The Watch (The Red Series Book 1) (24 page)

The warden smiled approvingly at my evasiveness, and then
his face hardened. “Promise me,” he said, and he looked like wardens usually
looked, focused and dangerous. But I wasn’t afraid of him. We were on the same
side.

“Yes,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “I’ll take
care of Judd. I promise.”

The moon wasn’t up,
but by now the clouds had begun to clear so that the stars overhead provided a
little steady light.

When Harding and I got back to our little group, we found it
had grown in our absence.
Meritt
wasn’t there yet,
but
Ezzie
was lying sprawled on the ground near Liza
and Shawna, panting hard as if he’d been running for a long time. Cline was
standing in front of Farrell Dean but with his back to him, guarding him, and
Cook Alice was kneeling on the ground beside her son, talking quietly.

As I watched, Alice reached out and began unbuttoning
Farrell Dean’s shirt. When she gently pulled it open
,
he winced but shifted so she could
ease it off
his back. His injuries were bound to be ugly, but encouraged by her calm,
pleasant expression, I drew near. When I went to kneel beside her, however, I
noticed the tears on her cheek and caught the murmur of private conversation
between mother and son.

Feeling awkward, I muttered something—as
if I had recalled a pressing matter—and backed away, an all too familiar
pain
shooting through me.

Judd and his father, Farrell Dean and his mother. People
were drawn to their own flesh and blood. They sought it, looked for it in the
shape of a jaw, in mannerisms, in the sound of a voice. They wanted
connections, physical connections, the magical echoes of themselves in other
bodies, other lives. I wanted it. But my parents, if they were living, had
never sought me out; and I’d certainly never seen anyone who looked like me. It
wasn’t just the red hair—as Wanda was so fond o
f
pointing out, I was small and “fine boned” as old Louie chivalrously put it.
Someone in my genetic background must have been small, too, unless I really was
just a mutant freak.

Ashamed of my envy and loneliness in this moment
of shared danger, afraid Farrell Dean would glance up and read it in my
eyes—and I didn’t begrudge him his mother, I didn’t, I only wanted my
mother too, whoever she was—I turned away.

A few minutes later Cline came to where I was sitting alone
beneath an apple tree.

“What are we waiting for?” he said, stopping just a bit too
far away, as if I might be contagious.

He knew exactly what we were waiting for, but because he
disliked me, he wanted to make me say it. Fine.

“We’re waiting for
Meritt
,” I said
brusquely.

To my surprise Cline looked uncomfortable. He shifted on his
feet, glanced over his shoulder as if wishing for help. Then, reluctantly, he
looked back at me. “He isn’t coming, Red.”

“What? Why not?” Surely
Meritt
knew that going to the Guardians—the Guardian—was our only hope.
He’d heard the Watchers talking, same as I had. Why wouldn’t he come?

The look in Cline’s eyes was suspiciously like pity. “He was
up in the tower,” he said. “You know that. That’s the only way he could have
cut the lights like he did.”

In the
Opticon
, at the top of the
watchtower, above the prison. With only one way out.

“There’s no way he could have escaped,” Cline went on, and I
wanted to cover my ears. “They’ve got him.”

I felt my jaw set stubbornly. “Do you know that for a fact?
Did you see them catch him?”

Cline didn’t answer that question. “If you want to wait here
until the Watchers find you, then wait,” he said. “But don’t take the rest of
us down with you. Tell me where to find that Guardian. Give me a message so
he’ll know we’re from you. Or don’t. But the rest of us are going.”

He meant it.

And he was right. We had to go, and
Meritt
wasn’t coming. He’d been trapped.

Would they kill him? Of course they would. And why would
they wait? He could be dead already.
Meritt
might be
dead.

Hundreds, thousands of images of him filled my mind.
Meritt
bent over my school desk, helping me with work;
Meritt
laughing, grinning his crooked grin;
Meritt
in the darkness, in the sunlight, in the wasteland,
under the electric blue lights, shoving his dark hair out of his face, his gray
eyes alight, distant, focused, teasing.
Meritt
leaning toward me, kissing me so quickly I didn’t feel it until he was gone.

