Forager (9781771275606) (3 page)

“
We’d better field dress this deer while we’re here or the meat
will spoil,” said Jason. I could have hugged him. The longer we
stalled the better my chances.

“
Uh, have either one of you gutted a deer before?” I
asked.

“
Dad’s laws say no hunting. How would we know anything about
dressing a carcass if we’ve never shot one?” Jason
replied.

I should have known better than to say, “Someone’s got to do
it.”

Josh threw up his arms. “Fine, you do it. No reason for Jason
or me to get bloody. Besides, your mom used to be a doctor. You
ought to know what’s what.”

Mom did teach me some basic human anatomy, but I’d never seen
the guts of a deer before. I could only hope its insides were
similar.

Kneeling down, I cut the buck open. Intestines, heart, liver,
lungs, kidneys, all warm and slimy under my touch. It was all
familiar, though. I recognized the organs without much difficulty.
It took about fifteen minutes to clean out the deer. When I
finished, blood covered my hands and arms. “Hey guys, you mind if I
go in the house and wash up?”

Josh and Jason shared an evil grin. Then Josh said, “No, we’ll
take you to Dad just as you are. All that blood will just make you
look guiltier.”

Talk about taking advantage of guy when he was down. They
couldn’t have planned this, but I’d just let them make things
worse. With blood all over my hands and arms, I must have looked
like a madman who enjoyed washing his hands in the blood of his
kills.

I remained on my knees facing the deer with my back to Josh.
He grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me to my
feet.

Heat boiled through my blood. I erupted—every ounce of me was
on fire, and even my vision turned red as anger surged through me
like lava.

The next thing I knew Josh was lying on the ground. A
bright-cherry impression of my knuckles was turning a dark, husky
red on his jaw. Jason stopped me after the one punch. He kicked my
feet out from under me and forced me to my knees. He threaded his
arms through mine and his knee found a very uncomfortable spot in
the small of my back.

I lifted my head up enough to see Josh. He climbed to his
feet, slow and steady. Had I really hit him? I must have. The
knuckles on my right hand were sore. All my daydreams of slugging
the guy suddenly turned into nightmares. In my musings, once I’d
hit him, he stayed down.

I didn’t much care for the way his brown eyes turned into
sharp jagged chunks of ice, or the solid set of his massive
shoulders. But what really bothered me was how his large hands were
clenched tightly into two indestructible pain-inflicting hammers. I
was a dead man.

All of that went through my head in time it took to blink.
There were two more blinks in me before my world ended. Oh well—at
least I wouldn’t have to feel the bite of that stun
baton.

Josh opened his left hand and rubbed his jaw. I must have
popped him good. “And here I thought shooting the buck was the
stupidest thing you’d ever done, Orphan Boy. You’re
dead!”

His words were lost by a slow-moving red dot crawling across
the cornstalks. I’d never seen anything like it. It was a pinpoint
of light, as red as the blood on my arms. It moved fast, wiggling
back and forth, and very methodically speeding towards us. Jason
was still resting his knee in the middle of my back, but his grip
subtly loosened on my arms. He’d seen the red dot too.

“
Josh, wait a sec. Look at that light,” he said.

Josh kept walking toward me. I kept my head down and
watched his feet. Each step was like watching death himself walk
toward an empty doorframe.
There was no
stopping him. No shutting him out.
And all at once he was there. He grabbed
my chin and raised my face level with his. I didn’t care about his
face. His cocked right arm and clenched fist held my full
attention.

Then the dot jumped off the ground and, I guessed, onto my
face. I couldn’t see it, but Josh certainly did. He paused. His arm
hung suspended in its cocked position. The dot moved off my face
and settled firmly on his chest, right where his heart would have
been if he had one.

Then from the tree line came an iron voice. “That’s enough,
boys. That red dot is the laser sight on my rifle. It’s accurate to
within one quarter of an inch. So unless you lower that fist real
soon, boy, I’m going to have to put a bullet in you.”

