The Deadly Nightshade (14 page)

Chapter 27

A firm knock jolts me into consciousness, and I wake in an unfamiliar place. Where are the trees, the soil? Where are the leaves I have so often made my bed upon? Where is the smell of nature and the chatter of woodland animals? I am far from home. These walls and wooden floor are foreign to me; nothing about them feels natural. Stretching my neck and back, which ache from six hours spent on hardwood, I glance over at Connor, who still sleeps soundly on his cot. Yesterday’s events must have exhausted him. Good, he needs his rest to recover.

The knock sounds again, louder this time, more demanding. Fearing the noise will wake Connor, I hurry to the door and open it to find Nathan standing on the opposite side of the threshold. Something about him seems different today. He is not the same hardened, authoritative man who threatened our lives yesterday—he seems younger almost, more timid. His lips twitch in what is either an awkward smirk or a facial tick.

“Well, what do you want?” I ask, reluctant to let the heat that has built up in the house escape through the open door.

“Uh, hunting duty, remember?”

I had nearly forgotten. “Give me a minute.”

Shutting the door, I silently collect my weapons, throw on my jacket, and slip back out into the brisk winter air. Nathan greets me with that weird tick again.

“We’ve got time to stop by the cafeteria and grab some breakfast, if you’re hungry. You look like you could use a bite,” he says. “Not that— not in, like, a bad way,” he stammers, fussily running his fingers through his Afro-textured hair. “I just meant— never mind. I’m sorry.”

This stuttering, awkward excuse for a man is supposed to be in charge of me? To think I was actually under the impression he might have the balls to shoot me yesterday.

As we walk in the direction of the cafeteria, a stout Asian woman in a heavy down coat passes us by, a tray of steaming food held between her gloved hands. Noticing she is headed in the direction we just came from, I am about to ask where she thinks she is going when Nathan informs me she is the doctor caring for Connor and tells me not to worry. I wish I
could
stop worrying, but leaving Connor’s side feels like signing his death warrant.

At the cafeteria, I am served hot food on a tray and given actual metal utensils to eat with. Nathan leads me to a table in the adjacent dining hall, which is all but empty save for a handful of older Sweetbriarans, whose light-hearted conversation dies the moment they set their eyes on me. The lieutenant takes a seat across from me, watching as I survey my breakfast—a sweet roll, a bottle of water, and peaches in heavy syrup. It is a lot of food for one meal—more than I am used to. Uncertain of what to eat first, I pick up my fork and twirl it in my hand. It feels almost alien. Finally, after noticing Nathan’s perplexed stare, I stab one of the peaches and place it in my mouth. Although I am sure these came from a can, they taste different than the ones I am used to eating—sweeter, almost too sweet.

When I have eaten the rest of my meal, Nathan and I walk back toward the iron gate we entered through just yesterday to meet the rest of the group. Three people stand at the camp’s threshold—one man and two women, the same ones who discovered Connor and me yesterday. As Nathan introduces them, I learn the short-haired brunette is named Sophia and the blonde is Claire. The three of them shake my hand, expressing their pleasure at having me among them, though only the preacher seems genuine. After the introductions are finished, the guards open the gate and the five of us return to the world.

My heart swells at the sight of trees and grass, at the music of birds twittering, at the feeling of liberty. There are no stone walls here to incarcerate me, no iron gate to cage me, no suspicious eyes watching my every move—I am as free as the wind that kisses my face. I can leave if I want to; they’ll never catch me—they wouldn’t dare shoot me for fear of disclosing their location, and I guarantee I can outrun them. Yet there is one thin thread tying me to this place, tethering me to these people, preventing my escape—Connor.

I can snap that string if I want to with the slightest of ease, but although the thread is thin, the knot is strong. I can’t leave him, not in this condition, not after what he has done for me. If I abandon this place they might turn him out, and he would surely die without anyone there to care for him. I can’t leave him.

