Ash and Cinder

10| Rescue Mission

The following morning, I wake up to dew on the side of my face and grey light peeking over the tops of the trees. Drilling joint pain greets me, but no nausea comes with it. With the infection taken care of and the worst of the withdrawal over, I'm left with the shakes and the kind of pain that makes me feel more like a used pin cushion than a person. At least I'm not hallucinating anymore. I lay flat for a moment, trying to gauge where everyone is while I breathe through a shoulder cramp. How do I have muscle cramps? I haven't done anything yet.

Maverick snores, slumped against the same tree he was on last night. Over by the fire everybody else is sprawled out asleep, except King, who crouches next to the flames with a charred stick. When I slowly sit up, he glances over. The scars on his forehead are nearly invisible in the dim light. They don't look like typical surgery scars from the Compound.

"Thanks," is the first word out of my mouth. "Mav said you carried me on a rock."

King grunts and turns back to the fire.

"You are heavy for someone so small," he comments, dropping the stick into the fire. His accent is familiar, but I couldn't name it with certainty. Most newer Experiments at the Compound were African or East Asian, accents like King's were common.

"Sorry."

Piper rolls in his sleep, his arm falls dangerously close to the fire. I stare at his hand for a moment, trying to gauge the distance between the embers and his palm. I'm kind of curious if he'd even notice if he caught fire. Is he flammable?

While I'm considering this, Anushka stands up out of the blue and walks away. Her fatigues are muddied, and her hair is loose and tangled. I open my mouth to call to her, but King beats me to it.

"Don't bother, she is only wandering," he says, "she doesn't go far, and her radio is broken. We checked."

It's not exactly comforting but if they trust her that far I guess I have to, too. I watch her disappear under the crags of a nearby cliff before turning back to King.

"What are those from?" I ask, motioning to my own forehead. "If you don't mind me asking."

Not everyone likes to talk about their marks, but King smiles for the first time since I met him. He runs a thumb over his forehead, brushing the raised scars. "These are the scars I was given to mark my passage from boyhood to adulthood."

"They look like they hurt," Piper mutters sleepily. I hadn't realized he was awake.

King nods. "Yes, the ones who cry when they receive their marks bring disgrace on their family. I was a weak warrior, but I did not make a sound when I was given my marks, and now they keep my home close to me."

"That's real nice, King." Piper yawns and rolls closer to the fire. "Didn't you get sold to the Whitecoats though?"

"Didn't you?" King snaps back.

"Yeah," Piper mumbles. He scoops a flame from the fire and swirls it between his nimble fingers. He seems reluctant to get up, like if he stays half-asleep beside the fire he can pretend that he's not stranded in the middle of nowhere. "Delilah got sold, right? Not Sky though, he still likes his parents."

"And you?" King turns the conversation to me, obviously trying to get Piper to shut up. Piper lifts his head to see who King's talking to. His eyebrows rise when he sees me, awake for the first time in days.

"Hey," he says. I wave in response. "Your parents like you and the kid?"

"Nah." A pang hits me at the mention of Elle. She's close, just over that ledge. I could scream, being this close and not knowing if she's okay. But I also can't take on whatever is behind that ledge on my own. I can't even hold my hands steady. It's pathetic.