"I dunno, but they let her take Dorothy. Not Toto, though."
Devon sat on the end of the bed, the metal creaking under him. "Who told you all this?"
"She came to the apartment last night when they took Jessie. The guards went, and she stayed, just for a few seconds. She whispered the message. I didn't think she wanted them to hear her. She told me twice, but then one of them came back and she went."
"Who?" Though he knew the answer already.
"That woman who was on the truck with the general."
Devon shook his head. "Marianna. Well, I'll be damned."
Chapter 17: Lost and found
As Devon woke up in the cell, Paul Hickman was pacing up and down outside the barn that had been their makeshift home for the past two days. He was as antsy as a tiger with toothache. His father had lectured him on being too hasty as a child, but he hated inaction because it led to introspection and he simply didn't want to face how black the situation was.
Hope was gone. It was under the jackboots of the Sons of Solomon and he didn't have the first semblance of a plan to do anything about it.
Sam was gone. He'd sent her away with a crippled lover in a decision that he couldn't make much sense of now, other than that otherwise she'd now be in their power. But then, there was every chance she'd been captured by them, anyway. Or worse. And Hick hated uncertainty above all else.
He could only hope that the convoy had made it to Springs; but even if it had, how long before the Sons went there?
Hickman mumbled to himself as he kicked stones in the morning sunshine.
"You know it's the first sign of madness?" Kris Ritter wandered out of the barn and stood alongside him.
His only response was a raised eyebrow and a slight smile.
"Look, I know you've got itchy feet, and I appreciate you waiting a couple of days for my wound to start to heal. What's next for you? Springs?"
He gazed out at the farmyard, all rotting fences and tall, yellow grass. This was all they'd talked about since they'd supposedly made their decision. "I dunno. I guess that'd be the easy road."
"But?"
"But I'd spend my days waitin' for these SOBs to roll up and take everything we have. I can see what an idiot I was to think we could beat them."
The barn wall creaked as she leaned against it. She was even taller than he'd imagined and had a good three or four inches on him, so he straightened up subconsciously.
"You want to go after Crawford, don't you," she said, omitting the question mark.
He nodded. "Yeah. There ain't a lot I can do about Hope. My days as mayor are over. Huh. To think that was all that mattered to me—becoming mayor and getting one over on Gil Summers. All seems so petty now. Heck, I wouldn't mind havin' a conversation with him right now. Though I don't imagine I'd like his advice. Never did."
"It does seem hopeless. I knew Mayor Hawkins pretty well. I was part of the National Guard unit stationed there. Helped get those weapons onto your trucks, though I told her she was crazy to let you have them. When Crawford came, the mayor surrendered almost immediately, and I was given a choice: embrace the new regime or be sent on my way — with a bullet in the back of the head, I expect."
She sighed and glanced at Hick. "I know what you're thinking. I'm not proud of my choice. I became part of the problem, and all I got out of it was this lousy green book."
Hick took the book and flicked through the pages. "What is it, some sort of Bible?"
"Not really. It's more a manifesto and a handbook. Though, to be honest, I haven't read much of it. Keep it if you want."
"Why?"
"Know your enemy. Isn't that what they say?" She turned toward him. With a splintering sound, she fell sideways through a hole that had suddenly appeared in the rotten wood as dust exploded outward.
"Kris!" Hick thrust his hand into the gap and found hers. "Are you okay?"
She sat up, covered in splinters and dust, looking up at him with all the hurt pride of Oliver Hardy in a fireplace. Then she laughed and, for the first time in uncounted days, so did Hick.
That afternoon, they were in the Land Rover heading southeast. Kris was in the front passenger seat. She had the black mask on her lap ready to put it on if they spotted any movement. They'd returned to the site of the gun battle and given the fallen enemy a decent burial, though that had made Kris's wound open a little and, in the end, most of the digging had been done by Hick and Donnie.
Donnie and May sat in the back seat, dressed in the uniforms of the dead and they drove with the windows open to disperse the sickly scent of decay. They were heading back to Ezra to kill John Crawford. Hick had tried to persuade May and Donnie to make their way to Springs—on foot if necessary—but they'd insisted on coming along. In truth, it was a choice between evils and this mission at least offered the chance of revenge, though it was a remote one.
