Clint took a choppy breath and shuddered. He concentrated on his harsh and uneven breathing. It grew more normal and his heart stopped hammering. He inhaled one more big lungful of air, blew it out his nose, and looked up at Terrence. He gave the cop a nod and they stepped toward the exit.
102
* * *
The sun shined bright in the early morning sky but shadows bathed the quarry floor; the rays had yet to rise above the rim of the bluff. It was the first sunlight Clint had seen in over two weeks and he drew a sharp breath and squinted against the pinpricks of light stabbing his eyes.
A hush fell over the quarry; the yammer of voices stopped in an instant, as if someone had turned off a television. Terrence fell back behind Clint as two burly men braced the prisoner. They each took an arm in a steely grip and pulled him forward until his feet moved on her own.
Had he thought fifty people lived in these tunnels? He'd missed that mark. At least three times that many awaited him outside. They stood in two long rows about twenty feet apart; his escorts walked him between the rows. As he filed through, people eyed him with varying degrees of dislike, ranging from disdain to outright hatred. After he passed by they fell in behind him and followed.
They led him to a short platform at the far end of the pit and guided him up three steps. The crowd gathered around, silent and watchful.
A third man joined his guards on the stage. He was taller than average with a wiry build, big hands, and close-cut hair. The new man glared at Clint with unadulterated hatred. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, and he swung his clenched fists behind his back with the pent-up fury of a wild animal in a cage; Clint feared the man would attack him. Terrence stood on the edge of the platform, his hands clasped at his waist and his head held high. Clint watched the cop's eyes; they moved constantly, surveying the throng, flitting on him and the new guy, even tracking along the edge of the top of the bluff that towered above them.
He was glad he had skipped breakfast. His stomach was in knots; it roiled and heaved and sent frequent acid bubbles burning up his throat. He would have deposited any food he’d eaten on the toes of his boots during the long walk across the pit.
A low murmur swept through the gathering, and all eyes turned to a nearby tunnel. One of Clint's guards stood directly in front of him, cutting off his view. He tilted his head to peak around the man's shoulder and sucked in his breath when he saw the blond bitch had emerged from the tunnel and was headed his way.
He stepped to his right to see her in full. She walked with her shoulders squared and a quick and confident grace. She wore blue jeans and a sweatshirt. Over the sweatshirt she sported the same tactical vest with all the pouches the black dude always wore; several people in the crowd and two of his guards wore them as well.
She had cut her hair; her blond locks no longer fell well past her shoulders. Instead, it was short and framed her face in the way that was popular with snobby women before the zombies came. She met his gaze when she was still about twenty feet away; her eyes were twin pools of hate that bore into him with relentless anger.
He dragged his gaze away and tried to fix it on a point across the quarry but it kept wandering back to her.
She bounced up the steps and glided across the platform with confidence. She came to a stop next to the guy who had glared at him with such hatred. The dude craned his neck so she could whisper in his ear; as she did, she placed a hand on his chest. Clint understood why the dude’s eyes promised murky violence whenever he looked Clint's way.
The guy pulled back and nodded, then moved aside. They squeezed one another's hands as she passed. She approached Clint with a calm expression and upturned lips. Only her eyes betrayed her true emotion; thunder and lightning danced among the green irises flecked with gold. She stopped in front of Clint and sized him up slowly, head to foot. He averted his eyes and tried to pretend she wasn't there, but that became impossible when she spoke.
"I told you I would kill you."
103
* * *
Tara turned her attention to the guard standing to his left. "Free his hands."
He pulled a hunting knife from a sheath on his belt. "Turn around," he ordered in a gruff tone.
Clint turned. There was a slight tug on his wrists and his hands were free. He rubbed them as he turned back toward her.
Her smile had disappeared and her eyes were hard and flinty. She spoke in a clear, loud voice that carried over the crowd. "Get on your knees."
Clint had been frightened since the black guy showed up at his cell that morning. He found some unexpected confidence in reaction to the bitch’s command. He drew himself up to his full height and glared back at her. "Fuck you and fuck that. Do what you gotta do, but I ain’t kneeling for nobody."
The blond bitch pulled a Beretta from a holster on her side. She didn’t raise it to his face, but instead pointed it at his balls. "You get on your knees, hillbilly, or I’ll blow that little green bean you call a dick right off. Then I'll take your kneecaps."
He stared at her, his confidence fading fast. The gun never wavered and her glare never faltered; in a flash, he knew she meant it. He imagined the sensation of getting shot in the nuts and his knees turned weak. His face curled into a sneer and he lowered himself onto his knees with his hands at his side and his feet behind him.
"Say, I'm a coward who beats women.“
Glaring at her, he huffed out a breath and shook his head, then looked at the platform and mumbled the words.
She put the barrel of the Beretta to his forehead. "Say it loud, so everyone can hear it."
He glared at her, silent and motionless, for several long seconds. She jacked a round into the chamber and his blood ran cold. "I'm a coward and I beat women!" he yelled.
"Now say, I'm an ugly loser who can't get pussy so I rape women."