Hot tears filled my eyes, ran down my cheeks.

“Hey,” Cline said, gruffly but not unkindly. “Save it for
later.”

But I couldn’t do this without
Meritt
.
I wasn’t brave enough, old enough, wise enough. I needed
Meritt
.
I needed
Rafe
. We all needed
Rafe
,
but he was dead too.

 
“Listen,” Cline
said. “I don’t know what they’ll do to
Meritt
, or
when. But we aren’t any use to him dead. Help me get the others someplace safe,
and then maybe we can figure out a way to help
Meritt
.”

Unexpectedly, he stepped forward and held out his hand. I
reached up and took it, and he pulled me to my feet. Instantly he released
me—he might get cooties—and stepped back.

“Good,” he said. “Now all you have to do is get us to the
Guardian.”

In the
distance an owl hooted. An image of the wild men rose in my mind, and I pushed
it away. An image of
Meritt
falling, shot and
bleeding, took its place. I pushed that away, too.

Cline
was gathering everyone together.
He would take the
rear, he had said, to help stragglers and to watch for trouble, and I was to
lead the way. I watched Farrell Dean as he got to his feet, his mother helping
him, and then slowly—having put it off as long as I could—I went to
join the group.

“This
way,” I said, and pointed, and we headed for the gap in the wall.

At the
gap I went through and had begun to cross the wasteland when I realized I was
alone. Turning, I saw that the rest of the group had paused at the gap.

I’d
forgotten. Most of them had
never been outside the wall.

As I watched, Joe and Harding came forward. Those two had cut
trees in the eastern woods, the safer woods. Then Farrell Dean, whispering some
word of encouragement to his mother, led her out; he’d probably been outside of
the walls with
Meritt
or
Rafe
.
Slowly, hesitantly, the rest followed.

Silently they joined me. The wasteland glowed pale and cold in the
starlight, eerie, but not as eerie as the shadowy trees with mist twining
around them like ghosts.

Once
we were deep in those dark trees I had to stop again to get my bearings.
Exactly where had I left Sir Tom? We’d parted in the daylight, and the woods
looked different at night. I took a few steps forward; the whole group moved
with me, right on my heels.

“Stay
here just a minute,” I whispered, and walked a few yards. Yes. This was the
way—just over there was the rock where Sir Tom had sat down, and I’d
changed clothes behind that smaller tree.

I
gestured. The others joined me and we quickly covered the short distance to the
meeting place. There was no sign of Sir Tom, though on the large rock a streak
of dark blood told me this was indeed the right place.

“He’s
not here yet,” I said, stating the obvious. “But he’ll come.” I hoped.

The
others shifted uneasily, looking around, gazing up at the tall trees, the patch
of sky. No one wanted to sit, to rest. Shawna, Liza, and Alice stood close
together beside Sir Tom’s rock. The guys paced back and forth in a sort of
ragged patrol of the area. They looked twitchy, like cats waiting to pounce on
something. Even Farrell Dean, clearly in pain, was managing to focus on the
shadows and the trees.

At
least Judd wasn’t thinking about the dead warden anymore; like the other guys
he was pacing, staring into the darkness.

When a
twig snapped nearby, Cline and Harding moved before I could even see what had
made the noise. They charged into the underbrush,
Ezzie
,
Joe, and Judd right behind them. Alice grabbed Farrell Dean and stopped him
from following; Shawna and Liza
huddled closer
together.

We
heard struggling, grunts, the thud of a fist on flesh, an infuriated scream. I
was edging toward the sounds when
Ezzie
reappeared,
followed immediately by the rest of them. They were dragging something that was
digging his fingers into the ground, trying to claw himself back into the
shadows, now and then letting out a tangled, angry stream of nonsense.

Jensen.

“He
bit me,” Cline said angrily, stepping on the small of Jensen’s back and pinning
him flat to the ground, though still he thrashed and struggled—uselessly,
because the others were now pinning him down as well, kneeling on each of his
arms and legs.

“Don’t
hurt him!” I said.

