Forsada: Volume II in the New Eden series Page 6

  Garrett comes around to stand next to his twin brother. They both stare hard at me.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I don’t have heat stroke or the Rabies or anything.”

  Not Upper. The rider. She’ll warn Upper. They’ll have to do the best they can for themselves.

  “Sikwaa.” It’s one of the two Lodgeholm men who says the word that had just formed in my head. I smile and nod at him. He’s smart. I should keep him near.

  Garrett mouths the word in silence, and I can see the thoughts tumbling through his head. He’s smart, too, but he doesn’t grasp it at first.

  Shack just doesn’t get it at all. But he nods like he does. “Sikwaa. Whatever you say, Loop.” He hefts the four satchels from the ground and turns to begin walking up the trail to the right.

  Garrett eyes me one last time. “I don’t get it, Loop. But I’m sure you’ll explain.”

  I won’t have to. He’ll work it out.

  CHAPTER 7

  Although we crossed the river just an hour ago, my whole body feels like a peeled apple left in the summer sun. When I try to swallow, it’s like my throat is made of dust. At least we’re rising back up the canyon of Sikwaa now, and I won’t have to lug these heavy bags much farther. I stay out in front of the twins, mostly because I’m sick of answering Garrett’s complaints. The two Lodgeholm guys cut straight across to the ridge trail to try to find the others who escaped from Lodgeholm.

  Garrett never did work it out. Even when I explained it, he still argued we should be going to Upper instead.

  He sighs too loud. “We’re just wasting time here.”

  Oh, Garrett, will you shut up already?

  “If you think that, then go. Go to Upper. Whatever.” I don’t really want him to go, but right now I don’t want him here either. I wish he’d stop whining.

  We trudge on another minute before he moans again. “There’s nothing here, Loop. It’s just hermits and crazy people.”

  I have no comeback for that. He’s right, and it’s what we’ve all been thinking silently since the river. It seemed a good plan when it hit me on the ridge, but now that we’re among the twisted pines with their dark bark and scrubby, gnarled underbrush…

  Shack’s voice strains, I guess under the weight of the satchels draped on him like on a pack mule. “Give it a rest, will you, Garrett? You’re not leaving, so just—”

  A loud thump behind me makes me stop and turn. Garrett’s dropped the bags he was carrying and faces his brother. Shack, coming up behind him, stops short, his broad shoulders sagging and his back bent. Garrett straightens to his skinny tallest.

  Shack sighs and lets the half dozen heavy bags he’s carrying slip gently to the dirt. His bronzed shoulders glare red from the straps and hours of shirtless hiking under the summer sun. He grimaces and shakes his head slowly.

  We all know how this will turn out, but when Garrett’s like this he won’t back down. I wish Shack didn’t have to go through this now. But he knows how to take a few punches. His father trained him well.

  I expect Shack to say something like c’mon not now or let’s get this over with. Instead, he puts his hands on his hips and says, “Garrett, look. You’re smart, right? You know that Sikwaa’s the last place on Earth I want to be. But going to Upper would be useless. You know that. So just shut up.” They stare each other down for a few seconds. Shack finishes with, “Look me in the eye and tell me you could leave Lupay. Go ahead.”

  What does he mean by that?

  “Bastard,” Garrett says and leaps at his brother with a quick left grab and right hook.

  Shack dodges, and Garrett’s fist hits shoulder instead of chin. Shack staggers sideways, then swings back. Hard. I expected the return punch but not the terrifying power. The blow grazes Garrett’s twisting side, and they fall past each other.

  In an instant they’ve spun and come at each other again. Now that I see Garrett’s face, his fury chills me. He really means to hurt his brother this time.

  Before I can say anything, Garrett leaps with a growl, tackling him to the rocky dirt and landing on him with a heavy thump. Shack’s thick arms wrap around his brother and squeeze in a bear hug, pinning Garrett’s arms to his sides. The two roll around on the ground, kicking up dust and knocking the satchels over, spilling bread and tools and clothing into the dust.

  Garrett curses, and they’re both grunting. Legs flail, and a knee drives into Shack’s thigh. Garrett wiggles free and rises up to sit on top of his brother like he’s riding a horse. He raises his fist and brings it down hard sideways once on Shack’s cheek, right where his father’s fist struck him this morning.