Josh opened his hand and dropped his arm in one quick motion.
I wished I could make him do that. “This isn’t over, Orphan
Boy.”

Josh always was a master of the obvious.

All three of us stared at the tree line. A figure on horseback
slowly emerged through the branches. “I’m a Forager, name’s Sawyer.
You boys supposed to be keeping watch? You know you got Scavengers
on the highway about three miles out?”

A Forager wouldn’t lie, especially about Scavengers. Without
hesitating, I grabbed the whistle hanging from my neck and
blew.

I gave the whistle three quick blows: the south side warning.
I counted to ten, and then I did it again. The answering whistles
relayed throughout the town, and right after that, the civil
service siren began its loud, mournful howl.

A bushel of unorganized questions scattered through my head,
but two burst to the front—Who was this Forager, and what was he
doing here?

Appointed by the governor, Foragers were a bit of police, a
bit of tracker, and a lot of searcher. Only they could legally
conduct searches outside the town limits. Usually, if we needed a
Forager, we’d have to send for one on the monthly supply train. To
have one come through town without being summoned wasn’t unheard
of, but it was rare.

I took a good hard look at this Forager named Sawyer. He wore
a wide-brimmed green hat, with the clover insignia of the Forager
Corps pinned to the front of the crown. Astride his horse, his
height was hard to judge, but he was rail-thin and wiry. His tanned
face showed his years in weatherworn lines. I guessed him to be in
his fifties. His pale whitish-blue eyes froze me, like
ice.

He noticed me staring, and directed his question at me. “How
long before the defenders arrive?”

“
Soon. They have to stop at the armory first That’s a dozen
blocks from here, plus however far they’re coming from.

“
Good, that’s gives us some time. Care to explain what’s going
on?”

No, I didn’t. It was bad enough that the mayor would soon be
sentencing me to eight painful jolts. Further punishment from a man
who could legally kill me wasn’t necessary.

“
We should be getting ready for the attack,” Jason
said.

“
We’ve got some time before those Scavengers get here. I’m
waiting,” the Forager said.

“
I uh—well—you see—” I stammered.

“
He shot that deer with this bow.” Jason raised the weapon over
his head.

“
And…”

“
And what?” asked Jason.

“
And why were the two of you making him field dress it? And why
were you fighting?”

“
It’s against the law to shoot a deer,” I said.

The Forager sat up straight on his horse and a wrinkle formed
above his nose as his eyebrows came together. “Why?”

It was the same question I wanted an answer to. Josh and Jason
both gave half-hearted shrugs. There was something fake about it.
They were lying. I wondered if the Forager noticed it
too.

“
You two—” He pointed at Josh and Jason. “—aren’t going to tell
me why it’s illegal to kill a deer in this town?” Brushing the hair
back from his forehead, he continued as if it didn’t matter. “Yet,
you forced the shooter to gut it, and when he was done, beat him?”
The Forager’s penetrating gaze fell on me. “You knew it was
illegal, yet you shot the deer anyway.”

What could I say? He’d never understand my hunger, or the
injustice of the deer eating the corn, and I certainly wasn’t going
to bring up Josh and Jason’s bullying right in front of them. I
just nodded.

Our defenders began arriving, armed men and women hurrying to
take their positions. Old Bill was one of the first. He carried a
scope-equipped hunting rifle, and after seeing us in the field
behind the house, he jogged around to the front. A moment later,
the barrel of his gun poked out the bedroom window.

I walked to the edge of the cornfield. In a matter of minutes,
the entire area filled with townsfolk, each one determined to do
their part to keep the Scavengers at bay. More and more people
arrived. Almost two hundred people tramped by the house and through
the field.

No one commented on the deer. Some must have seen it. Others
couldn’t have missed my red-stained arms, but everyone was too
concerned with the attack to worry about one malcontent boy, or the
dead buck he was responsible for.

