturous.  I can’t stop though.  If I do, I am going to die.  And I don’t want to die, not like this.  I’ll die fighting. 

With a sickening rip, my skin breaks free of the sticky web. 

My forearm is raw and bleeding when I feel the first of the beast’s legs begin to make their way up my body.  With a shaking hand coated in my own blood, I reach for the dagger I keep sheathed at my thigh and wield it just as the beast’s face is at my chest.  I thrust the tip of my blade upward and lodge it deep into the lower section of its torso and twist.  I cry out the primitive cry of a warrior and it screeches as well.  Warmth gushes over my hand.  I look down and see bright-yellow goo pouring over it.  I withdraw my dagger and stab the creature in one of its golden eyes.  It howls out again, and the points of its fangs begin to lengthen.  If they appear fully, I will not survive the speed and deadliness of a strike. 

My body is slick with sweat and I am panting and crying at the same time, gore and the pus-like substance covering me.  It is lowering its mouth closer and closer to my face.  With every inch of space that is closed, my mind centers on thoughts of June, sweet, innocent June who will die because of me.  I pull the blade from its eye and, with no room left to shove it, I am trapped, waiting to have my throat pierced by the razor-sharp incisors suspended just above my jugular.

“I am sorry, June,” I sob as the creature drops against me. 

“Oh, oh my gosh,” I am gasping and wheezing as the beast collapses so close to me its blade-like teeth nick my shoulder. 

I laugh and cry and feel a spurt of warmth saturate my torso.  I have killed it.

Covered in sludgy gook and with the creature on top of me, I use my dagger to slice the web that my upper body rests against.  The spongy mesh immediately gives way and I begin to plummet.  But before I plunge to the ground with the creature on my chest, a crushing death for sure, the sticky network of threads clings to my legs and the massive beast rolls from my chest and tumbles to the ground below.  I am left suspended upside down, knowing that I must cut my legs free, that I’ll drop on my head.  I curl my aching body forward and slash at the web to free the rest of me.  I go down hard and hit a branch before my head and upper body takes the brunt of my fall.  My neck and back complain.  A patch of my skin has been torn from my body and my entire body feels banged up.  I also smell fouler than anything I have ever smelled.  But those are the least of my problems.  The pinkish-orange glow of the setting sun surrendering to twilight is.  I am far from home, off any path I have ever traveled to make it to the lake, and darkness is almost here. 

I scramble to my feet and race for my sword before taking off in a full sprint toward the cave, toward June.  I race against my battered body.  I race against time itself.  I hope against hope that I win.  My life and June’s life depend on it. 

Chapter 11

The muscles in my legs ache as I challenge them and clamber up the steep embankment I fell down earlier.  I must push off with my toes while I use my hands to stabilize myself, digging into the loose earth with both.  I am hungry and thirsty and drained of all strength, but I cannot stay where I am.  I cannot let myself die.  I need to get to June. 

I move as quickly as I can and make it up the ridge.  I do not slow as I glance quickly from one direction to the next.  I must assess my position fast.  Time is running out.  I am uncertain of my exact location and am forced to choose without true consideration.  I cannot survey the area and find my tracks to follow back.  I think of my father and wish he were with me.  His face flashes in my mind’s eye along with June’s as I turn and race in the direction I hope is a familiar one, the one that leads back to the cave. 

Day is surrendering to dusk, and the sky is a pale shade of violet.  It is a lovely color I have never seen before, and never want to see again, not alone in the middle of the woods as I am now. 

I pump my arms as I run.  Wind rushes in my face and is the only relief I feel.  There is not a part of me that doesn’t hurt.  My heart is beating so fast I hear it echoing in my ears.  Branches slash my arms and legs, and vines tug at my feet as I run for my life.  A stitch stings my ribs and demands that I slow, but slowing is not an option.  I continue, my feet pacing my heart. 

I pass a clustering of poisonous berry bushes and feel confident I have seen them before, on my hike to the lake.  The sight is welcome.  It means I am heading in the right direction.  Time still remains a problem though.  The last rays of sunlight bleed around the horizon line as it is devoured by the landscape.  As the sky deepens in color, the likelihood of me being swarmed by a pack of hungry Lurkers increases with it.

Panic has me in its grips.  Trees reach with darkened, skeletal arms.  I cannot tell which limbs belong to trees and which belong to something else entirely.  I have slowed.  So much time has passed, too much time. 

I am getting close to home.  I am approaching the small clearing at the outskirts of our cave.  I try to run faster.  Home is so close I can almost smell the mossy, piney scent that hangs heavily just outside the opening of the cave, the same scent I breathe in every morning.  I want to breathe it again.  I want to survive this night and many after it.  I don’t want to die. 

I am only several hundred paces away from the cave when I see the first Lurker make its appearance.  My pulse races frenziedly before spluttering to a near halt and plunging to my feet.  It slinks from behind a spruce tree.  I see its eyes first; it’s deadly, closely set eyes.  They are an eerie, iridescent color that glows against the darkening sky.  It sees me, I am sure.  I feel its lethal gaze trained on me, burning into my flesh.  I do not know what to do.  Lurkers hunt in large packs.  My father told me that long ago they were called wolves, and they used to walk on all fours, and that their bodies had been shaped differently.  Now they walk on two legs.  And they are never alone.  Their bodies look human in form, only with more muscles than I have ever seen a human have. 

As I watch the Lurker, I realize I have slowed.  Its glittering eyes are mesmeric, and also the reason it cannot hunt during daylight hours.  They cannot handle bright light.  I tear my gaze from it, terrified that it may strike suddenly, and look ahead.  I see the cave.  June is standing outside of it.  She is looking at me.  Thankfully, she is smart enough to be silent, to not call out to me.  She knows they would descend on her if she were to do that. 

I turn and run in the direction I just came from.  I know it could be suicide, that if the half-formed plot I’ve hatched fails, I’ll be offering myself up to them readily.  But I need to try.  I need to do something to try to save us both.  I slide under a bush and hold my breath, waiting, watching for the approach of Lurkers.

Lurkers are not bright animals by any means.  They are incapable of speaking and higher cognitive functioning.  The only thing that motivates them is hunger, constant and insatiable hunger.  My father once said that their brains had not evolved at the same rate as their bodies.  They are more cunning than Urhmen, but their intelligence doesn’t compare to that of a human, or even an Urthman.  I hope what my father has told me is accurate, that I am not just a meal beneath a bush waiting to be feasted on. 

When I see ten sets of feet shuffle past me, my spirit is buoyed slightly.  They have followed the trail they thought I took.  But they will not follow it for long.  I keep this in mind as I slide from the bush and dart toward the cave.

I do not need to look back to know that they have turned back and are now behind me.  I hear the swish of grass and brush beneath their feet as they lope after me with animal grace.  Trees and bushes stir and I know more are joining in the hunt. 

In the distance, I hear a sound, a low rolling that echoes through the trees.  Faint at first, it grows louder fast, and more distinct.  Like innumerable hooves beating the earth beneath it, the noise thrums through me in time with my heartbeat, a pounding that sounds as though hundreds of boarts are racing toward me.  I would welcome a herd of angry boarts over the bloodthirsty packs of Lurkers determined to tear me limb from limb. 

I am afraid to turn and look behind me.  I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead.  I see June. 

June is within my reach.  I get to her in time to watch her eyes widen in terror before she dives inside the cave.  I am squeezing through the narrow opening when I look up.  My breath catches in my chest as I see them.  Dozens of menacing shapes are visible, dozens of eyes glowing hungrily.  Manes of golden hair that match the paleness of their gleaming eyes billow in the breeze, and impressive paw-like feet with long, lethal talons tear at the ground with each stride they take, rushing toward the cave.  They are monstrous, hideous beasts.  And they are racing toward us. 

I shove myself through the tight opening.

“Help me!  Hurry up!  Help me roll it now!”  I bark orders at June.

She is as still as a stone for a brief moment.

“June!” I shriek.

Her body jars into action, and she springs to her feet and begins pushing the boulder into place. 

The beasts are so close I can see saliva dangling from their sizable jaws as I push the boulder with every last drop of strength I have.  Terror rockets through me, jolting my system as if lightning has passed through my veins.  The thunderous clatter of the Lurkers’ approach grows deafening.  They emit spine-tingling howls.  The sight and sound of them is a nightmarish vision.

“Come on! Come on!” I cry as I clumsily wedge the first of several logs around the boulder.  My hands shake violently, and my legs feel as if they are made of sponge. 

Though the sloped edges of the base of the logs are wedged beneath the boulder and the tops are flush against the wall of the cave, I feel faint resistance on the other side of the rock. 

“Oh my gosh,” June begins sobbing. 

“No, no, no!” I exclaim.  I use both feet and every ounce of will to live to hold the boulder still, to prevent the monsters from moving it before all the logs are in place.  My back is pressed against the rough stone, straining.  “June!  Get the last wedged in now!”  My voice is shrill and foreign to my own ears.

June does as she’s told.  The last log is fixed in place.  I am reluctant to drop my legs.  They tremble from nerves and effort.

The howling outside gives way to throaty hissing that curdles the blood inside me.  The Lurkers are just outside the cave.  One is attempting to push the boulder, trying to get inside. 

My mind spirals in a thousand different directions.  I do not know what to do.  I know the opening of our cave is only big enough for one Lurker at a time so they can’t all push at once.  The logs wedged in place would be impossible to break.  Still, I do not feel comforted by our defense, but there is nothing more I can do.  I lower my knees and bring them to my chest.  I collapse to the floor of the cave and take my head in my hands.  The fate of my sister and me rests with the stars I’ve never seen. 

