“Thought it over on the way here. I want to put this behind us. Between you and me, we knew they were guilty as hell, and he probably saved us a couple of bullets. So you do whatever to maintain order and we won’t interfere. But you won’t hear any demands for vengeance from our side.”
“You’ll be okay if we don’t go too hard on him? How about your men? How will they take the news?”
“I’ve confined them to camp, so there won’t be any problems. We’ll be out of here as soon as we’re able. You might want to wait until we’ve marched to try them, but it’s your call. I’ll talk to the troops and let them know how I handled this. I don’t expect any problems. The two dead men were serious wrong numbers and didn’t have any friends. Nobody’s crying to see them gone.”
Glenn rose from the desk and moved around it to shake Lucas’s hand. “That’s fair. I’ll discuss it with the council and we’ll come up with a just punishment. Nobody wants to make the brothers’ lives harder than they already are.”
“Yep. And the little girl isn’t going to be helped by losing her father. Especially now.”
“We’ll figure something out that fits the crime. Eric’s not normally a hothead. And I agree that Melanie’s going to need all the family she has to get past this…episode.” He hesitated. “Let us know if you need anything to get underway. Not that it hasn’t been a joy having you camped outside our walls…”
“Message received loud and clear. I’ll keep you posted. We should be self-sustaining for the most part.”
Glenn studied Lucas for a moment. “Hope you know what you’re doing, Lucas. I don’t have any truck with you. You’ve always struck me as fair.”
“Thanks. None of this is personal. Can we consider it all settled?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going to get back to the troops. This is a big transition for everyone.”
Glenn sighed. “Good luck, Lucas. I suspect you’re going to need it.”
Lucas’s fleeting smile was wan. “Me too.”
Chapter 19
Provo, Utah – one week later
The first of the sun’s rays glinted off the lake like liquid fire as Eddy surveyed the army camp in the dawn’s faint light. The tent-covered field lay completely still except for a couple of patrols along the perimeter. The ride west had been grueling, and his horse was on its last legs. Its ribs jutted through its hide, and during most of the ride through the night and much of the day, its mouth had hung open from the exhaustion of being driven to its limits. Eddy took in the size of the force with a pair of battered binoculars and shook his head.
“This is insane. There are thousands of ’em,” he whispered to himself. “Suicide.”
His horse stamped a hoof on the grass and resumed munching on it, as though agreeing with his assessment. Eddy lowered the glasses and stared at the trees that sheltered him, lost in thought, calculating how best to approach his target without arousing suspicion. Snake had made the exercise sound simple when he’d outlined the plan, but now that Eddy was faced with the reality of it, he wasn’t sure any of the plan would work. Self-preservation would have ordinarily dictated that he turn and ride back the way he’d come. Only the memory of his brother and the mental image of himself enjoying the benefits of the gold he’d soon possess kept him from bolting.
He considered his options and shivered involuntarily. Snake had described a straightforward infiltration of the town, which would consist of locating Lucas and Elliot, and either killing them or radioing their location. Now he was facing a sea of tents with a fighting force bivouacked, and Eddy alone against impossible odds. How was he supposed to go up against that? It was madness.
Eddy drew several calming breaths, looked down at his stained coat and jeans, and slipped his hunting knife from its sheath. He could still pull off the location part of the plan, even if trying to kill his targets meant certain death. A town the size of Provo would see its fair share of travelers, and a single man would arouse no suspicion if he played his cards right.
Five minutes later, Eddy appeared from out of the morning mist on the trail that paralleled the road, walking slowly. His clothes were ragged and torn, his face smeared with grime, and his hat as much of a wreck as his vestments after he’d all but destroyed them with his blade. While he was already trail-worn, he wanted to look destitute, and he’d decided to ruin his gear and leave his horse to its own devices rather than ride into town, figuring a loner on foot would be more likely to be taken in without suspicion than a rider.
He skirted the sprawling encampment and made his way for the city gates, taking his time, his fatigue only partially an act. When a sentry called out a warning to stop ten yards from the barrier, he froze and waited for the instruction that was sure to follow.
“Drop the rifle, buddy,” the guard yelled.
“Don’t shoot,” Eddy answered, and stooped to lay his rifle on the ground. When he straightened, he felt light-headed and swayed like a willow in a strong wind.
“State your business,” the guard demanded.
“I…I’m looking for food. I haven’t eaten for three days. Please. I’ll do anything. I’m starving.”
“Where you from?”
“Idaho,” Eddy lied. “My horse bought it two weeks ago. Please. I’m on my last legs here. Just some food and water. I’ve still got some ammo to trade. Or I can work. I’m able-bodied. Know some masonry and carpentry.”
“We’re not letting anyone new in. Sorry. You’ll have to keep moving.”
“I won’t make it much longer. Come on. I can do anything I need to. I’m begging.”
A pause. “Try the army. Maybe they can help out. We can’t.”
Eddy looked over his shoulder at the sea of tents. “What’s with them? Who are they?”
The guard shrugged, but still kept his rifle at the ready. “Word is they’re getting ready to move. They’ve been preparing for days, but you might still be able to figure something out. It’s worth a try. Our doors are closed for now.”
