Day 9

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Dunne stared. Suddenly, he felt as if he were looking through a tunnel from very far away.

  He couldn't believe what he saw. What it meant. For all of them. He couldn't believe where his journey had led him.

  Couldn't believe he was going to die.

  "Well?" said War. "Are you gonna tell him?"

  Dunne swallowed hard, as if he were gulping down a golf ball. "It looks like a bomb."

  "Give the man a kewpie doll." War grinned as he patted the blocks of plastic explosive strapped around his waist. "Think of it as a secret weapon against Poison Oaks."

  For a moment, nobody spoke. Hannahlee leaned around the seat for a peek, then calmly faced forward again. Quincy grabbed the rear-view mirror and jerked it over so he could see the bomb for himself.

  Dunne kept pushing it all farther off, as if he were seeing it on TV through the window of a house a block away.

  War pulled a black remote control from a pocket of his jacket. There was a digital LED screen at one end, with a red oval button below it. "So anyway, Quince, what's this about Knox's death not being any of my business?" Leaning forward between the front seats, War batted the remote against Quincy's upper arm.

  Dunne saw Quincy's eyes, full of fear, in the rear-view mirror, flicking down to glance at the bomb controller. It didn't help Dunne's own rising panic to see a giant like Quincy looking scared.

  "Knox died saving my life." Quincy's voice lowered as he reined in his blow-up. "That's what happened."

  "When was this?" War kept batting the remote against Quincy's arm. "And where?"

  "I don't want to talk about it," said Quincy.

  "Think of it as brother to brother," said War. "We're both Willows now, remember?"

  Hannahlee reached over and patted Quincy's hand on the wheel. "I think I understand," she said. "When I lost my best friend, Athena, I felt the same way."

  "I remember." War smiled at her. "You didn't snap out of it until Jeremiah Weed kidnapped Kenya."

  Dunne listened in shell-shocked wonder as they talked about an episode of the TV show as if it had really happened. His admiration of Hannahlee ballooned; even with a bomb in the car and the control in the hand of a madman, she stayed cool and stuck to her plan, humoring "War" all the way.

  Not that War would be distracted from his own plan. "See, Quincy? Kitty knows it's best to open up." He slid the remote control against the side of Quincy's sweaty face. "Why not share?"

  Quincy kept looking straight ahead at the road in the headlights. It was two-lane, cutting through overgrown marshland; War insisted they stay off the interstates.

  The car was quiet for a long moment. Finally, Quincy started talking.

  "Twenty years ago," he said. "We were partying by a lake. I was swimming stoned—really stoned, too stoned—and I freaked out. Started going under."

  Quincy took a deep breath and slowly released it. "Knox came in after me. Tried to pull me out." Another deep breath. "I knocked him unconscious when I was floundering around." One more breath. "I literally crawled up onto the dock over my brother's dead body."

  Everyone fell silent again.

  "Happy now?" Quincy reached up and brushed the bomb control away from his cheek. "Was that entertaining enough for you?"

  "For now," said War as he sat back.

  "What do you mean, 'for now?'" said Quincy.

  "You can tell us the rest later," said War.

  "'The rest?'" said Quincy. "There isn't anything else to tell."

  War shook his head and pointed the remote at Quincy. "I've got a feeling you're holding out on me."

  "You think I'd be that dumb, with a bomb ready to go off in the back seat?" said Quincy.

  "Don't sweat it, bro," said War. "It'll all come out in the Truthtalking Ceremony."

  "No it won't," said Quincy. "There's nothing to come out. And we're not having a ceremony."

  War turned the remote over in his hands and winked at Dunne. "Whatever you say, brother Quince."

  CHAPTER 29

  Warpath Journal

  Dateline: Alexandria, Louisiana

  The next morning, I see the corpses again. The blood-smeared familiar faces of young and old.

  This time, they won't go away.

  It's all her fault. Kitty Willow—or Kitty Poison Oak. She puts it in motion when we stop to eat after driving through the night.

  We order breakfast in a rundown diner along the road near Alexandria, Louisiana. I order breakfast, I should say; the other three don't seem to be hungry for some reason.

