She went into high gear, whistling as she stitched and stitched and stitched his guts back together, repaired his abdominal muscles, and reconnected his severed inferior mesenteric vein which was a “slippery little bitch,” as Jillybean put it.
The surgery ended just before sunrise, just as the uppers Jillybean had taken began to wear off. The two girls stood back watching One Shot’s chest rise and fall.
“Is it done?” Mike asked from the doorway. “Will he live?” Behind him Stu stood on tiptoe to get a look.
“Maybe,” Jillybean answered, rubbing her eyes which would normally have been red from exhaustion, but were now a strange, inexplicably murky, orange. “There are a hundred things that can still go wrong. I need sleep.”
Stu cleared his throat. “The Coven is going to want to talk to you. They’re demanding it. They told me that as soon as the surgery is done, I’m supposed to take you to see them.”
“Demand?” Jillybean asked, feeling a ghost of something stir inside of her. She was cranky, not crazy. She was too tired to be crazy. “Then tell them it’s not done. Tell them I’m just taking a break.” It was true that there was still a chance that a stitch could give way or that the mesenteric might just fail completely. Then there were clots to worry about and it was almost a guarantee that an ileus would develop.
Stu volunteered to watch over One Shot as Jenn, pulled a stumbling Jillybean along, going around the back of the buildings. Jillybean meant to sleep only a few hours, but she crashed hard and didn’t wake until three in the afternoon when there came a steady hammering on Jenn’s front door.
Jillybean immediately reached for her gun only to remember that she had given it to Jenn, and that it was out of ammunition. A gun would have been a bad idea either way. The moment she was fully awake she felt the darkness inside her heave and stretch.
“Coming,” she heard Jenn call in a mumbly voice from her room.
“Open up!” snapped a man’s voice, amid more pounding. “We need Jillybean. She’s under arrest.”
The darkness in her began to swell. Logic suggested that because she had come back of her own free will the only reason to arrest her was because One Shot had died.
Not died. Oh, no, he didn’t just die, did he? Jillybean swung around to stare in at the closet which was open just a crack. It had been closed the moment before.
“I need my pills!” She jumped up and spun slowly in place—her pack was nowhere in sight; she had left it back in the clinic.
No, he didn’t just die. You murdered him! You murdered him! You murdered him!
The words kept repeating, growing louder and louder as the darkness came flowing out of the closet to swallow Jillybean whole.
Chapter 8
Orlando led a group of six men, all armed to the teeth. They escorted Jillybean who, from a distance, looked far from dangerous in a soft pink sweatsuit she had borrowed from Jenn. Up close there was hiding how utterly crazy she was. Her hair was a wild swirl of brown, her eyes were yellow and there was a smattering of blood freckles across her face.
The entire population of the hilltop was there to watch the procession. They whispered and sneered and laughed. Jillybean acted like she couldn’t hear or see them. It was such a convincing act that Jenn looked askance at her and asked, “Are you alright?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? The day is beautiful.” Jenn glanced up at the heavy clouds which were threatening more rain. Jillybean laughed easily. “I meant the temperature. It’s so much warmer than yesterday. I thought we were going to freeze to death. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. Are you okay?”
Jillybean took a long time to answer and just as she opened her mouth they reached the clubhouse and Orlando put out a hand, stopping Jenn from entering. “You’ll be called if you’re needed.”
“I’m needed now,” Jenn insisted. “If you’re going to arrest her then someone needs to look after One Shot.” She watched his face closely as she said this. Despite all his practice, Orlando was not a very good liar and Jenn figured she would see the truth about One Shot in his eyes.
He didn’t try to lie. “Stu and the Islander are in there with him. They don’t need you.”
So, he was alive. Jenn felt a great relief and even felt the beginnings of a smile creep across her face. Jillybean didn’t react at all, not even to suggest that Jenn was needed either at her side or with One Shot. It was up to Jenn to make the argument. “They don’t know what to do. I helped with the surgery in case you didn’t know. He’s just as much my patient as Jillybean’s.”
