The Release

4.

IT WAS FOOLISH, LEAVING the tent like that, exposing herself to the stares of others. But after examining those mice, Hope knew things that others didn’t. If she didn’t say something, they’d wait until springtime to leave and then it’d be too late. That’s why she spoke up.

Well, that’s the main reason. There’s also the matter of unfinished business.

She’s preparing to go to bed when she catches a glimpse of herself in the shard of mirror that hangs on a side wall. She stands there a moment, studying her face. Each time she happens to see her reflection, she is startled. The Xs are as unsightly as ever. As though it’s someone else she’s looking at, some stranger. Definitely not Hope.

She draws her arm back and sends an elbow flying, smashing it into the mirror. The glass shatters, obliterating her reflection. Blood drips from her elbow.

As she wraps the wound in cloth, she wonders if they can do it. Can they really make it all the way to Helen and the other Sisters, huddled in Dodge’s Log Lodges on the shores of a distant lake? Can they cover that kind of distance with little food and no shelter?

She snuggles beneath a thin blanket on the floor—a bed would be entirely too foreign—and as she does most every night, she fingers the locket around her neck. She can sense the stares of her mom and dad from the miniature photos.

Not for the first time, her fingers edge away from the locket and move toward her face, tracing the raised scars on her cheeks, down one diagonal and up the other. The two Xs remind her of what she wants.

Revenge.

For her mother. For her father. For her sister, Faith. It’s not that she doesn’t want to escape from the territory and save the country and all that other rah-rah stuff. But mainly she wants revenge. And she will get it … or die trying.

She settles in for sleep, comforted by the soothing tap tap of raindrops on the tarp. As she’s drifting off, she remembers Book’s expression when she threw the mice on the stage. He was as surprised as everyone else, but she got the feeling, from a single glance, that he agreed with her. Which is why she was hurt he didn’t say anything in support of her. Still, even if he had—

She jolts up in bed.

Something’s not right. She replays her thoughts, stopping when she remembers the soothing sound of raindrops. Straining to listen, she hears it again: tap tap. It sounds like raindrops, but there’s no way it can be raining—not in the dead of winter. She whips into her clothes, grabs her bow and a quiver of arrows, and hurries out of the tent.

The night is cold and clear. No moon, which makes the stars glimmer extra bright.

Now that she’s outside, she can hear the sound more clearly, and she realizes the tap tap is more a pitter-pat, a muffled padding. As much as she doesn’t want to believe it, she knows the sound. A wolf. When they run, they do so on their toes, but when they stalk, their whole pad hits the ground.

This one’s stalking.

Hope follows the sound, her moccasins slipping through freshly fallen snow. The tendons of her knuckles glow white as she grips the bow. She still can’t believe it. How did a wolf get past the ring of fire?

She comes upon a single set of tracks. Even in scant starlight, she’s able to make out the distinctive wolf print: the triangular pad, the four oval toes in perfect symmetry. The good news is that it’s just one wolf. The bad news is that it’s big. The paw prints are larger than the palm of her hand.

She picks up her pace, her breath ballooning in front of her. Rounding the corner of a hut, she comes to a small intersection. Before her is the infirmary. The wolf prints lead right to the flap that serves as the lone entrance.

Hope tiptoes forward, parting the flap with an outstretched elbow.

Her eyes adjust to the dark, and it takes her a moment to locate the wolf. It’s as big as she feared, and prowling the aisles. Its fur is singed from where it went through the fire. She assumes that at any moment it’s going to stop and attack one of the three Less Thans there, but instead it keeps moving—as though it’s checking out the situation. Counting its prey.

The wolf rears back its head and sends a piercing howl toward the ceiling. The sound sends a shudder down Hope’s back.

The emaciated Less Thans start to wake. One sits up in bed.

“Don’t move,” Hope whispers fiercely.

They obey. The wolf turns and stares at her, just as she stares at it. For the longest time, neither of them moves. Then Hope slowly nocks an arrow and draws the bowstring back. But just as she’s about to shoot, the wolf leaps forward, landing on the Less Than who’s sitting up. Hope wants to release the arrow, but the wolf is smart enough to get behind the LT, shielding itself.

Trying to get a better angle, Hope runs to another aisle. But every time she moves, so does the wolf, repositioning itself behind the sick LT. Hope could run back in the other direction, but the wolf will just move again. Meanwhile, it continues to howl, its piercing wail blasting her ears.