His anger and humiliation boiled over. "I can get all the women I want, you bitch, and I never raped you! You begged for it! You-" She smashed him in the mouth with the butt of her pistol, knocking him to the side. His head bounced off the wooden platform and he saw stars. Coppery-tasting liquid filled his mouth, along with something foreign; he spit and gaped as two of his teeth bounced across the boards. His mouth was purple agony and more blood trickled down his chin. He spit twice more and looked up at her, his eyes filled with fear.
She gestured with the gun. "Back on your knees."
He pushed himself up to a sitting position, moaning with pain and fear. He rubbed the side of his face gingerly, spit more blood, and looked around. The crowd had ‘oohed’ like the audience at a fireworks display when she struck him. They ogled him, their eyes bright with excitement. The men on the platform studied him with their arms crossed over their chests, their faces impassive.
He pulled himself back to his knees. His nuts had drawn up into his belly and a lead ball sat in the pit of his stomach. He spit more blood and fought the urge to whimper.
Tara checked the Beretta’s chamber, nodded to herself, and approached until she loomed over him. "I'm an ugly loser who can't get pussy so I rape women."
Clint's tone was high-pitched and desperate. "Come on, man, why are you doing this? I don't understand-". She drew the gun back as if to swing it again and he held both hands up in front of his face. "All right all right all right! Stop hitting me! I'm a loser and I'm ugly and no women want me so I rape them to get pussy!"
A wave of laughter rose from the onlookers and Tara gave him a bitter smile. "I guess that's close enough, rapist." She kneeled down until they were at eye level and spoke in a quieter voice. "I could play his game all morning, but I'm not a sadist like you. It’s important you understand, though- all the fear and pain and impotent rage you feel right now? It's not even one one-hundredth of a percent of what I had to endure. Before you leave this plane and go on to whatever is in store for you, I wanted you to have a slight inkling of how your actions affected the women and you abused."
She listened, her face betraying no emotion. As he cried and apologized, she brought the pistol up and pointed it at his forehead from point-blank range.
He held his hands up as if to ward off the bullet. "No, wait!" He heard a crack. Everything turned white and he was struck by a tremendous impact, though there was no pain. And Clint raped no more.
104
* * *
Will threw a bag in the bed of the three-quarter-ton Ford, then stepped back and gave the truck a long look. A quarter-inch of limestone dust and a thin layer of dirt covered it. It had a big whiskey dent over the front passenger-side quarter panel and the driver-side front door sported three long gouges deep into the metal. A winding crack snaked across the top of the windshield, and both side mirrors and a brake light cover were broken. Back on the ranch, Becky always demanded he wash and buff their transportation to a shine before they took a trip. To hell with making this turd shine; if they were back home, she’d demand he take it to town and trade it for a new one before she would leave.
But he and the beat-up truck had been through a lot together. He drove it the night they fled the ranch, and it had been with him every step of the way since. He figured at this point he would drive it until the wheels fell off or the good Lord called him home.
Ten days had passed since Becky woke him in the middle of the night and proposed they get the old gang back together, in Danny's parlance. He stayed busy from dawn to dusk for each of them- negotiating, bucking up fragile egos and tamping down over-sized ones, prodding people towards the decisions he wanted them to make, putting out fires, and answering question after question. Now it was time to leave.
Danny and Tara approached the truck with bags of their own. Tara's pinched mouth and flushed cheeks gave away her mood, as well as the way she stomped across the quarry bottom. She tossed her bag in the truck bed, grunted a greeting at Will, and strode back to the tunnel. He and Becky had moved her to tears when relayed Becky's idea to her and Danny. But she chomped at the bit to get going and grew angrier each day that passed with the team still at the quarry.
Danny leaned against the bed rail. He looked at Will and blew out an exasperated breath. "I fear that she may kill me in my sleep. Not because she's not crazy about me or because of anything I did. Just out of pure frustration."
Will bent, scooped up a handful of gravel, and shook it in his hand. "You have to get a handle on her, settle her down. We could be four weeks on the road. She’s supposed to be inspiring people, not scaring the shit out of them."
Becky exited the tunnel and walked toward them, resplendent in a snug-fitting pair of sweat bottoms and a V-neck T-shirt. She wore her hair down over her shoulders and the midmorning sun highlighted the bronze and amber strands within the darker auburn. She noticed Will observing her and flashed him a radiant smile.
Danny grinned. "Mercy. She's looking bright and shiny."
"Yeah. I never realized how bored she was here. She's excited we’re going out; she looks at it as an adventure.†He scratched his chin and studied Danny a moment, then breathed a heavy sigh. “You best go try and cheer up your woman."
Danny sighed. "I'm running out of ideas on that count. Normally, I'd just throw her on the bed and show her the ninety-nine names of God. But with her…"
"Yeah."
"You know, the…"
"Yeah."
"It makes the situation problematic."
Becky was almost to them and Will drew a big breath. "Anyway…"
"Yep. I'm gone." He gave Becky a tip of an imaginary cap and trailed off after Tara.
Becky gave Will a hug and a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek. "Did you talk to the Doc and Mark?" she asked.
