Chapter 16

There was light, murky and flickering, but light. A bed of pine needles- scratchy. They crunched with slightest movement. Pain throbbed in Willow's head and shot in her side like daggers. Some light pressure on her leg. Someone shaking her awake? She struggled to open her eyes, they were heavy and sluggish. The world flashed before her briefly: the forest floor at a horizontal, her head was cocked to one side, she was on her back. She lifted her head a little, it was liquidy and her stomach turned. A bird was hopping down her leg, oblivious to her. A jay. Normally quite skittish, it paid no attention to her. She was just a log, just a rock to the bird. It cocked it's head from side to side, before jumping down to attack a pillbug.

Is this a dream? Her head ached. She rolled over and retched, and the jay screeched into the treetops in flurry of feathers. She rolled over onto her other side, and tried to lean up on her arm. Dancing lights dazzled before her eyes, then her vision tunneled. She collapsed, unconscious.

She woke up again in blackness. Nighttime. Her head ached, but not so bad this time. Something snuffled nearby. Something big. Panic set in – safety. Shelter.

Sitting up this time didn't result in passing out. Willow wiggled her toes, they all seemed to obey. She couldn't see them, so maybe they didn't and she just thought they were. She tried to get up on all fours to crawl, but her legs were numb. Did she have legs still? She remembered the jay, but didn't know if that was a dream or not. She reached down and felt for them, sighing when she made contact. Crawling wasn't an option yet, so she dragged herself along the forest floor, away from the snuffling and towards the faint sounds of water. Her creek, she hoped. She knew her creek well.

Banished. Flashes of images she tried to piece together as she dragged herself. Beartooth dragging her. The Banishing ceremony. Dozens of her people spitting on her, kicking her, cursing her.

After a few moments of dragging, she could crawl now, her legs seemed to cooperate. Something inside her belly felt wrong, and she worried her ribcage punctured something. Maybe someone kicked something that burst. She retched again, although nothing of substance came up. She went down the checklist: water, shelter, food.

Willow was on her own, but it was nothing new. She almost burst into laughter at the absurdity of being banished – they should have just killed her. But a banishing involved the whole nest, and raised spirits. She felt around her ribcage and winced – at least a few were fractured, if not broken.

Even Tim and Lee, her only friends left, had kicked her. Spat on her. Maybe with less enthusiasm as the rest, but it was still there. Some friends they were. Willow helped deliver some of Lee's babies, even though only one survived. Who was the betrayed one, really? What had Willow done but try to help?

Crawling was agony, but the water sounded closer. Her eyes were adjusted now. It was almost pitch black. Almost. The thick trees blocked out most of the light, but there was a break around the creek, and it seemed to glow. The stars reflected in the moving water. Water full of stars.

Her hand found a long, thick branch. She tested it and used it to help her stand up, biting her lip from trying not to cry out in pain. Possible broken ribs, something wrong with her ankle. She felt her face- her left eye was swollen and her lower lip was split. She was likely covered in bruises, but no broken limbs. A pain shot out in her left hand and she remembered Redtail, who she healed on many occasions, stomping on it.

"Bastard," she croaked, though it came out in more of a raspy whisper. She limped towards the creek, using the stick for balance.

She slurped down the freezing cold water, pausing every moment or two to make sure she wasn't going to retch it up again until she couldn't hold any more.

Water, check. Now, shelter.

/ / / / /

The night air was biting cold, sharp icy teeth cut through Lucy's jacket. She shivered and zipped up her jacket.

"What are they doing?" Abby asked in a sleepy whisper.

"I don't know."

Lucy looked out from the walkway on the wall that surrounded Little Chapel. Little glowing lights, spaced about twenty yards apart or so, surrounded them. The lights swayed slowly back and forth in silence, like the pendulum on a clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock. As if they were saying time was running out.

While they were gone on various expeditions to find Stark's much needed radio equipment, the terror began. First, their goats were slaughtered in the barn as Lucy and the others were deep in the woods, searching for the first outpost. A breech in the wall was found and quickly boarded over and rocks rolled in front. Patrols were doubled. The children, angered and inspired by various educational books on warfare in their little library, had begun prepping defenses during the day. They dug trenches and embedded sharpened branches and old rebar near the weakest points of the wall, creating a landscape of giant, angry porcupines hiding in the earth. They set up tripwires in other areas, with bells and cans and whatever other noisemakers they could find. They were set off occasionally at night, though the intruders never identified. Patrols tripled. The younger children were too afraid at night to sleep.

This morning, the early dawn light presented rotted walker carcasses scattered a few feet from their defenses, spaced out at regular intervals.

