Page 49 of Cold-Blooded Creatures

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The rhythmic beat of sneakers hitting the concrete sidewalk gained speed, growing louder and louder, blurring together like the buildings on my left, the loose red skirt thirty feet in front of me glowing like a beacon of freedom, because I knew, I knew, if I blended into the throng the brown-haired woman was about to dive into, I could lose Ryder.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thu— Thu— Th— Th— T?—

A sudden grip on my upper arm nearly snatched my feet from under me as he wrenched me to a sudden stop.

The red skirt floated farther away, ten feet, fifteen, twenty, and then vanished in the heap of colors, my beacon of freedom melting into the crowd.

“Not so fast.” Ryder gently spun me around and withdrew right away, not touching me for half a second longer than it took for me to face him. “You don’t really want to run away.”

My breaths quick, the underside of my breasts slick, I tugged my white t-shirt from sticking to them.

I inhaled the heavy air parching my tongue and licked my dry lips. “You’ve said this is a bright new world, where we arefree. So what freedom did you have in mind, if not mine?” I shook my head in disbelief. “For all you speak, how do I know what is the truth and what’s a lie? You want to show me around, ask me to trust you, but how can I if I’m a bigger prisoner here than I was in Ilasall?”

He nodded in greeting to a woman walking past us, clad in a cropped, yellow tank top, its hem scrunched up by the wooden crate full of peaches she carried, and her white shorts stained in splotches, probably from fruit juices leaking from the gaps between the wooden planks.

“See you at Jayce’s barbecue!” Her high blonde ponytail swayed as she strolled away, smile wide and unwavering, unassuming of what had transpired between us.

Ryder dabbed the sheen of sweat glistening on his tanned forehead, most of the freckles concentrated above his eyebrows and around his nose. “I won’t let you go because it’s a mistake to go back. And you know how I know it? Because you’re not the first to try. You can’t win a war by yourself. And it’s not a jab at your capabilities or you as a person. The truth is simple: none of us can do it alone. So call me names if you want, I don’t care.All I ask of you is to see what we have. Experience it for yourself. We’re all working toward a common goal.”

I used my t-shirt to wipe the sweat beads rolling between my breasts, unconcerned that it soaked the fabric. I had to do something to process his words.

One blink of an eye to the next, and the noise around us cleared up. A young voice exclaimed, “Peaches,” promptly followed by the blonde woman’s playful scolding, “You could have asked!” as a boy snatched the fruit from her crate. A man’s voice boomed, “Give that back, Ian!” from across the street, and she placated who I guessed was Ian’s caretaker. “It’s no problem, Nash. He can have it.”

Ryder spread his arms wide. “Look me in the eye and tell me your life in Ilasall is better than it could be here.”

It wasn’t. But I’d built my way up there and I couldn’t give all that up for a vague idea of a war upcoming someday. Here, I’d have to sit and wait for the day they’d decide it was time. And eat peaches. Lick the sweet juices flowing down to my elbow while nutritional bars scratched up the black-banded throats in the city. While Alora endured her survival.

“Stay for today. Let me or Eislyn take you on a tour.” He scratched his chin in thought and heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “If you still don’t like it at the end of the day, I’ll help you pack a bag and sneak out in the middle of the night. And I won’t tell them you left.”

I searched his face for a lie, a deceit, or a trick. Not a hint of it was painted in the freckles dotting his under eyes.

Weird.

Technically, I could survive one more day. And having someone help me make my escape could prove useful. I had no idea how to navigate the streets in their compound and find my way back to Ilasall.

And my mouth had salivated at the idea of a peach.

Perhaps a bit of curiosity at what this place was also played a part in me resigning to loathe myself tomorrow as I asked, “Where to?”

He gestured toward the opposite end of the street from where I’d been running off to. “Where we prepare for war.”

We navigated the bustling streets, our faces shining more and more with each turn taken, and gradually, the conversations of passersby transformed into shouts, grunts, and curses, most of them smothered by dull thumps, metal grating against metal, and the grit of gravel under our sneakers.

We emerged into a large square and heat blasted my face, both from the midday sun and the horde of bodies hovering too close to each other.

Their training rings.

Blinded by the sunlight, I blinked my tears away. Tall, dilapidated buildings towered over the square from three sides and a grassy field beckoned you from the fourth, creating a sense of open and endless space. A gust of wind carried over the tangy and sour odor of sweat as yelling and chanting groups of half-dressed people mingled around the makeshift circles. Teenagers mixed with adults and seniors, as if age held no sway over them.

“See the ones on the left?” Ryder indicated the five groups, bodies knitted so closely together they formed an impenetrable wall my sight couldn’t pierce. “That’s close combat. Zion usually teaches the classes. Upfront—knives. That’s Eli’s specialty.” He pointed out a gathering of a dozen participants or so. Instead of a circle, they stood in a line, facing a row of wooden targets, some round, some vertical rectangles, some shaped like human dummies. “Throwing, advance, and defense in a battle, all of it. On the right—anything goes. One-on-one coaching, or a space for more creative methods, as Zion likes to put it,” he detailed as we passed a chalk-drawn ring where a teenage girl swayed a curved metal rod against a bald man, a senior based on howwithered his face was, but quick on his feet nevertheless as he ducked her strike and used her momentum to snatch it out of her grasp.

A curvy woman entered their ring and demonstrated to the girl why she’d lost the grip on her weapon. She nodded in agreement and repeated the exercise anew, this time in slow motion, drawing back at the last second so the man couldn’t seize the rod from her.

Ryder carried on. “The middle is usually reserved for group training and formations. Ava leads them. You haven’t met her yet,” he clarified at my confused look. “And our shooting range is on the other side of the compound. Ezra teaches that one. That’s it.”

“You have a shooting range?” Seriously? How did they get guns here?