The Bone Roses

by Kathryn Lee Martin

  Worry about that once they’re accounted for, the rustler within urges me on.

  A half mile from the old Kingdom roads we find a break in the chain-link. From the thicker poles and metal rollers mounted on a skeletal track, this was intended to be an access gate. Likely the start of a no man’s zone so no one ever wanders into this region ever again once the Kingdom is done ravaging it.

  The fence stops a few feet too short. Broken chain-link edges stick out, waiting for another roll to be spliced to them. Beside us, razor wire stretches to a wooden spool, ready to be put up. The other side looks like it came up short too.

  I shift the satchel across my shoulder with my rifle and toss a handful of snow through the broken fence to check for trip wires.

  Grinding treads and clanking gears echo over the drifted hills. A soldier shouts in the distance, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  I slip through the fence opening and wait for Colton to catch up. Henny won’t be far behind once he retrieves that horse.

  “Keep running. We’re almost home.”

  Home. The word tugs at my heart. In the distance roiling black smoke rises, making my stride hitch. It hovers like an unshakeable windblown shadow, making me run faster. Pine branches bend as I shoulder through them, feeling fear well up in my heart.

  I break from the forest atop the South Ridge and immediately throw myself to the ground behind a snowdrift, narrowly avoiding the pair of K. C. walking the ridge top. When they pass, I peer over the snowdrift, down at the sorrowful settlement.

  Fire roars from Rondo’s square, a fire larger than anything I’ve ever seen before. People, so many people gather there, moving like a fluid stream throughout the streets. My gaze drifts to the storehouse street’s entrance where several K. C. begin assembling a fence from hollow dark-blue metal panels.

  A real livestock pen, like the feedlot panels at the slaughter pens in Hydra. I nestle deeper into the snow and draw a long breath at the sheer number of K. C. surrounding Rondo. It’s like a human lasso as they stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the ridge and assembling their latest barricade. No easy way in. No way out.

  On the outskirts, the ten catapults tear up the ground and pull into position, seemingly looming over the town.

  “What’s the plan, Frost Flea?” Colton kneels beside me.

  I fix my gaze on the little white church and study the soldiers patrolling it. They drift to the snowfield and Addison’s farmstead. Damn. Pinned down there too. There are too many of them. Drawing a long breath, I reach into my rustling satchel and pull out a thick, rawhide rope I use to scale the buildings in Hydra from time to time and check to make sure my knife is sheathed on my belt.

  I turn to Colton and place the fraying rope in his hands along with my rifle, holding out my wrists, trying not to tremble at what I’m about to do.

  “Those who won’t bow to Hyperion are being held at the church right?” I manage to get the words out. “Rondo’s last rustler refuses to bow. Do it quickly.”

  “You sure about this, Frost Flea?” Colton raises an eyebrow.

  I close my eyes and hold my wrists out to him. “Just do it before I change my mind.”

  “Your funeral.” I feel the rope tighten around my wrists as he tugs the scratchy rope into position. A cold shiver goes through me and I slowly open my eyes, looking up at his. They’re gentle, if not a little unnerved, but he doesn’t look away.

  Instead, he reaches a steady hand forward and gently brushes my long hair out of my eyes, running his fingers down over the scar on my cheek. “For what it’s worth, Frost Flea, you’re the bravest rustler I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting. And I want to believe that somehow, some way, you’re going to manage to best us, though it seems unlikely under the circumstances.”

  “Yeah, well, you haven’t seen anything yet.” I wish I sounded more confident than I do. Odds are I won’t ever see him again after this as it is. Once Rondo is gone, he’ll be gone too, roving onto the next condemned settlement to see it through its demise. “Business” as usual in the Kingdom for someone like him. But “business” or not, a part of me deep down within doesn’t want to see him go. He’s not like the other K. C. No. Colton is different. Damn it all to frozen hell . . . “But, just in case things don’t go well . . .”

  If I survive this and Tracker doesn’t kill me when he finds out, I’m probably going to hate myself in the morning for this . . . Against my better judgement, I lean forward, nose brushing his as I tilt my head slightly. My chapped lips ghost his in a quick, awkwardly fleeting brush before pulling away just as fast.

