Chapter 16 The Wild Unmade
Chapter sixteen
The Wild Unmade
The rain stopped. Wisps of clouds snaked around the sides of rounded gray-green mountains, clinging like pale fingers.
Lark thought the region was quite lovely, though some sights were indeed foreign.
As they approached the ribbon of red she’d spied earlier, she gawked at towering mushrooms, their caps blotched and swollen, some as tall as a man.
“Is that normal?” she asked, gesturing toward a clump of three spotted ones taller than her knees.
“I’ve seen some on the south side of Old Atlanta,” Luke answered. “Not sure if they’re dangerous, but I wouldn’t touch them just in case.”
“I wonder what this forest was like before, you know?” Lark asked, gazing about.
The hammer of a woodpecker. Birdsong. Then a distant crash—something heavy hitting the forest floor.
She scanned, saw nothing. Yet a sensation clung to her as oppressively as her wet clothing. Too many eyes in the dark.
“These mountains are very old,” Skye answered with the authority of a scholar. “They were here long before the first humans and might likely outlive the last. If our disregard for the planet scarred them, they will surely heal with time. Nature adapts. It will find a way.”
Resilience, Lark considered, like our kingdom motto.
Glancing up, she halted, staring in morbid curiosity.
Before them, on the side of the crumbling paved road, stood a twisted, gnarled tree with three distinct kinds of bark.
Her eyes followed it up to witness boughs bearing red maple leaves, green oak leaves, and clumps of dangling pine needles.
It appeared as if some giant hand had twisted three species together and jammed them back into the soil.
“A chimera tree is what they call them,” Wes said. “The part lion, part goat, part serpent creature might be a myth, but these curiosities are quite real. You only see them along the scars—radioactive paths, old blast zones. Bad places. Who knows what we’ll come across in the red forest?”
As they passed from green to shades Lark had only seen in fall, she asked, “Why are they red?”
Skye answered her. “As near as we can tell, radioactivity killed the chlorophyll in the pine needles, leaving them this burnt, orange-brown color. After forty-five years, somehow, they’re still alive—barely, I reckon.”
A foot-long, two-headed lizard scurried across the road ahead of them—one head focused forward, the other eyeing her crew warily.
Wes and Diego exchanged jokes about which of them it was ogling with lusty thoughts.
Luke and Skye discussed what to do when they reached the target, and Harlan marched along quietly, keeping his thoughts to himself.
Water sloshed in the bottom of Lark’s boots, rubbing uncomfortably against the thin spots in the heels of her socks.
At least her shirt was beginning to dry.
An hour had passed when Diego exclaimed, “My badge—it’s glowing!”
“Mine too,” Lark said. Her pulse raced at the implication, and she turned to the captain for instruction.
“It’s no cause for alarm,” he replied calmly. “Lieutenant Navarro?”
Skye slid the pack from her back and unzipped a compartment. “We all have respirators.” She quickly passed them out. “Wes, what’s your count?”
He studied a piece of equipment in his hand. “116 μSv/hr—caution range. We’re fine, but not if we linger.”
A twig cracked. Quail burst skyward. The forest fell still, leaving only the itch of invisible spider legs across Lark’s skin.
“Let’s hurry out of here then,” Luke ordered. “It’ll clear up once we get out of this red forest.”
They picked up their pace, and, after a while, Lark saw green leaves ahead. The tension that had been building eased as she supposed the worst was behind them. The malformed trees, mutated creatures, and ominous fungi would be gone—everything back to normal.
Yet even when they stopped for a quick break, once their badge lights went out, Lark didn’t feel entirely safe. Every snap and crackle, each time a rabbit bolted across the road, she sensed they weren’t alone.
She took a swig from her canteen and munched on a pemmican bar.
“Am I the only one who’s creeped out?” She didn’t want to admit it.
Lark prided herself on fearlessness in her swamps—alligators, snakes, boar.
But here, every sight and sound was alien.
She still feared for Tommy’s life. Had Gramma nursed him back to health?
Was he already gone? Too much uncertainty drove her to distraction.
“I don’t find our surroundings comfortable,” Harlan admitted. “But I’ve got my gun. Whatever’s around the bend is what should be afraid of me.”
