Inside the Palisade (3 page)

“I’m sorry,” she says in a low husky whisper. “I couldn’t let you call them. They can’t find me here.” Her hand drops to my shoulder, and I sense her exhaustion in the motion. Is she a psych
patient? I vaguely remember Gamma mentioning her mother treating a case a while back, but I’ve never met anyone suffering from mental problems before.

The girl’s hand remains over my mouth, her head pressed down on my shoulder. Her breathing is ragged, warm puffs of air billowing hot against my neck. We both hold still for several moments. Finally she straightens to arms’ length, keeping my mouth pinned with her hand and my torso pinned with her legs. As she leans back, the hood flops away, and I see her face for the first time: piercing dark eyes set against large angular features. But that’s not what makes me gasp. It’s the scruff of fur covering the lower half of the face. I redouble my efforts to fight when I realize the horrible truth. This isn’t a girl.

It’s a
deman.

My fight doesn’t last long. I’m hampered by the pain in my knee and injured arm. The
deman
is so strong. He leans in and clamps his free arm against my collarbone. His furry cheek scratches my throat. I can smell the scent of oak on his skin as well as a hint of something else. Lavender? How could he have gotten inside the wall? The palisade can’t be breached. Our ancestors sealed it tight generations ago.

He inhales deeply. Is he
sniffing
me? I buck against him. Bad move. A shock of pain screams through my knee, and I cry out against his clammy palm. I’m surprised when the pressure is released from my chest. He’s lifting his weight off me but keeping one hand locked over my mouth. He slides the other to my waist.

No! I can’t let him touch me there. I know what these
demen
do. I’ve read the history books. I brace my palms against the ground and grasp at the rocks and stones. Anything I could use as a weapon. There’s nothing big enough. He clamps his hand around my upper thigh, causing me to grimace.

“Stop that.” His command is hoarse, his grip unyielding. “If I take my hand away from your mouth, can you please keep quiet?”

My eyes widen. He talks like me.

“Look.” He releases my thigh and brings his face close to mine. His eyes are dark and unreadable. “Your leg is hurt, but I can’t look at it if I have to keep you quiet. We can’t stay here like this. Please.”

A monster is begging me to cooperate?

“I’m sorry you’re hurt, okay? I want to help,” he says in that hoarse desperate tone. Abruptly, he slides his free hand beneath my shoulders. I try to resist, but he braces me and pulls me to a seated position. I try to bite the hand over my mouth, but he pulls me against him. This fight is pointless. I can’t win. With little
cooperation from me, he manages to maneuver me into a seated position on the ground. He has one arm looped across my chest, covering my mouth from behind. With the other, he points at my leg. That’s when I see the fabric at the knee of my trousers is ripped. A large swelling rises underneath. Beads of blood pucker around the edges.

“You’re injured.” The
deman’s
voice is surprisingly kind as he manipulates the fabric just above the injury with one hand while holding me in place with the other. I twist my head to face him. When my eyes meet his, I’m surprised to see what looks like a mixture of hesitation and fear. He’s younger than I thought, his skin pale with purple hollows beneath his eyes. His hair is shaggy and unkempt, hanging just above his shoulders, the bangs drooping into his dark eyes. “Will you let me help you?”

A bat screeches overhead. We can’t sit here like this all night. If he thinks I’m cooperating, he might lower his guard, and I’ll be able to escape. I avert my eyes and nod.

He loosens his grip, but hesitates. “You won’t scream?” His breath puffs against my skin. Warm and moist. I shudder.

I shake my head. No, I won’t scream. If I did, there’s no telling what he’d do. What if he’s not alone? A chill snakes up my spine as I glance over my shoulder, seeing nothing but the quiet woodland surrounding us. A lizard peers out from under a rock by the water, flicking its blue tongue a few times before disappearing again.

