Wolfwater Page 8

  Trav said, “After talking to Dewbell, Corvin seemed to be feeling better, though. She brought him some food. Cheesecake.”

  Owl laughed. “That would do it. Will you tell him to hang in there? And tell him I’ll be thinking about him every day?”

  Trav nodded.

  After a bit more conversation, they said their goodbyes and shut off the tablet. The “life” of the device was getting low, according to the red light on the edge of the screen. It had to be placed in the sun to restore its power, just like the drone, so that would have to wait until morning. Or did another square object have to be attached first before setting it in the light? Dusty knew.

  Owl slid into her sleeping bag as the campfire’s little flecks of glowing ash climbed toward the constellations. She stared for a while, then rolled over and went to sleep.

  September 20, 156—I keep getting this weird feeling, like we’re being watched. I’ll be walking along, then feel eyes on me and turn my head, certain that there will be someone standing between the trees, but there’s never anything. It makes me wonder if maybe the Maralti know we’re here and don’t want us to find them.

  I think the others get the feeling too, even though we haven’t talked about it. Gentlewave walks with his gun out now, and makes Mothwing take a turn at watch during the night.

  Maybe I’m just being paranoid…

  September 29, 156—More forest today. Blah. We found a pretty lake, but no one really enjoyed it. Dusty seems to be getting crabbier by the day, and everything Mothwing does gets on her nerves. She’s always been sort of ornery, but in more of a playful way. She just seems downright mad now. I wonder if I should talk to her.

  “No, no. Your stitches are all crooked.” Corvin took the shirt from Sasha’s hands and ripped out the seam.

  Sasha sighed and sat back in his chair, rubbing his beard. “Maybe this was bad idea.”

  Corvin looked up; his long bangs hung in his eyes. He set the garment on the table next to a half-finished leather jacket with studded shoulders and teeth—fish teeth—embroidered along the back. “You don’t want to try anymore right now? That’s fine.”

  “I think I am better at other part. Sewing decorations on. Getting frustrated. Maybe I will go take walk.”

  Corvin put a new length of thread on the needle and lined up the ripped garment seam, pinning it in place. “Sure. Okay. I’m just going to finish this myself, then, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yeah. You will do better job than me.” Sasha pushed up from the table and slipped on his rope sandals.

  “Hey, Sasha?”

  “Yeah?”

  Corvin looked at his hands. “I can tell that learning to sew isn’t really your favorite thing—you don’t like it as much as me… and I’m probably not the most patient teacher—but thanks. It gives me something to do, y’know? Something to keep my mind busy.”

  Sasha nodded and clapped Corvin on the shoulder, then crossed the room to an ornate, tarnished mirror hanging on the far wall. Corvin was going a little overboard with the decor from home. Maybe he just wanted to see what Dewbell could slip past the guards. She had been allowed in with clothes, sewing items, and toothbrushes, but the metal forks and Corvin’s “good” shears had been confiscated. She’d said the guards had balked at letting her take cheesecake inside too, until she offered them a generous portion of it.

  Marrs in the mirror’s surface warped Sasha’s reflection. He examined his patchy black beard—it didn’t make him look all that tough.

  “I got to shave this shit off. It look terrible.” He pulled a headband of thin cording from his pocket and slipped it over his head, pulling his hair away from his face. “Later. Going to take walk and then maybe write Dusty letter.”

  Corvin pulled up on his needle, tightening his stitching, then stuck it back into the seam. “Okay. See you in a bit.”

  Sasha left the hut, squinting at the bright streaks of afternoon light reflecting off the rippling ocean. To the other side was the reminder that he was in this place against his will. The high wooden fence ran along a grassy embankment for the length of the beach; sharp rusty wire snaked between the posts and twisted along the tops. Several guards sat near the gate, talking. They stopped as Sasha neared.

  One of them, a fat man with a face like a gargoyle, scowled and rested his hand on the wooden club at his waist. “What are you looking at, trashbilly?”