Lark laughed at herself. Not long ago, she’d said the same thing. She sobered when Luke stated in a grave tone, “I feel it too.”
“Something’s out there,” Lark ventured as a chill rolled through her.
“You’re imagining it,” Skye countered. Lark met her gaze, which told a different story.
She’s trying to convince herself, not me, she realized.
Luke pulled out his tablet and turned it on. A map appeared with a red marker flag and a blue dot. “According to this, our target is six hours away, and we’ve only four hours of daylight. We’ll have to make camp before dark, build a fire. That’ll dry out our clothes and keep critters at bay.”
One more gulp and Lark stood, hoisting her gear and the pigeon crate.
Heavy tree limbs closed in from both sides of the road, slowly dripping residual raindrops as thick clouds obscured the sun.
The ominous shadows brought her no comfort, and her thoughts retreated to Tommy and Milena.
A gust rustled wet leaves. A glance over her shoulder.
Harlan steadily bringing up the rear. The faint whiff of rot touched her awareness.
Something was out there, stalking them, biding its time until darkness fell. At least Lark wasn’t alone.
While Lark had some experience with it, Diego was a wiz at starting a fire with wet wood.
Luke selected a campsite three meters from the broken stretch of road—some parts completely overgrown with kudzu—where a thick, fallen red cedar lay propped in the embrace of an ancient live oak’s branches.
The trunk and its clinging boughs afforded some shelter.
Skye and Wes strung up the radiation tarp to form a lean-to in case it started raining again.
Meanwhile, Lark went with Diego to cut small dead trees from which to harvest dry kindling to burn.
Twilight draped the woods like a shroud, sealing in the humidity. It was hard for Lark to think about the time before she was born, when the long winter had set in.
“This is a good one,” Diego said. He whacked at it with his hatchet.
“See? It’s not rotten, nor is it green inside.
The recently departed are the best. We’ll drag this back, chop it up, and split logs to expose the dry interior.
I have a little something to throw in that will ensure it burns hot and long. ”
Hot sounded like a dirty word to Lark, but she looked forward to hanging her socks by the fire to dry.
A noise. Behind them. No, to the side. All around. Then she noticed—the insects had gone silent. The forest held its breath.
“Diego, let’s get out of here,” Lark urged.
“Hold your horses,” he exhaled. “One more whack.”
The thicket exploded. A warg lunged—red eyes burning, ulcerated lips peeled back to fangs. It leaped at Diego, who had just buried his hatchet blade into the dead sapling. Too fast. Nothing natural moved like that. Lark barely got her crossbow up in time.
The bolt flew, striking the enormous mutant wolf. The shaft quivered in its ribs, but the beast kept coming. It howled, crashed short, still not dead. Diego jumped back in shock, gripping his hand axe. With a tremendous swing, he split the beast’s skull, its yowl cut off mid-snarl.
“OK, rookie—you win.” Twisting the small tree from its stump, he dashed with Lark toward the road. They’d barely passed three strides when another warg slunk into their path, hackles bristling.
Diego propelled the twenty-foot-high, four-inch-diameter tree at it.
The hairy black monster, glowing eyes, reeking of rot, sprang over the sapling, blood-slick fangs gnashing through its snarl.
Lark’s aim was true, her shaft piercing the flying warg’s chest. She and Diego hopped to the sides as its body slammed down, shaking the dirt between them.
“Warg!” Lark yelled. “We’re under attack!”
Diego clenched his teeth. “My pack’s at the campsite—everything’s in there!” A scream and crash ahead. A gunshot rang out. They weren’t the only ones being ambushed.
Leaving the dead tree behind, Lark and Diego raced to join the others. Lark heard, felt, smelled a beast thundering up behind her. She caught a branch, swung, landed behind it, and fired before it reached Diego. Its corpse struck him, driving him face-first into the mud beneath its bulk.
Diego let out an “oof” and swore. “Get this rustin’ buzzard bait off me, goddammit!”
Lark grabbed a back leg and yanked, glad she still wore her gloves. She couldn’t imagine touching the open sores or coarse hair covering its body. Diego pushed up, rolling it the rest of the way off. “Thanks,” he grunted, swiping blood from his nose.
