“How many were there?” Pike asks Coral. She shakes her head. “Five? Seven? A dozen? Come on. You have to give us something to—”
“I want to know why,” Alex interjects. Even though he speaks softly, everyone instantly gets quiet and listens. I used to love that about him: the way he can take command of a situation without raising his voice, the ease and confidence he has always radiated.
Now I am supposed to feel nothing, so I focus on the fact that Julian is behind me, only inches away; I focus on the fact that Alex’s and Coral’s knees are touching, and he doesn’t draw away or seem to mind at all.
“Why the attack? Why burn the barn down? It doesn’t make sense.” Alex shakes his head. “We all know the Scavengers are out to loot and rob, not ravage. This wasn’t theft—it was massacre.”
“The Scavengers are working with the DFA,” Julian says. He glosses fluidly over the words, although they must be difficult for him. The DFA was his father’s organization, his family’s lifework, and up until Julian and I were thrown together only a few short weeks ago, it was Julian’s lifework as well.
“Exactly.” Alex stands up. Even though he and Julian are once again speaking off each other, call-and-response, he refuses to look in our direction. He keeps his eyes on Raven and Tack. “It’s not about survival for them anymore, is it? It’s about payday. The stakes are higher and the goals are different.”
No one contradicts him. Everyone knows he is right. The Scavengers never cared about the cure. They came into the Wilds because they didn’t belong in—or were pushed out of—normal society. They came with no allegiance or affiliation, no sense of honor or ideals. And although they were always ruthless, their attacks used to serve a purpose—they pillaged and robbed, took supplies and weapons, and didn’t mind killing in the process.
But murder with no meaning and no gain…
That is very different. That is contract killing.
“They’re picking us off.” Raven speaks slowly, as though the idea is just occurring to her. She turns to Julian. “They’re going to hunt us down like—like animals. Is that it?”
Now everyone looks at him—some curiously, some with resentment.
“I don’t know.” He stutters very lightly over the words. Then: “They can’t afford to let us live.”
“Now can I say shit?” Dani asks sarcastically.
“But if the DFA and the regulators are using the Scavengers to kill us, it’s proof that the resistance has power,” I protest. “They see us as a threat. That’s a good thing.”
For years, the Invalids living in the Wilds were actually protected by the government, whose official position was that the disease, amor deliria nervosa, had been wiped out during the blitz, and all the infected people eradicated. Love was no more. To recognize that Invalid communities existed would have been an admission of failure.
But now the propaganda can’t hold. The resistance has become too large and too visible. They can’t ignore us any longer, or pretend that we don’t exist—so now they must try to wipe us out.
“Yeah, we’ll see how good it feels when the Scavengers fry us in our sleep,” Dani fires back.
“Please.” Raven gets to her feet. A ribbon of white runs through her black hair; I’ve never noticed it before, and I wonder whether it has always been there or only recently appeared. “We’ll just have to be more careful. We’ll scout locations for our camps more closely, and keep someone on guard at night. All right? If they’re hunting us, we’ll just have to be faster and smarter. And we’ll have to work together. There are more of us every day, right?” She looks pointedly at Pike and Dani, then turns her gaze back to Coral. “Do you think you’re strong enough to walk?”
Coral nods. “I think so.”
“All right, then.” Tack is obviously getting antsy. It must be at least ten o’clock. “Let’s make final rounds. Check the traps; work on getting packed up. We’ll shove off as soon as we can.”
Tack and Raven no longer have undisputed control of the group, but they can still get people to move, and in this case, no one argues. We’ve been camping near Poughkeepsie for almost three days, and now that we have decided on a destination, we’re all eager to get there.
The group breaks up as people begin to scatter into the trees. We’ve been traveling together for a little less than a week, but each of us has already assumed a different role. Tack and Pike are the hunters; Raven, Dani, Alex, and I take turns manning the traps; Lu hauls and boils water. Julian packs and unloads and repacks. Others repair clothing and patch tents. In the Wilds, existence depends on order.
On that, the cureds and the uncureds agree.
I fall into step behind Raven, who is stalking up a short incline, toward a series of bombed-out foundations, where a block of houses must once have stood. There is evidence of raccoons here.
“She’s coming with us?” I burst out.
“Who?” Raven seems surprised to see me next to her.