Taylor stands over the stove in one of the uniforms Delilah gave us, and stirs an unknown substance in a black pot. “Good morning. Once you are dressed, we will eat.”
Without responding, I use the bathroom to shove myself into one of Delilah’s cold-weather uniforms. It’s snug and uncomfortable in the rigid places the armor presses against my heart and my spine. In the mirror inside our glorified outhouse, an unfamiliar picture is reflected back at me: a ruddy, slightly freckled face free of makeup, cedar-brown hair with auburn roots pulled into a ponytail, a frame which no longer is only defined by my height, but the shapes of muscle which harden the softer parts of my body. I don’t know who this is, even as I stare into my mother’s eyes. Is this someone I’m pretending to be, or someone I will become?
Sufficiently tired of staring at myself, I exit the bathroom and take the offered bowl of oatmeal from Taylor, who leans against the stove as she digs in to her own. The oats are fairly tasteless, but not overcooked. Small favors.
“We are on track so far,” she says between bites. “Leader Reed and his wife, as of the most current intel, use Saturdays to hunt. They will be in the hunting grounds north of their homestead with a posse of guards. Not more than about five or six others.”
She flattens the map out with one hand, and points to an X in one of the quadrants. “You and I will position ourselves on a plateau near their location. I will use my sniper rifle to take out Reed and his wife. I may be able to eliminate some of the guards. You are to watch my six and hold off anyone who may come upon us.”
“And the children?”
“They are not on the premises.” She dodges my gaze as clumsily as she dodged the obvious implication of my question. “The heirs are always protected.”
“Yeah, just like I was.”
Taylor folds the map. “They will be out all morning, but I would like to get this done as quickly as possible.”
It sounds like we’re running errands. Maybe I should think of it that way too. But the green goblin residing inside my heart has to wonder why we’re in such a rush. Is it because the next step brings us closer to Hunter? Is she the real reason I was rejected last night?
Mood soured, I plunk my bowl on the table and sigh. “All right. I’ll be ready in five.”
Taylor observes, eyes narrowed, but only nods. “Okay.”
But it’s not okay.
With the sun yet to crest the horizon, a frosty shadow looms across the snow-tipped mud we trudge toward our objective.Hunting is best done in early hours, Taylor explained. Prey are less guarded, sleeping sometimes. Nocturnal animals are lethargic, getting ready for their daytime slumber. The Reeds know this, being prolific hunters. That’s their modus operandi—an earthly life. Returning to their frontier heritage. A ways away from the rusty clank of machinery I called home. We are bonded, however, by being the only two regions with familial succession laws.
In my region it has been primogeniture from father to son until me, and here, the surviving spouse retains control until their death, and then to the eldest child. The Southwest, MidCountry, and Southeast handpick their successors in various ways, but it can be anyone. A choice, whereas ours is a burden. Was a burden, I guess.
“We are close.” Taylor drops to a crouch. “We should hear gunfire.”
“Isn’t hunting with guns sort of stupid?” I ask, and mimic her stance as I follow close behind.
“All hunting for sport is sort of stupid.”
Gunfire in the distance snaps Taylor into focus. Like a bloodhound, she instinctively follows the noise toward her prey. As she thought, Theodore Reed and his wife are in a clearing down an embankment from us, firing into the forest sporadically. About seven guards surround them, dressed head to toe in camouflage.
“Oh, great.” Taylor grumbles and points to the tree beside her. “Take cover. Watch behind me.”
“What’s wrong?” I get into position with my back pressed against the damp bark.
“Nothing. Stay quiet.”
“Sorry, I forgot. No distractions.”
She sets up the sniper rifle next to me and spins a suppressor onto the barrel. It’s not going to mask the noise too much, butit will at least give her enough time to reload before they know for certain where the shot came from. Hidden partially by brush, Taylor spends considerable time lining up her shot. I pivot out to watch down my scope at the married couple chatting quietly to one another. Alexandria’s gun rests in her lap and she reloads it from a pouch of ammo on the side of her wheelchair. Theodore bends on one knee next to his wife, aiming down his sights. Once he’s fired his gun, she reaches up and affectionately scratches the nape of his neck.
“Watch my back,” Taylor says in low tones. Aiming into the forest, I scan through the trees for any enemies and find nothing but fog.
Click.I squeeze my eyes shut.Bang.
Shouts and a scream echo from the valley below us. Unsteadily I keep my aim up, but eventually curiosity gets the better of me and I pivot out to watch. Down my scope I see Alexandria screaming toward her husband, who lies flat against the grass. In a flash, the bereaved woman aims her gun toward us.
Two shots go off. I stagger backward as if I’ve been struck with a pipe, a burning pain in my hip. Vision blurry, I watch Taylor pull the pin of a grenade and lob it at her assailants. The world around me sways in response to the explosion and knocks me back into the tree.
There’s shouting. It’s not Taylor. We’ve been spotted, if the low rumble of feet stomping is any indication. Taylor throws her bag around her back. “Come on.”
Putting weight on my left leg causes it to buckle in pain. Taylor immediately catches me and throws my arm over her shoulder. I look at her in confusion. “Why does my leg hurt?”