I feel every emotion I did not have the luxury of releasing well inside me, rising like floodwaters.  The first tear that rains begins a deluge that cascades down my cheeks.  I cannot remember the last time I cried in front of June.  For once, I do not try to hide it.  I do not feel weakened or embarrassed by my tears.  I simply let them fall.  My chest heaves and makes my whole body throb, but I do not deny myself this release.  I glance at June.  She is undoubtedly stunned by everything she has seen and is seeing.  I do not blame her.  I am pretty shocked myself.  I realize my appearance is likely contributing to her fright.  A quick look at my hands reveals they are caked in filth of every sort.  Dirt, blood, and the eight-legged monster’s sludgy gore are caked all over me from the neck down.  My cheeks have likely been sliced by more branches and thorny limbs than I want to know about.  I am a bloody fright, a fact that is not lost on June. 

“Avery, what happened to you?”  Her voice trembles, but at least she isn’t sobbing as I am.  I wonder whether she is in shock. 

I tell her what happened, about Will and his family, about the mother boart chasing me, about falling down the steep hill, about landing in the web, and about the eight-legged beast.  I tell her everything in as much detail as I can remember.  The days of withholding information are over. 

Several times throughout my recollection, her hands cover her mouth and she gasps.  The sounds are muffled, though.  The yelping and hissing beyond our cave continues and drowns her out.  We both keep looking to the boulder, half expecting Lurkers to burst through at any moment.  I am trembling uncontrollably.  The day’s events have crashed over me with the force of a tidal wave and are pulling me down, sinking me. 

When I finish recounting my day, when every last word has been choked out, I see that June is crying softly.  She looks more frightened than ever before.  Still, she is holding up better than I am. 

“Those cuts and bruises look painful,” June says gently.  I am surprised by how composed she sounds. 

“They are,” I mumble through sniffles.

June stands and slowly walks to the far corner of the cave.  She moves several bags and retrieves a backpack.  She brings the pack over to me, then sits and begins rifling through it.  She pulls out gauze pads, bandages and a tube. 

“Let’s get you fixed up,” she says and begins using the supplies my father risked his life to take from the village we used to live in. 

He returned multiple times after the settlement had been sacked by Urthmen.  He made dangerous trip after dangerous trip to stockpile as much medical supplies and clothing as he could.  I am thankful that he did.  They come in handy as June squeezes ointment from a tube directly onto the raw flesh of the skinless patch on my forearm.

I wince when the salve touches it.

“Sorry, Avery, I know it hurts,” June says soothingly.  Her hands shake as the baying beyond the boulder is accompanied by frenzied snarling and scraping.  The sound chills me to my bones.  “I don’t know if this stuff is any good,” she continues, her voice is as unsteady as her hands.  “But I remember Dad saying it prevents infections.” 

“I remember him saying that too,” I say and watch as she dresses my arm. 

When it is wrapped, she looks up at me and says, “What are we going to do, Avery?”

I take a deep breath.  I cannot imagine doing anything at present.  Not with packs of bloodthirsty Lurkers howling just beyond our home.  But I know I must plan for the future.  I must think about tomorrow.  The sun will rise again and drive the beasts back to their lairs. 

“Tomorrow morning, we are going back to the lake to speak with Kate, Asher, and Will.  We’ll see if they have realized that they are not safe and hopefully they will come back with us.”

“We?  Us?” June picks up that I have included her in my plan to visit the lake. 

“Yes, June,” I say and look directly into her eyes.  “I’ll never leave you here alone again.”

“Are you serious?” June asks.  Tears spill from her eyes. 

“Yes,” I reply.  “I see now that it’s even more dangerous to leave you by yourself.  I’ve been wrong all along, thinking I’ve been protecting you from what is out there.”  I am barely able to get the words out.  My throat is thick and tight.  “I’ve left you alone and scared,” I say, and wipe my eyes, but it is useless to try to clear the steady stream of tears flowing.  I don’t know why I bother.  I guess old habits are hard to break.  Keeping my true feelings from June is another major mistake I have made along the way.  Maybe she needs to see me for who I really am.  Maybe she needs to see my tears, hear of my worries and fears.

“I am so sorry, June,” I say.  A fresh set of sobs racks my body.  I am sorry for leaving you here, scared and alone.  I am sorry I tried to keep everything from you.”  I swallow hard. 

“No, Avery,” June says.  “Don’t you dare be sorry for doing what you thought was right.  You were trying to protect me.”  She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes.  The hug, though physically painful, is the best feeling in the world.  We hold each other for several moments.  When June drops her arms, I allow mine to fall too. 

The Lurkers continue their loud wailing.  The sound claws at my insides like sharpened blades.  The threat of violence quivering through the air is simply too much for me to handle. 

“We’re safe, right?” June asks.  Her eyes are wide and pleading.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.  “I don’t know if we are safe here anymore.”

I watch as June wrings her hands in front of her.  “I know,” she whispers.

“The Lurkers know we’re in here now.  They know where we are.  And they will come back.  They crave our flesh and blood.”  Dread, unlike any I have ever experienced slithers down my spine.  “Their hunger is what motivates them.  It’s only a matter of time before they figure out a way to get in.”

Speaking the unabashed truth is harder than I thought it would be.  June cries and my gut twists.  Seeing her hurt and fearful and knowing I am responsible is difficult.  The reality of our circumstances, the gravity of our situation, is harsh.  I know now that she needs to be aware of it.  I draw her into my arms and hold her tight. 

“We may need to find a new place to live,” I murmur into her hair.  This makes her sob harder, but she needs to know.  She needs to be prepared to make a change.  She has lived in our cave for most of her life.  A move would be a tremendous upheaval. But if it means our lives will be saved, she will have no other choice than to learn to accept it.  “Maybe we’ll find a place with Will and his family,” I say and stroke her hair.

“But where would we go?” June asks.  “Where is safe?”

“I don’t know, June,” I reply. I wish I had an answer.  I wish I knew of a place free of Urthmen and Lurkers and eight-legged fiends.  I can’t even imagine such a place.  It is the stuff of daydreams, of whimsy.  My father told me that once upon a time, the Earth was a place where dreams could come true, where monsters did not roam and Urthmen did not exist, where safety, food, and shelter were things most people took for granted.  I cannot envision the world as he said it was.  But I would do just about anything to travel back in time, to see June safe and free. 

I do not let go of June as the night wears on.  I rest her head against my shoulder and cup my hand over her ear, trying to block out the awful sound of the Lurkers’ calls.  We doze off and on for short periods of time throughout the night.  All the while we wish for the infernal racket to end, we wish for peace.

Chapter 12

I open my eyes to see sunlight sifting through tiny crevices around the boulder.  The sight, along with the silence it brings with it, is welcome.  I blink several times.  My eyes are puffy and bleary from crying and spending much of the night awake.  June is slumped across me with her head on my lap and my legs are numb.  I napped lightly while sitting exactly where I am while Lurkers scratched and snarled just outside our cave.

I give June a gentle shake.  I need her to wake.  We have a long trip ahead of us.  We’ll both be exhausted, I am sure, but we have to go.  We have to convince Will and his parents that they are in danger. 

“June,” I whisper and jiggle her shoulders.  “June,” I try a little louder.

She wakes with a start and her head rockets up.  “They’ve pushed in the boulder!” she gasps.  Her eyes are darting from one side to the next. 

“No, no, June,” I say and rub her back.  “We are okay.  It is morning.  They are gone,” I try to calm her.  “The Lurkers are gone for now.”

“Oh gosh,” she breathes, still rattled.  “We made it through the night?” she asks more than says.  “Yes, we did,” I tell her.  “And now we’ll take our trip.”

A slow smile spreads across her face. 

“But before we go anywhere, we need to wash and eat.”

“That sounds like a good idea.  Especially since some of us need to wash more than others,” she says and crinkles her nose at me. 

A hysterical chuckle surges and brims unexpectedly.  My nerves are frayed and it takes effort to subdue it.

“Who?  Me?” I ask with pretend confusion.

June nods and twists her mouth to one side to suppress a giggle.  She seems to be afflicted with the same panic-induced humor as me.

“Are you saying I don’t look my best?” I tease. 

A giggle slips from June’s lips.  “Yes, that’s exactly what I am saying.” Then she doubles over laughing. 

“Hey!” I say with exaggerated offense.  “How rude!”

“I am doing you a favor,” June says between chuckles.  “You can’t let that family by the lake see you looking like that.” She points at my dirty clothes and matted hair. 

“What do you mean?  I look fabulous,” I say in a silly voice.

June snorts then her laughter starts anew.  “I-I don’t know, Avery,” she says between pants.  “Would Will like the way you look right now?”

I do not respond.  The mere mention of Will makes my stomach feel filled with insects, all beating their wings at once. 

June doesn’t notice that I have gone quiet.  She keeps teasing me.  “In fact, if he saw you now, he would probably run away,” she says and continues to laugh. 

I take her words lightly.  She is right, after all.  I would probably run from me if I were to see myself as I look now.

“All right, wise guy,” I shake my head.  “That’s enough.  I get it.  I am gross.  Now let’s go to the river and get clean already.”

I stand sluggishly.  Movement causes pain in varying degrees of severity to explode throughout my body.  I groan involuntarily. The surge of twinges is overwhelming. 

June’s smile dissolves.  “Avery, let me help you.” She springs to her feet, cups my elbow with one hand, and pulls me up with the other. 

“Thanks,” I say as I straighten my posture.  “I am okay.”

I hobble to the logs and begin dragging them away.  Though I know Lurkers sleep during the day, a part of me fears we’ll move the boulder and come face to face with the wide-mouthed muzzle of one of them.  I try to force the worry to the back of my brain.  We need to wash, eat, and leave as soon as possible.  I do not want a repeat of last night.  I expect that they will be at our cave again tonight, but I do not want to lay eyes on a Lurker ever again as long as I live.  I shudder just thinking about their vicious faces. 

