Horizon

ran, good God they were running, didn’t they know they couldn’t outrun this? They had to kill them, kill them all because a Beater would never stop. The cunning hesitation of moments ago, when they shuffled and snorted and bided their time, that was all over now as their instincts kicked in. Kill them or be killed. Kill them or be eaten.

Dor rolled to his knees and swung his arm up and he took his shot before Cass could find the killing cut and its skull exploded, brains chucking on the ground like a spilled snow cone. And then she was being hauled roughly up by the armpit, Dor yelling to your right and with their backs against each other they stood in the field of gore waiting for the attack and finally, finally someone else joined in the fight, two more shots from the crowd and Dor took the last one down with the gun barrel pressed to its throat as it reached for him, hands scrabbling, humming-keening, like a lover reaching for him, and it never took its eyes off him even as it slowly dropped to its knees, a hole in its throat, its head finally toppling forward onto its chest as the rest of it sank to the earth.

“Are you hurt?”

His hands on her arms hurt, his grip was iron. Cass shook her head, then did the mental checklist-none of them had been close enough to bite her. The blood alone could not infect; the pathogens were in the saliva. It didn’t matter anyway, in her case, because she was an outlier. But Dor…

Already he was stripping out of his coat, his shirt, his body steaming in the morning chill. The sun had inched higher in the sky, and his burnished skin glowed rosy. Cass saw the fine hairs that trailed to his navel, the smooth planes of his chest bisected by two scars; she knew the map of his body like a town she’d lived in forever and she did not look away. She knew they all watched but she did not look away.

She was pushed roughly aside. “I’ll check him.”

Dana. Of course it was Dana. Though where the hell had he been during the fight, that’s what Cass wanted to know, as the crowd pressed forward, stopping at the edge of the rusted and ruined cattle fence. Some stood in the ditch. Many crowded around the busted car and then a gasp went up as a small man opened the door and pulled the body from the dashboard so they could see who had died, who among them had been brave enough to fight.

Dor, grimacing, put up his hands and turned slowly for Dana’s inspection. There were no marks on him, no new ones, anyway. Dor was blessed, if you could say that; he’d been in a dozen Beater attacks and survived them all. He nodded curtly at Dana and started getting dressed; Dana took off at a half jog to the car.

“That car’s not going anywhere, but Dana’ll probably appoint a fucking committee to make sure,” Dor muttered.

“What were you thinking?” Cass demanded, trying to keep the hysteria out of her voice. “The odds of you landing that jump-you could have gone on foot-they weren’t going anywhere-one more minute, or you could have, you could have shot them from this side of the fence, you could have-”

“Cass.” Dor paused with only one arm through a sleeve, and reached for her. He cupped her face with one strong hand and forced her to look at him. “This isn’t the Box. Or haven’t you noticed that? Ten of these people aren’t the man George was, or Three-High or Joe or Elaine. If I’d waited, the Beaters would have split up and surged into the group and there’s no way this crowd could have responded, they’d still be standing there with their mouths hanging open and their pants down as they were tore into and there’s no telling how many we would’ve lost.”

He let go of her, but Cass could feel the mark of his fingers on her skin. She felt bruised. But he was right. There had been no training in New Eden like there was in the Box. No drills. No security. They had the bridge and they had weapons and they thought that was enough. It was enough, until the day it wasn’t, and no one, including her, had seen it coming.

“Who was in the car?” she asked softly, acknowledging that he had been right.

Dor frowned. “Pulte. Should’ve been Hank, but he let Pulte drive first.”

“Oh, no…”

“Yeah, they were going to take turns. Hank’s-there he is. He’s got the fuel wagon.”

Cass looked where he was pointing; there-on the other side of the crowd-was the three-wheeler Elsa had lovingly maintained and even took the kids for rides in it a few times in the yard, on special occasions. It was pulling a beat-up U-Haul trailer loaded with cans and gallon jugs and soda bottles, all of them filled with gas.

“Fucking Pulte.”

Cass said nothing. She’d known the guy, a little. Not much older than Roan, and in fact the rumor was they were together. But not until after he’d tried with Cass. He ran hot and reckless, and Cass had known what attracted him to her and hated it and stayed away. And he’d found his thrills elsewhere.

Like in that car.

“I have to go,” Cass whispered.

“I hear Smoke’s with you.” Dor stopped her with a hand on her arm, his voice hard, his eyes unreadable. “That he’s made a remarkable recovery.”

Cass only nodded, at a loss for words.

“I want to see him.”

It was hardly the time for reunions, but Cass was not about to argue. She led the way through the crowd, her heart pounding with adrenaline and fear and something else, some vague foreboding about Dor and Smoke.

Smoke saw them coming and scrambled off the trailer, dragging his bad leg. He staggered toward them, his face contorted in fear and anger.

“Dor-”

“Smoke, it’s great to see you-”

“How could you let her take a chance like that?” Smoke’s voice was choked with fury and he did not take Dor’s offered hand. “All she had was a blade, she-”

“You’ve been gone for a while,” Dor said tightly, and slowly lowered his hand. “She’s tougher than you think. She’s done what she had to do.”

Done what she had to do. There was no mistaking the implication in his voice, and Cass shot him a furious look. So he wanted their affair out in the open. Well, it was just as well; someone would tell Smoke soon enough. After the scene with Valerie at the water’s edge, it was common knowledge.

Smoke looked from one of them to the other, his eyes narrowing. “I know she’s tough, MacFall. I lived with her, remember?”

“Hey.” Red stepped between the two men. “Now is not the time. We can catch up later, my friends. Everyone’s fine, that’s what matters.”

“What the hell, Cass?” Smoke turned to face her, his face twisted in fury and pain. “What were you thinking?”

“I had to, they were about to attack-”

“Dor had it handled.”

“He couldn’t have held them off by himself.”

“Then you should have let someone else.”

“No one else would!” Tears of frustration stung Cass’s eyes. The aftereffects of the adrenaline surge had left her shaking and trembling and she felt dizzy.

“You can’t take risks like that, you can’t-”

“You don’t get it, Smoke, this isn’t like the Box! These people, they’re soft, they’re afraid, they don’t-”

“Ruthie needs you.” Smoke took her hand and pulled her toward him, turning his back on everyone else. “I need you,” he added, more quietly.

Dor made a sound of disgust and strode away, back toward the front of the crowd. Cass did not allow herself to watch him go. She stared into Smoke’s eyes, the pallor of his winter-skin reddened by exertion, and knew that he did not mean that he needed her in order to become whole again or to finish healing. It was his spirit he was speaking of, but he couldn’t know how far she’d fallen, how little of what was good in her remained.

Maybe he’d forgive what she’d done with Dor, but it wasn’t just that. She was weak now, a drinker, a shirker of duties. If she hadn’t given herself away to Dor, it would have been someone else, some other path to release. Cass was weak, she was barely able to take care of Ruthie, and there was not enough left even for her to care for her own damaged self. How could she reconstruct enough of her shattered soul to be anywhere close to what he needed?

She shook her head. “Zihna,” she said, turning away. “I think I need to sit down. Just for a minute.”