Tom Isbell - The Capture

“Drop me,” Cat moaned.

“Like hell,” I said.

By the time we made it into the trees, I was breathing so hard I thought my lungs might explode. I lowered Cat to the ground and examined his wound. It was bad. His left forearm was a shredded mess of tissue and muscle, skin hanging like a loose flap. I ripped off my belt and tied a tourniquet above his elbow. Then I tore off his shirt and pressed it on the wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood. I hated that I was getting good at this.

I noticed everyone had made it to the trees, including the two guys with Twitch. They hovered over him frantically.

“They’re a hundred yards away!” Dozer cried.

A flare hissed and sizzled, illuminating Brown Shirts tromping on our campsite.

I looked down at Cat’s face; it was growing paler by the minute. He was mumbling incoherently.

Red appeared by my side. “T-T-Twitch can’t see,” he said.

I looked over and saw Flush crouched by Twitch’s side. He was wrapping a strip of fabric around his good friend’s face. Four Fingers hugged himself and rocked back and forth, keening wildly, a string of drool rubber-banding from his mouth.

“Twitch!” he cried to the stars. “Twiiiiiiiitch!”

Everything was happening too fast—it was all out of control. Bullets whistling, mortars screaming, flares hissing. And now the Brown Shirts were making their way up the hill, their shadows dancing like ghosts in the green light of the flares.

“Spread out!” I yelled, but even as I said it, I knew it was useless. Though the Sisters were bringing down their share of Brown Shirts with crossbows, we didn’t stand a chance. Not with so few of us. Not without Cat. Not against fifty.

My hands were a sticky mess. The balled-up shirt was a sopping, bloody sponge. Cat’s face was ashen.

“Come on,” I begged him. “Stay with me!” Both a prayer and a command.

I jammed the soggy shirt into the wound. But even if I managed to stop the flow, what then? Without any medical supplies, the situation was hopeless.

I cursed the woman with the long black hair. She’d led us here. If I hadn’t listened to those damn dreams, we’d all be safe and sound in the other territory. But it was too late. We were about to be captured … or shot dead on the spot.

“They’re getting closer!” Dozer shouted.

The soldiers kept advancing. There was nothing stopping them. A hail of bullets snapped small saplings in two.

Hope whistled sharply and the Sisters regrouped, dropping to one knee. With an icy calmness, they readied their crossbows and released their bolts. A half dozen Brown Shirts crumpled to the ground.

But still the soldiers came, marching up the hill, now joined by other soldiers who’d been trailing them all along. It was no longer fifty Brown Shirts, more like a hundred. Maybe more.

I looked down at Cat. His chest was unnaturally still, his face clammy.

“What do we do?” Flush cried out in a panic. Even the Sisters, so calm at first, showed signs of alarm. Their eyes were wide with terror as they reloaded their crossbows.

The Brown Shirts strode effortlessly up the hill, their M16s strobing the black, peppering tree trunks until it rained pine bark. The smell of gunpowder mixed with vanilla pine—a bittersweet concoction.

“Well?” Dozer asked. He nocked an arrow and sent it squirting into the black. “Any bright ideas, genius?”

For the longest time, I didn’t answer. When I did, it was almost as if I couldn’t believe what I was telling them.

“Retreat,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“Who’s gonna get Cat?”

“No one. We’re gonna leave him behind.”

Cat.

The sandy-haired boy we’d rescued one day at the edge of the No Water. The one who showed us the Hunters and told us what LT really stood for: Less Than. From the moment we found him, our destiny was changed. On more than one occasion he had saved our lives.

And now here he was, pale and delirious, blood seeping from his arm.

“What’re you talking about?” Flush yelled, near tears. “We can’t leave him.”

I understood his desperation. This was Cat . The thought of losing him was beyond comprehension. Still, if we stayed, we’d all be killed. And if we tried to take him with us, he’d die for sure. This was the only choice.

“Go!” I yelled.

Most of the Sisters obeyed immediately. They fired their crossbows even as they took giant strides backward. The Less Thans weren’t as easily convinced.

“It ain’t right,” Dozer said. He sent an arrow into the black, then turned and ran.

Hope was the last of the girls to leave. I saw her stare at Cat for what seemed like forever. What was in that look I couldn’t tell. Then she gave me a glance, as if questioning my decision.

“I’ll catch up,” I said.

Her enormous brown eyes danced back and forth between Cat and me … and then she went.

Flush and Red just stood there, not moving. Unable to move.

“What’re you waiting for?” I screamed at them. “You’ll die if you stay here.”

“We can’t leave Cat,” Flush said. His eyes were red.

“I don’t want to either, but we don’t have a choice. Now get out of here!”

Reluctantly, they grabbed hold of Twitch and ran, guiding him through the woods.

I reached down and squeezed Cat’s hand. Was it my imagination or was he trying to squeeze back? His eyes were closed, his face an unnatural shade of gray. It seemed not even remotely possible to see him this way. This was Cat—who survived a walk through the No Water, the most barren, inhospitable landscape imaginable, and lived to talk about it. Who led us up Skeleton Ridge and across the Flats and through the Brown Forest and took out the propane tank with a single bullet.

“This is just for now,” I said, choking back tears. “You haven’t seen the last of us.”

I waited as long as I dared, hoping— praying —he might respond. He didn’t.

I gave his hand a final squeeze, jumped to my feet, and dashed off into the woods, bullets chasing me like angry hornets. As I ran, tears spewed from my eyes and raced down my cheeks.

What have I done? I asked myself. What on earth have I done?

HOPE LEADS THE WAY, cutting through the deepest part of the forest. Far behind her she can see the soldiers’ headlamps bouncing through the woods, splashing tree trunks with miniature white spotlights.

They run through the night. As the sky brightens from black to gray, Hope thinks of Book, trying to reconcile these very different pictures she has of him. The one who kissed her so passionately. The one who stalks her at night. The one who’s leaving Cat behind. They’re like pieces of a puzzle that don’t quite fit.

And what’s the real reason he abandoned his friend? Could it have anything to do with jealousy?

They speed down a hill and come to a skidding stop. Below them is a raging river—all these days of rain have swollen it past its banks. Dead trees are swept downstream in a muddy froth of spewing rapids. There is no way to get across.

At that same moment, the soldiers crest the hill behind them, half a mile back. They kneel and fire. Bullets whisper overhead. Some pockmark the earth like hailstones. The Sisters and Less Thans crouch on the riverbank.

“Well?” Dozer demands. “What now?”

Hope looks into the river. It’s pure white water, pounding the rocks and cutting away at the banks. She pities anyone who falls into it.

As they’re about to do.

“As soon as you hit the water, pull your knees up to your chin,” she instructs. “Don’t try to swim—just float. Face forward and use your feet as springs.”