“Red
redder reddest!” the man cried, hearing my voice, straining to turn his head
toward me. “Red redder reddest!”

“What
is this?” Cline asked. “One of the wild men? How does he know your name?”

“
No, this is Jensen.”

“The wild men are worse than
this
?”
Cline lost his balance and Jensen screamed.

“Stop!” I said. “Don’t hurt him. Help
him
up.”

“No
way!”

“Yes—”
How to explain while Jensen was listening? I didn’t even know how much Jensen
understood. “He gets a little confused sometimes, but he’s loyal to Sir Tom.”

“Sir!”
roared Jensen, struggling harder. “Sir!”

Cline
looked unconvinced.

“Sir
Tom won’t like it if we hurt him,” I said.

Cline
considered this, glancing around at the other boys. They shrugged.

“He
doesn’t have a weapon,”
Ezzie
said.

Cline
snorted.

From
behind me Farrell Dean spoke. “We’ve got him outnumbered.”

“Jensen,”
I said, drawing as close as I dared. I made my voice as crisp as I could. “Lieutenant
Jensen! Hold still!”

He
stopped struggling. Cline threw an incredulous glance in my direction.

“Lieutenant
Jensen, we are going to release you. Stand to attention!”

After
a moment’s hesitation, the boys stepped off Jensen’s body. Cline reached down and
hauled him to his feet.

“Attention!”
I said again,
firmly, and—to my
amazement—Jensen put his feet together, straightened his back as much as
he was able, and saluted. “Red redder reddest!” he said.

Judd
smothered a laugh.

“Jensen!”
I said crisply, glaring at Judd. “Have you seen Sir?”

Beneath
his shaggy, filthy beard, Jensen’s lips moved. No words came out.

“He’s
crazy,” Cline said softly.

“Sir,”
Jensen said uncertainly, slumping. “Sir?”

“Sir
will be here shortly, Jensen,” I said. Very shortly, I hoped—and what was
I going to do with Jensen in the meantime?

Inspiration
struck.

“Jensen!”
I said. He stood straighter again. “Your orders are to find Sir Tom!”

Jensen
saluted but didn’t otherwise move.

“Find
Sir!” I said again. “Bring Sir here!”

Again
Jensen saluted.

Farrell
Dean spoke quietly in my ear. “I think he’s waiting for you to dismiss him,” he
said.

“Jensen!
Dismissed!”

Jensen
spun and took off at a trot through the woods. Within seconds he was out of
sight.

The
others stared after him, then turned and stared at me.

“Pretty
impressive, Red,”
Ezzie
said, grinning. “Too bad you
couldn’t get the field workers to obey like that.”

“Maybe
if I’d pinned them to the ground first,” I said
dismissively, though in truth I was pleased with myself. I’d kept Jensen from
getting
hurt, and maybe regained a few points with Cline—he’d never like me, but
I wanted him to at least respect me, not think I was just a silly weepy girl.

“Now
what?” said Cline. He was rubbing one hand with the other.

“Now
we wait,” I said.

 
Alice spoke up. “How bad is the bite?”

Cline
turned his hand over, studying it in the moonlight. “I don’t think he broke the
skin,” he said. “He startled me, that’s all. He fights like a girl.”

Liza
heaved a pointed sigh. “He fights like an
animal
,”
she said.

We gathered near Sir Tom’s rock, with
our
youngest and our injured in the center and the rest of us circled around them,
facing out, keeping watch.

What
if Sir Tom’s leg had gotten worse? What if he couldn’t walk, couldn’t come meet
us? What if he’d sent Jensen with a message, and we’d terrified the poor
creature into forgetting his mission?

Or
what if Sir Tom had died? After all, he was wounded.

And
then there were the wild men—how many of them, I didn’t know. But I was
pretty sure they’d try to kill us if they found us. The guys had managed to pin
Jensen, but they might not be as successful with those wolf-like creatures.

Beside
me Joe cleared his throat and I jumped. “Ahead and to the right,” he said
softly.

 
A low fern was swaying gently, though
there was no wind.