  Sasha pursed his lips and shrugged, turning for the ocean. He stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked a rusty bottle cap across the gray sand. Waves rolled onto the rocks, depositing plastic bottles and bits of garbage, then dragged them back out again. In the small tide pools at the water’s edge, spiny black sea urchins rocked in the current, and anemones clung to the pitted crevices.

  It would be lunchtime soon—probably some fish that tasted like the trash it fed on in life, slapped on top of a piece of stale bread. Thank God Dewbell was an amazing cook and promised to bring them food when she could.

  He wanted to ask her how she was holding up without Corvin or Gentlewave around at home, but he never seemed to have any time alone with her. Corvin needed to spend time with her, certainly, but Sasha worried that there might be new self-harm wounds under the long sleeves she always wore. There was no question that Dewbell was the matriarch of their motley family, but she needed people to lean on too.

  Sasha stared at the hard edge between the sea and sky, then at the swollen, water-warped fence posts descending into the surf. How long would he have to swim before getting to a new spot of beach on Tam? If he and Corvin swam around the posts and followed the shore, would there be a new sandy beach waiting? A free sandy beach? Or would they get thrown against the rocks?

  Not that it mattered. They wouldn’t be free even if they did escape. The guards would find out they were gone and send someone after them. Deal or no deal, it was likely Tam’s Elder wouldn’t have patience with them after that, and execution might be back on the table.

  All because I got into a stupid fight with Dusty.

  He’d lived with her before moving to Nis, in her house on the outskirts of Hammerlink. There had been an adjustment period then as well, as he wasn’t used to living with a woman. He’d forget he was sharing a bed and accidentally elbow Dusty’s nose or knee her in the back in the night, and she constantly stole his covers.

  He smiled. She still does that.

  The house hadn’t looked much better than the huts on this beach—no plumbing or electricity, and the holes in the walls were stuffed with newspaper. It had been their house, though. They had made love for the first time there, eaten dinners there, lain in bed in the dark, telling each other stupid jokes late into the night there. The quality of the house hadn’t mattered at all.

  He shut his eyes, picturing their present house on Nis. It was cozy and friendly. Dusty liked to pick flowers and put them in a vase on the table, and when he stood in the kitchen in the morning, sipping his expensive Mainland coffee, light poured through the stained glass window set in the front door, throwing rainbows across the clay floor.

  After their wedding, he’d carried her over the threshold in her embroidered, Corvin-made wedding dress. He’d nearly dropped her as he struggled to carry her up the winding staircase to the bedroom. She’d only laughed and said, “Be careful, husband.”

  Heart swelling, Sasha touched the photo concealed in his shirt, then sat in the dirty, gray sand. He put his head in his hands as the water lapped at his rope thongs, leaving scummy froth in its wake and scattering tiny translucent sand fleas teeming around dead crabs.

  Comparing his current despair to what he felt before leaving Russia was difficult. It seemed like so long ago. But taking that risk—going to the virus-ridden wastelands of America with a team of scientists, and taking a vaccine for the virus that gave him tachycardia (and eventually heart failure)—had been the best decision he’d ever made.

  He supposed even with all of the horror that happened in the research facility, it was still worth
it. He would never forgive Dr. Krupin for dropping the American virus on the rest of the world, nor would he forgive himself for failing to prevent it, but had he not left the compound, he never would have met Dusty or any of his friends.

  “Hey, brother,” a gravelly voice said.

  Sasha looked up. An inmate with a low ponytail stood over him. He smiled, exposing his sharp teeth and creating wrinkles in the long pink scar across his cheek. The man sat uncomfortably close to Sasha and stared at the ocean.

  “Uh, hi.” Sasha scooted away. He hadn’t had much interaction with the other prisoners—there were never many, and most only stayed on the beach for a few days before being released or transferred. Some days, he saw no one but Corvin and the guards.

  “I seen you around. You and your friend.” The man kept his gaze on the horizon, the smile never leaving his face.

  “Yeah, we been here couple weeks.”

  The man turned suddenly and thrust out his hand. Sasha jerked back, then realized he wanted to shake.

  “I’m Sharkguts.” He grabbed Sasha’s hand and pumped it up and down.