This was an outrageous lie and a sharp, disagreeable look darkened Jillybean’s features, but only for the briefest of moments before it was erased by an actively placid one.
Orlando, with his marginal intelligence, believed the lie and allowed Jenn into the clinic as Jillybean was escorted to the conference room. Jenn lingered in the hall long enough to see the Coven at their table. Colleen White stood near it. With her hair piled high, wearing a navy blue dress with a big, white lace collar, she almost looked like someone’s idea of a party decoration.
Jenn entered the clinic and her eyes went first to One Shot, who was sleeping belly-up, a thin line of drool stretching from a corner of his bottom lip to his pillow. He was no longer ashen-faced and at the sound of the door clicking behind her, he shifted slightly.
“What’s going on?” she whispered to Mike and Stu.
“They’re calling it an inquiry,” Stu answered, “but it’s more like an inquisition.” Jenn didn’t know what that was, she just knew it sounded ominous. “They’re going to be calling witnesses pretty soon.”
Jenn hoped she would be called. She would tell the truth: One Shot had raised a fist and it had sure looked as though he was going to use it. Had he been a bandit or a Corsair, Jillybean would have been well within her rights to use deadly force.
While she waited, she checked on One Shot and found that Stu had written a great quantity of barely legible notes. He had taken One Shot’s pulse every half hour, marked down the times he had been awake and when he had been given pain medication.
“Is that a seven or a nine?”
“It’s a two,” he answered, shooting a look at Mike who had been unable to suppress a snort of laughter. “You think something’s funny? We both know I could show her something hilarious, so I’d zip it if I were you.”
Mike zipped it quick, darting an embarrassed look Jenn’s way. She guessed that it had something to do with his handwriting and if so he had little to be ashamed of, at least as far as she was concerned. Her hand with a pen was uneven, blocky and above all, childish. Her father had started teaching her the basics: math and adding and reading, but had died before she had progressed very far at all.
To allay his embarrassment, she admitted, “I’m glad Jillybean didn’t have me writing the notes. I don’t think I could even do the number part.”
“The number part of what?” Colleen White asked from behind her. The three of them turned and the three of them stared. When Jenn had seen her from forty feet away, the blue dress had been fancy enough to catch the eye, but up close she saw that the dress was only one aspect of Colleen’s latest salvo.
Having just recently been washed and brushed, her dark black hair gleamed softly. Her cheeks were pink, her lips red and there was color, a touch of gold, just above her eyes—she was wearing makeup! And that was not all. An aura of perfume surrounded her. The fragrance was a perplexing and beguiling odor of fresh cut flowers and spice that made everyone want to lean in closer and breathe deeply.
That morning, Jenn had been too exhausted to bathe before falling into a near coma-like sleep and now she smelled of old blood, dirty rainwater and sweat. What was tragically worse was that she didn’t look any better than she smelled. Her hair was limp, her face smeared with both mud and blood, and her clothes were filthy and torn. She looked like a beggar.
Jenn hid the handwritten notes behind her back. “Nothing,” she said, droppin
g her gaze. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I wasn’t worried. I was just curious. The Coven would like to talk to you,” she said to Mike. She put out a hand.
Mike seemed stunned by Colleen’s appearance, dazed by her perfume and confused at her hand. He looked blankly at it and then at Jenn who seemed to have shrunk in on herself. Her distress was obvious and that was even more perplexing. Something was wrong with her, but he didn’t have time to find out what.
As he was gazing at her, Colleen took his hand in hers and led him away.
When they had gone, Stu stood there in a profoundly uncomfortable silence until Jenn asked in a strangled voice, “Why do I bother? Why do I bother with any of it? I can’t compete with Colleen. Did you see her? She’s going to get Mike, and, and I don’t blame him. Look at me.”
Obediently, he gave her a quick once over and would’ve had to be blind not to see what she meant. Supposing she was looking for some sort of combination of words that would console her, he tried to think of something to say, but before he could find any words that would suit the situation she fell into his arms crying.
