CHAPTER 4
RACHEL WAS GLAD the girl she had been sharing the room with wasn’t there when she and Nandy went to get her things. She wouldn’t have known what to say to her if she had been. Hi, I’m moving out of this room, because they trust me now. Hope they trust you soon. She wondered if they really did trust her now. Or if she trusted them.
Nandy grabbed the bigger of Rachel’s bags, the duffel bag that Ms. Moore had packed. Rachel hadn’t had time to go through all of the things in it. She took the bag her mom had packed.
“Anything else?” Nandy waited at the door.
“Nothing.”
“Oh.” Nandy dropped the duffel. “Let’s get the blanket and the pillow. Not that many extras around here.” She stripped the cot quickly and handed the bedding to Rachel, then lifted the duffel bag again.
“This thing is heavy.” Suddenly she grew excited. “Does it have books in it?”
“No.” Rachel thought it was an odd question. “Why?”
“Pathik said he thought you had . . . everything . . . where you came from. I just thought you might have books.”
“Do you have books here?” Rachel felt, somehow, as if a great deal depended upon Nandy’s answer to that question.
Nandy nodded. “A few. Not as many as I would like. I think there were many books, before.” Nandy studied her. “Are there many where you came from? Pathik said there must be.”
“Millions of net books. And there are old-fashioned ones at the library.”
Nandy kept looking at Rachel, conflicting emotions battling on her face. “We,” she said in a brittle tone, “have twenty-three. Twenty-three books. Though I think we are especially lucky, because one of them is a dictionary.” She lowered her eyes and did not look at Rachel for several moments. When she raised them again she seemed more herself, more the sunny Nandy Rachel had come to expect during her short time at camp. “Let’s get to home.”
Home turned out to be one of the largest of the huts that dotted the camp. As they got closer Rachel could see it had been constructed from rocks, many years before, judging from the lichen and moss growing on it. Some sort of mortar blocked the cracks and crevices, but the stones were fit together so expertly that it looked like they would hold without any help. The door, which was emblazoned with the obligatory blue circles that every door in the camp seemed to have, was fashioned from a piece of sheet metal that didn’t fit the wooden door frame well. There was cloth bundled into the gap. Nandy took hold of the edge of the cloth before she opened the door so it wouldn’t fall to the ground. She gestured to Rachel to enter. When they were both through she pulled the door shut after them and stuffed the cloth back into the gap.
“We keep meaning to get a better door.” She sounded apologetic.
Rachel followed Nandy into a large room. It took her a moment to adjust to the change in light.
“You can put your bags here for now.” Nandy put Ms. Moore’s duffel bag on the floor near the door and walked toward what looked like a hearth. Rachel dropped her bag next to Ms. Moore’s and followed. She could see two doorways off the main room that must be sleeping areas. When Nandy lit an oil jar she saw a large table surrounded by stools.
Rachel froze in place. In the middle of the table lay a . . . creature. It was about the size of a lynx. Rachel had studied lynx back at The Property, as part of a home schooling lesson Vivian prepared about extinct animals; lynx in particular had captivated her because of their beauty, but also because of something—some fine awareness—in their faces.
The creature on the table looked a lot like a lynx in some ways. It had large ears, and emerald, slanted eyes set in a pointed face. It possessed a sinewy grace evident even in repose. It had that same fine awareness Rachel had admired in lynx. But instead of fur, this creature was covered in short, dense wool. The wool was curly, and striped like a domestic tabby cat. Rachel knew that it must be one of the peculiar creatures described in her net books about Away.
“A . . . sheep-cat,” she whispered.
“What?” Nandy shrugged off her coat.
Rachel pointed at the creature. “I think . . . Is that a sheep-cat?”
“What’s a sheep-cat?” Nandy walked over to the table and sat down. She stroked the long, muscled back of the animal. “How was your day, Nipper?” The creature made no reply; it stared at Rachel, inscrutable.
Rachel hesitated. “I’ve read about those, I think. In the books they called them sheep-cats. But they were described as much larger, and vicious too.”
“Nipper’s pretty big as Woollies go. Most are a bit smaller. But your books are right about the vicious part. If I managed to get close enough to touch a wild Woolly I would lose my hand. Not that you aren’t wild, right, Nipper?” Nandy smiled and dug her fingers into the thick fleece behind the Woolly’s ear. “He needed some help once, when he was a baby. I gave it. And we’ve been friends since.” Nipper growled softly, still staring at Rachel.
