“No, Del,” he yelled, putting out a hand, which she smacked away.
Leo shook his head at her, barked a command and then held up one arm, keeping the teenagers back. A bottle flipped end over end through the air and smashed in front of one of the dogs. A volley of growls erupted, but the dogs stayed in position as though they were tethered by invisible lines.
None of the teenagers moved, as two grimy children were pulled from their hiding places and thrown over broad backs like they were bags of potatoes. A woman with drooping shoulders was shoved forward with such force, she staggered. An old man with a shapeless cardigan and a fringe of mousy hair followed, as though he were sleepwalking. A cluster of seniors with their arms around one another were forced through the open double doors and pushed down onto the floor of a van. The men Leo had hurt were helped to their feet and bustled away. The dogs, summoned by a whistle or gesture that Lucy didn’t notice, returned to the trainer, who placed his black leather-clad hands on top of their rough heads before ordering them into a vehicle. The German shepherd was the last dog to be summoned. The dog moved slowly off the prone redhead and backed away. Del rushed to the boy, kneeled on the ground, and helped him up. Blood dripped from his arm, and it hung limply at his side.
A fat drop of rain splattered on Lucy’s cheek as she watched in horror. In the next second, the sky had cracked open with an explosive blast and the rain poured down in a solid sheet. Lucy wiped the water from her eyes in vain. She was almost blinded. Engines started up, wheels screeched, and the column of vehicles drove off. And now people moved. They ran after them, yelling and throwing stones.
The rain fell in heavy sheets, reducing everything to slippery mush. The path was a treacherous mess of mud and rushing rivulets of water. Lucy didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted to disappear. She stood there, shifting from foot to foot, trying to decide. Aidan looked up, spotting her. Lucy cringed—too late to duck down. She should have remembered that she’d be silhouetted against the sky and that he’d be wondering who had made the signal. He frowned, but then his expression cleared. He raised his hand, and after a moment she waved, too. She felt the rocky soil slide under her boots as she made her way carefully down to the square. She pulled the collar of her leather jacket tight around her throat. Why hadn’t she joined the fight? What would Aidan think? Chances were he already considered her some kind of coward, hiding in her camp, ignoring the reality of life outside her safe acres.
But when Lucy finally reached the bottom of the path and stood there, water streaming down her neck and filling her boots, at a loss for anything to say, he pulled her into a hug. She buried her nose in the shoulder of his sweatshirt, smelling a clean, fresh scent, like lemons mixed with his sweat. Her heart gave a little skip before she realized that all his concern was for those who had been taken. He probably just needed someone to hold. His arms tightened around her, but she made herself step away, ignoring the confused expression in his eyes.
“Hi,” she said. Her voice only cracked a little. Inside her pocket, she dug her fingernails into her palm. She felt herself flush. She had to stop this. It was ridiculous. He clearly had feelings for that Del girl.
“Lucy. I should have guessed it was you.” A hint of the crooked smile appeared on his face, but it vanished quickly. He scraped his hand through his wet hair and steered her under an awning. Others slowly appeared from their hiding places, assembling in small groups under the shelters. Lucy glimpsed more people who hovered in the shadows at the perimeter. Too scared to come out even now, she thought. The murmur of subdued voices rose. Brightly striped umbrellas went up around the fire pit, shielding it from the rain. They seemed too cheerful in contrast to the stunned atmosphere, a splash of color in a scene as monochromatic as an old postcard.
They stood quietly as the rain poured down, washing the dust from the road. The frown was back on Aidan’s face, but he didn’t talk. He rubbed the knuckles of one hand. Lucy saw that the skin was broken and bleeding, and the flesh over the bones looked swollen. His cheek was red and bruised. The viciousness of the attack had been shocking. Now that it was over, she felt a weariness that threatened to submerge her. If she’d been able to, she’d have crawled into her sleeping bag, drawn her jacket over her head, and slept for two weeks. The pain of losing the safety and comfort of her home squeezed her heart.
Aidan looked past her. His arm went to hers, cradling her elbow, and he turned her to face the bald man striding toward them. He was huge. Tall, and as broad as a brick wall.
“Lucy, this is Leo.” Leo nodded but did not smile. His shirt was damp with sweat, and beads of moisture flecked his scalp and upper lip. He wiped a ham-like hand on his cargo pants and then held it out, pumping her own in a bone-crushing grip. His blue eyes studied her with an intensity that made her nervous.
“Leo just needs to check you out,” Aidan said, giving her a little pat and then a push on the back.
“Wha-a-t?”
Simultaneously Leo’s hand gripped her forearm and she was directed toward one of the larger army green tents. There was no question of breaking loose. His hold was bruising. She tried to grab her knife, but it was out of reach. She threw a panicked look at Aidan over her shoulder. He nodded at her reassuringly, but his eyebrows were bunched and his expression was worried.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EXAMINATION
Inside, the tent was dark and smelled of mildew. A bench heaped with clothing stood in the middle of the packed dirt floor along with a table, two chairs, and some milk crates stuffed with wads of material. A few sheets hung from rings on the ceiling, making a small enclosure. A large bucket of water rested nearby. A hurricane lamp smoked gently and gave off a pungent odor.
And by the wall—her heart started beating quickly—stood a wheeled hospital gurney, like the ones her parents had died on.
Leo had finally let go of her arm. She stood rubbing it, eyeing the doorway flap and his bulk in front of it. She wondered if she could squeeze through the tiny gap under the tent where it was pinned to the earth with stakes, tried to decide if he was as slow as his height and weight suggested. But then she remembered the grace with which he had fought and resigned herself miserably to being his prisoner.
“You can put your backpack down and take a seat,” he said, motioning toward the chair. His voice was brisk, impersonal. It gave away nothing.
He busied himself at the small table. There were small glass bottles and a few odd-looking metal implements on a steel tray, which he pushed to one side.
Lucy remained standing, balanced on the balls of her feet so she could run if she had to. Her hand went to the knife. She wasn’t sure what to think. She tried to read him. It didn’t seem as if he was about to attack her, but her nerves were zinging anyway.
What was she in for? Torture? Execution? And the more nagging thought: Why had she ever trusted Aidan?
Leo now turned to the heap of clothes and rummaged through them with his broad back to her. It was such a target.
She half drew the knife and prepared to pounce. If she could get the knife to his neck, she could make him let her go.
His words distracted her.
“Henry’s not here, but I’ve learned enough from him not to cause you too much discomfort. Let’s see, might as well get this sorted. A medium should do, I think.”
Henry? Medium what?