Page 58 of Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

She wanted to see how far the people lived. How wide the camp spread out, and if you could even call it all one camp. When she asked Star what the name of the place was, she answered, “The Winter Camp.” After the rains, they would travel back north to the Summer Camp. Still, Enid kept wanting to call this a town. She kept wanting to see the people here as unified in some way. Her own experience told her this must be a community like hers, but different. A town, maybe not one like Haven, but still a town. Somehow, someway.

Voices echoed. Made it hard to guess how many people really lived among the ruins. Glancing behind, she saw that a couple of the older kids had followed them, ducking onto side streets, behind trees, giggling when Enid and Dak pretended not to see them.

She ended up being glad for their presence when once, up ahead, a shadowy figure holding a bow—arrow notched—stepped back into the shadows of undergrowth. Enid didn’t get a good look at the hunter, and when she reached the place where she had seen him, he was gone. She had the impression he was a guard of some kind. Someone suspicious of strangers. The presence of the children must have made the newcomers seem safe. That was what she hoped.

Then they found the fire. A small, lone camp, an hour or so walk away from the rest of the settlement. Or the not-settlement, rather. Enid found herself constantly bumping up against expectations. She looked around but didn’t see anyone. Someone had to be nearby. The fire was small but still had some fresh flames—it had been fed within the last half-hour. A tripod was set up over it.

“Hello?” Enid called.

Dak held her arm. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“What? I don’t know if anyone’s even—”

A woman came out from around the corner of the next street. Her thick hair was pulled back from her nut-colored face; she wore leather and a felted cloak pulled tightly over her shoulders. A great bundle of branches and twigs—fuel for the fire—was slung on her back. The bundle was almost as big and thick as she was. She’d lashed it together with rough braided cord, and she seemed to just barely be managing, hefting it on her shoulder while precariously looking ahead. Two young children followed her, and they had their own, less bulky, bundles of fuel.

Enid noticed then that all the trees and shrubs in the immediate area had been cut and harvested. They must have had to walk quite a ways to find more to feed the fire.

“Mama, look!” the older child said, stopping to stare at Enid and Dak. The kids were both in tunics and leather slippers, their hair pulled back like the woman’s.

The woman’s eyes went round. She dropped the bundle and came forward. “What do you want? What do you want?” The demand was harsh, fearful.

“Nothing,” Enid said, wondering if they should back out of here the way they’d come. “We’re just passing through.”

When the woman put down the branches, she revealed the baby, maybe six months old, pressed close to her body in a leather sling. Arms around the baby now, she rushed forward.

“This is mine,” she said, standing between them and the fire.

Enid didn’t come any closer. “That’s fine.”

“Why’re you here?” She gestured; the kids dumped their bundles of wood with hers and came close. They’d taken on wary, suspicious looks to match hers.

Enid spoke calmly. “I saw the fire burning and wondered if anyone was around. We’re just passing through.”

The woman seemed to turn that over for a moment. They were tucked behind another fallen pile of concrete, and she glanced around—looking up the street, around the corner, as if searching for someone. So there were others who were part of this group, probably gone off looking for food.

She and the children all had hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. They looked tired, even the kids.

“I don’t have any to share. Sorry but I don’t,” she said finally, with marginally less suspicion. That was probably as close to an invitation as they were likely to get.

“That’s all right. Really. You mind if we rest here a moment?”

“Sure, go ahead. Daisy, get the kettle, yeah?” The older of the two children ran off. The other followed her a moment later, while the woman dra

gged bundles of sticks over and began feeding them into the fire. One arm always cradled the baby in the sling. The girl came back a moment later, hauling a beat-up pot that already had water in it.

The woman had a bag slung over her shoulder in addition to the baby; Enid couldn’t tell where her clothing ended and various bags and pouches began, like she was used to carrying the world with her wherever she went. She pulled ingredients out of this bag, wild onions, some small knobby potatoes, and sliced them up with a small knife.

Enid wanted to help. There had to be something constructive she could do. “Can I help?” she finally asked, a little desperately.

“No. I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Dak found a perch on a fallen slab overgrown with vines. She thought of asking him to play some music—everyone liked music. But he sat clenched and anxious, hands sitting on his knees in fists. Enid went to sit next to him, to watch the scene play out. The woman—was she the mother of all three of them?—told the kids to go off and leave her alone for now. The elder, Daisy, took the younger one’s hand and they ran, giving Enid and Dak shy glances over their shoulders. They disappeared around a corner; shouting and laughter could be heard a moment later. The noise sounded blissfully normal, and Enid sighed to hear it.

She whispered at Dak, “There’s got to be some way we can help. Yeah?”

“Help how? You want to rebuild Haven for them right here?”

Maybe that was what she wanted, to re-create Haven so these people would be safe—she assumed they weren’t safe, living like this. But they must have been—there must have been people living here, like this, since the Fall. Somehow, no matter how precarious it looked. Dak was right: she couldn’t exactly rebuild Haven wherever she went. Didn’t have the resources for it.

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