Tom Isbell - The Release

Since Chancellor Maddox had somehow escaped the avalanche—Dr. Gallingham, too—we knew we couldn’t remain in Libertyville a second longer than necessary. Our only salvation—and curse —was the snow, which kept the Brown Shirts away … but also kept us captive.

To lift people’s spirits—and also celebrate a year’s worth of birthdays—we’d decided to throw a party the next night. It wouldn’t solve our problems, but maybe it would get our minds off wolves and a dwindling food supply—at least for one evening.

When I climbed into bed, Cat continued to strike rocks, and Flush and Twitch were still poring over numbers. As I settled into sleep, it wasn’t wolves or Chancellor Maddox or Dr. Gallingham I thought about.

It was Hope. I hadn’t seen her since we’d rescued her from the bunker. For the past eight weeks, she had spent her days hunting game in the foothills, returning only when the sun was setting and she could cloak herself in darkness, closeting herself in her tent on the far edge of Libertyville. I wondered when I’d see her again.

If I’d see her again.

My eyes drifted shut and I fell into a deep sleep, only partially aware of the wolves’ haunting howls from the other side of the ring of fire.

AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT BOUNCES OFF the snow as Hope field dresses a squirrel. Her hands and knife move in an acrobatic flurry. She’s done it so many times, it’s become a kind of dance. Knife in the underside, tug at the skin, slice off the front legs, remove the skin, dig out the entrails, chop off the head, cut the back feet, pull out the organs— done . She can do it in her sleep.

Hope does all this in the privacy of an aspen grove. Anything to hide herself. While she’s never considered herself a vain person, there is something about these scars—these twin Xs on her cheeks—she finds disgusting. Repulsive, even. They’re like brands for marking livestock, as if she were someone else’s property. The thought sickens her.

It’s why she keeps to herself. Why she wears a hoodie and pulls the drawstrings tight. Why she avoids the stares of well-meaning friends.

Why she avoids Book.

Hunting is her refuge. It not only lets her provide food for the others, it gives her an excuse to get away from camp. And the fact is, she’s good at it. Setting traps and tracking prey have always been her specialty. She can thank her father for that.

It’s the only thing she can thank him for. Now that she knows he collaborated with the enemy, working alongside Dr. Gallingham and injecting patients with experimental drugs, she finds it best not to think of him. Yes, she’ll use the skills he taught her, but that’s it. No more honoring his memory.

She plops the skinned squirrel in her pack, resets the trap, and notices the late-afternoon sun sneaking past the tree trunks, announcing the coming dusk. Time to return to Libertyville. Skeleton Ridge is no place to be after dark.

Her lips purse and she gives a sharp whistle. A moment later, a whistle answers. It’s Diana, hunting on the other side of the aspens. That’s their signal to start back down the mountain.

Hope reaches back and removes the pair of skis strapped to her back—skis she made from birch planks. She slips her boots into the bindings, pulls them taut, and takes off down the mountain.

Her hair is longer now, black and flowing, and the crisp winter wind sails through it. It’s not as long as her mother’s was, but it’s getting there. Closer to how it was before Chancellor Maddox ordered it chopped off way back when.

Partway down the mountain, something catches Hope’s eye: two dark objects, not much bigger than her hand, lying still and silent atop the snow. She angles the skis in that direction, shoosh ing to a stop. It’s obvious what she’s looking at: two field mice, their bodies stiff from death. Hope looks around. The mice aren’t from any trap, and it’s unlikely they died from natural causes one right next to the other. So what are they doing here? More importantly, why haven’t they been eaten?

She grabs one by the tail and lifts it in the air.

“What’ve you got there?” Diana asks, appearing at her side.

“Nothing,” Hope says, startled. She throws the stiff rodents into her pack. “Just a couple of mice.”

“Better than nothing. And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat some of that.”

“We’ll see.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

It’s an ongoing debate. Diana is convinced Hope isn’t eating enough, and Hope tells her there’s hardly enough food for the sick and wounded, let alone the healthy ones.

She’s still thinking about the mice when Diana says, “Book was asking about you last night.”

“So?”

“So what I do I tell him?”

Hope pulls up her hoodie and tightens it. “Tell him whatever you want.”

“But he keeps asking and I don’t know—”

“Tell him I’m busy,” she snaps. “Tell him I’m trying to feed two Sisters and seventy-three Less Thans. Tell him someone needs to do the hunting around here.”

Diana looks down at her hands before asking, “And tonight? I can’t change your mind?”

Hope gives her head a shake and turns away. She has no interest in going to parties. Has even less interest in being seen.

“You know, you’re going to have to go out sometime. You can’t stay shut up the next couple months.”

“I get out,” Hope says. “I’m out now.”

“You know what I mean.”

Hope says nothing. The sun angles lower.

“Suit yourself,” Diana says, “but I hate being the lone girl.” Ever since Scylla was killed by the avalanche, Diana and Hope are the only two Sisters, surrounded by all these Less Thans.

“I’m not worried about you.”

“I’m not worried about me either. It’s those poor LTs I’m thinking about.” She shoots Hope a wink and pushes off.

As they ski single file down the mountain, headed for the ring of fire encircling Libertyville, Hope thinks about Book. The truth is, he can ask about her all he wants, but Hope won’t let him see her this way. She won’t accept his pity. As much as she likes Book, as much as she remembers every last detail of their time together, she knows there’s no going back. Not now. Not ever.

She zips down the mountain, ignoring the tears that press against her eyes. She blames them on the cold, on the setting sun, on anything but the truth.

Live today, tears tomorrow.

Later, after Diana has gone to the party and Hope can hear the muted, faraway sounds of laughter and music, she reaches beneath the tarp wall and sticks her hand into the snow, fishing around until she finds the two dead mice. She hasn’t had a chance to examine them since they returned, and the thought of them bothers her. At a time when every single person and animal is foraging for food, how is it that two mice died so oddly, and are left uneaten? It doesn’t make sense.