The word made no sense, not in that context, but Tre understood. He opened his mouth and Freak placed the pill on his tongue. A canteen appeared and she held it to his lips. “Bubbles.”
Tre drank, sparingly at first, then greedily, as water trickled down his chin and onto his neck. “That’s enough,” the man said. “They call me Bones. What’s your name?”
Tre struggled to speak. The task was more difficult than he expected it to be. “Tre.”
“Well, Tre, you took a blow to the head and suffered a concussion. Do you remember the fight?”
Tre could see it, hear it, and feel it. The gang leader going for his gun, the recoil from the shotgun barrels, the spray of blood. He nodded.
“Good. No loss of memory, then… There could be lasting effects, though. Time will tell. In the meantime I’m going to make up a tonic of sage, nettle, and mugwort. That should put you right.”
Tre wanted to object, wanted to say that he had never heard of mugwort, but couldn’t find the strength. A great weakness came over him and sleep started to pull him down. Someone pulled a scratchy blanket up under his chin. Then she said, “Treetop,” and kissed him on the lips. Darkness fell.
There were dreams. Strange, twisted things that made no sense and woke him up. Sometimes there was light, and sometimes there wasn’t, and there was no way to gauge the passage of time.
Eventually the pain began to fade, his appetite returned, and Tre found the strength to sit. A day later he managed to stand. And then, with Bones guiding him about, Tre toured the hideout. It was located east of Afton, up in the Salt River Range, where steep terrain, forested slopes, and rushing rivers made the tunnel hard to find and easy to defend.
The hideout had been a coal mine once. That was obvious from the wooden timbers that supported the roof, the tool marks on the dimly lit walls, and the half-buried tracks that led deep into the mountain.
There were three “rooms,” including a stable large enough to accommodate twenty horses, a workshop complete with a forge, and a communal living area furnished with a variety of castoffs and warmed by a large coal-fed stove. That, plus the stream that ran along the east side of the main passageway, meant the residents had two very important luxuries: heat and water.
One by one, Tre met other members of the gang. The first was a young man named Knife, a sobriquet that fit perfectly given his appearance. Knife was at least six-two, with a saturnine face, and tattoos on his arms. When they met, Knife was working at a small forge. It was, according to Bones, one of the amenities the miners had left behind.
The coal-fed fire glowed and threw off waves of welcome heat as Knife used metal tongs to pull a long strip of glowing metal out of the flames. After folding the blank he positioned it on an anvil and began to pound on it with a hammer. A sweaty sheen appeared on his pale white skin, and droplets flew as he worked. “It’s going to be a sword,” Bones explained. “A katana.”
Tre had read about Samurai swords and looked on with considerable interest as Knife worked. “This is Tre,” Bones said. He had to speak loudly in order to be heard over the ring of steel on steel.
The response was little more than a grunt of acknowledgment as Knife plunged the steel into a bucket of gray water. That was followed by a loud hiss and an explosion of steam. “I read that Japanese sword makers fold their steel up to sixteen times,” Tre said. “How many folds are you going to make?”
Knife frowned as he turned to look at the newcomer. “What’s your name again?”
“Tre.”
“Fourteen. I plan to fold the steel fourteen times.”
Tre nodded. “Can I watch?”
Knife looked at Bones and back. “No. But you can help.” That said, he turned back to his work.
“He likes you,” Bones said. “That was a long speech by Knife’s standards.”
Then Tre was taken to meet Smoke and Fade. They were “a couple,” as Bones put it and shared an alcove. As Bones announced their presence and ushered Tre into the area, both women turned to look. “Good morning, ladies,” Bones said cheerfully. “The patient is up and around.”
One of the women had black hair, brown skin, and almond-shaped eyes. She was dressed in a shirt that was tied at the waist, buckskin trousers, and pull-on boots. Her eyebrows rose. “Look, Fade… one of Bone’s patients survived! It’s a miracle.”
The other woman had blond hair, wide-set eyes, and a generous mouth. Her outfit was similar to Smoke’s. “You’re right… This is a first. And he’s cute too.”
Tre felt blood rush to his cheeks and hoped the women wouldn’t notice. “Ignore them,” Bones advised. “They claim to be our scouts but spend most of their time lounging about.” Smoke winked and Fade smiled. Tre tried to think of something to say, came up empty, and was eager to escape as Bones led him away.
“Time for lunch, Tre… No offense, but you’re kind of scrawny. We need to fatten you up.”
The “cafeteria” consisted of three improvised tables in the middle of the common area. The kitchen was centered around a large coal-fed stove the miners had left behind. And there, hard at work, was the man everyone called Hog—not because he was fat or ugly, but because he had a fondness for bacon, or so Bones claimed.
When Hog turned to look at them, there was a big smile on his face. “You’re up and around! That’s good. I was running out of gruel. Sit down and prepare for a feast!”
And it was a feast by Tre’s standards. The meal included pieces of freshly baked bread, slices of canned corned beef, and a pot of mustard. That was followed by slices of apple dusted with cinnamon and mugs of hot tea. All of it was delicious.
It had been a long time since anyone had prepared a meal for Tre. The last one he could remember had been cooked by his mother the day before her death. He pushed the memory away as Fade and Smoke sauntered in. Freak arrived shortly thereafter and made a point of sitting next to Tre. She looked at him and smiled. “Kneecap.”
Tre, who had no idea how to respond, shifted uneasily. Bones came to his rescue. “The best thing to do is assume that Freak is saying something appropriate. Like, ‘glad to see you.’”
Tre swallowed and looked at Freak. “You too.”
A teenager named Snake arrived at that point. He looked normal enough, and Tre was at a loss to understand the name, until the boy began to lick some mustard off his hand. That was when Tre saw Snake’s tongue. It was split at least halfway back and it appeared that both halves could move independently. Tre had never seen anything like that before and wondered if it was a birth defect.
As Tre listened to the gang members talk, he got the impression that there were others. Guards who would eat later, some “wranglers,” and a person named Crow—a man who, if Tre understood correctly, was the group’s leader.
Once Tre finished his meal, he felt unexpectedly tired, excused himself, and went back to the side gallery that Bones called “the dispensary.” He lay on a cot, pulled a blanket up under his chin, and let sleep carry him away.
Tre rose an hour later with plans to visit Knife and help with the sword, but just as he was about to leave the dispensary, Bones arrived. “There you are… How’s the head?”
“I feel better. Thanks.”
“Good. Crow wants to speak with you.”
Tre felt a sense of concern and wasn’t sure why. Because he didn’t like to talk to people that were in charge of things? Yes, but, like it or not, there was only one answer he could reasonably give. “Okay, when?”
“Right now,” Bones replied. “Come on.”
Tre followed Bones into the main tunnel, under a low arch, and into a chilly alcove. A wooden ladder led straight up. It creaked as Bones climbed and Tre followed.