The forest seems less beautiful to Willa now. The shadows are ominous. The trunks crowd in on the clearing. Even the sky is less blue and more gray. Willa closes her eyes and breathes in, doing her best to erase the feelings. The air is getting an edge of crispness that precedes cool weather turning into bone-chilling cold. Winter is so very beautiful here, even if it is difficult. She won’t have her forest ruined by this.
The feeling fades and she opens her eyes. “Those men obviously haven’t met Claire.”
Beau snorts a laugh and his eyes crinkle a little. “That girl’s a wolf.”
“And that means she’ll die if they take her.”
Beau nods, all traces of humor gone.
“Then we have to kill them.”
Again, Beau nods. “We do.”
*****
Though the idea did flit through Willa’s mind that they might do better by asking Claire to kill the men with her mushrooms, it was only a momentary thought. In the end, they chose silence and darkness as their methods.
Bee summed up their situation nicely, persuading any who might still be reluctant with a few words. “They think of us as prey, so we’ll be predators instead. They won’t expect that. No one expects a deer to bare saber teeth and bite their head off.”
Her words have turned out to be truer than she might have realized. The men’s camp is just as it’s been every night since the decision was made. This is the first time Willa has seen it herself, but the scouts in Bee’s hunting group didn’t exaggerate their reports. The men’s camp is quiet. They sleep at night and trust their sentries to keep animals away, expecting nothing more dangerous than a curious racoon. Even their fire is out, leaving the still night air with only traces of wood smoke to scent the air. These men are confident of their superiority even in the way they sleep.
The tents are arranged exactly as the scouts reported. The camp is set up in concentric rings. At the innermost ring is the firepit surrounded by logs and camp chairs. The next ring is open space worn flat from feet. That’s their path around the camp. Beyond that are the tents.
One large tent with a chimney is the one they use for their kitchen and the gatherings they call services. The rest of that ring is taken up by seven smaller tents, but the size of the ring means there’s a good amount of space between each tent. Small stacks of belongings rest next to the tents in coolers or plastic bins. There are even clothes left to dry along lines hung on a few tents.
It’s all very neat and orderly. And silent.
From the shelter of the trees at the edge of the camp, they wait for the signal. When a single quick beam of light shines from the spot where the last sentry watched over this camp, Willa glances to the side and sees a white flash of teeth. It lasts for less than a second, then the vague shine of Bee’s eyes is all that remains. The rest of her face is covered in mud and dirt, streaked in shades of brown to hide her.
Willa’s is the same, though it’s less comfortable for her. She’s not part of the hunting group. She does hunt, but she’s not like Bee and the others who stalk the game that range the park. Like all the others, Willa has been paired with a hunter. One hunter to one non-hunter. Another similar pair makes up their team.
“That’s the last one,” Bee whispers so quietly it’s almost nothing but air.
Willa knows what’s next. They all do. Quick flashes of light shine from the forest surrounding the camp. Bee flashes their readiness too. There’s a quiet sliding noise as Willa takes out her knife. She hears the same from the other three women.
“Now, quietly,” Bee says and steps forward. Her footfalls don’t make even the slightest noise.
Willa follows, trying to be as silent as Bee. Behind her, she hears a tiny rustle as the other two members of their team follow. All of them are quieter than they might have been before The Dying, but not all of them are as skilled as Bee and the hunting group. Still, there’s no movement in the camp, no rustle of a sleeping bag being opened, no light. With five sentries now dead, there should be twenty-seven men sleeping.
Their assigned tent is oddly unthreatening. Willa thought it would feel more ominous. Instead, there are two plastic bins set side by side, creating a sort of platform. Hanging over the edge of that platform is a row of socks. A line stretched along the tent has three shirts hanging from it. Laundry. Just laundry.
The scouts reported that sentries are pulled from different tents, almost like each tent is a watch team of sorts. When one returns, another leaves to take his place. With fall making the nights pleasantly cool, the tent in front of her has a side flap up. That leaves only a fabric screen barrier between the occupants and the night. Bee points at it, then waves her hand down so they’ll all crouch a little.
The tent is big. The tribe had one like this in the beginning, though it’s packed away now. It was too big for that first winter. They quickly realized that a snug tent made for warmer sleeping. This is the kind of tent with rooms in it, including a central area for storage, entering, and exiting.
Bee holds out her hand to stop their progress near the