June rushes to my side to help.  We clear the logs then roll the boulder to the side.  I peek out of the cave before taking a tentative step forward.  My eyes sweep the surrounding area.  I do not see any Lurkers, but I smell them.  The acrid stench of their urine fills the air and replaces the mossy, piney scent that normally greets me when I leave my home.  The Lurkers have ruined it.  They have marked the territory.  I fear the act guarantees their return.

June pinches her nose.  “Ugh!  It stinks out here.  What is that smell?”

“Pee. The Lurkers have peed all around the cave.  They’ve marked where we are so they can track the scent.”

“And come back,” June says somberly. 

“Yes,” I whisper.  “I think they will be back.”

June’s eyes shine with unshed tears.  I feel like crying as well, but I do not dare.  I do not want my eyes to swell more than they already have.  I blink back the moisture feverishly. 

“Come on,” I grip her hand.  “Let’s go get ourselves clean.  I don’t want to send the whole family scattering,” I say, trying to remind her of her joke earlier. 

She smiles feebly and nudges my arm with her shoulder.

We make our way to the river.  The cool water feels good against most of my cuts and bruises.  I begin removing the bandages from my arm.  As I peel away the gauze pad, I see how raw and angry looking the tender flesh is where the skin tore from it when I pulled my arm free from the web.  I splash water on it and wince as soon as droplets touch the wound.  But I must clean it as best I can despite the agony it causes me.  I do not know what poison the spidery beast had running through its veins.  I was forced to spend the night with its vile fluid seeping into my pores.  I do not want it on me a moment longer.  I scrub my skin, all but the wound, with spongy moss until it is a rosy pink.  I scrub my scalp with my fingertips, then comb my fingers through the knots. 

When I feel sufficiently purged of the web ordeal from the day before, I dress and make my way back to the cave.  June follows and is carrying an aloe leaf.  Before we eat, she cracks opens the fleshy gray-green leaf, careful to avoid its serrated edges and small white teeth.  She holds the opened side over my wound and allows its clear contents to trickle over the inflamed skin, then wraps it in a loose dressing. 

“What about the ointment?” I ask her.  “Shouldn’t we use it?”

“No.  That is for cuts more serious than this,” she says and points to my forearm.  “Remember, Dad said the stuff in the tube is rare.”

I nod.  “Yes, that’s right.  You’re right.”

I am so proud of how calm and mature June has behaved.  For the second time, she has bandaged my arm and not recoiled from it.  I realize that perhaps I have underestimated her for too long.  She is handling the discovery of Urthmen not far from us in the forest, and the Lurkers marking our cave with their urine for an all but guaranteed return with more composure than I ever thought she possessed. 

“I’ll get us the leftover boart meat while you check on the rest of your cuts and scrapes,” she says with a tight smile, then turns and sets about unrolling the strip of leather the cooked meat is packed in. 

The meat is two days old, but June trimmed the thick chunks to thin slices and hung them on a tree branch.  When they’d turned dark and wrinkly, she placed them in the leather.  My dad once told us about preserving meat this way, but we never tried.  The idea of leaving meat overnight seemed too dangerous.  That danger seems trivial now in light of all we’ve been through. 

Still, I hope we do not get sick from the dried boart meat as I inspect the gashes and bruises that litter my skin.  There are too many to count and they range in color from purplish-red to bluish-black.  Now that I am clean, their colors are pronounced against my pale skin.  I find myself hoping that Will is not revolted by my battered appearance.  It should not matter, I know.  I am not going to the lake to be on display.  I am going to make a final attempt to urge his family to leave, to join us.  But a part of me that I do not quite understand can’t resist hoping he is not disgusted by me. 

After a deep breath, I forego braiding my curly blonde hair that falls to the middle of my back as I usually do.  I allow it to cascade over my shoulders in hopes it will hide some of the more obvious welts on my upper body.  I turn toward June.  She has set out two crinkly, unappealing-looking strips of dried meat ready for me to eat. 

“Wow, Avery.  I forgot how pretty you look with your hair down,” June says.

My cheeks warm.  “Thank you,” I say.  “I am sure I’ll braid it once the sun is high, but figured I’d take your advice and try to hide some of my ugly bruises.”

June’s chest puffs out a bit.  She smiles wisely.  “Good.  I am glad,” she says, and hands me my breakfast.  “Now let’s eat and get over there.” 

The excitement in her voice is obvious.  I can understand why.  I am feeling as if countless bubbles are bursting inside me.  It amazes me that the night we had has not dulled our ability to feel enthusiasm, to feel hopeful.  But we do. 

We dress in clean clothes and leave. 

June is excited as we walk.  Her excitement radiates from her brightly and rivals the sun’s sickly rays that barely dribble from behind a bank of tattered gray clouds.  She has a bounce to her step.  She doesn’t seem to want to stop chatting either.  She has so many questions about the family, questions I do not have answers to.  I find it hard to concentrate and am only partially listening.  My focus is elsewhere, preoccupied with every branch that shifts or leaf that rustles.  I search the woods for Urthmen, for boarts, and for webs made by giant spidery monsters.  My hand doesn’t leave my spear at my back.  Anything could be stalking us.  I am nervous, jumping at every snap or crackle of wood.  June seems unbothered by my edginess.  She is likely oblivious of it.  She tells me what she will say when she meets Kate, Asher, Oliver, Riley, and Will.

At mention of Will’s name, my ears prickle and I tune in.  But she only brings him up in passing.  My focus returns to the surrounding forest.  The trees and bushes are bustling, teeming with critters I never bothered to notice.  Sounds of life abound.  They could easily dampen the sound of footsteps and I find myself feeling more vulnerable than usual.  Perhaps it is because June is with me, or perhaps it is because I know that these woods are overrun by Lurkers when the sun goes down.  Maybe the presence of Urthmen has destroyed any semblance of relaxed awareness I hunted and hiked with, or maybe it is the fact that there are monsters like the eight-legged creature I was almost eaten by roaming about that I have yet to see.  Maybe it is all of the above, conspiring together.  Regardless, I am more anxious than normal.  I do not feel the least bit safe.  And now June is with me, the person I worry about most. 

Time passes quickly and we reach the stubby plant I have come to know and kind of like on the outskirts of the lake.  I crouch behind it and invite June to do the same. 

“Oh, Avery, I am so nervous,” June says as she squeezes her hands together. 

Her words echo my exact sentiments.  Ordinarily I would not say as much, but things are different now.  I do not hold back.

“Me too,” I say.  “Every time I have come here, I feel like I am going to puke.  I get so jittery,” I admit.

“Really?” June looks at me incredulously.  “I didn’t know that.”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know, I suppose,” I tell her and feel a pang of regret.  “I kept it all to myself for so long.”

I lower my eyes to the ground.  June reaches out and takes my hand.  She gives it a gentle squeeze. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she says.

“I know,” I answer and wonder when exactly it was that she transformed and became this grown-up. 

She lets go of my hand and her eyes lock on the lake.  I hear a high-pitched voice, the voice of a young child, then see Riley trot out of the cave.

“Get ready, June.  You’re about to see humans for the first time, other than me and Dad, of course.  Well, at least the only people you remember seeing,” I qualify my statement quickly.  “Take a look,” I say and stand up. 

June stands beside me.  Her gaze travels down the gentle slope of the hill we stand on.  The broadest smile I have ever seen her wear stretches across her face when she sees Riley, followed by Oliver and Kate, make her way to the lake.  Riley dips her toe in the water, and Oliver comes up behind her.  He shoves her playfully and her entire leg is submerged.  She squeals and a sound catches in June’s throat. 

I stop watching June from the corner of my eye and face her.  And what I see makes my breathing hitch. 

June’s eyes are moist.  But for once, she is not upset.  Her eyes are glazed with tears of joy.  They overflow her lower lashes and trickle down her cheeks, glistening like morning dew on the petal of a flower.  I hear Will’s voice, but I cannot take my eyes off June.  She looks so content.  I have never seen her look as she does now.  I wish she could feel this way always.  I wish I could freeze this moment in time.  Seeing my sister, the only person I love on this planet, experience pure unadulterated joy, is a gift I will not soon forget. 

I continue to watch June, and then suddenly her smile disappears.  Her eyes widen and a mask of terror replaces her blissful features.  My head immediately spins toward the family, toward what she is seeing.  And when I do, my heart stops beating. 

I see more than a dozen Urthmen clutching their clubs.  Their thin lips are pulled back over their pointed teeth as they streak with impossible speed toward Will and his family. 

“No!” I scream.  My voice rips through the forest.  “They’re here!  Will look out!  They’re here!”

Will looks up.  He is watching me and I am pointing to the approaching Urthmen weaving through the trees that border the lake. 

Will and the others look up, but by the time they see what I see it is too late.  Will starts shouting words I cannot hear over the pounding of my pulse in my head.  Asher turns to grab a spear and a nearby rock, and Kate unsheathes a blade from her thigh. 

“Oh no, oh no,” June is repeating beside me. 

I grip her shoulder.  “June!”  Her eyes are unfocused.  I worry she is in shock.  I shake her.  “June!  Please!  Get under that bush and hide.  Do not come out until I come to get you.  Do you understand me? They haven’t seen you.  You need to hide while I go help Will and his family.”  My words come out quickly, quicker than I can think. 

“No, Avery,” June finally says.  “No.  Don’t leave me.  Please, you said you wouldn’t leave me again.”

She is right, but I have to help.  I cannot sit by while another family is slaughtered. 

“I have to go,” is all I have time to say. 

Understanding flickers in June’s terrified eyes, and I hope I never have to see the look of defeat, the brokenness in her gaze, ever again. 

