by Jane Abbott
She didn’t follow, not wanting to see the mound of Daniel stacked upon others, but she heard the guards laugh, heard their parting barb to Jeremiah before they wheeled their load to the next stop: he should think about joining up. They’d make sure he got plenty –
He slammed the door, shutting them off and shutting them out.
And now it was just the two of them.
He was restless. Sarah saw it when he returned each day, and again when he left each night. She didn’t know where he went or what he did; whom he was with or if he was with anyone at all. He wasn’t ashamed, and Sarah saw no regret in his young eyes. He knew he’d done the kindest thing, making sense of his world where the old laws and the old values no longer applied. This is Jeremiah; he knows what’s right. She just wished she knew it too.
But he couldn’t seem to find peace. Sarah carried Daniel within her, in her heart and in her mind, because a person was only truly gone when all memory of them had disappeared. And she hoped it was the same for Jeremiah, that he too was buoyed by memories of his grandfather. Or did they haunt him? Perhaps those were what fuelled his agitation, though she suspected worse: that when he’d wrapped Daniel gently in the ruined coverlet, he’d parcelled a piece of himself too, and now he was searching, searching to find it again.
She began to look for other signs of the men who’d raped his mother, of their cruelty and brutishness and savagery. But there weren’t any. Not visible, at least. There was only Jeremiah, the same boy-man she’d always known, but now with something missing.
14
Jem, Watchman, Cee five Em eight one two three five.
I thrust my arm through the hole in the gate so the sentry can check my brand, a long pause then a heavy click as the lock turns and the gate yawns wide. Alex is silent behind me, and I feel her fear, blanket heavy, smothering us both as we follow the long tunnel back to the compound, back to Garrick – You’d better have good news – and I tip the pouch, letting the tags rain onto the desk, hundreds and hundreds of them, but his mood is black, black as the marks that he counts as he cuts, one, two, three … only it’s not me he’s cutting, it’s Alex, scoring her smooth back with the tally of the dead, and as he cuts he slams into her hard, keeping the rhythm, fuck for cut, keeping the count, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred … but even as I back away she turns agonised eyes to me, screaming, high and terrified, and Garrick cackles not gunna stay and watch? Stay, Jem, coz I’m gunna fuck you too, oh yeah I’m gunna fuck you good –
I woke to darkness, heart hammering, gulping air, but I knew it had been nothing more than a dream. Just another fucking nightmare. I knew, because it hadn’t happened that way. Because after Garrick had marked me and I’d given Alex to him and watched as he circled her, sizing her up, all predatory, his beatific face dark and cruel, his cock probably twitching in his pants; after I’d slammed the door and slumped against it, waiting for her first scream, knowing as soon as I heard it I’d rush back in, Alex hadn’t made a sound. Not even a whimper.
Scream, Alex! Give him what he wants. But she hadn’t – wouldn’t, or couldn’t. Perhaps she’d understood what I’d do if I heard, except not hearing her pain was as bad as hearing it, cutting me inside like Garrick had cut me out, and now I lay in my quarters surrounded by the familiar and everything was different.
Stumbling from my cot, not daring to risk another dream, I drank deeply and sat down at the table to rewrite Ballard’s report so I could pass it on to Garrick, feeding him lies, disguising my betrayal and hiding my fear. And I wondered if Ballard and Tate and Cade were sleeping soundly, remote and removed, unmindful of Alex’s terror and my increasing paranoia. For as much as dreams are the games of horror, they contain the seeds of truth too, and Garrick’s mood had indeed been black, boding ill for Alex, and for me also.
‘You made it then,’ he’d snarled as I stood before him, fighting my panic, so certain he knew. How could he not? If I could smell my own fear, so must he, just as he must surely see it in my face and hear it in my voice. Because Garrick had eyes everywhere, and knew everything. He gestured to my leg. ‘What happened?’
I dropped the three tags on his desk. ‘Parting shot from Jackson.’
He glared at them for a moment. ‘Should’ve known they’d fuck it up. But I’m not happy about this, Jem. Not happy at all.’
My back twitched, already feeling his whip. And I didn’t point out that the fault was his, that he shouldn’t have sent Jackson to spy on me, that he should’ve trusted me to deliver the goods. Because of course he couldn’t. Not any more.