He furrowed his brow and pulled back from her. "Good morning to you too, Becks. I'm great- thanks for asking."
She rolled her eyes towards the heavens and spoke in a saccharine-sweet tone. "Good morning, William. It's wonderful to see you this morning. I hope you are having an unbelievable day. Perchance did you have the opportunity to speak with the Doc and Mark?"
"Thank you. And yes I did. There, was that so hard?"
She resumed her normal tone. "God, you can be a puss. Those guys are on board?"
"They will watch The Judge like a hawk and contact me immediately at the first sign of trouble."
"And you are sure you can trust them? Doc Joseph is one of his oldest friends, and Mark was the old man’s number two before you retired them."
One of their biggest fears about leaving for an extended period of time was Judge Tompkins seeing their absence as an opportunity to regain control of the community. Will had nightmarish visions where he swooped in five minutes after they departed and undid all the good they had done. It was enough of a concern that Will invited the old coot up for some adult beverage and a long conversation.
The Judge droned on for a while about the law committee he chaired and the work they were doing to develop a criminal code and judicial system for the community. Will raised his glass to him when he finished. "That's great, Your Honor. It sounds like you guys are doing yeoman's work." He cleared his throat and stared across the quarry bottom. "Let me tell you why I invited you up here." He laid out the whole story from beginning to end, including the parts the Judge already knew, starting with Tara's abduction and ending with Becky's nighttime idea.
Jody had a crafty gleam in his eye. "I can't tell you how much I admire you for having the guts to undertake a quest like that. I salute you, William, I really do." He took a sip of his bourbon. "Have you given any thought to who will run things in your stead?"
"I have." Will told him who it was, ignored his incredulous expression, and kept on talking. "What I need from you, Jody, is to be his unofficial number two. Work behind the scenes to keep the Council in line and supportive and provide counsel and advice out of sight of everybody else."
If The Judge had looked incredulous before, now he looked like a man who just seen the family dog make a telephone call. He heaped all manner of thanks and praise on Will and assured him he would do a bang-up job.
Will gave him a long, level stare. "That's all good to hear, Jody. You and me have had our ups and downs, and it means a lot that I can trust you to take care of this. But understand- I'll be in touch with people back here on a daily basis. If I have to turn around and come back because you misbehave, that will most likely put an end to our relationship." The Judge paled and left not long after and Will knew the old barrister had understood the subtext of his statement.
Will stretched his neck first one way and then the other, relishing the snap and crackle of his muscles and tendons. "They're friends with the man but they ain't stupid. They see the difference in how things are opposed to how they were six months ago, the direction the community is going in now and where it was headed then. If there’s a problem, they will let us know.â€
The couple made small talk for a few more minutes, then Becky cavorted off to visit with the Hendrickson sisters and their horses. Will hurried to the dining room where he found Jiri giving Betty a mountain of last-minute instructions. He gave her a conspiratorial wink. "For God's sake, Jiri, leave the woman alone. She ran bigger operations than this before you bounced your first basketball. She'll do a better job once you’re out of her hair.†He pointed at an ugly silver thermal carafe. "Grab two cups of that swill you guys call coffee then come over here and talk with me."
105
* * *
Thirty minutes later, piles of scribbled-on paper and maps with plenty of notations cluttered their table and they were in the midst of a mild argument. Justin and Terrence entered the dining room and threaded their way through, making their way t
o Will and Jiri and bringing their disagreement to a temporary halt. Terrence looked his normal self- friendly and outgoing but capable of turning lethal in the blink of an eye. Justin looked harried and worried. His mouth was set in a grim little line and there were dark bags underneath his bloodshot eyes as if he hadn't been sleeping well. He clutched his stomach with one hand; with the other, he kept scratching at a place on the back of his neck.
Justin's eyes flitted furtively around the room, then he leaned over the table and spoke in a stage whisper. "I appreciate your confidence, Will, I really do. But I'm certain you’re making a mistake."
Will blew out his cheeks and gave a sad shake of his head. "Jesus Christ Almighty, Justin. How many times are we going to have this conversation?"
"This is the last time because I'm telling you to appoint somebody else. I can't do it."
"You can, and you will."
Justin let out an anguished groan. "They'll run roughshod over me, Will. I'm not respected like you or Jiri or Danny or feared like you and Terrence. Nobody will listen to me. They'll ignore me and do whatever they want and in a month this place will be a cross between a bacchanal and a Wild West border town with no sheriff."
"A bacha-who?"
Jiri spoke up, his tone helpful. "A bacchanal. A drunken revelry with sexual undertones, often involving an orgy."
Will nodded his head thoughtfully. "Sounds fun. Maybe we should stay."
Justin slapped the tabletop with the palm of his hand. "Cut it out you guys! I'm serious!"
Will leaned across and fixed him with a piercing gaze. "So am I. Justin, you are an outstanding administrator. You've followed me around for the last six months. You've picked up leadership skills by osmosis that you’re not even aware of. Important people are staying behind and will support you, people who want to see us grow and prosper. Terrence is staying to be your muscle. If anybody steps out of line, he'll pounce on them like a hungry chicken on a grasshopper."
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