  Shack roars with rage and catches Garrett’s next punch with one hand. He pushes up from the ground, bucking Garrett off him and backwards into the dirt, and before the roar is complete he’s towering over his brother.

  I drop my bags and jump between them, screaming. “Stop!” It sounds like a hawk’s screech, but I have to stop Shack from killing his brother.

  Shack’s thick arm bulls me aside, and I fall onto my butt in the dirt. Garrett scuttles backwards away from his brother, and I scramble to my feet and try to get between them.

  “Stay back. You can’t stop it this time.” Shack takes one step forward, then stops. “C’mon brother, let’s do this. You got the guts to stand up to me for real? Go ahead.” He turns his face so the bruise is pointed at Garrett. “Take your best shot. Don’t worry, I won’t stop you. You want to hit me, go ahead.”

  I can see Garrett working this out, the bravado seeping out of his eyes.

  Shack’s voice goes quiet and cold. “Just remember, if you hit me again like Dad hit me… You and me? We’re done.” He stands as still as a statue for the next few seconds, waiting for Garrett’s answer.

  I want to tell Garrett not to be a fool, but now it’s between them. They’ve fought over me before, but this time I don’t think it’s about me. It’s something deeper, something that snapped in them both this morning. Something that snapped in us all.

  Garrett stands slowly, his eyes unblinking on Shack. His clenched jaw grinds like it always does when he’s thinking hard. He can’t possibly consider hitting Shack, can he? Shack would thrash him. All three of us know it.

  Garrett breathes hard, like he’s about to charge. He’s so predictable. The fool is too courageous for his own good. Shack stands solid and unmovable. I can’t see his eyes, but I don’t need to. I saw them this morning at Lodgeholm and again in the square when his father struck him. He holds so much inside all the time, and when his eyes look like stone walls, he lets it all out in his fists.

  “Garrett—”

  Damn my thin, weak voice. I sound like a fricking kitten.

  Garrett suddenly spits at Shack’s feet. Then he holds out his hands, palms up, and shrugs.

  “Garrett—” Less kittenish now but still weak. I’m not even sure he heard me.

  Garrett laughs a derisive, dismissive cough, then shakes his head. “We should be in Upper already. We should be fighting them, not each other.”

  Suddenly he stomps at me, stands right in front of me, leans into my face. He’s as tall as Shack, but I’ve never thought of him like that. He’s not as muscular, but as he menaces me close, I see he could crush me if he wanted.

  “What’re you doing, Loop? What’re you doing?” He spins away, looking around and up at the peaks surrounding us. When he stops, he looks right into my eyes again. “What the hell are you going to do here? In Sikwaa? In nowhere!”

  It’s like Shack hasn’t moved, but I know he’s inched closer to protect me. Garrett is losing it.

  “There’s nothing here, Loop.” Garrett sounds a little manic now, his voice cracking and his hands flailing around like he’s drunk. “Crazy people! Squirrels! Nothing! You don’t even have a plan, do you?” The words hit me as hard as the spit that flies from his mouth.

  I don’t answer. He’s right. I don’t have a plan. Not a real one. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But he
’s also wrong. And it’s pissing me off.

  “Shut it, cabron. Just shut your mouth.” I don’t even know what I’m going to say to him. But whatever it is, I’m going to say it loud and mad. Because that’s how I feel.

  “Plan? You want a plan? How about your plan, mister genius? Oh, sure, let’s all go get killed in Upper, let’s walk into the trap just like Marshall Turner and get our heads chopped off. At least then we’d be doing something! We’d be somewhere!” Yelling hurts. Everything hurts. “You know what I mean. Only two things could happen in Upper. We die, or we get captured. My father already knew that when he followed Turner out across the bridge.”

  “Your father did what was right.”

  “My father did what was stupid!” I couldn’t have hit him harder if I’d whaled him in the stomach with a forge hammer. Ever since the twins left their own father, Papi has been the best they’ve had.

  I feel ruined. I’m sorry, Papi. I don’t mean to disrespect the dead or to talk bad of you. I know you did what you think was right, but you knew you were walking to your death. I wonder, in those final seconds, did you think about me? Did you regret following your principles when you saw those axes? Principles are important, but they’re no good when you’re dead. And I don’t intend to be dead any time soon.

