Chapter Seven
"Stay here!" I command the Lily and Glade to remain behind before I take off through the trees in the direction of Clay's cries of pain. Neither one of them listen, and we crash through the brush catching sight of the beast hunched over with its fangs sunk deep in Clay's bleeding torso. I call out to scare it away, raising my bow and shooting wildly was I run. The arrow flies by the mutant's shoulder without even coming close to a hit. Our pounding steps drive it away from Clay's body, and the mutant crouches on all four limbs, low to the ground in a threatening stance.
I skid to a halt ten feet from the beast and throw out my arms to keep the girls from advancing. Clay is breathing shallow, jagged breaths with wild eyes full of pain staring at the sky. At least he is alive.
My hand finds the handle of the machete hidden in the satchel I still carry from the Gallery, and I tighten my grip as the mutant emits a low, threatened growl. "Don't move," I breathe a warning under my breath and this time the girls listen. Both are panting from our run, and I can feel Lily shaking in fear beside me. All three of us watch the motionless monster stand before us with feelings of horror and disgust. It is hideous, worse even than the wolfish beast that had attacked me. It is naked, or at least that is how it appears since it has no hair or fur whatsoever. Its skin is raw, patchy scales the color of a dying fish. Even from that distance I can smell the grime and reeking sweat off of it. It is smaller than the last mutant with a rat-like tail between its skeletal legs. Its head is too large for its body with a pair of bulging, watery eyes reminiscent of a frog. Clay's arrow is still sticking out of the back of its right shoulder, oozing a sticky cranberry red blood down its protruding line of ribs. My stomach clenches with nauseated revulsion as it bares it jagged line of broken fangs and makes a motion as if to spring.
I release the machete, drop the satchel, and whisk an arrow to my bowstring in one rapid movement. Lily screams and cowers as the mutant leaps with a gut wrenching, guttural shriek. I fire, this time sinking my arrow deep into one of those grotesque, glossy eyes. The mutant flies back with a yelp, collapsing in the dry leaves with a thud before scrambling to its claws and stumbling away through the brush at a gallop.
"Oh my god, oh my god!" Glade attempts to keep her control, eyes filling with terrified tears and her breath coming out in short gasps.
"Are you okay?" I'm having trouble breathing myself.
She isn't able to speak but closes her eyes and nods slowly, clearly distressed. She is doing far better than Lily though, who is on the ground, curled up in a protective stance, and shaking like a leaf.
"Lil!" I lean in and get her to look at me. "Come on, get up."
She takes the hand I offer and stands weakly on her feet, setting her fear aside and focusing on the need at hand. Hurrying to Clay's side, she merges into the competent healer I've known her to be and begins to stanch the blood flow out of his wound with a strong, stable hand. "We need to get him back to the house."
"I'm fine," Clay says weakly, looking pale and clammy.
"No you're not," Lily snaps, looking up at me as I squat down beside them, wanting to see the damage for myself.
I agree that we need to leave, and soon. We can't trust that the mutant is injured enough not to be a threat. Nor do we know if it is the only one nearby. But there is no way we can move Clay all the way back to the house; it's too far. "Can you walk?"
"Probably—"
"No!" Lily stops his efforts to try and sit up. "We need to make a stretcher, anything."
"We can't carry him back to the Village, Lily. It's all uphill from here," I reason. "Someone could see him."
"It's a little late to worry about that, Sage!"
"It's fine, I can walk," Clay tries again.
"No you can't!" Lily and I both yell back at once, and he relents, too weak to argue. "We'll take you to the cabin," I decide. "It's not that far and there's supplies among Mom's things. Medical supplies," I point out, and Lily ascents, nodding and finding clean leaves on the ground to help soak up Clay's blood loss.
Dumping the contents of my satchel on the ground, I quickly find two strong saplings and strip them down, cutting them to equal lengths with the machete. Stripping the fabric of the satchel, I tie the corners in tight knots around the makeshift poles, creating a stretcher to carry Clay. He is certain it won't hold his weight and that we are stupid to even try. I don't care; there is no way he can walk that distance with an open wound. He would bleed out in two minutes, and I'm not going to be responsible for killing the president's only child.
"Help me," I enlist Lily and Glade to take Clay's feet while I lift his shoulders, and we move him to lie flat on the stretcher. "Take a corner and hold it tight, don't drag him."
"Yes, please," Clay contributes blandly, looking ready to pass out from the pain. "Don't drag me."
It's not an easy hike. We stumble and blunder across the uneven ground, tripping over tree roots and exhausting ourselves in our effort. Clay probably would have been better off on his own for all the good we were handling that stretcher. But eventually we make it to the lake as the sun beats down from high in the noon sky. There is a crispness to the air from a breeze off the water which quickly cools us from our hike.
Opening the cabin, I check the interior and find it as Mom and I had last left it on one of our many trips down here. It is our favorite place to camp out while on longer hunting trips which keep us away from home. The concrete floor is well swept, the hearth well stocked with wood, and several crates line the far wall full of supplies.
We set Clay gently down near the fireplace, and Lily immediately goes to work on his wound. There is a first aid kit among the bundles of blankets and cooking utensils in one of the crates. She sends me to retrieve this along with a bottle of white liquor Mom keeps on hand for cooking and cleaning out wounds just like this one. I find some burlap to make fresh bandages and put Glade to work tearing it into long strips. Building a fire, I give the one-room cabin some light and heat before securing the door and covering the single window with thick blackout curtains. Under Mom's intuitive design, the cabin is a far more secure place to spend a night like this than even our house in the Village. Knowing this doesn't lessen my anxiety any, however.
