[Longlisted!] -Ghosts of Galena- [#Wattys2018]

She

There's a shout that erupts from the camp and someone runs up to pull back a gate. The trucks pull through and roll to a slow stop on the shadowed periphery of the protected space. A line of horses file in behind, and there's something of a commotion as the engines are cut, the animals dismounted.

I pick out Con and Lyran from the crowd, keeping close watch over them as they dust themselves off, hitch their ponies, and turn to greet the waiting crowd. There's something of a celebratory feel to the gathering, a low throb of anticipation, anxiety, and excitement that ripples through everyone. Slowly, I slide toward the edge of the truck bed, reaching over to pull the latch on the tailgate when a shadow crosses over me.

"Not so fast." A familiar voice. "You stay until Con comes for you."

When I glance up, I find myself eye-to-eye with a brown-haired boy and a pair muddy eyes. I realize it's the same one I nearly killed, the one whose knife I stole, whose back I punctured with the nails from the baseball bat. Suddenly, I'm wishing him all the tetanus in the world.

"Yeah, well, how 'bout I just go ahead and tell Con where he can stick it," I say, and give a pointed jerk to the tailgate latch, dropping the hatch and swinging my feet over the edge. The boy doesn't move, so I fix him with a stare and ask, "What? You gonna fight me?"

"Jesse!" Ree hisses out a warning from behind me, drawing the kid's attention away.

"No," he says, though he looks like he wants to. His lip curls into a sneer when he adds, "You shot Aidan in the eye, I won't have to hit you, Con'll do it for me."

"Well, that is spectacularly cowardly of you," I tell him, and hop off the truck, planting my feet on packed earth with more of a jolt than I was entirely prepared for, a ripple of pain shooting up both shins on impact.

That's what bravado will get you.

"C'mon, Ree," I say, and jerk my head in the direction of the gate. She follows, hesitant as she passes by the boy with the brown eyes, but sticks close to my side. I'm repressing the urge to grab her hand, to tow her along behind me, but if nothing else, I'm entirely aware of the implications of that action.

The boys guarding the gate eye us with bemusement as we approach, as I demand, "Let us out."

There's a whip-crack of silence in the wake of my dictate, ushered in by a bark of laughter from one of the two. Behind us, a quiet falls as well, and when I turn my head to look, I find a multitude of eyes upon us. It's Con that breaks away from the gathering first, his long legs and angry gait eating up the space between us. His red hair sparks like flame in the flickering firelight, but it's his hands I'm more concerned about when he twists them into the lapels of my shirt, nearly yanking me off the ground and shoving me up against the fence. There's a hot fury in every movement he makes, in the expression on his face, in the way he shakes me once, then twice, then a third time, rattling my teeth and slamming my spine against a length of timber.

"You were told to stay put," he snaps, and I flinch just slightly as flecks of spit hit my face.

"Last I checked," I tell him. "I don't take orders from you."

His lip curls, his fists coiling tighter, knuckles cracking under the onslaught of his rage. Dragging me toward him, Con's face is so close to mine that I can smell the sourness of his breath, the detritus peppering his clothes, the furs, everything.

"Are you stupid?" he asks.

"Maybe," is my rejoinder, the word spoken calmly into the brick wall of his face. Con has a split-second to look entertained by my answer before I tack on, "but at least I'm not ugly."