Page 53 of Juniper Unraveling

“Papa! They’re Ragers!” The sight of so many walking freely crystalizes my spine, paralyzing me where I stand. “Six!” I call out to him, where he still paces the perimeter, and when he spins around, the first Rager barrels toward him.

“Oh, God! Six!”

Half of me wants to run to him, protect him. The other half of me can’t move. My breaths hasten, and a cold sweat takes over me, the dizzying fear turning everything into a muted silence.

Papa tugs at my arm, and I break into motion again, gathering the buckets of pears. “Six, c’mon!”

A dozen more on the heels of the first rush toward us, but stop short mere feet from Six. Instead they pace, growling and reaching out, their eyes set on Papa and me.

Though, as if an invisible barrier stands between them and us, they don’t come any closer.

We toss the buckets of fruit into the back of the truck, and Six walks the perimeter, pushing the occasional Rager backward. They growl and bare their teeth, but don’t attack him. Some swipe out at him, but they keep their distance.

Once the fruit is loaded, I scramble to the cab of the truck and, pausing at my door, watch in awe. “Why do the stay away?”

Gaze glued to the windshield, Papa nods toward Six. “Him. We have to go. Now.”

With one hand on the passenger door, I whistle for Six, but a force strikes me from behind. The ground smashes into my face, and I claw at the dirt to get away. A sharp yank drags me back.

“Wren!” Papa’s shout hardly carries over the terrified scream that gurgles in my chest, as I reach out for anything to hold on to. Gripping the tire, I resist the pull of my legs and kick out, finally catching sight of the mutilated face scrambling toward me.

I can’t reach the blade at my hip while buried under the body of the Rager.

It bears its teeth, chattering them, as they do before they kill. It lowers its head as if to bite me, and in the next second, the creature is thrown into the air on a hearty growl. Arms slide beneath me, lifting me from the ground, and I wrap my trembling arms around Six’s neck as he carries me, setting me back inside the truck.

Ragers have surrounded us, getting closer. A thump against the window behind me stiffens my already rattled muscles, and Six throws the mangled figure out of the bed of the truck.

“Six! Get in!” Papa’s stern voice carries the slight wobble of fear.

Squeezing in beside me, Six slams the door on a charging Rager, at the same time Papa floors the gas, and we plow through the bodies, turning back onto the main road.

Strong arms pull at me, and I nuzzle into Six’s chest, mentally willing myself to calm down.

“Are you all right? Did they bite you?” Papa asks beside me.

“No. No bites.” The horror of the final moments replays inside my head, though. If Six hadn’t been there, the Rager would’ve bitten me. I would’ve become one of them.

“They’ve begun to roam farther out from the cities.”

I lift my face from Six, examining his arms, his clothing, looking for any bite marks. There’s nothing. “How did they not bite you?” The incredulous tone in my voice doesn’t reflect the lingering fear still pulsing through my body. I clutch his arm, taking deep breaths, willing my head to settle.

At the first sight of tents, Papa pulls off and directs Six into the bed of the truck, beneath the tarp, so as not to be seen by the guards. Once he’s out of earshot, I swing my attention back to Papa.

“Why didn’t they attack him? It’s almost as if they feared him.”

“Probably smelled it when he took a piss.”

“Smelled what?”

“Pheromones.”

I frown, trying to imagine how something I’ve only come to know as an animal trait might apply to Six. “How?”

“The mind of a Rager is something like an early reptile.” Papa doesn’t look over at me, just focuses on the drive. “Some hypothesize that they are reduced to the reptilian brain. A very primitive mind. They’re driven by three basic needs—eat, mate, and survive. And they survive by instinctively avoiding what they perceive as a much bigger threat.”

“They’re afraid of Six, then.”

“We should all be a little afraid of Six. He’s driven by the same needs, Wren. The second generation has a more symbiotic relationship with the protein, and he can function on a higher level. But he has urges. Some he can’t control, as much as he may want to.”