Hick took a right off 50, down a short dirt track and past a rusting sign. May and Kris had agreed that the best way to approach the town without coming across a roadblock was to cut across the lunar landscape of the copper mines that spread across the landscape, looking as though giants had taken huge bites out of the low mountains and vomited them into piles of slag. Hope had its own mines, but one of the reasons that Ezra had grown into the county city was that it was built on a much richer concentration of the green ore.
Ingersoll's Copper Mine was the first in a series of interconnected crater-like workings and the gate was wide open, leading into a compound of destroyed sheet iron shacks and cabins.
Hick took the Land Rover along the green-tinged sandy tracks that circled the pit with its terraces of infilled waste, passing beside the rotting conveyor that had taken tons of rock to processing. And then, as he crested the hill, he realized. "I've been here before! Good God alive, this was where Rusty was taken."
He shook his head. For a moment, it had seemed like the most amazing coincidence, but Ezra was only a small city, and it'd only have so many copper mines. He had merely approached it from the opposite direction and had experienced that thrill of recognition when he'd stumbled upon the familiar out of the strange.
"So, the hospital is in that direction. Good, I know where I am, now. Hey, there's the cabin they were using." He pointed at a cluster of buildings gathered around a sand-strewn parking lot.
"The sheriff was here?" May said.
"Yeah. I thought he was a hostage, but turns out he was runnin' the place by the time I got there."
The Land Rover skidded as it climbed the final terrace, and Hick pulled on the steering wheel to bring it back under control.
"What happened to the others?"
"Oh, they came back to Hope. Some are there now, but plenty of them headed to Springs when the convoys started runnin'. Rusty was pretty sweet on one of them, so I don't reckon he minds the move. Why d'you ask?"
May gestured past his shoulder. "Because someone's there. I saw movement."
Hick stabbed down on the brake pedal and grabbed his Glock from the glove compartment.
"Why are we stopping?" Kris said. "We've got a job to do."
But Hick was already out of the car and striding toward the door. To the casual observer, the place looked as though it hadn't been occupied for a while: trash had piled up where it had blown into the sheltered corner at the point where the two sides of the building met. A layer of sand and dust had formed on the asphalt path that led to the front door, which looked for all the world as if it hadn't been opened in months.
May was at his shoulder. "I saw someone in this window, I'd swear to it."
"Yeah, it's only just been shut. They must've heard us coming."
"I'll go around back," Kris said.
Hick nodded, though she hadn't waited for his agreement. He watched her jog away, assault rifle held to her chest, reminding him less of Brienne and more of a female Terminator. He wouldn't have rated Arnold's chances in the second movie if she'd been the liquid robot. She sure was impressive.
"Don
nie, you stay with the car. The last thing we need is for that to be taken while we're inside. Got it?"
"Got it, Mr. Hickman," he said before running off, obviously relieved.
Hick glanced across at May. "Stay behind me, will you?"
"Oh, don't give me any of your male chauvinist crap!"
Sighing, Hick pushed at the door. It opened a crack onto darkness. "Anyone here? We don't mean no harm, but it'd be real good if you showed yourselves so no one gets jumpy. You hear me?"
There was no answer, though Hick heard the sounds of receding footsteps. He drew in a deep breath and, patience long expired, held the Glock at arm's length and ran in, weaving back and forth in his best impression of a TV FBI raid.
A door opened at the other the end of the room, and he saw the silhouette of a large, unmistakably female, figure running away. "Hey, hold up!"
He ran after her, pulled the door open, saw her disappear into a side room and followed her at full speed.
Bang!
A chunk of doorframe exploded and Hick threw himself sideways to shelter behind a chair. He'd just had time to register that there was a bed in the room. A bed with someone in it.
Bang!
Hick saw footsteps coming toward him, so he thrust out with his feet, pushing the chair he was behind outward. With a grunt, he saw a shape fall, and he was on his knees, scrambling around until he could grab the figure as it tried to get up. He brought his fist down, blood spraying, before lifting it again.
