Chapter 5
Matt looked back over his shoulder. “Hey, are you coming?”
The tingle of danger filled Wendy's mind and body. She wanted to run. To find the quickest way out of here and back into the world outside.
But she knew she didn't have the strength to make it far. Not yet.
It could have been her imagination, but the sweet scent of corn teased her mind. She shook her head. “I'm not feeling great. Maybe we should go back.”
Matt, always brimming with concern and kindness, moved back to her side. “Okay. Sure.” His countenance had fallen.
“Thanks for bringing me,” Wendy said around the scream she wanted to unleash. “It's really nice in here. I'm just not sure I'm ready to be up and about this much.”
That seemed to placate Matt. “Okay, we'll go to the marketplace and get some breakfast. You can sit down there for a few minutes before we go to medical. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Wendy said. She just wanted out of this room.
Matt obliged, and they retraced their steps back through the door and out into the hallway. Matt filled the silence with idle chit-chat that only required Wendy to respond with grunts or a nod.
The smells from the kitchen had increased in both volume and potency. It should have been comforting, but now all Wendy could smell was the sweetness of corn.
What was Mike doing? What was this place about?
“Here we go,” Matt said.
Once they reached the end of the archway, they dove into marketplace proper. Matt called out each area as they went through it: bakers, shoe makers, clothing suppliers, machinists, weapons, and a few others. The number of people had quadrupled in an hour, and the whole place made Wendy feel claustrophobic.
They went by the stall with warm bread and steaming potatoes. Matt stopped, and the man standing there gave him a plate.
“You have a friend today?” the man asked. He wore jeans and a brown shirt under a stained apron.
“Brett, this is Wendy, she's new.” Matt took a second plate from Brett and handed it to Wendy.
“Good to meet you,” Brett said. He smiled—like so many others did here. “Take as much as you want.”
Matt went first, piling his plate high with potatoes. “Market day is a non-rationed day until the food runs out.”
Wendy took very little. If anyone asked, she told them her stomach still ached, and eating a lot didn't help. After the greenhouse, she studied the bread. Was it corn based? She tried not to think about it as she followed Matt when he moved away and toward a set of rectangular tables where a teenage boy wearing a dark purple shirt sat.
Wendy could tell the other guy was tall, even though he was sitting. Dark, unruly hair sat on his head, and a bandage covered a cut or a scrape over his right eye. Papers topped most of the table before him, as well as a heaping tray of food which he was shoveling in as if it might disappear if he didn't eat it fast enough.
The vast amount of food made Wendy's stomach churn. These people lived without real fear. Without real problems.
“Hey, Jeff,” Matt said as they approached. The shoveler looked up and stopped mid-chew when he saw Wendy.
“You got a second?” Matt asked.
Jeff's dark eyes—guarded and sad—looked Wendy over before he finished chewing and swallowed. “Sure.” He stood and offered Wendy his hand.
Matt made introductions. “Wendy, this is Jeff. Jeff, Wendy.”
Jeff's sizable hand engulfed Wendy's. He gave her a respectable squeeze, but didn't try to break her fingers.
“Have a seat, “Jeff said, indicating the two chairs next to him.
Matt took the far seat, leaving Wendy between them. She wondered what this was about.
Matt started to fidget, so she turned her eyes to him.
“I, uh, well.” Matt cleared his throat. “Yesterday, you sort of freaked out.”
Wendy felt her face harden, but she didn't say anything.
Matt's eyes swiveled to Jeff's for a second before they came back to Wendy. “I, uh, well, you had some sort of a flashback. Am I right?” He paused, searching Wendy's face, which she tried her best to keep impassive.
Matt continued. “Jeff here has been through it. I thought he might be able to help you.”
Wendy turned toward Jeff. She knew she was giving him a look that might kill, but she didn't care.
Jeff didn't seem fazed. Instead, he nodded. “Matt told me what happened. That you're the only survivor of a Skinny raid.”
The hair on the back of Wendy's neck rose.
“I came here alone too. Everyone I knew died in an ambush. I had nightmares about it for months. I still do.” He paused. Wendy didn't say anything. She didn't breathe.
“How much of the attack do you remember?” Jeff asked.
Wendy kept her eyes on him, but she had already mapped out an escape route. She may not be able to get out of this place yet, but she wasn't going to allow these two to dredge information out of her. “Some, not all of it.”
Jeff nodded again. “And something happened yesterday that triggered some sort of flashback?”
“I'm really not sure,” Wendy said.
Before Jeff could ask her any more questions, an alarm blared. Both boys shot out of their chairs to look around.
Wendy followed.
“Over there,” Matt said, pointing to his left. “Come on.”
Both Jeff and Matt took off at a run. Wendy followed. She wished she knew more about this place—it would be a perfect time to try to get away—but not yet. She had to escape, not get turned into a Skinny.
They moved toward the maze of crates Wendy had seen earlier. As they ran, Wendy's tired body forgot its fatigue, and her other senses reached out. The boys pounded on, but a voice caught Wendy's attention.
