Scarecrow

Day 544 arrived without much light.

The rain had spent the night finding every weakness we’d left it. A loose edge on a roof. A shallow hollow beside a path. The place where a covering had been tied for ordinary wind instead of this.

Most of the things we’d repaired held.

The rest gave us work before breakfast.

I stayed with Sera until her treatment was finished. Then I ate while Luna went through the route one more time with Corr and Holt.

Risa sat at the receiver.

The voice beyond the ridge had returned twice during the night.

Seven people.

Still above the water.

Not certain how much longer.

We had a place on the map now, and a guide waiting beside the upper path.

The difference between that and yesterday was not enough to make the journey safe.

It was enough to make it a journey we could attempt.

The shuttle called again while we were fastening the bags.

Not directly overhead this time. Near enough for the short local contact we’d already used, with Dot watching for any disturbance reaching the allied brood.

The high-power ground transmitter remained dead.

Luna answered at the established low setting.

The pilot asked for confirmation that Primary Base was holding position.

She looked at me.

Then at the route page in Corr’s hand.

“We have located seven survivors,” she said. “We have a sheltered approach and permission to use it. A rescue party is preparing to leave.”

A pause.

Rain struck the roof above the receiver.

The pilot read the instruction again.

Primary Base was to hold. No unauthorized deployment. Outlying requests remained under assessment.

Then he asked for compliance.

I stepped beside Luna.

“No,” I said.

The word sounded very small in the room.

It changed the room anyway.

“Identify speaker.”

“Lucas Dask.”

The pilot didn’t answer immediately.

Then, more quietly, “I can’t authorize a departure.”

“I’m not asking you to. Record that we’re going to help seven people we’ve found. Our own shelters remain staffed and protected.”

“This is a direct instruction.”

“I heard it.”

Luna put her hand beside mine on the table.

“Record my name too,” she said. “Luna Windsor. Rescue lead.”

Another pause.

We didn’t fill it with a speech.

The pilot had a message to carry. We had people to reach. I didn’t know what else he could do from where he was, and I wasn’t going to pretend his voice alone was Command.

At last, he said, “Decision recorded. Weather remains severe.”

“Yes,” Luna said. “We can see it.”

The contact ended.

Dot kept the exchange.

Holt closed the instruction sheet and put it beneath the map.

“Now,” he said, “tell me how you intend to come back.”

We answered him.

The upper path to the entrance. Handline through the exposed section. The guide and two of our queen’s people ahead of the humans.

Luna and Corr would check the first part of the passage before the carrying party followed. One of Dot’s hands would go with them, taking the thin field cable we’d used for work below the camp.

A picture and an ordinary voice connection where the wire reached.

Not power through a camera.

Not a promise of contact through every ridge on Avalon.

I would secure the entrance and remain there until we knew what was beyond it.

Liam, Ade, Benedikt, and Tamsin had the frame and supplies. They would wait at the entrance too until called forward.

Sera stayed with the base. Risa kept the receiver and the route record. Toby remained with the patients, ready for whatever came back.

Ilse had the watches. Holt had the reports.

Nobody was being left with a roof and a hope while all the capable people walked away.

We had built a camp large enough to do two things at once.

This was the morning we would find out whether we’d learned how.

Risa came to the doorway with me.

She straightened a fold in my coat that didn’t need straightening.

I let her.

“Entrance,” she said.

“Until we know the passage.”

“And if the plan changes?”

“I tell someone before I become the change.”

She laughed once, briefly.

Then put her hand against my chest.

“Come home.”

“I intend to.”

I kissed her.

Sera stood behind her, a folded dry cloth in one hand. She pushed it into the inner pocket of my coat.

“For the things you always forget are going to get wet.”

“Everything?”

“Start with your face.”

I kissed her too.

Luna was already beside the guide, waiting for the line to be checked.

When I reached her, she looked at my stick, my boots, then my face.

“All right?”

“For this much.”

She nodded.

That was the answer the morning needed.

The upper path was a different place in the rain.

I knew every bend.

I still had to look at each one as though I didn’t.

Water crossed places that had been dry yesterday. The handline tugged beneath my palm when someone ahead leaned against the wind. The lamps made small yellow rooms in the weather, with darkness between them.

