Winter Omens Read online

  It doesn’t mean I have to like it, or be a willing meal.

  I circle the fire pit so the door stays in my line of vision, arranging a neat pile of sticks in the center of the stones. In spite of everything, fatigue has me in its clutches and the fuel stares at me, taunting my confidence. There isn’t much energy lurking inside me, and the worry reappears that I won’t be able to do it.

  The memory of the Prime’s son on fire, the security cameras melted at Cell, and the burning skin of the Warden in the Administrative Center parade behind my closed eyes. I can do it. The thought of the power running through my blood, of the terrible things I am capable of, makes me not want to, though.

  Don’t be such a baby, Althea. It’s time to grow up.

  I snarl at the insistent voice in my head, tired to death of being pushed. I’ll do it. My bum leg makes it hard to squat, but eventually my palms rest atop the pile of wood. With my eyes closed, I push my emotions—worry over the wolf, agony at losing Lucas, terror of being hunted by the Wardens—deep inside me where they simmer and gather strength. After a minute, all those mixed-up feelings spurt into my chest, down my arms, and finally out my palms. Within seconds the sticks crackle, and the first tendrils of heat fan my face. Flames, small but growing, meet my eyes.

  It doesn’t take long to realize I should have considered the smoke. Maybe having made a fire isn’t that smart—the smoke could lead the Others right to my door—but the alternative of freezing to death doesn’t leave me an option. At least the door provides good ventilation. Plus, the storm should hold them up even as it traps me, and by the sound of it they’re unsure whether I’m in Iowa at all. There aren’t that many Others in the city, let alone on the planet. It will take them days to search the Wilds outside all four of the cities Lucas and I each travel to.

  Cadi called this place America when she told Lucas and I the story of our parents and our births, but I have no idea how big it might be. It feels very small in the cities where I’ve spent my almost seventeen years, but out here, in the Wilds, it stretches to infinity. It could take the Others a long time to search every square inch. Or it might not. There’s no way to know for sure, but at the moment staying alive and unfrozen is enough worry.

  With the last of my strength I cross to the door and peer toward the spot where the wolf disappeared into the trees. A jolt of terror slices through me when its cool gaze emerges between the snowflakes. Lying on its belly, it watches me from the tree line. Not any closer, but clearly without plans to go away, either. A sigh slips past my lips as I tear my eyes away from the killer’s. I can’t make it go away. If it’s going to eat me, who’s going to stop it?

  With the flames between me and the door, I fashion a makeshift bed and pillow out of blankets and clothes. The fire is warm, and I did an okay job not building it too big. I watch it with a critical eye for a few minutes, but don’t see any indication it will try to escape its stone boundary while I sleep.

  Finally, curled up beneath a scratchy blanket, I give in to the darkness.

  CHAPTER 3.

  I don’t know how long I slept, but when I wake the fire has died to glowing embers and my entire body shakes with cold. The sky outside is black, opaque even. Wind howls and fat, wet snowflakes swirl like tornadoes through the night. Still shivering, I sit up and pull the blanket tight around me, then watch as more sticks catch fire under my hands. I huddle close until the blaze throws off enough heat to temper my shudders. There must be a way to draw the fire out of my middle and let it warm my limbs without losing control, but I’ve yet to discover it. And it’s not exactly the kind of thing I want to play at. All I know is that I get cold so easily, and Lucas often felt too hot. I still have so many questions.

  The pain in my leg has ebbed, now a dull throb instead of the stabbing, debilitating pain I’d experienced while gathering stones and wood. Staying off of it has helped, I guess. I glance outside. I’m not going anywhere, even if I want to. Extending my right leg out in front of me, I lean over and start to roll up my jeans. My fingertips brush the puffy, tender skin at my ankle and make me wince. I stop, breathing in slowly through my nose until the pain recedes, and it takes several more pauses before my jeans clear my knee.

  Deep reds and purples decorate the enormous, swollen flesh around my foot and ankle. I gather the shreds of my courage and perform a closer inspection, grimacing with each gentle prod of my fingers. It hurts to move it back and forth, but my foot responds to the commands. Not broken. I don’t think.

