Chapter 16
Wendy’s mother’s death had been a long time coming. Wendy had seen people get sick from the Starvation. They had died, or been killed, quickly—within a matter of weeks at the most. But her mom didn't get the Starvation. This had been different.
The strange behavior had started when Wendy was ten. Her mom would tell her the same story twice in the span of a few minutes. Kids didn’t always pay attention, so at first Wendy thought her mom was simply making sure she and Kenzie had heard her.
Then their mom started forgetting what she was doing. For a long time, they made a joke of it. Sometimes Wendy and Kenzie would pretend to forget too, just for a laugh.
Laughter had been important. Wendy’s mom had laughed all the time—there had always been a smile on her lips. Which in turn caused the crooked grin of her dad’s to sneak through his tough exterior. Wendy had watched her parents love and support one another for ten years. Then she had to watch as her mother’s mental health deteriorated one tiny step at a time.
First the stories, then forgetting what she was doing, then forgetting people.
Nothing could help her. Some people thought it was a rare form of the Starvation, but Wendy’s dad said it was an old person’s disease that had attacked her mother early in life.
“I’m afraid we can’t do anything about it but love her,” he had said.
Wendy had tried. The mental deterioration was more brutal to watch than a quick or violent death. For two years Wendy and Kenzie had done everything they could to hold their family together. Their dad had also delegated his own responsibilities so he could be with them more.
The day before Wendy’s mom had died, Wendy had been sitting with her, reading a book. It was an old kid’s book—paper and everything—with pictures of monsters and forests and a little boy dressed in white pajamas.
For some reason the monsters had captured her mom’s attention. She had yanked the book from Wendy’s hands and started to tear out the pages, screaming that the monsters were coming and she had to stop them.
Then her mother had turned to Wendy. Wendy still remembered the words.
“Wendy, I'm turning into a monster.” The hurt in her mother's eyes had broken Wendy's heart. “I can feel it, trying to get out of me—growing every day. I want to hurt people. Don't let me become a monster. Kill me.”
Wendy had been twelve. She'd backed away. “No, Mom. Let me get Dad.”
“No.”
The memory was a blur. Wendy's mother had lunged for her. Wendy hadn't been expecting it, and before she knew it, her mother had grabbed the knife on Wendy's belt. Wendy could have gotten it back, but the fear in her mother's eyes had stopped her.
The last words her mother had said to her were, “Keep your dad and Kenzie and the Den safe.”
Wendy had fled. She'd gone to find Kenzie, who brought the doctors. By the time they got back, Wendy’s mom had taken the knife to both her wrists.
The next twenty-four hours had been the worst of Wendy’s life. No one had blamed her. Her dad had hugged her and told her he loved her. Kenzie had sat with her in Rene’s cabin as the girls tried to play games to keep themselves distracted.
But nothing could keep the pleading look of her mother's eyes out of Wendy’s mind. Wendy could have stopped her mother, but she hadn't. She still wondered if she'd done the right thing.
The moment Wendy’s dad’s boots had clomped up the steps, Wendy had known her mother was gone.
The worst part of it was that Wendy had felt more relief than despair.
They had buried her mother’s body the next morning. No pomp, no circumstance. Almost everyone came. Wendy’s dad had gone on patrol that night.
Duty first.
Wendy's eyes followed the light back toward the path that had brought her here. She had been so sure someone else had gotten away. The tunnels were a blur, but a persistent voice in her mind assured her she wasn't alone.
But the voice had lied. The voice—all this time trying to make her feel better—was nothing more than a twisted version of her mom's disease. Wendy's mind had been playing tricks on here.
The lamp kept shinning, as if showing her the way out. Wendy reached out and plucked it off the ground.
Her mind had betrayed her, but it would do so no longer.
There were other people on the plains. People who would help her get Mike, if only to get to the complex they lived in. Now she knew how to get in, she could take them down.
Anger fueled her limbs, and Wendy rose to her feet. She stumbled toward the path and started to descend. It didn't take long to get back down to her pack. She grabbed everything and headed toward a place she could safely camp.
Her mind was already churning through possible scenarios on how to take Mike down.
The more she thought about it, the more she believed he must have had someone on the inside of her compound. She could use the same trick, and get someone on the inside for her.
The woods fell beneath her determined strides, and a buzz of thoughts filled her mind. So much so that she almost missed the crack of a twig to her right.
She stopped, her breath speeding up.
A rustle from her other side.
For some reason her mind flashed to a moment in the woods when Pelton and the others had tricked her.
For what? Her birthday?
His smiling face, a book, cookies, Kenzie and Hector grinning like idiots. And her dad.
They were all there.
The flash took over her senses, and by the time she shook herself out of it, another crack had sounded.
Wendy stepped back, only to run into the chest of a man who was three times her size.
Before she could turn or fight or yell or even duck, a hand smacked down hard on the side of her head.
The pressure of the blow stunned her, and Wendy's balance gave way. She stumbled. Long arms reached out and grabbed her around the middle, pinning her hands to her sides. Someone else put a bag over her head.
Wendy finally got an inch to fight with, and pulled her heel up as hard and as fast as she could. Her captor grunted, but his grip tightened. The hiss of gas sounded near Wendy's head. She tried not to inhale, but someone punched her in the stomach. The urge for oxygen overpowered her caution, and she took a great breath.
The gas smelled sweet, almost like fruit.
