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Wind howls through my hair, jerking my head backward. Whipping like a banner behind me, it feels as if every last strand will be yanked from my scalp. The rush of air sends debris and bugs hurling at my face. I struggle to keep my eyes open despite how gritty they feel when open. I lower my head but do not dare rest my cheek or any part of me against the rider’s back. As close as I am, I can smell that he hasn’t bathed in some time. Not that his hygiene matters in the least at the moment. He saved my life. I am alive because of him.
Clutching his waist with one hand while the other grips my sword, I peek and stare beyond the rider. The long stretch of road, bordered by dense woodlands on either side, rushes at me in a dizzying, kaleidoscopic flash. Trees and brush blur, assuming distorted, skeletal shapes, and the star-dappled sky is a nebulous haze. At any given moment, I fear and expect to see Urthmen trucks in the distance, blocking the roadway. But after a long stretch of time passes, that fear dissipates. And once the driver slows and guides the bike toward the shoulder of the highway, cautiously, moving us through a gap in the thicket, a fear of Urthmen finding us has faded altogether.
The rider keeps the motorcycle on a dirt path parallel to the road on which we just traveled until the path splits and we venture deeper into the forest. He and the other riders are headed for a specific location. One which may house more humans. Though it was believed that every human being had migrated to one of the three cities and townships, the possibility of small villages surviving beyond them exists.
Jerked and jolted on the back of the bike as the rider navigates terrain that becomes increasingly rough, the hope that more humans await me intensifies. The motorcycles pull into a small clearing around which a settlement of shacks are positioned. Made primarily of corrugated tin and wood, the metal walls are rusted from exposure to rain, sun and snow, warped wooden planks that serve as doors are weather beaten. The scent of urine and feces, burning trash and the ash of hooves and horns after incineration is cloying. I can’t decide which induces less nausea: breathing through my nose or my mouth. Both seem determined to make me wretch. Since my stomach is empty, dry heaving would be the most likely outcome. I’d prefer to do neither. These men, despite their lack of hygiene and choice of living arrangements, saved me from the Urthmen. To lose the contents (or lack thereof) of my stomach would be beyond insulting. These people prevented me from getting killed. I will myself to remain calm and not puke as we slow to a stop and the riders cut off their engines.
The bike teeters a bit beneath me. The rider and I both place our legs on the ground to balance it before a kickstand is utilized. The weight of the motorcycle leans against it and he and I climb off of it. The other riders have already dismounted and stand staring at us. I can’t explain why, but it feels as if they’re waiting for something. Can they see it in my face that I’m revolted by the stink? I wonder.
Clearing my throat, I straighten my posture. “Thank you so much for what you did,” I start by saying to the rider who brought me here. “You saved my life.”
As of yet, I haven’t seen much of his face. With a swath of cloth covering all but his eyes, his nose, mouth and neck have been covered. He removes the bandana to reveal a scraggly beard that reaches the middle of his chest and a nose with a prominent, slightly bent bridge. Wiry, unkempt hair falls past his shoulder, matted and with clumps of leaves imbedded in it. His dark, closely-set eyes study me. An air of expectance hangs heavily in the atmosphere. I shift uncomfortably, unsure of what more needs to be said.
After a long moment, he parts his lips and breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Not a problem,” he says. He moves to his left and, with dirt-caked hands, expertly lights a fire. Rocks surround the fire pit and kindling that was dried and ready for lighting sparks to life immediately. Before long, amber light laps at the dark, casting a brighter glow than the moonlight. It is then that I see that all of the men are clothed in filthy garments. Each of them has a long beard and knotted hair.
“I'm Ed,” the rider I arrived with says. “This is Earl and Tom.” He introduces the other two men and again, he stands looking at me expectantly. I realize I haven’t shared my name and he’s likely waiting for it.
“Hi Ed, Earl and Tom. I'm Avery,” I say and watch as they trade glances. “Did I miss something?” I ask and feel the faintest whisper of anxiousness pull the muscles between my shoulder blades taut.