"Sage," Lily calls me away from the window. She douses a large amount of liquor over Clay's wound where she has ripped away his shirt to expose the torn skin. Handing me the bottle, she dabs the row of mangled fang marks with a clean cloth. "Light that lantern and hold it up for me," she commands while threading a needle from the first aid kit.
"Do you know what you're doing?" Clay asks through gritted teeth, wincing every time she makes contact with the wound.
"Yes," she responds curtly, focusing intently on her work.
I return with the lit lantern and kneel behind her, giving her all the light she needs.
"It might hurt a little," Lily tells Clay before positioning her needle to begin stitching him up.
"Wait!" he stops her. "Give me that bottle." Ripping the liquor from my hand, he takes a long swig and hands it back, grimacing against the harsh taste and lying back with his eyes closed against the inevitable. "Do you're thing, darling."
"Don't move." Lily is quick and efficient. I haven't witnessed many medical stitch jobs, but this one looks pretty clean to me.
"Too bad you don't have pictures of this to show your instructor," I mutter, dropping the lantern a few inches to give her more light for the last few stitches.
"Don't think I hadn't thought of that," she responds similarly. "Done," she cuts the thick thread and reaches for the bandages to wrap up the newly closed wound. "Can you roll over on your side, Clay?"
With a great deal of strain, he does as she asks, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out in renewed pain.
"Does it still hurt that bad?" Lily looks alarmed.
"No," he grimaces. "It's not that, it's my ribs. I think I cracked a few when that ugly bastard knocked me down. It probably gave me whiplash too; my neck feels out of whack."
Lily feels his ribs carefully with prodding fingers, frowning at what she finds. "Alright, I'll wrap them tight; that should help. As long as you're careful, they should heal just fine on their own."
"Do you need a neck rub?" Glade moves forward and, to my surprise, digs right in loosening Clay's sore muscles with too familiar hands. She catches my incredulous look and returns with a daring glare. "You danced with Blondie," she is quick to remind me, and I have no argument to stand on.
When Lily finishes, we lay Clay back down flat on the floor with a blanket beneath him. I toss more wood on the fire and search the supplies for something to eat. We don't usually keep much food in the cabin, but there are some spices, a few canned goods, and an airtight bag of dried meat, fruit, and nuts. Passing it around, I pick up a bucket used for drawing water from the lake and grab my bow. "I'll be back," I tell the others.
"Where are you going?" Glade asks.
"Just for water," I lie and slip out. I'll get the water, but not before I have a look around. I want to be sure that we weren't trailed by anything human or otherwise. I won't be able to relax at the cabin without securing our surroundings, and maybe bag us some fresh meat for dinner.
I circle the landscape three yards out from the cabin, moving slow and listening for any sound of movement in the brush. A few scrawny winter birds fly from branch to branch overhead watching me as I work my way through roots and fallen leaves keeping my eye out for tracks: footprints, scat, broken twigs, snags of fur or hair, anything that would suggest something other than us has been here recently. There is nothing out of the ordinary behind the cabin and I shoot one of the birds along with a fleeing squirrel before making my way back to the lake.
Picking up my bucket I had left by the cabin door, I leave my kill and head to the beach. The shore is mostly lined with rocks, but there is a thin bar of sand edged with reeds in a shallow corner not far from the cabin. The water is ice cold when I dip my bucket in and slosh it up my arm. Despite the bright sun high in the sky, the air has a crisp, fall chill to it that is a drastic change to the recent Indian summer we had been experiencing. The sky is a pale, robin's egg blue, and I hear a flock of migrating geese skim by high above the treetops. Fall is finally here, and winter is not far off. There will be frost on the ground tonight, maybe ice on the lake in a few days if it remains this cool.
I don't mind. Fall has always been my favorite season, and there is something to be said for the refreshing beauty of the first snowfall. Tracking mutants would be far easier with a white carpet to capture claw prints. But right now I just want to get back to the warmth of the fire.
Picking up my bucket, I turn to retrace my footsteps up to the cabin when I stop. There in a dry patch of sand is a clear and definite footprint. Not footprint…paw print. I stoop for a better look. It might be a wolf but no, it looks too elongated with thicker, wider pads before the toe joints. This is a print for a rear limb, and I notice that it doesn't have four claws, but five. Not a dewclaw, but an actual fifth toe print, like a human. The print itself is almost as long as an adult male foot, over twice the size of a full grown wolf track.
I glance around warily, checking the surrounding trees and peering over the tops of the tall reeds. The lake is dead of movement or sound.
Examining the print again, I notice that the sand is dry, only a little damp in the center of the pad impression. This print is at least a day old. And there is another, slightly less obvious, but close enough to have been the mate of this print. Looking for more, I find only a trace of smudged ground moving off toward some long grass. All rear paw prints, no front claws; this beast was walking on only hind legs.
Grabbing up my bucket and bow, I hurry back to the cabin, scanning the ground for any other sign of the mutant's tracks. I don't see any more footprints, but notice something that I hadn't before. There are claw scratch marks on the window frame, smudges on the glass, and a crack in the pane that I am sure wasn't there the last time Mom and I were here. The outside of the door also has a few scratch marks and it makes me wonder why the mutant hadn't tried harder to get in. By the look of those prints, it was obviously big enough to force its entry if it really had wanted to.
I pick up the squirrel and bird carcasses and pass one last glance around the lake before slipping inside and securing the door behind me. I have no wish to alarm Lily or Glade, so I keep my findings to myself, only passing a look to Clay when I enter, stopping him from asking any questions. His eyebrows nit in curiosity, but he doesn't say anything, settling back in the makeshift pallet the girls have made for him and closing his eyes to sleep.
I hand off the water to Lily and call Glade over to the corner to teach her how to properly skin an animal for eating. She's still looking tired and nervous, but also a little exhilarated by everything that has happened. "Do you think you killed it?" she asks, lowering her voice just for me.