June scurries beneath the lowest branches of the bristly bush and tucks her limbs within it until she is no longer visible.  I race toward the lake. 

As I rush, all sense of time and space leaves me.  My legs feel disconnected from the rest of me and the sounds of the forest fall silent.  I only hear the rush of my blood behind my ears and feel the weight of my weapons on my body. 

Ahead I see Will hefting a large rock.  He is at the perimeter of the lake, where the Urthmen are pouring through, and catches one midstride.  He smashes the rock against the Urthman’s misshaped head and sends the unsuspecting attacker reeling backward with his face split open.  Will doesn’t waste time.  As soon as the Urthman falls to the ground, he finishes him off with the stone.  He then grabs the Urthman’s club and turns to face the other two that are upon him. 

My attention is pulled from Will to the smaller children.  Three Urthmen are descending on them.  I need to get to them.  I need to help.  Oliver is only a few years older than June, yet he is attempting to defend his sister, Riley.  He is armed with only a stick that he just picked up.  It is not sufficient to protect himself with, much less his sister. 

I am less than fifty strides away but realize I’ll never make it in time to help.  Oliver will be pummeled to death, as will Riley.  I make a split-second decision and draw my spear.  I launch it midstride and watch without slowing as it pierces the air with a soft whistle just before it plunges in the center of the Urthman closest to Oliver.

The Urthman’s head whips in my direction, and for a moment, he is stunned silent.  He sees the lance sticking out of him and wails in agony.  He drops to the ground just as I reach Riley and Oliver.

I pull my sword from my scabbard and clutch it with two hands.  When the next Urthman advances, I cleave the air.  The metal meets flesh, my strike landing at his neck.  I follow through with the swing, bringing my blade down until it doesn’t move any longer.  I pull it free with a grunt.  The Urthman is opened from his collarbone to his navel.  But I do not stop to watch him die.  Two more are coming at me.

“Run!” I shout to Riley and Oliver, but they do not budge.  They are frozen in place.  I have no choice but to shield them with my body.  I will not let them die. 

The pair of Urthmen rushing me swipes their clubs at me.  I dodge both blows with dexterity I never knew I had, especially since my entire body trembles so hard it is a wonder I am even able to stand.  But I not only stand, I fight.  I feel as if the Urthmen are moving at a slower speed than I am, that I can see their actions with razor-sharp clarity and anticipate what they will do next as plainly as if they were my own thoughts. 

When the Urthman closest hefts his club overhead to skull me, I drive my sword through his throat then yank it free and turn on the other alongside him.  His arms are at one side and his torso is twisted.  His midsection is unprotected, and is now my target.  With a cry that comes from somewhere deep inside my core, I grit my teeth and ram my sword straight through his gut, then wrench it free.  The Urthman calls out words I have rarely heard; words my dad called swear words.  He then drops his club and clutches his stomach.  As he falls to his knees, I bring my blade up and slash his throat. 

My movements, though brutal, are necessary.  I do not regret them any more than I regret breathing or eating.  They are fluid and natural.  They are what I have trained for my whole life.  But despite my training, I realize that the ease with which I can kill and the swiftness of my reflexes are special skills.  I understand why my father had always been so shocked by my abilities, why he praised what he called my ‘gift.’  I always thought he was just complimenting me to get me to train harder.  I know now that he was simply sharing his thoughts about what he saw.  Fighting is instinctive to me.  It feels as if it is what I was born to do, that ridding the world of the hideous Urthmen is my purpose. 

A flurry of movement in my periphery jerks my attention from the Urthmen I have killed to Will.  He is battling two that stormed him.  I contemplate helping him, but I am intercepted by my own set of Urthmen.  They both attack simultaneously.  I sidestep the first club but can’t avoid the second.  A club catches me squarely in the arm.  I cry out and evade a swipe intended for my head.  I twist and cut through air and slice open the arm of the Urthman that hit me then immediately sink my sword into the other’s heart.  But as I am retrieving my sword, a shadow crowds from behind.  My short life flickers before my eyes in quick, disjointed flashes.  And in a fraction of a second, I know I am about to meet my end, that it is too late for me to react.  I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for the blow of a club to strike my head but snap them open when I hear a scream, the scream of a young boy.  I spin and instead of having my skull cracked open, I see a spear tip protruding from the Urthman’s chest, my spear tip. 

The Urthman falls, revealing Oliver standing there.  He is shaking and his breathing is short and shallow.  He pulled my spear from the Urthman I killed, the one that was about to butcher him and Riley, and used it to save my life. 

“Thanks,” I say to Oliver. His eyes are wide and his mouth is partially agape as he looks over my shoulder. 

I turn and see that Will has taken down one of the Urthmen he was fighting and struggles with the other on the ground.  My eyes travel and zero in on what has caused Oliver’s look of horror. 

“No!”  I scream.  Kate is on the ground, and an Urthman swings his club overhead.  He drops it against her head, pounding her skull again and again.  “No!  Kate!” I hear myself screaming, but my voice sounds as if it is echoing from the end of a long tunnel. 

Oliver is crying and mumbling words that, while not entirely intelligible, are familiar.  I am sure I have muttered them before because I have lived through what Oliver has just witnessed.  I want to hug him, but there isn’t time.  Asher has just killed one, but two more Urthmen are just about on him.  I take off at a sprint to help.

“Hey! Over here!” I shout to distract at least one of the Urthmen, but they do not look up at me.  Their gazes are fixed on Asher.  One wields the knife Kate used earlier in addition to his club while the other circles around, behind Asher.  I just about reach them when the Urthmen strike instantaneously.  One grabs Asher from behind while the other drives the dagger into the center of his chest.  Asher falls to his knees, an expanding circle of garnet staining his shirt. 

“No!” Will screams. His voice tears through my veins and echoes through my soul.  He attacks the Urthman he was fighting against with reckless ferocity, ignoring the possibility of being hit himself, and boldly steps forward, swinging the club ceaselessly.  The club smashes the Urthman over and over until he collapses to the ground in a pulpy heap.  Will doesn’t stop though.  He charges toward the two that just killed his parents.  I meet him there and fight beside him to avenge his parents’ deaths inasmuch as any death can truly be avenged. 

Will’s eyes are wild and his pulse darts at the base of his throat.  I feel his fury.  I feel his anger and sorrow, the anguish coursing through his body like lifeblood.  I remember it.  I know it well.  It is a dark and ever-present companion of mine.  I let it fuel me and drive my sword as I carve the air horizontally and behead the putrid Urthman nearest.  Will waves the club expertly and bashes one of the last two remaining until he is reduced to a bundle of unrecognizable features.  But while Will vents some of his overwhelming suffering on the fallen Urthmen, another reaches him before I do and hits him in the back.  Will tumbles forward, but before the Urthman who raided him from behind can strike again, I drive my blade through him.  The Urthman falls to the ground.  I have killed the last of them that stormed the family at the lake, but I do not feel satisfaction of any kind that they are all dead.  Will’s parents were lost.  There is nothing to celebrate. 

Will staggers to his parents’ bodies and drops to his knees. For the first time in many years, I hear another human being’s heart cry out.  Through sobs, Will says over and over, “Mom, Dad, no, please no.”

My breathing snags several times before I begin to cry too.  I know I do not have the right to cry, but I am powerless to stop the tears from falling. 

Riley and Oliver join Will.  Their small bodies shudder as they weep.  No one should have to see what they just saw.  No one should have to live through what they just lived through.  Through my tears, I silently vow that if I ever find another family, I’ll do anything and everything in my power to preserve it.  The core of humanity is family.  Whether they are people we are born to or people we embrace along the way, family is the crux of human life.  And I’ll defend it with every last drop of blood that pumps through my body. 

Armed with my newfound resolve, I turn and allow Will, Oliver, and Riley time to grieve.  I set about checking each fallen Urthman for any signs of life.  I plunge my sword in all of them for good measure.  I will not take any chances.

When I have completed my task, I call to June.

But June doesn’t reply. 

“June,” I try again a bit louder.

But still, she doesn’t reply.  I do not hear her shuffle or see the woods stir.  I do not hear a sound, apart from the soft whimpers coming from Will and his surviving family. 

Panic sets in. 

I race toward the bush June was stashed beneath, and when I get there, my insides crystallize.

An Urthman has a handful of June’s hair, and he’s pressing the tip of my spear just below her ear at her throat.  Will runs up beside me.

“Drop your weapons, or I’ll kill her,” the Urthman orders.

“Please,” I begin to beg.  “She’s just a child.”

“I said drop your weapons, humans!” the Urthman shouts.

There isn’t a doubt in my mind that he will kill her regardless of whether I drop my weapon or not.  He will kill us all if given the chance.  June will die no matter what.  I must do something.  I will not let the Urthman kill her.

My mind scrambles for a plan. 

I look off to the right of the Urthman, just past him.  “What are you waiting for?” I say to no one.  “Kill him! Cut his head off!”

The Urthman turns around to look behind him, and when he does, I only have seconds to act.  I pull my dagger from its sheath and hurl it at him.  It tumbles through the air end over end, and when he turns back to look at me, the blade lodges into his eye.  He releases June and my spear and drops to his knees, shrieking. 

June dives into my arms.  I hug her tightly and mumble, “Urthmen are as stupid as Dad said they were.”

But June is uninterested in anything I have to say.  Who can blame her?  Will finishes off the Urthman and hands me my dagger just before his brother and sister rush to him.  They huddle and cry.  June is crying, and silent tears stream down my cheeks as well. 

All of us have seen too much violence, too much death and destruction.  We have been left to fend for ourselves and survive against impossible odds.  But as I look around at our blended group, I feel an odd glimmer of hope spark inside of me.  I don’t know when or how, but I believe for the first time in my life that we’ll someday overcome the carnage and cruelty we were born into.

