10. Highway 61
Chief Bill Sutherland tapped his fingers on his desk nervously while staring at the two men walking toward his office on the computer screen. A uniformed officer stood on either side of his desk, both of them holding assault rifles. There was a knock on the door. Sutherland pressed a button and said, "Enter."
Hank Raddiger burst through the door and clutched the edge of the desk, "Kill him. Right away. He can do things. Bad things. Kill him as soon as you can."
"Pardon me?" Sutherland said.
"He's not regular anymore." Raddiger's voice dried up to a squeak at the sound of footsteps coming behind him into the office. He slid to the furthest corner and pressed his back against the wall. Little Willy Harpe paused in the doorway, stroking the black stripe of alien tentacle now sunk into the flesh of his neck like a long, curving tattoo. Harpe whispered something to the creature as he sat down on the chair facing the Chief. "Good afternoon, Bill. Where's my brother?"
Sutherland cleared his throat and said, "There was an incident after your brother arrived. A PNDA Marshal took him into custody and left the premises."
Harpe's eyes narrowed beneath the ledges of his heavy brows. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"
Sutherland looked at Harpe in confusion. He turned to his officers and said, "Can you believe this guy? He comes into my office, on my station, and talks to me like this?"
"You took our money," Harpe said. "You made the agreement."
"One of my men was killed trying to prevent your dimwitted brother's arrest. If he had just stayed in his ship, everything would have been fine. You are the ones who violated the deal, Harpe. Not me. Get out of my office and go bugger a small animal or whatever the hell it is you hillbillies do for fun. I'll let you know when I have something that's worth it to me to let you know about. Understand?"
"If that's how you feel, then so be it," Harpe said. He stood and stroked the tentacle thoughtfully for a moment. "I have just one last question."
"What is it?"
"Aren't you on fire?"
Sutherland waved his hand in dismissal and said, "That's enough. Arrest this piece of -- Oh my God." His flesh sizzled like raw meat thrown into a red-hot pan. His hands blistered and popped with clear fluids that turned to steam from the heat of his flesh. He thrashed in his chair, knocking everything from his desk. "Put me out! Put me out!"
Both officers stared in confusion at him. "Put you out of what, Chief?"
The Chief dropped to the ground and rolled back and forth, "The flames! I'm burning alive."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Little Willy stroked the tentacle on his neck and said, "That's enough."
Chief Sutherland stopped moving and crumpled into a ball and sobbed like a child. Harpe used the tip of his toe to turn the Chief over onto his back. "I want all of the data about this Marshal that abducted my brother and the ship they left in."
Someone had scraped off the old, peeling paint from the front porch's pillars and replaced it with a coat of shining pearl. There was a garden along the side of the porch that held fat tomatoes and tangles of greens that coiled around stakes set in the black soil. A ramp had been built over the front steps.
Jem saw a man sitting in a wheelchair at the edge of the garden, reaching down to pluck a vegetable. He inspected it and dropped it into the blanket spread across his lap. Jem called out to him and tipped his hat, "Good evening, sir. I apologize for calling on you unexpectedly like this. Do you know where I can find Claire Clayton?"
The man propped himself up on the chair's hand rails and stood to his feet. His legs looked thin, and unable to support his weight. The man turned his head to point at the ruined clump of flesh that used to be an ear and said, "Ever since the explosion, I don't hear so good out of this side. You said you was looking for Claire Miller?"
"Miller?"
"My wife. I'm Frank Miller. This is our home."
A woman opened the front door. She was tall and lean, with blonde hair cut short like a boy's, but prettier than Jem had expected. Claire's eyes fixed on him briefly, before she turned to Frank and said, "What are you doing out of that chair?"
Frank leaned back down into the chair, and Jem slid from his saddle to offer his hand to Frank. "It's an honor to meet you, Frank. My name's Jem Clayton. I'm Claire's brother."
"You don't say!" Frank said. He grabbed Jem's hand tightly and shook it, smiling at Claire to say, "Your brother's finally here, honey. I told you."