I shake my head negatively. "It could bleed out from Clay's arrow, but mine just took its eye. I doubt it even pierced too deep into the skull; otherwise it never would have been able to run off like that. I shot it at a weird angle," I make excuses, not all too thrilled with my poor archery efforts that morning. "It's probably off licking its wounds in some hole. Hopefully some other animal will come by and pick it off for good."
Glade makes a face at the thought. "I don't know what animal would want that thing for dinner. It was absolutely revolting."
I agree completely. "Here," I hand the gutless squirrel over, having just removed all its entrails. "Grab the fur here and pull." She makes a good effort but just doesn't have the strength to remove it in one tough yank. I give her my pocketknife and let her go at it, tearing the pellet from the sinewy muscle. There isn't much to this squirrel even after months of foraging. I should go out and find more, but just don't want to.
Leaning against the cabin wall, I pick up the bird and begin plucking away the feathers with an exhausted sigh.
"You're tired," Glade notices.
"Nah," I deny it.
"Are you worried?" she glances up from her work and meets my eye, betraying her own concern in hers.
"No," I tell her honestly. Not worried really, just anxious. I don't like not knowing what's out there or how to handle it. I can track and hunt down any animal. All of Mom's training has taught me how beasts think and act, but these mutants are no simple mammal or bird, they're unpredictable killers. If it was just me out here, or even Clay and I…fine. But I don't want anything to happen to Glade or Lily. "We're safe here," I assure her. "We're going to find the mutants and kill them. If we don't, my mom will."
Glade smiles softly, placing a warm hand on mine and leaning in for a soft kiss of gratitude. "You were amazing this morning, shooting that mutant. Almost as amazing as your famous parents."
"Almost?"
"Close enough," she teases with another kiss.
"Thanks," I return the favor, "but you're getting squirrel guts on my pants."
"Oh," she jerks her hand back as I laugh. Picking up the naked carcass, Glade waves it in my face, slapping me gently on the face with a grimy palm. "Thanks for the grub, smartass."
We are interrupted by Lily yelling at Clay to stay put on his pallet, holding down his shoulders while he tries to roll over and get to his feet. "You can't aggravate the wound again! You'll break the stiches, lay down!"
"Let go of me, princess," Clay gives her a warning. "I've got to use the little boy's room, and I'm not doing it here, so lay off!"
"You can use—"
"If you hand me a bedpan I'll whip it at the window," Clay threatens seriously, grabbing both of Lily's wrists and forcefully, but gently moves her away. "Help me up, kid," he enlists my assistance to pacify her a little. "I'm going to relieve myself outside."
I support him under the arm while he wobbles to his feet and holds his side, groaning a little from the pain but keeping his color and composure. "I'm fine," he assures Lily and moves slowly to the door.
"Don't either of you go out alone," I tell the girls, grabbing my bow propped against the fireplace. "Not even to use the bathroom. Go together and take the machete, got it?"
Glade nods, understanding the warning in my expression before I shut the door. "Lock this behind me." Leading Clay by the arm, I steer him passed the window. "Look," I nod at it, "see those scratches? Don't bend down," I roll my eyes as Clay leans in, grimacing in pain. "Just look at it. See it?"
"I guess."
"And the broken glass?"
"Yeah…what? A mutant?"
"I think so," I nod. "There are tracks down by the water."
"You're sure?" Clay considers this news seriously, stopping just around the corner of the cabin and using the wall as support as he unloads his bladder.
"Positive. They're too canine to be human but about the size of man's foot with five toes. Rear claw prints too, not front."
"An upright mutant," Clay understands.
"Yeah," I watch our surroundings warily. "You think it's the one? The human mutant, or whatever?"
"The Humant?" Clay asks humorously.
"Sure."
"Could be," he shrugs and rights himself, turning around when finished. "Just because it walks on two legs and tries to break into cabins doesn't mean it's all that intelligent though."
"No," I suppose not.
"But there have been an awful lot of mutant sightings around here. It would only make sense for him to flee south after escaping 13, meet his fellow comrades halfway."
"Then they could be close," I reason. "All of them."
"Let's hope so," Clay responds blandly, working his way back up to the cabin door.
I spot a plump muskrat waddling around near a fallen log by the water and take aim. Hitting it dead in the head, I run down to retrieve it, hoisting its hefty carcass by the scruff of the neck. Well, somebody ate well this summer at least. "Glade!" I call out just outside the open door. "I've got another one for you."
We decide to spend the night. Clay can't move too far anyway, and there's no reason to go home. I'm sure the mayor is wondering what happened to his daughter, but Glade seems to find it funny that her family might be worried rather than concerned over their distress. "They'll get over it," she shrugs. "He needs to get used to it; I'm not going to be around forever."
"He'll send someone to find you," I point out.
"Let him," she still doesn't care. "It won't do any good. I'm not going anywhere until we find those mutants."
I love her for her determination and can't help but smile. "We better work on your archery skills then, Soldier Orwell."
We spend the afternoon taking practice shots at a target leaning against a tree a few feet from the cabin. Clay sleeps most of the afternoon but joins us outside in the early evening to sit against the doorframe and graciously give us 'advice' on the proper way to shoot. Lily isn't seen for hours, tucked away inside going through each and every item in the supply crates and organizing everything to exhaustion. When the sun begins to dip and the chill increases, we return to the cabin to find a cozy little makeshift home with bed pallets for each of us, a crate table covered in a spare piece of canvas and set with place settings for four. The fire is roaring and filling the room with light and warmth as it simmers a hearty smelling stew of squirrel, muskrat, and barely oats.
"Wow," Clay is impressed. "Just like home."