Chapter 13

I watch as Will transforms before my eyes.  I know he is grieving, that he is hurting in a way that cannot be expressed aptly.  But I see the change he is undergoing.  His posture straightens.  He extends his long, sculpted arms to Oliver and Riley.  They rush to him, fall into him, and he envelops them.  I see cords of muscle bunch and flex as he embraces them tightly.  The black sleeveless shirt he wears dampens from their tears.  He whisks away his own tears with the back of his hand, then turns and looks toward June and I.  His light blue-green irises glow brighter than when I saw them the day before.  Their color pales against the reddened whites of his eyes.  His gaze locks on me and the air suddenly leaves my lungs.  I don’t know why I feel this way and hope I am not falling ill.  I give him a small smile and watch as the sun-kissed skin at his cheekbones deepens in color.  I worry that I have embarrassed him by witnessing the raw emotions flowing between him and his siblings, or that perhaps my smile was misunderstood somehow. 

I turn so that I am no longer facing Will and his brother and sister.  I do not want to intrude on the very painful, emotional moment he is sharing with them.  I also know that he is in the process of assuming a new role, that part of his change includes surrendering any semblance of a childhood or any shred of youth he ever held.  He is in charge now.  He is the person Oliver and Riley will turn to.  And he knows it.  He is being strong for them, comforting them, and putting on a brave face when he is sadder and more terrified than he has ever been in his life. 

I just met Will, but I know him better than he thinks.  I know exactly what he is doing, what he is going through.  I have done and been through it myself.  I wish I could make it easier for him.  Losing a parent is bad enough.  But watching them lose their life is quite another experience, a horrendous one that will be branded in his memory forever. 

“I feel so bad for them,” June whispers to me.  “What they went through, it’s just awful.”

June doesn’t recall our mother being murdered by Urthmen while we watched.  She only remembers our father’s gentle passing.  She is lucky.  I can close my eyes and relive it all. 

I do not share that detail with her.  Instead, I reply, “Me too.” Then add, “It is a terrible thing to watch your parents die,” with sadness so profound it causes my voice to falter.  “We’ll help them though. We’ll take them back to our cave with us and figure out a plan.  But no matter what, we’ll help them.”  I rub June’s back softly and she leans into me.  Her head whips toward Will and his siblings when Oliver’s voice rings out.

“No! I won’t calm down!  Those monsters killed Mom and Dad!” Oliver nearly shouts then breaks away from Will and Riley.  He races to the Urthman closest to us and kicks the corpse.  “I hate you!  I hate you all!” he cries.  Spittle sprays from his mouth.  He is sobbing and yelling at the same time.  He turns and picks up a good-sized stone.  He hoists it over his head.

But before he brings it crashing against the dead Urthman’s lopsided head, Will quickly covers the distance between them and circles his arms around Oliver, pinning his arms to his waist.  The stone tumbles from his grip and lands on the ground by his feet. 

“It’s okay, Oliver,” Will says soothingly.  “Just calm down.  Everything is going to be okay.”

Oliver’s lower lip begins to quiver and tears pour from his eyes.  “Nothing is okay, Will,” he barely manages then turns and buries his face in Will’s midsection. 

“I know, I know,” Will says and holds his brother tightly.  Pain is etched in his features.  Everything he is feeling is visible just below the surface of his expression.  I see it plainly and resist the urge to go to him and throw my arms around him, just as he is doing with Oliver.  My muscles twitch, urging me to take the first step toward him without my mind’s permission, but a gentle squeeze at my hand holds me back. 

June’s small hand grips mine firmly for a moment then releases it.  I wonder whether she sensed my movement and guessed what I was about to do, or whether seeing firsthand what Will is going through with his brother and sister is giving her insight into what life has been like for me.  Either way I stay where I am and wait until the crying subsides before reminding everyone that we need to leave immediately.  About a dozen Urthmen stormed Will’s family.  I doubt they were acting alone.  More will follow.  I do not want to chance being ambushed out in the open as we are now. 

I clear my throat.  “Uh, Will, I am sorry to, uh, interrupt, but we need to leave as soon as possible.”  Will trains his aquamarine eyes on me and an odd quiver passes through my belly.  “They know we’re here,” I say of the Urthmen.  “There will be more.  The ones at the lake might even be part of a bigger team that split up.  They could be on us at any minute.”

Will’s dark brows gather.  His gaze hardens.  “No,” he says resolutely. 

His refusal throws me almost as much as his expression. 

“No?” I feel my features scrunch as they showcase my complete confusion.

“No!” he says heatedly. 

Blood rushes to my face, and I am certain it is the color of a crimson rose petal.  “What do you mean no?” I ask and blink back the hot, unexpected tears searing the backs of my eyelids.  Does he have a sudden death wish?  And why does he seem so angry with me?  Each cell in my body is firing at once.  I do not know what he will say next, whether he will shout at me or speak sharply to me again.  I do not know why I care if he does or doesn’t, but I do. 

“I am not leaving my parents here,” he says softly.  He features have smoothed.  He no longer looks as he did seconds earlier.  He looks vulnerable. 

I feel the color drain from my cheeks. 

“I won’t leave them here for Urthmen to take and put their heads on spikes,” he grits through his teeth.  “Or leave them here to be devoured by the creatures that come out at night.”

“The Lurkers,” I practically spit when I angrily mumble their name under my breath.

“The what?” Will shocks me by asking. 

He heard me.  My head feels engulfed in flames.  I don’t know the technical name for the beasts that roam the woods when the sun sets.  I know what they were once called.  And I know what my father called them, what I still call them. 

I shift uncomfortably under the weight of Will’s stare.  “We call them Lurkers,” I say and nod. 

“Lurkers?” Will asks, and I wait for him to mock the name, to mock me. 

“Yes,” I say, and twist the hem of my shirt with my hand.  I am waiting for him to tell me how idiotic the name is, how babyish and laughable it is.  I brace for it when he parts his lips to speak.

“Huh, makes sense, Lurkers, and I did figure that’s what you meant when you mentioned them yesterday.” He nods.  “They’re always out there in the night, lurking and waiting.”

I nod.  Awkward silence hangs in the air like a bank of fog.

“What do you call them?” June’s voice chimes like a bell.  She has not seen or spoken to another human being besides myself and my father in her entire life, yet she has better social skills than I do.  “Do you have a name for them?”

Will smiles the saddest smile I have ever seen.  His eyes are focused on a distant point.  “My mom and dad called them Prowlers,” he says with a hollow, cheerless chuckle. 

“Sounds as if they thought like our dad used to think,” June says with respect in her voice that exceeds her eight years of life by decades. 

Will’s gaze leaves its far-off focal point and lands directly on June before flickering to me.  “What happened to your father?”

I am unsure of whom he has asked, but I answer anyway.  “He passed last year,” I say and feel guilty for the strain in my voice, because while we did lose him, his death was a serene passing compared to the butchery Will and his brother and sister just saw. 

“I am sorry,” Will says with genuine remorse.  “What about your mom, is she,” he hesitates for several beats, “alive?” 

I swallow hard.  I do not know how to answer his question without upsetting an already sensitive and sore situation.  I stare into the distance.  I take a deep breath, and then hear the words spill from me freely, gushing like blood from an open wound.  “She was killed by Urthmen.  She was pregnant and running with me and June in a tunnel beneath a village we used to live in with our parents and they killed her right in front of us,” I say in one breath.  I see it again, see the brutality in my mind’s eye as if it is happening in front of me a second time.  “She begged them not to kill her, begged them, but they showed her no mercy.  They did not care one bit.  She was nothing to them.  They killed her.  June was a toddler and I was holding her.  I saw it all.  I saw them beat her to death.” 

I have let go of June’s hand.  My fists are clenched tightly at my sides, and my breathing is short and shallow.  I look up and see that Will is speechless and so is June.  I have never spoken of what happened the night our mother was murdered. Our father had told her what had happened, but I could never bring myself to speak of it.  I have held it inside me for years, bearing the burden of an unspeakable scar alone; until now.  Now was the most inappropriate time ever to suddenly feel the need to share, and I hadn’t wanted to.  The words rushed from me as if of their own accord.  I have had time to grieve.  Will, Oliver, and Riley have not.  Their parents were both just murdered right in front of them and they are reeling from loss and shock.  And I had the audacity to blurt out my sad story!  Perhaps it has been for the best that I haven’t met another human in some time.  I wish the earth would swallow me whole, or that I could disappear, disperse like grains of sand in the wind.  But I cannot do either.  I am stuck, left to stew in my embarrassing outburst.

Just when I feel as if I’ll die of shame, Will says, “I am so sorry, Avery.”

I want to shout that I am the one who is sorry, that he doesn’t owe me words of consolation.  It is quite the opposite.  I have been through what he is going through and because of that, I should have known better than to open my big mouth.  I cringe and shake my head slightly.  His eyes are on me, and he sees it.  I know he does.  He sees how mortified I am.  June wraps both arms around my waist.  My body is slick with sweat and she feels like a hot rock plastered against me.  But I do not dare move.  I will not take the lead yet. 

“We are going to go and bury my parents,” Will says solemnly. 

“Would you like us to help?” June offers.  “Or would you like privacy?”

Again, I am astounded by her poise and tact.  She grows more amazing with each minute that passes.  I realize I have so much to learn from her.

Will smiles at June tightly.  “Thank you for offering to help, but I think Oliver and I can handle it.  But if Riley wants to stay with you, can she?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” June answers brightly without missing a beat. 

Will turns to face Riley. “Would you like to stay here with Avery and June?” he asks.  “Oliver and I are going back to the lake.  We have to take care of Mom and Dad’s remains.”