"I can see that," Claire said.
"Hello, Claire," he said. "How have you been?"
"You just passing through, then?"
Her eyes were hard against his with no sign of easing. "I suppose so. Just thought I'd stop by and take a look at you, was all. Make sure you still had all your parts. Nice to meet you, Frank. Take care."
Frank waved him off and said, "Don't be silly! Come inside and have dinner with us, Jem. We haven't had company in ages. Claire talks about you all the time." Frank wheeled his chair toward the ramp, waiting for Jem to tie his destrier and come inside. Claire held the door open for Frank, but let it close behind her as Jem came up the steps.
There were many things Frank was eager to show him inside the house. There were family photos hung on the wall that Jem only glanced at, little knick-knacks set around the house that he instantly recognized, but chose to ignore. Frank looked into the kitchen at where Claire stood with her back turned, slamming her knife on the wood chopping block and said, "Why don't you go on in there. I'll stop hogging up your time and let you two catch up."
Jem took a deep breath before entering the kitchen. He took off his hat and stood awkwardly in the hallway shifting from one foot to the other, watching her cut vegetables. "It wasn't true, what he said," Claire said over her shoulder. "I don't talk about you at all."
"Oh. Well, the house looks nice."
"You paid for it."
He paused. "What?"
"The money that mysteriously showed up in my bank two years ago. You think I didn't know that was you, or how you got it?"
"Maybe it was an insurance policy Pa had for you. Maybe it finally came due, did you ever think of that?" He thought for a second, then said, "See, there was this trust fund--"
She let out a small laugh and went back to her vegetables. "I expect you want to move back in then. I expect you want me and Frank to clear out."
"Don't be stupid, Claire. Why would you even say that?"
She looked over her shoulder at him and wiped the side of her face with the back of her hand. "Frank wasn't born a cripple, or simple, neither. He was strong as an ox when we married. He got hurt in the mines a few years back. It left him a little slow. He doesn't understand things so well sometimes. If you want to run us off because you need a place to hide, that suits me fine. Just keep your mouth shut around him and I'll take care of it."
"I don't even know what to say to that, so I won't. But Frank seems nice. Does he treat you all right?"
"Nice? I know what you're thinking, Jem. You think he's some invalid that isn't capable of taking care of himself, right? Some kind of weak man and not some goddamn lawman or bandit. Well I'll tell you this, I'll take him over someone like you any day of the week. He is good, and he is decent, and he is kind. And if you don't like it, you can go to hell."
Jem waited for her to finish, then he caught her off guard with a smile. "My goodness gracious. You grew up and got meaner than a hellcat. You been waiting to say that to me for years, ain't you? I bet you had the whole thing memorized just in case I came in here, trying to tell you how it was and how it's gonna be. Look at you, holding that kitchen knife like you might stick it straight through my heart." He tapped his left breast and said, "Here it is. I won't even flinch, if you want to try."
She put the knife down on the wooden cutting board. "What do you think happened after I finally got tired of worrying that you were dead or in jail? When that money showed up, it just made me more bitter toward you."
"I told you. There was a trust fund."
She picked up the knife again.
"All right. I sent it to help you."
"You sent it because you expected it might buy you forgiveness for running off all them years ago. I was a little girl and you left me to fend for myself, Jem."
"You had Anna and Old Man Willow. Stop carrying on like you were living in the streets."
Claire gritted her teeth and said, "I think I want you to leave."
Jem cast his eyes down at the dirty white tiles. They were the same ones he and Claire crawled on as babies while his mother washed the dishes. "Listen, when I sent that money, I just wanted to do something nice for you, is all. I didn't mean it any other way. I know I couldn't…how'd you go and get married without me?" He stopped speaking and swallowed, but it was like trying to get a bag of sand down his throat. "Who walked you down the aisle?"
"Nobody did. I made it that far on my own, I figured I could handle the rest as well."
