I watched them spar for a few seconds, shaking my head. “Thornton, you’re working too hard. Yes, you’re a brute, but crushing skulls is exhausting. I need you to kill faster.”

“I’m an old man.” But it wasn’t a protest; it was a statement—unbelievable to have this grizzled veteran taking criticism from me so readily. “Show me an easier way.”

Over the past month, it had become apparent that he had little hand-to-hand training, so I put him with Stalker. Eventually I got him to use two small hand axes instead of weights in his fists. The blades were heavy enough that he felt comfortable with them, well suited to efficient hacking motions that should drop Freaks quicker.

In early March, Stalker and five scouts went out to locate the horde. It was a risky mission, and I worried the whole time they were gone. The rest of us continued training; I had to feel confident we’d function as a unit when we moved out. A week later, the scouting party returned, half frozen and starved, but full of interesting information. Stalker dismissed the others while he and I went to the mess. It wasn’t open for meals, but there were always drinks available.

I poured two mugs of herbal tea from the warm pot and settled at our usual table. Stalker’s skin was ruddy and chapped, his lips split. Despite melting snow and occasional bursts of sunshine, the weather was still raw. I hoped that meant bad things for the enemy. With so many animals in hibernation, game was scarce this time of year. With any luck, the horde had to turn most of its attention to finding food rather than attacking human settlements.

“It’s bad,” he said quietly. “Appleton is gone.”

That hit me hard. They’d laughed at us there, less extreme than the hanging they threatened in Gaspard, but still bad enough that I had unpleasant memories of the place. Appleton was bigger than Salvation, but less defensible; I suspected it hadn’t been a problem when the Freaks were scattered nuisances. People who hadn’t seen the horde before it swept down on them couldn’t imagine the sheer numbers … or the horror, so I didn’t blame them for the reaction, but it was horrible they’d paid such a high price for their skepticism.

“Survivors?”

“No. They butchered the townsfolk, and the horde seems to be digging in. Looked like fewer bodies than last time, but there’s still a couple thousand of them.”

“I hoped the cold would cull more of them.”

Stalker shook his head, sipping his hot drink. “I bet that’s why they took Appleton. They’re roasting the townsfolk, plus they have shelter and supplies. They’ll be fine until spring.”

This was just the kind of news I dreaded. I was sure Appleton’s relative lack of defenses had contributed to the horde’s decision to sack that town first. Soldier’s Pond would’ve required a lot more time and effort. And in the cold with a weakening force, it made sense to take out a soft target. Come spring, however, every town in the territories would be at risk.

“Will you tell the colonel?” I asked.

He nodded, offering a half-smile. “I appreciate you asking me instead of ordering.”

“You run the scouts, not me. I just thought she might benefit from the information.”

If the loss of a town within two weeks of travel didn’t alarm her, the colonel wasn’t as smart as I thought. This gave the horde a terrifying foothold in the area. When the weather improved, they’d consider what target to eliminate next. If they came to Soldier’s Pond, it’d mean a long, ugly siege. Eventually, the Freaks would figure out how to get around—or tear down—the fences, or the ammo stockpile would run out.

I couldn’t let that happen to my family. Not again.

Entreaty

It was just after the noon meal when the messenger arrived from Winterville. I had been braced for bad news since I heard Stalker’s report, so I wasn’t surprised by the urgency. The runner was ragged and thin; and by his various wounds, he wasn’t accustomed to traveling. The odd thing about his injuries, though … they didn’t look as if a Freak had inflicted them. I strode up to the guards listening to his breathless stammers—and my status in town had changed to the point that none of them questioned my presence. They were used to seeing me roam in and out of HQ, consulting with Colonel Park on concerns she didn’t share with anyone but her advisors.

“We need help,” the man was gasping.

“Muties?” Morgan asked. I had learned that he was married to the colonel, not that they were effusive in their public affections.

Since Winterville was closer than Salvation, it was possible we could mount a successful defense, depending on the nature of the attack. The weather wasn’t ideal for mobilizing, but if we packed well and moved fast, we might be able to hit them from behind. As I recalled, the research annex was mostly built from a peculiar, wrinkled metal, so at least it wouldn’t burn before we got there. The rest of the houses might well be gone, however.

The messenger shook his head, startling us all. “Dr. Wilson said to find Deuce. He said to tell her there’s trouble on the south side—that she’ll know what it means.”

I bit out a curse. Whatever they had done with their feral humans, containment must’ve failed. And from what I recalled of Winterville, they had no dedicated warriors. It was an odd little town, no mistake, but that didn’t mean they all deserved to be killed because Wilson was a madman who invented crazy potions and tested them on his own people.

