by Jeff Hirsch
A dust cloud rose in the desert across the road. I squinted into the sunny glare and saw that it was centered around a black Ford pickup that was racing in our direction. It was one I’d know anywhere, one that only a single person would be driving.
Quarles.
I didn’t even think. I grabbed Bear’s collar and ran.
6
Quarles threw open the door of his truck and stepped out.
“Where’ve you been?”
“I was looking for the dog,” I said. “I thought he was somewhere behind the store and—”
“I tell you to do a thing, you do it and come back. You don’t make me wait. You don’t take your time.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought I could find him, but I guess he—”
Quarles’s open hand slammed into my jaw, nearly knocking me down.
“Don’t lie to me. Supply truck radioed about some kid playing with a mutt.” Quarles reached for the dogcatcher he kept in a metal sleeve on the side of the truck. “Useless. Like always, if I want something done, it’s on me.”
“Look,” I said, jogging to keep up with him. “I found him. Okay? But he was too fast. I almost had him, but then he ran off and I couldn’t get him. He’s just one dog. Little too. We should get back for afternoon prayers.”
Quarles ignored me and checked each storefront. I hoped he would get frustrated by the time he reached the supermarket, but when he got there, he went in the front door. I followed him, barely breathing, as he moved up and down the aisles. When his back was to me, I looked into the corner where a short hall led down to two bathroom doors. Both were closed.
Five minutes, I thought, staring back at the hall. Just be quiet for five more minutes.
Quarles finished going through the rows and headed toward the register.
“I told you, he’s not—”
A high-pitched whine came from the back hall. Quarles froze, his hand tense on the shaft of the dogcatcher.
No. “Wait. Quarles…”
By the time Quarles reached the hallway, Bear’s claws were scraping against the thin wooden door. His free hand fell to the bludgeon on his belt.
“He’s not worth it.”
He turned and stabbed the tip of the lead club into my chest.
“I’m rid of you soon,” he said in a deadly rumble. “So what you do isn’t my concern anymore. But you’re going to help me take this one. Make my life harder and I’ll tell Monroe what you’ve done.”
A sick feeling was growing in my gut, but I somehow managed to nod. Quarles forced the bludgeon into my hands.
“If he gives me a problem, put him down.”
Quarles moved to the door. I wanted to tell him to stop, wanted to beg him, but a bad word from him to Monroe could hurt me, hurt James. I just stood there, stupid and small, as he reached for the door handle. When he opened it, Bear was sitting in the center of the room, ears up, tongue hanging out of his mouth.
“This mutt is what you were keeping from me?”
He reached for Bear’s collar, but there was a growl and then Quarles reared back with a yelp. Bear darted through his legs and into the store. When Quarles staggered out of the bathroom, one hand was dripping blood onto the tile floor.
“No stray bites me,” he said as he drew a black .38.
I backed out of the hall, keeping between Quarles and Bear, the club in my hand. Quarles thumbed the hammer back and leveled the gun at my chest.
“I can kill you too, boy. Nobody’d question me. Now move away.”
I was rooted in place, couldn’t move if I wanted to. Quarles made a disgusted sound and pushed past me. As soon as he did, something in me unlocked. I twisted around and swung for his wrist, shattering it with the club. Quarles dropped to his knees with a scream, sending the gun skidding across the linoleum. I stepped back, amazed at what I had done. Quarles looked at me with bloodshot eyes.
“Quarles, wait. I didn’t mean to—”
“I should thank you,” he said, drawing himself up. “Gives me the reason to do what I’ve wanted to do since I met you.”
Quarles lurched forward, grabbing my collar and swinging me into one of the floor displays. My bad arm hit the shelf, and the pain sent me to the floor. The club skittered away from me.
I tried to get up, but Quarles drove his fist into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. He lifted his hand again, and Bear jumped at him with a snarl, digging his teeth into the man’s calf and thrashing wildly. Quarles kicked him into a far wall and then scooped up the club. Bear cowered, ears back, eyes wide, as Quarles came for him.
My hand hit a hot piece of metal as I scrambled away. Quarles’s revolver. I grabbed it just as Quarles was raising the club over Bear’s skull.
He was starting to swing when I lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.
7
I sat with my back wedged into a corner, ears ringing, my hand cramping around the handle of the revolver. Time seemed to distort around me, speeding past, then slowing to a crawl.
There was a shuffling sound beside me. Bear had come around Quarles, and we were sitting shoulder to shoulder. He shifted his weight from paw to paw with an urgent whine.
Quarles was facedown with three bullet wounds in his back, one high and two low. Each one was a spot of black ringed by a circle of dark red. A pool of blood, the thickness of motor oil, had spread out underneath him, a misshapen circle stretching from his waist to his head.
I heaved violently, vomiting up acidic bile. After it passed, I stayed there on my knees, my stomach muscles clenching. I breathed deep until they stilled, then turned to the door. Quarles’s truck sat across the parking lot, a black splotch against the tan desert. How long had it been sitting there now? Minutes? Hours? I imagined the dogs going mad for food back in their kennels. How long until someone noticed? How long before they came looking?