  Colton stands there, eyes wide in surprise. Several seconds pass before he flashes a grin and he places a hand on his hip, clearly amused by the gesture.

  “You are one interesting little rustler, that’s for sure,” he chuckles. “From wanting to kill me to willingly stealing a kiss all in a span of a few days. Guess the odds in Rondo are worse than we think, huh.”

  “No, I . . .” Warmth floods my cheeks and I look away, the words tangling into a low, embarrassed mumble. “That’s for . . . helping me escape from Henny’s camp.”

  The hell it was, my inner rustler growls. You like him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

  I grit my teeth not wanting to admit the truth. He’s handsome, smart, and saved my life—everything I most certainly don’t need right now. I have work to do. Important work that doesn’t involve falling in love with some vagabond K. C. luresman stray, even if he is supposedly Matthew’s brother, adopted or not. He’s trouble. Trouble I can’t seem to stay away from.

  Focus, Rags. I have a family to save right now. People who are counting on me not to let them die. That comes first.

  “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?” Colton shakes his head with a smile and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a gentle embrace. “Like I said before, there’s no shame in wanting something other than being a rustler. You may be Rondo’s rustler, but you’re still Rags, a young lady who is very much human, even if they tend to forget that. You’ll have plenty of time to think about what you want if you and your family escape Rondo.”

  I nod and glance back at Rondo as he lets me go. “Let’s get this over with, okay.”

  “All right, Frost Flea.”

  I hear the soft click as he pulls an arrow from the short, leather quiver threaded on his belt’s left side and sets it in the groove of a crossbow, my Damascus slung over his shoulder. The sharp point of an arrow aims between my shoulder blades as he gives the rope some slack.

  “Okay, between you and me, this bolt is more for show right now and looks like it’s prepped to fire. They don’t know any different down there, but don’t force me to actually have to fire it, because if I do have to pull this trigger, you will die. So try to behave until I’m not pointing a weapon at you, all right?”

  I draw a long, shaky breath. “You don’t need to tell me that twice . . .”

  “Good.” He directs me toward the slope leading down to the storehouse street and I try not to think about the mistake I’m making.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  A Kingdom Corps soldier pauses and looks up from a bolt he tightens on one of the new livestock panels. Several others hesitate, setting down panels from a supply truck and raise their carbines at Colton and me as we walk up to the storehouse street.

  The storehouse sits, door wedged partially open as another soldier casts a sack of corn into the arms of a waiting one, who laughs and casts it into another pile to be divided among them later. Ice and snow entomb Matthew’s trusty old Chevy truck, its windows smashed in and all but stripped of parts.

  “What do we have here?” A soldier turns to Colton and I catch the faintest smirk from under his faceless helmet.

  “I caught her in the forest.” Colton gives the rope a tug for good measure. “Orders from Second-in-Command Oreson to bring her to the church.”

  The soldier beside him studies me and I offer him my stro
ngest glare.

  Do it for your family, the rustler in me struggles to wrangle up the confidence.

  “She’s Rondo’s rustler.” Colton casts my rustling satchel at the soldier’s feet. “Now you can either let me pass or I can tell him you’re impeding on official Kingdom business.”

  The soldier hesitates but another look to Colton seems to register who he’s dealing with and he steps aside, creating a break in the human fence. One of the heavy pipe gates screeches open just wide enough for us to walk through. Colton grabs the satchel and swings it over his shoulder.

  I step through and listen as the gate closes behind us. No turning back now.

  Find them. Save them.

  My eyes fix ahead to the graded street, patrolled by hundreds of Kingdom Corps. The streetlamps flicker and I can just barely see something pine green and bronze flapping in the breeze up ahead at the square through the rising smoke of charred buildings.

  I bow my head and walk past the spot where Matthew died, feeling numb and trying to rally my confidence. The more soldiers I see, though, the harder each step becomes.