“Uh, we’re aware of who you are,” Ed says. He makes a sound that’s neither a chuff nor a chuckle. Unsettling as any sound I’ve ever heard, that anxious feeling multiples when both Earl and Tom join in.
When the laughter stops abruptly, the conversation is offhand. “What happened to Mike?” Tom asks. He swipes a clump of frizzy hair off his brow and opens a satchel at his waist. In it are a pair of rabbits. He squats and flings their limp bodies to the ground before he unsheathes a small blade and begins skinning them.
“He was with us as we set out for Tyr,” Ed replies. “I don't know what happened.” He shrugs. “They must’ve gotten him.”
I assume the “they” to which he refers are the Urthmen and am surprised by how inconsequential the death of this person Mike is to all of them. Not one among them seems surprised or sad in the least. It’s just business as usual.
“Are you hungry, Avery?” Ed asks without another mention of Mike.
The last meal I ate was several hours ago. After many miles traveled on foot, my stomach is empty, though I wonder how I’d manage to eat given the odor of this makeshift village. In addition to the stench of urine, feces, burning trash and the ash of horns and hooves, the smell of fetid meat intermingles as I draw closer to the metal and wood dwellings. My stomach rumbles. I need to eat to have energy for whatever lies ahead. Reluctantly, I admit, “I’m starving.”
Earl has already spit the two rabbits and they roast over the open flames. I do not bother to ask whether the fire is a good idea. They clearly cook here regularly and have survived long enough to rescue me. Who am I to question their decision? I thought Urthmen were my friends and that I was living in peace with the species that sought to exterminate humans for centuries. There was never a peace. Only my three cities believed that lie.
“You guys live here?” I ask, trying to fill the tense silence that stretches between us. As soon as the words fall from my lips, I regret them.
Earl, who is still squatting by the fire, turns. The expression he wears is almost a scowl. His tone borders on confrontational. “Yeah, why?”
I look away from him, my eyes skimming the shacks once again. The misshapen wooden doors are partial, barely covering half of the opening to each. One structure leans at such a steep angle it looks as though a faint breeze would topple it. If it were to encounter the fierce winds that lash the area when a storm comes, it would be swept away for sure.
“I was just wondering,” I reply, grateful that I’m not standing in the light of day, for if I were, the blush on my cheeks would be evident.
“You don't approve of our accommodations?” Earl asks with an edge to his voice. “Are they not luxurious enough for you?”
Ignoring his attitude, I say pleasantly. “It’s fine. It’s far better than some of the places I’ve lived.”
Earl nods. What I’ve said seems to have diffused the situation. Still, there’s an odd charge to the air. I can’t place exactly what it is, but an energy is fueling the atmospheres around us. One that feels...off. Uncomfortable. Perhaps they’re just hardened by life and not up for idle chat. Or maybe they’re not accustomed to outsiders at their shanty village. I hope I have not offended them by quite literally curling my nose at their homes. I owe them a debt. They saved my life. Offending them is not at all what I want to do. I hope to repay them by reaching my people in the other two human cities and protecting them against the Cadogan’s insurgency.
“How did you know to come to Tyr?” I ask as I walk to the perimeter of the fire.
“We heard the Urthmen over the radio saying that you were in Vox and thought you could use some help,” Ed replies. His words are affable enough but his tone possesses a quality of both bitterness and amusement.
“Thank you,” I reply as my anxiety swells.
None of the men comment further or attempt to engage in conversation. I sit, awkward and tense, until the rabbits are finished cooking. They’re released from the spit and torn apart by Earl. With filthy hands unbothered by the heat of the seared flesh, he clutches one by the neck and feet and buries his face in it, tearing skin and flesh with his teeth and making a snuffing sound like boarts make. All of the men eat the same way. Dirty skin and hands greasy and with pieces of meat hanging from their beards along with slobber, they are hard to look at. Between the sight of them and the smell of their camp, I feel like I'll be sick. The moment the rabbit is handed to me from Ed, he glares at me as if daring me to decline, I have no choice but to accept.