I forced myself up onto legs as shaky as a fawn’s, then took a few steps before squatting down by the dead man’s shoulders. His face was turned toward me and his eyes were open wide, staring blankly. Their blue centers were surrounded by a maze of burst blood vessels.
I grabbed the edge of Quarles’s coat in my one good hand and threw myself toward the back hall. His body skidded a few inches, but the effort forced me to my knees, panting. There were at least five more feet between him and the narrow bathroom door.
Bear stood by the door, watching me, his front paws tapping anxiously against the tile.
I dug my heels into the floor and I pulled again, grunting, until his body moved. I got him another few inches, rested, and did it again and again until we were at the edge of the bathroom. I dropped his coat and collapsed against the wall.
Bear scurried across the store, giving the slick of blood a wide berth. He sat before me, making an impatient huffing sound. Somehow I got up again and pulled until I got Quarles into the bathroom.
His body ended up curled around the base of the filthy toilet, chin on his chest, arms limp at his sides. Looking down at him, numbness spread through me, and I felt like I was seeing him from high above. I suddenly realized how little I knew about him. Did he have a wife? Children?
I staggered out of the bathroom and shut the door.
Bear stayed close as I covered Quarles’s blood with whatever trash I could find. If someone was searching the store, they would figure out what happened pretty quick, but it might at least buy me some time.
But time to do what?
• • •
I didn’t breathe at the Cormorant checkpoint. My hand gripped the steering wheel as two sentries looked over the truck in front of me. I checked the rearview. Bear was lying on his side in one of the back cages. When I looked forward, one of the sentries was waving me up.
He took my tech operator’s dispensation papers and studied them. His sleek M4 hung on his chest, one hand never more than a few inches from the grip and trigger.
“This is Quarles’s rig?” he asked, looking down the length of the truck.
<
br /> “Yes, sir,” I said. “He’s gone after a pack we found. He wanted me to drop this dog back in the kennels and come back for him tonight.”
“No one in or out until after prayers and supper.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “No problem.”
He waved me on and I pulled the truck through the gate and up to the kennel. It was fully dark by the time I parked and got Bear out of his cage. Inside the kennel, the dogs were barking wildly, starved for the supper no one had given them. Bear shied away, trembling. He wouldn’t move, so I had to lift him awkwardly onto my shoulder with one hand and carry him down the aisle.
“It won’t be for long,” I said. “Promise.”
The other dogs threw themselves against the bars of their cages and snarled at the intruder in their midst. When I finally got Bear into a cage, he pressed himself up against the bars and whined.
“I’ll be back,” I said, reaching my fingers through the bars to scratch his ear.
Bear retreated to the far corner of his cage and cringed away from the other dogs. I hated leaving him there, but what could I do?
I left the kennel and then climbed the hill into camp just as the last of the crowds were moving into the Lighthouse. I caught sight of James at the rear of the pack and yanked him out of line.
“Cal? What are you—”
I put one finger to my lips and pulled him away, keeping us to the shadows as we made our way down to the barracks. Once we were inside, I lit a single lantern and shut the door.
“What are you doing?”
I took James’s backpack out of our footlocker and pushed it into his chest. “Fill it.”
“Why? Cal, what’s going on?”
“We have to go,” I said, turning my back to him and filling my pack with clothes, camping gear, maps.
“Go where? What are you — Why do you have blood on your clothes?”
I was leaning over my bunk, the straps of the backpack tight in my hand. Looking down, I saw that my pants, from cuffs to knee, were stained with Quarles’s blood.
“There was an accident,” I said quietly, my back still to James. “With Quarles.”
“Is he dead?”
The words stuck in my throat but I didn’t need to say anything. James could see. I pulled him down onto the bunk beside me.
“We need to leave,” I said. “Now.”
“Leave? What are you—”
“Quarles’s truck is out by the kennels. I told the sentries I’d be driving out again tonight to look for a pack of strays.”
“Where would we even go?”
“I don’t know. West maybe, cross into California. We’ll figure it out.”
“But—”
“If they find him, I’m dead.”
James went quiet, staring down at the concrete floor. The walls of the barracks ticked as the building settled into the desert night.
“James?”
“We’ll go to Monroe together,” he said slowly. “We’ll explain it to him. He was just about to make us both citizens. He’ll—”
“It was a lie. He’s going to keep you as his valet and send me away with Rhames to be a soldier.”
James looked up at me, his eyes sharp like he was searching out a lie. When he didn’t find one, his face went dark, shadowed in flickering lantern light.
“Remember when we used to talk about escaping?” I said. “We put it aside for too long, James. This is our chance. We have to take it. Are you listening to me? We need to—”
“I’ll get Milo,” he said. “He can get into the storage sheds and draw us some supplies.”
“There’s no time for that.”
“We need food,” he said. “And a tent. I’ll grab him on the way out of Lighthouse and meet you at the kennels.”
“James.”
“He won’t talk,” James said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fast and we’ll be gone before anybody knows what happened.”
James rolled up off the cot and slung the pack from his shoulder.
