The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,6

interrupts him. “She knows her duty. Are you ready, Fennel?” I nod. She embraces me, and whispers in my ear. “Don’t forget—never forget—you are protected. The Scourge can’t harm you. Remember that when you’re afraid.”

“I’m afraid now.”

“Then remember it now.”

She leads me to the passage that will take me back to the mouth of the cave. People touch me as I walk, murmuring good luck. Eland clings to me, followed by Calli. Her tears moisten my cheek.

“Here, Fennel.” Bear’s voice is even rougher than usual. He presses something silky into my hand, his fingers lingering on mine. “The foot of a rabbit, for luck.” It’s a charm, left over from the old days, before the Fall.

Then his hand is gone, and everyone is gone, and I stand alone in the passageway.

I start walking, rehearsing in my mind what I’ll do when I leave the caves, as Aloe taught me. Take the path to the clearing. Walk along the edge of the clearing. Find the sled track, and follow it down to the water hole, where the sled waits. I go over the number of paces it should take to complete each part of my trip, repeating them to be sure I remember. Then I try to wipe my mind clean.

I try not to think of the cries of the creatures the night before. I try not to think of the many stories I’ve heard about the flesh-eaters tearing apart their victims, or the agonizing transformation into one of them—half human, half dead. Instead I focus on the cool, lumpy rock under my hand, or the musty smell of the passage, or how many steps I have left until I reach the mouth of the cave. Anything else.

But it’s impossible.

My heart is a desperate animal, smashing against my rib cage. My shivering now has nothing to do with the cold. I sing—another trick Aloe taught me—but the closer I get to the mouth of the cave, the slower I walk and the softer I sing. Then I stop walking and singing altogether, trying to work up the courage to take the last few steps necessary to reach the sunlight.

Something’s thrashing through the forest, coming closer. I hear shrieking, like the dying people of my imagination. I tuck the rabbit’s foot into my pocket, and tug a scarf Aloe gave me up over my mouth and nose, preparing for the stench.

For a moment I wonder if my protection will hold, but I push the thought away. It’s the gift of our Sightlessness, as I’ve always been told.

I think of Eland huddled in the gloom of the caves, eating the salty dried meat, waiting for his water ration. That does it. I take a deep breath, and step outside.

The creatures surge around me. Their howls pierce me. Even through the barrier of the scarf, I can smell their putrid breath. Something brushes my sleeve and I cry out, wrapping my arms tightly around my body like a shroud.

What if I’m not protected? What if everything I’ve been told about my Sightlessness—everything I’ve believed about myself—isn’t true? The Scourge will consume me, as they have so many others. Or worse, I’ll become like one of them, only knowing hunger, thirst, and the yearning for flesh. I yank the scarf down; it’s suffocating. I wait, shuddering, for biting mouths and tearing hands to find me.

“Fennel–” The word drifts down from the trees.

A long moment passes before I can speak, and then my voice shakes. “Peree?”

“I’m right above you.” He sounds steady, calm. “You’re all right. Stay still; let me give you some space.” Arrows zip across a bow. Two harrowing screams are followed by two thumps. “There, they’ve backed up a bit. Can you walk?”

I grew up in the forest. I know every path, and the position of every tree and bush. But I feel lost now, like someone moved all the familiar landmarks overnight. I take a step in what I hope is the right direction. The creatures follow, shifting to surround me again. My eyes sting from the smell of their rotting flesh. Singing under my breath, I take another cautious step. I don’t want to stumble or fall. I don’t want to do anything that might draw more of them to me.

“Watch yourself, there are bodies there,” Peree says. “Step a little to your left . . . that’s it.” He follows me through the trees above, using the Lofties’ well-maintained wooden walkways. They clear the lower branches up to the height