‘I’m not real pleased you sent them in the first place,’ I dared. ‘You left me no choice.’
‘You’d better have found out what I want, or you’ll be joining ’em.’
I attempted a shrug, relieving the tension in my shoulders. ‘There’s nothing to know. The Guards are nobodies. One of ’em’s related to Cade, that’s why he was so eager to see them rescued. He and his father told the Council all that crap about them having information so they wouldn’t think it was just a mercy mission,’ I said, sticking to the truth as much as possible because it was easier to disguise the lie.
‘And that Guard you left with? What happened to him?’
I shrugged again, this time to relieve the fear. ‘We parted company outside the Citadel, and he took the other two back to Cade.’
Garrick’s eyes narrowed and I knew he was disappointed. ‘Hope you’re right. If I find out different, you’ll wish you’d never been born.’ A pointless threat because I was already wishing that. He scowled at the tags again, thinking it over. ‘I’ll give you the four for Jackson, but nothing for the others. They’re not worth it, and neither is that pile of crap you just told me.’
‘Fine,’ I replied, keeping it surly because I was expected to. What Watchman wasn’t eager for more marks?
‘And the rest?’ he asked. ‘Heard you were busy up there.’
I fished out the pouch and dumped it in front of him so he could count them out. When he was done he sat back, studying me, cold and calculating.
‘Not exactly what I was hoping for,’ he said. ‘Twenty-three, Jem. What sort of pissant number is that?’
I swallowed, to wet my mouth. ‘Turns out the report was right. Nowhere near the numbers everyone thought. Maybe next time the Council will leave us alone to get on with the job.’
‘Wouldn’t count on that. And you’d better hope you got every single one of ’em. Every fucking one. I’m gunna comb through that report of yours and if I find even one mistake, you’ll regret it.’
I summoned a smile and pulled off my shirt. ‘Twenty-seven, Garrick. And I deserve them all.’ It was the first truth I’d uttered since my return.
He studied my chest, flipping the knife, playing with it, while he decided where to make the first hook. Then his eyes narrowed and he pushed the flat of the blade into the hollow of my shoulder, twisting it hard, right where the dart had burrowed.
‘What the fuck?’ I gasped, stumbling back and rubbing at the scar.
‘What’s that? And the other one. You been messin’ with your marks, Jem?’
‘Shit! No! I ran into some trouble early on, but I dealt with it, okay? It’ll be in the report.’
He glared at me and I stared back, defiant but terrified. If he didn’t buy it, then it was already over. But then his mood shifted and he smiled. ‘I’ll look forward to reading all about it.’
He was vicious with the knife, like it was an instrument of torture, a way to relieve whatever it was that bugged him, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t help but hiss with the pain. That was the only time I saw him smile, when he knew he’d hurt me. Once, the edge of the blade stroked a nipple and I thought for sure he’d carve straight across it, but then he relented, shifting over and digging deep.
‘So, where to next?’ I asked when he’d finished, because I knew the drill and because it’d look odd if I didn’t.
He shoved the drawer with force and turned to the maps on the wal
l, pulling out the yellow pins stabbing the Hills settlement. And I saw then how few yellows there were. Six weeks ago the maps had been full of them, but now there were just holes marking where they’d been.
‘Nowhere,’ he said with a scowl. ‘Not yet anyway. Everything’s gone quiet. Too fucking quiet. I don’t like it.’
But I could have told him why, and I wondered at Ballard’s wisdom of calling a halt to the uprisings while they prepared for the big one. Garrick wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot, and if he was already thinking it strange then it was a given his suspicions would just escalate.
Instead I shrugged, wincing at the rub of the shirt. ‘Fine by me. I could do with a break.’
But that made him scowl more, creasing his face into a menacing mask. ‘No rest for the wicked, Jem. I’ll find plenty to keep you busy, don’t you worry.’
‘Yeah, well can it wait ’til tomorrow? I was hoping to get into the Citadel tonight.’
I wasn’t. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but Ballard had made it clear I had to stick to my routine, and Garrick knew that routine as well as I did. But I should’ve kept quiet.
He crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the desk. ‘You know, I’ve always wondered about that. Why take your business up there when we have everything you need right here? What’s wrong, Jem? Our stock not good enough for you? Your dick too precious for what we have?’
I almost panicked then. What we did in our spare time, when we had any, was none of Garrick’s business. As long as we followed his little edicts – and there were a shitload of them – he pretty much left us alone. He’d never questioned my actions before, and I was certain his interest was more than coincidental.
‘No, it’s just –’
‘Or maybe you’ve got a tasty piece stashed away out there. Something you’re not telling me about? You know the rules.’
I did know. Different women, every time. Or men, depending on your preference. No favourites. No one we could get close to, talk to, confide in. And those who thought they knew better, who thought they could get away with it and hide it from Garrick? Well, they never lasted too long.
So I shook my head and told him exactly what I’d told Ballard, this time having to force my grin. The difference was, Garrick got it.
‘Right,’ he snarled. ‘Cunt is cunt, so don’t you fucking forget it. And while we’re on that subject, get her in here.’
I backed away, not quite believing it was happening. But, until that moment, I don’t think I’d ever truly accepted it would, that Alex’s decision might actualise. I fumbled with the door and stepped out to unhook her. Her eyes said it all, horrified by the blood on my shirt, terrified by my grim face, but I couldn’t meet her gaze, and for the first time I was thankful she was gagged. Expecting her to start struggling, I kept a hand on the rope at her waist and another on her shoulder, but even as I steered her into the room, she straightened and her head lifted defiantly.
Now’s not the time, Alex. But she ignored the prod of my fingers as they dug into her, almost shaking them off, until I dropped my hold and let her do it her way.
‘Nice. Very nice indeed,’ Garrick said, his eyes hungry. He did a once-around then stopped to face her, standing real close, making his intent obvious. I couldn’t see her face, but from his sudden frown I knew she wasn’t giving in.
‘Reckon this one might take some breaking. But that’s okay, coz I got plenty of time, right Jem?’ Reaching out, he caressed her hair before grabbing it and yanking her head back so hard I thought her neck would break. ‘How about it, bitch? You ready to have some fun?’
I came so close to killing him then, could’ve got to my knife in time, would’ve thrust it into him, once, twice, three times; should’ve done it right there while he was so focused on her. But then what? Without the support of Ballard’s men and a week still to go, the rest of the Watch would hunt me down, and Alex would’ve been no better off. Worse maybe. Clenching my fist tight, I resisted the urge, but fuck, it was hard. Almost the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. Almost.
‘Still here, Jem?’ Garrick snapped, not looking at me, greedy for Alex and eager to get started. ‘Piss off.’
I didn’t need to be told twice. And she never struggled to watch me leave. I waited outside the door, waited for that first cry, my heart stone, my breathing shallow, waited to rescue her, just waited and waited until I couldn’t stand the waiting any longer, fled into the Citadel and took the first whore I could, shoving her face hard into the mattress so I didn’t have to see it, because it wasn’t Alex’s face, and it wasn’t Alex’s cunt, and it was all just so fucking wrong.
Taggart didn’t touch the gun. Just stared at it for a minute before glancing up.
‘What’re you doing with Jackson’s weapon?’
I should’ve known he’d recognise it. He knew all the weapons he’d sold, knew who used what. He and Garrick were the only ones who did. The rest of us didn’t ask.
‘He doesn’t need it any more,’ I said, and left it at that. Taggart didn’t need to know the rest.
‘You plannin’ on keeping it?’
‘That was the idea,’ I replied.
He shook his head. ‘Big mistake, Jem. Not your thing.’
But I was going to make it my thing. ‘I’ve already got nine bullets but I need more,’ I said.
‘Nine’s plenty. If you know how to use ’em.’
‘I want more.’
He sighed and leaned on the counter. ‘I’m tellin’ you, lad, you’re better off sticking with what you know. This is a good piece, but if you don’t know what you’re doin’ and you don’t keep it clean, you’re fucked.’
‘I know that. I won’t use it unless I have to.’ I pointed to the hole in my trousers and the bandage beneath. ‘I don’t want to get caught out again.’