He reached out for her, but she turned away from him and returned to chopping the food.
Before eating, Frank recited a heartfelt prayer where he thanked God for everything under the stars, "Especially the happy return of Claire's brother, Jeb."
"Jem," Claire said. "He just told you that not fifteen minutes ago."
"It's all right," Jem said.
Frank looked at Jem and said, "I am so sorry."
"Just get on with it, Frank. The food's getting cold," Claire said.
"Ease up," Jem said. "It's okay."
Claire scooped piles of peas and mashed potatoes onto both men's plates. "How long are you staying for, Jem," Frank said.
"Not long. I have to ride out on business at first light."
Claire stabbed a piece of meat with her fork. "Off to another fast town to do God knows what to God knows who? What would our Daddy say to you right now, Jem? Would he be proud of how his only son turned out? Would Ma?"
"Chances are I'll get to ask them directly before sunrise," Jem said, instantly regretting the anger in his voice. He wiped his mouth with one of the linens and rocked back and forth on the chair while he and Claire stared at one another from across the table. "Dinner sure was tasty," he said. "I never ate so good at this table in all my days. The old man wasn't much of a cook. He did his best, of course, but it was pretty much leaper steaks and beans all year round."
"Venison's my favorite," Frank said.
"Is that right? You any good with a rifle?"
"He can hit a leaper at twenty yards in mid-sprint," Claire said. "He got four last year, right out in the meadow, sitting in his chair."
"That right?" Jem said. "You ever try pheasant? No? Not much eating, but they're good hunting. When I get back I'll show you my dad's old spot." He patted Frank on the back and looked at his sister, "Be good. I'll be back."
All of the businesses were closed along Pioneer Way, except for the bars. They were packed with rowdy customers and working girls who called out to Jem as he passed, trying to lure him inside. Anna Willow was standing on the Sheriff's porch, holding the railing. Her white apron was smeared with dried blood. Jem stopped his destrier in front of her and said, "Rough night, Doc?"
"Your friend, Mr. McParlan, had to sit on Elijah's chest so I could reset his leg. He most likely will never walk right again."
"What a tragic turn of events," Jem said. He waited for Anna to say something, but she ignored his comment. "Hey, did you take up in Roy Halladay's old office?"
"I did," Anna said. "I still have his sign on the door and everything."
"I saw him not too long ago, you know. He was talking about a man's destiny, and what a peculiar thing it is." He looked at the security gate that led out to the wasteland and eventually, Beothuk Country. "Right now, I'd be inclined to agree with that crazy old devil."
"Where you heading off to this late, anyway?"
"Why, you concerned about me out there in the darkness or wishing one of them Beothuk will have a new hat made out of my scalp before dawn?"
"I was just curious where you were going," she said. "You weren't purposefully cryptic as a boy, Jem Clayton. Some might say you've picked up a flair for the dramatic."
"Perhaps they might," he said. "Goodnight, Miss Anna."
"Goodnight, Jem."
She watched him head toward the gate, and kept watching long after she lost sight of him in the darkness.
11. Wilderness
Jem rode until the lights of Seneca 6 were tiny white dots in the darkness. He let his destrier run loose over the hard, red clay of the wasteland. Her hooves echoed like a cavalry charge as they flew through the twists and turns of Coramide Canyon. Riding at night was better because daylight riding drew swarms of stinging bugs to the flop sweat soaking the destrier's hide.
A fierce howl stopped the animal dead, nearly throwing Jem from the saddle. He righted himself and patted the destrier's neck, telling her to calm down. The canyon was covered in shadows, but nothing seemed to move. Jem drew one of his guns and waited.
Anyone who'd grown up in Seneca knew about the werja. Jem had never seen one. Most that did never lived to talk about it.
Morning began like a spark of flint in a corner of the sky that soon set fire to the distant mountain peaks. Jem rode into the open plains pulling his hat down over his eyes, trying to see ahead. In that moment he pictured Sam, twenty years prior, emerging from the same canyon, looking up at the same sky.