  Quincy, at least, has toast and coffee. When the food comes, he asks Kitty, "Will the studio pick up the tab for our friend here?"

  Kitty puts down her glass of ice water, which is all she ordered. "There's no studio, you big joker," she says. "You know darn well the Willow Emergency Fund covers this."

  "Here's to Father Law." I raise my orange juice high. "For having the foresight to set up that fund."

  "To Father Law." Kitty toasts with her ice water.

  Quincy lifts his coffee halfway, but Dunne just sits there in a daze behind his steaming teacup. Of the three of them, he's reacting worst to my taking over. I think he shit himself when I showed him the bomb the first time.

  Just wait till he sees what's coming up later.

  Kitty takes a sip of ice water and meets my gaze. "Thank God you found us," she says. "The Poison Oaks were closing in."

  I swallow a forkful of blueberry pancake. "They won't stop till they destroy all Willows." I hack off another hunk and plow it through a puddle of syrup on my plate. "You know what their next target is, don't you? America."

  "How?" says Kitty. "How will they attack the country?"

  "We don't know," I tell her. "Buzz radioed us some of their plans, but no specifics on targets or weapons. We just know it's going to be huge."

  "That's awful." Kitty shakes her head. "Shouldn't we be heading for Washington or New York or Los Angeles, then? A likely target?"

  I swallow another bite of pancake and reach for a slice of bacon. "The mastermind behind the Poison Oaks is a man named Cyrus Gowdy. If we can stop him, we'll stop the attack."

  "Cyrus Gowdy's the Poison Oak mastermind?" Kitty aims her flaming green eyes at me. "We didn't know that."

  "But you're looking for him, too," I say. "That's what Knox wrote in his blog."

  "He's against the Poison Oaks," says Kitty. "We're joining forces to take down the Oaks for once and for all."

  I stare back at her as I chew my bacon. What she's saying goes against everything I know...but she seems so confident about it. She seems confident about everything.

  Then again, a Poison Oak imposter would have to act confident, wouldn't she?

  "Who told you Cyrus Gowdy's an Oak, anyway?" says Kitty.

  "Buzz did." I reach for my orange juice.

  Kitty leans forward. She lays her fingertips on my wrist. "Are you sure you were talking to Buzz, Warren?"

  I don't bother to pick up the juice glass. Instead, I shake off her hand with a scowl. "Of course I'm sure. He called over the Willows' secret Threat Frequency. He used the proper passwords and code."

  "Warren." Kitty closes her hand around my wrist. "The Oaks are holding Buzz prisoner, right?"

  I nod my head.

  "Maybe they forced him to call and tell you those things," says Kitty. "Maybe they tortured him. I'm sorry, but it's possible."

  I don't have an easy denial ready to fire back. I break her gaze, turning to Quincy, then Dunne...but neither offers any support. Dunne can't even stand to look at me for more than an instant.

  Could Kitty be right? Isn't it the reason I'm here with them in the first place—because I worried I might have been fooled? Because I couldn't be totally sure about my mission?

  Or is that Kitty Poison Oak sitting across from me after all, lying like crazy to confuse me? To exert the sinister influence I feared I was under?

  If so, maybe it's time I went on the offensive.

  I put on my stiffes
t poker face and lock Kitty in an unwavering gaze. "Who told you Cyrus Gowdy's against the Poison Oaks?"

  Kitty answers without hesitation. "Agent Mohican."

  Mohican's F.B.I. and an honorary Willow, based in our hometown, Justice—but Kitty could still be lying. Time to crank up the heat. "Where were you when the Willows were disappearing, Kitty?"

  I watch carefully for her reaction—but she doesn't flinch. "I was spirit-camping in the desert with Sienna. By the time I got home, everyone was gone...except a Poison Oak who looked like you. He tried to abduct me, but I captured him and called Agent Mohican."

  "You're lucky you weren't hurt," I say. "Not even a bruise, from what I can see."

  "I've got bruises." That's all Kitty says on the subject before turning the questioning around on me. "Now, where were you when the Willows were disappearing?"

  I smile, ready to turn it around again and force her into a corner.