  Sasha gave an uneasy chuckle. “That is your name?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I’m Sasha.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Corvin…”

  “Sasha and Corvin.” Sharkguts stretched out his legs and leaned back in the sand. “Y’know, it’s sweet you have people that come visit you here. It’s going to be a lot harder for that to happen when you get transferred to Pearlolla prison.”

  “Oh, we—” Sasha paused. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell this guy they weren’t going to be transferred. Looking like you got special treatment was an easy way to make yourself a target. “We are trying to enjoy while we can. Not going to be happy about going to prison.”

  “Yep, this place ain’t half bad. I never know when I’m going to be transferred. Sometimes Palesun gets busy and forgets to hand out sentences. Last time, I was only here a day before they sent me to Pearlolla. I’m hoping he forgets about me this time.” Sharkguts let out a sandpapery laugh.

  “You have been here before?”

  “You need a friend with experience, brother. A friend like me. This place may not seem that bad, but you don’t want to let your guard down. And it’s much worse in prison. I could protect you, though. You and Corvin. I’m good with a knife, and you could repay me in favors.”

  Favors?

  Sasha almost asked what that meant, then wrinkled his nose and thought better of it. “Eh, thanks for offer, but we are okay.”

  “You sure?” Sharkguts leaned closer, his gaze wandering down Sasha’s torso. “You never know when something might… happen to you.”

  Digging his fingers into the sand to keep them from trembling, Sasha tried on a casual smile. “It’s nice deal. Maybe I will change my mind, but I have to talk to my friend first, okay?”

  “Corvin.”

  “Yeah. Um, I will tell him about your offer.” And hopefully you’ll be transferred soon and I won’t have to see you again.

  Sharkguts clapped Sasha on the shoulder, and Sasha stiffened. “Okay, brother. See you around.” The Islander stood and strode up the beach, slipping between buildings.

  Though he wanted to run back to his hut, Sasha sat a moment longer, commanding his heart to slow down. There was no way for him to blend in here as a soft and scrawny white guy, but he could at least keep himself from looking panicstricken. He took several measured breaths and stood.

  Can criminals smell fear? Like animals? Being out here alone was a bad idea.

  Sasha stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and whistled, walking slowly back to his hut. He turned the doorknob. Locked. Frowning, he drew his face close to the door. “Corvin?”

  The knob clicked and the door swung open. Corvin slid down the wall, a hand to his face. Several chairs lay broken on the floor, the ornate mirror smashed into sparkling shards. Thread, beads, and buttons lay scattered across the ground. Spatters of blood punctuated the mess, a small pool congealing in the center of the hut.

  “Corvin, what happened?”

  Corvin dropped his hand and looked up, revealing a swollen, purpling eye and a gash in one high cheekbone.

  Sasha squatted next to him, chest constricting. “Who did this?” Sharkguts.

  Corvin ran an unsteady hand through his mussed hair. “Some guy barged in here. He just… started taking things. My things. He crammed a piece of cheesecake in his pocket. You believe that?” Corvin laughed—an unnerving, pitiful sound. “I tried to stop him, and he slugged me.”

  Sasha gestured to the dark droplets on the wood floor. “That from you or him?”

  “Him.” Corvin held up his bloody straight razor.

  “He dead?”

  “No, no. He ran out.”

  “Shit. I was just talking to this guy on beach. He was real creepy. He must have come back here and do this. He have big scar on his face?”

  “I don’t know. It all happened so fast.” Corvin tossed the razor on the floor.

  “You okay?”

  He turned to Sasha and gripped his arm, his breathing audible and frightened eyes searching Sasha’s. “I need to get out of here.”

  “I know. I am scared too. Maybe it is bad idea to have all this stuff from home in here. Making us targets. Could have Dewbell take some of it back. And I think… we should stay together, yeah? If I was in here with you, I could have helped you stop that guy. And I should have come back here faster. That guy, Sharkguts, tell me we need protection here because something going to happen to us. Then he do this? Where the hell those guards at that supposed to be protecting us? I thought Quietbird pay them for that.” Sasha stood and grabbed a cloth napkin from the table, ready to toss it onto the pool of blood. He paused, then laughed.