“Have it your way,” she mutters, and draws the bowstring back until her thumb tickles her cheek. She waits until the wolf is midhowl, and then she sends the arrow flying. It zips through the infirmary in a horizontal blur, missing the LT by an inch and impaling the wolf in the neck. It shrieks, then crumples to the ground.

The infirmary comes alive. The Less Than is sobbing hysterically, and there are startled cries as other LTs race in from the party. But even as they come running to find out what’s going on, Hope is headed the other way. She’s taken care of the situation, and now she’s getting out of there.

Picking her way through the snowy back alleys of Libertyville, Hope’s heart races. The thing she can’t let go of is that howl. That wasn’t some mournful wail, some aimless baying at the invisible moon. That was a call to arms.

A signal to attack.

5.

WE LEFT THE NEXT morning.

There were those who disagreed with our decision, but Hope was right. We had to get out of there.

“That wasn’t a wolf attack last night,” Hope said as we were tying up the last of the packs. “It was a scouting mission. That thing was here to let the rest of the pack know what it’d seen.”

It was crazy what she was saying. Ridiculous, even. But I knew that she was right. Like her, I had seen the attack on Skeleton Ridge.

That didn’t mean we were ready to leave. For all the reasons Flush had voiced earlier, we weren’t even remotely prepared for this. But the alternative was worse.

The LT who’d been pounced on by the wolf died during the night, as much from shock as from the attack itself. With no shovels and little time, we topped the grave with rocks to prevent the wolves from unearthing the corpse.

“What’s the point?” Sunshine mocked. “If those wolves want him, they’ll get him. Nothing we can do to stop ’em.”

“The rocks’ll stop them,” I replied.

“The rocks’ll slow ’em down.” Then he added, “Probably better for us if the wolves did get him. That way they won’t come chasing after us.”

No one bothered to respond, and Sunshine ran a hand through his greasy hair. It was so blond it was practically white, and when he laughed, his cheeks turned bright red. He looked like a demented elf. Although he was one of the emaciated ones we’d rescued from Liberty, you wouldn’t know it now. He was brash to the point of cocky. People put up with him because he was a fellow Less Than … and because he was good with a slingshot. We had a feeling we’d need every fighter we could get.

When we finished creating the burial mound, a number of us stood awkwardly around the grave while I recited a poem.

No man is an island,

Entire of itself,

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

A little John Donne to feed our souls—not that anyone had the faintest idea what the poem was or who wrote it.

Our number was down to seventy-four.

After placing our few belongings in the middle of tarps and bundling them into Yukon packs, we squinted into the morning sun.

“Let’s get out of here,” Cat said, impatient to get going.

“Which direction?” Flush asked.

“Where else? East to the river.” It’s how we’d gotten here, and it was how we’d get out.

Cat took the lead, finding an opening in the ring of fire’s dying flames, and everyone else followed. We carried supplies and dragged the two wounded on triangular stretchers through the calf-high snow.

I was the last to leave. I turned and took a final look at Libertyville, at what had once been Camp Liberty. I hoped to never lay eyes on this part of the Western Federation Territory again.

6.

THE SNOW IS DEEP, the going slow, and by the time they reach the river—a winding sheet of ice—they’re huffing for air. They head south along its banks.

The sun is a blinding splotch of yellow that bounces off the snow and spears their eyes. Hope is glad for the hood. It shields her eyes from the glaring sun … and conceals her scars from others.

“Hey.”

Book is suddenly walking alongside her. She angles her head in the other direction.

“You doing okay?” he asks.

“Doing fine.” There is defiance in her voice. Even a touch of contempt. Only the weak and helpless accept pity. Hope is neither of those.

“You sure?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

Book allows the silence to stretch between them. All around them is the muffled thud of footsteps as seventy-four stragglers wade through snow.

“What do you want, Book?” Hope finally asks.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me, it’s not.”

“I’m looking for someone—someone I used to know who’s gone missing.”

“Who’s that?”

“A girl named Hope.”

Hope gives her head a violent shake. “Not gonna happen.”

“Why? Because of those?” He gestures vaguely to the Xs on her face. “You think you’re the only one around here with scars?”

“No …”

Book tugs up a sleeve and displays the crisscrossing lines on his wrist. “What do you call these?”

“Sure, they’re scars …”

“But?”

“They’re hidden. You’re not disfigured like me.”