Typically cooked rabbit is not greasy and is rather lean, the outer skin is slick. Likely saliva and teeth that haven’t been touched with any natural sponge or mint leaf to clean them are the culprits. The thought of both makes me gag. I turn my head to try to conceal it but I swear Ed sees me and smirks. In an act that is pure defiance, I bring my lips to the meat and rip a piece off with my teeth. My stomach roils as gooiness unrelated to the meat sticks to my chin, and strings between my lips and the flesh are formed by whatever coats it. I chew and swallow quickly, trying in vain not to think of what’s in my mouth. I quickly pass the meat back to Ed, who passes it to Tom. Tom makes a wet slopping sound as he eats then chews with his mouth open. Bits of rabbit tumble out as his lips smack together. But I’m the only one who appears bothered by it. I attempt to speak again, if for no other reason to hear something other than Tom’s lips smacking.
“Can I ask you why you guys live out here instead of in one of our cities?” I ask the question that’s been on my mind since we arrived. I’m instantly sorry for asking when all three men turn, look at each other and then glare at me.
Ed smiles. The expression is pure malice. He then says, “I guess it's good that we don't considering there aren’t any cities left.”
Brow furrowing, confusion muddles my thoughts momentarily. “What? What’re you talking about?” I ask. “Kildare and Galway still stand and that's where we need to get to warn everyone there of what's coming.”
Ed shakes his head. “Nope,” he says in that same flat tone he stated Mike’s death. “They’re gone.”
“Gone?” I look at him incredulously. Surely he’s wrong. How could he possibly know? “That can’t be right. Where did you hear that?”
Ed taps the radio clipped to the waistband of his dirty trousers. The same one he had on his bike before we arrived here. “Everyone you know is dead, Avery.” A smug thread of satisfaction winds around his tone like a serpent, venom dripping from his every word.
Panic glazes my flesh like ice. My mind swirls dizzyingly. Is what he’s said true? Are all of the cities gone? Has everything human beings have achieved been for nothing? Has everything I’ve fought for been for nothing? And how did I not see this coming?
Warmth bleeds from me, seeping from my flesh and carried away on the crisp breeze that stirs the treetops. Ripples of anxiety undulate through my body. John. William. Sully. June. They’re all I can think of.
“Guess you weren’t that good of a leader,” Ed hisses.
And in the moment that sentence leaves his lips, I realize that neither he nor the other men came to Tyr to save me. I glance at my sword resting beside me, inching my hand over toward the hilt. But as soon as my fingers wrap around it, Tom rips it from my grasp. In the space of a breath, he has the finely honed blade at my throat and Earl grabs me from behind. Ed smirks at me, leering and raking his eyes over my body. “We had dinner. Now it's time for a little entertainment.” He runs his tongue over his lips lasciviously.
Earl leans forward and runs the length of his tongue from my chin to my temple.
“I have something very entertaining in mind.” Ed’s tone is lustful and hate-filled.
My heart rockets to my throat, lodging there and hammering wildly. “W-Why are you doing this?” My words are a hoarse plea as I struggle to free myself. My efforts are useless.
“You really don't remember us do you?” Ed asks. His head tipped to one side and his eyes are narrowed to lethal slashes.
“Not remembering us really hurts our feelings,” Tom leans close to my ear and says. His breath reaches out like fetid hands, curling their gnarled fingers into my nostrils and hooking them there to the point of repulsion.
I recoil and turn away from him, my gaze landing on Ed. The firelight illuminates his face. I try to place who he is. Try to imagine him without his beard, scraggly hair and the inch-thick layer of crud on his skin. But all the flames do are deepen the hollows in his features, darkening the circles around his eyes and making him appear even more ghoulish if that’s possible. Then he turns his head sideways and I see his profile. My eyes dart to the others and their identities crystallize. I remember them. All of them. Flashes of the last time I saw them flicker in my mind’s eye. The day they were all banished. The smug smile Ed wore. The cold, hard gaze he wore when he spat at my feet just before being exiled beyond the city walls.
