She experienced a moment of panic, but fought back against it and forced it down. She was her mother’s child, she reminded herself. Her warrior mother’s child. Panic was not allowed.
She ran her fingers through her short–cropped blond hair, slung the Parkhan Spray over one shoulder, and started searching the ground for tire tracks. She found them almost at once. There, she thought, no need to worry. She ran through a litany of responses to possible threats that would keep her safe. If she saw fires, she would move away from them. If she heard noises, the same thing. Unless she decided they were from the Ghosts. If she saw movement, freeze. Stay clear of everything until it got light again, and then she could orient herself and find her way. She knew in general where she was going and what she was looking for. She had been lost before in places much more dangerous than this, and she had been much younger when it had happened. This was just another variation on a familiar experience. She would be all right.
But a small voice warned her to be careful. Just before she had fallen off the roof of the AV, she had spotted something strange. A huge, misshapen thing had appeared out of the fog, something vaguely human–shaped. It had shambled into view momentarily, walking up–right like a man, but much larger, and then it was gone again. She had lost her concentration and in the next moment she had fallen. She still didn’t know if what she had seen was real or not. But it had felt real, and that was enough to trouble her now.
She had no idea at this point where it was, and she did not think she wanted to find out.
A sudden boom sounded off to her right, too far away to be a threat or even to be identified. She glanced in the general direction of the sound, but didn’t see anything. She kept walking, doing her best to keep a straight line, following the tracks of the AV, which were plain enough to see in the soft earth, even in the mist and darkness. She gained back a measure of lost confidence as she progressed, her uneasiness over her situation steadying, her determination hardening. It would take worse than this to throw her off stride, she told herself. A lot worse.
She found herself thinking back to the conversation she had overheard the night before between Hawk and Tessa. A baby. They were going to have a baby. It made her smile. To her way of thinking, it was the giving back of a life for the loss of Squirrel. She would have a new child, a new little boy or girl to care for. Tessa would let her help; she was sure of it. She would read to this baby in the same way she had read to Squirrel and Candle. She would look after it when Tessa was too busy. She would make sure it was kept safe.
“I wonder what they will name it,” she muttered absently.
She stopped, conscious suddenly that she had broken the silence without meaning to. She stood quietly, looking out into the haze and listening. Nothing. You are so stupid! she chided herself angrily. She knew not to speak aloud. Her mother had taught her better than that. She must be more careful.
A hint of movement spied from the corner of her eye caught her attention and brought her about, the Parkhan Spray leveled. She already had the safety off, her fingers working smoothly and quickly, anticipating that she would need to fire without pausing. She stood peering into the murk, listening and watching. She held herself rigid. She stopped breathing. Nothing moved. No sounds broke the silence. She waited as long as she could, and then she waited some more.
Off in the distance, she heard cries, sharp and riddled with terror. Cries that turned to screams and begged for release. She wanted to block out the sounds, but couldn’t. Their raw edges tore at her defenses and turned them to water.
Mama, she said to herself, a terrified whisper in her mind.
She began walking once more, keeping the Spray ready, the safety off, the clip lock released. She had gone cold inside, her blood turned to ice. She had heard such screams before, and they always meant the same thing. Someone was dying. But it wouldn’t be anyone she knew, she told herself. It wouldn’t be people she cared about.
It wouldn’t be the Ghosts.
She heard her mother’s voice, singing to her.
Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. If that mockingbird don’t sing.
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.
She repeated the words to herself, mouthing them silently. She didn’t stop to think about her training or being cautious or anything else. All she could think about was putting one foot in front of the other. She just wanted to open as much distance as she could between herself and the sound of the screams. She just wanted to make the screams go away.
Then suddenly they did, and she was alone again with the silence. She kept walking, moving steadily, deliberately across the empty, gloomy terrain. The chill inside lessened. The fear subsided. She was okay, she told herself. She was all right. Her mother’s ghost was with her, and her mother would never let anything happen to her.
All around her, the world was a vast cauldron of darkness and roiling haze, a thick impenetrable soup. But this would end, too. Come morning, the light would brighten, the mist would dissipate, and the world would return. She just needed to be patient. Just needed to stay strong.
Then sudden movement broke the slow swirl of the murk off to one side, and she felt her strength drain away.
Hawk stood staring off into the mist the other Ghosts had disappeared into, wondering what he should do. He wasn’t even sure which way anyone had gone, save Panther and Cat, so he started walking after them. He could still hear sounds of pursuit behind and off to his right, but they were faint and scattered, and he thought that the militia might have given up, discouraged by the lack of visibility. Nevertheless, he kept alert for any indication that they were renewing their efforts, moving as quietly as he could. He caught glimpses of AV tracks in patches of soft earth and followed them into the gloom. Somewhere ahead, the Ghosts would be stopping to wait for him. He wasn’t worried so much about those in the AV as he was about those afoot. Bear, in particular, because it was likely the big kid was still somewhere behind him.
A pair of huge lantern eyes appeared, gleaming wickedly, and his throat constricted in shock. Then the eyes blinked, and Cheney materialized, huge bristly head swinging from side to side, tongue lolling. The big dog ambled up to him as if everything were just as it should be, looking unconcerned and aloof.
Hawk exhaled. “Where’s Panther?” he whispered to the dog, kneeling in front of him. “Where’s Bear?”
He couldn’t tell if Cheney understood him–probably he didn’t—but it made him feel better to think he might. Cheney looked at him as he spoke, intelligence reflected in his bright smoky eyes, and to Hawk’s surprise he started off at once, moving back the way the boy had come but angling off to the left. It was the wrong direction, but Hawk hesitated only a moment before following. He had learned to trust Cheney. He would not stop doing so now.
His faith was quickly rewarded. They came on Bear almost immediately, the boy lumbering out of the mist carrying the big Tyson Flechette, looking remarkably calm. He saw Hawk and waved, and Hawk hurried over to him.
“Guess I got lost,” Bear admitted sheepishly.
“Nothing’s changed,” Hawk told him. “You’re still lost. You just have company now. Have you seen anything of the others? Panther or Catalya?”
The other boy shook his head. “All I’ve seen is a whole bunch of nothing. Heard a lot of things, though. But not for a while. I think they gave up the chase, but I can’t be sure. This stuff is awful.” He gestured at the mist, shrugged. Then he glanced at Cheney. “Maybe Cheney knows where we should go.”