  I leave my pant leg rolled up in case my foot swells more while I let the nausea abate. When it leaves my insides hollow again, I drag my reluctant body to the bag stuffed with food. Back beside my fire, I dig through the pilfered goods and choose a pull tab can of chicken soup and some crackers. It’s not good cold, but I’ve eaten half the can before I remember my hands could heat it up. After sucking down my food, fatigue attacks again and I burrow back under the blankets, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing in my leg. It takes longer for sleep to come and steal away my discomfort, but as always, it does.

  ***

  I wake up fast, full of a panicky feeling reminiscent of my morning-after-travel episodes. Every time I go to sleep in one place and wake up in another, a crushing black nothingness lingers, making me sure I’ve disappeared for good. It would be nice to never feel that again, and if Lucas and I are right about being able to control our traveling, we could stop, in theory. The idea of never having to wonder if I’ve slipped out of existence sits like a present in my open palm, one I want to open so badly but can’t without scissors to snip the string.

  There must be scissors somewhere—the answer to how to gain control of our lives has to be out there.

  The mixture of the cold and smoky air helps clear my head. It might even have calmed me, except for the appearance of company lounging in the open doorway.

  The wolf lays lengthwise in front of the door, his fur-covered body blocking the opening and then some. His head rests on his mostly white front paws, and he’s angled his long snout and penetrating gaze in my direction. Closer now, I can see his mismatched eyes clearly. He looks sleepy, or maybe as if he’s enjoying the fading warmth from my fire.

  I glare at him, stopping to wonder for a moment if it’s even a him. It doesn’t matter. “Hey! Get out of here!” I shriek at the animal from my spot in the far corner. He doesn’t look impressed, but raises his head off his paws and regards me with a wounded look.

  I shake off the certainty that I hurt his wolf feelings and try again. “I said, go on!”

  His gaze, which still looks reproachful, doesn’t leave mine while he lumbers to his feet, stretches lazily, and turns from the door. Satisfaction steals through my blood at the meager victory as his fat tail disappears into the snowy gloom. I rub the heel of my hand where I smacked the wall to frighten him. Ow. At least the wolf and my hand took my mind off my pity party for five minutes. Who does that wolf think he is, anyway, enjoying my fire?

  I study my creation, adding a few larger sticks and waiting for them to catch. It’s pretty, in its own way. Scary, too. Powerful. Like my mother.

  Maybe like me.

  I lie back down and study the ceiling, ignoring the tears winding out of my eyes and down my warmed cheeks. After two days of pushing thoughts of Lucas and our parentage aside I invite them in, let them batter my heart and mind. I wonder where he is, if he’s safe, if he’s cold. That thought makes me smile. Lucas is never cold—he’s winter.

  The worst part is that I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.

  A few weeks ago Cadi told us the Others will leave Earth irreparably damaged when they use up whatever resource they need and move on to their next unsuspecting planet. She and Ko saved Lucas and I, along with two mysterious counterparts, because they believed we could make a difference for the humans, that we could somehow help them survive the Others’ habitation. The four of us can control the same elements as our parents—we each have one human parent and one Eleme
nt parent—but to what extent can we really help? The idea that we can save a planet is ludicrous. We can barely save ourselves. All Lucas and I managed to do is get separated, confirm for the Prime and his Wardens that we are, in fact, who they have been searching for, and let them know exactly what powers we possess. Not the smartest getaway plan ever.

  The memory of the safe, protective circle of Lucas’s arms leaves me feeling cold and barren. I roll over on my side, pulling the blanket with me, and try to fall asleep. With a bum ankle, a snowstorm, and no plan, it’s not like I’m going anywhere. Tonight, I’ll feel sorry for myself. Tomorrow, I’ll try and figure out what to do.

  First on my list—find a way to get back to Lucas.