They ran across the road to find their teammates engaged with the rest of the pack. Light flared from Wes’s gun, searing fur. Harlan perched atop the cedar, rifle barking. Luke and Skye fired in measured pops. Some ravenous creatures fell dead; others spun to regroup.
From the shadows, red eyes, snapping jaws. A pounce. Lark wheeled toward it, hit the dirt. The charging warg launched, sailing over her prone body. She sprang to her feet—the beast barreling at the pigeon cage.
“No, you don’t!” she yelled and hit it with a bolt.
If the homing birds were lost, the mission died with them.
Her magazine was almost out. Diego descended on the wounded creature with his hatchet, finishing it with a wet crunch of bone and blood.
The remaining warg must have had enough.
As quickly as they had appeared, they vanished, leaving only rancid carcasses and their fading growls behind.
Lark leaned her hands on her knees, crossbow dangling from its cord, as she caught her breath. “I told you something was out there.”
“Plebe,” Skye replied wryly. “There’s always something out there. Now help us drag these things downwind while Diego gets our fire going.”
The insect whines had returned as the last, faint light filtered through the trees to the west, clouds veiling the moon and stars.
Five more minutes and it would be pitch.
Lark nodded, grabbed the nearest tail in a firm grip, and tugged.
The team piled the steaming carcasses in silence that echoed louder than the fight.
The grizzly task accomplished, Lark collected her spent bolts and joined the others around the fire that Diego had magically conjured from wet fuel.
Even her bedroll was soaked. Lark hung it over a branch near the crackling campfire.
She also hung her shirt, pants, and socks, undisturbed by sitting on a stone in her underwear.
Everyone else had done the same. She stole a glance at Skye—not out of personal interest, merely comparing muscle and curves, telling herself she could take her if it came to it.
They ate their meal while everyone related stories of previous ventures or imagined what their friends and family members were doing back home.
Lark didn’t join in. No point getting attached to these people—even if she was starting to like them.
Instead, she focused her thoughts on Tommy, Milena, Gramma, Leif, and Bryn.
They were her family. They were who mattered.
The team drew straws for keeping watch, though Luke said he didn’t expect another attack. As soon as her blankets were dry, Lark wrapped herself in them under the tarp. Skye took the spot beside her.
“You did all right today, soldier—especially for a newbie.”
“Thanks.” Something had been itching at Lark’s brain. “If the captain has this GPS on his tablet showing him where the hospital is, why not just send a balloon? Why do we even need this mission?”
Skye blinked at her like she’d just asked the dumbest question ever.
“To secure the position, of course. Queen Frost only has three working hot air balloons. Silk is the rarest of commodities, and we can’t risk losing one.
We don’t know what we’ll find there, and, if there are hostiles, we have to take them out before sending a pigeon with the all-clear. ”
Lark sighed. “That makes sense. I didn’t know.”
Skye’s expression softened, and she swatted Lark on the shoulder. “Of course not, silly. You’re a plebe. But you’ll learn. Let’s get some sleep.”
“Yeah, OK. Goodnight.” As she inhaled the scent of the fire and the woman beside her, Lark’s thoughts turned to home. I wonder how Tommy’s doing, if Milena is taking care of herself too. Bryn’s probably in bed. I’ll bet Gramma made a delicious gator stew. Hot cornbread …
The next thing she knew, Harlan was shaking her awake. “Your shift.”
During the night, the clouds had given way to the moon and stars. A pale light rose in the east. “I’m awake.”
After eating, the crew packed up, put out the fire, and continued toward their destination, yesterday’s encounters fresh in Lark’s mind.
The pigeons cooed softly from where she’d strapped them to her back while her darting glances constantly scanned the woods.
The feeling that danger hadn’t passed weighed as heavily as her gear.
When the abandoned town with the unexplored hospital came into view, Captain Moreau stopped them, sending Harlan ahead as a scout. Lark and the others sat in silence, sipping water, taking a relief break. Wes smoked a homeroll. Diego ensured his magazine was full.
All eyes shot to Harlan when he returned. Standing before them, rifle cradled in his hands, he swallowed; a deadly serious expression marked on his face. “We’ve got trouble.”