“Who should I talk to?”
“Ask around. Can’t be that hard.”
“Who are they going to fight?”
“Beats me. Does it really matter?”
Eddy considered the question and shook his head. “Suppose not.” He looked down at his rifle. “Okay to grab my gun?”
“Just keep it pointed at the ground, and no sudden moves.”
Eddy reached down and retrieved the weapon. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Nice and easy. Nobody wants to get shot first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Eddy retreated toward the camp and paused when one of the patrols approached, assault rifles at present arms. He waited until they were near and kept his gun loosely pointed at his feet while he spoke.
“Howdy. I’m looking for food and water,” he said. “I’m honest and God-fearing. The guards told me you might be looking for recruits?”
The patrol leader, a man with a heavily acne-pocked face and a scar running down his neck, eyed Eddy’s torn filthy garments before speaking. “Can always use another hand, I suppose. It would help if you was a veteran, but you’re awful young for that.”
“I’m not. But I’ve been in my share of scraps.”
“You got a horse?”
“No. It died a while back.”
The leader grunted. “They start all the newbies off on shit details. Latrine duty. Foraging. Burial. You sure you’re up for that?”
“Mister, I’m half-starved. I’ve been on the trail for months. Just about anything’s better than this.”
“Fair enough.” The leader pointed at a cluster of larger tents. “That’s the command area. It’s early, but somebody should be up by now. See what they say.”
“Okay. No problem with my guns?”
The man glanced at the men in his patrol and laughed. “You wanna commit suicide, that’s your business, not mine.”
Eddy trudged to the structures, past
two- and four-man tents with snoring men inside, and stopped at one where a handful of fighters were gathered. He repeated his plea for sustenance, and after they asked him a series of expected questions, they directed him to a short man with a body like a fireplug and a nose that had been broken enough times that it looked like his face was pressed against a window.
“I’m Sergeant Kelsy. You wanna sign up?” the man barked.
Eddy repeated his pitch, and Kelsy nodded. “Fair enough. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed so we can put you to work. I’ll explain the rules once you don’t smell like an open sewer. You got any skills?”
“I’m just as handy with a gun as with a shovel, if that’s what you’re asking. But nothing specialized. I’m good with my hands and learn fast, though.”
“That’s more than a lot of us. What’s your name, boy?”
“Eddy.”
“Okay, Eddy. Follow me to the mess tent and then down to the lake. We’ll see if we can find some clothes that will fit. Those look about ready to fall to pieces.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. You were my last hope.”
“Then lucky for you that you came to the right place. Got any questions?”
“Who…what is this army for? Who’s our enemy?”
Kelsy’s expression darkened. “Pretty much anyone in our way. We’re here to clean up the country. That’s our mission. We see a bunch of lowlifes, we leave them in shallow graves. Enough is enough.”
Eddy nodded enthusiastically, hoping he wasn’t pouring it on too thick. “That sounds awesome. Sign me up. Beats trail-hopping and eating squirrels.”
“It may. But it’s not going to be easy. We already won a bunch of battles up in Seattle and Oregon, but lost more than a few good men along the way.”
Eddy shrugged. “Anything’s better than starving to death.”
Kelsy grinned. “Good thinking. Come on, Eddy. Time’s a-wasting.”
Chapter 20
Lucas and the doctor stood in Art’s room with glum expressions, watching the older man struggle for breath, his skin like parchment against the white sheets of the hospital bed. The doctor adjusted the drip on an IV connected to Art’s arm and turned to Lucas with a shake of his head.
“All we can do is increase the morphine. I’m sorry, Lucas.”
The doctor had dark circles under his eyes from attending to Art at all hours over the last week while his condition steadily degraded. Art was now just a shell of the strapping figure who’d taken command of the army only a few months earlier, and was clearly in the final hours of a battle he was destined to lose.
Lucas put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve gone way above the call of duty, Doc. Everyone’s time runs out eventually.”
“Too true. But it’s been a while since I’ve…usually I’m dealing with wounds or injuries. You don’t see a lot of natural causes these days.”
“I think he’d have preferred to go quick,” Lucas said.
Art stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He swept the room with his gaze before it settled on Lucas. Art raised his right hand a few inches off the bed and motioned to Lucas to come closer, but the effort seemed to exhaust him, and it fell to the sheet as Lucas neared.
“Lucas?” Art rasped.
“I’m right here,” Lucas replied, his voice tight.
“Don’t let my passing take your eye off the ball.”
Lucas had confirmed to him that he would take over the command of the army after his discussion with Sierra, but Art still brought it up daily, his memory affected by the strong narcotic that numbed the worst of his pain.
“The men are ready to march, Art. We’re in final preparations.”
“You have to stay the course.”
“You can count on me.”
Lucas reached for Art’s hand and squeezed. Art moaned softly, his breathing shallow and rapid, and closed his eyes. Lucas and the doctor exchanged a glance, and Lucas slipped his fingers from Art’s. A knock at the door broke the silence.