"They serve muskrat in the Capitol?" I ask.
Clay shoves me ungraciously toward the table, wincing in pain from the strain on his wound. "It looks fabulous, Lily."
I catch her blush as she turns to the cast iron pot hanging over the fire to stir the stew. Maybe she doesn't hate him so much after all.
We sit down on the floor to eat under the light of the lantern set in the center of the table. Mom and I have never had any meal this fancy while staying at the cabin. Our meals usually are hit and run, eaten out of cold tin cans or speared off the end of a sharpened stick and roasted over the fire. It feels like another place entirely under Lily's magical touch, and I can't say that I mind the change.
It is a quiet dinner, filling and satisfying. Even more so with Glade settled in beside me with her fingers entwined in mine. You would think this is a carefree vacation rather than a break before a bloody hunt for deadly mutants. I've almost forgotten why we're here.
"I don't think I've tasted a better stew," Clay sits back from his empty dish with satisfaction.
"That's just because you were hungry," Lily points out.
"I wasn't," he shakes his head. "I wasn't even sure I wanted to eat before I smelled it."
She simply shrugs off the compliment, scrunching up her nose thoughtfully. "I prefer potatoes over barley, but it worked I guess."
"Sure did," Clay catches her eye, and Lily has to look away again before flushing red.
"So…why do you hate him again?" I ask for the sole purpose of getting her riled. It works as Lily shoots me an icy glare for even bringing it up. "Something about a Presidential picnic or something…"
"Presidential Ball," Clay corrects me.
"Stop it," Lily is not pleased.
"Ooh, you went to a Presidential Ball?" Glade gets excited.
"No."
"I think you did," Clay grins mildly at Lily's scowl.
"I did, but I don't want to talk about it."
"It wasn't that bad, nobody even noticed."
"Everybody noticed!" she exclaimed, and now I'm really curious.
"Why don't I remember this?"
" 'Cause you weren't there," Lily explains. "This happened when I went on that trip to the Capitol with Dad last year."
"It was my Mom's birthday celebration at the mansion," Clay adds, much to Lily's annoyance. "There were two separate dances, one for the old folks, the wine and dine high society set shuffling through their waltzes and sloshing their champagne. While that was going on in the main ballroom, us kids," he stresses the word with mimed finger quotes, "we had our own separate party in the adjoining conservatory. Music, food, spiked punch—"
"You spiked the punch?" Lily cuts in.
"Not me," Clay feigns innocents, catching my eye and betraying the truth with a covert grin. "Anyway, there was a whole group of us, all diplomat kids, big business mogul offspring, and the like…bunch of privileged yuppies the lot of them, but tolerable under certain influences."
"Barely," Lily snorts derisively.
"You didn't seem to mind the company of one Bryant Shoal…" Clay is quick to remind her before muttering in ungracious undertones, "jackass."
"He was not!" Lily exclaims. "He was perfectly respectable."
"Yes perfect," Clay responds snidely. "A perfect jackass, that's exactly what I meant."
Lily just rolls her eyes and allows him to continue while maintaining her hostile expression.
"I don't know why you were so upset; I was just trying to help you out. I was just trying to help her out," he repeats as if trying to convince us. I believe him; I just want to know why. "A few of us were talking about taking a dip in the pool. The dance was getting heated, everybody wanted to cool off, so we grabbed some cold drinks and a group of us headed downstairs. Some jumped in fully clothed…others exhibited more freewill. Lily opted to stay dry on account of the fact that she didn't want to ruin her new skirt. So I helped make it an easier decision for her." He stopped there, not bothering to explain any further. Both Glade and I looked from him to Lily, waiting.
"He pulled down my skirt," she said shortly, looking annoyed at having to make it plain, "in front of everybody."
I laugh at loud at this. "That's it?"
"Sage!" Lily looks appalled. "It was embarrassing!"
"Yeah, but…if everybody else was—"
"I didn't want to take off my clothes! I was just fine!"
"She was just upset 'cause Shoal saw her pretty pink underpants," Clay chuckles into his bottled water.
Lily glowers at him from across the table. "I hate you."
Glade and I can't help but laugh at her expense. I mean, it really is ridiculous, but leave it to Lily to hold a grudge over something so insignificant. "Wow, Lil, that's pathetic."
"You're pathetic," she grumbles. "All of you."
I take the first watch that night, sitting up to keep the fire going and to listen for approaching intruders outside. The others attempt to get comfortable on the cold, hard ground before the fire, and I sit close to the flames facing the door with my bow in my lap. I'm tired, but couldn't sleep if I tried. So much has happened in such little time. I had just been in the Capitol experiencing the nightlife of the city and experiencing it badly. Now, back in my familiar mountains, I'm chasing down mutants and sleeping on a cold cabin floor. I can't quite get my head around everything that has happened.
"Sage?"
I look over and see Glade's eyes glint in the firelight. "Yeah? Can't you sleep?"
"No," she shakes her head and looks warily at the other two, not wanting to wake them up. "I'm cold."
"Come here," I motion her closer to the fire, and she gets up and moves her pallet, snuggling in next to me with her head on my stomach. I cover her with her blanket again as well as give her half of mine. "Is that better?"
"Yeah," she nods, her voice sounding muffled against my shirt. "Nothing is going to come through that door tonight, is it?"
"Not if I can help it." My fingers find her hair and I play with it gently, brushing it back from her soft cheek and tucking it behind her ear. "You should sleep."
"I can't. I keep thinking about that mutant. Every time I close my eyes I see it and it freaks me out."
"It's probably dead by now."
"So," she argues, "I can still see it with its scaly skin, bulging eyes, and—"
"Okay stop," I interrupt her. I don't need that reminder either. "Just…don't think about it."