  Corvin looked up, frowning. “What’s so funny?”

  “I was almost going to clean all this shit up. The blood. The glass. Then I remember, this is just old abandoned hut. It is not our house. Fuck it. Let’s just move somewhere else.”

  A grin spread across Corvin’s face as he stared at the mess on the floor, and he laughed too. Sasha joined him. None of this was really that funny but he was unable to stop.

  Corvin stood and slapped Sasha on the back. He shrugged and playfully kicked bits of glass and beads across the floor. “Fuck it! I’m not even going to pick up the buttons! I have more at home.”

  Sasha laughed harder, wiping away tears. “And you say that guy put whole piece of cheesecake in his pocket?”

  “Yeah! Just crammed it in there! How is he possibly going to eat that?”

  “Will be hard to do when he got razor cuts!”

  Corvin doubled over. “And with all those shards of mirror in his face!”

  Sasha choked on his laughter, his smile dying away. “What? You break mirror in his face?”

  Corvin looked at him, grinning, his face red. “Yeah. The miscreant deserved it.”

  Sasha gave an uneasy chuckle. “Well, he messed with wrong guy, huh?”

  “You got that right.”

  Not sure who I should be more scared of, but at least Corvin is on my side. Maybe Sharkguts will need to ask me for protection from Corvin. I bet Corvin wiped that creepy smile off his face, at any rate.

  Corvin pulled off his bow tie and unbuttoned his wrinkled, blood-spattered shirt. He tossed it on the floor and fished for a new one in the neat pile in the corner of the room.

  Ugly red burn scars patterned his shoulders, back, and chest, and ropy raised slashes divided the spaces between. He held up an airy Islander-style shirt in baby blue. “I feel like a casual shirt right now.” Pulling it on, he smiled at Sasha; his highwaymen-induced scars peeked out from the low collar. “I feel good! Better. I was so upset before you came back. Maybe a good laugh fixes everything, huh?”

  Sasha nodded, staring at the broken glass at his feet.

  “You want to help me gather our stuff? Then we’ll go pick out a new hut
.” Corvin rubbed his bloody hands together. “Maybe one closer to the ocean. I’d rather look at that than the wire-wrapped fence.”

  Sasha swallowed. “Yeah. Sounds like good plan. Let’s get out of here.”

  6

  ~ Beast ~

  Owl climbed over a lichen-flocked log; the yellow-green vegetation crumbled off the trunk and dirtied her jeans. Dusty followed behind, clambering over and hopping into the leaf litter. Mothwing and Gentlewave walked slightly ahead; bright sun dappled on their black braids.

  Mothwing peeked into the bushes. “You think there’re any good mushrooms growing around here?”

  “Possibly,” Gentlewave replied. “But I don’t want to eat any to find out. Too risky.”

  “Hey!” Mothwing flailed one arm at Gentlewave. “Look!”

  Owl and Dusty walked to his side. Amid the sepia trunks stood a tall rusty stake with a small TV mounted on top, tied tightly with sinew. Tiny white flowers flourished in a wide circle around the strange assemblage. She frowned, but ventured closer, scanning the area. Gentlewave gripped her shoulder, holding her back.

  “Hang on.” He peered into the overhanging branches, then plucked a dangling strand of multicolored beads from a twig.

  Owl craned her neck up. A multitude of beaded strings bridged the space between the trees like spider silk in burnt orange, ivory, pale yellow, and teal. Some were broken, snapped cords hanging down with small beads laying in the dirt.

  Dusty curled her lip. “What the hell is this? Maralti?”

  “Most likely.” Gentlewave looped the string of beads back onto the branch. “Some sort of sacred altar maybe?”

  Mothwing bent toward the TV, his frightened face reflected in the black screen. “More like a sacrificial altar. Let’s get out of here.”

  “But this means we’re headed in the right direction.” Owl circled the mounted TV. “Maybe there will be a tribe up ahead.”

  Gentlewave wiped a finger across the top of the TV, rubbing dust between his fingers. Lines stacked his forehead as he looked around. “I don’t know. Seems abandoned.”