Forager (9781771275606) (31 page)

Kurt had done a number on my door. It was crumpled in half.
The metal skin had sheared away, with ragged splinters of broken
plywood beneath.

The pieces crunched underfoot as I made my way inside. There
were two things on my mind. The first was a shower. I was covered
in road dust, and who knew how many germs from all the patients I’d
helped the doctor with earlier. The second was food. I knew Millie
would save a plate for me. She always did.

I wasn’t to have either.

“
About time, Orphan Boy,” Josh said from a seat on my sofa.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Stepping back out of the
trailer, I heard Josh scramble to his feet. He probably thought I
was running again. It was what I’d always done.

Not this time. All I wanted to was to get outside so my RV
wouldn’t get trashed.

I was six steps away and facing the trailer when Josh burst
through the doorway. He skidded on the broken door in surprise. It
would have been nice to see him fall, but he kept his
feet.

I could have called for help, or at least looked around to see
if anyone was near. I didn’t do either. I was scared stiff, but I
was through looking for escapes. If Josh beat me to a pulp, so be
it. I’d at least try and get a few good licks of my own
in.

“
What’s this?” Josh asked. “You finally gonna man up and face
me?”

I’m not sure words could have escaped the tightness of my
throat. All I did was nod.

A slow, wicked grin lit Josh’s face. I noticed the faded
bruising around his eyes. I’d like to say I thought about making
them swell back up, or taunt him, or do anything but stand there,
but it would have been a lie. All I did was watch him loom
closer.

“
I’ve been waiting way too long for this,” he said. “It’s time
you paid for messing up my face and pulling that gun on me. You owe
big for decking me when I wasn’t looking that day you shot the
deer. And I’m going to make sure I collect for every time you ran
away and made me chase you.”

Josh’s fist came out of
nowhere. Barely in time, I rolled with the punch to avoid having my
jaw broken.
The blow hurt, but it did the one thing I needed it to. It
unfroze my feet. I staggered to keep my balance. That instinctive
reaction freed me. My fear remained, but I had full control of arms
and legs.

The next punch came in, aimed at the same place as the first.
This time I used my left arm to block, and I threw a right into his
gut. It wasn’t much of a punch, but for me, it was a miracle. It
was the first time I’d ever fought back. I’d punched him in the
cornfield the day I shot the deer, but I hardly remembered doing
it. This was different. It might have lacked power, but it didn’t
lack awareness.

Josh actually stopped. For a fraction of second I thought the
fight was over. I should have known better. He laughed, and said,
“Chane hits harder than that.”

He closed in again. A breath later, he punched with his right.
I saw it coming. I stepped forward, blocking with my left and at
the same time throwing all my weight and momentum into my own
punch.

Josh staggered back a step and grabbed his ribs. Pain flared
across my knuckles, but pleasure warmed my stomach.

“
That’s better, Orphan Boy,” he taunted. “We might actually
make fight out of this.”

Then he was on me. I couldn’t stop all the blows from raining
down on me. He hit me everywhere. I blocked some and landed a few
good punches myself, one really nice one to his jaw.

I don’t know how long the fight lasted. It felt like it went
on forever. If I could stand and fight, I was going to. All the
rage from the years of his bullying flowed through me. I ached all
over, but the pain only fueled my anger. I used it like the combine
used corn oil. Sucking it up, I kept rolling.

A cut below my right eye dribbled a small trail of blood down
my face, and my arms were scraped from being knocked to the ground
so many times. Josh’s nose oozed from a well-timed left hook. I’m
not sure if that same punch had split his lip or if another one
had, but the thin trickle of blood that ran down his chin looked
like a distorted question mark.

I took a moment to glance at my knuckles. All of them on both
hands were scraped and bloody. When I realized that some of the
blood belonged to Josh, I smiled. That was a mistake. He saw the
smile and redoubled his efforts.

He threw a roundhouse right. I blocked, and threw one of my
own. Josh was expecting it. He backed up a step. My momentum
carried me in a half circle. He took advantage and locked his arms
around my chest. He squeezed, hard.

I couldn’t breathe. His grip was so tight all I could do was
flail around with my feet. My heel hit his leg. It didn’t have
enough power to do any damage. I tried again, this time putting as
much power as possible and aiming my kick so that it would catch
him in the shin.

I heard a pop, and pain exploded in my heel. Josh and I howled
in pain together. His arms loosened enough for me to escape. I
hobbled around to face him. Too late. His blow landed hard on my
chin.

A split second later I was flat on my back. Josh landed on me
and pinned my arms with his knees. I tried to wriggle free, but he
weighed a ton. The last thing I remember was Josh’s right fist
coming down, coming down fast.

When I came to, I lay alone in the street. Staggering my way
to the infirmary, I found Dr. White. He must have taken me to a
room, because my next clear memory was him dabbing at my wounds
with a cloth soaked in grain alcohol. It was fire in a bottle.
White-hot pain surged over my cuts and scrapes.

The next morning, I awoke to Dr. White probing and prodding my
wounds. “How do you feel?”

Stupid question. I’d been run over by a loaded grain wagon
named Josh Mason. My legs ached from the riding, my torso felt like
it had been hit with bricks—repeatedly—my face was puffy and
bruised, and my right eye wouldn’t open.

I reached up to my face. Dr. White gently took my hand and
said, “It’s best if you don’t touch it too much, your eye has
swollen closed. It’s a beautiful shiner, but it’ll be fine in a
couple of days. How’s your head? “

“
It hurts,” I mumbled through my split lips. The coppery taste
of blood filled my mouth. Using my tongue, I felt around my teeth
and gums. The two front ones on the top were a little loose, but
there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger of them falling
out.

