“We’ll stop here for the night,” Hays said. No backcountry drawl in his voice, unlike most of the rest of us. He had the clipped vowels of an educated man. “Up at the station. Should be plenty of room.”
“We got plenty of daylight left,” Liz said. She sat uneasily on her big black gelding, the long barrel of her rifle sticking up over her left shoulder. “We could make a few more miles.”
“No need to hurry,” Hays said. “We’re back in friendly country now. Let’s rest up while we have the chance.” His eyes went to Gid. “You go back a ways and find somewhere to watch our trail, just in case. I’ll send somebody over to spell you at dusk.”
“Yes, sir,” Gid said. He was a gangly youth, with cornflower eyes in a face cratered by acne. The rest of them laughed at him, sometimes, because he was so keen. I always tried not to join in. Now he turned his horse and rode back the way we had come, without complaint.
Hays led the rest of us up the old street, past the boarded up houses to the train station. It was a two-story brick building, with narrow windows and a peaked roof. We brought the wagon into the old stable, and while the others dismounted and went inside, John Plainsman and I saw to the horses. The regular army might have duty rosters and rotas, but in the Red Riders we just did what we were best at. For me that meant taking care of horses and keeping a lookout. If that meant I stayed up more nights than some, I didn’t mind, ’cause I knew I could rely on Dogs to knock someone flat or Liz to put a bullet in them if I ever needed it. We all got our strengths.
John Plainsman didn’t talk much, but when he brushed the horses, he talked to them softly in his own language, little clucks and warbles. I never could figure what he was saying, but they seemed to appreciate it. His pale skin was creased and burned until it was old leather, and his long, blond braid swung back and forth as he worked.
I heard the crackle of a fire from inside the main building and smelled bacon frying. Say one thing for the Red Riders—I’d eaten better in the last few months than the whole rest of my life put together, thanks to the generosity of Central supply trains and depots. The Neffies got foul mash I wouldn’t feed a dog, but Central officers didn’t like to leave their comforts behind.
I must’ve been drooling, because John Plainsman gave a rare chuckle and waved me away.
“Go eat, Nellie.” His accent always sounded somber to my ears. “I’ll finish up.”
I wasn’t going to turn that down. I gave Liz’s black a last stroke of the brush, patted its side, and went on in.
BACON AND EGGS, SPICY DRIED beef, beans and rice, and bread with real butter, even lobster and crab from funny little tins that hissed when you poked a hole in them. These were a Central invention, Hays said, to keep food from going off. Central people were always tinkering with things, even food.
We’d been feasting every night. There were crates of the stuff in the wagon, alongside the guns, powder, and shot that made up the bulk of our haul. Jude was our cook, and even Liz admitted he was a dab hand over the skillet. I wolfed down everything with my fingers, scorching them a little where I hadn’t waited for it to cool, then went back for seconds.
The ground floor of the station was a single room, a big open space with benches around the edges and what had been the ticket counter at one end. Bits of broken furniture made for a tidy fire, and most of the company sat around it on their blankets, passing around a couple of bottles of fancy Central wine.
“Is this the ’62, do you think?” said Bill, with an exaggerated parody of a nasal Central accent.
“No, no, it must be the ’61,” Rob replied, in the same tones. “That year had a particular nutty cheesiness to it.”
The others were laughing out loud. Dogs grabbed the bottle in one huge, paw-like hand and took a long swig.
“Yup,” he drawled, his accent thick enough to crack rocks. “Tastes like cheesy nuts to me.”
More laughter. I saw Ben leaning back on his blanket and I caught his eye. I flicked my gaze upward, then raised an eyebrow. He grinned.