“Ben?” The tone in the woman's voice told Wendy that she was looking for her child. Wendy had heard the edge of worry and anguish many times before.
Wendy slowed and listened.
“Mom?”
Wendy turned into the piles of boxes and crates.
A handful of kids, who looked as if they’d been playing a game, were in the maze of crates. Most were now headed toward the nearest adult; the older ones helping the younger.
The woman's voice sounded again, this time louder and more anxious. “Ben?”
Wendy kept going through the small city of containers. She cringed back from the larger ones, not sure why. As she got near the edge of the room, movement caught her eye.
This wasn't a child, as she had expected. No, instead two, tall and extra thin figures burst from a doorway that had just barely come into view. They didn't have shirts on. Their ribs pushed at their skin as if they hadn't eaten in weeks.
Dread pulled Wendy to a halt.
Skinnies.
A little boy, standing only a dozen feet from the Skinnies, screamed and pointed. A girl and a redheaded boy stood nearby as well.
One of the emaciated men turned his head and spotted the screaming boy. He lunged, eyes hungry.
The second Skinny smiled, exposing broken teeth. His cold eyes took in the scene around him with relish. The lights bounced off his balding, scarred head.
Wendy knew the signs. They’d had a few people get the Starvation in the Den. These two were clearly in the late stages, when all reason vanished and everything looked like food. Most Skinnies would start to hurt themselves to keep their mind off of the constant pain in their bellies.
The second Skinny spotted the girl and went straight for her.
Wendy ran forward and grabbed the little red-headed boy, shoving him behind a big box.
A yell came from the door to her right as the Skinnies grabbed the two kids.
Three men in red shirts burst through the door while Jeff and Matt sprinted toward them from a different direction. None of them would make it in time. The Skinnies each had a child by the neck. Hostages. Or food.
No, the fighters wouldn't make it, but Wendy might.
“Stay h
ere,” she said to the boy, whose eyes looked as if they might bulge out of his head.
She surveyed the space between herself and the Skinnies. The Skinnies had their attention riveted on the fighters. Good. Perfect. Wendy darted around a large, rusted machine and under an unoccupied table. Once on the other side, she ran behind a row of crates, coming around behind the Skinnies, snatching up a length of wood the size of her arm as she ran.
To their credit, the two children screamed, wiggled, kicked and in general did everything in their power to force the Skinnies to let them go. As Wendy got to the end of the crates, she watched as one Skinny punched the little boy in the face.
Rage welled up inside her—more than she thought possible. Cold determination rose, pushing her protesting muscles to go faster. Harder. The Skinnies would not kill these children. She wouldn't let them. Never again would a Skinny kill a child if she could help it.
The fighters shouted at the Skinnies to stop. The Skinnies ignored them and focused on the kids. Neither party noticed Wendy darting in between obstacles.
Adrenaline coursed through Wendy's veins, and she used every ounce of it to jump off of a box, fly through the air and hit the Skinny who held the little girl as hard as she could in the back of the neck with the make-shift club.
The Skinny crumpled to the ground, burying the little girl beneath him. Good, she'd be safe there.
The wail of the siren changed pitch.
The other Skinny turned, surprise on his face. Excitement lit in his eyes, and he dropped the wailing little boy and lunged at Wendy—she was obviously a bigger meal. She took two steps away. The Skinny followed. She used the boxes to get airborne, and whipped her leg around at the Skinny, aiming for his neck.
He was too close. She got him in the shoulder with her shin, lost her momentum and landed badly on the ground. Fiery pain erupted along her arm. The Skinny staggered, but didn't go down. By the time Wendy got back to her feet, he was coming straight at her. She met his wild, insane gaze with a hard stare.
The Skinny advanced with an inhumane cry, arms reaching out as if to embrace her. Light gleamed off of his chipped teeth. His head angled toward Wendy’s neck.
She waited. Waited until his grimy fingers brushed her arms, and his putrid breath filled her nostrils. Then she dropped, curled up in a ball and rolled between his legs. She got a vicious kick to the back for her efforts, but managed to spring to her feet before he turned.
Ignoring the pain now screaming inside her, she slashed out with the piece of wood as the Skinny came around to face her. The stick cut into one of the Skinny’s eyes.
Bright red blood blossomed from the side his face. The Skinny howled in pain and fell to his knees, both hands covering his ruined face. Wendy grabbed the little boy, who stared in wide-eyed horror, and shoved him behind her. She turned to get the girl, but found herself face to face with a third Skinny. This one a woman.
Cold eyes regarded Wendy. The Skinny held the redheaded boy in front of her, a sharp piece of glass at his throat. The glass had already cut into the Skinny's hand—blood dripped down from the shard on to the boy's chest. He whimpered, and his eyes begged Wendy to help him.
“One move and he dies.” The Skinny spoke in a raspy voice.
Wendy knew the fighters were coming, but couldn't tell if they would make it in time to help. She heard the wounded Skinny getting to his feet. She had to stall, because there was no way to get to the boy before the Skinny killed him.