Riley’s eyes are wide and frightened.  “I-I don’t want to see them as they are now.  I want to see them how they used to look,” she says through tears.  “But I want to stay with you.”

“Then I’ll carry you and cover your eyes and you can wait in the cave while we work,” Will says tenderly.  “Whatever you need me to do I’ll do, okay?”

Riley bobs her head and lifts her arms to him.  Will scoops her up.  “We won’t be too long,” he says before turning and going back to the lake. 

When he is a far enough distance away and out of earshot, I drop my arms then slap my hand against my forehead.  “I can’t believe what a jerk I was,” I say with a groan. 

“Avery, I don’t think what you said upset him.  If anything, knowing he’s not alone will help him.” 

I hadn’t thought of that possibility.  I just assumed that my blabbing would have nothing but negative effects all around.  And while I am not totally convinced of June’s theory, I find it helpful.

“Maybe,” I say with the exact amount of uncertainty I feel.  “Still, I can’t believe I said all that.  I mean, talk about terrible timing.” I shake my head. 

“Yeah, well, maybe the timing would have been better if you waited until later or tomorrow, but as I said before, I think you did more good than harm,” June says.

I am astounded and impressed by her wisdom.  “June, are you sure you’re only eight?” I ask in another unfiltered, random bout of blather. 

June giggles.  It is a sweet sound that reminds me of when she was little. 

I smile at her.  “After all you went through yesterday, last night, and today, I am amazed by how well you are holding up,” I admit honestly. 

With shining eyes in a powdery-blue shade that rivals the sky on a clear day, she tips her chin and looks directly at me.  “I had a really great role model who taught me to deal with what life throws at me.”

“Yeah, Dad was pretty great, wasn’t he?” I think of how levelheaded he always was, how calm and in control he remained at all times.

“I am talking about you!” she says and smacks me on my arm lightly.  She stomps her foot then places both hands on her hips.  “Sheesh, don’t you even know how to take a compliment?” she asks me exasperatedly. 

I am taken aback by what she has said.  “Me?  I am the role model you’re talking about?”

“Yes, you dope!  Who else would I be talking about?  I was looking right at you.” She throws her hands in the air.  They land against her thighs with a slapping sound. 

“First of all, where the heck did you get your temper from?  And second of all, I thought you were talking about Dad because I am not half the role model he was.  I kept everything bottled up forever, remember?  I was too afraid to tell you anything,” I say then add, “and I am not a dope.”

I wait for June to erupt and unleash the last few days’ worth of fear and anger on me.  But she doesn’t.  In fact, her face is serene.

“You’re right,” June says.  Every bit of fire in her voice is extinguished.  “You are not a dope.  Not at all, in fact.  You are smart and strong and an amazing hunter and an even more amazing fighter.  You can do anything you set your mind to, Avery.  And you take good care of me.  All those things make you someone to look up to, the person I look up to and want to be like.”

My throat tightens and my eyes burn again, but this time they are not tears born of sadness or shame, anger or frustration.  This time, they are tears of gratitude and pride. 

“Thank you,” I say in an unsteady voice. 

“No,” June says.  “Thank you.”

I allow a moment to pass between us as I blink feverishly and try to keep from crying. 

“My pleasure,” I barely manage.

June smiles broadly then turns toward the lake.  I take a moment to compose myself and at the same time, scan the woods for any sign of Urthmen.  All seems quiet for now, but the day is slipping from us.  I did not realize so much time had passed.  Will and his brother and sister have been gone for a while, and June and I have been talking for quite some time.  Time feels as though it is ticking faster than ever.  We need to leave as soon as possible.  We need to hurry if we want to make it to the cave before the Lurkers come out. 

“It looks like they are almost done down there,” June says quietly. 

I breathe a silent sigh of relief.  I do not mean to be disrespectful in my thoughts, but the world we live in doesn’t provide us time for anything.  We are always running from something horrible, hoping we are headed toward something that will bring us comfort and solace.  Moments of peace are rare and precious.  And they do not last long. 

Will, Oliver, and Riley head up the hill with some of their belongings.  Their moment has ended, and a new one begins. 

“Are you ready?” I ask Will.

“I guess so,” he replies after a deep breath. 

I want to reach out and touch his arm and tell him that he will be okay, that his brother and sister will make it through this.  But now is not the time, and standing in the middle of the woods where Urthmen just struck is certainly not the place. 

“All right then you guys can just follow us,” I say with a weak smile and wave them on. 

We walk and backtrack the trail June and I traveled to get to the lake.  Our pace is brisk and I notice that Will is as vigilant as I am.  His eyes sweep the landscape continually.  The forest is filled with ordinary sounds.  Birds flit from treetop to treetop.  Leaves rustle, and squirrels and chipmunks scurry across our paths.  The only added sound is the pleasant lilt of June’s voice as she tries to make conversation with Oliver and Riley. 

“Our cave is not huge or anything.  It is cozy.  And Avery and I have candles made from beeswax that we use at night.  She usually leaves them lit until I fall asleep,” I hear her say.

I strain to watch Will from the corner of my eye.  A tiny smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.  His smile becomes contagious.  I feel a similar one begin to make its way across my lips.  June has a charm about her that I never knew existed.  And how could I have?  We’ve been isolated for her entire life.  Her gift has been kept under wraps.  Now, though, as we walk and I hear her working her magic on Oliver and Riley, getting them to respond with tones that are remarkably upbeat considering their circumstances, I am blown away by her.  She is my new role model in that regard.  I’ll look to her when hoping for pointers on how to win them over and help them. 

We continue at our hurried speed and June captivates Will’s brother and sister with her magnetic personality.  She has described our cave inside and out, has told them about the river we go to every morning and her incident with the boart that led to my incident with the mother boart.  I notice she is careful to leave out the part about me getting entangled and almost eaten by the spidery monster and the Lurkers that we barely escaped.  Neither Oliver nor Riley need to hear a story as disturbing as the one that unfolded last night.  Even I would prefer not to hear it.  The memory is just too frightening to relive. I can only hope that the Lurkers have moved on, that they don’t return again tonight.

When we reach what I believe is the halfway point of our journey, I slow and take a quick glance at the children.  The conversations have ended and the three of them look tired.  I look at Will and take my cue from his expression.

“I don’t know about everyone else, but I need to stop and rest my feet for a minute,” I say. 

“Me too.  Who else is with us?” Will asks.

June, Oliver and Riley raise their hands. 

“It is unanimous, I guess,” he says to me.

“Okay, how about we rest over there by those big flat rocks,” I say and point to a pair of stones that jut from the earth and are surrounded by bushes dotted with plump, yellowish-red berries.

The children do not need to be told twice.  They scramble for the opportunity to sit and beat Will and me there.  The three of them sit on one rock while the other remains empty.

Will sits first and slips the straps of his backpack from his shoulders.  He places it between his feet and looks at me.  My feet are throbbing and I want to sit, but the thought of being so close to him makes my insides tremble like leaves in a windstorm.  But exhaustion triumphs and I make my way to the rock slowly before sitting. 

I notice his scent right away.  Unfamiliar but pleasant and welcome, I am suddenly filled with his musk-and-sunshine scent. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says and tears me away from the strange joy I am reveling in from simply sitting next to him. 

I pause for a moment and need to remind myself what he is talking about.  I do not know why my mind feels so scrambled. 

“I don’t know how to do what my parents did, you know?  I don’t know what to do for Oliver and Riley,” he says quietly.

“You did great back at the lake when Oliver was about to smash the Urthman,” I say and feel as though the sun is blazing down on me from overhead when it is not.

My clothes cling to my body.  My skin is suddenly damp with perspiration. My calves complain from trekking all day as I tuck one leg under my bottom.  I am suddenly very aware of Will’s close proximity.  He reaches for his backpack and unzips it.  As he does, his forearm brushes mine.  His skin is fiery against mine, unexpected and yet so deliciously welcome despite the fact that I am perspiring as though I have been running in midday summer sun.  I scoot aside ever so slightly, away from Will, for fear I’ll burst into flames if his skin touches mine again.  I am suddenly parched.  I reach for my canteen.

As my fingertips graze the hard exterior, my thirst burgeons.  I quickly open it and bring it to my lips.  Cold water trickles down my throat as I greedily gulp.  It is refreshing and cools me from the inside out.  Some dribbles from the corner of my mouth.  I try to whisk away the droplets with the back of my hand without Will noticing.  I glance at him quickly and see that he drinks from his water bottle, too, but is far more refined about it, sipping rather than swigging as I did.  When he finishes, he turns to face me.  He bends his leg as he twists his body and his knee rests against my thigh.  I feel heat bloom across my cheeks. 

“How did you do it?” he asks.  “How did you care for June all by yourself for the last year?”

I consider his question briefly before answering.  “Truthfully, I have no idea.  I know that’s probably not the answer you want to hear, but I just woke up every morning and did it.  I rarely have a plan for anything.  I take one day at a time, and some days, it feels like I can only take one breath at a time,” I admit. I hope I have made sense and that I have not said too much.

“Yeah, I understand what you mean,” he says and looks directly into my eyes. 

I am lost in the swells of pastel blue and green as they blend seamlessly and undulate like ripples on a still lake.  I have to remind myself to blink, to breathe.  The moment quickly becomes one that I can only take a single quivering breath at a time.  Words escape me and my heart plucks away at an unsteady rhythm inside my chest. 

Will scrubs his face with both hands and the hypnotic spell of his eyes is broken. 

“I just, I just can’t believe they’re gone,” he says and his voice cracks.  “One minute my family was happy and fine and the next. . .” He allows his sentence to trail off. 

