The Scourge (A.G. Henley) - By A.G. Henley Page 0,8
work. I can’t pull more than two bags in the sled each time, so I have to make three trips today: three sacks of water for us and three for the Lofties. Aloe said there will be more fleshies by the water hole.
The air is still temperate for summer, but I’m sweating like the sun’s been breathing on me for hours. I wipe my face, trying to pull myself together.
“Are you all right?” Peree asks.
“No.”
“You’ve done well so far,” he says. “Not many of the Sightless are brave enough to take more than a few steps among the flesh-eaters the first time. Shrike told me one woman refused to do her duty at all, and the people suffered for years because of her cowardice.”
I’ve heard of this Groundling. She took her own life. I’m ashamed for her, but I bristle at his words. How dare a Lofty criticize any Groundling from the perfect safety of his trees, much less a Groundling who’s Sightless and faces the Scourge alone? I’m about to tell him what he can do with his praise, when I remember Calli’s warning. I doubt any Lofty would kill their one source for fresh water, but I don’t want to tempt Peree. I swallow my anger, grimacing at the bitter taste.
I stalk away, following the sled track, leaving him well behind me in the trees. Under the low moans of the creatures, I hear gentle waves breaking on the shore and a bird trilling in the forest. Others join it, creating a joyful chorus of avian voices. For a moment the world feels peaceful and safe.
But only for a moment.
The flesh-eaters swarm around me. The small group that followed me through the forest was like nothing compared to this onslaught—the first crack of lightning before an electrical storm. Their rage and hunger grip me. I fall to my knees, my hands over my ears.
One time I asked Aloe why she still fears the creatures, after all the years she’s walked among them. She told me she no longer fears the Scourge, she fears her own fear. Now I understand. I curl up on the muddy ground and drift away for a time, lost in a place darker than the deepest, blackest cave.
After some time I hear something other than the terrible screams. Peree, shouting my name over and over. I ignore him. The cave in my mind is safe. But he keeps calling.
Go away. Go away and leave me.
He doesn’t.
I have to get up. For Eland, Aloe, Calli, Bear, Fox, Rose and her baby. I hear the pleas of my people, each one in turn. Trapped in the caves, waiting for me to return with their life-sustaining water. Relying on me. I can’t fail. All these thoughts echo in my mind, and somehow, I’m standing again.
“Fennel! Are you all right?”
I raise my hand, and stagger down the slope to the water’s edge, the creatures following me like a fetid fog. Peree keeps shooting. The thumps mean one less nightmare I’ll have tonight, but I shrink from the thought of the bodies piling up, bodies that were once human. I grope along the end of the track until my hand finds the sled. Inside are two oilskin sacks.
I fill them, secure the tops, and roll them up onto the sled. Then I shuffle to the front to secure myself in the harness. The sacks were made to hold as much water as I can pull with the sled, but I still struggle. When I rehearsed with Aloe I was fresh and unafraid, not exhausted and petrified as I am now. I pull the sled forward a few feet, and have to stop to rest. I try again, straining as hard as I can in the harness, but the sled barely budges.
If I can’t make it up the hill, I’ll have to unload a sack. Which means I’ll also have to make twice as many trips as I now face. I put my hands on my knees again and choke back tears.
Peree calls to me. “Fenn, listen to me. You can do this. You have the strength. Focus on taking a few steps forward. Just a few, then you can rest. Pull the sled.”
I pull.
“That’s it, and again.”
I pull again. I do what he says, and focus on the next few steps. Step. Pull. Step. Pull. The sled inches up the hill, the water sloshing in the sacks behind me. I pray they don’t fall out.