The guide stopped before the exposed turn.

Touched the line with one limb.

Then pointed down.

A sheet of water hid the outer edge of the path.

I crouched where I could see the near stone and looked beneath the moving surface.

The footing was still there.

The loose material above it wasn’t.

I opened a shallow escape route through the visible bank so the water would stop pouring across our feet.

It ran through the new cut.

The path appeared again.

Corr checked it with his own weight before waving the next person forward.

The guide waited until everyone had crossed.

Then it crossed last.

The entrance was higher than it looked on the drawing.

A dark mouth beneath a sloping face of stone, with runoff falling past it in a curtain that made the gap seem closed until we were nearly beside it.

The queen’s people knew where to stand.

That was the first reason we didn’t waste time trying to reach it from the wrong side.

I made a sheltered footing at the near edge, using the ordinary rock I could see. A low lip above the opening turned most of the falling water aside.

Not a wall against the whole hillside.

A small change in the right place.

The difference was immediate.

We could hear each other.

Luna looked inside with Corr’s lamp beside her.

Dry stone for the first several paces. Then a turn.

She checked the floor, nodded to the guide, and went in.

Corr followed with Dot’s hand and the cable.

I sat on the ledge I’d made and stretched the leg.

Staying where I’d said I would stay turned out to be work too.

The first report came through the field set.

“First bend clear.”

Luna’s voice, close enough that I could hear water dripping somewhere near her.

“Passage narrows beyond. No standing water. Guide moving ahead.”

I looked at the image Dot’s hand sent back to the little receiver at the entrance.

Rock.

A pale limb against a darker wall.

The camera showed where they were.

It did not let me reach into the stone beyond the bend.

I kept my hands on my knees.

Beside me, Liam adjusted the strap on the carrying frame.

“Still dry?” he asked.

“For them.”

He looked at the water falling beyond our little shelter.

“Popular condition. I recommend it.”

Then the guide’s companion moved across the opening and held one broad limb where the wind had begun blowing spray onto the frame.

Liam looked up.

“Thank you.”

It couldn’t know the words.

He lowered his head in the gesture we’d learned.

The limb stayed where it was.

The neighbouring brood met them at the third turn.

I saw the first part on the screen.

Two unfamiliar Teeming in the passage. Still bodies. Forelimbs held across the route.

Stop.

Luna stopped.

Corr stopped behind her.

The guide moved forward alone and lowered itself slightly.

Signals passed between them, too faint for me to hear at the entrance and too complicated for a picture to explain.

Dot received the account through our queen as well as the ordinary image. The distinction mattered. The camera didn’t translate what she couldn’t see.

The agreement was confirmed.

Then changed.

The direct branch now carried young being moved away from water.

It could not take a human stretcher at the same time.

Another branch remained available.

Longer.

A narrow ledge at the first turn.

The neighbouring brood would guide the party there if we accepted the change.

Luna looked at Corr.

“Check it before anyone follows.”

He nodded.

Nobody tried to make permission for one route mean ownership of every passage around it.

The ledge needed work.

Not much, if the drawing Corr made at the turn was accurate.

That was the important part of the sentence.

The floor remained broad enough on the inner side, but a broken edge beside it meant the carrying frame could tip if the person at the rear had to step wrong.

A support at the visible inner foot could make room for a stable crossing.

It was a short distance beyond the entrance. Two checked bends. Handholds the whole way.

Luna came back herself to tell me.

I listened to the description.

Then told her what my leg was doing.

Tired. Not shaking. No return of the old sharp catch.

She looked at the frame beside Liam.

“You come with me. Look. If it isn’t what Corr thinks, we stop and choose again.”

I nodded.

Before leaving the entrance, I sent the change back through the field line to the camp record.

Checked passage. Short repair visit. Returning to entrance afterward.

Risa’s answer came back in her own voice.

“Understood.”

I could hear how carefully she’d made it sound ordinary.

The first unfamiliar Teeming watched me pass.

I watched it too.

Not its organs.

Not the silver along its nerves.

Its posture. The space it had left us. The place where its limb showed the safe edge of the floor.

I had once thought looking inside a living body meant I understood the thing in front of me better than anyone else could.

