Horde (Razorland #3)(78)

A dozen slurred voices added their opinions, but I recognized the prickle crawling over my bare arms. I signaled my men, and Company D was on its feet, ready for battle in less than thirty seconds. I spun until I located Stalker, but he was already coming toward me. He recognized this as his area of expertise.

“Will you see what’s going on?” I asked, low. “But don’t engage. We need intel.”

This time, he took none of his scouts, heading off at a silent run. He moved with all the grace of a creature born in the wild, and within seconds, he vanished into the shadows. The party mood was gone, and the Winterville folk started packing up the food, hurrying toward the houses where they had hidden for days already. Most still had barricades for the windows and doors; I hoped they wouldn’t need them tonight.

Mrs. Meriwether darted toward Dr. Wilson. In the confusion, she thought nobody was paying attention, but I craned my ears to catch every word. “I thought we were safe. You made enough of that spray to treat the whole town.”

His tired reply was unmistakable. “It doesn’t last forever, Agnes, and Timothy is gone. I can’t make more without him since the extract came from his reproductive glands.”

“So we’re defenseless?” Her horror was palpable. “I killed all those people for nothing.”

I bit out a curse. The chances were good that we had Freaks in the windmills, destroying them. They might not understand what purpose they served, but they hated all human technology. They’d wreck these machines for the same reason they’d dug up our crops—because they thought it would weaken us in some fashion. And in most cases, they were right.

I didn’t wonder long. Stalker came at a run, winded, which meant he’d pushed himself. He gasped out, “Freaks. At least a hundred, coming in from the east.” As he caught his breath, he added, “I suspect they trailed the Lorraine traders. Not sure why the pheromones aren’t discouraging them.”

“It washes away,” I said. “It’s not forever. And Dr. Wilson can’t make more.”

“They won’t fight.” Fade was watching the townsfolk move in full retreat, preparing to cower inside their homes.

But barred windows and doors wouldn’t deter a hundred intelligent Freaks. They’d use fire or some other strategy to take this town, and it wouldn’t even require the rest of the horde, unless we did something about it.


“This will be a tough fight,” I said softly.

Stalker nodded. “At night, against superior numbers? It’ll cost us.”

“I know. But the alternative is to leave Winterville to its fate.” Under no circumstances could I give those orders. If the rest of Company D abandoned the town, I couldn’t go. It might be the practical decision—one a Huntress would make—but I couldn’t save these people from the feral humans, only to let them die.

“Men!” I called.

They surrounded me at full attention, row by row, and I recalled that was the style in Soldier’s Pond. I didn’t usually require it, but the occasion merited formality, I supposed.

I had no fancy words, but I gave them what I knew. “It’ll be a rough night, our first big battle of the season ahead. Who wants to kill some Muties?”

“Company D,” they called back.

Not a single voice remained silent; they all shouted their intentions to the skies. If they died tonight, they’d go out as Hunters, one and all.

I squared my shoulders. “Then we need a plan.”

Fade turned in a slow circle, assessing the houses and the open terrain of the town square. “I think we can win. But we need to draw them here.”

“Count on my scouts for that,” Stalker said.

I thought I understood Fade’s plan. “Spence and Tully, I need you on those rooftops. I want constant fire from you until you run out of ammunition.”

“You’re them,” one of the Lorraine traders said in wonder. “Company D.”

I hadn’t noticed their approach, but it made sense they’d be here since they didn’t have houses to hide in, and the wagons offered limited cover. The lead driver wore a rifle on his back as Longshot had, and I wondered if he was any good with it. He seemed to read my thought—or maybe my look—because he drew it and held it like a man who knew which way to point it.

“We are,” I acknowledged. “But I don’t have time for introductions at the moment.”

I expected some disparaging remarks about my gender or my age, but to my surprise, the rifleman said, “Put us on a rooftop. We’ll fight with you.”

A boy crept out of the shadows then, hardly more than a brat. He was dirty and thin, eyes too big for his face. He reminded me so much of the white-eyed brat from down below that my stomach cramped. A weapon too big for him to lift came behind him, leaving trails in the dirt.

“I can shoot,” he said.

I saw the words forming on a trader’s lips, You can’t even lift that thing, son, so I cut him off. “How?”

“I can brace it. My dad taught me … before he died.” There was a wealth of sorrow and anger in those words.

“Where’s your mum?” Fade asked.

The brat lifted his chin. “Gone. You poured dirt on them both earlier today.”

Guilt flickered through me; I hadn’t even noticed him among the other mourners. Above the boy’s head, Fade caught my eyes, and I nodded. We’d take this chance to do the right thing.