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The bridge is a bad idea,is what I would have said out loud if I hadn’t recognized it as a potential opportunity.
“What are you waiting for? Trolls?” I ask, aiming to goad him.
He gives me a suspicious look and I glance away quickly, not wanting him to mistake my impatience for excitement — even though it is. “Trolls aren’t real,” he mutters turning back to face the stone bridge that looks like it’s seen better days. I wonder absently who built it and how long ago, but I don’t ask him. I don’t want him to think I’m making polite chit-chat — or worse, engaging him in meaningful conversation. We’re not in this together.
He steps up to the muddy bank and looks down at the river before plodding over to the foot of the bridge. He takes a step onto it and presses down with his foot, as if he thinks the stone might give.
I scoff, “That Tr…” I was going to call it a Troll bridge — whoops. “Thatbridgehas been there longer than we’ve been alive and it’ll be there long after we’re corpses. It’s not going to buckle to one single Berserker.”
He looks back at me and doesn’t say anything for a second, then grunts, “Stay close.”
I purse my lips and I know he can read the words I don’t say because he glowers more hatefully in my direction.
“Don’t want you close to me either, you smell like shit, but I don’t want you tryna jump or get up to any other funny business. Not when we’re close.”
And that’s the pain of it, isn’t it? We are close. Less than three days out and he hasn’t given me an opportunity to run yet. He’s been on me like wet on a swamp. My feet hesitate and it costs me. He lunges for me, grabs me by the strap on my right shoulder and yanks me forward roughly. His meaty hand goes to the back of my neck and his claws — short in this form — pinch my pressure points. His hands are so damn big, those short, sharp claws overlap at the front of my throat. I can hear the little sounds they make brushing over each other every time I fucking swallow. Every second, I’m just a full belly breath away from decapitation.
I try to shrug him off but he just squeezes harder. Well, at least it’s not an order. I’d rather be pushed around than ordered. If he knew that, he’d probably order me around all the time. It seems like, ever since our last fight, he’s been pushing me further and further away. Not that I’m complaining.
But he was a Beta too, once.
Hiding out in swamps just like this one — worse than this one — his life might have started harder than most Betas did… Fuck no. I shake my head, refusing to think about what he said before. He’s aBerserker. The rest is moot.
We’re halfway across the bridge when the Berserker comes to a stop. He curses. “Knew this was gonna happen, didn’ ya?”
I don’t actually know what he means because, so far, what I thought was going to happen hasn’t happened at all, but I shrug, not wanting him to know that. He curses again. A moment later, the forest in front of us starts to stir. More lush than the wet mangrove forest behind us, the forests to the east have pine and oak trees with heavy branches whose shadows are dense enough to conceal a small army…up until they choose to step out into the light.
I freeze in the Berserker’s grip, blood running cold, flight instincts kicking in all at once. I lurch for the edge of the bridge, fully intending to jump, but the Berserker keeps me plastered to his side. “Don’t even think about it.”
I thrash harder, whimpering as I do. Pain isn’t gone, she’s just muted for the time being. Fear, however, makes a surprise appearance. Huh. It’s been…a few days since I thought about her.
I see her clearly now as I look toward the Alpha leading the pack and then quickly take stock of the dozen other Alphas with him. I don’t know if they’re from Gang Mountain or are from some other marauding Alpha pack, all I know is that they arenotthe trolls I’d been hoping for. These Alphas don’t look anything like the Dark City kids who attacked us, either. Those kids looked green and dumb. These guys look rough.
Wearing pants made out of animals of the forest and carrying weapons made of its wood, they have tattoos and braids in their hair, feathers and beads, too. There’s something feral about them,and oddly beautiful, like they’re at home here in Paradise Hole in ways I’ve never been and never will be, no matter how many weeks I spend mucking through the mud. These men look…lesshardenedby Paradise Hole and more like they’rebornof it. It hits me that maybe they are and that scares me for some reason. I understand the motives of stupid city Alphas and their Berserkers and I understand the motives of compound Betas and I understand the motives of the exiled, the trapped, the caged, the lonely…
But I don’t understand the motives of thefree.
I gulp in a breath that gets trapped in my throat and surge again, forgetting entirely about the Berserker until he tugs me back again, this time by the collar. I land against his side, engulfed in his heat. He fists the back of my coat and sweatshirt.
Under his breath, he says to me, “Don’t insult me. Killed at least this many to claim you before. No problem doin’ it again.”
Pitching his voice loud enough to carry through the damp, stale air, the leader calls out to the Berserker beside me, speaking to him like I’m not even here. “We don’t want trouble, Berserker, we just want the Omega.”
The leader’s bare-chested and his freckle-free skin is two shades of brown darker than mine. His hair is dark brown, maybe black, long and straight to his shoulders. He has a long, straight nose and hawkish eyes that are as dark as pitch and remind me of coal forming embers.
“No,” the Berserker responds.
I’m still frozen stiff, eyeing the crumbling edge of the bridge. So focused on it, I can’t figure out why the Berserker holding me shifts so that he’s standing parallel to the edges of the bridge, not facing the Alpha…atfirst. But then I hear the squish of feet through mud and glance back the direction we came from and spy a dozen more Alphas crowding us from behind.
“What d’you say now, Berserker?” I hiss, hoping the other Alphas can’t hear me over the raging river below. “Still think you can take ‘em all?”
“Nah, butwecan take ‘em.” His breath is cool against my cheek and smells like roasted chestnuts. I don’t know how or why, but it smells so damn good. Makes me want to turn towards him. Makes me want to run for my life.
I don’t bother trying to run away, but I do reach to my hips, feeling my belt for weapons that aren’t there. He stole them all. “I’m not your tool, Berserker.”
He sighs, sounding exasperated. “Fine. I’ll do it myself. Stay behind me and don’t fuckin’ jump.” He pushes me behind him, against the stone rail of the bridge. It…surprises me. I don’t expect him to let go of me at all, and again instincts flare telling me to jump into the river, only…it looks turbulent…and wet…and choppy, and I only have the use of one arm. Maybe, it’s a bad idea. Maybe, he really can beat them.
Uncertainty eclipses my capacity for reason and I watch as the two Alpha war parties converge on the lone Berserker. I can’t decide what’s the worse option, or what I should do next. Should I intervene? Can I even? Should I jump and leave the Alphas to kill one another? And what the hell is that scraping sound? Duller than a blade against a whetstone, the sound grates and comes at irregular intervals. It doesn’t seem to be coming from either of the approaching groups, either. The Alphas, meanwhile, haven’t noticed and continue closing in…