I knew what the parts were doing.

I had known almost nothing about the person using them.

At the broken ledge, Corr moved the lamp so I could see beneath the inner edge.

There was the foot he’d described.

Ordinary stone. A sound connection to the wall. Enough visible structure that I could understand where the load would go.

The fracture stopped short of it.

I sat on a dry block and rested the stick across my knees.

“Yes,” I said.

Luna crouched beside me.

“Can you do it?”

“Yes. From here.”

That was the part I wanted her to hear.

I didn’t make a bridge across the whole gap.

I strengthened the inner footing and widened the safe surface along the wall, keeping the load close to the stone that could carry it.

The queen’s lesson was there again.

Not more everywhere.

Enough, where it mattered.

I followed the visible structure and let the new part grow from it in stages.

Corr checked each section before I made the next.

Luna watched the rock above us, not my hands.

The unfamiliar Teeming waited at the far end.

When I finished, it stepped onto the crossing.

Put down another limb.

Shifted its weight.

Then moved aside.

Corr crossed next with the empty frame.

No tilt.

No scrape that made the rear carrier lean out over the broken edge.

I let the effort go and sat for another minute before standing.

My head was clear.

My leg was tired.

I told Luna both things.

Then I went back to the entrance with Ade beside me.

The rescue continued without me in the middle of it.

Luna and Corr went on with the neighbouring guide. Liam, Benedikt, and Tamsin followed when the passage had been checked far enough for the carrying party.

Ade stayed at the entrance until I was settled, then took another load of blankets and water forward.

I listened to the reports while the wind pushed rain against the outer stone.

A bend clear.

A short pause while a line of young crossed the passage ahead.

A question about which branch led upward.

Then Luna’s voice, different.

“We can hear them.”

I looked at the receiver.

There was only rock in the image.

But in the background, beyond the drip of water and the scrape of the hand’s feet, I heard a human voice answer her.

A woman.

Angry first, or frightened enough to sound like it.

Then quiet.

Then someone began crying.

I put my hand flat on the stone beside me and waited for Luna to tell us the number.

“Seven,” she said.

“All alive?”

“All alive.”

I shut my eyes.

Just for a moment.

Then opened them because there was work left.

They were in a high cleft with the lower entrance already full of moving water. One person couldn’t walk. The others were cold, exhausted, and frightened of the Teeming in the passage behind our party.

Luna said their transmitter had been calling at intervals until the power supply failed.

“Tell them ours is listening,” I said. “Tell them not to try to repair theirs yet.”

“I have.”

Of course she had.

A little later, the camera showed the first person approaching the checked route.

A woman with short dark hair plastered against her forehead and a lamp held so tightly that her fingers seemed fixed around it.

Brin Harker.

Luna gave us the name before asking anything else of her.

The names came one at a time.

Brin Harker.

Jace Morrow.

Soren Vail.

Elva Trent.

Milo Crest.

Nadine Ash.

Fenn Lowry.

Seven adults from the second wave.

We copied them at the entrance. Risa copied them at the camp. Holt checked the count against the one we’d heard through the storm.

Jace was the one who couldn’t walk.

Badly injured feet after an older fire. The group had carried him between shelters until the weather trapped them above the watercourse.

He needed the frame, warmth, and someone to look properly at injuries that had been managed with too little clean material for too long.

Luna didn’t promise him that I could make him walk before supper.

She promised him there was a bed waiting.

That was a thing she knew we could keep.

The first difficulty was getting them to enter the passage.

From where they stood, the way out was full of the creatures they’d been taught would kill them.

Our human voices didn’t undo that immediately.

Brin asked whether we were prisoners.

I heard her through the field set.

“No,” Luna said.

“Then why are they here?”

“Because they helped us find you.”

A long silence.

Then Jace asked, from somewhere behind her, whether they could go slowly with the frame.

“Yes,” Luna said.

It was a practical question. It gave the next moment a shape.

Corr showed them the route one person at a time. The neighbouring Teeming moved back from the narrow places where their bodies made the passage look closed.

Our guide waited beside the little marker for Scarecrow.

Not advancing.

Not herding.

Making itself something a frightened person could choose to walk past.