“Right, because yours are on your face, that makes them somehow worse,” he says sarcastically.

“That’s right.”

“Because everyone can see them, that somehow makes them more noticeable than everyone else’s.”

“Exactly.”

“And my limp?”

“That’s different and you know it.”

“Is it? What about my internal scars? How about those?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Feeling responsible for the deaths of my friends. Those scars don’t heal.”

“You think I don’t have those, too?”

“I know you have them. That’s my point. All of us do.”

She stops abruptly. “So these are just nothing?”

“I don’t care about those. No one does.”

“I do!”

Her voice carries farther than she intends, and Diana makes a move to come to Hope’s side. Hope shakes her off.

“I care about these scars,” Hope says in a fierce whisper. “I care because I know that’s all that people see. They can say they don’t, that they can look past them, that all they really see is my soul, but that’s bullshit and you know it.” She whips the hoodie back so that the Xs catch the full brunt of sunlight. The scars pucker the skin; shadows crisscross her cheeks. “Tell me you don’t see these.”

Book shrugs. “I don’t see them.”

“And you see into my soul.”

“I see into your soul.”

Hope grabs Book’s hand and slaps it against her cheek, resting his fingers on the cold, raised edges of her scars. “And now?”

“They don’t exist.”

She throws his hand away. “You’re crazier than I thought.”

Then she pulls the hood around her face and stomps off, joining the seventy-some others who trudge past Book in the vast expanse of snow.

7.

HOPE WOULD HAVE NOTHING more to do with me the rest of that day. Or the day after that. When we set up camp each evening, I put my bedroll on one arc of the circle, and she put hers directly opposite. Then she’d go off in search of food, not returning for hours.

Each evening, we huddled around our fires, pockets of muffled conversation drifting from one group to the other.

“What do you think it was like?” Flush asked out of the blue one night.

“What what was like?”

“The day the bombs fell. Omega.”

“Frightening,” an LT said.

“Confusing,” another added.

“Terrifying,” a third chimed in.

“For the living, yeah,” Twitch said.

We turned to him. His blind eyes probed the night.

“Ninety-nine percent of the earth’s population was probably eliminated in a matter of seconds. They didn’t feel a thing. They might have been the lucky ones.”

His words settled on us. The fire popped and crackled. The world had never seemed so still.

“I wonder which country started it,” Flush said.

“Why’s it matter?” Cat said, whittling a branch. “What matters is it’s left to us to pick up the pieces.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you curious?”

“Why? There’s no way we’ll ever know.”

Cat was right—we’d never find out the answer to that—but it did make me wonder about something else.

“Why do they hate us?” I asked. The question had burned within me ever since I found out we were considered Less Thans. As I spoke, I petted Argos. I could feel the ribs protruding beneath his fur.

“Who?” Flush asked.

“Everyone. Brown Shirts, Hunters, Crazies. Why do they all want us dead?”

“You know what they say,” Twitch said. “There are three reasons to hate someone. Either we have something they want.”

“Yeah, right,” Flush said sarcastically.

“Or we’re a threat.”

“Not likely.”

“Or we’re just different.”

Flush didn’t respond to that one. No one did.

“But why the Hunters?” I asked. “I mean, I can maybe understand the Crazies not liking us—they’re just crazy. And the Brown Shirts have somehow been indoctrinated to think we’re evil. But what do the Hunters have against us? What’s their deal?”

“Maybe they just like shooting defenseless people,” Cat said.

“Yeah, maybe.” But we all knew there was more to it than that.

By the fifth day after leaving Libertyville, our pace had become glacial—a combination of fatigue and lack of food. Although Hope often returned with a rabbit or a squirrel, sometimes even a porcupine, it wasn’t enough. Not to fill over seventy bellies. We were slowly starving to death.

Our rest breaks dragged out. We covered fewer miles. Each day started later and ended sooner. Although the sun brought warmth, its sharp rays bit our skin, chapped our lips, burned our cheeks red. Our eyes formed a permanent squint from staring into sunlight.

It was obvious we couldn’t go on like this.

“We need to go to the Compound,” I said on the sixth afternoon, as we were gathering wood.

“What’re you talking about?” Flush asked.

“The Compound—where we were held captive by the Skull People.”

“I know what it is.”

“We need to return there.”

Everyone around me stopped what they were doing.

“But that’s, like, miles and miles out of the way,” Flush said.

“I know.”