Besides, Reina still has my guns.

Nathan takes the lead and the others fan out behind him while I trudge along a few feet back. My distance from the group must make the lieutenant apprehensive, because every now and then he turns his head to see where I am, although he tries to make it seem as though he is just surveying the landscape. He is afraid to let me out of his sight—no doubt Reina would be furious if I were to run away. I decide to test my theory by dropping back a little, then a little more, until finally he calls out to me.

“You should try to pick up the pace, Nightshade. We wouldn’t want you getting left behind. If you need us to slow down, just say something, but make sure you stay with the group at all times, okay?”

We walk for about half a mile, delving deeper and deeper into the forest with each step, but not once do we stop to set up traps. This is prime hunting ground—squirrels scurry up and down tree trunks, mice dart to and fro, and hares hop about carelessly as we pass by only a few feet away. An hour here would produce enough food to last me a week. Yet the group keeps moving, ignoring the abundant prey as if they do not see them. Reluctant to pass up such an opportunity, I slacken my pace and begin searching for a place to set up a few snares. Nathan catches me slipping away.

“Hey, don’t wander off!” he shouts. He halts the others and jogs to catch up to me, stopping me before I can get very far.

“I’m just going to go set up a few traps,”  I say. “It’ll take me five minutes tops.”

“Traps?” asks Sophia, looking perplexedly at the others. “You mean, like, for small game?”

I turn to the lieutenant for an explanation.
              “We don’t usually go for small game,” says Nathan. “There are a lot of mouths to feed back home, so we prefer to hunt deer and the like. It just makes the most sense for a group of our size.” He places a gloved hand on my shoulder in a friendly manner, but I remove it before it is comfortably settled. Disconcerted by my gesture, he folds his hands behind his back. Then, seeming to notice my uneasiness, he asks, “You, uh, do know how to hunt big game, don’t you?”

I hesitate, unsure of how to answer. “I’m sure I could.”

“But you’ve never
actually
done it,” says Claire.

“I’ve never needed to.”

Claire laughs, shaking her head. “Great. This is wonderful, Nate, really. I mean first Reina lets these two outsiders stay in our town and eat our food when we know absolutely nothing about them, then she puts
her
on hunting duty when she doesn’t even know how to hunt! Incredible decision-making skills, really.”

Upon hearing this, Sophia and Sheppard exchange an uncomfortable glance. Nathan’s face grows dark.

“Claire, don’t,” threatens the lieutenant in the same firm voice he used yesterday, a stark contrast to the amiable tone he has been speaking in all morning. “You know better than to disrespect Reina.”

“What good is she to us? Anyone with half a brain cell could set up a trap and wait around for something to fall into it. What, are we supposed to feed the entire town with one squirrel? She’s useless!”

“Excuse me?” I hiss, feeling my cheeks begin to burn.

She turns to face me, her upper lip half curled in a snarl. “You heard me,” she says brazenly. “You and your freeloader boyfriend have no place here, and if you can’t so much as help out then you don’t deserve our hospitality. If
I
was in charge I would’ve turned you away in a second, and you two would be out here where you belong instead of in
our
camp using up
our
hard-earned resources.”

“Claire!” Nathan shouts. “Stop! That’s an order.”

But Claire does not heed that order. Her green eyes are locked on me, her jaw is set, and her fists are clenched—she is ready for a fight. I maintain eye contact as she takes a few steps toward me, slowly closing the gap between us until our faces are only inches apart. Keeping my head raised and my shoulders back, I dare her to make the first move.

“Well you’re
not
in charge, now are you?” I whisper tauntingly. “If I were you, I would take a step back. I am not somebody you want to go to war with.”

She leans in closer, so close that I can feel her hot breath against my skin. “You gonna make me? Bitch, if you touch me your stay in Sweetbriar is over.”

“Claire! That’s enough!” Nathan booms.

