Read Online Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2) by Jennifer Martucci, Christopher Martucci - Free Book Online Page A

now, not when there is a crowd of strange men leering at me. I hope I am wrong about them, that everything is a figment of my exhausted imagination, and that being peeved with Will is encompassed in that.  He looks as if he is having a good time.  I wish I could say the same for myself.  But I can’t.  I do not feel as if I have his support, and that leaves me perplexed, and angry. 
    I chew my meat but bitterness continues to ris e in the back of my throat.  Forcing myself to eat is necessary.  I need to attempt to keep my strength intact.  So I keep going, swallowing bite after bite, all the while I watch and listen. 
    W hen I finish, I look around and see that most of the men are leaning back, their assorted array of bellies round and full. I am still rattled by the circumstances.  That feeling is compounded when the women return and clear the tables.  They file out from the doorway they disappeared through and dutifully remove the metal saucers on which our food was served.  As they do, they do not make eye contact or say a word.  But when the women are close to me, I am able to look at them closely.  I examine their skin. It looks thin and heavily creased and bears an unhealthy grayish pallor.  Their complexions look as if they have not seen sunlight in many years.  I purposely place my face directly in the line of vision of one of them.  Her eyes flicker from my face to the table then back to me.  Desperation scrawls lines around her mouth and forehead.  Despair flashes in her dull irises before burning out like a tiny ember in a rainstorm. 
    The expression haunts me.  I cannot focus on the rest of the time I spend in the dining area.  When Ross speaks directly to me, I must ask him to repeat himself as I am lost in thought, trying frantically to decode what I saw in the woman’s eyes. 
    “We had the women set up a cottage for you and your family,” he says.
    For a moment, my mind scrambles to figure out what he means by cottage .  I realize he is talking about the huts in which villagers used to live.
    “Thank you,” I say and nod stiffly.  I do not trust myself to say anything more.  Without my weapons to protect us, I will not risk saying anything that might get us killed. 
    We are led down a long hallway and out into an open courtyard.  Small structures with thatched roofs continue for as far as I can see. 
    “Wow,” Oliver’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of it. 
    “Is this where I was born?” June asks me with quiet wonder in her voice.  She has stopped walking while the others continue toward a nearby hut.
    “Yes, this is where you were born and lived for the first two years of your life,” I reply, but wonder does not shade my words.  Hurt does. 
    We continue walking until we reach the entrance to the place we will rest for the night. 
    “Here we are,” Ross says and grins so wide his smile turns frightening.  He splays one hand out at his side to showcase the cozy interior of the hut lit by what I guess is an animal fat-fueled lantern.  “You should all enjoy a night of deep, worry-free sleep.  Two men will be on the wall patrolling.  But don’t worry, the night beasts don’t live this close to the edge of the forest, and even if they did,” he adds with pride, “They wouldn’t be able to make it over the wall.”
    He did not build the wall, yet his demeanor suggests he assumes credit for it.  I met the men who placed each stone by hand.  They were good and decent men who walked for miles in sweltering temperatures to wash their clothes in rivers and hunt to feed the village.  Women and children ate with men, and no one wore looks of anguish on their faces without illness or death as a cause.  The men who built the wall were not like Ross at all. 
    “Thank you,” Will says to Ross and clutches his shoulder familiarly.  “This is terrific.  We are grateful for your hospitality.” 
    Will turns and looks over his shoulder at me, as if