The Same End (The Lamb and the Lion Book 3)

by Gregory Ashe

  “Stop,” Tean whispered, yanking him back toward the floor. “Stop, Jem. He’s trying to make you mad so you’ll do something stupid. Stop, or he’ll kill both of us.”

  “I said back—” Tanner began. He never finished.

  A shadow detached itself from the open doorway behind Tanner, darting into the cabin. The penlight’s narrow beam only gave a haze of light to the rest of the cabin, but it was enough for Tean to glimpse the man he had met as Nick, whose real name was Nathaniel: the wide, dark eyes, the too-red lips, the long hair pulled back to expose his mutilated ear. Tanner turned toward the movement. He was too slow. Nathaniel grabbed Tanner’s ear and sliced it off with two savage hacks from a knife that was almost as long as his forearm. The blade was too big for the job, and it looked cumbersome; the long, wide blade opened furrows along Tanner’s temple and cheek.

  Tanner screamed. He was still turning, but now the instinctive reaction to pull away made him stumble back. The guns came up. Tanner fired. Muzzle flashes gave popcorn bursts of light. The clap of the shots rocked Tean. One bullet hit a bunkbed, and part of the frame exploded into a cloud of splinters.

  Nathaniel’s knife went into Tanner’s belly, and Tanner screamed again.

  Jem was on his knees, doing something—Tean couldn’t process it. Tean was only aware of this opportunity. He launched himself up from the ground. Tanner was still caught in the movement of turning, still stumbling back as he reacted to Nathaniel’s attack. He fired again. The muzzle flashes painted Nathaniel in gold, outlining where a mist of blood had beaded on the bridge of his nose. One of the bullets slammed into a window, knocking open the shutter.

  Nathaniel lunged, following Tanner with the knife, and the second bullet caught him in the head. The bullet tore away the side of his skull and his scarred ear. He dropped. The noise from the gunshots had deafened Tean, but his brain supplied the clink of metal when the knife hit the floor.

  By then, Tean had closed the distance. He was behind Tanner, who had turned to face Nathaniel. He grabbed Tanner’s left arm, which was holding Ammon’s gun, and twisted. Tanner screamed. Tean wrested the gun from Tanner’s grip, but the metal was slick and oily with sweat, and Tean almost fumbled it.

  “Down, down,” Tean shouted.

  But Tanner was already spinning around, and he clubbed Tean with the side of his own pistol. The blow was hard enough to scramble Tean’s vision. He was vaguely aware of stepping back, his foot coming down on something soft but unyielding, and tripping. He landed on his back, his legs across Haggerty’s corpse. Under one calf, he felt a hard, familiar outline. Something hidden under Haggerty’s shirt.

  Tean didn’t have time to consider it; when his hand hit the old boards, pain sparked along the nerves, and his fingers extended automatically. Ammon’s gun flew out of his hand. Tean flipped over, reaching for it, but he was too late. The gun disappeared through the cabin’s front door. It was gone.

  A crunch and a horrible scream made Tean scramble around. He had a mental vision of Jem being pistol-whipped. Instead, though, he saw Jem on his feet, swinging the tube sock in lazy circle. He had loaded it with the rocks that Tean had hidden in his pockets on the switchback; a few of the smaller stones lay on the boards where he had been kneeling. Tanner had backed up to the cabin’s wall, cradling an arm to his chest. The arm was obviously broken, part of the forearm sagging grotesquely. Blood streamed down his face from the stump of his ear. It soaked his shirt. More blood stained the bottom of his shirt and his jeans where Nathaniel had driven the blade into his gut. It was a miracle that he was still standing, but Tean was starting to understand that Tanner was a survivor in more ways than one. He was breathing in rapid bursts, his eyes roving back and forth. His gun lay in the corner near the back door, where it must have fallen after Jem had broken his arm with the improvised sap.

  “Say something again,” Jem said. The words were muffled to Tean’s damaged hearing. He swung the loaded sock faster. It made a soft, humming noise. “Say something again about what you did to me. Laugh about it.”