Five minutes later, we were upstairs in one of the old guest rooms, and he was kissing a line of bare skin from my collarbone down toward my breasts while I fumbled with his belt buckle. Funny how things like buckles and knots which normally come so natural get all finicky when you’re in a hurry. There was a bed, but was covered in dust and cobweb, so Ben pressed me against the wall and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
I’d been fucking Ben for a couple of months now. After I joined the Red Riders, it wasn’t long before I figured out I’d have to pick somebody to share my bedroll, else fights were going to start breaking out. I’m no great beauty, but that doesn’t mean much to boys who haven’t seen a woman for weeks. So I picked Ben. I wasn’t in love with him or nothing, but he had a pretty face and a kind manner, and knew enough not to make a fool of himself between the sheets. Once I’d made a choice, the others settled down some, though I still had to crack Big Barrow over the head once and I’d caught Gid making moon-eyes at me now and then.
Liz never had to put up with any of this. It might have been because she would break your arm as soon as look at you if you crossed her. Or it might have been because of the rumor that she and Hays were together, or had been, once. Every man of the Red Riders would rather slit his own throat than cross Captain Hays.
When we were done, Ben pulled the sheets off the bed, and we lay panting on the mattress, which was prickly but cleaner. I liked to watch the way sweat beaded in the hollow under his jaw, and play with the downy hair on his chest. I liked the way he looked at me, too, like a man who’d won the lottery and still can’t quite believe it.
“How far east do you think we’ll go?” he said. “All the way to Totterhollow?”
That was General Wick’s camp, where for the last six months he’d been facing down the main Central army, like two tigers staring at each other across a stream. Everyone said Wick was waiting for his moment; sooner or later, he’d deliver another of his brilliant strokes and send the Centrals howling back like he had every time before.
“Doubt it,” I said. “Probably just as far as the railhead. Captain will have us turned around and headed back for Central territory as soon as he can.”
“I guess.” There was a reluctance in his tone. “I thought he might join up with the army this time. Paper said Wick needs every man he can get.”
“He needs guns and powder more than he needs another dozen mouths to feed,” I said.
“I guess,” he said again, and sighed. “There ain’t much glory in it, though, is there? Bushwacking supply wagons and hiding from every patrol?”
“Glory?” I snorted. “Glory and a shovel will get you a nice grave.”
Before he could say anything else, I rolled over and straddled him, which proved plenty distracting for both of us. Ben was a nice boy, but sometimes I thought he wasn’t too bright. He’d been at this longer than I had, but it hadn’t taken more than a few days for me to figure out there was no such thing as glory in this war.
BEN DROPPED OFF TO SLEEP as soon as we finished, but I found myself with a thirst and it was nearly time for my watch. Another of the guest rooms had its door closed, which I figured meant Bill and Rob were making use of it for the same purpose Ben and I had. Ma wouldn’t have approved of them, but the war had showed me there were a lot worse things men could do to each other, and it wasn’t any of my business anyhow.
Downstairs, most of the others had fallen asleep around the fire. John Plainsman sat wedged in a corner, as was his custom, hat pulled down over his eyes. Only Liz and Captain Hays were still awake, propped against the old ticket counter with a bottle between them. Big Barrow was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was on watch. Hays beckoned me over, and I flopped down opposite the two of them.
“Ho there, young Nellie,” he said, and I could hear quite a bit of wine sloshing about in his voice. “How’s our Ben treating you?”
“Tolerably,” I said, with a shrug. When you were twelve riders
alone in the woods for days, there was no keeping secrets about who was fucking who. “He wears out quicker than I’d like.”
“Ha,” Liz said. “Don’t they all.”
Hays grinned and leaned forward, handing me the bottle. He grew the hair on his left side long, letting it hang down across his face. At the battle of Onsang, back in the first days of the war, a Central bullet had hit him just above the left eye, bursting it and shattering the bones on that side before coming out the top of his head. He’d survived, which nobody expected, and now the left side of his face was a sagging, puckered scar, the broken bone sagging like a butter sculpture beside a fire. It disturbed folks, so he kept the hair covering it unless he wanted ‘em disturbed. His other eye practically glowed in the fire, a blue so bright people said he was half Plainsman.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“Am I getting called on the carpet?” I said. I was half smiling, but only half, because you never knew with Hays. He smiled the widest when he was mad at you, and took his time twisting the knife.
