Chapter 21

  ~ The Price to Pay ~

  The arrow struck true. Its tip penetrated the thick cloth like a knife would butter. Bingo. Straight to the target’s centre, Victoria lowered the bow. She had gotten used to those small victories. The weapon felt her own now, its weight resting comfortably in her palm. And the scar that once burned and pulled had faded to a mere memory.

  She was ready.

  Like every other morning, the camp had slowly begun stirring, and Victoria knew she would be needed soon. Swinging the bow on her shoulder she left the makeshift practice yard, eager to get ready. Last night, they had stopped in a field surrounded by wild wheat. The collection of tents, carts and campers now made for a nomadic crop circle easy to navigate. And protective enough. Her own tent lay towards the inner rim, beside the defensive layer of parked vehicles.

  She had seen them move across fields, forests and streets alike. The way they operated would never cease to astonish Victoria. The sheer organisation and how each person had a singular role to play — and played it willingly. The way they wove together into a purpose larger than themselves. She felt almost at home with them.

  Each day, she belonged a little bit more. At least for the time being.

  Victoria ducked into her tent, pushing the canvas aside. It wasn’t much. A small teepee of a place, but there was room enough for the few valuables she owned. And to almost stand upright. She left the bow and quiver beside her worn coffer and grabbed fresh clothes for the day. The fabric slid across her skin as she put on a clean top, greyed and torn a little.

  Her hands stilled.

  There, the scar extended. Her middle finger traced its path from up over her belly button to her right side. It split her abs in two. The pink skin looked so fragile still, a veil ready to tear again. Except it held. Through the battles, through the long nights, through the hurt and the distance. Nothing seemed to break its grip. Maybe one day, when the people of Noxhold had been freed. When its leaders had been dragged into the light to face justice. When the dwellers had finally tasted the sky and seen their skin tan. Maybe then, it would finally let go.

  Maybe then, it would rest.

  She released a slow breath, forcing her hands away. The study of old wounds could wait. Bursting out of the tent once more, she felt the wind in her hair.

  Victoria had been looking forward to summer. Its warmer days and brighter rays. But it had all been quite disappointing. The temperature had indeed gone up but to become suffocating. A moist weight always clinging like some sort of spoiled child. Slowing you down, sapping your patience. The others had said it was unusual. That summers weren’t meant to be as cloudy and rainy. Maybe it was some cosmic joke that the sun would refuse to come out the first year of her freedom.

  Or maybe it shied away. Not sure how to welcome her back after so long an absence.

  Not all days were covered with clouds. Some were more pleasant, like today and yesterday, when they had found Adam. But it never lasted for long. A day or two. Three hours or four. A few minutes or a single. Whenever she hoped, whenever she rejoiced, the sun only retreated behind curtains, taking its sweet time to get ready for the longing crowd.

  And that day, the crowd swirled in the camp while she made her way to Adam’s tent. A few dozen souls getting ready to continue the journey. A few dozen souls burning with the same want. To participate in the construction of an after. Of something worthwhile even when everything else had crumbled. She gathered that Adam would be glad to hear there was still meaning left in this world.

  The flaps stirred as she approached. He was already stepping out.

  “How’s your head?” she asked, offering a concerned smile.

  “Like I just got into a car accident?” he replied, fidgeting with his golden jewellery. “But they took good care of me, and I slept okay, so I’d say this is an improvement.”

  “You’ll have more time to rest,” she assured him, motioning for him to follow. “But before that, you should meet the curators and tell them your story. They will be thrilled to meet you, I’m sure.”

  “Curators?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realise there were still librarians around here.”

  Victoria chuckled. “No, no, that’s just how the council members are called. You’ll see, they’re an interesting bunch.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” he jested.

  Adam had a way of diverting the attention away from himself. Something about how he moved and his expressions were always tricky to read. It made him harder to pin down. Deliberate or instinctual? In any case, it had probably kept him alive.