"No! Stop!" A hand grabbed him, stopping him from punching down again. He snarled as he twisted around to see May looking down at him. Kris was in the doorway, her rifle scanning the interior. "Don't hurt her anymore," May said.
He turned again to look at his attacker. Jeez. Beneath a thick layer of grime and blood was the face of a woman, eyes wide with rage, fear and pain. He didn't apologize as he got to his knees again. After all, she'd nearly killed him. May slipped past him and he hauled himself onto his feet with the aid of the chair.
Kris had moved from the doorway to the bed and was looking down at the figure on the bed, her back to him. With a ripping sound, she pulled away a strip of duct tape. The hidden figure took a deep breath and then said, "Thank you. You ain't gonna kill me, are you?"
The voice was relieved and frightened. And it was familiar. Adrenaline lanced through Hick's gut as he pushed past Kris and looked down at the bound and formerly gagged man on the bed. He spat out a name as if it was a curse.
"Brain! Jesus, how in God's good heaven? You're dead! I killed you."
Brain—or the shell of a man who had once been Hick's chief henchman—smiled weakly. "You didn't kill me enough, boss. I sure am sorry."
Hick brought his Glock up and Kris grabbed his arm and said, "Seriously? You're going to execute a helpless man?"
"I trusted this scum, and he betrayed me. Tried to kill me; nearly did it, too. No one betrays me and lives."
Kris held his arm with an unyielding strength he couldn't match, as Hick looked down at the wide-eyed Brain, his hands tied to the bed frame. "I thought you were better than the likes of Crawford. Don't let me down, Hick."
He breathed out and glanced at her. "Here, take it," he said, releasing his fingers as she took the handgun from him. "I ain't gonna kill him just yet. I want to know how come this goddamn piece of filth is still alive when I broke his neck and saw his body with my own eyes."
"Don't you go talkin' to him like that!"
The woman who'd shot at him stood in front of May, who was covering her with her own shotgun. "He sure is a bad boy, but he's gettin' better ever' day, ain't you Brainy?"
Hick glanced down at Brain, whose eyes were, if anything, even wider.
"Please, boss, let me go. Don't let her come near me. She's been terrible cruel."
Looking from one to the other, Hick wondered whether they'd stumbled on something truly grotesque.
"Where are the keys?" Kris asked the woman. She shook her head, but Kris brought her rifle to bear. "I said, where are the keys?"
May gritted her teeth and plunged her hand into the filthy pockets of the woman's moth-eaten timber jacket. After a few moments, she pulled out a set of keys.
"You don't wanna let him go. He's liable to run off. Done it twice 'fore I found those cuffs the sheriff left."
Taking the keys from May, Kris freed Brain's hands and he let out a yell of relief and pain, before rubbing the sores running around his wrists. He howled as he brought his arms back to their natural position.
"How long have you been cuffed?" Hick asked, unable to resist.
"Seems like weeks."
Hick looked around the little room. "But how have you … you know … the bathroom …"
The woman grunted. "Oh, he's been a bad boy. Soiled hisself, so since then he gets only soup and not a lot of that. Until he learns his lesson that Katie, she don't change the sheets just for him to ruin them again."
A tiny, inconvenient, spark of sympathy lit inside Hick's stone-cold heart as he thought about the conditions his former aide had been enduring. Mind, if they'd simply driven on by, then Brain would have been dead in a week or two anyway, judging by the state of him. But, like when the cat craps behind the sofa, once you've seen it, you gotta do something about it.
"Please help me, boss. I'm terrible sorry I double-crossed you. I was a idiot an' I didn't mean those words I said."
"Yeah you did," Hick said, but without malice. He turned to Kris. "Will you and May take Annie Wilkes here out front and keep an eye on her? Don't worry, I ain't gonna hurt Brain. We're just gonna have a little chat."
Kris shot him a doubtful look, but she followed May and Brain's captor out of the room.
Once the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor had faded away, Hick turned to his former goon. "Now, you son of a—"
Brain raised his hands to his face. "You ain't gonna hurt me, are you, boss? You promised that big gal!"