"Then distract me," she tells me. "Give me something else to think about that will help me sleep. Tell me about the Capitol, what does it look like?"
"You've never been there?"
"Don't make fun of me," Glade admonishes.
"I'm not. I'm just surprised. You haven't even gone with your dad?"
"Nope," she shakes her head, shifting where she lays so that she can look up at me. "So tell me. What's it like?"
"You don't want to know," I put her off. There are better things to talk about.
"Yes I do. Just tell me. Tell me 'til I fall asleep."
I sigh and begrudgingly give in and rack my brain to think of something good about the Capitol to describe to her. "There's lots of people," I begin. "Lots more than here, more than any District, even 2. They all live in the city which is surrounded by mountains bigger than ours. There's a huge lake right in the city that looks like a pool of glass, you can see it as soon as the train pulls in. And tall towers that look over all the other houses," as I talk, I continue to run my fingers through her hair until she begins to get drowsy. Her eyelids flutter and close as she relaxes into me. She gives a small lick of her lips as she settles in and I am tempted to kiss them just to keep her awake. Suddenly the thought of being awake on my own in that place doesn't seem that appealing.
"It's not as great as it seems when you see it for the first time," I continue. "Everyone is always so busy, rushing about without caring about what anyone else is doing. To get out of the city into the trees and mountains, you have to know the secret ways and how to get through the gates. There are always guards and Keepers of the Peace everywhere just ready to tell you off for any little thing. And the mansion…the president's mansion? Yeah, not as great as you would think. It's actually run down, full of old antiques that nobody lets you touch. It's really quite lousy," I laugh lightly. "I'd much rather be here…" I look down and see that Glade is asleep, breathing softly and looking beautiful under the glow of the fire, "with you." Leaning in, I steel a kiss anyway, brushing her cheek with my finger.
I wake early the next morning to Lily and Clay arguing, again. Clay had relieved me sometime during the night to take the second watch, and I had curled up next to Glade, sleeping with an arm around her to keep her warm. The fire had all but died, mere red coals glowing in the dim predawn gray. The cabin is as cold as a crypt, the floor damp and as comfortable as a coffin within. Glade rolls over with a groan, complaining about her sore back and shivering under our thin blankets.
"It's freezing!" she exclaims with chattering teeth. Attempting to sit up, she looks around for her shoes which she had discarded the night before. I don't allow her to get far, holding her tight so she is unable to leave our little cocoon and take what little heat she carries with her. Glade smiles disapprovingly, "We should get up."
"Not yet," I murmur from under the blanket. She protests again, but doesn't pull away as I encircle her in my arms and tuck the covers back in snug. Her breath is warm on my neck where she lays with her head against my shoulder, and I gently rub her back with the flat of my palm. Her hair smells like wood smoke and fresh autumn air. Finding her cool forehead with my lips, I kiss it softly before going in search of her ear, working my way down her jawline to her coy, awaiting smile.
"What are they fighting about now?" she asks, referring to Clay and Lily.
"I dunno," I respond carelessly, completely unconcerned with my sister at that moment.
Glade covers a giggle and meets her mouth with mine, returning my advances with an encouraging response.
"Oi, Mellark!" Clay demands my attention from across the room
"What?" I ask shortly, not appreciating the interruption.
"We've got to go, mate."
"No, you don't!' Lily interrupts decidedly. "You won't get ten feet with that wound, Clayton."
"Then let's hope the mutants aren't far," he mutters, striding stiffly but quickly around the cabin, grabbing supplies and shoving them in a lightweight satchel. "You coming or not?" he asks me, not about to wait around for long.
"Yeah," I'm up and moving now, gathering my own belongings and checking my weapons.
Lily shoots me a vehement glare. "You're going to kill him," she snaps. "Or yourself, which is just as likely."
"Thanks," I shoot back. Nice confidence in me, sis. "We know what we're doing."
"Do you?" Lily crosses her arms challengingly. "You don't even know where you're going or what you'll find when you get there."
"We're going where the mutant tracks lead us which can only mean we'll find mutants at the end of the trail," Clay tells her sardonically while checking the sharpness of a knife against his thumb.
"And what if there are too many?" Lily continues to argue.
"I don't count my mutants before they're skewered, darlin'." He gently but firmly moves her out of his way to retrieve one of our spare hunting jackets in a crate in the corner, wincing in pain at the effort it takes to even walk that far.
"You're bleeding again," Lily notes the fresh splotch of growing red on his bandages through the tear in Clay's shirt. He ignores her observation, slipping stiffly into the outerwear and zipping up the front to hide the wound without comment. "You probably broke the stitches."
"Let's go, Sage," he grumbles, not even looking at her on his way to the door.
"Wait!" Glade looks alarmed, stepping out from the blanket still draped over her shoulders where she stands next to the mantle. "You're not going without us!"
"That was the plan, doll, yes," Clay informs her.
"Sage!" she looks to me for help and, quite honestly, I can't meet her eye. What the girls don't realize is that while exchanging watch shifts in the night, Clay and I had decided that it would be better if we left them there, at the cabin, where it was safe. I knew Glade would react like this though, especially after all that archery practice yesterday. She sees the truth betrayed in my expression, and her eyes grow wide in disbelief. "No way!" she reacts forcefully. "I am not getting left behind."
"But you are though," Clay is too impatient for this. "So…lock the doors behind us. We'll—"
"I'm NOT getting left behind!" Glade screeches once more, grabbing up a bow and setting an arrow in one swift movement, aiming it at Clay's foot. "And unless you want to drag a bleeding foot into the mutant's lair, I'd take a moment to reconsider."
