Clasping his hands to his chest and adopting a high-pitched voice, he said, “Oh, thank you, Aidan, for saving me from that pack of vicious dogs! That was so great of you to hang out of the tree like that and risk your life or possibly a serious accident for a complete stranger!” She scowled, wondering if she could jump off the far side of the tree, avoid the dogs, and get the heck out of there. She looked down at the new hole torn in the knee of her jeans.
“Thanks,” she said, after a long moment. “I’m Lucy.” Her voice sounded raspy, and she was aware of how dry her throat was. “Do you have any water?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t plan on being here that long. Just came out to relax. See what I could see…” He stared at her and she wondered if her hair was bushing out.
“Are you scouting?” Lucy asked. She knew, of course, that there were others out there, loners like herself, but most people kept to their safe places and didn’t wander. She saw campfires sometimes, heard voices from a long way off, but Aidan was the first person she’d seen in a while. As far as she was concerned, the streets belonged to the S’ans—survivors of the plague who were horribly scarred and sick in the brain.
He shook his head. The sarcastic curl was back in the corner of his mouth, and she decided it was just something he couldn’t help, but it didn’t exactly make her warm to him.
She looked at him properly. As far as she could tell, he carried no collecting bags, no blade, not even a big stick.
“What do you mean?” she said. “You’re not scouting?” Lucy straightened up; her fingers felt for her knife again. “Are you a spy?” she blurted out. “Are you spying on me?” Her greatest fear was that someone would force her back to the shelter.
Aidan’s eyes flicked to her face and then away again. He stared at his hands. She waited for him to say something. He cleared his throat. “Not spying,” he said. “But I’ve seen you before.”
She remembered the disquieting feeling that she was being watched and waved the knife in front of his face. “You’ve been following me.”
He looked up. “No!” he said, as if horrified. She set her teeth.
“Your camp is visible from here if you know where to look. That’s all. I noticed…” Now it was his cheeks that reddened. He stopped in mid-sentence, then shrugged his shoulders up and down and said in a louder voice, which set the dogs below whining and snapping, “It’s lucky for you that I was here; otherwise you’d be dog meat. You ran to this tree. I didn’t make you come here.”
That was true enough. She eyed him, fingering her blade. “Sort of creepy, though,” she muttered. “So what were you doing here, then?” she asked, lifting her chin and staring hard at him. “Are you just… hanging out?” The words felt odd on her lips.
“Yeah,” he said easily. “I guess you could call it that. I just like to climb trees, and the view from here is pretty much three hundred and sixty degrees.” He gestured wildly with one outstretched arm. Just watching the sweep of his hand made Lucy feel dizzy again, and she clutched at her tree branch, trying to do it inconspicuously. She was appalled. There hadn’t been a moment in the last twelve months, except for when she was sleeping, when she wasn’t doing something. If she wasn’t gathering food, she was plugging gaps, collecting water, or baiting hooks. And in the evenings she’d plait coarse grasses into rough lengths for ropes or mats, cure skins, smoke meat, pound acorns, or mend tears and patch holes in her clothing and shoes. She definitely didn’t have time to hang out.
Lucy stared at the boy thinking he was insane, but the really crazy thing was that he was staring back at her with the exact same expression mirrored in his eyes.
“Hello?” she blurted out now, slapping the branch so hard, it stung her palm. “Why risk everything for no reason except that you wanted to look at the view!” She pointed to the dogs. “This isn’t a park anymore.”
Aidan froze for a moment and then leaned back against the tree limb, his arms crossed behind his head. She had no idea how he was balancing himself, but he looked as comfortable as if he were lying on a couch.
“I think you think you know more than you do, wild girl,” he said.
“What does that mean?” Lucy said, bristling.
“How long have you been out here?”
“Long enough to know how dangerous it is. The S’ans! The Sweepers! The scavengers!”
“I’m careful,” he said after a pause. “And the scavengers aren’t all bad.”
“You’re nuts.” And stupid, she added silently. “The scavengers will rob you blind, the Sweepers will lock you up, and the S’ans will give you the pox. Or, if you’re lucky, just plain kill you,” she added, digging her knife into the tree trunk.
He was looking amused again, and her hand itched to slap him. A little snort of laughter escaped from his mouth.
She carefully swiveled her torso so that she was facing away from him. Less than a mile away, past the trees and the scrubland, was her camp. It might as well have been on the other side of the world. Aidan whistled a tuneless song under his breath and she did her best to ignore him. The dampness soaked into her skin, chilling her bones. She stunk of swampy mud. Her fingers cramped on the hilt of her knife, but she kept it out and ready.
The rain finally fizzled to a stop. Mist rolled in from the sea and wreathed the ground below. There was the tinkling splash all around them of drops falling from leaves onto the earth. Lucy’s hand crept up to pat her head. Moisture made her hair frizz out. She probably looked a mess.
She scowled, shifting on the branch. Her butt was falling asleep and she longed to move, but there was no escape. The dogs panted and grumbled and prowled below. One, a terrier, Lucy thought, the sort of dog she’d once have thought was cute, just sat and whined pathetically at the bottom of the tree as if it was starving. A tussle broke out between two of them, a black pit bull with fur so short and slick it looked spray-painted on and a burly rottweiler. Smaller dogs darted in, nipping at flanks, and the chorus of barks was deafening. It was a short, vicious fight that ended with lacerated ears and bleeding muzzles. Tufts of fur floated in the air. The two dogs collapsed, chests heaving, licking their wounds. The audience of dogs lay down as well, as if exhausted by the excitement. Some of them seemed to fall asleep. Lucy carved out a chunk of bark and tossed it down onto one of the sprawled bodies.
The animal was up in an instant, growling ferociously and clawing at the tree. More dogs rushed in from every direction, baying in excitement. Their eyes reflected the moonlight, and thick strands of saliva sprayed from their jaws. Lucy wondered if they were rabid.
“Smooth,” said Aidan. He’d been so quiet, she’d half-suspected he had fallen asleep.
She glared at him.
“Come on, seeing as we’re stuck here for a while,” he said, leaping to his feet. He was standing on the branch, perfectly balanced, one hand stretched out toward her. Below, the dogs were going crazy again, catapulting themselves up into the air, scrabbling at the tree trunk.
“Uh, no…” The thought of moving made her head swim.
“I want to show you something. Up there,” Aidan said, shifting easily on the branch, his arms relaxed by his sides. He was wearing brightly painted high-top sneakers. His feet seemed to grip the bark. Lucy’s heavy boots felt like weights at the ends of her legs. Her wounded hand twinged when she clenched it experimentally.