  But she breaks in again before I can get out a word. "How do we know you're not an imposter, War? How do we know you're not a Poison Oak?"

  I take a breath. I am relaxed and untroubled.

  Then I take another breath.

  Suddenly, I am surrounded by corpses again. The bloody bodies of men, women, and children. Clinging to each other, eyes open.

  Staring at me as I pass. Shoes splashing in puddles of blood.

  My heart pounds as I realize I know them. I know them well. So well I am sick at the sight of them. I am something else too.

  Wherever, whenever this is, whoever they are, I am more than an observer. And this is more than a dream.

  My foot slips, and I catch myself on the end of a pew. It's then I realize that I'm in a church.

  When I look at my hand on the pew, it is soaked in glistening crimson.

  I feel a surge of heat. A memory of a memory. The crackle of gunfire. Shrill screams like shrieking gulls over a landfill.

  Christ watching from overhead, at the front of the church, a silent witness. I wish he'd tell me what happened, what he saw, what I don't want to remember.

  There's a symbol on the wall, painted in blood: a question mark with a crossbar through it. Like a question mark combined with a crucifix. What does it mean?

  So much blood, everywhere I look. Gallons of blood.

  For the first time, I wonder. Why am I not dead, too? Why do I have blood on my hands?

  Did I do this? Why would I ever do this?

  The answer comes quickly. War Willow would never do this.

  The moment freezes around me.

  War Willow is a hero.

  I hear a voice calling, and I turn toward it. I realize my eyes have been closed, and I open them.

  "Warren?" The voice belongs to Kitty. She looks at me, if not with great concern, then at least with great intensity. "Can you hear me, Warren?"

  "Yes." I look around the table. Dunne sits on the edge of his seat, as if he's thinking about making a run for it. Quincy watches me with darkness in his eyes, as if his fear has turned to rage and he's thinking about killing me.

  "What happened, Warren?" Kitty touches my forehead with the back of her hand. "Do you feel all right?"

  It's then that I realize things have changed. Even as I look at her, I'm thinking about my vision. Seeing the corpses, large and small, in my mind's eye.

  In the past, when I had this vision, it always went away when I opened my eyes...but not this time. Not anymore.

  I can't shake it.

  "Are you okay, Warren?" says Kitty.

  For a second, I am moved by what sounds like warmth in her voice. Human kindness, expressed between enemies. Forgiveness, though I carry the power to destroy her. Amish Amos, my mentor, would be proud.

  Then, as my head clears, I wall myself off again. Poison Oaks are serpents disguised as angels—everything we hate, masquerading as everything we treasure. They are experts at pretending to care, even as they scheme to annihilate us.

  "Why wouldn't I be, Sis?" Looking around, I spot the waitress and give her a jaunty wave. "Check, please."

  "Warren." Kitty hits me with that fiery green stare again. "I'm worried about you. Is there something you're not telling me?"

  "Funny." I smirk as the waitress hands me the check. "I was just going to ask you the same question."

  "Well, let me know when you want to talk." She says it with great sincerity.

  "Will do." As I pass her the check, I see she's finished playing for now. That's fine with me. She's already done enough damage.

  Before her damn questions, I'd have a vision of the bloody church every once in a while, and it would disappear when I opened my eyes. Now, it won't go away. I keep seeing it in my head, playing in the background like a movie. Repeating and repeating.

  Even as I wish it would stop, I can't help watching. I can't help wondering what the full story is and why it's important.

  And what it means to me. Did something terrible happen that I've blocked from my memory? A tragedy beyond my control? Or within my control?

  Or is it not a memory at all, but a premonition of the future? A dark destiny at the end of the road?

  Either way, the most troubling question of all is this: why did it come up when Kitty asked how she could know I'm not a Poison Oak?

  Though I know I must find the answer at all costs, I almost dread what the truth will be.

  CHAPTER 30

  "This is your plan?" said Quincy. "It's a joke."

  "There's more to it," said Hannahlee. "You'll have to trust me."

  "I lust after you," said Quincy, "but I don't know if I frust you."

