The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,39

His teeth are clenched again.

“Oh, I can trust you? Really? You’re lying already! We should go back.” I pull him to a stop. He doesn’t argue this time. I’m about to turn us around when I hear something, something barely audible. Peree starts to speak, but I quiet him and focus on the sound.

“I think I hear water!” I say. “Can you hear it?”

“No, but your hearing is better than mine. Let’s try to follow it.”

“What about your leg?”

“Come on, Fenn, the Waters have to lead outside. And we’ve got to be close if you can hear it!”

Except we aren’t close. Hours, many winding passages, and a cavern later, and the sound of the water is still no stronger than a trickle. I can understand why no one has found the waters before. I have better-than-average hearing, but I can’t seem to get a consistent fix on the sound. It teases me, sometimes growing, sometimes almost fading altogether. Peree sits with his back against the wall of the tunnel. He’s had to rest often, and he isn’t even trying to hide the pain in his voice anymore. I sit beside him.

“What do you want to do?” I ask.

“Keep going.”

“Peree–”

“We keep going.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re stubborn?”

He sips from his oilskin, and passes it to me. “Once or twice.”

“We’re running out of water, the torch is almost gone, and we don’t seem like we’re getting any closer. We’ve got to get you back.”

He doesn't speak right away. “I’m not going back.”

I listen for the playful note in his voice, but it’s not there. “What do you mean? Is your leg worse?”

“I don’t think it was too good to begin with, but yeah, it’s worse.”

“Let me feel.” The cloth covering the wound is swamped with fresh blood, and the skin around it feels like a sun-baked rock. The back of my neck prickles. “We have to get you back.”

He speaks deliberately, like he’s explaining something to a child. “Fenn, I can’t. Even right after the tiger attacked me, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to walk two days back.”

“Don’t say that . . . please, don’t say it.” My eyes fill with tears for the second time today.

“Okay, let’s keep going as long as we can. If worse comes to worst, you can carry me.”

Joking again. “This isn’t funny.”

“I know.” He strokes my hand. “It’s okay, really.”

I explode. “What exactly about any of this is at all okay? You’re injured, we’re over two days into the caves, we can’t find the Hidden Waters, and we’re running out of supplies!”

“At least we’re together. It would be much worse to be in here alone, not finding the Waters, running out of supplies, and injured.”

I swipe at my face. “There’s a limit to my ability to look on the bright side.”

He pulls himself to his feet. I jump up to help him. “Come on, it’s not getting any brighter sitting around here.”

We walk on and on through the absolute blackness, saving the bit of torch we have left. The passages have been subtly sloping down, tunneling into the belly of the earth, or so it seems. I would have turned around long before, but Peree insists we keep going. I only agree because the sound of the water is stronger now, too. The trickle has become a stream, enticing us on.

I increasingly hold his weight as he weakens. I feel so guilty. Guilty for leading him on this wild-goose chase; guilty that he’s in the caves at all, instead of in his trees. A hard voice in my head whispers that none of us would be in the caves if it wasn’t for the Scourge and the Lofties, but I dismiss it impatiently.

We camp for the night in an unremarkable cave, much smaller than the massive caverns we’ve been passing through. I change the dressing on his wound, and he falls asleep the minute we finish our scanty meal. I lay awake, wondering what I’ll do when he can no longer walk.

I’m being consumed by the Scourge, torn apart slowly, every fiber of my body screaming in torment. The creatures pant around me, their fetid breath sickening me, as I finally succumb to them.

I wake, shuddering in terror, and realize the panting is real.

“Peree?” I whisper.

“Here.” His voice is slurred.

I crawl to him and feel his forehead. “How are you?”

“Nice and warm.”

I sigh. He can’t be too bad if he still has a sense of humor. My relief shatters when