Forsada: Volume II in the New Eden series by Peter J Dudley Page B
Authors: Peter J Dudley
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the valley of Lower, but I fight it. I don’t think I could stand the sight of burning houses, blood soaking the dirt, bodies strewn across the meadow. I won’t even glance that way, no matter how much I need to.
“Thank god,” mumbles Garrett. “He’ll get there in a few hours. It would take us all day, maybe more since we’d have to bushwhack it along the ridge.”
I nod slowly in silence, my eyes locked on the place where the speeding rider disappeared around the last visible turn in the road. He’ll get to Upper by nightfall, maybe earlier. I only hope he has better luck than I did at the Council. Hell, they might not even believe him.
Without thinking, I ask, “Was that Shack?”
“What? No.” Garrett looks at me with confusion. “I don’t know who it was, but it definitely was not Shack. Have you ever seen Shack ride like that?”
Good point. The boy is great in a fight, but there’s not a horse on Earth that could carry him that smoothly or that fast without dumping him.
Garrett begins walking onward. “Besides, her hair was too dark. At least, I think it was a girl. I couldn’t really see. Too many trees.”
We’ve begun walking again as we talk. It seems easier now, now that we’re not carrying the burden of saving Upper. Someone else is doing that. We go a half mile, descending into the forest and away from the ridge, toward the trail split. We walk in silence, listening to the quiet with gratitude. Either the battle is over, or we’ve wandered far enough away that we can’t hear it. I don’t want that to make it easier, but it does.
We turn the corner and reach the trail split, where we pause. My mouth and throat are dry with dust and the late morning. God, how I wish I had some water. The whispers of the river are so tantalizing. We could turn left and drop down into the valley, hike along the road beside the river. But what if the army is already on the road?
“Hello,” says a voice from nowhere. “That took you long enough.”
It’s Shack, but in the forest it sounds like his voice falls on us from overhead. We all look up, startled, and see him on an enormous granite boulder. He stands tall, then leaps to one side, swings on a thick branch, and bounds down the steep hillside to stand before us with a huge, smug grin on his grimy face.
Does he not know what’s happened? How can he play around like this? How can he smile? I mean, I’m a little glad to see him, too, but no amount of happy would make me smile. I might never smile again as long as I live. At least, not until I see Darius dead at my feet.
Shack looks at us each in turn, his grin fading and a grim recognition creeping into his eyes.
“You…” He begins but trails off. “You don’t know, do you?”
He squints at his brother, then looks at me.
“Lupay, you were right. About most things.”
Most things?
“But not everything.”
Why can’t the fool just spit it out?
“After they got across the bridge, only a few of us fought back. Some tried to run but were chased down. The ones that fought were all killed. But the rest—Lupay, they’re prisoners. The Southshawans didn’t kill them.”
“What? Shack, if this is some joke, it’s sick.”
“No! It’s—”
“Seriously,” I continue, letting my thoughts just flow from my mouth. “I saw the attack. I saw them charge the bridge. No way they were going to let anyone live. Shack, I know a little about Darius and what the Southshawans think. They aren’t going to let any of us live.”
“Like I said, Loop. You were right about a lot of things. But not everything.”
Can he be serious? Could some of our friends still be alive? My mother? Could my mother still be alive?
I want to ask, but Shack reaches out and lifts two of the heavy satchels from my shoulder. “We should move on, Loop. The faster we get to Upper, the more time they’ll have to be ready.”
I let him take the bags, grateful for the relief on my aching shoulders. Garrett holds
“Thank god,” mumbles Garrett. “He’ll get there in a few hours. It would take us all day, maybe more since we’d have to bushwhack it along the ridge.”
I nod slowly in silence, my eyes locked on the place where the speeding rider disappeared around the last visible turn in the road. He’ll get to Upper by nightfall, maybe earlier. I only hope he has better luck than I did at the Council. Hell, they might not even believe him.
Without thinking, I ask, “Was that Shack?”
“What? No.” Garrett looks at me with confusion. “I don’t know who it was, but it definitely was not Shack. Have you ever seen Shack ride like that?”
Good point. The boy is great in a fight, but there’s not a horse on Earth that could carry him that smoothly or that fast without dumping him.
Garrett begins walking onward. “Besides, her hair was too dark. At least, I think it was a girl. I couldn’t really see. Too many trees.”
We’ve begun walking again as we talk. It seems easier now, now that we’re not carrying the burden of saving Upper. Someone else is doing that. We go a half mile, descending into the forest and away from the ridge, toward the trail split. We walk in silence, listening to the quiet with gratitude. Either the battle is over, or we’ve wandered far enough away that we can’t hear it. I don’t want that to make it easier, but it does.
We turn the corner and reach the trail split, where we pause. My mouth and throat are dry with dust and the late morning. God, how I wish I had some water. The whispers of the river are so tantalizing. We could turn left and drop down into the valley, hike along the road beside the river. But what if the army is already on the road?
“Hello,” says a voice from nowhere. “That took you long enough.”
It’s Shack, but in the forest it sounds like his voice falls on us from overhead. We all look up, startled, and see him on an enormous granite boulder. He stands tall, then leaps to one side, swings on a thick branch, and bounds down the steep hillside to stand before us with a huge, smug grin on his grimy face.
Does he not know what’s happened? How can he play around like this? How can he smile? I mean, I’m a little glad to see him, too, but no amount of happy would make me smile. I might never smile again as long as I live. At least, not until I see Darius dead at my feet.
Shack looks at us each in turn, his grin fading and a grim recognition creeping into his eyes.
“You…” He begins but trails off. “You don’t know, do you?”
He squints at his brother, then looks at me.
“Lupay, you were right. About most things.”
Most things?
“But not everything.”
Why can’t the fool just spit it out?
“After they got across the bridge, only a few of us fought back. Some tried to run but were chased down. The ones that fought were all killed. But the rest—Lupay, they’re prisoners. The Southshawans didn’t kill them.”
“What? Shack, if this is some joke, it’s sick.”
“No! It’s—”
“Seriously,” I continue, letting my thoughts just flow from my mouth. “I saw the attack. I saw them charge the bridge. No way they were going to let anyone live. Shack, I know a little about Darius and what the Southshawans think. They aren’t going to let any of us live.”
“Like I said, Loop. You were right about a lot of things. But not everything.”
Can he be serious? Could some of our friends still be alive? My mother? Could my mother still be alive?
I want to ask, but Shack reaches out and lifts two of the heavy satchels from my shoulder. “We should move on, Loop. The faster we get to Upper, the more time they’ll have to be ready.”
I let him take the bags, grateful for the relief on my aching shoulders. Garrett holds
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