  Every gaze falls upon us. Soldiers stop their patrols to stare. Colton pays them no mind, eyes straight ahead, crossbow raised, marching me to what will surely be my death.

  We pass the boarded-up windows and broken-down porches. Past the burnt-out husks on the right side. Every step brings Rondo into clear focus. I see the people gathered in the square, dancing in the firelight of a mighty pyre built around the fountain.

  Sparks dribble from the tiers like molten snowflakes. The flames crack and split the timbers stacked and leaned against it. The lantern encased at the top radiates with golden light, partially collapsing under the heat’s assault. Smoke drifts from the husk of the collapsed buildings leveled by yesterday’s events. But on a brick building by Rondo’s slums hangs a brand-new pine-green banner, trimmed with bronze and reflecting a brilliant bronze running hare across the center.

  The mark of treason.

  I flinch as I watch several of Rondo’s thin and emaciated citizens tossing books and scraps into the fire. Children dance around their smiling mothers’ legs, cheering and playing while the Kingdom Corps looks on from the microphones arranged in a sickening reality to what’s going to happen here. I want to run up to them, warn them that what they’re doing is wrong. The Kingdom isn’t here to help us. They’re here to purify this place, and that means everyone in it.

  Colton urges me past the disgusting spectacle. Something sharp strikes me above my right eye making me shy back and almost get pierced by the crossbow bolt.

  “Bad lady,” a young emaciated boy not much more than five years old shouts and picks up another stone in his tiny hands. “Bad witch.”

  I flinch and dodge another stone when more children join in, hurling gravel and clasping each other’s tiny hands.

  “Witch, witch of Witherwood Lane,” they begin to circle and chant. “Shame, shame brought upon you. Spells, spells you’ll burn in hell.”

  The circle increases as more children join the chant. There’s dirt on their sunken faces, glee in their dark eyes, as they dance within the soot and ashes with evil grins. They trample the snow, shouting louder and louder until they’ve followed us to Witherwood Lane, circling like scavenging wolves.

  “Aye,” Colton shouts and eyes one of the little ringleaders, a shaggy brown-haired boy covered in soot. “Child, child, spry and wild. Tasty, cooked up, spiced, and mild. Dance, dance, prance, and sing. The Witherwood witch is listening.”

  Shrieking with terror the group scatters and flees for their mothers on the other side of the fire. Colton drags a foot through the snow and snorts at them as if he’s an angry goat, lip curled back into a snarl and green eyes narrowed.

  “Old gods and goddesses,” he whispers and urges me from the square. “Some days I miss Edmonda, and then something like that happens and I’m reminded why I left.”

  Witherwood Lane closes around us with a heavy K. C. presence milling about. In the distance I see the little white church, surrounded by guards and trimmed with icicles. Beyond it, more livestock gates form a barrier, cutting the farmhouse and the snowfield completely off from Rondo.

  A shrill squeal makes me jump. There’s a loud snap and a pained “hee-haw.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch creature.” Hunter’s voice carries on the wind, followed by another snap and another squeal.

  I pull hard on the rope, lunging forward as the whip comes down across Nigel’s spotted hide. Blood splashes to the ground as the young mule pulls back, flailing his hooves and flattening his ears at the mousy man wielding the whip. Several soldiers pull ropes tight around the animal’s neck in an effort to bring him back onto all four legs.

  He bares his teeth and swings his head sideways, crashing into Hunter. The man falls back, slipping in a puddle. Tamblin shies, tethered to one of the gates and lets out a squeal of terror as she collides with an agitated Jacobus, who tries everything he can to avoid the whip.

  “I’ll teach you to knock me down,” Hunter snarls and grabs a wooden block. “Come here you stupid jack—”

  “Touch my mule again and you better pray for a quick death.” I drag Colton off-balance and splay both legs, preparing to charge and defend my best friend.

  Hunter cringes, the wooden block stopping inches from Nigel’s muzzle. He turns one gray eye toward me and I see his lip curl back into a nervous smirk.

  “Well, well, well.” He places a hand on his hip, his uniform three sizes too big for him. “Aren’t you a bold one.”