  “Your father was an honorable man,” Garrett says low and slow.

  “Honorable and stu—mistaken. My father was a smart man who did a stupid thing. He was everything to me. He believed in something so much that he was willing to die for it.”

  “That’s honor.”

  “That’s stupid. Dying for what you believe in always sounds a lot better in the council room than it does when the axe is falling on your head. But if that’s what you want, you go right ahead. Go to Upper. Die with the rest. It’s your life.”

  I worry to hell that he’ll do it.

  “Maybe you see honor in dying, Garrett, but I don’t. There’s only dying in dying. You want my plan? You want to know my plan? Not dying, that’s my plan. You think we can’t do anything in Sikwaa? I got news for you, mihito. You really can’t do anything when you’re dead.”

  Shack hasn’t moved. Garrett sways a little, still but unsteady like a tall tree in a strong wind. He doesn’t grind his jaw. He doesn’t clench his fists. He’s not working anything out. He’s just there, exhausted and destroyed. Just like me.

  Slowly, his voice rises to us. “If everyone else is dead, though, Loop… well, what’s the point in living knowing you didn’t even try to help?” He sounds sad, quiet. Defeated.

  And he’s right. We don’t have any good choices. Darius wins. No matter what, Darius wins. We go help Upper and die, or we hide out and live, but for what?

  “Oh, pshaw!” Another voice, raspy and breathless, breaks our little circle. “Who said we ain’t gonna help?”

  From the woods comes a heavy man, no taller than I am but round like a barrel and waddling like his knees are tied together. His short arms stick out from his sides and wave back and forth as he walks fast between us. Micktuk.

  I’ve only seen him a couple of times, from a distance, when he’s come into Lower with his two mules to get six months outfitting. Twice a year he shows up in town, his deep brown bald head covered by a handmade, straw hat. I’ve never heard him speak before, but his voice seems more childlike and raw than I imagined. I thought it would be slow and deep like a swollen river, but it’s sharp and clickety and full of hitches and gaps.

  He drops himself like a fence post directly in the middle of the three of us, and he turns slowly while he talks.

  “You all just shet up now and listen to Micktuk. Ain’t no one goin’ to Upper. Ain’t no sense. Girlie here knows it. Hell, you both knows it, too.”

  I just don’t know how to react to this strange man. Everyone says he’s a bit crazy. Everyone but my dad. My dad just says he’s haunted by demons from his past. Funny thing to say about someone living in Sikwaa. Shack and Garrett bristle. They’re scared of Micktuk, but they don’t know any more about him than I do.

  “And don’t be brawlin’ with each other. Save the hittin’ for them Southshawans.”

  Sounds good to me. Something in the way he stands, in his childlike voice makes me trust him. He’ll know what to do. This powerful, little man will tell us how to strike back.

  We wait, but he doesn’t say anything else. Shack shrugs, and Garrett rolls his eyes. I shake my head at them both. I don’t know what to say.

  Eventually, Shack breaks the silence. “So… Mister Micktuk. What do we do?”

  Micktuk cocks his head to one side like a fat, hairless, dark brown dog. “I dunno. Ask girlie.”

  The boys look at me when Micktuk points his stubby arm in my direction. Shack smirks. Garret drops his mouth open.

  “From what I seen, she’s the smart one. You two boys bout like to knock each other senseless, which ain’t a lot to knock if you know what I mean, but girlie knows to come here.”

  I wish he’d stop calling me girlie.

  “Lupay,” says Garrett. “Her name is Lupay.”

  “Lupay, dupay, moopay. Hideyhood, rideyhood. Heh heh heh!” He’s missing about half his teeth, and his cackling giggle makes me wonder if maybe he’s totally nuts. He giggles for a few seconds, and none of us can figure out what could be funny. I can tell it irritates Garrett, who’s probably thinking he was right all along. Crazy people and squirrels.

  Micktuk’s giggle is childish and high pitched, but there’s nothing crazy in his eyes. Just the opposite. He’s hiding it in his crazy act, but his sharp glances from the side pierce each of us in examination. He’s more than he seems. But in what way?

