She rode the wheel down, climbed onto the bank, and trotted down the dirt road into the distressed crowds of people.
“We sure sent them off with their tails between their legs!” exclaimed a middle-aged White man she knew as Johnny.
“Daphney’s hurt!” shouted Morgan, a Black woman, Lark’s father’s age. People scurried about, searching for loved ones, cries of joy or grief when theywere found. But some weren’t as lucky. Neighbors and family members had been hurt, some severely. Prayers were voiced, vicious words of blame hurled. A passerby spat on a dead raider, jabbing his body with a shovel handle.
“Kimble, why’d you get yourself into that fight?” scolded a young man’s mother. “You’re lucky you were only grazed by that blade! Let the militia handle raiders next time.”
Residents trudged through the distasteful task of loading dead invaders’ bodies into a wagon, but most were afraid to touch the mutants.
“It’s all right.”
Lark’s gaze tracked to Gramma as Leif walked with her into the town square.
“If you wear gloves and bathe promptly, it’s OK to touch them,” Inez declared with conviction. “They aren’t contagious. Just don’t let a claw or tooth scratch you.”
Sighs of relief wound through the crowd.
“Are you sure?” Johnny asked, expressing doubt.
“Back when the bombs fell and radiation spread, those directly hit died instantly. Folks a little farther away took more time. Some survived the radiation poisoning, but it altered their genetics, mutatin’ them and any offspring they produced. Those glowin’ eyes are photosensitive, so they move in twilight and darkness. Their brains are damaged, making them irrational, overly aggressive, and delusional. Skin’s lost its color except for blotches and sores. Are they human, or somethin’ else? That’s a question for scientists and priests. All I can say for sure is you can’t catch it from touchin’ ‘em.”
“All right, then,” Hank Hayes said as he swaggered up behind Lark. “Let’s load them in too. We don’t want their bodies stinkin’ up the Reach.” He was the first to grab a foot. Johnny took the arms, and they hoisted one into the wagon.
An agonizing wail pierced Lark’s heart the instant she heard it.Milena!Blood pounding, throat tight, she bolted toward the cry.
Chapter seven
Past the Reach of Remedies
Lark dashed past a log cabin into the town square. Trading carts sat like sleeping beasts, ringed around a three-hundred-year-old live oak, its enormous branches shading benches and flower gardens. Several dead or dying mutants lay on the patchwork paving of brick, stone, and concrete slabs. Milena’s sobs came from behind a vendor cart to Lark’s right. She ran to the spot and crouched beside her friend, rubbing a hand across her shoulders, letting her know she was there.
Tommy writhed on the pavement like a pinned snake, bleeding from multiple wounds, his jaw clenched in a grimace. His torn, bloodied shirt and ripped pants leg pointed to two injuries, and his head bled from a gash. Still conscious. That was something.
“Mother of Ruin—Tommy!” Leif skidded in behind them.
“Let’s get him to our house,” Lark instructed. “Gramma will know what to do.”
“Tommy, my boy!” Hank Hayes breathed heavily over Lark’s shoulder. “Here. I’ll carry him.”
Lark, Leif, and Milena moved out of the way for the brawny miller to lift his son.
“Dad,” Tommy moaned.
“Don’t try to talk now, boy. I’m takin’ you to Inez’s place, get you checked out.”
Lark slid an arm around Milena, steadying her as they followed. Leif ran ahead. “Gramma! Tommy’s hurt.”
Their house wasn’t far. Neighbors gathered around, some holding torches to light the way. “Is he all right?” asked one.
“Abby’s in bad shape too,” added a concerned voice.
“Wyatt got himself killed,” another sighed. “Damn raiders. And what was with the mutant sidekicks? Ain’t never seen the like o’ that.”
As many invaders as there were—as many as the fighters had killed—Saltmarsh Reach was bound to suffer some casualties, but not Tommy. Please, Spirits, Gods, Universe—not Tommy.
Gramma stood in front of the open, right-wing double doors. “Put him in Leif’s bed,” she ordered. “Lark, get my medicine kit. Milena, hot water, and bandages. Leif, lights for you seein’ folk. Hurry, now!”
When Lark returned with the medicine kit, she found Tommy lying on the bed with Gramma peeling off his clothes. Leif cranked the handle on their old hurricane lamp. It was a miracle the bulb had lasted so long, but it always shone brightly when powered up.