A light tap on my left shoulder turned me around.

“
Good work, Dillon. How far out are the Scavengers?”

I’m dead.

It was the mayor. An old twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun
hung across his shoulder. The one man in the entire town I was
trying to avoid, and
he’d
found me.

Looking at the mayor was like staring at an older version of
Josh or Jason. He shared their same tall build and the same brown
hair, though his was neatly trimmed and graying. I guessed him to
be in his mid-fifties. The big difference between him and his sons
showed in his warm smile. He genuinely cared about the town and the
people in it.

I pointed to the Forager and said, “Ask him.”

The mayor’s right fist clenched, and his eyes went hard and
flat as he took in the mounted man. “Sawyer Thompson,” he said with
contempt.

For his part, the Forager seemed just as surly. “Harold
Mason.”

The two of them eyed each other like a pair of fighting cats
ready to pounce. I didn’t have a clue what their history might be,
but it obviously wasn’t good.

The mayor looked at me, and the Forager mumbled quietly to
himself, “That explains the deer.” Did he have to mumble so loud?
Was everybody trying to get me in trouble today?

“
What deer?” the mayor asked. Then he noticed my arms.
“Dillon—is that blood?”

I could only nod.

“
Where did it come—oh my. What have you done?”

Yep, I’m dead.

“
Someone’s got some explaining to do. Eric, get over here!” The
mayor called to the nearest Bull. “We’ve got a
situation!”

The Bull approached slowly and steadily. Usually an enforcer
wore their size like it was armor. Stout, blocky men and women that
tended to take up more than their share of space. Even with his
cropped blond hair and his short black boots, Eric didn’t look the
part. He was like a squirrel—a rabid one—from his undersized frame
to his narrow, pinched face. Even his stride was stunted. Yet
despite all of that, he had more enforcements than any two other
Bulls. The mayor called him his Head Enforcer. Everyone else knew
that meant he was the head Bull.

“
Harold, this isn’t the time,” the Forager cut in. “You’ve got
a band of Scavengers on their way here. You aren’t seriously going
to be enforcing ridiculous laws at a time like this?”

“
Keep your opinions to yourself. Not that it concerns you, but
I’m only making sure my Head Enforcer is aware of the
situation.”

“
Whether your laws concern me or not is debatable, but a band
of attacking Scavengers isn’t. This can wait.”

The mayor gave the Forager a hard look, and then he turned,
whispered a few words to Eric, and said, “Don’t go anywhere,
Dillon. After we take care of the Scavengers, you’ll be dealt
with.”

I was grateful to the Forager for speaking up, but did he have
a plan for when the Scavengers were gone? Would he stop the mayor
from enforcing the punishment for his “ridiculous laws”? What did
the Forager know that the rest of us didn’t?

“
Where do you want me, Dad?” asked Chane. She wore cut-offs and
a swimsuit top, and held a shotgun, looking prettier than usual
with her long blonde hair in a ponytail. She’d walked into the
cornfield without any of us noticing. Now that I’d seen her, I
couldn’t peel my eyes away.

“
Nowhere near here!” The mayor exploded. “What do you think
you’re doing? You know you’re not supposed to be here. Those
Scavengers are going to attack any minute. Get out of
here!”

“
Dad, I can help!” Chane said.

“
No! You know the law. Now go home before you get
hurt.”

“
Dad, I’m not a kid anymore. Besides, Josh and Jason fight. Why
can’t I?”

“
Never mind that, who gave you that shotgun?”

Chane thrust her shoulders back and tossed her hair over her
left shoulder. “I went into the armory and got it
myself.”

“
Well hand it over and get out of here!”

“
You never let me do anything!” she shouted. She shoved the
shotgun at her father. Angry tears hung in her eyes. The town laws
didn’t allow anyone under sixteen to fight Scavengers. “I’m going
to Mom’s!” Then she turned and stomped out of the field. I watched
her leave, wishing there was something I could do to
help.