“I’m going to let you go now,” the
deman
says, without loosening his hold. “Stay calm, okay?” Ever so slowly, he releases me. I slump forward, forcing myself to resist the urge to bolt. I hold my face between my hands and try to focus, pushing down the bile that rises in my throat. I close my eyes for a moment. When I open them, he’s skirted around in front of me, kneeling beside my outstretched legs. Even on his knees, he seems enormous, probably because he’s so broad across the chest. He’s wearing dark clothes, but they look like the regular outfits we
wear in our quarters. Simple cotton trousers and a fitted shirt. Nothing like the animal skins I would have expected from an outsider, a savage. His arms and legs are muscular. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt so I can see that his arms are a little hairy, but no more than some of the women I’ve seen in the field.

He
is
younger than I thought. The skin around his eyes is smooth and unlined. He’s probably about my age. That would make him a
boy,
wouldn’t it? I think back to the terminology from our history classes. The dark circles are pronounced under his eyes. Maybe he’s ill. Is that why he’s outside the Clinic? Does he need medicine?

He loosens his cloak and drops it to his knees, producing a penknife from the side of his leather boot. I flip over, but my knee buckles, and I fall to the ground. Before I can try anything else, he grabs my good ankle with his free hand and drops the knife. Then he leans over and clutches my shoulder. His face is so close I can smell his sweat again. The hint of lavender mixed with the scent of oak. His eyes search mine, wild and panicked. “Stop.”

“What are you doing?” I gesture to the knife with a tilt of my head.

The
deman
kicks the knife away with the tip of his boot, sending a cloud of dirt into the air. “I was only going to make a brace for your knee.” He nods at the blade and lifts his cloak from the ground to demonstrate what he was planning. “I was going to cut a strip of this as a bandage for you.”

I stare down at the pile of fabric in his arms. His cloak and boots are as well made as the rest of his clothes. They look like something manufactured inside the palisade by our stitchers and weavers, but that’s impossible. He looks me over and then makes a grunting noise low in his throat.

“What?” My tone is sharper than I intend, sharper than I can afford under the circumstances.

He leans forward, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I should have known better than to try and help a stranger. They warned
me I wouldn’t be safe here. I should have listened.”

His words ignite my anger full force. “
You
wouldn’t be safe here? That’s rich. You
demen
are the ones who hurt us. That’s why we built the palisade in the first place.”

“That’s right.
We’re
the evil ones, aren’t we? The terrifying
demen.
Not you. Not women.” He almost spits the last word. “You can’t even say it, can you? What we really are. Human like you. Another gender. Not another species.” He sinks back on his heels, dropping his head into his hands.

His voice catches when he speaks again. “Just go.” He doesn’t look at me. This may be a trick, but he sounds so sincere. I gather my feet under me, grimacing at the ache in my leg. The
deman
looks up at me from his hunched position, accentuating his pale cheeks and the hollows under his eyes. He really does look ill. The fact that he doesn’t move any closer stokes my courage, and my curiosity. “Why are you here?”

“I’m waiting for someone.” He wipes his sleeve over his eyes. Who could he know inside the palisade? As the sun’s sinking rays hit his face I notice a slight asymmetry in his features – the right side of his mouth tilts higher than the left. I press the heels of my hands to my temples. The leaves rustle in the breeze. Tiny ripples line the pond’s surface. It’s not possible for this creature to be here. But he is. I have to know why. And how.

“Who are you waiting for?” I ask.

He turns his head toward the looming brick building at the end of the path. “Someone in there.” The trees cast long shadows against its limestone façade.

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know you were here.”

“She already knows,” he says as he gathers his cloak into his lap. “Maybe we could help each other?”

I look down at him, sitting there. Alone. Running his fingers through the hem of his cloak, glancing occasionally at the building behind him with what looks like yearning in his expression.

“What did you have in mind?” I ask. I know I should run. Get as far away as I can and report him. I know I should. But this creature is from outside, and he’s here. I need to know why.

A glimmer flashes through his eyes. He rises to one knee and snatches for his cloak before it tumbles to the ground.

I take another step back. He holds his arms out, palms upward. “I could help you with your knee.” He points at my torn trouser leg. “And you could deliver a message for me.” He cocks his head toward the Clinic.

I clasp for the communicator on my wrist only to remember that he never gave it back after our scuffle. “To a Med-Tech?”