Lucas scowled as the door opened, but his expression relaxed when Elliot entered, followed by Ruby, whose hand flew to her mouth at Art’s appearance. Her gasp was audible, and Elliot put an arm around her for reassurance as she stood frozen at the threshold.
“Courage,” he whispered, and she nodded, her eyes moist.
Lucas took her in and glanced at Art. “Maybe we should give Ruby and Art a moment?” he suggested. The doctor and Elliot nodded, and they withdrew and left Ruby alone in the room.
Ruby moved to Art’s bedside and looked down at him before taking his hand. One eye cracked open and then closed again, and he managed a weak squeeze. She stood in silence for a full minute before tears began streaming down her face. The only sound in the room was Art’s tortured breathing.
“You beautiful, brave man,” she whispered.
If he heard her, he gave no indication, his energy fully consumed by his failing struggle for breath.
Eventually Ruby released his hand and wiped the tears from her face with the back of her arm. She was turning to look for a chair when Art emitted a long groan and stopped breathing.
“Art!” she cried, and rushed back to his bedside. Elliot and the doctor burst into the room and hurried to the bedside. Lucas remained in the doorway, taking in the scene with resigned calm.
The doctor felt for a pulse while Elliot watched, and then turned to them and shook his head. “It’s over.”
Ruby’s legs wobbled and Elliot caught her as her knees buckled. She buried her face in his shoulder, her cries of anguish muted by his shirt.
Lucas strode into the room, approached Art’s bed, and considered him for a long beat before turning to the doctor. “His misery’s over. I’ve already arranged for a burial detail to be ready. I’ll send them by when I get back to camp.”
“Take your time. He’s not going anywhere.” The doctor hesitated. “I’m sorry. Wasn’t much we could do.”
“I know.”
Ruby pulled away from Elliot and forced herself to stop sobbing. The men didn’t say anything as she left the room. Elliot nodded to Lucas. “I’m going to make sure she’s okay. You need anything, just ask.”
“Thanks, Elliot. Will do.”
Ruby was walking aimlessly down the sidewalk when Elliot caught up with her.
“You going to be okay?” he asked.
Her jaw tightened. “Of course. But I have some unfinished business with Terry. I need to come clean on how I feel.”
“Art’s gone, Ruby. Maybe it’s best to leave the past in the past? Terry is a good man, too.”
“I know. That’s why I need to tell him. It’s not fair to him to live a lie. I wasn’t sure until now, but…he deserves to know about Art.”
“What will it help?”
She stopped. “It’s not about achieving the best outcome for myself, Elliot. It’s about being able to look at myself in the mirror. I don’t do well with secrets, and I want him to have all the information.”
Elliot stared off at the nearby mountains. “It’ll break his heart.”
“Terry’s a big boy. He’ll get over it. And it’s not like I don’t have feelings for him. I just think it’s best for him to know. If he can deal with it, then maybe we have something. If not…well, I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
He regarded her. “You thinking you’ll ride with the army?”
“I love what you’ve built here, Elliot, but I think I can do more good with Lucas than hiding out in Provo. If things don’t go well with Terry, there’s nothing for me here.” She offered a tentative smile. “Besides, somebody’s got to keep Lucas in line.”
They both laughed; the tension dissipated.
“He’s stubborn as a mule,” Elliot said. “Once he takes the bit in his mouth, there’s no stopping him.”
“But he’ll listen to reason. That’s what makes him different from most men of his kind.” She blinked in the sunlight and shielded her eyes with her hand. “What about you? I gather you’re staying
put.”
“Not sure a geriatric liability would do anything for Lucas’s march.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re hardly that. More a question of what you want, isn’t it?”
“Shangri-La is integrating into Provo. I’m not really convinced they need me anymore.”
“Life’s more than who needs you most, Elliot. What do you want? If it’s to make a difference, and you’re saying that your work here is done, you might want to talk to Lucas about his plans. You may be able to help him. I have a feeling he’s going to need all he can get.”
“Good point, as usual, Ruby. I’ll take it under advisement.”
She looked around and sighed. “I want to find Terry before I lose my nerve. Take care, Elliot.”
Ruby marched away, her shoulders square, her stride determined, and Elliot watched her until she turned a corner and disappeared. He smiled to himself and turned to walk back to the clinic, his expression bemused.
“Take care, indeed, Ruby. Easier said than done.”
Chapter 21
Houston, Texas
Raucous laughter boomed from the doorway of the Black Heart bar, a Crew-owned watering hole on the far reaches of town that catered to traders, travelers, and trail bums. A string of swayback horses stood outside in the moonlight where a one-eyed man watched them drink from a trough as he rocked back and forth in a rocking chair, a sawed-off shotgun in his lap and a tattered black cloth patch over his missing left eye. Music drifted from the windows as a live band worked through its second set, its acoustic instruments battling to be heard over the shouts and guffaws, and the cloying aroma of marijuana smoke seeped from the bar along with amber torchlight.
The one-eyed man sat up straighter when the clatter of hooves sounded from up the street. Six riders appeared out of the darkness and stopped in front of the bar. The lead rider swung down from the saddle and adjusted the submachine gun that hung from a strap around his neck, and then handed the one-eyed bouncer his reins.
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