“Nothing like that. How long have you been with us?”
I took a pull from the bottle. It was wine, though whether it was ’61 or ’62 or last Thursday I couldn’t have told you. After wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I said, “Three months, or thereabouts.”
It had been one hundred and three days. A hundred and four since the Central patrol had come to my farm. But I kept that to myself.
“Three months.” He shook his head, the long fringe of hair shuffling. “Three trips over the border, right?”
“Right.” I shifted uncomfortably. “Why?”
“This was the last time,” he said. “We’re done, Nellie. The Red Riders are getting out of this business for good.”
“Why?” It was all I could think to say.
“’Cause it’s getting too fucking dangerous, that’s why,” Liz said. She was a short, stout woman, nearly as broad as Big Barrow across the shoulders. Liz was the best shot in the company, and a serious contender for throwing the meanest punch. I once asked Dogs how she got into the Red Riders, and he said she’d just turned up and laid out anyone who tried to stop her.
“None of us signed up for this because we thought it was safe,” I objected. “It’s war.”
“There’s a difference between war and suicide,” Liz said. “Colonel fucking Tzolk and his idiot son nearly had us last time. They’re thick as flies over there now.”
“But General Wick needs what we bring him,” I said, waving in the direction of the stables. “You were the one who told me that, Captain. With the blockade, every rifle’s worth its weight in gold.”
“I know,” Hays said, holding up a hand, but I was on a roll.
“We can’t just stop,” I said. “Without guns, Wick can’t keep the Centrals out of Beauport. And if they take Beauport, we’ll lose the war.”
Hays stared at me with his one eye, but it was Liz who spoke.
“We lost the fucking war a long time ago,” she said. “People like Wick are just too damned stupid to realize it. The Defiant’s just a chicken with its head chopped off. It might run for a while, but it ain’t going to be anything but fucking dinner.”
“You believe this?” I said to Hays.
“It’s a colorful analogy,” he said. “But I don’t think she’s wrong. The Central fleet’s tightened the blockade. They’ve taken Goff and Veraville from the sea, and Fort Kvir is under close siege now.”
“General Wick still has ‘em pinned outside Totterhollow!”
“He does,” Hays said. “But he needs every man the Defiant can offer to do it. The Centrals have him pinned, too, and they’ve got plenty left over.”
“Only because they’re got half of Hell on their side,” I muttered. “Where’d you hear all this, anyway?”
“He has a good rummage every time we hit a telegraph station,” Liz said. “But it’s all in the Central papers.”
“Their papers lie,” I said, with a snorted.
“They don’t fucking need to lie,” Liz said. “Not anymore.”
“So what?” I looked between the two of them. “That’s it? You’re just going to…what, go home?”
“When we get to the railhead at Novarre, I’m going to tell everyone formally,” Hays said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve all filled your obligation to the Defiant ten times over. We’ve got some money we can split up, Central thalers are better than Defiant scrip these days.”
“Some of us don’t have anywhere to go back to,” I said.
“I know.” Hays’s expression softened. “But you could go east, to the city. It’d be better than this.”
“Ben will just go on to Totterhollow,” I said.
“Of course he will,” Liz said. “’Cause he’s got the brains of a fucking radish.”
“I expect a lot of the boys will want to keep fighting,” Hays said. “Someone like Dogs has been at this so long, I don’t know if he remembers how to do anything else. But I was hoping you, especially, might listen to what I have to say.”
“Why?” I said. “Because I’m a girl?”
“’Cause you’ve only been with us three months,” Liz snapped. “You can go back. And you might be able to talk sense into Ben and Gid if you do.”
“What about you?” I said, looking at Hays. “Where are you gonna go?”
Liz gave a dry chuckle. Hays let out a long breath.