  “Jem,” Tean said, sitting up. The movement brought his leg in contact with that hard shape under Haggerty’s shirt again. “Jem, you’re ok. You—”

  “I’m not ok,” Jem shouted; his eyes remained fixed on Tanner. “I’m not ok. He did . . . that to me. He did it again and again. It was a game for him. He’d play with me like it was a fucking game. He’d let me run, let me think I could get away. He’d tell me he’d make it nice. Once, he staged this whole scene so I’d overhear him talking about the laundry, about a way to escape. I thought I was finally free. When I tried, he was waiting there with Blake and Antonio. They took turns, Tean. When they’d finished, he shoved a . . . a sheet up there, and he made me thank him for putting in my tampon. Because I was bleeding. Because that’s what he did to me every time. He couldn’t get hard unless there was blood.” He managed a few gasping breaths. “You want to know how I learned that people will believe anything if they want it to be true? LouElla might have taught me that, but you’re looking at the guy who drove it home.”

  Even cradling his broken arm, Tanner managed a smile. “I bet you’re so loose now I could drive a Mack truck up there. You wouldn’t be any fun.”

  Jem howled and swung. The sock caught Tanner on the side of the face. The rocks crunched, and Tean thought he heard bone break. Tanner stumbled, caught up against the wall again, and slid to the floor, sprawling almost to the back door. Jem hit him again, bringing down the improvised sap across Tanner’s ribs. And then again, twice in a row, on Tanner’s leg.

  “Jem, stop!” Tean wasn’t sure how long he’d been screaming the words. He wasn’t sure how many times he’d already said them. He only knew that his throat was raw from it.

  Panting, hunched over from the pain in his own ribs, Jem finally slowed. He was crying, Tean realized. Silently, the tears running down his face. When he spoke, though, his voice had only the faintest hoarseness. “Tell me again about animals, Tean. Tell me about the biological imperative of revenge. And then I’m going to beat this motherfucker to death for what he did to me. What he took from me.”

  On the floor, Tanner’s eyes were half closed, and from the shape and position of his jaw, Tean guessed it was dislocated, probably broken. Tean thought of a lonely, frightened, kindhearted boy who had never had a home, who had been tortured and abused. And for a single, frightening moment, Tean wanted to kill Tanner himself.

  “Jem, if you do this, you’re going to regret it. You’re going to do something because of all the pain inside you, not because you want to. And you’re going to have to carry it for the rest of your life, and you’ll never be free of it. You can’t do this.”

  “I can.” He laughed, the sound thick. “I really can, Tean. Maybe you should wait outside. I don’t want you to see this.”

  Tean shook his head.

  “Go outside. I don’t want you to see this.”

  “No. If you’re going to do it, I’ll stay. But you don’t have to do this.” Tean took a deep breath. “You want me to talk about animals, but I don’t know anything about animals and forgiveness. I don’t know if they can forgive. But you’re not an animal, Jem, no matter how hard the world tried to make you one. You’re a human, and you’re the most wonderful human I know. And if there’s anything that’s purely human, it’s forgiveness. You can stop. You can let go of all the hurt and the pain. I know it’s not that easy, but you can start right now. You can start to let go.”

  For a few moments, the only sound was Jem’s hitching breaths. Then, in a broken voice, he said, “He hurt me. And he kept hurting me. And sometimes it felt good, and that was the worst part because he’d hurt me so many times and I didn’t understand how it could feel good. Then he’d hurt me more. And nobody would help me. I was alone. I was a kid, and nobody would help me, and I was all alone.”

  “You’re not alone now.”

  For a terrible moment, nothing. Then Jem let out a sob. Still p
ulled crooked by the pain in his side, he let the sock drop and turned away from Tanner.

  Tanner’s eyes shot open. He sat up, and in his good hand, he held the gun that had fallen into the corner of the room. “Big fucking mistake, faggot.”

  Jem froze.

  “Fuck,” Tanner said, the word distorted by his broken jaw. His hand hovered over the wound in his belly. “Fuck me if that little cunt didn’t fuck me up.”

  Tean moved very slowly, finding the hem of Haggerty’s shirt, sliding his fingers underneath it.

  “I guess I’ve gotta—” Tanner’s voice was muzzy. “Oh fuck. Can’t leave you two hanging around.”

  At the small of Haggerty’s back, where the flesh was already cooling, Tean closed his hand around Jager’s throwdown piece. He worked it free slowly. Tanner’s gaze was fixed on Jem’s back.

