My eyes rolled open with a click, like the cocking of a gun—armed, dangerous—and for a brief and merciful moment, I remembered nothing. My brain wouldn't make sense of my surroundings, my eyes wouldn't adjust to the light. A dull ache clung to the backs of my lids and the world felt too fuzzy around the edges—the tunnel vision peeled away too slowly.
It took long seconds for the ceiling above to shift into focus—flat and smooth, a panel of shiny steel, almost like a mirror but warped. A distorted reflection gazed back at me, a ghostly white girl in dark clothing, colorless eyes and snowflakes for lashes. I only recognized it was me because of the jacket, the one I remembered stealing with a zipper slashed at an angle across the front.
Had I always looked like that? Long hair and eyes wild? More of an animal than a girl?
I supposed I had.
The wind outside howled, as though in answer to my thoughts, and I realized we were still on the train. The speed pressed me into the seat, the world beyond the window was reduced to a blur. It was bright inside the cabin now, daytime screaming at full force, which meant I must have been out for hours.
Remembering the events from last night, my eyes sought out the soldier. I turned my head slowly, and once I blinked away the sleep, I saw him clearly for the first time. He sat on the bench opposite, close to the door, as though guarding it.
He had one of those closed-off faces, like most of the soldiers I'd seen, all cold and hard. But with him it wasn't just the expression, it was the structure of the face. The sharpness of the edges, the visible tension in the muscles, almost like he'd carved the humanity out with a sharp tool.
He wasn't looking in my direction but still managed to keep the gun aimed at my head. He wouldn't be giving me another chance to escape.
I didn't really think he meant to kill me—he would have done it by now—but he also could have left me for dead last night. Which meant he must want something.
But what could he want with a beastly creature like me?
I could think of only one possible explanation: the simple fact I was a woman, one of the few left in this dying world, and the small chance I could be a Daughter.
Normally, Daughters of the King were carefully collected and hoarded by the government, like precious objects, like material treasures, but there was still the chance of outlaws living in hiding, like my mother. Maybe that's what he thought I was. Maybe I could convince him of it, which would help secure my safety. For a little while, at least.
But there was no way of knowing for sure what his intentions were since his expression revealed nothing, and he wasn't likely to start talking to me any time soon, since the soldiers from the Wastelands didn't speak to women.
In all my nineteen years of life, I was used to dealing with all manner of people. Savages—madmen—my heartless mother. Anything but this. We'd never had soldiers like these before in the King's Country.
Everything about him was meticulously kept, from his neat hair to his starched uniform, the thick brown fabric belted snugly over a trim chest. He even held himself still with such precision it was difficult to tell if he was breathing, which was impressive in an entirely new and frightening way. The world around him seemed reduced to chaos in comparison.
The only proof of weakness was the dried blood on the seat, proof he'd been injured, although I couldn't tell where. All I knew for sure was that I'd heard the gun go off last night.
"What happened?" I croaked, mouth dry.
He stiffened but didn't answer, not that I expected him to. I stared at him hard, as though daring him to look at me.
His discipline never wavered, and I felt a small chill at the base of my spine, something similar to fear but not unlike excitement.
He'd already made it clear he would use any force necessary to keep me here, so I wasn't going to try running again. Not just yet. These soldiers were devoted to their beliefs, but even though his gods made him fear me, that didn't make him weak. I made sure to remind myself of that.
The next chance I'd get to shoot him, I wouldn't waste it.
"Fine," I snapped at his unfaltering silence, turning to glare at the ceiling.
I quickly assessed my condition. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, my body felt heavy and sore, and my head was throbbing as much as my ankles. I probably wouldn't be able to get away, at least not far, if I tried to run again.
When I pushed myself into an upright position and sat properly on the hard bench, my body screamed with fatigue and muscle pains, and I had to fight not to let it show. The soldier already had enough advantages against me, and I could do without him knowing about more.
To distract myself from the pain, I shifted my gaze to the window, hoping it might offer a clue as to where we were or where we were going. Unfortunately, there didn't appear to be anything to see but dense forest. I still unfolded myself and moved closer to get a better look, ignoring the way my ankles complained against my weight and the way my headache pounded.
It was while standing there, with a gun pointed at my back, that I first saw the savages.
It took me a moment to make sense of what was I was seeing, when I spotted the lone figure hanging off the side of the train, further down between two carts. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks. I'd never had the best eyesight. But as I squinted down the length of the train, I couldn't deny what I was seeing. A person was holding onto a handrail and leaning out into the wind, their mouth open to emit a shrill cry. It sounded like a howl and a whistle at the same time. The sound quickly got swallowed up, and had I not seen him, I might have mistaken it for a simple rush of wind.
But the cry obviously signified something, because in the next instance, another figure appeared.
This one was on the ground, standing in the sharp turn up ahead, dangerously close to the tracks. Unflinching even though we were speeding towards them. My pulse quickened as I watched, my nose pressing into the glass, feeling both sickened and fascinated. The train slowed as it came around the turn, and the two figures reached for one another. The one on the ground was pulled aboard in what was undoubtedly a well-practiced move.
It barely took a second, but I didn't breathe until it was over.
I'd met their kind before. They were deserters of society that lived in these dark woods, but they'd sometimes venture out into town, usually to trade goods. Although they'd stopped coming out as much, right around the time we were invaded.
Now they were here, sneaking aboard the train like daredevils, which was undoubtedly a bad sign.
I turned back to face the soldier. His head was still angled away, but his aim hadn't budged an inch.
"There are savages climbing aboard the train," I said, hungry for a reaction from him.
He could refuse to speak to me all he wanted, but he couldn't help hearing me. With a jerk of surprise, he was on his feet. I stood aside to give him room.
He glared in the direction of the savages, spotting them as easily as I did. I recognized the crack in his perfect mask of discipline. He couldn't hide it, not completely. There was a flash of something in his golden eyes that looked suspiciously like fear.
It's while he stood there that I noticed the front of his uniform was stained a deep red, just above his abdomen. The injury must have been bad, if the blood had soaked through the thick fabric like that, and I hoped he was okay, only because I might need him around if the savages were planning to attack.
He'd make a good shield with his massive size, if nothing else.
"What do we do?" I asked, even though I knew he wouldn't answer.
He crossed the room and locked the door. Then he stood there and counted his bullets.
I stared at him blankly. If that was his only solution, we were as good as dead.