But she doesn’t listen. Grabbing me by the shoulders, she gives me a firm shove, but I maintain my footing and lunge at her, sweeping her legs out from under her and sending us both crashing to the ground. She reaches for my face, trying to rake her nails across my skin, but I slap her hands away and, grabbing two handfuls of her hair, pound her head into the dirt. She shrieks and claws and strikes me with all her might, but I continue pounding until two firm hands grab the back of my jacket and tear me from her, leaving me with only a chunk of her pretty blonde hair. Nathan grabs Claire by the waist before she can come after me again, holding her firmly as she writhes like a wild animal. Elijah Sheppard grips me tightly as well, but I have no intention of attacking. I have proven my dominance, and I have this golden trophy to show for it. I wave the lock of hair at her derisively, but Elijah places himself in front of me to break our line of sight. When I have calmed down and the preacher has released me, I place the strands in my pocket for safekeeping.

“Are you alright?” the preacher whispers. I nod.

“Let go of me, Nate!” Claire cries, still struggling against him. Blood has begun to trickle from the bald spot on her head.

“Not until you calm down.”

“I
am
calm!”

“Yeah . . . Somehow I don’t feel comfortable taking your word for it.”

After another minute of futile squirming, Claire stops fighting. Nathan releases her but keeps his arms outstretched, ready to grab her again if she decides to try anything. Staring straight past Elijah Sheppard, who still stands between us, she shoots me a hateful glance, brushes the dirt from her clothes, and begins to walk in the direction we had been headed in before the scuffle. The rest of us follow. The preacher remains by my side, as if anticipating more violence might break out, and after a few minutes Nathan drops back to walk beside me too.

“You okay?” asks the lieutenant. “Hey, I’m really sorry about her. Claire has some . . . trust issues. But she’ll get over it. Just don’t take anything she said to heart, okay? We appreciate you being a part of this group and we don’t mind teaching you how to hunt bigger game. Right, Sheppard?”

“Right,” says the preacher. “Don’t listen to her, kid. She likes to pick fights—it’s just her nature. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“Just keep her away from me,” I say. “If she ever touches me again she’ll be missing more than just her hair.”

The men exchange a smirk.

Half an hour passes before Nathan gestures for us to stop, pointing toward an unsuspecting buck grazing lazily in the distance. The others fan out, crouching low behind the tall grass as not to be seen and forming a semicircle around the deer, who remains unaware of his impending doom.

Either catching our scent from a change in the wind or having some premonition of his fate, the buck starts. His massive antlered head swivels toward us, and for a moment I swear our eyes meet. Then the beast makes his escape, his powerful legs quadrupling his distance from us in a matter of bounds. I am sure he is a lost cause until he stumbles and crashes to the ground with a bellow. Nathan, Claire, and Elijah Sheppard abandon their hiding places as Sophia lowers her compound bow with a satisfied sigh.

“Nice shot, Soph!” says Nate as he and the others surround the fallen deer. “And here I thought we were going to lose him.”

Claire and the lieutenant congratulate the young woman as she approaches, patting her on the back and showering her with words of praise, but Elijah Sheppard remains apart from them, his well-worn face grim. I watch as he approaches the buck and places a hand on his side, and as I draw closer I can just barely see the strained rise and fall of the animal’s chest. The preacher draws his knife—a gorgeous weapon with a long, black gut hook blade with a serrated edge and an orange handle—from his belt with a violent jerk and thrusts it into the animal’s heart. When he is sure the buck is really dead this time, he turns to the rest of the group with a face shadowed with guilt.

“It was a cruel death.”

Wiping the blood from his knife, he places it back in its sheath, walks a few feet away from the rest of us, clenches his hands together, and bows his head. How strange for a man to pray after the hunt. I watch him for a moment, but am forced to look away when Nathan directs me to help with the buck. The four of us string up the body and, when the preacher is done with his prayer, begin dragging it back to camp. Elijah Sheppard trails behind, the grim expression never leaving his face.