The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,37

it in the enclosed passages, but crossing the caverns takes much less time with light, and it’s safer. Formations thrust out of the ground unexpectedly, or dangle dangerously down at face level. Without light we’d have to slow to a crawl to avoid them, not to mention the fathomless trenches in the ground.

I shake my shrinking second oilskin sack. I have one more, but I’ll need it for the return trip. “And we’re running out of water.” I sniff the air as we enter a new cavern. “Peree, did you smear more berries?”

“No, why?”

“I smell them again.”

He lights the torch, and swears. “This is where we spent the night!”

“Are you sure?”

“I can see the ashes of the fire. I’m sure.” He sounds like he’s gritting his teeth.

I remember Sable’s warnings about the passages doubling back on themselves. “What time do you think it is?”

“Midday, maybe.”

“Aloe told me to stop searching if I hadn’t found any sign of the waters at the end of two days. What do we do?”

He takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself. “Take a different passage. Come on.”

We trudge back to the fork and follow the other passageway, then another, and another, winding our way through a dizzying maze of new tunnels. My shoulders slump under my pack and my walk slows. We don’t say it, but we both know we’ll have to turn back soon. We don’t say much at all, buried in our own gloomy thoughts. It takes me a little while to realize something feels different.

“Have you noticed we’re heading uphill now?” I ask.

“No, I’ve been distracted by something else.”

“What?”

“I can see light.”

We walk faster, and hope breaks over me. “I see it, too!”

“You see it?” He sounds mystified.

“I mean the darkness isn’t as dark now. It must be a way out!”

“Hold on–” He stops, and shifts his pack around to reach something.

“What?”

“I’m getting my bow. We don’t know what might be out there.” In my excitement I forgot about the fleshies. “Stay behind me.”

I do what he says, touched by his protectiveness. But really he’s the one that needs shielding from the Scourge, not me. I tense anyway, ready to help in whatever way I can. We move forward, with Peree leading. After a sharp curve in the passage, the space in front of us seems to open up. The air is warmer, thanks to sunlight surging into the cave.

Then I hear a series of guttural snarls, very near. I've never heard the Scourge make these sounds.

“Unbelievable,” Peree says.

“What is it, flesh-eaters?"

“No.”

“What, then?”

“I think it’s . . . a tiger.”

Chapter Eight

Peree backs up. I move, too, one hand on his back.

“A tiger? Are you sure?” I whisper.

“Do you remember the story? It’s a big animal, yellowish-orange with black markings on its body. What else can it be?”

“What’s it doing?” Before he can answer, I hear other sounds. Whimpering and mewling. “Peree, it has babies!”

“I think that’s the problem.”

“You can’t kill their mother, they’ll die, too!” So few large animals are left. The idea of killing one—especially an unknown one, maybe even a tiger—leaving her offspring to die feels very wrong. “Can we go around her and still get outside?”

“The fleshies are out there.” His voice is dipped in dread. Now I hear the moans of the creatures beyond the cave mouth. “We’re trapping the tiger between us and them. There’s another passage, but she’s blocking the way to it.”

“Let’s go back,” I say.

The animal's scream rips through the passageway.

“She’s coming this way,” he says. “Go back down the tunnel—now.”

“No. I’m staying with you.”

“Don’t argue! I’ll be right behind you.”

“Peree–” The animal’s claws scrabble on the rock, maybe five paces away.

“Run!” he yells. My heart spasms with fear, but I don’t move, unwilling to leave him. “Get moving, Fenn!” He pushes me backward, and I finally run.

The animal snarls again, and Peree cries out. I clatter to a stop, unsure if I should keep going or try to help him. An arrow springs off the bow. The tiger whimpers. I take a few steps back the way I came, calling to Peree.

“Here,” he says, his voice strained.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Did you shoot her?” I hear the tiger whining, not far away. Her young still cry, and the flesh-eaters howl.

“Had to,” he says through clenched teeth. “She attacked me.”

I kneel down beside him. “Where are you hurt?”

He places my hand on the outside of his thigh. Blood slicks my fingers as I probe the wound. It’s shallow but wide, with