Clay looks at me to judge whether or not to take this fiery, green-eyed threat seriously. I merely shrug and grin, more amused than surprised by Glade's response to our efforts to exclude her. "You heard her," I shoulder my own pack and lean against the door frame nonchalantly. "How much do you value your foot?"
"Rather a lot," Clay's jaw twitches in frustration before he sighs with an exasperated glance out the window. Time is wasting, and he doesn't have the energy to argue anymore. "Alright," he gives in. "Just be sure you keep up. And stay behind us if the mutants attack, got it?" He looks at Lily with this warning, pointing with an emphasizing thrust of his knife.
She has suddenly gone a little pale, her eyes wide with panic. "I'm not going," she shakes her head weakly. "You three are crazy; you're going to get killed!"
"You've got to, Lil," I tell her. "We're not leaving you here by yourself. If Glade's coming, you've got to too."
"No," she shakes her head again with more determination, taking a step back from the three of us. "No, I'll go home. I'll find Haymitch, tell him where you are and send more help."
"Not a chance, sweetheart," Clay's eyes flash in anger. "You're not walking anywhere in these woods alone and we don't have time to waste escorting you back to town. Abernathy can't know what we're doing, no one can know, got it? Grab some stuff," he motions toward the supply crates. "Take this," he pulls the machete from his belt and hands it over by the hilt so she can get a hold of the handle. "If nothing else, you can ward them off until one of us can take them out with an arrow."
Lily looks at the blade in horror, retreating further toward the dying fire. "I can't," she is nearly crying, and I almost feel bad for her. Lily is completely out of her element here. We might have been raised by the same set of parents, but she has never been that comfortable wielding a weapon.
"Come on," I attempt to encourage her, moving forward and taking the machete myself. Reaching for her wrist, I gently raise her arm and force her to take the blade in her hand. "Just take it, let's go."
"I want to go home," she whimpers, two tears dripping from her eyelashes and dropping off her chin.
"I know, and we will, after—"
"You made the choice to come out here," Clay interrupts sharply, not helping in the least. I want to deck him for his tone and insistency on making my sister feel about two inches tall. "If you wanted to stay in the safety of your Victory Village, you never should have left it."
"Shut up, man—"
"I came out here for you," Lily cuts me off, her vehemence returning like a roaring fire in her piercing glare. "I came out here because you were stupid enough to chase after that mutant in the first place!"
"To kill that murdering bastard, yeah!" Clay shoots back.
"And thank God I did!" Lily isn't deterred, dropping the machete on the floor and missing the toes of my left shoe by mere inches. "Who would have stitched you up if I hadn't? You would have bled out on the forest floor, and then what?"
"Well, I'd be rid of you!"
"For God's sake," Glade snaps, shutting them both up. "Are we going to track down those mutants or not?"
"I am," I drop Lily's wrist, pick up my bow and march to the door, sick of both of them and their unresolved issues. I wish they would just kiss and make up already, break the oppressive tension and get on with it. "Let's go, Lil. We might just need you to save us again, so bring your medical supplies." I stop at the door, unlocking it and pulling it open before grabbing Glade's hand. Glancing between both brooding expressions on Lily's and Clay's dark faces I pass them a frustrated glare of my own. "Don't forget the machete."
It takes us longer than we had hoped to finally get out the door and on our way. The sun is creeping up the top of the eastern hills, glistening against the drifting mist spread out over the surface of the lake. There is no wind, not even a breeze, just the stinging chill of late fall which turns our breath to frost and immediately causes my nose to run. "It smells like snow," I sniff.
"I wouldn't mind a little snow," Clay agrees with my notion that it would make tracking that much easier.
"I love snow," Glade inputs, "just not the cold that brings it." Her nose is bright red after our short jaunt beyond the cabin as we follow the tracks of the mutant veering off northwest away from the lake. I take her hand to help her over an outcropping of jagged rock, searching the dry ground for more signs in which to stake our next move.
"See anything?" I ask Clay. The last evidence we had seen was already a good four yards back, a smudged set of prints pointed this direction. I assume that the mutant climbed the rocks for a better view and to maybe sniff the air for prey or in search of a new path.
Clay squats with some difficulty, breathing hard and trying his best not to emit any sounds of weakness from his pain. "Nothing. Not on these stones." Glancing around, he frowns in concentration. I know what he's doing. He's doing what I'm doing, trying to think like our prey, to get a good lead on it with a mind for what it would have done in the absence of evidence of what it did do. But how do you think like a twisted, lab created monster?
"I wish I knew how that…Humant managed to gather other mutants to it," I mutter.
"Yeah…" Clay rubs the stubble on his jaw and glances at the girls waiting a few feet away, waiting for us to lead them on in the right direction. I follow his gaze, noting Lily's continued look of fear as she checks over her shoulder with a nervous twitch, jumping at any little sound in the brush. "Remember the Hunger Games footage?" Clay keeps his voice low and face expressionless so as not to include Lily and Glade on our conversation.
"Of course," I lower my voice accordingly.
"Do you recall how the mutants always seemed to attack or retreat on command, even though there wasn't always a verbal alert from the Game Designers in the control station?"
"I guess…"
"The final Quarter Quell, the last year your parents were Tributes, the ape mutants—"
"They were on a timer," I get it now, looking up in alarm.
Clay nods, "An internal timer connected to some sort of outside force dictating their every move. I can't be sure, but it would make sense if every mutant was designed with the ability to be controlled, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah it would." It made perfect sense. Accept one thing… "But then how is a mutant controlling other mutants?"
Clay barely refrains from rolling his eyes, clearly one step ahead of me. "You don't listen to your Mom much do you?"
I shrug, not sure what that had to do with anything. I'm insulted a little, but still quite lost.