“The fastest way to Dodge’s is if we cut across the river and head east, not go south to the Compound. And for the sake of the sick, for the sake of all of us, we need to get to Dodge’s as soon as possible.”

“I don’t disagree.”

“Not to mention the fact that the last time we were at the Compound, the Hunters and Crazies were having a field day massacring the Skullies.”

“I remember.”

“So why do you think—”

“There might be food there.” That was the magic word: food. “You’re right, the Compound was attacked. But that place was so well stocked, there have gotta be some hidden rooms where there’s still food. Just imagine what that could do for us.”

The thought of eating smoked meats and canned vegetables made my mouth water.

“But Book, we don’t know who controls the Compound,” Twitch said.

“True, but what if the Hunters and Crazies just attacked and left? What if they’re not there anymore? Not only that”—here I hesitated—“what if there are survivors? Skull People, still alive. If so, we could bring ’em with us.”

Flush cleared his throat before speaking. “I don’t mean to sound heartless or anything, but why would you want to do that?”

“First of all, because they helped us escape.”

“After they locked us up.”

“And secondly, because they have skills. They’re smart—they can help us.”

“If you’re thinking of your little friend Miranda,” Diana said, “don’t forget she was a traitor.”

It was the first time anyone had uttered her name in months. Miranda. The girl who’d kissed my cheek as we watched the sun set. The same girl who’d been spying for her father.

“At first she was, yeah. But if it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t have gotten out of those caves. She created the diversion.” No one responded—not Diana, certainly not Hope—and I went on. “Listen, we’re not going to make it out of this territory unless we get some food. Like, soon. And the Compound is the only possibility I can think of.”

“But if the Crazies are still around—” Flush began.

“We take that chance. We don’t have a choice.”

The silence stretched, and it was a long time before anyone else spoke. I squinted into the distance. The setting sun erupted in an explosion of orange.

“I love it,” Sunshine said. “We’re screwed if we go, we’re screwed if we don’t. Welcome to the life of a Less Than.” He brayed like a donkey.

“What’re you thinking, Book?” Cat asked.

“It wouldn’t be everyone,” I said. “Just a small group. Whoever wants to join me. The rest of you go on to Dodge’s and we’ll meet up there. Hopefully with a whole mess of food.”

Now I needed volunteers. I shot a look to Hope, hoping she would say yes. She met my stare with narrowed eyes.

“Go,” she said. “We’ll continue on without you.”

“That’s what I’m suggesting,” I said.

“Then do it. You don’t need my permission.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I didn’t disagree with her, but it hurt, the way she said it. Like she wanted no part of me.

“I’ll go,” Red said.

“Me too,” Flush added, although not with as much conviction.

So that was the group: Red, Flush, and me. And of course Argos. Everyone else would cross the river and head straight for Dodge’s.

“If you want, I can join you,” Cat said later on, when it was just him and me.

“No, better that you’re with the others. They need you.”

“You sure about this? You don’t have to go back there if you don’t want.”

“It’s best this way,” I said, and left it at that.

That night I had watch, peering into the dark for any sign of yellow. I wondered if the wolves were content now, if they had just wanted us to leave Libertyville so they could reclaim that part of Skeleton Ridge for themselves. Or were they trailing us across the frozen tundra, waiting for the right moment to attack?

Soon, it wasn’t wolves I was thinking about, or Skull People, or even Hope. It was my grandmother. The woman with the long black hair whose final words to me had been I haven’t been guiding you, Book. You must be listening to your heart.

But at that particular moment, I had no idea what my heart was telling me. It felt like I knew less than ever.

8.

THEY SEPARATE THE NEXT morning. After an awkward round of good-byes, most of them cross the frozen river to the other side. The only ones who don’t are Book, Red, Flush, and Argos. Hope and Book don’t exchange any final words, but when Hope reaches the opposing riverbank, she catches him watching her. At the same moment they both look away.

Hope agrees that they need food, and she can’t fault Book’s plan to return to the Compound. Still, she can’t help but wonder if his ulterior motive is to find Miranda. It angers her that she feels a stab of jealousy.

For the first part of the morning, the two groups are a mirror—three on one side, seventy-one on the other—trudging through snow on opposite banks of the river. The trio moves at a far quicker pace, of course, and soon they forge ahead. When they eventually disappear into the horizon of white—Argos’s muffled bark a final good-bye—Hope is surprised to feel a sudden emptiness.