Lucy was in a constant state of low-grade nausea. The fear they'd experienced while she was gone, the guilt. They were capable, strong kids. But she overestimated their ability to survive on their own. Not physically, but mentally. They could do it, she had no doubt, but at what cost?

So, she sent the twins, Billy and Stark on their own to hopefully collect the radio equipment from the nearby outpost. After this, the nausea grew worse. She was chewing on antiacids like candy, but they probably were only making it worse.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

"You okay?"

Abby's voice snapped her back. Those damn lights were hypnotizing – she glanced over and caught a few of the kids on patrol staring at them as well.

"I need you to walk along the wall, make sure everyone is paying attention. Don't let the lights distract them – it could be a tactic. Keep an eye on them, be aware, but don't get sucked in."

Abby nodded, and slung a rifle over her shoulder. "You should go get some water, sit for a little bit."

"Good idea. I have a few things to do then I'll do that."

Abby didn't look convinced. She sighed with an air of disappointment that Lucy was nearly positive she'd learned by example, then padded over quietly to the nearest patrol. When she was far enough away, Lucy took off her glove and rummaged around her pocket, looking for a pill. She took it dry, closed her eyes as a brace against the bitter taste. Only a caffeine pill, but she couldn't do this indefinitely. Also probably not helping the nausea, but it was keeping the headaches at bay a little.

All she could do was help patrol in the dark night, avoid watching those haunting lights, and pray that Stark found that damn signal booster.

Each hour was agony. Animal calls accompanied the lights sometimes in almost a conversation. If it was tactical for planning or fear-mongering, it was working.

A few hours later, shortly before sunrise, her prayers were answered. Lucy was wired from the caffeine pills and went to go smoke a cigarette behind the old garage when she heard a horn blaring. She ran to the front gate, heart pounding – was it an attack? But then as the truck peeled in, she heaved a sigh of relief. Something large was strapped to the back with Billy and Ethan hanging on for dear life. But before she reached them, she heard the shouts.

"Biters!"

"Here they come!"

"Big group, headed our way-"

Stark got to her before the others, with Billy close behind. The patrols passed along cries of "Herd!" and "Biters!" and a hush fell over Littlechapel – the dead were attracted to noise, so if they could just keep quiet, then maybe they'd grow bored or distracted and leave.

"It was all clear until we got close," Stark said in a hushed tone, pushing up his glasses. Sweat poured down his head and he was having trouble catching his breath. They looked filthy, but unharmed. In fact, they looked better than usual, with bright eyes. Flickers of hope?

"Sit down, ya dummy." Billy pointed him towards a bench in the shade, and Stark nodded gratefully. He turned back to Lucy, scowling. "They didn't just wander here on their own accord. Damn things were put here somehow." He spat on the ground. "I bet I know how. Bas-terds."

Lucy shot him a look and gestured towards the gate, now closed and locked, and Billy followed close behind.

"Help Stark get that loaded and started up," she said to the Twins as she passed by. "Quietly, if you can." Their cheeks were red from excursion, shoulders sagged from exhaustion, but they nodded dully. They located a dolly and loaded the machine to take it to Stark's workshop area.

"Get that set up as soon as you can Stark," she called after him.

"Dang it, I was going to take my sweet time!" He laughed and chased after the Twins, skipping every few steps.

"How many biters?" she asked Billy.

"Couple dozen, maybe more. More than we've ever seen here in awhile, mebbe ever." He pulled up his sagging britches. "We can handle 'em. Just a matter of enough rope to wrangle the sons of bitches and then it's easy pickin's."

Lucy frowned and climbed up the ladder to the wall. She peered over and watched the growling herd shuffling closer and closer. They were a ways out, but headed straight towards the gate, chasing the sound of the truck probably. Billy was right: it was probably less than fifty, certainly no more than that by much. Their walls were strong enough, even in the weaker sections. They had long enough poles they used to take out the occasional straggler, they could take their time-

Something caught her eye about the herd. Lucy squinted and snatched the binoculars from a nearby patrol, mumbling an apology as she scanned the herd. Biter, biter, biter – there it was! One that moved a little differently, ducking behind the others. It was hard to see in the low light, but no- there it was again. She wouldn't have spotted it, except there was a flash of unusual color.

Paint. Warpaint.

Panic seized her stomach.

It's a goddamn Trojan Horse.

"There's Coven inside that herd," she whispered to Billy. His eyes grew wide. "Be quiet about it, tell the patrols to telephone the news one to another, and keep quiet-"

"Biter herd!" A call cried out from across Littlechapel.

"Shit," Billy grabbed his pistol and flicked the safety. "Here they come."

"Oh god," Lucy said. "Stay here."

She bolted towards the other side of Littlechapel, towards a raising clamor of calls and alarms raising.

"They're surrounding us!" she cried out. More cries of alarm were raised, and then chaos.