  He was handsome in a way, dark hair falling over his shoulders and eyes as grey as storm-lit clouds. They gave little away. He was probably her age. Or slightly younger. The kind of man content to hold back and let others make the first move. The kind that would quietly charm his way into the group despite his awkwardness. Maybe he’d come to be a part of what they were trying to build, like the other strays. Like me.

  “So, what’s in store for me?” Adam inquired. “Is it gonna be a trial? Some grand decision about whether I’m a threat or just another mouth to feed?”

  She tied her hair up. “Hmm, nothing of the sort. They just like to hear stories and properly introduce themselves. If all goes well, you might get offered to stick around.”

  Adam gave no indication that the idea interested him. Probably had more on his mind right now. But he’d have more time to settle. Victoria had been given weeks before she committed. Before she had realised, she’d do more good around here than anywhere else.

  Before she had realised that her search would yield nothing.

  They approached the centre-most tent, a white marquee. Its peak barely clearing the tallest grasses around the camp. Lenor stood posted outside, shifting his weight lazily against a wooden stake. He was one of the Aegis Wardens, easy-going, always with a remark. One of her favourites from the group. Not that it meant anything.

  “Hey, Brook,” he greeted with a smirk. “Any luck getting those arrows to hit the target?”

  Victoria scoffed. “Just figured out you’re supposed to put the feathered end on the string, not the tip. So, you know, give me a couple more weeks.”

  Lenor shook his head and flicked away the wheat he’d been toying with. His gaze slid to Adam. “Everyone’s talking about you, Roadblock.”

  Adam was clearly caught off guard. “Roadblock?”

  Another silly nickname.

  Lenor grinned. “Figured I’d get a head start in case you decide to stay. Vic seems to enjoy the little name I gave her.”

  That was true enough… there were worse labels out there.

  Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, so what’s yours then? Grasshopper?”

  Lenor’s smile widened. “Not bad, yeah…” He jerked his head towards the tent. “Come on, they’re waiting for you.”

  “After you, Adam,” Victoria offered.

  Adam hesitated only a moment before stepping ahead, pulling the flap aside. She followed suit.

  A low murmur filled the tent. The Scholars had gathered, sitting in a semi-circle of tables. Wardens, tinkerers and archivists were all deep in conversations with the three curators who had made the journey with them. Not all had left Driftpoint for this venture; most were needed there to keep it going, so only those who would benefit from the endeavour had been sent.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Victoria searched for Kurt, the defence curator. She had hoped he wouldn’t be there, with his soldier manners and sharp eyes. But, of course, he was. Standing in a corner with Aegis members around him. He sent her a look as she entered.

  Adam had stopped short, looking around like a trapped animal. Victoria placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  She guided his attention towards an older man with long white hair, his once-white coat now stained yellow and marked with greens and browns. His spectacles sat crookedly on his long nose.

  “Remus,” Victoria murmured. “He’s well-versed in biology. One of the rare few who can recognise most local plants and species of birds. More important than you’d think.”

  Adam drank up her words, scrutinising the members as if he was trying to draw the gathering in his head — with faithful details.

  Victoria turned Adam’s shoulders towards the rightmost table, where a young woman leaned back in her chair. She rolled her sleeves along her pale, soft arms and was tapping a quill against the table, probably waiting for the audience to start. Their eyes met. Victoria looked away.

  “This one’s Saela,” she said, her eyes now fixed on Adam. “Knows a thing or two about viruses and parasites. And she’s quite… deft.”

  Adam met her eyes with an expression of curiosity.

  “Anyway,” Victoria went on. “I’ll go sit over there, you stay put. It should start in a second.”

  “Wait, so I just stand in front of them?”

  “Yeah? But don’t worry, they’re all nice people.”

  She didn’t wait for his response, slipping away to take a seat next to the microorganism curator.

  “Saela,” she greeted while grabbing a chair.

  “Vic. I thought for sure you’d sit next to Kurt.”

  Victoria huffed a laugh, “I’d rather sit next to the smelly old man and his muddy nails.”

