To the Well-Organized Mind

Chapter Nine

[Nia]

Ferals have been compared to many different beings: apes, Sasquatch, zombies, wild dogs, Alzheimer patients, etc. The very slang word that society has taken to calling them (ferals) makes the case that they are just that: humans that have lost the fine trappings that make a wolf into a dog.

-from Ridge's scattered papers, Modern Man Vs Caveman

Furie managed to take one feral down all by herself. Once again, I must take a moment to register her capability. It's hard to do, so I don't waste too much energy focusing on it. Just a quick mental acknowledgment, then back to What the Fuck Do I Do Now?

Across the way, Fen's blood must be pooling to his feet, his face is so white. He has only just seen me, and I wonder what he thinks when we meet eyes. Does he now see me for the savior I once saw him for? Does he even know that I slaughtered the second feral? Or maybe my abandonment is still lingering near the surface, festering to all-out resentment that this only happened because I left them.

Good thing I don't give a shit about guilt and shame.

I put away the sling I used to take down the feral and start climbing down my tree, hands trembling at the weight of my own wasted body. I can't remember the last time I ate, but it must have been a few days ago now. Last night I was fortunate enough to find a stream, so I've finally drank enough water that my belly is bursting. But somehow, without any food, it just feels empty, an air bubble ballooning within the liquid to press against my empty belly.

For a split-second, I ponder the leavings of the ferals, and just as quickly, dismiss that possibility. If I were still in the Barrens, I'd likely rejoice at the scraps of intestines and gore the ferals left behind. But sheltered in these dangerous woods, I can afford to be slightly pickier.

Bark and twigs snap around me, and I glance up. Fen is hurrying down his own tree to join me in the thicket.

When he reaches the bottom, I reward him with a scowl. "Try not to make it so obvious that you're still alive." I gesture at all the debris and use a light whisper.

He must still be in shock, for he isn't flushed, embarrassed, or even defensive. Maybe my shadow isn't as easy to read or manipulate as I thought.

"We have to help them," he says, voice quiet, but the kind of quiet that still involves vocal chords and threatens to rise, yearning to scream.

Looking at him, I wait for an entire minute before speaking. Fen keeps shifting, looking over his shoulder, clenching his hands, running fingers through his dark hair.

"Do you have any food?"

My question takes him aback. He faces me again, body stilling for a moment. "What? We need to find them, save them. We don't have time for a meal."

"On the contrary. A meal is exactly what we need. I have plenty of water to share, but I'm out of food, and I can't focus and you can't stay calm without energy. So we'll take a moment, eat, think, and figure out what we're doing." Running straight for Asis is the best choice. With one tribe of ferals preoccupied with their newest captives and celebrating their most recent battle, it's the ideal time to sneak past and reach safety.

But telling Fen this would not help my case.

He reluctantly shrugs off a bag that has, until now, been forgotten on his back. Inside, he still has some of the meat I roasted for them that night out in the Barrens. It has now been hardened into a lump too tough to chew or bite until after sucking on it awhile. We take a strip each and get to work. Pulling out my full water bottle, I set it between us.