The three of them were cast out of Cassowary. There was a fourth. I assume that the man named Mike of whom they spoke is who is missing. Each was banned from all three cities eight years ago after attempting to attack a young woman in the city. Nadia was her name. She was just eighteen at the time. She picked out all three. Said their faces were imprinted in her brain. All of the men were questioned. All had a different story at the time that placed them elsewhere. None of their stories checked out. Not that I’d believed them to begin with. Fortunately, Nadia had gotten away from them before anything had happened so they had only been banished from Cassowary and not sentenced to death. But I remember them. And I remember how Nadia described their attack. Like a pack of lurkers circling then descending on prey. The taunts. The fear they instilled. Had she not fought, they’d have stolen from her that which can never be returned when taken by force. They’d have stolen her choice. Her dignity. Her rights as not only a woman but as a human being. I felt for her then. And now that I am in the position she was in, despite being twelve years her senior and seasoned at combat, I am scared.
Ed turns to face me. Undoubtedly seeing the fear shine in my eyes, a wicked grin carves his face in two. “Ah, she does remember us.”
Tom cranes his neck to look at me. He laughs. “Yeah, she does. Now I feel better.” A cackle filled with madness sprays from him.
“She’ll be a nice plaything we can keep here at camp,” Earl says.
“Yes, she certainly will,” Ed says as his eyes linger in the vicinity of my chest. He springs forward, pouncing on me and pinning me to the ground. I’m knocked backward, my head hitting earth and rocks hard. A burst of pain at the back of my skull is followed by a scattering of white pinpricks behind my closed eyelids. He straddles my thighs while Earl and Tom hold my legs and arms wide. Tearing at the button on my pants and yanking them, Ed emits a low growl. “I think you’re going to like this,” he says.
But as soon as the word “this” leaves his lips, the shrill whistle of an arrow slices through the night and lodges in his left eye. The impact knocks him backward, howling and writhing in pain before he teeters forward and falls atop me.
Tom releases my hands and stands, clutching my sword out in front of him. He scans the perimeter of the clearing.
A hush has befallen the woodland. The squeak and scurry of mice has ceased. The hum of crickets is silent. It’s as if the darkness itself and all the creatures that dwell within it are waiting with baited breath.
“Come out, coward!” Tom shouts.
He is answered first with staunch silence. Then by the cry of an arrow shrieking through the ether and piercing his throat. The sword falls from his grip, landing with a loud clang. He clutches his neck, a wet burbling sound bubbling from his lips, before he collapses sideways in a lifeless heap.
I’m left with Earl. Eyes darting wildly, he scuttles close to me, ripping a dagger from a sheath at his ankle and holding it to my throat.
“Show yourself!” he screams. Spittle spews from his mouth and lands on my face. “Come out now or I slit her throat!” He yanks me to my feet, jerking me so hard that the blade slices the outer layer of my skin. “Do you hear me?” The forest doesn’t answer. “I’m going to give you to three or she dies! One! Two! Thr—” he begins screaming but never shouts the number “three”. An arrow flies through the air with laser-point precision and drills into his open mouth. Silenced, he falls away from me. The dagger lands first before he drops to the ground with a thud.
Chest heaving, I breathe in short, shallow pants. My entire body shakes. I should fear for my own life at this point but I don’t. I’ve been an open target from the beginning. And there’s only one person I know who can shoot like that. One person who can take down targets from a distance with lethal accuracy. “June!” I call out her name. My lifeblood pounds against my skin in time with my heartbeat and adrenaline. She walks out of the bushes toward me. Moonlight highlights the contours of her lean physique. Cords of muscle ripple from her back and shoulders and down the length of her arms. Her actions as an archer are precisely orchestrated, each confident and purposeful. The way she moves out from concealment is no exception. She is a skilled hunter. A warrior. My chest swells with relief at the sight of her. And pride. Eyes welling with tears, I say her name again. “June,” I whisper.
She rushes toward me, closing the distance between us and I throw my arms around her. At least one person I love still lives.