He thought about what Sam's reaction would be to Jem taking the time to ponder such things and laughed. It was like Sam was sitting next to him, looking at him sideways, chewing a cut of sweetweed. "You expecting that signal to send itself, son?"
Jem spat a mouthful of sweetweed juice into the dirt, and worked the rest of it into the crook of his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "No, sir," he said, and started up the path.
The pass was overgrown with thick brush and spiny branches, every inch of them covered in curved thorns. Jem dismounted and grabbed a handful of vine that speared his glove and left broken thorns in his palm. He pulled off his glove and tried to dig them out with the tip of his knife.
One of the thorns was deep and he had to cut away the skin to pry out its hooked tip. He stuck his head up to yell in frustration and saw a half-naked young man looking down at him from high above, on a ledge. His long black hair whipped in the wind and two younger boys, kids really, were crouched at his side, trying to stay hidden. This one stood his ground, staring down at Jem in defiance.
Jem stuck the knife back in his hand and cursed as he dug out the rest of the thorn. He cleaned the knife on his pant leg and sheathed it, then whistled for his destrier. He pulled himself into the saddle and started up the pass when the boy raised a stick high over his head and shook it, letting out a high-pitched screech.
Jem waited for him to finish and looked up. "I know who you are. Heard that scream once before when I was just about your age. Didn't scare me then neither."
By nightfall, his stomach was growling. There were birds perched on the bushes, but they hardly seemed worth the effort to shoot. His Defeaters would leave little except a pile of wet feathers and the meat would taste like gunpowder. He had a bottle of whiskey in his saddle. He reckoned he could eat raw bassaricus as long as he had the right thing to wash it down with.
He rode until he came upon a herd of leapers crashing through the brush. They ran in a pack, their long legs kicking high in the air at each step. The herd's alpha was obvious. A large, muscular brute with antlers that spread out as wide as Jem's arms. A smaller buck ran behind him, racing to keep up. Jem drew one of his pistols and fired, dropping the leader in the dirt so that the rest of the herd had to jump over him to get away.
Jem grabbed a hold of its antlers and dragged it off the path. He slit the animal lengthwise, cutting through the tendons and separating the carcass to remove its internal organs. It had been years since he field dressed a leaper. Sam had been a good instructor.
He laid out the t
enderloins and ribs on a blanket of hide and went to gather an armful of dry branches that would go up like an inferno with one match strike. By nightfall, he was turning the meat over a roaring fire and the dripping grease sizzled in the flames.
Jem ate until he was full and drank a portion of the whiskey. The temperature started to drop. He stoked the fire, trying to build up the flames enough to burn long into the night, thinking of the howl he'd heard earlier. Whatever made that noise was still out there and would be walking around while he slept in the open. Jem swallowed whiskey until the howling, the cold, and night under the open sky ceased to matter.
Jem removed the rest of the meat from the fire and set it aside, saving it for morning. He laid out a blanket and leaned back to watch the flames dance and interweave, thinking of the Alvarez sisters, thinking of Anna Willow…
He opened his eyes at the sound of a step so light on the ground it could have been just a leaf blowing across the dirt. The oldest Beothuk boy was creeping past the fire, reaching for the meat. Jem cocked the hammer of his gun, freezing the boy in place.
The gun was aimed at the center of his chest and he stuck out his chin and pulled back his arms, daring Jem to shoot even though his lips quivered slightly and his shoulders rose and fell with excited breaths. His chest was finely muscled and hairless. There was a light growth of baby hair across the boy's lip that looked like it might crawl off the side of his face. Jem made him out to be fourteen.
"You're the one that squawked at me. Where are the others? You come alone? Must be the brave one." He waved his gun at the meat and said, "Go ahead. Take it. I don't know what the hell you all are doing out here, but you must be hungry. Have it."
The boy remained motionless.
Guns of Seneca 6 Box Set Collected Saga (Chambers 1-4) Page 9