“It’s our squad name,” Morrow said.
“Who came up with it?” Stalker asked.
The storyteller’s expression grew crafty. “The men who want to join up. I’ve been spreading the word about our success, and they decided the squad should be named after Deuce.”
I suspected there might be more to say, but he didn’t, and I was too delighted at learning we had more potential recruits to pursue the matter. That day, ten men approached me quietly and asked whether I’d consider letting them volunteer when we marched out for the second time, Harry Carter among them. He’d wanted to come before, but he wasn’t strong enough. Whether it was the first taste of success or the idea of getting off the duty roster, I wasn’t sure, but I told all of them that they were welcome. The following night, I spoke to five more.
A week later, Zach Bigwater approached me. He was the only member of his family to survive the fire, and for a while, I didn’t know whether he’d make it. For weeks, he didn’t speak and it was a chore for Tegan to get him to eat. But he came to me that afternoon.
“I want to join Company D,” he said without preamble.
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired of feeling helpless.”
“I think you need to tell me what happened in Salvation.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “So many people died because of me.”
“The town was under siege. It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was,” he said heavily. “I ran and hid. I was paralyzed when the walls came down. I should’ve told somebody sooner about the tunnel, but I couldn’t make myself move, even as people died all around me. I’m a coward.”
His actions didn’t recommend him as a volunteer, but I thought I understood why he wanted to fight. “And you’re looking to redeem yourself now, prove something?”
“If it’s possible,” he whispered.
“Then welcome aboard.” I’d keep an eye on him, but I couldn’t turn anyone away.
The number of fresh volunteers trickled off as the weeks wore on, and the snow piled higher. During the cold months, I kept my men sharp. I asked for—and received—an indoor training yard. The colonel responded with her typical ambivalence … and put us in the cowshed. With the animals in their stalls, there was room for us to spar … and I pushed the others, myself as well. We drilled hard, practiced fighting as a group, worked out silent command signals and battle strategies for all kinds of scenarios. Word got out about our sessions, and the men who had asked to join up, but were not yet officially part of Company D, worked in their off hours, concerned about keeping up with us.
By the time the snow started to melt, we were all stronger, and Tegan was a wonder with her staff, banded properly with metal for optimal impact. All over Soldier’s Pond, they called us an elite unit, which meant we were really good at fighting.
To my astonishment, I trotted out Silk’s old lectures.
I watched them spar for a few seconds, shaking my head. “Thornton, you’re working too hard. Yes, you’re a brute, but crushing skulls is exhausting. I need you to kill faster.”
“I’m an old man.” But it wasn’t a protest; it was a statement—unbelievable to have this grizzled veteran taking criticism from me so readily. “Show me an easier way.”
Over the past month, it had become apparent that he had little hand-to-hand training, so I put him with Stalker. Eventually I got him to use two small hand axes instead of weights in his fists. The blades were heavy enough that he felt comfortable with them, well suited to efficient hacking motions that should drop Freaks quicker.
In early March, Stalker and five scouts went out to locate the horde. It was a risky mission, and I worried the whole time they were gone. The rest of us continued training; I had to feel confident we’d function as a unit when we moved out. A week later, the scouting party returned, half frozen and starved, but full of interesting information. Stalker dismissed the others while he and I went to the mess. It wasn’t open for meals, but there were always drinks available.
I poured two mugs of herbal tea from the warm pot and settled at our usual table. Stalker’s skin was ruddy and chapped, his lips split. Despite melting snow and occasional bursts of sunshine, the weather was still raw. I hoped that meant bad things for the enemy. With so many animals in hibernation, game was scarce this time of year. With any luck, the horde had to turn most of its attention to finding food rather than attacking human settlements.
“It’s bad,” he said quietly. “Appleton is gone.”
That hit me hard. They’d laughed at us there, less extreme than the hanging they threatened in Gaspard, but still bad enough that I had unpleasant memories of the place. Appleton was bigger than Salvation, but less defensible; I suspected it hadn’t been a problem when the Freaks were scattered nuisances. People who hadn’t seen the horde before it swept down on them couldn’t imagine the sheer numbers … or the horror, so I didn’t blame them for the reaction, but it was horrible they’d paid such a high price for their skepticism.
“Survivors?”
“No. They butchered the townsfolk, and the horde seems to be digging in. Looked like fewer bodies than last time, but there’s still a couple thousand of them.”
“I hoped the cold would cull more of them.”
Stalker shook his head, sipping his hot drink. “I bet that’s why they took Appleton. They’re roasting the townsfolk, plus they have shelter and supplies. They’ll be fine until spring.”
This was just the kind of news I dreaded. I was sure Appleton’s relative lack of defenses had contributed to the horde’s decision to sack that town first. Soldier’s Pond would’ve required a lot more time and effort. And in the cold with a weakening force, it made sense to take out a soft target. Come spring, however, every town in the territories would be at risk.
“Will you tell the colonel?” I asked.
He nodded, offering a half-smile. “I appreciate you asking me instead of ordering.”
“You run the scouts, not me. I just thought she might benefit from the information.”
If the loss of a town within two weeks of travel didn’t alarm her, the colonel wasn’t as smart as I thought. This gave the horde a terrifying foothold in the area. When the weather improved, they’d consider what target to eliminate next. If they came to Soldier’s Pond, it’d mean a long, ugly siege. Eventually, the Freaks would figure out how to get around—or tear down—the fences, or the ammo stockpile would run out.
I couldn’t let that happen to my family. Not again.
It was just after the noon meal when the messenger arrived from Winterville. I had been braced for bad news since I heard Stalker’s report, so I wasn’t surprised by the urgency. The runner was ragged and thin; and by his various wounds, he wasn’t accustomed to traveling. The odd thing about his injuries, though … they didn’t look as if a Freak had inflicted them. I strode up to the guards listening to his breathless stammers—and my status in town had changed to the point that none of them questioned my presence. They were used to seeing me roam in and out of HQ, consulting with Colonel Park on concerns she didn’t share with anyone but her advisors.
“We need help,” the man was gasping.
“Muties?” Morgan asked. I had learned that he was married to the colonel, not that they were effusive in their public affections.
Since Winterville was closer than Salvation, it was possible we could mount a successful defense, depending on the nature of the attack. The weather wasn’t ideal for mobilizing, but if we packed well and moved fast, we might be able to hit them from behind. As I recalled, the research annex was mostly built from a peculiar, wrinkled metal, so at least it wouldn’t burn before we got there. The rest of the houses might well be gone, however.
