Her plaits hung over her shoulder in heavy skeins, and her normally pale skin practically glowed like moonstone in the near dark. Her collarbones stood out above the neckline of her bodice and dark shadows smudged the skin under her eyes like bruises. Something inside me twisted at the sight. She really needed to eat more. And rest more.
I faced forward again as we left the dense foliage farther and farther behind, gripping my bow at the ready as we walked into a maw of wasteland that had once been working fields.
I hesitated, scanning the horizon, searching for any woods to pass through that would offer some protection. The skyline loomed ahead, a dark gray plain etched against the moonlit sky. There was no easy way around it. We’d have to cross straight through that open space. Our boots crunched over short, withered-up stalks of sugarcane that even the rain hadn’t helped to moisten.
Every crunching step made me cringe. I wanted nothing more than to be off this deadened field and onto softer ground. Quieter ground.
I continued to scan the barren landscape, peering as far as I could into the stretch of nothingness. I flexed my grip around my bow.
In the distance, the outline of a copse of trees materialized against the dark. “This way,” I murmured, nodded as though she could see my gesture.
Shaking my head, I led her across the field. As we drew closer, I could see that a small farmer’s hut backed against the copse. The crank on the old, dilapidated well turned in the breeze.
“Do you hear that?” Her hand fell on my arm.
I stopped, listening.
“It’s a voice.” Her head whipped back and forth from me to the cottage. “Someone’s in there.”
My gaze narrowed on the cottage. It looked abandoned. The windows dark, gaping holes. The door was ajar, hanging off a broken hinge.
“There it is again. Someone is in trouble inside there.”
I tensed, aiming my arrow at the hut. I didn’t hear anything, but I knew to trust her in this.
She huffed in frustration and lunged ahead, quick as a darting hare.
“Luna!” I dropped my bow and tried to grab her back, but she was too fast.
Swinging my bow over my shoulder, I took off after her, reaching her just as she crossed the threshold.
NINETEEN
Luna
THE MAN WAS in the middle of the room. He reeked of sweat and blood. I could even detect the acrid sting of fear. He was still whispering in that pitiable voice that first alerted me to him. “Help . . . help . . . me,” he pleaded between labored pants of breath.
I stepped forward to reach him, but Fowler’s hand fell hard on my arm. “What are you doing?”
“He needs help.” I waved in his general direction.
“You can’t just go charging into every situation, Luna.”
“I charged into your situation, did I not? Do you regret that?”
He growled low, and I felt a surge of satisfaction. “Fine. You stay here. I’ll check him.”
His boots thudded on the wood floor as he advanced cautiously. The floor creaked beneath him as he squatted. I hovered close behind. Clothing rustled and I presumed he was searching the man for weapons. His ministrations must not have been gentle enough. The man groaned and Fowler hushed him softly. “Quiet now. We don’t want any unwelcome visitors, do we?”
“I look bad.” The man coughed and gurgled blood. “But you should see the other one. It won’t be going back underground.” He laughed, and the sound sputtered and twisted into violent hacking.
“He’s unarmed,” Fowler said to me as if there was still some doubt.
This man didn’t want to hurt anyone. He was the hurt one. He just wanted the pain to stop.
I hastened forward and dropped down beside Fowler. I stretched out my hand to touch the stranger, but Fowler’s hand on my wrist stopped me.
I turned my face in his direction. “Something wrong?”
“He’s . . .”
“What?” I asked.
“He’s missing some of his face.”
“Oh.” The word expelled from me in a horrified rush.
“I went out at midlight,” the stranger wheezed. “Thought I could get back in time . . . so stupid. I went too far. It was just one dweller, but I didn’t see him until he was on me.”
Fowler spoke into my ear. “There’s toxin all over his wounds.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Amose.”
“Amose?” I moistened lips that felt suddenly dry. “Can I hold your hand? Would that be all right with you?” I had barely finished asking the question before he seized my hand, squeezing it tightly as if staying connected to me somehow helped him bear the agony.
“I had a daughter once. She had small hands like yours.” He paused on a pained gasp. “She married. Moved away to Cydon . . . maybe she’s still there. . . .”
“It’s a big village. I am sure she is there and thriving.” I had no idea if the village still stood, but I would say anything to him in that moment that could provide comfort.
Fowler tensed beside me and I could read his thoughts. His judgment. No one thrived.
“I’m so . . . thirsty,” Amose rasped.
I reached for my water. Instantly, Fowler closed his fingers around my hand, each finger a biting imprint on my cold skin.
“He’s thirsty,” I explained as though it were the simplest thing in the world.
“We have a precious amount of supplies.”