Having never had an actual girlfriend or a sister, he was utterly unprepared for this and hit peak discomfort. He could think of nothing better than to treat her as he would a man. “Hey,” he said, disengaging and holding her at arm’s length. “If you’re worried about her, uh getting Mike, then do something about it.” She blinked up at him; her tears had a mystifying effect on him and he heard himself saying, “I can help if you want.”
“How?”
A part of him screamed, Run away! As appealing as that sounded, he was in too deep to run. No, he had offered to help and he would do his best. “I-I don’t know. Maybe I can help you get dolled up. Do you have a dress? A nice one?”
She had dresses, but nothing as nice as Colleen’s. “I have three of them, but they won’t do. They’re like, normal dresses. Colleen’s dress was…fancy.” She choked on the word “fancy.”
Colleen’s dress had been riding the edge between over the top and way too over the top. It had looked out of place and at the same time was pleasing to the eye.
“The town is full of fancy dresses and shoes, too,” Stu said. “We can make you even fancier than Colleen. I’ll take you into town today if this doesn’t take too long, which it shouldn’t. The Coven has been saying all day, If One Shot dies, that’ll be it for Jillybean, but since he’s doing pretty good I think everything will work itself out.”
The two were staring at One Shot, watching his chest rise and fall when Colleen came back for Jenn—she didn’t offer her hand this time.
Colleen escorted her into the conference room, announced: “Jenn Lockhart,” and then left, shutting the door behind her.
The seven women stared at Jenn, but not in the reproachful manner she had been expecting. “Why don’t you tell us what happened yesterday?” Donna Polston asked. “Start at the attack and work your way to this morning. Be sure to mention every instance of craziness on Jillybean’s part.”
Seeing as Jillybean had been “crazy” a great deal of the time, that was a tall order. She did her best, speaking with all the honesty she could muster. As she spoke, she came to realize that, despite everything, she actually liked the crazy girl. When Jillybean was herself, she was extremely sweet and caring. In fact, Jenn concluded to herself, Jillybean was her friend. Her first and only friend.
This subconsciously colored her narrative though it hardly mattered in the end. The Coven had made up their minds before she had ever stepped foot in the room.
This was evident in the first question Donna asked, “You are somewhat close to Stu, how do you think he’ll be with Jillybean’s expulsion?”
“Expulsion?” She guessed the word meant something like banishment. “Why would you kick her out? She saved One Shot even after he attacked her. I told you that’s what happened.”
Lois gave Jenn a sympathetic head tilt. “Yes, you did. And we all agree he was in the wrong, however, we also agree that Jillybean’s reaction was straight up insane. Who shoots a man for raising a fist?”
“And then there are the boats!” Tammy Easterling cried, the scars on her face standing out white against the red of her indignation. “She’s stranded us. I don’t need to tell you that it’s a fifty-mile hike around the bay just to get to the northern tip of Oakland. Fifty miles filled with the dead.” A theatrical shiver wracked her.
“Hmm, the boats,” Donna murmured. “That is another mark against her. We have it on good authority that even if we can raise the Saber, Gerry the Greek is going to demand it.”
Jenn knew that this authority was Mike Gunter and he probably wasn’t wrong. Gerry would be well within his rights to demand the boat. “But he’ll return the Puffer, we all know that.”
“And how long will it be before Jillybean steals it or sinks it?” Donna asked. “It’s not like we can guard it day and night. And let me warn you, this talk of expulsion is dependent on whether One Shot actually lives. It’s still too early to know. If he does happen to die…” She left off with a shrug.
They would kill her.
Unbidden, Jenn’s hand went to the small pouch tied to her left wrist. It was no longer soft and the basil no longer made that whispering crinkle sound. It was a soggy lump that smelled weird. Jillybean would have laughed at it and mentioned something about science or math, “Or logic,” Jenn said under her breath.
Logic suggested that if the Coven made stipulations as to whether someone would be executed or not, they would likely make some agreement concerning banishment.
