Horde (Razorland #3)(6)

Given my experience with people in positions of authority, I expected Colonel Park to say I was crazy and that I should eat some soup, then go to bed. Once again, I was wrong. Nothing in my experience prepared me for her reaction. She slammed a hand down on the nearest table, knocking over some pencils in a cup, scattering papers on the floor.

“I told you,” she snapped at the men looking on with dawning horror.

Reinforcements

“You knew about Salvation?” Stalker asked, seeming incredulous.

The colonel shook her head. “I noticed a difference in Mutie attack patterns around here. Then they all moved off. I said it meant they must be planning something, but my advisors thought I was being an alarmist.”

So not only did she believe us, she’d foreseen the progression. This would save us a lot of time begging and trying to convince somebody who didn’t believe the world could change. Some of the tension left me, though none of the exhaustion. I was conscious that every moment I spent talking was one that Salvation lost, and I remembered the men on the walls, gray-faced with fatigue and firing gamely on, even as Smith fought to keep up with their ammo usage. Without Stalker’s help, that might prove beyond his powers. We had to get back right away.

“Then you can probably imagine how things are,” I said. “How soon can you send some men with us?”

A man with a mustache spoke for the first time. “We can’t just send our standing forces off on a whim.”

“It’s not a whim,” Tegan snapped.

Another advisor agreed: “Saving Salvation might mean losing Soldier’s Pond.”

“This could be what the Muties want. How do we know their gambit in Salvation isn’t a diversion? The minute we weaken our entrenched position, they’ll attack,” the last councilor predicted.

“They’ll come for you eventually,” Fade muttered.

“Enough.” The colonel infused her tone with cold finality.

“Have you made a decision?” I asked.

She sighed, looking tired. “Unfortunately, it’s not up to me. Something this significant must be put to a vote.”

“Then call an emergency meeting,” Tegan suggested.

I agreed with her. We couldn’t afford to let people sleep. The colonel considered, then nodded at Morgan. “Go wake up the rest of the council. Get them here in the next half hour. These four need an answer, either way. I suspect you’ll be returning home to fight, regardless of the result.” She addressed the final statement to us.

“Yes, ma’am.” Fade had internalized lessons about respectful modes of address faster than I did.

She put a hand on my shoulder. I was glad she didn’t choose Fade for this gesture, as it wouldn’t end well. “Are you hungry? The least I can do is feed you while you wait.”

“That would be welcome,” Stalker answered.

Colonel Park turned to one of her advisors. “Get something warm for them to eat. There should still be soup on the hearth in the mess.”

Within minutes, we all had hearty stew and bread to clean the bowls with. I perched on a chair at the edge of the room, and the others followed suit. It was quiet while we ate, then shortly thereafter, five more people stumbled into the room, three men, two women, which gave equal power to both genders. I was pleased to see that parity, even as I finished my meal.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a gray-haired man demanded.

Succinctly, the colonel summarized what I’d told her, then she added, “We need to vote at once as to whether we’re sending aid.”

A round, motherly-looking woman with fine blond hair put her fingers to her mouth in alarm. “If the Muties have organized, it won’t be long before they march on us.”

“My thoughts exactly,” the colonel said.

They debated for a while. With a full stomach and an aching heart, I didn’t attend to the proceedings. It only mattered what they decided, not how they came to consensus. Tegan slipped up beside me, looking determined. Wordless, she indicated my wound and I offered my arm for her to treat. I bit back a curse as the cleansing liquid trickled over the scratches, deep runnels across the top of my arm, adding a counterpoint to the healed scars on my inner forearms, courtesy of the enclave. I was proud of those six scars still, though maybe I shouldn’t be.

When she was finished, she smeared salve on me and bandaged the injury with quiet efficiency. Then she whispered, “Fade won’t let me treat him.”

“Let me try.” Once, he’d permitted me to do so. I didn’t know whether he would, now.

Tegan handed me her supplies and I crept over to where Fade sat, propped against the wall. The ongoing debate washed over me, bits of argument about the viability of offering support to a settlement with whom they had no such defensive accord, only trade agreements. Then the counter-argument came, mostly about how if Salvation fell, Soldier’s Pond would be next. I stopped listening again as I stilled. Fade opened his eyes, dark and wary in the candlelight. The flickering shadows painted his face hollow beneath his cheekbones.

“Your shoulder will fester if it’s not cleaned and wrapped,” I said softly.

His flinch was nearly imperceptible, then he pushed out a breath. “I’d prefer you to do it.”

Happiness sang inside me. He still trusted me more than anyone else, whatever his other problems might be. “Then brace. It will sting, but I’ll make it fast.”