  He drops the wooden block and struts until he stands before me. His shaggy brown hair is riddled with soot and he brings his cat-like gray eyes to meet my blue ones in a defiant stare.

  “Come back to say your final good-byes before we send you off to Hell with the others? What a fitting end for someone like you. I can’t wait to hear your frantic pleading and final moments.”

  “Lawrence,” Colton warns. “Leave her alone.”

  “Or what, field rat? You going to tell on me? Last time I checked, this was a purification.”

  “Purification or not, I’m still the luresman and since she won’t bow to Hyperion, I’m obligated to put her with the others. If you actually knew a damn thing about these things, you’d stop picking on animals and go work on preparing the site for Hyperion’s broadcast to take place.”

  Hunter scowls and eyes Nigel. The mule raises his head and flattens his ears, teeth bared and nostrils flared. He turns to the twin guards standing before the church doors.

  “Put her with the others,” the man spits, a sick look of glee in his eyes. “I want to watch her suffer when they’re taken from her.”

  Both K. C. leave their post and grab my arms, hauling me up onto the church’s uneven porch. The metal handle shrieks as the door creaks open. With a stern motion they throw me into the dull, candle-lit darkness. My feet slip against the crimson runner and I fall, hard onto the wooden floor, landing on my elbows as the door slams shut.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  It takes several long seconds for my eyes to adjust to the candlelight. Hand-sanded, hollowed-out logs form the overturned pews. Seven rows on each side, absorbing the flickering light of every candle Jericho has managed to collect over the years. Curtains block the windows, preventing the outside dawn from reaching across the flimsy pine pulpit centered in front of a delicately carved millowwood cross.

  A distinct shuffling sound fills the air by the front pew as if someone is trying to get away in a hurry.

  I bite back a curse and ease myself into a sitting position. The frayed rope burns against my wrists as I work my hands through the knots. It pinches my fingers as I grit my teeth and pull them free, tossing the rope to the side.

  Metal sings through the air above my head. In a flash my hand is up, fingers weaving around the cold surface. They walk over it, pressing down and twisting as the solid-brass rod strikes my palm and halts mere inches from my skull. My eyes follow the long shaf
t to a heavily bandaged hand grasping it.

  “Rags?” Jericho’s weary face holds relief and worry as the candlelight flickers across his strange brown eyes, highlighting bruises and playing in his ruffled copper hair. His trench coat is ripped in several places from what must have been a violent confrontation with Hunter.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” I move the brass candleholder away and stand up to face him.

  “Rags, you’re alive.” Two people move from behind the first overturned pew. Frank keeps one hand on a terrified Sadie, who stands up from her shelter on the floor and clutches her lavender shawl, looking haggard and like she’s been praying hard through the tears. “We thought you were the K. C. come to collect us.”

  “We came to save you.”

  “Oh sweetie.” Sadie waddles past a seated Addison, who offers a gentle smile and helps her navigate the barricade he’s perched upon. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

  Her thin arms embrace me, drawing me close to her. Trembling and trying to hold back tears, I return the embrace, wanting nothing more than for this nightmare to be over. She’s safe. My family is still alive.

  “You’re so stupid sometimes.” Tears creep down her flushed cheeks. Her grip tightens and she buries her face in my shoulder. “Coming back here. You should have run away, Rags. Very far away.”

  I try to fight back the burning in my eyes. “Never, Mom. No one gets left behind. Never.”

  “I hate to break up the sweet family reunion, but we have problems. Big ones.” Colton turns his attention to the heavy footsteps moving to join Jericho from the shadows and swings the Damascus from his shoulders.

  “You.” Tracker’s gruff voice fills the church. I look up, seeing him with another brass candleholder in his strong hands, aiming it for Colton. “How dare you show your face here again.”

  “Wait.” I pull away from Sadie’s embrace, stepping in front of Colton. “He helped me escape Henny’s camp.”

  Tracker’s eyes narrow. He seizes the Damascus and wrenches it from Colton’s hands, spinning it and aiming it directly at the younger man’s forehead. The safety flips off. “Is this true?”