Brin went first.

The others followed because she came back around the turn and told them there was dry ground.

I saw them when they reached the repaired ledge.

Not through the camera this time.

I had moved only as far as the first checked bend so I could inspect the crossing while the load came over it. There was a seat there, a short line back to the entrance, and Ade nearby.

It was the most my leg needed to do.

Brin crossed with Corr.

Then Elva, leaning hard on his arm.

Soren and Fenn came together carrying a bag between them as if it contained a person neither wanted to drop.

Later I learned it held their dry clothes and a little packet of letters.

Nadine stopped on the near side and looked at the new stone.

“You made that?”

“Yes.”

She looked back at the gap beside it.

Then at my stick.

“Thank you.”

I nodded because my throat had tightened unexpectedly.

Behind her, the frame appeared.

Liam at the front. Benedikt at the rear. Tamsin walking beside the supported edge, keeping the blanket clear of the wall.

Jace stared at the ceiling until they were across.

Milo came last with Luna.

He was coughing hard enough that she stopped him twice to rest.

The guide waited behind them until everyone had passed the junction where the nursery route divided from ours.

Then it turned toward the neighbouring brood’s escort.

There was a brief exchange.

A movement of forelimbs. A pause.

I couldn’t translate it.

Dot could later tell us only that it included the completion of the passage agreement and the distinction for all who had entered.

Seven in.

Seven out.

No one left in the cleft.

No one wandering into the nursery branch by mistake.

The neighbouring escort lowered its limb and remained on its own side of the junction.

It had allowed us through.

It had not become part of our queen’s brood.

I was glad we knew enough now to thank it without pretending those were the same thing.

Luna lowered her head in the gesture we’d learned.

Then brought the last person homeward.

The exposed path was worse when we reached it.

The rain hadn’t stopped while we were underground.

Water raced past the entrance lip I’d made, striking the lower stone hard enough to throw spray back beneath the shelter.

We had seven more people to move across it now.

One on a frame.

I looked at the handline, then at the open stretch beyond it.

We could not carry Jace through the worst of that while hoping the wind would be kind for the length of a crossing.

I told Luna what I wanted to do.

A longer sheltered edge along the near wall. A raised lip to keep runoff from striking the carriers’ feet. The open parts left open so the water wouldn’t gather behind it.

Ordinary stone, all of it visible from where I sat.

She looked at me carefully.

“How much do you have left?”

“Enough for this. Not enough for three more things I haven’t thought of yet.”

“Then this is the last one.”

I agreed.

It was the largest piece of work I’d done that day.

Not the greatest thing I’d ever made.

The difference was how clearly I could hold its purpose while I made it.

I wasn’t trying to force the whole hillside to become safe.

I gave the water somewhere to go and the people somewhere to put their feet.

The strengthened edge rose in sections, joined back into the sound visible rock. The open drainage cuts stayed clear beneath it.

Wind struck the new shelter and broke around it.

Rain still reached us.

It no longer hit the frame broadside.

Corr went out first, clipped to the handline. Checked the first stretch. Checked the next.

Then Liam and Benedikt brought Jace through.

Slowly.

One stable place followed by another.

I watched until the frame reached the lamp on the far side.

Then sat back.

My eyes hurt.

I had reached the end of the useful part of my strength for that morning.

I didn’t try to bargain for another piece of it.

Ade helped me stand.

I needed the help.

That wasn’t a surprise, and I refused to make it an insult.

Luna took one side while Ade managed the bags. The stick and the handline gave me the other points I needed.

I walked back more slowly than the people we’d just rescued.

Several of them had to stop too.

Nobody seemed to think that made the rescue less real.

At the last bend, Jace lifted his head from the frame and looked back at me.

“Race?” he asked, very faintly.

I stared at him.

Liam began laughing.

“Don’t encourage him.”

Jace let his head rest again.

I laughed too, which made breathing and walking briefly more complicated than either needed to be.

Then the upper shelter came into view through the rain.

Light in the doorway.

People waiting with cloth and bowls and room made ready.

The camp had kept working while we were gone.

I had never loved the sight of it more.

Risa didn’t run out into the wet path.

She waited where I could reach her without both of us slipping.