Dr. White chuckled at my response. “I imagine it does. I want
you here for a couple of days. I think you might have a
concussion.”

You think?

The doctor continued. “Last night, you weren’t in any
condition to tell me what happened, but shortly after I treated
you, Josh Mason came in. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out
that the two of you fought.”

I kept my mouth shut. One, it hurt to talk, and two, I didn’t
need any more jolts. Josh probably wouldn’t say anything, and if I
stayed quiet no one could actually prove that we gave each other
the injuries. Even if it were as obvious as the bruises on our
faces.

Dr. White shook his head. “I don’t blame you for keeping
quiet, but could the two of you try a little harder not to kill
each other? There are enough injured people to take care of as it
is.”

While dozing through the afternoon of the second day, a knock
on the door interrupted my rest. I opened my eyes to see the mayor
filling the doorway. A surge of guilt filled my guts. He was here,
I was sure, to give me more jolts for fighting.

“
How you feeling?” he asked. I was surprised at the concern in
his voice.

“
Better,” I hedged.

“
Good. Let me cut to the chase. I should have stopped my sons
from giving you such a hard time. I’m sorry I didn’t. You probably
haven’t seen either of them. Jason’s been busy on watch, and Josh’s
broken leg is keeping him down.”

I did my best to keep the smile off of my face at hearing
about Josh’s broken leg. It wasn’t hard, my bottom lip was split
and it hurt to talk.

“
I’m not going to punish either of you. It seems the two of you
are both in enough pain the way it is. Hopefully, you’ve learned
that the only outcome of a fight is pain. It doesn’t do anyone any
good.”

I chose not to answer him. Even though what he said held some
truth, I didn’t completely agree. I’d have taken twice as much pain
to experience what I was feeling now. It wasn’t that I’d hurt Josh
bad enough for his father to come and talk to me, it was I no
longer felt like a slinking weasel. Fighting still wasn’t my thing,
but I’d rather take a few punches than go back to the helplessness
of hiding and sneaking and being bullied.

“
There is one other reason I’m here. Your punishment for
killing the deer is set for a week from today. That should give you
plenty of time to get back on your feet.”

I wondered if I should push my luck, and it occurred to me
that asking him wasn’t all that much different from standing up to
Josh. In fact, it should be easier. I doubted the question would
make the mayor angry enough to hit me.

He was at the door before the question floundered out through
my swollen lips. “Why did you make it illegal to hunt?”

He froze in the doorframe with his back to me for the space of
one long breath before he said, “It’s my town. I make the laws. You
don’t have to understand them. You just have to obey them.” He
slipped through the doorway and disappeared down the
hall.

I waved the back of my hand at the door in disgust. It wasn’t
nearly as satisfying as punching Josh in the mouth. I knew Sawyer
would tell me the answer, but I wasn’t ready to ask him. I wanted
to hear it from the mayor and I wanted to give myself another
chance to ask him. There was empowerment in facing my fears, and I
was enjoying every minute of it.

After the mayor left, I realized that he might not have been
totally honest. If I were punished for fighting, an offense usually
penalized by two jolts, then Josh would get the same. It made me
wonder.

A few days later, Frank put me back on watch in the house on
the edge of town. Nothing had changed. Charlie Meyer kept the
combine going. Millie kept the food hot and filling, if not always
tasty, and Frank and the mayor kept the town running.

In the week leading up to my jolts, I saw Josh hobbling around
on a pair of crutches a few times. It wasn’t surprising he didn’t
get out much. The times I did see him, he avoided me. Was that
because his father talked to him? Or had I’d proven that I wasn’t
going to be an easy target anymore? Jason stayed away from me, too.
In the back of my mind, I wondered if the two of them would jump me
someday. If they did, I’d do my best to knock the snot out of both
of them.

I quit wasting time shadowing Chane. The mayor stayed quiet
about her actions. I didn’t blame him, but because the townsfolk
didn’t know the truth, they looked at me like I was a hero. I
didn’t deserve their praise—I hadn’t earned it.

Sawyer’s leg wasn’t completely healed, but he no longer
needed crutches. Dr. White, the mayor, and Frank all thought it
best to let him stay in the infirmary until he was ready to leave.
I offered my RV,
but because my door was
still broken
,
I was overruled.

I visited him when there was time. He shared stories about his
life as a Forager. None of them sounded as exciting as my own
adventure, but I loved hearing his tales. I tried to imagine all
the different places he’d been, and the people he’d met. My
favorite part of his stories was the way his eyes lit up when he
described finding a difficult item. It reminded me of my own
success.

The day before my jolts was the day of the trade with the
Scavengers. We’d loaded wagons with apples, wheat, corn, and
cheeses. A fifth was packed with clothing. According to Frank, it
was half of what the Scavengers wanted.

Nobody asked me to help with the trade, but if the mayor or
Frank didn’t want me to go, then they shouldn’t have set the
meeting site on the road my post overlooked.

Heavy clouds filled the late afternoon sky when I spotted the
Scavengers coming down the highway. Only a minute or so later,
Frank, the mayor, and Sawyer led a small convoy of wagons past my
post. The clouds weren’t thick enough yet to do anything, but if
they continued to build, we’d have rain before morning.

I didn’t signal the alarm. Instead, I walked out of the house
and up to Sawyer. “They’re coming down the road now.”

“
How many?” asked the mayor.

“
Six riders, leading a wagon.”

“
Weapons?” Sawyer asked.

“
None in their hands.” I knew that didn’t mean
anything.

All the men had sheathed rifles attached to their saddles.
Sawyer’s bow also rested in a scabbard and he’d found a holster for
the pistol I’d Foraged for him. I didn’t like all the weapons, but
it would be impossible to convince them to leave the guns behind.
It was pointless to ask.