“What would it take for you to allow her to stay here?” Jenn asked. “Do you want electricity? She knows how to make it. She built a, uh, a thing that makes the lights work and the water come right out of the wall like it used to. Hot water. That was no dream or fantasy. That was real.”
Jenn felt the promise of electricity was her best chance. Everyone who had grown up before the apocalypse missed the creature comforts of the old days and she was sure that if the Coven wasn’t wholly governed by fear they would’ve jumped at the chance to go to Bainbridge.
“She can really make electricity?” Donna asked, her skepticism eclipsing any hopefulness within her. “Really? The truth now. We had an engineer with us once who used to brag that it was easy, but he never lit one light bulb. Not one. He said he was working on it every day for a year and never did anything else. He even had the little kids haul his water and fetch his kindling.”
“Oh yeah, I remember him,” Jenn said. It had been eight years before, but she could still picture his lecher’s eye on her. Even at seven, she knew it was wrong. “Mister Duncan, right? Didn’t he run off to the Santas or something?”
Miss Shay spat, “Good riddance. I like to believe we can get back to the way it was, but it won’t ever happen. Your little friend probably flipped the right switch or something up in Seattle, but it won’t be the same here. It’ll all have to be done from scratch and, sorry to say, the people with the know-how are all dead. Probably Duncan is dead, too.”
“But if she could,” Jenn insisted, “you would let her stay, I’m sure. And she’s not dangerous when she takes her medicine for her, uh, condition. You can have someone watch over her every morning when she takes it. And I will vouch for her. Trust me, if there’s a problem and someone gets hurt it’ll be me, more’n likely.”
“And you’re willing to take that chance?” Donna asked, her shrewd eyes staring hard at Jenn, looking for the least hesitation.
Jenn didn’t know if she had a choice. On her own, Jillybean would quickly revert to her murderous state and, knowing Eve and the rumors surrounding her, it would be a vengeful, murderous state at that.
If Jillybean were executed, Stu would probably leave. Jenn would want to go with him, especially if Mike took up with Colleen, an unhappy event that seemed likely despite Stu’s offer of help. But where would they go? Bainbridge was a possibility, though a remote one. On the last trip, they’d b
een guided by signs both there and back, but Jenn hadn’t seen a single sign in a week, that is, other than the pinecone of the day before and that barely counted.
Even if the trip to Bainbridge wasn’t fraught with so many terrifying dangers, they’d probably be looked upon as criminals by the people there. Perhaps they’d even think they were kidnappers. After all, nobody knew how they had left the island and wasn’t it possible they had spirited away poor Jillybean only to sacrifice her? It was the sort of thing the Coven would think, that was for sure.
If not Bainbridge, Jenn felt reasonably sure the Islanders would take them, but it wouldn’t be pleasant—Gerry the Greek was a good man but he carried grudges for a shockingly long time, and even if the Saber could be made whole, he would build up his memory of the Calypso until it was nothing short of a battleship and the Saber a rowboat in comparison.
But if Jillybean could really make electricity and build high walls with search lights, maybe the Hilltop could be something. Perhaps it could be what her father and Mike’s father had hoped it would be.
Jenn took a steadying breath. “I’m willing to bet my life on Jillybean.”
On the other side of the table six of the seven nodded. “Not everyone thinks electricity would be a good thing,” Miss Shay remarked. “There’s been talk that it’s more akin to witchcraft than science.”
“People always talk,” Donna replied, “and the less they know on a subject, the more they seem to go on. Forget the talk. Electricity would be a good thing if it could be done.” She sat for a time absently smoothing the table cloth and worrying over everything Jillybean represented, the main of which was the loss of prestige and what little power the Coven had.
They led at the whim of the people and it had not always been an easy thing to sway that whim especially since people always needed to assign blame to any ill, no matter its minor importance. It was not always the vulgar finger pointing sort of blame either. Mostly it was the raised eyebrow variety.
The Queen of the Dead Page 8