At that moment, Alex felt Daniel twitch and try pulling out of his slouch. His eyes, sick and bleary, fluttered. His breath was foul from vomit. “Wuhhh?”
“Daniel?” He hadn’t said much all day. She gave him a little shake. “Daniel, it’s Alex. Can you—”
“Uhhh,” Daniel groaned, and then his knees tried to fold.
“No, no,” she said, bracing him up. “Come on. Try and walk, Daniel. We’re almost there, and soon you can rest.” Ahead, she saw that Spider and Leopard had started on their way again, but they were worried. The smell of it fizzed like soda bubbles popping against her nose.
She could see the entrance clearly now: a maw, bristling with icicles, ready to eat her alive. Its breath was a stale fog of death and blood, of grimy flesh and sweat from the many other prisoners who must be down there, of cold stone. And the Changed, of course.
She shifted Daniel’s weight across her shoulders. Behind, she heard the slow, resigned shuffle of the older prisoners as they came abreast and then broke around her and Daniel. None looked their way. Having spent the last two weeks virtually sequestered with Daniel, she hadn’t had a chance to get to know them at all, and they’d kept their distance, especially now that Daniel was so sick. She wasn’t sure she blamed them.
If I go in there, I’m not coming out again. This, she thought, was her last chance. Run for it, or not. She eyed the Changed milling around the entrance. An easy fifty right there, and all of them armed, although she was fairly certain they wouldn’t shoot her. Spider had other plans.
Besides, even if she somehow made it past all these Changed, what future would she be running toward? Rule? Chris? No. She’d never make it to either. She knew because she had smelled him, just as Spider and Leopard had on that stray finger of wind. And Alex wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about this or what it meant.
Because it wasn’t Chris out there.
It was Wolf.
70
“And they always leave a symbol?” Nathan’s skin was drawn so tight, his cheeks were knife blades. “Never a name or address?”
“No, it’s always a hex sign,” Chris said. He pressed a finger to his temple, trying to massage away a headache that just wouldn’t quit. The red line of his pack’s mini-thermometer just kissed freezing, but night was coming on and the temp outside the two-man was dropping fast. Turtling deeper into the sleeping bag, Chris jerked his chin at the drawing of a blue and red pentagram set against a white circle and done in rough strokes of colored pencil. “The colors are important, too, because the first time I went into a barn with the same design but different colors—a blue background, and alternating red and white for the star—there was nothing.”
He looked up at the sound of a zipper. The tent grayed and then Lena squirmed through the double flap, dragging a gout of frigid air and just the tiniest hint of sour bile in her wake.
“Cold.” Her breath steamed. Quickly zipping the flap shut, she burrowed into the only other sleeping bag. “It feels like it’s minus a hundred out there, and it’s getting windy, too.”
Nathan tugged at his right jowl. “Everything come out all right?” “Ha. Ha.” The tip of her nose was wind-burned, but her face was nearly transparent. “Bet I haven’t heard that since second grade.” Nathan spread his hands. “Just trying to lighten the mood.” Chris said nothing. They were all exhausted, but Lena was getting sicker, and her breath was heavy with the stink of vomit. A creep of dread walked his neck. The longer we stay out here, the worse it’s going to get. I can’t keep putting this off. But he still might be wrong. Nathan was just as experienced, and yet he’d said nothing, not a whisper. When a girl got sick every morning and stayed sick all day, there might be another reason that a man old enough to be her grandfather might be uncomfortable mentioning.
“I think there’s another storm coming, too.” She drew the bag down tight until only her face showed as a pale oval. “The sky’s kind of inky north of us.”
“Better hope not.” Nathan’s fingernails rasped over salt-and-pepper stubble. “Bad for us if we get stuck again.”
“God, it’s been weeks. How much further?” Lena asked.
“Maybe another two days if the weather holds and we stop for a whole night. The Changed are pretty thick, though, so I think it’s best if we keep moving. Rest for shorter periods, stagger our hours. Be to Oren that much faster, and then we can find a place to hole up while we figure out where to look. Speaking of which . . .” Nathan proffered the penciled drawing. “You know all these hex signs?”
“Sure. I just don’t know which barns have what.” Still swathed in the bag, Lena cocked her head and gnawed at her lower lip. Most of the skin was chewed off. Ugly scabs beetled over her mouth. “But it’s like I told Chris. They call that one the Five Wounds. Most barns have a bunch. I don’t know what they all mean, but . . . yeah.”
“Oh, I know this one. Five wounds of Christ. Pentagram was an early Christian symbol, way before the Cross,” said Nathan. “Is it always the same symbol?”
Chris shook his head. “It’s like I said. When they want me to find them, they leave a drawing in the bookmobile’s dictionary. Then it’s a matter of going barn to barn until I find the right one. Takes a while.”
“Well then, I guess the bookmobile’s our first stop. Unless we get lucky and they got sentries posted.” Nathan eyed him. “Anyone ever take a shot? You get the sense of someone keeping watch?”
He had, but that wasn’t new. Ride out of Rule often enough where there were raiders or Changed or both, and his eyes never stopped pinballing. “Sure. On the other hand, I’ve never come in this way before or brought anyone with me—to the bookmobile, anyway. I made Greg and the others wait just outside town. Plus, I’m early. There may be nothing.”
“God.” Lena let out a long sigh. “What do we do then?”
“Panic.” He meant it as a joke, but when she didn’t smile, Chris put a hand on her shoulder. What he didn’t like was that he had to think twice about that. “The big difference this time is you. If they see you, they may realize it’s okay to show themselves.”
“Maybe.” Lena’s tone was as dry and lifeless as a shriveled corn husk. “But it’s not like I was all that popular.”