  “Wish I had time to enjoy—” Tanner started to say.

  “Put it down,” Tean said. The grip, with its American-flag design, was smooth to the touch. His hand trembled.

  “Tean,” Jem said.

  “I said put it down.”

  “Oh man,” Tanner said in the fuzzy voice. “You just don’t have the look. Sorry. Jeremy here might have the balls for it, but I know a loser when I—”

  Tanner’s hand came up, the gun moving toward Jem with a speed and certainty that belied his earlier performance.

  Tean fired.

  40

  The bullet tore out part of Tanner’s throat. Blood sprayed out in an arc. Tanner fell backward, blood still fountaining from the ruptured artery. His heels drummed against the boards. He arched his back. And then the bursts of blood stopped, and he was still.

  Dropping the gun, Tean scooted away from the weapon. He couldn’t take his eyes off Tanner. An ocean of blood rolled across the floor. Even with his damaged hearing, Tean thought he could make out the sound of drops falling between the boards to hit the ground below.

  Jem’s hand was warm and firm, turning Tean’s face into his shoulder. “You don’t need to look at it.” His other hand clutched Tean’s back. The intensity of his grip was confusing to Tean; Tean wasn’t really sure what the big deal was.

  “I killed him,” Tean said. It was like talking into a tin-can phone.

  “Oh my God,” Jem whispered, shuddering as he pulled Tean against him even tighter.

  “I killed him, Jem. He’s dead.”

  “I know. Oh my God, I know. I never wanted you to do that. I never wanted you to have to do that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I need you to hold it together for just a little bit longer.”

  “Yes, of course.” The words were easy down the tin-can line. “I’m fine.” Then, because it seemed the thing to say: “I killed him.”

  Jem made a noise that sounded like a sob. His voice was strangled as he said, “I know, Tean. I know.” Pushing back Tean’s hair, he kissed him on the temple and said, “Can you help me get outside? Through the back door and down into the trees? The only thing I can think of is to take the raft. Kristine won’t let us hole up in here forever; she’s got to wrap this up and get gone.”

  “The raft.”

  Letting out a shaky breath, Jem kissed Tean on the temple again. “We’re going to stand up, and you’re going to look into my eyes. Ok?”

  “Ok.”

  They got up, Jem grunting with pain, and then he allowed Tean to pull away from his shoulder. His fingers, tacky with dried blood, found Tean’s chin and turned his head up. “Right here. Look right here. You don’t need to see any more of that.”

  It was like dancing, Tean thought. Moving like this, their bodies in sync, it could have been a waltz. Except for the splash of their footsteps.

  “No,” Jem said, redirecting his face. “Up here.”

  The stairs were harder. Jem backed down them, grimacing as he lowered himself. His hand stayed steady, though, on Tean’s face. The coppery smell of blood on his fingers made Tean think of pennies in the fountains at Caesar’s Palace. The sun had been very bright. A desert sun. Refracted by the water, it had smeared long, red-gold flashes of light against the painted-blue cement.

  “Yes,” Jem was saying, “the fountains were very nice. We’ll go back sometime and see more fountains. Keep talking about that.”

  Tean hadn’t known he’d been talking.

  “I need you to stay here. Are you going to be all right?”

  When Tean nodded, Jem hauled himself back up to the cabin, swearing explosively as he handled the steps again. Footsteps made the boards groan. Under it all was the steadily slowing drip-drip-drip. A light breeze stirred the tangle of salt cedar that hung inches from Tean’s face, and he breathed in the smell of its dusty leaves and gray-green bark. The bullet had torn a hole the size of a quarter in Tanner’s throat before passing through the open doorway, and that meant flecks of shredded flesh and microdroplets of blood now stippled the salt cedars.

  Tean startled at the proximity of Jem’s voice: “I need you back here with me.”

  A hand closed over his. “Yes,” Tean said. “Ok.”

  “It’s not ok. I know it’s not. But you can do this for a little bit longer, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Jem squeezed once, hard, and then said, “I’m going to distract Kristine. As soon as I come running back this way, I need you to run with me. We’re going to get to the raft, and then we’re going to push off and float downriver and hope she doesn’t spot us.”