"No, I won't hurt you, but if you don't fill me in on what the heck is goin' on here, I swear I'll smother you where you lay. And make it fast. You can start by explainin' why you ain't dead."
Brain pushed himself up the bed until he was leaning against the wall. Hick breathed in a lungful of stale sweat and worse, then coughed it out as he moved his chair a little farther back.
"Well, it's like this. You pushed me an' I fell back. When I woke up, I was here and I couldn't move a muscle. The sheriff, he came in an' he tol' me I'd broke my neck and if I'd rather be dead, he could see to it. But if I wanted to live, then it'd be a world of pain and a long time, and even then I might not ever walk again."
"Rusty knew you were alive?" Hick's jaw just about hit the floor.
Brain froze for a moment, as if he hadn't expected the question. "Well, sure. He didn't tell you, then?"
"No. I guess he thought you'd be safer if I didn't know," Hick said. "And he left that … woman to look after you. Is that right?"
Brain shuddered. "She started off nice, but she's gotten awful cruel. She wanted me to … do things. I said they ain't right. But she made me."
"I don't wanna know," Hick said, shutting down that particular rabbit hole before it was too late.
"Mr. Hickman. I sure am sorry from the bottom of my heart for lettin' you down."
"Letting me down? You tried to kill me, you traitor!" Hick said, stabbing a finger at the quivering man.
"I was a idiot, I know. She tol' me you was treatin' me wrong. She seemed to make sense, and she promised me a job with a uniform and all. But she didn't even come and look for me."
Hick straightened up. "Mayor Hawkins? Yeah, well, she got what was coming to her, or so I hear. So, now the question is what do we do with you? Maybe I should cuff you again and leave you with your nurse."
"No! Please! I'm beggin' you, boss."
"Why should I care what happens to you?"
Tears rolled down the cheeks of Brain Sullivan. "Just let me make it up to you. I'll help any way I can. We been through some times toge
ther; don't that count for nothin'?"
No, it really didn't. Not to Paul Hickman. Young Marlin Cook had been the only one of his gang he'd given two hoots about. On the other hand, Brain had been useful. He was a moron, but sometimes stupidity was useful. Give him a simple job to do—a very simple job—and he could generally be relied upon to do it.
Hick was also self-aware enough to know that he liked having a companion who wouldn't question him. Once there had been his dog, Buster, as well as Brain. Now there was no one. Even Roger the cockerel was now living with the Bowies, assuming they hadn't cooked him by now.
Hick barely knew May or Kris and neither of them struck him as follower material. As for Donnie, well, he and Brain were cut from the same cloth except that Donnie was a coward and Brain, for all his faults, didn't lack bravery.
"Can you move?"
Brain sat up straight like a puppy being called for a walk. Instantly, his hand went to his neck.
"Be careful, you idiot! Now, I want to see you stand."
Gently, Brain swung his legs around and stood up, swaying slightly.
"Okay. You can help."
Brain's face lit up, and he seemed to grow several inches as Hick surveyed him. He'd lost at least forty pounds and Hick didn't reckon he'd be able to walk far. Really, he was a lost cause. But, for now at least, Hick had his henchman back.
"Before we go anywhere, you better get cleaned up, and we'd better find you some clean clothes."
Brain seemed on the verge of an ill-advised attempt to hug his boss as Hick spun on his heels and, shaking his head, went to find the others.
Crawford was next.
Chapter 18: The mayor
The bushy-bearded jailor escorted Devon home. His name turned out to be Laverne. "Ms. DeMille says you gotta get cleaned up 'fore you see her. She's a lady, see? Though don't you go gettin' no ideas, or she'll cut you up soon as look at you."
Laverne followed Devon around the apartment like a guard dog, only drawing a line at coming into the bedroom as Devon got undressed. They'd ransacked the place and clothes were strewn everywhere, so he wasn't surprised to find that they'd taken his jewelry and the small revolver that was his decoy weapon. He itched to go check the place behind the oven to see if they'd found his Glock, but couldn't shake Laverne. And, in any case, he'd be searched before he went in to see Marianna.
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