Arden shivered at my side. She coughed and opened her eyes just long enough to say something that sounded like “listen.” She leaned on me as I guided her into the dim tunnel, my hands trembling. Caleb closed the door behind me.
“Come this way,” he said, ducking under Arden’s other arm to help me carry her. As we moved in the dark, the cold dirt wall brushed against my shoulder. The ground was solid beneath my feet.
“This tunnel—you found it?” I asked, my voice echoing in the hollow cavity.
Caleb made a sharp right and took us down another tunnel, sensing the path in the dark. “We made it.” Far ahead, I could hear the sounds of a gathering. Distant murmuring, the clatter of pans, some faint hoots.
“You built this into the mountain?” I asked. Arden coughed again, her feet limp beneath her.
Caleb said nothing for a long while. “Yes.” I could hear him breathing as we walked. “After the plague, I was taken to a makeshift orphanage, in an abandoned church. Kids—boys and girls—were sleeping on pews and in closets, sometimes five of us all huddled together to keep warm. I only remember one adult—the woman who opened the cans of food for us. She called us the ‘leftovers.’ After a few months the trucks showed up and took the girls to Schools. The boys went to camps—labor camps—where we built things all day, every day.” Each word was clipped. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of us.
“When did you escape?” I asked. We moved through the tunnel, toward a light that glowed brighter as we neared it.
“Five years ago. The excavation was just starting when I got here,” Caleb answered. I wanted to know more, about who was organizing it and how, but I was afraid to press him further.
We turned and the passage emptied out into a wide, circular room, with a fire pit in the center. The cavern reminded me of an animal’s burrow. The mud walls were embedded with fat gray stones and four other tunnels snaked out from this expansive center. Before we could take another step, an arrow whizzed by my face, nearly clipping my ear.
“Watch where you’re going!” A boy with large, ropy muscles laughed. He walked over to the wall beside us, where two giant circles were etched, forming a target. His eyes were locked on me as he pulled the arrow out with one good yank.
A pack of boys was gathered around the fire, their chests bare. When they spotted Caleb they hollered wildly.
“We were wondering where you were,” a boy with a dome of thick black hair called out. They pounded their fists to their chests in some primitive welcome. My spine stiffened as the boys turned to stare at me.
“At least hunting was a success,” the one with the arrow hissed. He scanned my bare legs, the long-sleeved shirt that hung loosely over my breasts. I crossed my arms in front of me, wishing I was more covered. “Look what we got here, boys! A lady . . .” He stepped toward me, but Caleb pressed his palm out to stop him from moving any closer.
“Enough, Charlie,” Caleb warned.
Two others, about fifteen, carried a wild boar in from a side tunnel. They set their quarry on the ground, releasing a gush of clotted blood from the animal’s insides.
“Does Leif know about this?” one asked. He was tall and thin, a cracked pair of glasses sitting askew on his nose.
“He will soon enough,” Caleb replied.
One boy knelt beside the boar carcass. He ran two knife blades against each other, letting out a sharp, scraping sound that made the hair on my arms bristle. His eyes wandered over Arden’s body, and then, when he’d had his fill, he started on the boar, hacking at its neck. Bits of bone flew into his face. It was savage, the way his knife landed again and again at the place where its head met its body. I winced with every blow.
The boy didn’t stop until the head split off and rolled across the floor. The boar stared at me, its pupils covered in a gray film. I wanted to run through the corridor, back the way we’d come, not stopping until the open air embraced me. But I felt Arden limp at my side, and reminded myself why we were here. As soon as she was better we’d be gone, away from this dank dugout with these boys who looked at me as though I were something to be devoured.
A hefty one with blond, matted hair threw some more wood on the fire. He inspected Arden’s slight frame. “They can stay in my room,” he laughed. I gripped Arden tightly. “I’d be happy to share my bed.”
“They’re not staying in anyone’s room,” a gruff voice interrupted. “They’re not staying at all.”
An older boy appeared from one of the tunnels beyond the fire. He was wearing long shorts that hung past his knees and his chest sprouted dark curls. His black hair was pulled into a bun, revealing thick, crisscrossing scars on the top of his back. A group of older boys emerged in a line behind him, spilling out into the room. My skin prickled with fear. There were ten more of them at least, all taller and wider than me. And they looked angry.