  While the two of them talked in the front seat of the Hummer rent-a-car, Dunne listened from the back...and watched the bathroom door of the gas station in Crockett, Texas. War had gone through it two minutes ago, giving his prisoners a rare chance to talk without him hearing every word.

  Not that they had much time. After all, it was only a bathroom break.

  "What's the good of getting to New Justice, if War just blows it up?" said Quincy. "Including Cyrus Gowdy, if he's there?"

  Hannahlee sighed. "The bomb might not even be real."

  "The only way we can know for sure is if he tries to blow us up," said Quincy. "Great fidea!"

  "I still think we can bring him around," said Hannahlee. "Make him realize we're not the enemy."

  "You really think you're fooling him?" Quincy shook his head. "Are you sure you're not the crazy one?"

  "I think I'm getting under his skin," said Hannahlee. "I'm working on it."

  "You think Scott Savage got under his skin?" Quincy ticked off names on his fingers. "Or Luanne Diego? Or Baine Sherwood? You really want to be Number Four on the call sheet?"

  Hannahlee jabbed a finger at the map of Texas and New Mexico unfolded on the dashboard. "This is our only alternative right now. Head for New Justice."

  "Wrong," said Quincy. "Here's an alternative. We trap him in the bathroom and amscray. Or how about we just kill him? It's three against one."

  Dunne, who was still in a perpetual state of shellshock, wanted to tell him it was more like two against one. He liked the first choice better, making a run for it...but even that idea filled him with dread. With the guns and the bomb in play, he was afraid to do anything.

  "Who's your favorite Willow, Quincy?" Hannahlee's fiery gaze swung around to lock in on him.

  "Free," said Quincy.

  "Did Free Willow ever fire a gun?" said Hannahlee. "Did he ever kill a man?"

  "No." Quincy's voice was low and defeated. "He was a pacifist."

  "Well, you might have to be a killer anyway." Hannahlee touched Quincy's shoulder. "But not yet." She glanced at Dunne in the back seat. "Wait for my signal. Then you move. Both of you."

  Dunne winced.

  Hannahlee caught the wince and turned around. "Especially you," she said. "He won't be expecting you."

  "How?" Dunne gaped at her in disbelief. "How exactly are we supposed to kill the gun-toting human bomb lunatic...without ge
tting shot or blown up?"

  "Figure it out while you wait for my signal," said Hannahlee.

  "Which will be what, exactly?" said Quincy.

  "Here he comes!" Dunne said it as soon as he saw the bathroom door pop open. Without waiting for War to emerge, he flopped back against the seat and stared out the window on the opposite side of the Hummer.

  "'War Willow is dead,'" said Hannahlee. "That's the signal."

  "'War is dead?'" said Quincy. "You mean this War? Our War?"

  "'War Willow is dead,'" said Hannahlee. "Don't forget."

  "Dunne Willow is dead," said War. "If he tells me a lie."

  Somewhere between San Angelo and Midland, Texas, War pulled out one of his guns—the six-shooter. Flipping open the cylinder, he showed Dunne that all six chambers were loaded.

  Then, War flipped the cylinder back into place and pressed the barrel against Dunne's head.

  "Truth or Death," said War. "That's the name of the game. Answer my questions truthfully, one Willow to another, or I will shoot you dead where you sit."

  Dunne closed his eyes as War cocked the gun. He prayed Quincy wouldn't hit a pothole.

  "You don't need to do that, War," said Hannahlee. "We're all family, aren't we?"

  "Therefore, brother Dunne would never lie to me," said War. "Therefore, I will never pull the trigger."

  "Of course he'd never lie," said Hannahlee. "But how would you know if he did?"

  "I'd know." War nodded gravely. "My Ninja and Apache mentors taught me well."

  Dunne's pulse roared in his ears. He did his best to remain perfectly still, though his body shivered with rising intensity. Sweat ran down his face and his sides.

  His mind burned with the knowledge that he could die at any second. That all it would take was the flick of a trigger.

  And he would get what he deserved.

  "Let's begin," said War. "You've said your family was shot to death by an intruder. First question: who was this intruder?"

  Dunne swallowed hard. He closed his eyes and slowly opened them.