“Get this man some medical attention,” I said to the guards. “Then find him some hot food. I’ll take it from here.”

It wasn’t until I was walking away, and I heard Morgan say, “Come on, we’ll take you to see Doc Tegan first,” that it fully sank in just how much things had changed.

Those men took my orders without question, and they weren’t even part of Company D. My shoulders squared, and I walked a little taller on the way to HQ. Inside, the colonel was waiting for my word on the situation.

Quickly I summarized the problem, then reminded her of what Wilson had told me. She listened with her usual acuity. Since our go-round earlier in the year when I’d threatened to cut her throat, the colonel treated me with caution and respect. I’d come to the conclusion she wasn’t a bad person, but like Silk, she had the ability to make awful choices for the good of the whole. It wasn’t a trait I coveted.

“Do you have any idea how many infected souls we’re talking about?”

I shook my head. “They won’t be as smart as the Muties we’ve been fighting, though. Wilson said their higher brain function was compromised.” Though I wasn’t fully clear on what that meant, I guessed they’d be like the Freaks I fought first, down below.

“So you don’t know how many men you need.”

“I have forty-four at last count.” Such a small crew, compared with the horde, but we’d likely be equal to the problems in Winterville.

“Then handle it. By the way, I’ve decided to commission Company D formally for rescue operations. Given what we know of mutant intentions and numerical advantage, it seems likely more of these requests will arrive. You’ll retain command and will assess all threats and determine the best response, according to our resources.”

“I thought I wasn’t old enough to enlist,” I said.

“And you haven’t. Elite squads aren’t subject to the same regulations.” By her smug smile, she was pleased at getting around the rules while still finding a use for my team.

“With respect, sir, I decline your offer. I intend to take anyone who will join up, not just men from Soldier’s Pond.” I struggled with how to word my explanation. “Our cause still isn’t about defending towns … Company D is meant to end the Mutie threat. So while we’ll handle appeals for help if they come while we’re in town, I can’t guarantee we will be. The fight’s out there, and I intend to be too, as long as the weather holds. Right now, we don’t have the numbers to face the horde, but someday…” I trailed off, my meaning plain.

This time, she didn’t laugh.

“I understand.” Her eyes were sad, but her tone was brisk when she added, “You’ll need to brief your men and get moving. No telling how bad it is in Winterville.”

“Yes, sir.” I didn’t salute her when I left, as the others did.

Colonel Park wasn’t my leader. I shared information with her out of respect, not obligation. I’d meant it when I said she’d get nothing else out of me. I wasn’t a little black piece on her maps, willing to move against the red markers at her will.

When I met the men, already assembled in the shed for afternoon training, I gave them the quick rundown. I finished with “Get your gear. We’re moving in an hour.”

It didn’t take long to raid my footlocker and pack my things. I was lacing up my boots when Momma Oaks found me. She was carrying a bundle; I first thought she’d made some more clothes. Then she unfolded the fabric, and the shape marked it as wrong for a shirt or a gown.

The material was plain, the first I’d seen since my arrival that hadn’t been dyed olive drab. She had cut it into a triangle and banded the edges in green. Square in the middle sat a stitched version of my personal token, a black spade with a two on top of it. The dark symbol looked powerful against the pale background, more so because she’d embroidered a red border. She had precious few supplies left from her seamstress work in Salvation, and I couldn’t believe she’d used them up to make such a thing for me.

I also didn’t know what it was.

“It’s a pennant,” she explained. “I read in a book where warriors used to fly their colors when they went to war, so all their enemies would see them and despair.”

This … this was the truest love. She hated it every time I went out, but because she loved me, she supported me, even though it scared her. A fist tightened around my heart.

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s wonderful. How am I supposed to display it?”

“On a short pole, I think. I have Edmund working on it.”

“We’re leaving soon,” I said, hating to disappoint her.

“I know. He’ll be along shortly.” Momma Oaks paused. “Do you trust me, Deuce?”

“Of course.”

“Then let me have your token.”

My hand went to the hidden pocket in my shirt reflexively. Over the course of my travels, the card had become more bloodstained, but I had never lost it. I fought the urge to ask why; instead I proved my faith by producing it and offering it to her without a word. My mother smiled as she got out her needle, then she sewed the card into the center of the banner.

“Now it’s finished. This represents your fighting spirit and I truly believe as long as you keep it safe, you cannot fail.”

Tears sprang to my eyes at how she had combined her greatest skill with my custom, one she probably didn’t even believe in. Shakily I hugged her and whispered, “Thank you.”

She pushed out a long breath, then said, “Rex wants to go with you.”