When I arrived, she put a hand against my cheek and looked at my eyes.

“Too much?”

“Enough. Then I stopped.”

She studied me for another moment.

Luna answered before I could begin making the truth sound more impressive.

“He stopped.”

Risa let out a breath.

Then kissed me.

Sera brought a chair.

Not toward the back of the room where I’d have to keep standing while people moved around me.

Right there, on dry ground, where I could sit immediately.

I sat.

Risa took the wet coat from my shoulders. Sera put a warm cloth into my hands.

Luna went to tell Toby what the new patients needed.

For a little while, I let other people do every useful thing in reach.

The world remained intact.

The remaining spaces in the new sleeping bays filled that afternoon.

Not with all seven at once. Jace went where Toby could attend to him, and Milo stayed near enough for his breathing to be watched without someone having to cross the whole camp in the night.

The others went beneath the roof we’d built before knowing their names.

Vera showed them the shelves.

Edda brought dry clothes.

Nara sat beside Elva and told her which cup was hers before anyone could move it away by mistake.

Brin stood in the entrance with the lamp still in her hand.

The flame was out.

She hadn’t put it down.

I watched her realize that.

Then she set it on the shelf very carefully.

“Can I leave it there?”

“Yes,” Vera said.

Brin looked at the curtain.

“Can I close that?”

“Yes.”

The questions were small.

The answers changed the room.

Toby asked me to look at Jace after I’d eaten and rested.

Not before.

There was old damage in both feet, with areas that had been kept covered as well as the group could manage and others that needed more care than they’d been able to give.

I could see ordinary living tissue.

I could also see that repairing it wasn’t going to be one grand act that left him ready to walk down the path.

We cleaned what needed cleaning, changed the pressure from the poor supports, and dealt with the immediate problems we could identify.

The longer work would come after we understood more.

Jace listened.

Then asked if his friends could stay nearby.

Toby looked toward the new sleeping bays.

“Yes.”

Jace closed his eyes.

That answer mattered more to him than the first explanation of his injuries.

I remembered the queen moving the marker for her young back beside her own.

Brood was becoming a word I could understand without needing Dot to translate it.

Sixty-one.

We wrote the names and counted again.

Fifty-nine humans.

Dot.

Old Son.

Seven people who had called into weather because they didn’t know any other way to be found.

I sat with Brin while she warmed her hands around a bowl.

She had been the voice we’d heard most clearly.

“We kept trying,” she said. “When the receiver hissed, I thought someone might be there even if we couldn’t hear them.”

“We were.”

She looked at me.

Then down at the bowl.

“We were there,” I repeated.

It took her a while to answer.

Afterward, when she’d eaten, Luna explained why we weren’t asking her to begin broadcasting again.

The injured queens.

The power in the ground signal.

The guides who had come because we’d learned how to ask without hurting them.

Brin listened with her hands still around the bowl.

“We didn’t know.”

“Neither did we,” Luna said.

“We’ll show you what we’ve learned.”

The queen received the completed count before evening.

Seven found.

Seven brought home.

No one left in the cleft.

Dot sent the account through the quiet connection the queen had agreed to use. Then she asked that our thanks be passed to the neighbouring brood.

The reply took time.

Not because the words had become difficult.

Because another queen had other people to care for while the storm moved through her ground.

We waited.

When the answer came, it was short.

Passage complete.

Nursery route undisturbed.

Our people might ask again if the weather trapped others.

No promise that every route would remain open.

No surrender of her boundary.

Permission to return with a question.

Luna wrote it down.

Then put the mark for that queen beside the route, separate from the mark for our ally.

The map was getting more complicated.

It was also getting more truthful.

Holt wanted the revised route before anyone forgot which turn had changed.

Corr drew it while the others ate.

Luna added the nursery diversion. I marked the two repairs I’d made and the places that would need checking after the storm.

Holt listened to the whole account.

Then pointed at the first ledge.

“Good footing?”

“Good when we left,” Corr said.

Holt nodded.

That was the answer he wanted.

Not forever.

Not safe because Lucas had touched it.

Safe when checked, with the next check still somebody’s job.

He wrote the time beside the mark.

Then looked at me.

“You’re pale.”

