Ann Aguirre: Enclave

I didn’t see how anyone could bathe in here, but looking at the squat chair, I took his meaning. It held a black, foul water, and probably other stuff too. At home, we did our business above a grate, some distance from the rest of the enclave. The smell in that part of the settlement matched the stench in here, so I got it.

Fade stepped outside, leaving me to it. I was careful not to touch anything, and then I went out to give him a turn. Weird, seeing the echo of how people used to live.

The other door wouldn’t budge, no matter how we pushed or pulled on it, so we took the corner in between the doors, as far back from the edge as we could get. I ate more dried meat and drank a few swallows of water. Thankfully it was cool enough that we wouldn’t lose much fluid through sweat.

“I’ll take the first watch.”

He didn’t argue. “You’ll need this, then.” After unfastening his watch, he passed it over to me.

The leather held warmth from his skin; I couldn’t help but notice as I wound it around my wrist. It fastened easily enough. Now I could keep time too.

“Thanks.”

“Wake me after four hours. That’s four revolutions.”

I spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m not an idiot. I can tell time.”

Even if Twist kept time for the enclave and rang a bell at the important hours, when meals were served and shifts stopped and started, I knew how. That was part of brat schooling, what you learned in between chores. From three to eight, we learned basic things. From eight to fifteen, we took job training. But he might not know that; he’d come into the enclave late, and gotten his name not too long after. He probably hadn’t spent too much time with our brats in their early years.

“I never said you were an idiot.”

“You seem to think it.” The words just slipped out. I didn’t want to fight with him. Out here, just the two of us, it was the opposite of smart. Maybe I was an idiot.

“No,” he said softly. “You’ve just been taught to think wrong.”

And we were back to the blind brat again. I saw in his eyes that he thought I should’ve done something when they took him. Well, he’d stood silent too. I swallowed my instinctive reply and substituted, “You’re welcome to your opinions. Just don’t let them get in the way of doing your job.”

He sent me a hard look. “Are you implying something?”

“Am I?”

“You know you are. You actually believe I let my last partner die because I didn’t agree with him. Yet here you are. Alone. With me.” His black eyes gleamed wickedly.

No, I realized. I didn’t think that. If the death of a worthless brat troubled him, Fade wouldn’t let a Hunter die for any reason, if he could help it. It wasn’t his fault; the odds must have been stacked against them, or maybe his partner made a mistake.

“I’m following orders,” I said mildly. “But no. That wasn’t what I meant. I’m sure you did all you could to save him.”

That shut him up for a good minute. I knew because I had his watch and I found the movement of the skinny little line mesmerizing. Because we were still and quiet, I heard the soft ticking. It reminded me of a heartbeat.

“Nobody else thinks that. Not even Silk.” For a moment, I recognized how alone he was, ostracized from the others. He came from nowhere. Nobody knew anything about him; he worked to keep the others distant and off balance.

And then I registered hurt. Until I turned up late for briefings and disobeyed orders, I’d thought Silk liked me. Certainly she encouraged my progress through the training circle and told me I’d make a great Huntress someday. So why had she stuck me with Fade, if she’d thought he had something to do with his partner’s death?

He must’ve read the question in my face because he gave a wry smile. “She said if anybody could survive me, you could.”

Ah. A nod at my skill, then. I took it as a compliment. But even if she’d liked me once, I had lost her regard. She thought I’d supported Fade, against her authority, and at base … I had. Becoming a Huntress was nothing like I’d dreamed, none of the belonging I’d wanted, none of the respect.

To counteract the bleak feeling, I made myself say, “We’ll get through this.”

Nodding, he rolled himself into his blanket and went to sleep. I admired that ability because I didn’t have the knack. Hunters were supposed to be able to turn themselves off and on, but I found it hard to shut down my brain, my biggest weakness.

Through the quiet hours I kept watch. Movement would help me stay alert, but it might also attract attention. I ran practice matches in my head, pitting myself against more experienced Hunters. I had watched them spar and learned their styles when I could, when they didn’t run me off for being a nosy, annoying brat. I didn’t ever remember seeing Fade fight. But then, he chose not to socialize with his colleagues.

Though he’d gone to sleep facing away from me, he’d rolled, so now I could watch his face. At first I tried to avoid the temptation to study him, knowing he wouldn’t like it, but there wasn’t anything else to do. He had graceful black brows, darker in contrast to his pale skin. But then we were all pale.

I looked away and tried to think of something else. Our fish pools kept us from suffering like other settlements when hunted meat ran lean. From the elders, I knew it was important, and that other enclaves coveted our resources. It was why we limited our trade; we didn’t want too many people coming and going. That invited invasion.

Eventually, my gaze found Fade again. His nose was sharp, like his chin and his jaw. Likewise, I could cut myself on his cheekbones. His mouth offered the only softness, and even then, only when he slept. I didn’t like how I felt, strange and prickly.

Uncomfortable, I went back to staring into the dark. I felt I had invaded his privacy, and now I’d find it even harder to sleep, fearing he might do the same to me. The usual regulations didn’t apply on a mission. In the enclave, we wouldn’t be permitted to spend this much time together without a chaperone. It cut down on accidents occurring outside of sanctioned breeding. But the elders all knew that a dirty, Freak-infested tunnel was the last place any Hunter would be tempted to break the rules.

In the third hour of my shift, I heard the scrape of claws on metal.

In the same movement, I bounced to my feet and found my weapons. I nudged Fade in the ribs. He snapped alert, started to ask, and I lifted my finger to my lips. Listen. He caught the telltale sound immediately and readied himself for a fight.

Club in hand, I stepped to the edge, braced, and waited. There was no point hiding; they knew we were here. They sniffed, searching for us. I could smell them too, worse than the filthy waste closet. They reeked of rotten meat and diseased flesh. In another instant, they burst into view, maddened with the scent of fresh meat.

They rushed the platform and I met the first one with a crushing blow from my club. The skull caved with a wet crunch, and blood bubbled from the wound. It fell and did not rise. Fade took down another, but two more scrambled up, and we fell back so we had plenty of room to fight. Based on my limited experience, I hated Freak eyes most of all; in them I could see a remnant of something human, something comprehensible, swimming in a sea of hunger and misery and madness. I tried not to look at its eyes as it rushed me.

After a day of running and without sleep, my reflexes had slowed. Instead of a clean dodge, claws raked across my arm. My recovery was off, but I drove it away with a kick solid enough to give me the crunch of bone. I followed with a hard swing. I didn’t have the stamina for finesse. End it fast.