“Everything is going to work out for the best,” he said. “You’ll see.”
Looking up at him, I felt a surge of astonishment. For years I thought he was the weak one, the sickly one. Turns out I didn’t know my brother at all.
I nodded and James slipped out of the barracks. I changed out of my uniform and into Path-issued boots, jeans, and a denim jacket. I threaded a sheathed knife onto my belt, then finished packing. I could feel the minutes ticking by double time.
I reached behind my back until I felt the warm end of Quarles’s gun. I pulled it out and snapped the chamber open. One round left. The thought of having to use it again made me sick, but it would be stupid to leave it behind. If someone got in our way, we couldn’t stop. I closed the chamber and tucked the gun into the small of my back. The last thing I did before I left was stuff my bloody clothes beneath my mattress.
Outside, bells began to chime. I slipped out of the barracks, one eye on the crowds exiting the Lighthouse.
I felt an unfamiliar buzz of hope as I moved into the shadows and ran toward the kennel.
• • •
The kennel was quiet when I got there, but it didn’t last long. As soon as I stepped inside, the dogs began to stalk their cages, low growls in their throats. We had to move fast. Once they saw that dinner wasn’t coming, every ear in camp would turn to the sound of their barking.
Bear met me at his gate with a whine. “See?” I said, scratching his snout. “Told ya I’d come back.”
I threw open the bolt to his cage and led him past the cages in the back of the truck and into the passenger seat.
“No more cages for you, okay?”
By the time I got back to the kennel, the dogs had started to bark. The only thing that would keep them from an all-out revolt was food. I grabbed the scraps bucket, but before I could give out the first taste, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned with a start. It was only James silhouetted in the dim glow of an open door.
“Where’s your stuff?”
“Left it by the truck.”
“Great,” I said, dropping the bucket onto the cement floor. Someone would come by the next day and feed them. They weren’t my problem anymore. “Milo come through?”
“Yeah, he was perfect.”
“Good. Come on, let’s get out of here before these dogs bust their cages.”
James grabbed my sleeve and held me back. “Cal, wait. Maybe there’s another way.”
“I told you. If they catch me—”
“I know, but listen, the two of us? Running in an old pickup truck? And we don’t even know where we’re going? They’ll find us. You know they will. We should just go talk to Monroe.”
I took him by the shoulders to calm him down. “You just have to hang in there a little while longer. We can talk more in the truck. Now, come on.”
I started to go but stopped dead before I made it three steps. Two soldiers had appeared in the shadows, blocking the exit.
“Cal…”
I eased back slowly, drawing James along with me.
“Go on,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice low and steady. “Out the back door. Head for the truck.”
Two more soldiers stepped into the doorway behind us. The growls from the pens grew louder, sawing at the air. One hand disappeared behind my back and found the butt of the revolver.
“Get ready to run,” I said.
“You have to talk to them, Cal.”
I turned to James and found him staring at me through the gloom.
“James?”
He took a step toward me. “I told them it was an accident,” he said. “Captain Monroe knows what Quarles is like. All you have to do is come with us and talk to him about it. We’ll get you back on Path.”
“They’ll kill me!”
James took another step and I grabbed him, whipping Quarles’s revolver out from behind my back at the same time. The soldiers rushed forward, sweeping the rifles from their shoulders and clicking off the
safeties.
“Wait!” James pleaded with the soldiers. “It’s okay. Cal, just give me the gun and we can talk. They’re surrounding the kennel. There’s nowhere to go.”
I looked up above me and backed up slow into a dark corner, keeping James close. The soldiers eased in, stepping into the main aisle as they converged. Behind me, the snarls of the dogs moved from cage to cage like rolls of thunder.
“When did they get to you?” I said, edging backward. I could feel the far wall get closer. “Huh?”
“Just put the gun down. They’ll listen to you.”
My back hit the wall. Two chains rattled above me.
“I don’t think so.”
“Cal—”
I grabbed one of the chains and gave a sharp tug. The cage doors flew open and dozens of half-starved animals burst into the aisle. The soldiers tried to back away but the dogs were faster. There was a scream as one man went down and then the others began firing their weapons wildly. Rounds crashed into the cages and the walls. A few animals howled pitifully and fell.
I clamped both arms around James and ran for the back door. Reinforcements were already coming in from across the camp. I pushed James into the truck’s passenger seat with Bear and slammed the door. The sentries at the main gate were moving into position. I pulled James’s seat belt over him and Bear and cranked the engine. Shots crackled behind us, slamming into the cages in back. I hit the gas.
“Cal, this is crazy. You have to stop!”
“Put your head down!”
Rounds pinged off the side of the truck as the sentries began firing. When it became clear that I wasn’t stopping, they fired a few more rounds, then dodged out of the way.
There was a squeal of metal as we hit the gate and tore it from its moorings. I kept my foot hard on the gas, and we were through, dragging pieces of torn steel behind us. The highway west was only minutes away.
“This isn’t going to work,” James said. He was pressed into the passenger-side corner, Bear in his lap. “Seriously, how do you see this ending? We can’t—”