So she tried something else. “No,” Wendy pleaded, dropping the club and putting her hands up. “Please, don't.”
Wendy felt the skeletal frame of the Skinny come up behind her, blood from his wounded face dripping onto her shoulder.
“Let me kill her,” he said in a ragged voice. Wendy wondered how he could move at all. A normal person would have passed out, or would still be on the ground screaming in agony. In that moment, Wendy realized that in some way she was like these Skinnies. She didn't stop because of pain. Not even when she should be dead.
“Take her as a hostage,” the woman ordered.
Perfect. Wendy's body tensed like a snake—coiled and ready to strike. The moment she felt the Skinny's bloody hands touch her neck, she stepped back and drove her elbow into his groin as hard as she could. A groan of pain escaped him as he involuntarily doubled over. Wendy grabbed one of his arms and pulled him tight to her back. Using every ounce of strength she could muster, she kicked her hips out and tossed him over her shoulder.
Hip throws weren’t easy under the best of conditions, and Wendy’s body wasn’t ready for it.
The Skinny managed to grab hold of her hair, and they both went down. Wendy used the momentum to take them into a roll. One of the Skinny’s knees hit her in the chest. She screamed as they both barreled into the woman and the redheaded boy. Legs and arms entangled, and they all ended up in a heap. Wendy couldn't move. She thought her middle might explode.
Pandemonium erupted as the other fighters appeared. People began to yell orders while mothers called for their children. Wendy raised her head enough to see the redheaded boy on his hands and knees nearby. Only a small trickle of blood came from his neck. Relief released the tightness in her muscles.
Someone pulled the Skinny off of her. Oxygen filled her lungs, and Wendy took a couple of good breaths before she tried to sit up. The Skinnies were each being held by two men while another tied their hands.
Blood dripped in her eye, and she wiped it away. Her blood-covered fingers trembled as she glanced down at her own body. No new cuts. At least not that she could see.
“What the hell happened?” a booming voice asked.
Wendy turned to see Riggs—the dark skinned, dangerous man from her first day here—coming through the crowd. His eyes took in everything, including her.
Matt was with the little girl who had gotten buried by the first Skinny Wendy had knocked out. He glanced over at Wendy and caught her eye.
“Are you okay?” he mouthed.
“I'm fine,” Wendy said. She waved a hand and only then thought maybe she shouldn't have used her blood covered fingers.
“How did they get out?” Riggs demanded.
One of the fighters answered. “We're not sure, but they’re locked down now.”
Jeff, who had been securing one of the Skinnies, moved to Riggs and whispered in his ear. Both of their eyes landed on Wendy. After a moment of scrutiny, Riggs nodded.
Wendy rose to her feet and repressed a groan as pain pulsed from her arm and abdomen. She had to reach out and touch a nearby fighter to keep from stumbling to the side.
Jeff moved toward her and pulled a green bandana out of his pocket. “Here,” he said, pressing it to her forehead. “Just a cut, but it'll bleed like crazy for a bit.”
It took a great deal of self-control not to step back from his touch or his proximity.
The woman who had been calling for Ben burst through the circle of fighters and snatched up the little redheaded boy in a hug. The woman didn't speak; she just held her son close and cried.
Wendy swallowed down the rising emotion. No one would ever hug her like that again.
“Are you hurt?” Jeff asked. “Besides that.” He pointed at her head.
“Just beat up,” Wendy said. She raised her hand and took over pressure on the bandana. She had to look way up to meet Jeff's eyes.
“Good.” Jeff studied her for a moment. “That was fast thinking, and good fighting.”
“I'm just glad the kids are okay.” Wendy didn't regret helping them. No one should die like that, especially kids.
Jeff cleared his throat. “Listen, I'm in charge of trainees. If you’re really that good, I’d like to invite you to join us.”
“What does that mean?” Wendy asked.
“Each group of teenagers goes through fighting and tactics training. Everyone here can fight, although many of them choose not to. We could use someone with good hand-to-hand skills. There are some exceptional fighters in this gro
up, but your style is very different from theirs.”
“I just got here. I'm still in medical,” Wendy said.
Jeff's eyes swiveled over to Riggs for a split second, before returning to Wendy.
“I just saw you take down three Skinnies twice your size. You didn't even flinch. We could use that kind of quick thinking and skill with the other trainees.” He smiled. “We could use it in general. Normally Mike has people wait six months before they’re invited to training, but I can get you in now. There’s no reason for you to go to work in the kitchen or something and waste talent like you’ve got.”
Wendy knew she was a good fighter, and she needed to know more about this place. Could she use this to her advantage? Infiltrate them from the inside? If she could learn enough, then she could take them down.
Wendy nodded as she pulled the bandana away from her forehead and looked at it. She made a face, folded it and returned to putting pressure on the spot. This was her way in. Mike had corn here and she'd just encountered a few of his rogue Skinnies. The closer she got to these people the more information she could gather to wipe them out.
“Sure,” Wendy said. “I like fighting.”
Jeff huffed out a breath. “Good,” he said. “Now let's have Matt give you a couple of stitches.”