“I’m not going to say,” he said. “Wherever it is, I don’t want the lot of you following me, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty.”
I was about to say that seemed like a shitty way to treat the men and women you rode with, but a noise from outside cut me off. Hoofbeats, loud in the silent town.
“Think about it,” Hays said, as we all shot to our feet.
I was more focused on what was happening outside. I heard Big Barrow shout a challenge, and relaxed a little at the sound of Gid’s voice. A moment later he was inside, a swirl of dust following him in through the front door.
“Gid,” Hays said, all the drunkenness gone from his voice. “What’s happened?”
“Neffies,” the boy said, gasping for breath. “Coming down the west road.”
THE OTHERS WOKE UP, AND there was a general commotion. Hays held up a hand for silence and got it.
“How many?” he said. “And how many riders with them?”
“At least fifty Neffies,” Gid said. “Could be more, I didn’t stick around to count ‘em. And I saw three riders.”
“Tzolk,” Liz said. “Has to be. He didn’t stop at the border.”
“But we’re in Defiant territory!” Gid said. “He can’t just march in after us.”
“He can if there’s no one to stop him,” Hays said. “General Wick’s been stripping the backcountry garrisons of able bodies for years and shuffling his worst cases out to replace them. There’s probably not a soldier within fifty miles of here who isn’t a cripple or a drunk.”
“How far out were they?” Liz said.
“Couple of miles,” Gid said. “Closer now.”
“Too close to ride for it,” Hays said. His lip twisted.
It’s a little-known fact, in civilian quarters, that over a long haul, a Nephilim can run down a horse. The horse can gallop faster, but not forever, and Neffies don’t get tired. With us burdened by a wagon full of supplies, we wouldn’t have a chance with such a short head start.
Dogs and Little Barrow came over. The big sergeant’s eyes were still heavy with sleep, but Barrow was more alert.
“Somebody coming, captain?” he said.
“Neffies,” Hays said.
“It’s Tzolk,” Liz said. She had her rifle out, busy inspecting the mechanism.
“We don’t know it’s Tzolk,” Hays said.
“Of course it’s fucking Tzolk,” Liz said. “Who else has such a hard-on for killing you that he’d come this far over the border? He hates you personal after you shot his son at L
ittle Forks.”
“Go get your brother,” Hays said to Barrow. “Then get everyone on the second floor down here.”
“What’re we going to do?” Dogs said with a yawn. He scratched his beard with one huge hand. “Hole up here?”
“Don’t see that we have much choice,” Hays said. He looked at Gid. “You didn’t see any artillery, did you?”
“Just the three riders,” Gid said.
“If they haven’t got any cannons, this place will do for a fort. Narrow windows, thick walls.”
“It’ll be full dark soon,” Liz said.
Hays nodded. “Nellie, take John and Jude up to the roof and get the lamps lit. There’s some oil in the wagon.”
“Got it,” I said. We didn’t salute in the Red Riders, but sometimes I wanted to.
I chivvied Jude out of his bedroll and left him tugging on his trousers while John Plainsman and I fetched a cask of lamp oil. We passed the Barrows, Ben, Bill and Rob on their way down to collect their gear. A trapdoor led to the roof, a slope of shingles overlooked by the looming bulk of the water tower. Lamps hung at regular intervals around the edges. The old station hands had probably lit them from below, using some kind of long pole, but lacking the proper equipment I had to edge out onto the dangerously sloped roof and pull them up. By the time we were done, my heart was pounding hard, and I was glad to get back inside and head down to join the others.
Most of the company was busy with their weapons, checking that the bolts on the carbines moved smoothly and that ammo pouches were full. The Red Riders had the pick of the Central armory, and we each carried at least a pair of revolvers in addition to the bolt-action carbine. Liz had the only long rifle, a monster of a thing longer than she was tall. She had the barrel in her hand, like a strange walking stick, while she talked to Hays.
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