  After a short while, the tent grew quiet, and Remus stood, clearing his throat. The words left his mouth with power but effort, a voice used to grab the crowd’s attention but suffering the scorn of time.

  “We are gathered on this day of the year twenty-one AC to celebrate the first light of summer and welcome a new stray into our midst.” His eyes swept the room before landing on Adam. “In the name of all the Scholars, I welcome you, Adam, and wish to extend a warm invitation to join our preservation of history and all that is dear to humanity. Please come forth and tell us of your story. We should like to hear from whence you came and what kind of person you are.”

  Victoria watched Adam closely. He looked around for a second and stepped hesitantly in the light pouring from the top of the marquee.

  “What kind of person I am?” His eyes searched for hers. “I suppose I’m just like everyone else. Just trying to survive somehow.”

  Kurt stirred from the other side of the circle, rising with the measured patience of a man already suspicious. It was his job in a sense, yet she couldn’t help but find it annoying.

  “No one’s like everyone. Especially not these days.” His sharp gaze locked onto the cornered stray. “Maybe you could tell us how you came to crash and how you managed to find a working car?”

  Adam gave an easy smile, though Victoria noticed the slight shift in his stance, a moment’s hesitation before he continued.

  “Sure, uh… We were travelling from a small village far North of here. We were two, we knew each other for some time. Scraping by as we could.” Adam exhaled. “But the place where we stayed had become less and less safe, so we set out to find someplace farther south. Just… away.”

  “We were lucky enough to find a car in a nearby town that wasn’t in bad shape. With some repairs and a lot of siphoned gas, we left. But, uhm…” Adam’s fingers reached for his earlobe. “On our way here, my friend. Denis. He—he got distracted, and one thing led to another…”

  A pause. Just long enough to tell Victoria he had known his fair share of loss.

  “So I guess,” Adam continued, “thank you for saving my life. It’s rare to find people willing to help, even more so when they’re willing to provide food and shelter. But I won’t ask more of you, you’ve already done more than you should. I’ll be on my way shortly.”

  Remus puffed. “Nonsense, you suffered quite the concussion. We advise you to rest some more. Plus, we’re happy to have you around—”

  “Yeah, why is that?”

  The shift in Adam’s voice was subtle, but there was a thread of impatience, unravelling his polite guise.

  “I beg your pardon?” Remus asked, his voice cracking.

  Adam hesitated this time. “Why is it that you’re so eager to accept strangers? You house me, feed me, invite me over. What’s the catch?”

  The room stilled. Their grip on Adam was slipping.

  Saela tucked her hair behind her ear, considering Adam with a patient gaze. She would find the right word, no doubt.

  “People like you are information, Adam.” Her silvery voice flew across the tent. “The world we were left with is shaped by survivors. People with stories. Knowledge doesn’t always come in books, as much as we’d like it to. Your story could be the key to our survival.”

  Adam chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “And what happens if you don’t like what you find?”

  “That is for us to decide,” Kurt replied curtly.

  Remus interjected before the tension could escalate further. “We understand your concern.” He gestured with his wrinkled hand for everyone to calm down. “And we do not wish for you to take this decision lightly. You are free to stay with us and observe. And free to leave when you please. But you would do well to remember that even the best of us cannot make it alone.”

  Victoria wasn’t sure if he would take that last part as a warning or an invitation.

  “Then, I shall like to leave now.”

  The meeting ended up a disaster. Victoria hadn’t expected it to go so badly. She thought — or hoped — that Adam would at least listen. Instead, he was already halfway out of the tent. Why was he so reluctant to share with them?

  Caution, she would have understood. Even distrust. But the way he ran from them felt deeper than that. As if accepting any of their reality would put a vital part of him at risk.

  She felt the urge to stop him. To fix this before it collapsed entirely.

  Victoria rose, muttering an excuse to the curators who hardly registered. Except for Saela, who only smiled.