  Garrett sighs hard, frustrated. “Mister Micktuk—”

  “Jes’ Micktuk. Ain’t no mister here.”

  “Whatever. Why is it good that Lupay wanted us to come here?”

  “Eh? Still ain’t catched it yet?” He sucks on his teeth and waddles to face Garrett. After a quick once-over, he squints. “Shem’s boy, yeh?” He wheels and cocks his head at Shack. “And t’other one, too. Yeh, yeh. Shem’s boys. Good, good.” His voice wanders off into his own thoughts for a moment, but he snaps back quickly.

  “Why come here? It’s Sikwaa. Only safe place. Hidden.”

  “Yeah, so? That army’s going to be on its way to Upper, if they haven’t got there already.”

  “Sactly! You don’t wanna be where the army’s goin’.” He looks at me and hooks his thumb at Garrett. “Durn fool, that’n.”

  I smile and nod. Not because I agree—Garrett’s far smarter than Shack and me put together—but because I know it’ll get under Garrett’s skin. Micktuk may be crazy, or he may not, but it’s funny to watch him.

  “But what can we do here?” Garrett’s talking between his teeth now, so I know he’s nearing his breaking point.

  Micktuk seems not to hear him and instead stares at the two piles of satchels that sit on the ground, the one spilled open with bread and things tumbled into the dirt. He frowns at it, then waddles to it and squats. He picks up one of the dirty loaves, brushes it off, and rips off a hunk. “Goodies for the wolf,” he mumbles, almost as if he doesn’t realize he’s talking. He sniffs the bread, then pops it into his mouth. As he half chews and half sucks it, he turns his face northwest and stares up at the mountain peaks behind which the sun has just dropped.

  He just thinks for several seconds, and when Garrett glares at me, I just shrug. What does he want me to do?

  Garrett strides over to the squatting bald man and grabs his heavy shirt at the shoulder. Garrett pulls, I guess to lift him up so they can talk again. But Micktuk doesn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he turns his face to look up at Garrett. There’s something swimming behind his eyes, something deep and dark, and Garrett sees it too. I know because he releases Micktuk’s shirt and steps back.

  But the look is gone as quickly as it appeared. Maybe he is insane after all, or maybe the demons from his past showed themselves for that moment. I don’t kn
ow, but as the mountain’s shadow covers us and the evening breeze swoops down from the peaks, I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the weather.

  “Cain’t do nothing here, boy. Nothing but keep on livin’. But,” he says as he rises with slow smoothness, “if you’re livin’ here, you can do otherwhere.” Part of him still seems lost in whatever “otherwhere” his mind went to moments ago.

  Shack and I share a confused glance. I can see Shack has been on a sharp edge the past few minutes, ready to leap to his brother’s defense if this crazy, little man turned on us. I realize I should have been preparing myself too. Stupid, Lupay. I let this funny gnome, this dark brown bald man, disarm me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I can trust Shack and Garrett, but I don’t have the luxury to trust anyone else.

  Micktuk surprises us all by swooping down and lifting three of the fallen satchels in each hand and slinging them on his shoulders. Now he looks less like a fat, little bear and more like a fat, little bush that someone hung all their belongings on. But the little bush is on the move, and Shack and I grasp the other satchels and hustle to keep up.

  He darts along the path before us, hopping along like a super-fat, super-fast rabbit. “Hey!” I shout at him. If he thinks he’s going to steal our stuff, he’s wrong. We carried that load all the way up here, and it’s ours. What does he think he’s doing?

  Shack’s in front of me, but neither of us can keep up with Micktuk. Garrett sprints past me and then past Shack. He’s faster than us both, especially in the woods, and Shack and I have what’s left of our provisions. Garrett speeds through the trees, following in Micktuk’s steps, bounding from rock to root, pushing off tree branches and zipping over fallen logs. In seconds, he’s upon the little man.

  Shack and I aren’t falling behind, but we’re not catching up, either. We’re twenty yards behind, and I’m half out of breath already. The long hike, nothing to drink half the day, and last night’s long trek to Lodgeholm are dragging me down far more than these two bags I’m carrying.

  Garrett yells something at Micktuk, then something more.