“Observant.”

“Go and be pale sitting somewhere else.”

I laughed.

He went back to the map.

I left him there, arguing with Corr about the angle of a line, and took the advice.

The station instruction was still beneath the weather report.

Luna brought it to me after the first evening checks.

“We need a record of what we did.”

“We have one.”

“A record for them.”

I looked at the paper.

No authorized deployment.

No rescue unless someone elsewhere finished assessing whether the people on the ground were worth reaching.

We wrote a short report.

Seven survivors recovered through a checked route. Scarecrow remained staffed. No deaths. Medical care ongoing. No material consignment dispatched.

We didn’t put the queen’s nursery routes into it.

We didn’t give Command a map of every place our allies had allowed us to enter.

The pilot would receive the report at the next safe local contact. Until then, it would wait with the signed record of our refusal.

Luna set down the pencil.

“They may make this difficult.”

“Yes.”

She looked toward the shelters.

“I still don’t see a different answer.”

“Neither do I.”

Risa found us there and read the report over Luna’s shoulder.

Then she looked at me.

“You should be resting.”

“I am sitting.”

“A familiar defence.”

Luna folded the page.

“She’s right.”

I looked between them.

“Is this how every disagreement is going to go?”

“No,” Risa said. “Sometimes Sera will get here first.”

Sera appeared in the doorway carrying food.

“I heard that.”

I laughed, and the room loosened around the day.

They brought me home before I could find another page that urgently needed my attention.

Risa sat close enough that our knees touched. Sera put the bowls where nobody had to reach over my leg. Luna took off her wet outer layer and hung it where it could dry without dripping onto the bedding.

Four people doing small things for each other.

I was beginning to understand how much of a future was made that way.

Later, Risa asked if I regretted saying no.

The lamp was low. Sera was washing the bowls. Luna had gone to give the watch its last changes before returning.

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“I regret that the question was asked.”

She nodded.

I looked down at our joined hands.

“I was afraid out there.”

“I know.”

“Not only of the passage. Of doing something foolish because I wanted to be the person who could fix it all.”

Her thumb moved over my knuckles.

“You came back when you said you would.”

“I came back tired.”

“Yes. Those can both be true.”

I leaned my forehead against hers.

For a moment, we stayed that way.

Then she put my hand against her middle, over the cloth.

Nothing moved beneath it that I could feel.

There was no sudden certainty about every year ahead.

Only Risa, warm and alive beside me, and the small future we had chosen to welcome.

“I want you here for this,” she whispered.

“So do I.”

The rain continued through the night.

More calls broke across the receiver, some too faint to understand and some far enough away that we couldn’t yet place them against any route we knew.

We did not stop recording them.

We also did not send exhausted people back into the dark simply because listening hurt.

Fresh watches took over. The guide’s people carried the next question below. Our queen asked the neighbours who were willing to answer.

At Scarecrow, the new roofs held.

Toby checked Jace and Milo, then let Juno take the next watch beside the beds.

Holt slept.

Olin slept with his repaired leg supported.

The seven new people slept close enough to hear one another breathe.

I lay beside the people I loved and listened to the storm cross the roof without entering the room.

No had been one word.

Bringing everyone home had taken many hands.

I was glad the record would show both.

Day 544. No.

Refused the instruction to hold while seven located survivors remained trapped. Luna recorded the decision with me. Low-power local contact only. Broad transmitter stayed disconnected.

Neighbouring brood permitted an alternate passage around its nursery traffic. Guide and escort led the party. Repaired inner ledge and entrance approach. Return route needs checking after storm.

Brin Harker, Jace Morrow, Soren Vail, Elva Trent, Milo Crest, Nadine Ash, Fenn Lowry recovered alive. All second wave, adults.

Sixty-one people home. Fifty-nine humans, Dot, Old Son.

Jace’s old foot injuries need continuing care. Milo’s breathing being watched. Dry beds, food, water. Friends kept nearby.

My leg tired. Repair holding. Power used where I could see. Stopped after the entrance work and accepted help back.

Our queen passed the count. Neighbour confirmed nursery route undisturbed and permission to ask for passage again.

Station report prepared. No survivor left in the cleft.

More voices still on the receiver.