“What
was it? Did you see?” I spoke as softly as he.

“No.”

I was
in clear view; if it had been Sir Tom, he’d have seen me and shown himself. Or
if it had been
Meritt
, if he’d gotten free and come
looking for us—

My
heart leapt, but reality rushed in fast and hard, and I had to blink back
tears.

On the
other side of our little circle Farrell Dean’s mother called out, “Who’s
there?”

I
turned to look but Joe grabbed my arm. Where the fern had moved there now stood
a tall and imposing figure, hair shining in the moonlight. Angel.

And
who was behind us? What had Alice seen?

“Good
evening,” Angel said. I felt movement behind me, people turning toward his
voice, and I hoped someone had the sense to keep watching the other direction.

“I see
you found me. And you brought friends. That’s very good.” His voice was gentle,
civilized, and just like that, with those few words, I felt again the strong
sense of familiarity, of—strangely—safety. Wouldn’t it be okay to
go with Angel? He had never tried to hurt me. And I only had Sir Tom’s word for
it that Angel was responsible for
Rosella’s
madness.

Then
Angel stepped forward, further out of the undergrowth, and I saw that he held a
long gun in both hands, nose pointed at the ground midway between us.

“Keep
him talking, Red,” a voice said, so softly I could barely hear it. It was
Cline, from the other side of the circle.

My
mind promptly went blank. I was supposed to make small talk with Angel?

“
Talk
,” Cline hissed.

I said
the first thing that came to mind. “One of my friends is injured,” I said.

“I have medical supplies.” Angel said gestured toward the
north. “Come this way.”

“No,” said Farrell Dean. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Angel raised his eyebrows. “Let me be blunt,” he said. “If
you don’t come with me, you won’t last the night. There are things in these
woods
that would make your blood freeze.”

I felt the group behind me move closer together.

“I’m supposed to meet Sir Tom,” I said.

Angel nodded. “You’re worried that going with me will hurt
Tommy’s feelings. I respect that. Perhaps we should pretend that I captured
you.”

He must have seen something in my expression, for his own
grew softer. “He’s told you stories about me,” he said. “Lies. The truth is,
many of your people have come to me willingly. They left your city and sought
me out, and I helped them as best as I could.”

I’d never heard anything about that. Some stories said that
not everyone tried to escape from the Guardians once they’d been caught by
them. But seeking them out? As far as I knew, I was the first to willingly come
to the Guardians. I didn’t know whether Angel was telling the truth or lying.

Angel was still talking. “Tommy tells only what is useful to
him,” he said. “He leaves out details of his own sins and regrets, and
exaggerates mine. I will not hurt you. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done
so long ago.”

“Long ago? What do you mean?”

He didn’t take his gaze from mine. “You must be very hungry,
to be reduced to eating wormy windfall apples while waiting for your friends.”

“You were watching me?”

“No. I was watching over you.”

I took a step out of the circle, toward him, but at the same
instant he jerked around and pointed the gun at something behind him.

“Split up!” Cline shouted, and everyone began to move,
plunging wildly in various directions. I didn’t move—I didn’t know what
was behind Angel, or whether to run away from him or to him.

“Stay close,” Sir Tom called. “Split up but stay close.”

He stepped out from behind a tree, his leg bandaged, his
long bulky gun aimed at Angel’s head.

“So, Angel,” he said. “Are you ready to surrender?”

Angel laughed. “There’s a fine line between optimism and
insanity,” he said, and then he turned and vanished into the dark woods.

Sir Tom shrugged. “Come back, all you people,” he said. “Red
Girl, tell them I’m safe.”

“He’s safe,” I said, and if I sounded a bit unenthusiastic,
Sir Tom didn’t comment. I went to meet him and slowly, more cautiously, the
rest of our group came as well.

Sir Tom nodded encouragingly at them. “Don’t you worry about
Angel,” he said. “I’ve set Jensen to following him. He’ll let us know if he
heads back this direction.”

Then he turned to me. “If we may postpone introductions, Red
Girl, we’d best be on our way.” He looked at Farrell Dean. “Can you walk?”