"The Humant built his little domain out of stolen supplies from District 13's compound," Clay points out. "I did a little digging in the Capitol before jumping a ride on your train home," he shifts uncomfortably, sitting down on the slab of rock to take the weight off his side. The girls look a little surprised, but soon follow suit, Glade blowing the hair out of her face and plopping down near a scraggly bush. ("Well, if you're gonna sit…")
"So?" I press Clay to continue.
"So I found out that some of the missing items found in this beast's little den were electronic. Sonar and communication equipment decommissioned after the discontinuation of the Games. How that bastard knew they were in there, I don't know. But it explains why he was in 13 in the first place."
"God," I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. This whole thing is a lot more complicated than I imagined. "This is insane."
"Something like that," Clay mutters in agreement. "That's not all though."
"What?"
"I also got a crack at Mom's maps of the Wild Territory outside of 13. It was all gridded out and marked where the Humant staked his claim. According to the elevation reading, his lair was located at one of the highest points off some rocky hills. He needed height for a clear signal to reach the distance it would take to control the other mutants."
I look at him in surprise, hitting on what he is trying to get at. "Right," getting to my feet I glance at our surroundings with a new perspective. "This way!"
"Did you find more tracks?" Glade stands abruptly, ready to move on. Lily follows quickly behind her, and both girls help Clay up off the ground, though Lily with an air of icy disregard.
"Not yet," I respond, already several feet ahead and still climbing the steepening terrain. "But I don't need them. I know where we're going."
"Where?"
I glance back over my shoulder and meet Lily's eye. "Hawthorne's Bluff."
"Hawthorne's Bluff?" Glade wrinkles her nose in confusion. "Where's that? Why have I never heard of it?"
"You wouldn't," I tell her, struggling to catch my breath through the strenuous climb. "No one knows it as Hawthorne's Bluff but us. Mom named it, after an old friend of hers who used to live in District 12. He used to hunt with her before the Hunger Games and Uprising. This bluff was a favorite place of theirs; they used to go there often after a long hunt to rest before heading home. It's one of the highest vantage points in the woods, you can see for miles." I look at Clay this time and he nods, agreeing that I have the right idea. The sight of him fighting through his pain to keep up in the climb slows me down, but I say nothing. Clay won't want sympathy and we don't need another argument to interfere with our hunt. The sun has already moved high in the sky; we have wasted enough time already.
Hawthorne's Bluff is a good two miles from the lake, an uphill climb which would weary a healthy man well practiced in hiking such terrain. I am the closest to fit that description and even I am breathing as if socked in the gut with aching limbs eager for a rest. I wonder why the summit of this sacred bluff had to be Mom's favorite hangout, or why the Humant couldn't have found some other place to transmit his call for congregation. There had to be better locations closer to the ground, I'm sure.
All of us feel the exhaustion of the hike, but none so much as Clay. Despite his insistency to keep moving, we force him to take breaks every few yards just to breathe. Lily changes his bandages twice, frowning at the damage Clay has done to his stitches but not saying a word, much to her credit.
"How much further?" Clay gasps, squirting water into his mouth and spitting it back into the dirt without swallowing. There is still a deep chill in the air, but he is drenched in sweat, sitting propped against a boulder with his shirt off while Lily kneels beside him and tapes fresh bandages over his side.
Running a hand through my own sweat dampened hair, I look to the east and consider the distance left to travel. "Quarter of a mile maybe," I guess. "That bend up ahead, it turns left and climbs a short stair. After that the ground begins to level off and once we're out of the trees there will be a grassy hill top before a drop off, a steep rock wall that drops back to the forest floor. That's it, that's the Bluff."
Clay nods, considering this information with gritted teeth against the pain in his torso. "What else is up there? Is it all open, or is there cover? Any caves or heavy brush?"
I think about this a second; it has been a long time since I've been up this far. "A rock shelf, to the south, just where we'll emerge from the trees. It juts out several feet and there is shade beneath it. There's room for maybe two or three grown men, I think. We used to play there when Mom brought us up here when we were little." I look at Lily for confirmation and she nods, standing up and placing her first aid gear back in her shoulder pack.
"That'll be where he is hiding then," Clay assumes. "And any others that have reached this far could be lurking anywhere around there…around here."
We all search the terrain with the sudden uncomfortable feeling that maybe we should have been more cautious up until now. I have been too intent on finding the mutant on the bluff I haven't given much thought to what might find us before we get there.
"Weapons out, people," Clay pushes slips back into this shirt with a grunt and a grimace. "Stealth mode from here on out." Reaching for Lily's discarded machete, he picks it up and hands it back to her, not letting go until she looks him in the eye. "Don't let go of this," he tells her seriously, but without the condescension of before. "Stick it in your belt if you have to use both of your hands, but never set it down."
Lily nods slowly, gripping the weapon tightly as Clay lets go and struggles to his feet. She appears a bit flustered and hangs back a few steps as we continue our ascent, moving east and then north through dusty paths between sheer slabs of rock and overhanging boulders. I can see the stairs of stone ahead in the distance as the day grows dark with a wall of dense gray clouds stretching across the sky. A new level of cold settles over us, and I notice Glade shiver beside me.
"Cold?" I ask, taking her hand. Her fingers are like ice.
"That too," she mutters, betraying the anxiety in her eyes.
"Don't worry," I assure her. "Just shoot straight, just like we practiced."
Glade nods and swallows, unable to give a confident reply.
"You said that rock shelf is just past the stair?" Clay steps up alongside us. I nod. The stair, the shelf, then the bluff, with little but tall grass and a few scraggly berry bushes in between. "Okay," Clay nods, stepping off the path and hoisting himself up the nearest boulder. "We need to get higher, get a good look around." He reached down for Lily's hand to help her up and Glade and I soon follow.
