Baring the Thorn (The Mountain Tribe #3)

Chapter 9

Samara

I n the morning, we walk the remainder of the distance to the bunker.

Because we covered so much ground the day before, we don’t have long left on our journey.

Suddenly, the land seems to be familiar again.

As we come into the flat stretch of land where the bunker is, I recognize the view of the tribe’s mountains from this distance, the hills that surround us, the thicker areas of trees. But this is noted without warm feelings of familiarity or understanding, instead I remember what it was like the last time I was here, how close to dying we came.

It takes some strength to keep moving forward, to set my pace behind Thorn’s and focus on pulling in deep breaths, on pushing through the panic that rises in me like some great tide.

If I let it, it’ll suffocate me, and I’ll be hyperventilating against Thorn’s broad chest again. The second part isn’t so bad, but the panicking part is less fun.

After a short break for some water and some of the leftover meat, I slip my hand into his as we walk.

Thorn looks a bit shocked, at first, his cheeks pink either from the walking or the touch of my palm against his, but after a while he begins to look pleased.

His fingers tighten around mine, and if I go to pull my hand away, to adjust my pack or point something out, he’s right there to take it back.

It occurs to me that these little touches so normal in my time are lost on Thorn’s men, that they might lead whole lives without knowing the simple pleasure of walking hand-in-hand with a partner, of being grounded by their thumb over your own.

I can’t pity them too much, as Thorn’s points about the downsides to my time pop into my head more often than Cassandra and I’s list of things we miss.

It’s like a new game he and I play, even if it’s all happening in my mind. The second I have a negative thought about this time, I remember something he pointed out, perhaps add my own items to the list. Bills, standing in lines, the smell of dumpsters in summer…shit, racism.

There’s plenty of things I don’t miss, and they come into my mind far easier when Thorn walks beside me, his skin warm under my fingers and a new, carefree expression lighting up his handsome features.

“You are quiet today,” he remarks, after some time.

I realize I’ve been playing my silent game of lists for many minutes, and that it’s actually been a welcome distraction from the familiar setting around us.

“I’m thinking of… differences,” I say noncommittally, “between our worlds.”

Thorn looks thoughtful. “Tell me one.”

There’re a million things I could describe to him, so naturally it takes me a moment to pick which one.

I decide on, “My roommates had a cat. He was a rescue, and they called him Little Pete. Where I come from, it’s normal to keep animals as pets. It would be like… if you took a wild animal and brought it back to camp and fed it and pet it and slept with it in your tent.”

He makes a face of displeasure. “Why?”

I have to laugh at the wrinkle in his nose. “Because Pete kept us company. He could be naughty, knocking books off shelves or drinking from our glasses, but mostly he was just cute. He would sit on my lap on my days off and purr when I pet him on the chin. It must be hard for you to imagine.”

“It is strange,” he agrees. “Do you want another pet now?”

I blow out a breath, “I think it would be pretty hard to do. We domesticated animals over thousands of years, so by the time we found Little Pete on the street there was barely anything wild about him.”

“Domesticated animals,” Thorn repeats. “I know this. Goats and sheep, though they never would be allowed in a tent.”

I stop him, yanking on his hand where we’re attached. “Exactly! How do you know that?”

He pauses. “Ash came from a bigger tribe, a village. They had many comforts that we do not have now.”

We start walking again, faster this time.

Of course, his explanation makes sense.

Ash has spoken a little about his village and the type of life they led, it was more early civilization compared to the tribe’s stone-age level of technology.

I think to ask Thorn if there’s any way for us to bring those amenities to his tribe, for us to somehow domesticate animals from scratch. I wouldn’t know the first thing about it, but I know that they lived in tents for decades, and we’ve only been here a bit over a month and already the hunters are building little huts for us.

But I don’t get the words across, because Thorn’s expression darkens, and he stops us, gentler than I had.

“We are here,” he says, and his auburn brow is lowered.

I look around us and find that we’ve reached the clearing with the bunker.

The breath rushes out of me, and in its place, I seem to breathe in smoke.

That’s the only way I can think to describe the thick, dizzying air that suffocates my lungs as I stare down into the hole in the ground that we crawled out of, what feels like both a lifetime and such a short while ago.

Leaves have fallen around it, and it’s begun to rust from the sun, from a few snowfalls and then some melts, and I have no doubt that animals have made their home in the dark, damp bunker, now nothing but ash and dust.

“Samara.” Thorn steps in front of it, cutting off my view, and with it, the feeling of suffocation. “You must breathe slowly. I know that it is difficult.”

He releases my hand to cup my jaw and angles my face up so that I’m staring at him instead of the door to the bunker.

I realize, belatedly, that the reason I feel so lightheaded is because I’m panting, high and breathy and useless for my lungs.

Pooling in my empty stomach is a horrible mixture of embarrassment and dread, of shame that Thorn has to see me panic again and abject fear when I remember everything that happened here.

“I’m sorry,” I croak. “I’m sorry I’m being…such a baby about this, I-… I knew it would be…hard to come back.”

“Look at me,” he commands.

And, for perhaps the first time yet, I obey his order.

I stare into his bright green eyes, glittering in the light of the sun like leaves in the breeze or the shivering surface of a lake.

“I am here. You are not alone, and you are not incapable. You can do this.”

“Yes,” I exhale. “You’re right. I can…I can do this.”

I don’t know why his reminder helps, but it does.

I feel grounded by his touch, his big warm hands against my neck, his soothing, low voice, his emerald eyes. His presence, his electrifying touch, reminds me that everything is different now.

I hate that I’m relying on him, in this moment of weakness, but the fact is that when I saw the bunker, I felt like I was out to sea again, tossing around in the churning waves, not knowing which direction was air and which was darkness, and Thorn is like a hand pulling me from the frozen depths.

He brings me up, and I pull in hungry mouthfuls of fresh air.

“We do not have to stay here. Do you know where the supplies are?”

I shake my head. “I know where they should be, but I’d only be guessing since the whole landscape is different. North of the bunker, following the direction of the hallway that’s down there.”

“What should we be looking for?” Thorn asks.

I rack my brain for something useful.

It was supposed to all be very clear, they were expecting only some damage to the science facility upper floors and we were supposed to come up to the shell of the building and follow more hallways.

I try to think of what the cache might look like now, to us.

“Like the door to the bunker but smaller, circular. After all this time it might be… a patch where nothing grows, a break in the grass.” We passed by a small pool on the walk here, and I speak one worry aloud, “God, I hope it’s not underwater.”

“We cannot worry about that yet,” Thorn reminds me.

He’s doing an excellent job of distracting me, and I think that in different circumstances, if we weren’t doing something so critical, I might want to kiss him for being so good at taking my mind off my anxiety.

Or maybe I would just kiss him for the sheer joy of it, and to wipe that serious look off of his features.

“Tell me what you want me to do now.”

I sigh, “Now, we start looking, and try to find it before the sun sets.”