Sadly, I know exactly what he is talking about, what he is feeling.  “I know,” I whisper. 

“The hurt,” he begins, but his ability to speak is strangled by loss. 

My hand darts out, acting without the authorization of my brain, and touches his forearm.  His skin looks exactly as it feels: rich, almost velvety.  He is hurting, suffering, and I know that my thoughts about his skin and the fact that I am touching him is inappropriate, but I am inexplicably powerless to stop myself.  I want to comfort him, but do not know how.  Words of consolation do not exist in the English language for what he and his brother and sister have been through. 

He looks at my hand on his arm then to my face.  Heat zips like a laser beam from his eyes to my cheeks and sets them afire.  I start to pull my hand away and am shocked when his long, slender fingers cover my hand and keep it there.  My pulse quickens and a peculiar rush similar to hope gushes through my veins.

“How do you work around it?  How do you get through it and take care of June?  Right now I can’t imagine anything other than how I feel right now.”

His grip on the top of my hand tightens and I worry that when I try to speak, my words will come out in one breathless jumble. 

“It wasn’t easy,” I say honestly.  “I mean, after seeing my mom,” I cannot say the word “killed.” I clear my throat and continue.  “I still had my dad.  But once he passed we were on our own.”

Will lowers his head.  “Oh,” is all he says feebly.

“You will figure it out.  You’ve already started.  I saw it back at the lake,” I say.  “And I’ll help any way I can,” I add.

He lifts his chin and looks at me.  “Thanks,” he says and offers a small, pained smile.  He looks to the sky and I follow his eyes. 

“It’s getting late,” I comment on the position of the sun.  “We’re only about halfway to our cave.”

“I guess we should get going,” Will agrees. 

He releases my hand.  I withdraw mine and delight in the puzzling tingling in my fingertips.  He stands and turns to me.  Golden light sluices through the forest canopy and kisses his deep-tan skin, illuminating his lustrous eyes, making both glow with unearthly radiance.  Even his rich, dark hair has scattered highlights.  He offers his hand to me and I take it unquestioningly.  He helps me up.  I did not need help, but the feel of his hand wrapped around mine again is welcome.  Once I am on my feet he releases it, but not before giving it a slight squeeze. 

“Okay guys, we need to start walking again,” he tells Oliver and Riley. 

I nod to June.  She stands and we resume our hike back to the cave.  I lead the way and Will picks up the rear.  The sun is dipping lower with every minute that passes.  Dusk will be upon us before we know it.  We must hurry if we want to avoid another massacre, one that none of us will survive.  I am all too aware of the danger threatening all around us, Urthmen, Lurkers, both seem unavoidable.  But as I walk knowing Will is behind me, my thoughts remain divided, split between the endless hazards that menace us continually and the endless possibilities of a future with our new friends.

Chapter 14

When finally we make it to the cave, Oliver, Riley, and June are exhausted.  Will and I killed a rabbit each on the way home and roast both quickly before putting out the fire and settling inside the cave for the night.  I show Will the boulder and logs and how the boulder fits perfectly against the mouth of the cave and how it is wedged in place by logs that extend to the far wall.  He seems impressed by our security system.  I used to be.  But after the night June and I had with the Lurkers screeching and hissing as they scratched at the boulder, I am not so sure anymore. 

June has lit the beeswax candles and served dinner.  We eat in silence, then the children, June included, lie beside each other.  June wants to hear about Will, Oliver, and Riley’s lives before they moved to the cave by the lake.

“Where did you live before finding the cave by the lake?” she asks.  “Are there others out there, other humans like us?”

“Yes, there are,” Will begins speaking.  “Remember the people we met?” he addresses Oliver and Riley, prodding their memories.  His rich, deep voice fills the space.  His brother and sister nod.

“We’ve met quite a few different people along the way,” he says.  “Remember Calyx?” he says to just Oliver.

Oliver shudders as if bugs are crawling over his skin and says, “Oh yeah, how can I forget her?”

“Calyx was an old woman who lived underground with her daughters.  They had survived attack after attack somehow and found us when we were out hunting.”

“I screamed.  She looked like a girl Urthman,” Oliver adds.  His expression is grave.  “She had only one eye that worked and it was droopy.  Half of her face was like that.  The other eye was all cloudy-looking and whitish.  It rolled around and never focused.”  Another tremor shakes Oliver, and he crinkles his nose as if he has smelled something unpleasant.  Will shoots him a stern look and Oliver’s features smooth instantly. 

“That’s true,” Will says.  “She had an unusual look about her.  So when Oliver saw her, he started screaming.  My mom and dad came running, ready to kill her, but her daughters rushed to help her.  We saw them and realized they were human and that the old woman belonged to them.”

I look at June.  Her eyes are wide and her mouth is shaped like a small ‘o’.  She looks captivated by Will and Oliver sharing a tale of other human beings living in our midst.

“What happened next?”  June asks.  “Did anyone get hurt?”

“No,” Will answers and rakes a hand through his short hair.  “No one was hurt.  My parents lowered their weapons and they all greeted each other.”

“What about Calyx?” June persists.  “Weren’t her feelings hurt because everyone mistook her for a female Urthman?”

A chuckle passes through Will’s lips, an amazing sound I want to hear again.  “I don’t think so,” he says.  “We didn’t tell her what we thought.  We kept our initial opinions to ourselves, especially after seeing her daughters.”

“Oh wow,” June says dreamily.  “That is so great.  What about the daughters?  Were they beautiful?  They must have been,” June says.

A strange sensation washes over me at her words.  I feel agitated and threatened for no reason.  I feel a blend of anger and sadness at the thought of Calyx’s daughters being beautiful, or more specifically, of Will thinking they are beautiful.  I do not know what has come over me, why it would matter if he did or didn’t.  My fists are balled in my lap.  My nails are biting into my palms.  I am waiting for Will to agree or disagree with what June has said with the same eagerness I anticipate a meal. 

“Uh, no, not exactly,” Will says uncomfortably.

“Yuck!  No way!  Tell them the truth, Will,” Oliver chimes in impishly.  “They looked just like their mother: old and scary!”

“Ollie, it’s not nice to speak about people who were nice to you, to all of us, like that,” Will says levelly and trains his gaze on his younger brother.  The mischievous twinkle that sparkled in Oliver’s eyes dulls and his shoulders slump. 

I am relieved that Will did not find the women attractive and I am proud of how he handled Oliver’s expression of his opinion.  He was calm but firm.

“Sorry,” Oliver says sheepishly.  “And please don’t call me Ollie.  I am not a little kid anymore,” he adds and sounds exactly like June. 

“Okay,” Will agrees.  “I won’t call you Ollie and you won’t speak unkindly about others who aren’t here to defend themselves.  Deal?”

“Deal,” Oliver agrees.

“So there are three more humans in the forest?” June says excitedly and steers the subject back to Calyx and her daughters. 

A gloomy expression clouds Will’s features.  “Calyx and her daughters are,” he starts then pauses.  He clears his throat before he continues.  “They did not make it.  They were killed in an ambush.”

June’s hands rocket to her mouth and cover it.  “Oh my gosh,” she says.

“We weren’t there when it happened.  We had left for the day to hunt.  When we came back the place had been stormed by Urthmen,” Will says through gritted teeth.  “That’s been the case with everyone we’ve ever lived with.” He looks at his feet.  “I guess we’re bad luck or something,” he adds weakly.  His shoulders hunch forward, and he looks defeated. 

“I don’t believe that,” June disagrees adamantly.  “You are not bad luck.  And besides, we don’t need luck.  We are all safe with Avery here,” she says proudly.  “Avery is the best fighter there is.”

I feel Will eyes bore into my skull and I am afraid to turn and look at him.  A bead of sweat trickles between my shoulder blades when I hear him speak.

“I know she is.  I have never seen anyone fight quite like her,” he says to June but continues to watch me.  I see him in my periphery.  His eyes are the sky and treetops combined and bathed in a pale glow of sunlight, and they are on me.  He and my sister are talking about me, about something that comes as naturally to me as breathing, yet I am so unsettled by it I could jump right out of my skin.  “Where did you learn to fight like that, to swing a sword and throw a spear?” he asks me directly.

I turn to face him slowly.  My cheeks are burning, but the rest of me feels ice-cold.  “My dad,” I say quietly. 

“Your dad must’ve been some teacher,” Will says.  He studies my face.  “I have never seen anyone with skill and speed like yours.”

I squirm uncomfortably.  As June knows, accepting compliments is not my strong suit.

“She was better than our dad by the time she was fifteen,” June offers.  “Avery has a gift.”

I would like to melt into the stone of the walls and floor I am so embarrassed. 

Will is still watching me.  “Yes, she certainly does,” he says then looks to June.  “I think you’re right.  We are safe here.”  He smiles at June, and she returns the gesture with a sunny smile of her own. 

“Tells us more stories,” June urges him.

“Yes, Will, please tell us stories Mom and Dad used to tell,” Riley says.  Tears slip down her cheeks and I slide June a glance.  June puts a comforting arm around Riley’s shoulders.  Riley nuzzles against her, and I realize in that moment that June’s gift goes beyond bloodshed and violence.  It transcends butchery and war.  Hers is so much more important, and not just to me, but to the world.  She represents all that our present world lacks.  She is kind and decent.  She has an open heart and a capacity to love that I never even knew existed. 

“Okay, let me see,” Will begins.  “Once upon a time, people, humans, ruled the Earth.  They lived in houses and the adults went to places called jobs and children went to places called schools.”

I look to June again.  She is watching me with a mysterious glint in her eyes.  Perhaps it is because she has heard me tell similar stories, or perhaps it is something else entirely.  I am too tired to figure it out right now.  I am enchanted by Will’s voice. 