Clay makes for a small cluster of towering pines which stand like elongated fingers pointing to the sky. They are near the edge of the tree line and will give us good cover from anything on the bluff ahead.
"You can't climb that!" Lily exclaims in a screeching whisper, trying to keep her harried voice down. Clay continues to lead her by the hand and is forced to stop when she stubbornly plants her feet, looking up at the ladder-like branches in distress. "You're going to—"
"Kill myself?" he interrupts her blandly. "Yeah, we've heard your opinion, sweetheart, and thanks, but that's what you said about our little hike up the hill. Pretty sure I'm still here."
Lily opens her mouth to retort, but he cuts her off again, grabbing her around the waist and hoisting her up onto the nearest branch before she can protest further. "This tree's ours," he informs me. "Get your own."
I can't help but grin, catching Glade's eye. She shares my humor and seems to relax a bit in the moment, following me to a nearby pine and allowing me to help her into it. I swing onto the lowest branch behind her, and we climb as high as we can go. Propping my weight on a sturdy branch, I position myself directly behind Glade to help support her and shelter her from the brisk and bitter wind driving in from the northwest.
I can see movement in the neighboring tree and find Clay and Lily where they cling to the trunk, swaying in the breeze. Clay catches my eye and motions down, pointing at the ground. I look and see what he is indicating, my heart racing suddenly at the sight of something moving low along the ground not far from the base of our hideout. They know we're here.
"What—"
"Shh," I clasp a hand over Glade's mouth to shut her up, twisting around for a better look as the mutant sniffs around in the dry bed of needles and tree roots below. I can't see it well enough to tell just what it is. From that distance the only predominant feature is its fur, which seems to cover the majority of its body. It crawls on all fours with a small head sniffing the ground with great, guttural breaths I can hear even over the wind. It looks more like a bear than a mutation of science. I might have mistaken it for such except for one unsettling, distinguishing characteristic: this beast has wings.
"Sage," Glade emits a muffled exclamation of fear, her eyes widening at the sight of that thing lurking around our tree. It can smell us, that much is obvious. What I'm anxious to see is just how well it can fly.
Apparently not as well as it can climb. Opting for claws over wings, the mutant begins to follow our ascent into the lower branches of our pine and disappears out of my sightline. Glade clutches to the trunk of the tree, her mouth clenched against the urge to scream in terror. I grab my knife from its holster on my belt, the only weapon of use I have at that height. Attempting to shoot an arrow blindly into the pine needles below would mean using two hands and letting go of my hold on Glade and the tree. I'm left with a measly six inch blade to fend off a fast approaching fur bag with fangs.
The closer it gets the more Glade panics. All that practice with a bow is useless in this lousy tree, and I regret ever having closed us in so carelessly. Casting a dark look toward Clay in the opposite pine, I kindly recall whose idea it was to climb in the first place. It is not him that I see at first, but the tip of his arrow before it centers on the mutant and flies off his taut bow string, striking the animal in its side and causing it to fall with a deafening crunch, breaking bone against rock ten feet below.
After watching it fall, I glance up in surprise. Clay tosses me a careless grin, lowering his bow with a nod before extricating himself from Lily's grip around his waist where she held him to keep them both steady as he took his shot. Genius, I return the grin with a grateful nod of my own. "You can let go now," I inform Glade, placing a reassuring hand over her white knuckled fist clinging to a side branch. "Clay took care of the mutant."
"Can he take care of those too?" she asks.
I glance down and follow her terrified gaze to the open ground beyond the tree line. In the clearing near the summit of the overlooking bluff a herd of mutants cluster around a single, standing figure, the leader of this grisly pack. Cursing under my breath, I turn and whistle low, getting Clay's attention and motioning for him to see what we see. He appears to sit and stare a moment before turning back and miming for us to drop out of our tree and meet them back on the ground. I do a careful search for any oncoming mutants before helping Glade descend, jumping the last few feet and landing just inches from the dead mutant still oozing blood from its gory skull. Glade goes a little pale seeing it up close and has to turn away, clamping her mouth shut to either keep from screaming, vomiting, or both.
"How many?" Clay asks before anything else.
"Fifty at least," I respond in low tones, watching the stone stair for movement, thankful we are downwind from the pack of organized freaks of nature.
"Right…" Clay agrees, "we need to split up."
"What?" Glade looks alarmed. "We can't take them all! We need to go back for help."
"No time," I agree with Clay. I'm not sure what is being planned up there, but the Humant obviously has one and no doubt has every intention of implementing it soon.
"But…" Glade's voice is so high pitched it comes out as a squeak I would find cute in less perilous situations. "We don't have enough arrows."
"Don't need them," I point out.
"Nope," Clay backs me up, "just one."
Both Glade and Lily look confused, following suite as Clay and I drop low into the shadows of brush and boulder, moving slow with our bows out, arrows at the ready. Without having to discuss strategy, we know what needs to be done. I haven't known Clay for long, but it isn't hard to read his mind. When it comes to taking out prey, we think and act the same. He didn't have to mention it for me know where it was that he learned his skills as a bowman. Mom has mentioned more than once that the man whom this bluff was named after has been training Panem staff in Weapons Handling in District 2 for years. Glade may not have recognized the name of Hawthorne, but Clay sure did. We were practically trained by same person. Same style, same approach.
As we near the rock shelf, the Humant's hideout, Clay points with a quick thrust of his finger for me to take left while he eases right. The girls stay close on our tails as we make our separate ways around the corners of the shelter beneath the jutting stone ceiling pointing like a saluting soldier's arm toward the northern horizon. We reach the interior of the mutant's makeshift cave almost simultaneously, stopped short by the horrid stench and the disturbing sight awaiting us.
