Horde (Razorland #3)(8)

But it wasn’t the time for dire proclamations. Soon thereafter, we moved out, passing from Soldier’s Pond in a concerted lockstep. I’d never traveled with such a large group before, topside or down below. It seemed risky, but there was no avoiding it. We’d slaughter any scouting parties we encountered, unless the horde itself was rolling west. Letting my feet join their cadence was easy, but to my surprise, Morgan summoned me to the front of the column.

“I need to know how many we’re up against.”

“Honestly,” I said, “I’m not even sure I can count that high.”

Morgan laughed at first, probably thinking I was exaggerating but my sober expression assured him I wasn’t kidding. Then he swore. “Give me your best estimate.”

I thought about that. “I saw five hundred beans once. I’m pretty sure there are more.” Then I described the nightmare of the horde encamped on the plain, along with the pockets of human prisoners and the multiple fires burning.

He made an odd gesture, touching his forehead, heart, left shoulder, then right. I had no idea what it meant but he seemed to take comfort in it. “I almost wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“Why?”

“Because now I’m the bastard keeping the truth from his men. If I tell them, they’ll head back to Soldier’s Pond. They’ll know, just as I do, that this battle can’t be won with our forces.”

Sour sickness roiled in my stomach, born of fear, not because I feared dying, but because Morgan was right and I hated the idea of letting everyone down. For my new home, I wanted to do the impossible; I just didn’t know how.

“Maybe we can create enough havoc to allow Salvation to evacuate.” I was proud of that word. I’d seen it first in the ruins, then later Mrs. James, the teacher who had been the bane of my existence, had explained in a superior tone what it meant.

“Hit and run is our only option, but for the Muties, the woods are home ground. Guerilla tactics may prove difficult.”

“I can help with that,” Stalker said.

I hadn’t noticed him joining us, which was a testament to how quiet he could be. Morgan turned to him with interest. “How so?”

“I know the terrain fairly well and I’m a good tracker. I can help by laying snares, planning ambushes. We can’t fight them head-on, but I have experience with whittling down a superior enemy.”

He must be referring to battles he’d fought in the ruins, destroying gangs with greater numbers until the Wolves were the most powerful force in the area. Overall, Stalker didn’t seem proud of that experience, but I wasn’t sorry he had it if it meant better odds for us at Salvation. He should realize that he could be proud of his skills without taking satisfaction in every bad thing he’d ever done. There were dark times from my enclave days that I would rather forget, now that I understood just how cruel our rules had been. Morgan listened to Stalker’s comments attentively, nodding and occasionally offering a question or suggestion. After a few moments, I fell behind to join Tegan, who was bearing up better than I could’ve imagined.

“They have some good ideas,” she said.

“Stalker does, anyway. Sounds as if he’s fought against long odds before.”

Her eyes distant, she nodded. “The Wolves went up against the Kings right after they took me. The Kings had more people, but Stalker cut them down. Half of his members were cubs, but he taught them to be merciless and cunning.”

Thinking back, I recalled how my hesitation about fighting brats had led to Fade and me being captured. I just hadn’t expected them to fight that hard or that well. Not at their age. If Stalker could focus that experience on defending Salvation, then maybe all wasn’t lost. I exhaled as we marched on, glad to have this burden off my shoulders.

My skill didn’t lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.

Destruction

By the time we reached Salvation, it was too late.

I’d feared that might be the case, but I’d forced the worst potential outcomes from my head and focused on my task. When we approached from the west, the darkening sky glowed orange from the flames devouring the settlement. I heard evidence of the horde nearby, but we didn’t have men sufficient to face them. Pain lanced through me until I couldn’t breathe. Unlike when Nassau sent the blind brat to our enclave for aid, we’d succeeded in fetching help but it didn’t change anything.

“We should get back to Soldier’s Pond.” By Morgan’s expression, he believed me regarding the number of Freaks massing, and he wanted to advise the colonel.

“You can go,” I said. “But I have to get closer. If there’s anything I can do to save my family—”

“There’s not,” Morgan snapped.

But I wasn’t willing to take his word. I set off for the burning ruins of Salvation without asking anyone to accompany me. Tegan and Stalker didn’t see me leave, but Fade raced after me. I didn’t even have to ask.

“This is foolhardy,” he said.

“I know.”

It was nothing but open ground from the river’s edge to the carnage in Salvation. From this distance, I smelled burning wood, mingled with blood and charred flesh. The west wall crumbled before my eyes, fiery timbers collapsing in a shower of sparks; they soared in the night air like fireflies and the smoke curled upward, ghostly in the moonlight. Momma Oaks had told me that her people believed the soul lived on, after death—that it was a smoky sort of thing that filled your body and helped you remember to be kind. I wondered whether it looked something like this, slipping out of the nose and mouth as a person died.