“School was a place where children would gather.  They would learn their letters and numbers and sometimes even play together.  One grown-up would teach them to read and write and ready themselves for the future.”

“Teachers were important people,” Riley says then yawns.

“Yes, they were,” Will smiles at her affectionately. 

He continues telling them about school and jobs and the order that once existed in our disordered world.  Before long, June’s eyelids grow heavy.  Will’s voice flows smoothly.  His cadence is as soothing as floating on a gently rolling river.  It has lulled the children, and one by one, they drift off to sleep. 

I am left alone with Will. 

We clean up any remnants left behind from dinner and straighten the new gear he and his siblings have brought.  Once everything is organized and put away, I unroll my sleep mat next to June. 

“You’re tired?” he asks quietly. 

“I should be, but I am not,” I admit.  Having him in the cave with me, so close by, I doubt I’ll ever be relaxed enough to sleep.  “How about you, are you tired?”

“No, I guess I am like you.  I should be exhausted, but the thought of sleeping right now seems impossible.”

“Huh,” I say awkwardly. 

Will walks away from the sleeping children and leans against the far wall, exactly where I spent all of last night awake.  He slides down until he is sitting.  I am suddenly self-conscious of the fact that I am now standing alone, hovering over my sleep sack.  I do not know what to do.  I do not know whether he wants company and wants me to come and sit beside him or whether he wants to be left alone with his thoughts.  I have messed up once today, when I blurted out that I watched my mother be killed by Urthmen back at the lake.  I do not want to do it again.  I do not want to offend him on his first night without his parents, away from home and at our cave. 

“Want company?” I ask stiffly and steal a nervous glance his way. 

“Yes, please,” he answers sincerely. 

My heart stutters a moment while my brain commands my legs to move.  I walk on shaky legs to where he sits and take a seat beside him. 

“Okay,” I say as candlelight flickers and dances across the smooth stone walls of the cave.  I am thankful for the dim light for once.  My face is flushed, I am sure. 

When I am seated beside him, he turns his body to face me.  As he does, his knee grazes my thigh then rests there, his skin touching mine so lightly it send chills racing over my flesh.  “I can’t believe that this day actually happened.  None of it seems real,” he says.  “I mean, I know it really happened, but I guess I keep hoping it is just a bad dream, a nightmare I’ll wake up from.”

I wish I could wake him and tell him it was all just a dream, a horrible, vivid nightmare.  I wish I could make it all go away and take away his pain.  But I cannot.  Life isn’t that simple.  Nothing is easy in our world. 

“I am sorry, Will,” I say. 

My words are so minimal.  They seem so empty on the surface.  But I mean them, all of them.  I am truly sorry for what he and his siblings have been through. 

“Thank you,” he says.  “Thank you for warning us right before it happened, and for saving Oliver and Riley.” He pauses and swallows hard.  His voice is gravelly when he begins talking again.  “What you did was brave, braver than anything I’ve ever seen.  You risked your life for us.  Without you, we would all be dead.”

The starkness of his statement strikes me like a slap in the face.  He is thanking me profoundly, genuinely, yet all I can think of is the last sentence he spoke.  I’ve only known Will for a less than a day, but the thought of losing him terrifies me. 

“You’re welcome,” I say when I realize an awkward amount of time has passed. 

I want to say more.  I want to tell him I worried for him and his family for two days, that I am so happy to have them with me, but I cannot.  He is suffering, grieving the loss of his parents who were taken from him in the most heinous fashion imaginable.  I have lived through it.  I know what it is like to feel as if a raw, ragged hole has been punched in my chest.  I wish I could fill it for him, heal him.  But I do not possess the power to do so.  Instead, I smile as warmly as I can and try to silently share the sympathy I feel for him. 

Will parts his lips and is about to speak, when a horrible din peals through the quiet of the cave. 

I know the sound.  The sun has set.  Night has fallen and the Lurkers have returned. 

Hissing and howling clashes with a snarling noise that sounds like the wet slopping of one animal feasting on another. 

Will’s face is haunted when he looks from the boulder to me. 

“They’re here,” I say.  “The Lurkers are back.”

“Back?  They were here before?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yes, last night,” I say.

“You slept though this last night?” he asks and is clearly rattled by the unnerving shrieks and calls. 

“I stayed awake all night, afraid they would get inside the cave,” I say and look at June.  She stirs then opens her eyes.  Her head shoots up frantically. 

“No, no, no,” she cries.  “They’re back.”

Oliver and Riley wake as well.  They begin to cry.  Between the crying children and the incessant yelping outside, the cave is flooded with harsh, discordant sounds.  I am overwhelmed.  My insides tremble.  My nerves are frayed.  I feel as if I cannot withstand another moment of the loudness. 

Just when the noise becomes deafening, Will shushes everyone. 

“Please, everyone be quiet for a second,” he says.  The children stifle their cries, reducing them to sniffles and small gasps.  And when they do, I hear what he heard over their tears. 

A clanging sound echoes and grows louder and louder, closer.  My head whips toward him and his features mirror mine.  Dread drags them down, taking any hope for safety and a good night’s sleep with it.  The Lurkers not only regrouped before their return, but they’d also formulated a better plan.  They are trying to get inside.

“Oh my gosh,” Will breathes.  His eyes are locked on mine.  He is looking to me for answers I do not have, chief among them: What do we do now? 

After a moment of chaotic, panicked thoughts, I do exactly what I did the night before.  I assume my post beside a log and June joins me.  She rests her head on my lap and I cup her ear with one hand, stroking her hair with the other.  The act soothes both of us slightly, but I know eventually she will fall asleep.  Will watches me, then gestures for his brother and sister to follow suit.  They drag their sleep sacks to him and place their heads on his legs.  He covers their ears and begins humming.  I have never heard the tune he hums, or any other tune for that matter, but the sound he creates is comforting.  I focus on it and try to block out the cries and clangs of the Lurkers.

Will and I spend the night upright with the people we love closest to us.  We do not talk.  We do not need to.  The glances we exchange at the deepest point of the darkness convey more than thousands of words can express. 

When the sound has finally stopped, my ears are ringing.  My legs are numb and I feel Will’s head resting against my shoulder.  I am achy all over, but happy he was with me, that I was not alone while in charge and experiencing the awful sounds. 

I carefully slide June to the floor in hopes of letting her sleep a little while longer.  But her eyes snap open. 

“It stopped,” she says groggily. 

“Yes,” I say.  “It is morning.”  I point to the faint threads of light seeping in. 

“We made it.  They did not get in,” she says.

“No, they didn’t,” I say. 

Not this time, they did not, I think.  But they might tomorrow, or the next day.  It is only a matter of time. 

I do not share my thoughts.  June and the others have been through enough.  Besides, I think Will knows as well as I do that we have not heard the last of the Lurkers.

Riley and Oliver stir and Will’s head leaves my shoulder. 

“Are we alive?” Riley asks.

“Yes,” Will answers and smiles at her tenderly. 

“Why don’t you guys lie down for a bit?” I suggest.  “I need to move the boulder and make sure everything is safe before we go to the river and wash, okay?” I tell the children.

Will nods in agreement.  “I’ll help,” he says and stands. 

I stand too.  My body feels kinked and gnarled as we make our way to the boulder.  We both crouch to reach it, a movement that makes every muscle in my body complain.  Will is strong, stronger than I am by far.  We move the boulder with ease and cautiously step outside.  The stench of urine is potent as my eyes scour the once-comforting landscape beyond my home of stone.  I notice deep holes have been dug all around the entrance and small fragments of rock are littered everywhere. 

My heart begins to hammer and the situation comes into stinging clarity. 

“Will, come with me,” I say. 

He hears the urgent edge to my voice and becomes alarmed.  “Help me,” I say as I grip the boulder.  “Help me turn it so I can see the side that faces out.” 

He and I grunt and labor until the boulder is turned enough for me to see exactly what I feared had happened. 

An enormous crater has been chipped away on the surface of the rock, the part that faces outside.  The clanging we heard last night was the sound of Lurkers chipping away at the only solid defense we had. 

“They’ve chiseled a hole in the boulder,” Will says.  Terror creases his face. 

“And they will keep chiseling until it shatters.  They will be able to get to us in a matter of days,” I say.  “We cannot stay here anymore.  We are not safe.”

“Where can we go?” he asks.  Desperation laces his words.  “We’re dead by nightfall if we are still in the woods without shelter.” 

“Maybe we should leave the woods,” I say, though I cannot fathom life beyond the walls of green I have called home since I was June’s age. 

“We can’t.  It’s not possible.  There’s nothing for us out there,” Will says and points toward the skyline where the sun has just begun to peek over the horizon.

“I don’t think we have another choice,” I say.

I turn and look at the three small faces that have gathered near us then to back to Will.  Oliver, Riley, and Will are now mine and I am now theirs.  We are a new, blended family, and even though we are not bound by blood, we are bound nonetheless.  I know a new chapter of my life is about to begin.  I know now that other humans are out there.  I feel the need to find them, to band together and grow our numbers.  To do that, we’ll be forced to venture out into a hostile world ruled by beings who seek to end our existence entirely.  We’ll face Urthmen, if we make it out of the forest.  And I don’t know how we’ll survive the night.  It is likely we will not.  We might be ambushed by packs of Lurkers before our feet ever touch asphalt.  But I do not see another option.  I cannot simply sit passively and wait to be executed, clubbed to death by an Urthman who’s infiltrated our sanctity, or torn to shreds and eaten by a Lurker.  I cannot stay and wait to die, not with three new people added to my life, people I’ll give my life to keep alive.  I will not fail.  I will not surrender June, Oliver, Riley or Will’s life to any creature.  It is time to leave the meager safety of the woods and risk creating a life together on Planet Urth.