  “You can’t run. With your ribs, you can barely walk.”

  “Then we’ll hobble to the raft.” Tean opened his mouth to argue, but Jem spoke over him. “You’ll help me, right?”

  Tean nodded.

  “Then we’ll be fine.”

  One hand pressed to his side, Jem limped toward the far side of the cabin. He became a shadow, drifting like smoke through a valley lit up by a haze of starlight. A measure of clarity was coming back to Tean, and he walled away what had happened in the cabin. He’d deal with it another time. Jem could barely walk, let alone run, and to make it to the raft, they’d need all the speed they could get.

  Tean pushed himself away from the cabin wall, the logs rough under his hand, and sprinted after Jem. He kept his eyes straight ahead, even though the cabin was dark, so he wouldn’t have to see.

  “What are you—”

  “Whatever you’re going to do, I’ll do it. Jem, you can’t. You can barely walk. If we’re going to make it to the raft before she realizes it’s a distraction, you need to be as close as possible.”

  Frustration twisted Jem’s face. Fireworks bloomed in the distance.

  “Tell me how to do it.”

  “She has to know something went wrong,” Jem said. “Otherwise Nathaniel would have contacted her. The whole plan was probably for her to pin down Tanner, and then Nathaniel would come up behind him, disable him, and then they could spend a few days in this cabin torturing him. We screwed that up for them. Now she’s up there, wondering if Tanner pulled one over on Nathaniel, if we’re still in the picture—wondering who’s still on their feet, in other words.”

  “And?”

  Jem gestured with Haggerty’s penlight, still dark, which Tean now realized he had gone back into the cabin to retrieve. Ahead of them, a break in the salt cedar created a narrow, open passage along the side of the cabin. “I go out there, click the flashlight a few times, and hope she takes a shot.”

  Staring at him, Tean felt his jaw unhinge. The movement of air carried the desert perfume of water on stone, mud, and humidity from the Dolores. He finally managed to say, “You’re kidding.”

  “Well, I’m going to throw the flashlight eventually.”

  “Jem!”

  “Do you have a better idea for how to deal with a lunatic sniper who has some sort of night-vision gear and is excited to blow our heads off?”

  “Pretty much any idea is better than that.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. She’s up there, and she’s wa
iting for the first person who isn’t Nathaniel to show himself. What we need is a decoy, but unfortunately, I don’t normally carry those in my pockets.”

  After another glance around them, Tean let out a slow breath. He grabbed a salt cedar’s branch, pulled it down, and released it. It snapped back into place, and then it continued to bob up and down for a few seconds.

  “God, I love you,” Jem said.

  Taking Jem’s arm, Tean began unwinding the bracelet of paracord that he wore there. “It has less impact when you also say it every time I buy you McDonald’s. Go get as close to the raft as you can. We’re going to have to be fast.”

  “It’s important that you know how I feel.”

  “Jem.”

  “And Big Macs are a part of that.”

  “Jem!”

  With a tiny smile, Jem squeezed Tean’s arm and limped back the way they’d come, moving deeper into the thick growth along the river. Tean waited until the sound of movement through the cedar branches stopped. Then, drawing a breath, he inched out from behind the cabin’s cover and began to move down the side. The salt cedars were thinner here, leaving Tean exposed, but he needed the light to be visible from the western rim of the canyon. That meant getting past the cabin’s bulk. Even though the rational part of his brain knew that the chance of Kristine spotting him, let alone successfully shooting him, was very small, the rest of him kept replaying the scene in the cabin: Tanner’s arm coming up, the certain knowledge that he was about to shoot Jem in the back, the moment of dilemma—of wanting two incompatible things, for Jem to be safe and for Tean not to have to hurt, not to have to kill. And then the dilemma passed because there was only one real choice. The throwdown revolver had bucked in Tean’s hands, and a bullet had torn away Tanner’s throat and his life.

  Tean’s hands were shaking as he lashed the penlight to a long, slender branch. Depressing the branch, he counted silently to three and then turned on the flashlight. He released the branch and ran back along the side of the cabin. A shot came almost immediately, and splinters of bark and pulp exploded from the trunk of a salt cedar ahead of him, stinging the side of Tean’s face. Another shot rang out. Branches whipped against each other in the force of its passage.