Then he surprises me by grabbing for the knife and offering it to me hilt first. I take it from him, hefting its unfamiliar weight in my palms. It’s only a small pen knife. It probably wouldn’t do much damage to anyone, but the fact he’s given it to me seems significant. The corner of his asymmetrical mouth twitches as he begins to tear the edge of his cloak to make a bandage. He holds it out and gestures at my knee. The cut is beaded with blood. I must have scraped it along a tree root or a rock when I feel. The joint is swollen and bruising. The
deman
looks up to meet my eyes and gestures again with the bandage. I bite down on my lip. This is the point of no return. Am I really going to let him touch me? I straighten my shoulders and raise the knife in his direction before jutting my chin down to indicate that it’s okay to touch me.

He leans forward, keeping his eyes pinned on mine and raising his eyebrows before hitching up the hem of my trouser leg and rolling it up to my knee. His fingers are warm and calloused. I grit my teeth and grip the knife tighter, but he’s not paying attention to it. He’s completely focused on the injury, working with confident movements as he braces the joint. Firmly, but not too tight. Like a Med-Tech. I’m almost hypnotized by the sight of the monstrous hands engaging in such skillful work.

As soon as he’s done, he rolls down my trouser leg, careful not to jostle the injury and rocks back on his heels. I shake my head
in disbelief. He did a good job. My trouser leg is still ripped, but the tear is more difficult to see with the dark bandage underneath.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” I ask.

“That’s right. A
deman
wouldn’t know first aid, would he?” His brow wrinkles as he inches away from me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” I force myself to stop. Why am I apologizing to a
deman?
“So what is this message you want me to deliver?”

“Tell her…” He stops to think, glancing briefly at the building behind us. The last of the sun’s rays illuminate the edges of the clouds, setting them alight with golden haloes. “Tell her I won’t leave without her.”

He wants to take a Med-Tech outside the palisade?

“Is that some kind of threat?” I ask.

“Of course not. She’s my… Never mind about that. I haven’t seen her for three days and I’m worried about her.”

“Worried about who? Did she come from the outside with you?”

“What? No, she came from her quarters. I’m sorry. I can’t say anything more. It’s too dangerous.”

“What’s her name?”

He hesitates and swallows. “Delta. Delta Jaye.”

With that, he gathers up his cloak, turns on his heel and heads for the tree line. Then he turns back to me. “Could I have my knife please?”

I extend my open palm, the penknife nestled upon it. He won’t hurt me now. He’s going to leave. When he takes it from my hand, his fingertips scrape over my skin, leaving a rush of warm tingles on my palm.

“Thanks,” he says as he slips it into his belt.

“Wait.” I begin to follow him before I can think better of it, but he’s too fast. He keeps moving and by the time I get to the trees, he’s gone.

“Who are you?” I ask softly into the darkness. “What’s your name?”

The only response is the rustling of the leaves and a few splashes in the pool, probably catfish surfacing to look for food.

I need to get moving too, before someone starts looking for me. Tau called ahead and I’ve wasted too much time. My leg aches but not too badly for me to walk if I take it slow. The brace is actually helping a lot. As I turn for the path to the Clinic, I notice the plastic case on the boulder. I’d forgotten about my contacts. And the
deman
never noticed.

The harsh fluorescent light in the Clinic’s waiting area stings my eyes. My contact lenses are scratchier than ever, but I can’t do anything about that. The room is compact with orange plastic chairs crammed along every wall except for the one farthest from the entryway. That one houses the glass window to the receptionist’s cubicle. Beside it is a door to the examination rooms. I’m the only patient here.

I had to play a round of twenty questions with the receptionist when I couldn’t produce my communicator for identification. In everything that happened outside, I didn’t think to ask the
deman
to return it. Most of the buildings inside the palisade were set up originally to scan the signals from the devices every time we went in or out. These days, much of that tech. The engineers’ to-do lists are getting so long that it takes forever to fix things like this.

I told the receptionist that I had lost my communicator at the factory during the accident. What’s bugging me is what I
didn’t
say, and why. I had thought about turning in that
deman,
raising the alarm, but I couldn’t do it. There was something about him, something lost and helpless. And there was the mystery of Delta. Who was she and how did he know her? Had she been outside the wall? Did she know what was out there?