  ***

  The next two weeks leave me mostly healed and going banana balls from the captivity. Most of the swelling in my ankle disappeared four or five days ago—I’ve been marking days with small sticks in the corner—and though it is still tender, the only visible remnants of my injury are deep purple and black deposits along the base of my foot and over my ankle.

  Moving around gets easier every day, but since it’s barely stopped snowing and the drifts outside my little refuge climb past my knees, there’s nowhere to go. The wolf has never disappeared for more than a few hours at a time: sometimes watching me from the trees, other days growing bold and lounging just outside my door again. I stopped yelling at him after about a week, growing more confident myself, and also fueled by loneliness and curiosity. I’ve started talking to him, too. He never answers but he does listen, tipping his head one way and then the other while he tries to figure me out.

  Another visitor, a strange, golden bird with eyes that look purple in the sun, sweeps by occasionally. It seems to enjoy sitting in my windowsill and watching my movements, but I’m not fond of the thing. Twice when I went out to gather wood it has left waste on me. Once in my hair. So gross.

  A bigger problem bears down, though, one that will have to be solved sooner or later. Apa needs to quit with the winter weather, because my stack of provisions is dwindling toward pathetic. Only a few cans of vegetables clatter around in the bag, and I’ve starved myself for the past three days to save that much.

  Today the wolf has been absent for longer than ever before, so the sight of him in the doorway startles me. I’d been planning to go out; the pile of firewood is low, and though gathering more is a miserable process, it must be done. At least the chore freezes me so thoroughly that my foot doesn’t ache for at least an hour afterward. The wolf stares in my direction, his uneven eyes thick with a question. He looks a lot like he’s asking permission to come inside.

  I shake my head. “No, Wolf. I think it’s nice you haven’t eaten me yet, especially with the weather, but I’m not ready to cuddle.”

  Something brown and furry between his powerful jaws catches my eye. As I watch, he drops it gingerly in the doorway, its form recognizable now. It’s a rabbit, small and unmoving, its neck lying at an unnatural angle. There’s no doubt he killed it.

  For me?

  The wolf flops into the snow, watching me with keen expectation. In order to gather his offering I’ll have to come far closer to him than I’ve dared. What if it’s a trick?

  I laugh quietly. Right, Althea. The wolf is smart enough to play tricks on you.

  My stomach rumbles, the empty ache gnawing as it has for the last two days. The mere thought of meat makes my mouth water. I ran out of protein in the first week. But I haven’t the slightest clue how to make a rabbit edible, even if I can get past my fear of immediately infesting myself with all kinds of diseases by touching it. I’ve never eaten meat that isn’t sanitized and prepared in a factory before it’s delivered. Inside the boundary, the Others provide animal proteins every morning and night. It’s not always tasty, but it is safe.

  The wolf and I engage in a staring match while the wheels turn in my brain. I’m out here now, on my own. That fact isn’t likely to change anytime soon. Eating sanitized meat is probably a luxury of the past, so I may as well figure out how to cook a fresh animal. Despite my worries, I feel a warm tingle of gratefulness swim through me and land in my chest. The wolf brought me food. He looks skinny to be sharing.

  Pushing aside the fear of him attacking me, I sidle to the door and snatch the rabbit up by his ears. Cute, sort of, except for the dead part. No bugs. That I can see.

  It’s obvious the little guy needs to lose his fur and skin first. Ordinarily such a thought would bother me, and my brain takes a moment to register how much I’ve changed in a couple short months. Part of me still loathes the idea of cutting the rabbit open. The rest of me, the rational part, understands on some deep level that this is the natural way of the world.

  I hobble back to my corner of provisions and dig through discarded cans. I’ve gathered the metal lids to the soup, beans, and tuna in a neat pile; stacking my emptied provisions into towers has entertained me in my bored hours.

  There have been lots of them.

  I cut my finger on a lid just yesterday, drawing blood. The rabbit’s skin is bound to be thicker than mine, but maybe with enough determination I can get through it.

  Armed with a sturdy lid, I carry the animal to the corner farthest from my makeshift bed. The wolf’s gaze remains trained on my every move. He looks like he’s laughing.

