The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,45

kindling. Raising my head prompts a wave of nausea, so I stay low. I feel like I was thoroughly beaten, which isn’t far from the truth.

I hear a low moan, and I panic. Where’s Peree? If the Scourge is here, he could be gone already. We can’t have come this far for him to be taken by flesh-eaters. Battling the pain and nausea, I grope around my body, my hands sliding through mud and grass. I only breathe again when I realize Peree’s the one doing the moaning. He’s alive. I lie next to him, holding his hand.

Time passes. I drift in and out, only aware of his body next to mine. The light’s gone when I come to again. For a moment I think we’re back in the caves, but I smell the organic, peaty soil and the bitter nip of the greenheart trees, so much stronger now that I haven’t smelled them in days. We’re outside, I remember.

I push myself up to my knees with one arm, allowing the other to curl around my injured ribs. I probe my forehead gently. An enormous knot squats on my brow, crusted with hardened blood and mud. Every movement of my head creates fresh fault lines. I lean over Peree, listening for the sound of his breath. It’s there, weak but consistent. I’m grateful, and astonished. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting to survive myself.

I wish I could tell where we are. I can hear a few insects in the vegetation around us, but not much else, thanks to what must be the waterfall that spit us out here. Beyond that I’m terrifyingly ignorant. What if the Scourge does come?

I transfer our few belongings to my pockets, then crawl to the water hole and fill the sack. The water tastes pure, like its source, the Hidden Waters. As I pour a tiny stream into Peree’s mouth, I hear a new sound—shuffling feet. I freeze, my hands poised over his body, ready to pull him into the water and away from the creatures, but the shuffling is all I hear. Whatever it is, it sounds much smaller than one of the creatures.

An animal? Maybe a possum, or a squirrel? My stomach snarls. I imagine Peree waking to the mouthwatering smell of freshly cooked meat . . . as if I could catch an animal and make a fire with a bunch of broken ribs. The animal does mean one good thing—the Scourge must not be near. In our part of the forest the animals are indicators of how close the flesh-eaters are. They take to the trees or burrow under the earth at the first sign of the creatures.

I think about the tiger, or whatever she was. How long had she been hiding from the creatures in the entrance to that cave? She must have been desperate. Hatred for the Scourge boils in me again.

The animal moves off, having drunk its fill. We must look and smell half dead, for it to have come so close to us. I take Peree’s limp hand and, ribs screaming at the movement, I lie back in the scrubby grass.

When I wake again the air is cool, but carries the promise of warmth as the sun sheds its first light. I get to my feet, wincing at the hammering in my head, and refill the sack for Peree. There’s no change in his condition, as far as I can tell. I wonder if he hit his head as many times as I did in the underground river. I wonder if he’ll ever wake again.

The forest sounds are louder now. Magpies hop around us, their screeches audible over the crashing water. I sit on the bank and think about slipping in to wash the grime off my body, but I can’t find the energy.

I try to form a plan, but what can I do? I doubt I can carry Peree when I’m fresh and uninjured, much less now. I can try to get help, but I have no idea which way to walk. I didn’t think about how I’d get home when I slid into the Hidden Waters. I wanted to get Peree out of the caves he hated, to let him die under the sun. Now it looks like that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

I can’t think about the things he said in the caves. It hurts too much, more painful than the aching in my body. I feel like I’m back in the freezing river, being