  She shoved aside the fabric and ran after him.

  “Wait!”

  Adam didn’t stop. He wove past tinkerers bent over their work — welding and hammering pieces of a trailer in need of repair. He only halted when he reached the edge, where the wheat stood defiant and tall.

  Victoria slowed down a few feet from him.

  “Why are you all so intent on helping me?” Adam asked.

  There was no place for hesitation this time.

  “Because that’s what we do,” she said, stepping closer. “We try to help as many people as we can. And I’m sure you could help us in our task.”

  That would have been too easy; she expected resistance. And surely it came.

  “And what is it exactly?” His expression darkened, and there was a tinge of anger behind his voice. “When does it stop?”

  She exhaled. “We’re trying to free a community. Amongst other things.”

  For some reason, this had caught his attention.

  “A community?”

  “Yes. People who live underground. But let’s just say their leaders don’t have their best interests at heart. I grew up there initially.” Victoria met his eyes. “Noxhold.”

  Adam averted his gaze, turning around to face the field as the wind wove through the stalks.

  “What about when you realise they do not wish to be freed?” His voice was softer now but carried an emotional depth outside her reach. “Or that to free them means freeing people who’ve done terrible things?”

  She had asked herself this before. In the dead hours of the night, when sleep all but refused to come. When her mind traced back to Olivia and the dark corridors. How many had simply accepted the way things were in Noxhold? How many had benefited from it? Even she was part of them for some time. Too scared to look closer even when everything was clear.

  Maybe it was easier to pretend they were all victims rather than acknowledge that some had chosen to be the way they were.

  Adam turned back to her, his eyes darker. “Who then will decide who gets to leave and who doesn’t? Will those curators do it? Or will you? Who will get to live with the decision?”

  Her fingers curled. There was no answer she could provide. She wanted to believe in a new kind of morale. That the act of saving people meant something beyond judgment. Beyond guilt. But back then, when she had finally risen to action, she had lost everything and achieved nothing. And even when she, herself, had been saved, it had cost the lives of others.

  “I—”

  “There is no saving everyone, Victoria… The only thing we get to do is save ourselves.”

  A part of her agreed with Adam. Not the part she was proud of. The part that knew the price of fighting, that knew how easier it would be to flee.

  She wanted to argue. To tell him that if everyone thought like that, the world would never change. That survival couldn’t be all they ever reached for because then how could they build a place worth living for? But she wasn’t sure she believed in change any more. Not as much as she used to. She had been proven wrong too many times.

  Adam walked past her. His shoulder met hers, and when she met his gaze, the grey in his eyes swirled like a brewing storm.

  “I will stay for a while, just enough to heal. I’ll help you if you need me… to repay the debt I owe. But after that, I’ll disappear. I don’t want to be around when you have to make the decision.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  Victoria stood in the morning wind, her pulse thrumming. He sounded like Alek in a way. Though his ideas came from a different place, from different wounds, they took on a similar form.

  There was no saving everyone.

  But as long as she stood, she would at least try.

  The tent was silent except for the cloth flapping in the wind. The argument still lingered in the air, an aftertaste of frustration. Victoria sat hunched, her arms braced around her knees, staring at the talkie placed on a blue cardboard box.

  In her moment of doubt, she always came back to this peculiar altar.

  Her fingers traced the contraption’s edges. Familiar dents and scratches. Small nicks earned over six months of static. It had stopped feeling like hope a long time ago and become something akin to a prayer. A habit she had. Because stopping would mean admitting what she wasn’t ready to.

  Victoria turned the dial, the soft crackle of dead sound filling the space around her. And then she pressed the button. But the words didn’t escape her yet. She exhaled through her nose and adjusted the frequency. One… two… three…

  “Glasshouse to Black Cat— are you there?”

  Victoria closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the cold plastic. The time stretched as she waited for anything beyond the white noise. It could almost speak to her now. In the wavebands, a ghost.

  But the one she was trying to reach never answered.

  Maybe he would never do.