It was the last thought she registered before she slipped into oblivion.
The combination of being swung back and forth and having a bag over her head caused Wendy to wake up nauseated and very, very angry. Her hands and feet were tied to a stick, while her butt hung down, once in a while hitting a rock or a root.
Was she about to be fed to the Skinnies?
She'd come too far to have that happen now.
She couldn't see, but she was willing to bet that the men carrying her were tired and not really paying attention. So she explored the knots around her hands.
The ropes were thick. She might be able to get out of them, if she was willing to tear the skin off of her wrists. Which she would be okay with if she knew for sure she could get away.
“How much farther?” A gruff voice asked. “She's heavier than she looks.”
“Just up and over this hill,” another voice answered. This one a woman.
Wendy doubted they had a woman carrying her—her body felt too parallel with the ground to have one end of the stick balanced noticeably shorter than the other. So there must be three of them.
Maybe she could make a deal with them. Trade information for her life?
The dark, rough sack over her head rubbed her skin. It felt like a small animal was trying to claw its way into her mouth through her cheek. The fabric reeked of dead things and vomit. Wendy understood why, vomiting sounded pretty good right about now.
She mentally shook her head.
What could she offer them that would keep her alive?
If these guys were controlling some Skinnies, maybe the promise of more people. Or maybe they already
had a quarrel with Mike.
This wasn't Wendy's preferred field of play. She liked the much more straightforward stick-her-knife-in-the-problem approach. But she'd watched enough politics going on at the Den to know she could probably hold her own.
Probably.
And if she could get her wrists and feet free, she could probably fight her way out of almost anything.
Almost.
First thing was first: Who were these people and what did they want with her?
“Hey,” Wendy said. “Hey, I think I'm going to throw up. Can we stop?”
“I thought you said you gassed her, Clayton.”
“I did.”
“Are you sure you didn't sniff it yourself?”
“Come on, Nara, you know I ain't like that.”
Wendy cleared her throat. “Really, I think I'm going to throw up.”
“Go for it,” a new voice said. This one was deeper than Clayton's voice. “Just keep it in the hood.”
The two men laughed. Wendy didn't hear the woman respond.
So just three of them.
If her feet hadn't been tied, Wendy might have tried to get away. Then again, maybe these people were just who she needed.
“Yeah,” Clayton said. “Skinnies don't much care how you smell.”
The mention of a Skinny sent Wendy's mind right back into the tunnels. The smell of death and blood caused her to shake. She clamped her teeth together and tried to think about something else.
“Whoa, what's wrong with her?” Clayton asked. “She's twitching.”
“Just hold on to her, we're almost there,” Nara said, impatience in her voice.
Wendy wanted to ask them more questions—keep them talking—but her mind continued to flash back to the dark tunnels.
Shivers ran up and down her spine. Enough sweat broke out on her wrists that she might be able to slip out of the ropes.
“Here we are,” Nara said.
“'Bout time,” the deeper voice said.
Snarls filled the air.
“They look hungry,” Clayton said.
“Hey,” Wendy said again. “I'm more useful to you alive than dead.”
“That's what they all say.”
The light from what Wendy presumed was the rising sun struck her, giving her a little bit of visibility through the hood.
“I'm serious. Let me talk to whoever is in charge. I have information I think you guys are going to want.” Wendy didn't want to get involved with anyone else who used Skinnies, but she would do whatever was necessary to survive.
The swaying stopped. The snarling got louder.
“Hey!” Wendy yelled this time. “Listen, idiots, I know where the band of people who has been sending Skinnies at everyone is hiding. You kill me and you'll never find them.”
More light gave Wendy the faint outline of people. They lunged toward her but abruptly stopped sort. Maybe chained to a tree.
Skinnies.
“Shut her up,” a new voice said. This one growled with menace. He had to be in charge. It was now or never.
“If you kill me, you'll never find them. I know where they are. I know how to get into their complex. They have power.”
The thump of rubber on dirt sounded as someone approached. Wendy turned her head and saw the shadow of a tall man.
As they often did, Wendy's fingers twitched for a weapon. However, this time she was going to have to talk her way out of the situation.
“Quiet.” One of her carriers reached out and boxed Wendy in the ear. She didn't see it coming, and groaned as pain ripped through her skull.
“Where did you find her?” the new voice asked.
Wendy almost recognized it, but with the ringing in her ears it was hard to tell.
“Up on the peak.”
“And you were about to feed her to the Skinnies?” Anger laced the voice.
Silence.
Wendy's head stopped pounding just long enough for her to say, “Let me talk to the person in charge. I have information you're going to want.”
The leader squatted down next to her, his face just inches from hers.
“I know the location of a complex with power. The people there are using Skinnies to raid the countryside.”
“And just why would you give that information to us?” His breath bent the cloth into Wendy's lips.
“Because they killed my family.”
Hands reached out and started to untie the sack around Wendy's neck. “A lot of people die out here.” Fingers grabbed the sack along with some hair. The fabric scraped her skin as it came off. Wendy flinched as some of her hair went with the hood.
The man kept talking. “How do we know that you're not here to—” He stopped.
“Wendy?”
Wendy blinked against the sun now shining in her eyes. She squinted until the man moved between her and the morning light.
She would have recognized his silhouette anywhere—baseball hat and all. A weight fell off of her soul, breathing life back into her heart.
“Pelton.”