He shrugged, accepting the lie. ‘Fair enough. But I don’t have a lot of cartridges. Not for this one. Maybe a coupla dozen until the next salvage comes in. And there are others who need ’em more.’
I scowled, staring at the gun. Was anything going to work in my favour? But maybe Taggart was right. Maybe it wasn’t worth the effort. Or the expense.
As if reading my mind, he said, ‘How ’bout this? We use what you have to practise with, and I’ll give you another six for a quarter. If it’s just a backup, then you won’t need more than that.’
Hopefully, I’d only need the one. Plus a quarter-vat was cheap, his training worth three times that. I nodded, and he disappeared into the back room to fetch the ammo.
‘Lock that door,’ he said. ‘If you wanna keep this to yourself, we don’t need any interruptions.’
We moved to the range and he set up the target in front of a cushioned wall. Then he pulled on a woollen cap and stuffed wads of material up underneath against each ear.
‘What about me?’ I asked, but he shook his head.
‘Get used to the noise. Now, show me what you know.’
Except I knew nothing, only what I’d seen others do a few times, years ago in training. As a rule we stuck to what we were best at and we didn’t compare notes. Guns weren’t plentiful. Before Jackson I’d only ever faced off against a couple of Disses who’d used them, and I hadn’t had a whole lot of time to study their technique before killing them. So I stood as I imagined anyone would, but again Taggart shook his head, almost laughing.
‘Shit, Jem. It ain’t fuckin’ archery,’ he said, and then fired off instructions while I did my best to keep up. ‘Face the target front on. Two hands, left supporting right. You ain’t good enough for one, and this gun has some kick. It’s a single action, so you need to cock it between each shot. Right thumb left side, but light so you can reach the hammer. Finger on the guard until you’re ready to fire. Keep your right elbow locked. That barrel’s long, longer than most, and you ain’t used to it. See the sight at the end? Focus on that, both eyes. Now, when you’re ready.’
I squeezed off the first shot but I wasn’t prepared for the kick, an
d the bullet buried itself somewhere it shouldn’t have. The noise was deafening in the closed room and my ears buzzed. A lot fucking harder than I’d thought. No wonder I didn’t like guns. And Taggart wasn’t too impressed either.
‘Shit effort,’ he said. ‘You didn’t focus on the sight like I told you. And you need to ease the trigger, not jerk at it. Think of your bows and do it again.’
I breathed evenly, cocking the hammer first before bringing the gun up. The mechanics were much the same as I was used to, but the gun was heavier and it felt unbalanced protruding from my hand instead of strapped to my forearm. Having to focus on the sight threw me too, and the next shot went high again.
‘Son of a bitch,’ I growled, already sick of it.
‘Won’t say I told you so,’ Taggart said anyway. ‘Do it again, only this time lower the sight a bit, just under the target. Breathe in, squeeze the trigger real gentle, and breathe out when you fire. Ready?’
I nodded and closed my eyes for a minute, imagining Garrick in front of me. Opening them, I cocked the hammer again, and sighted just below his heart. I didn’t hit it, but at least I managed to find the target, and if it had been Garrick he’d be sporting a bullet in his left shoulder. But it still wasn’t good enough. And Taggart didn’t think so either.
‘Again. Remember the breathing.’
I pulled back the hammer again, aimed, exhaled, and squeezed off the next shot. No thunderous noise, just a single dull click.
‘And bang, you’re dead.’ Taggart held a finger to my head. ‘Real stupid, lad. You gotta keep count of your ammo. That’s the sort of mistake that’ll get you killed.’
‘Shit.’ I’d forgotten to reload. So focused on hitting a make-believe Garrick I’d not given any thought to the ammunition, and Taggart was right – outside the armoury I’d be as good as dead. I was beginning to regret my decision, but now we’d started Taggart wasn’t going to let me give up so easily.
‘Reload it and we’ll try again,’ he said, and watched while I fumbled with the cylinder, feeding the cartridges one by one into the loading gate, like he showed me. ‘It’s fixed, which is stronger, but there ain’t no quick way to do it when you’re not used to it. Just take your time and keep it steady. Kick those shells away too, so you don’t trip on ’em. Okay, let’s do it again.’