“Have a seat. We have a lot to talk about.” Nandy laughed when Rachel stayed where she was. “He’s just saying hello. He won’t hurt you, will you, Nipper?”
The Woolly turned his head and gazed at Nandy. He growled again, and tilted his head so her fingers found a new place to scratch.
Rachel edged toward the chair closest to her and slowly sat down. Nipper watched. When she was finally settled he lifted the left side of his lip in a sneer, revealing one long fang.
“So sheep-cats are real.” Rachel thought about the fantastic stories she had loved to read about Away and wondered what other creatures described in them might turn out to actually exist.
“Have you started bleeding yet, Rachel?” Nandy’s tone was all business now.
“Do you mean . . . menstruating?” Rachel kept her eyes on Nipper.
“Yes. If you have, we’ll need to bring extra provisions on the trek. I doubt you had time to pack anything.”
“I had the implant when I was born. Didn’t . . . Oh, of course you didn’t.” Rachel felt the strange sense of disorientation that had been hitting her since she Crossed the Line. Every time she saw the battered pots and pans or flipped the useless light switch on the wall in her sleeping room, she realized all over again that she was Away, that the devastation from long-ago bombs and betrayal was real. These people had no modern conveniences. Any food they ate, they killed or grew; any clothing they wore, they made, from cloth they wove. They drank water they hauled from the stream, not water dispensed from condensation units. If someone grew ill, they could easily die. It was like nothing Rachel had ever experienced.
“I won’t start menstruating until I get my repro clearance and permission to have my implant removed. So no worries there.”
“Repro clearance?”
“Permission to have a child.” Nipper stretched one front leg out toward Rachel and showed off six bladed toes. Rachel stared at the claws, fascinated; they appeared to be serrated along their edges.
“Well.” Nandy’s face looked the way it had when they were talking about books. “We don’t need permission here. Just luck.”
“Is Pathik your only child?” Rachel wasn’t certain why Nandy looked so angry.
“I love him like he is, but Pathik’s not mine. His mother died giving birth to his younger brother.”
“He has a brother?”
“He didn’t live either.” Nandy’s eyes glittered at Rachel from across the table. Nipper growled again, low and long. “The woman who was the healer then couldn’t help them. Even Saidon—she’s our healer now—couldn’t have helped them. She’s got a great gift, but it’s limited. If someone is truly dying, she can’t heal them.”
“Do . . . do you have any children?”
“Do you see any?” Nandy’s voice was hard.
“I’m sorry.”
Nandy shook her head, swiping at her eyes with one hand, calming Nipper with the other.
“It’s not your fault, is it, Rachel? So it does me no good to be mad at you.”
The door to the hut crashed open, and Pathik burst into the room with a stack of kindling.
“The wadding, Pathik! How many times do I have to remind you, hold on to the wadding so it doesn’t fall. Or next time you do all the washing.”
“Sorry, Nan.” Pathik blinked at Nandy’s tone. “I think it only got a little dusty.” Pathik made a production of brushing the cloth off. “Time to go—they’re all waiting. I told them they could meet Rachel today.”
“Who? Who can meet me?”
“The children.” Nandy rose and gave Nipper one more caress. “Time to go put that dictionary to use.” She paused by Rachel, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry. None of it is anybody’s fault, at least nobody in this room.” She smiled, though it was a weak version of her usual smile. “Let’s go.”
Rachel watched her walk out the door, Nipper fast on her heels. She looked at Pathik.
“Did I walk in on something? She’s not usually snappish.”
Rachel shook her head. “Nothing much.” She looked at Pathik, taking in his tired eyes and his face, the face she had decided was handsome, even if its owner was often irritating. “I’m sorry about your mother, Pathik. And . . . and your brother.”
“Why are you sorry? Has nothing to do with you.” Pathik refused to meet her eyes.
“Because . . . because they died.” Rachel brushed past him and headed for the door.
“Rachel.” His quiet voice stopped her. She turned back to face him.
“Thanks.” He looked at her intently. “For being sorry, I mean.” He reached over and touched the collar of her jacket, just below her earlobe. “Are you going to be warm enough in this? The schoolroom doesn’t have a fireplace.”
“Schoolroom?” Rachel felt oddly warm, and somehow she couldn’t drag her gaze from his.
Pathik grinned. He let his fingers slide off of her collar. “Nandy’s our teacher. We’re going to help her today.”