Putting a finger to his lips, Howl touches my shoulder and shakes his head. When he places his other hand on my stomach, it sends a panicked jolt through my abdomen, and I jerk away. Howl rolls his eyes and points to my shoulder. He puts a finger on his own shoulder and breathes in with an exaggerated shoulder movement, shaking his finger. With a hand on his stomach, he takes slow breaths that come from much deeper.
I try it. Much more quiet and controlled. I even feel calmer.
But it’s too late.
A click sounds behind me, ripping through the cold silence like a clap of thunder. Howl’s eyes fasten on something behind me.
I turn to find a weather-beaten old man standing over us, gun trained on Howl. He doesn’t blink when Howl’s hand slips up into his jacket. He just shoots the tree behind us, sending a flurry of birds into panicked flight. “Don’t move. No use for whatever you’ve got hidden under there.”
I agree. I happen to know it’s the knife that disappeared from my pocket down in the Chairman’s basement. Howl uses it to cut our army-ration dried meat into strips so we can eat while we walk. It isn’t very sharp.
“Hands up, both of you.” The man’s eyes stare at Howl until he does as he’s told. “Now stand up.”
I roll over to my knees and inch to my feet. Howl creeps up in front of me as he stands, one hand over his head, the other extended out in front of me as though his arm is going to make a difference if this Outsider decides to shoot me.
The man’s eyes widen as he takes in the First mark scored into Howl’s hand, the scar white against his skin. The angry set of the man’s mouth hardens.
“What are you and your little girlfriend doing breathing so loud near our camp?” His voice is a rasp. Harsher than before. “You part of the extermination forces that run through here?”
“The what?”
Howl’s elbow presses against my shoulder, an unmistakable Be quiet. “We’re on the run. Away from the City.”
“I guess that explains the First mark and . . .” He gestures to the shiny patch of melted skin that makes a star on my hand. “She infected?” The gun is suddenly pointed at my head instead of Howl’s.
Howl’s protective arm pushes against me again, tensing as if he’s about to jump the guy. Instead, Howl just says, “No. We’re not infected. She used to be a First.”
The man nods thoughtfully. His voice is still rock hard when he finally speaks. “Care to join us?”
Howl swallows, staring at the gun still pointed at my head. His sleeve grazes my collarbone as he lets his arms fall down, and he grabs my hand.
The weapon clicks again and the man lowers it, waving us toward the strip of green I saw through the bushes. I can just see a small clearing, a canvas tent streaked with mud occupying one edge. A fire-blackened pot suspended over a smokeless Junis fire spouts steam up into the morning chill. It smells like dirt and unwashed humans. And boiled cabbage.
As we get closer, a woman steps out from behind a tree, hair silvered with age. Where the man’s years of exposure and hardship crack through, her face wrinkles and bends. Softer. “You okay, Cas?” she asks.
The man nods and pokes a thumb in our direction. “Couple of City strays. Nothing we can’t work with, Tian.”
Tian looks us over, taking in our dirty clothes and cheeks red with cold. “Pretty far away from the walls to look so well fed. Where are your supplies?”
Howl squeezes my hand before I can speak, “We dumped them a few days back. Thought the Reds were after us and we couldn’t move fast enough to stay ahead.” Hanging his head, his voice takes on a dejected whine I’ve never heard before. “We figured with a few days’ worth of food and water, we would be able to find help.”
“You aren’t worried about running around in the woods with nothing? City kids who grew up with Mantis?” She doesn’t look angry, just unconvinced. Cas sits down in front of the fire, looking away from us, but his hand stays close to the gun. “What kind of trouble is worse than risking a brush with a clan of infected out here? Not much I wouldn’t do to get behind those City walls.”
“We had to leave.” Howl’s voice cracks. “We were as good as dead in the City.”
Tian raises an eyebrow, blinking at the traitor brand unmistakable on my bare hand. Or maybe she’s looking at both our hands, so awkwardly intertwined. “Sweethearts?” Her voice is tinged with pity.
Howl grasps my hand even tighter, and I know it is my turn to speak. When I do, my voice grates, inches from pretend tears. “It was because of me. My mother, really. There was no point in staying after what she did.” It feels odd to twist the truth into this lie.
The old lady purses her lips. “Things are tough even in the City these days, I guess.” A trilling whistle sounds from her lips and two men step out from the fringes of the wood, guns lowering as they walk toward us. A young girl pokes her head out of the tent, her hair bound up in a dirty scarf. She gives us a quick glare before clapping the flap shut again.
The dark-haired men sit by Cas at the fire, almost identical in appearance. One is lazily unconcerned with us, the other openly watching and interested.
Tian jerks her head toward the men. “These are my sons, Parhat and Liming. The little one in the tent is June.”
One of the men, Liming, catches my eye when she says his name, giving me a start. His eyes are bright green against his sun-dark skin. Green, like the invaders, like Kamar . . . or maybe this Mountain place we’re going. I squeeze Howl’s hand, trying to get his attention, but he ignores me.
Parhat doesn’t look up from the boiling water over the fire. He rhythmically taps a scarred wooden bowl against the three-legged stand that suspends the pot over the crackling wood.
Something inside of me relaxes. It’s hard to be frightened of a family cooking dinner. Maybe Outsiders aren’t as bad as I thought. Maybe there are people with green and blue eyes who aren’t part of the army trying to destroy my home.
They taught us about Outsiders in school. Wood Rats. Scavengers who have defected from the City or Kamar, preying on small groups of soldiers or on one another. But why should Cas and Tian be any more dangerous than people in the City? Maybe the campaign against Outsiders is just another way to keep people inside the walls. Like Howl’s ridiculous theory that the First Circle won’t let citizens have fresh fruit or they’ll escape. Another nightmare to scare the little ones in their sleep.
“My name is Yong-Gui.” Howl jerks his head toward me. “And this is Wenli.” His tight grip on my hand is starting to pinch my fingers. “Thank you for letting us sit by your fire. It’s been so cold.”
“Are you coming from one of the farms?” I instantly regret asking as Howl tries to squeeze the bones right out of my fingers. Parhat finally glances up at us. His eyes are glazed and unfocused, darting between me and Howl before twisting back toward his bowl.
Cas turns back to the fire. “South.”
I nod. Howl pulls me around to face him. “You’ve got a bit of dirt on your neck, Wenli.” One finger runs lightly along my jaw, stopping just below my ear, sending tingles down my throat. Howl catches my eye and presses firmly just behind my jaw, under my ear, eyes flicking toward Parhat. “Is there any water nearby?”
He knows there’s water nearby. We’ve been following the river. Perhaps this is a bid to sneak away?
Looking back at Parhat, I see that just under his ear he has a scar. It looks almost carved. A cross, cut shallowly over and over again. Looking a little more closely, I see more of them. Crosses decorating the back of his neck, and one peeking out from the cuff of his jacket. Scars. Suddenly I understand why Howl is crushing the life out of my hand. He has never been around SS. I’ve known hundreds of infected kids over the years. With Mantis . . .
Parhat’s eyes move up again to look into the trees. They never seem to rest on anything in particular, just dart back and forth as though he can’t keep still. The tapping on the wooden bowl stops, and he looks at us again. Chills run up and down my spine, and I find myself returning Howl’s grip. Those eyes are feral. They’ve never even seen Mantis.
Maybe, in this case, the City wasn’t lying.