  “What are you staring at, fur face? You think you’re gonna see a show?”

  “You’re probably right,” I mutter under my breath.

  Crouching down, I hold the small mammal firmly around the neck and twist until its back faces up. I bunch skin and fur together at the base of its skull, remind myself to breathe through my mouth, and start sawing.

  The skin separates more easily than I expected, blood seeping onto my hands. Bile rises into my throat but I swallow it, determined not to give up. After widening the initial opening I put down the lid and tear its skin the rest of the way off with my bare hands. I leave the head and legs, because my flimsy tin lid isn’t strong enough to cut through bone.

  A glance over my shoulder reveals the wolf still standing guard. This part makes me nervous. I want to go outside to dump the skin and wash the meaty layer in the snow, but talking to a wolf from across the room and waving a bloody carcass under its nose from inches away are two different things.

  As though he read my mind, the wolf gets to his feet and wanders away, stopping halfway between the cabin and the stream. Unexpected tears fill my eyes at the animal’s grace. He’s been a better friend to me than any human my entire life, save Lucas. And Cadi—but then again, neither of them fall strictly into the human category.

  I hurry out the door and toss the gory remnants into a drift. Bending down, I scrub the exposed layer with snow until the space in front of me is stained pink with the rabbit’s life. Now that I’m finished, my concentration on the task broken, the condition of my clothes registers and I gag at the blood spotting my hands, arms, pants, and shirt. Once inside I strip them off and replace them with clean ones, sorry to have ruined one of my three pairs of jeans.

  The meat obviously needs to be cooked, and the only method of accomplishing that is using the fire. It takes several minutes of staring before an idea hits.

  Using another lid to scrape the bark off the end of a stick, I fashion a very ugly but workable point. My nervous energy coaxes the flames higher and I secure the rabbit carcass on the stick. It probably would have been better to slice him open and scoop out his organs or something, but getting rid of the fur is enough for one day. Touching insides will have to wait.

  The transformation of the rabbit’s glistening muscles and tendons from red to brown is mesmerizing, and soon the enticing smell of cooked meat wafts about the cabin. The wolf smells it, too, and reclaims his spot inside the doorway. I smile at him. “Thanks, Wolf.”

  My eyes grow wide and the rabbit almost catches fire when a low sound rumbles from his throat. Not a bark or a howl, which Lucas and I heard on adventures outside the boundary in Connecticut. Not a growl,
either. Not a warning. This noise is almost playful, answering.

  Like he understood me.

  I avoid his gaze while my dinner continues to cook. When pieces start to turn black and emit a charred scent, I pull the rabbit out of the fire and inspect my handiwork. The flesh looks overcooked, with some pieces near his legs falling off the bone. I shrug.

  “Better safe than sorry, right?”

  I need to get a grip. I’m talking to a wolf.

  This time he remains silent, eyes riveted on the rabbit instead of me.

  The flesh cools enough to pull off a piece, and I stuff it in my mouth without overanalyzing. Tastes like chicken, but plain and a little dry. No doubt due to my less than awesome cooking skills.

  I pick around the outside, still unwilling to encounter any organs, and my stomach is full to protesting before the meat disappears. I lick my fingers clean, feeling sated for the first time in days. The wolf’s gaze remains fixed on what’s left of my dinner. His silent begging makes me smile. No threatening posture, sound, or move has emanated from him in two weeks. The rabbit is technically his. I suppose sharing the rest is just good manners.

  To be honest, if I’m going to die, I’d rather my furry friend kill me instead of the Others. The image of Ko, bound and tortured, flits through my mind, bringing with it a shudder of revulsion.

  Definitely better to be eaten by a wolf.

  Caution painting my moves, I cross the room to the wolf. I stop a foot away and gently lay the stripped carcass on the floor of the cabin. His hopeful eyes flit between the meat and me, and his long, pink tongue snakes around his mouth. I watch as he lifts his black nose, sniffing the air.