Ghost Hope

by Ripley Patton

  “See?” Gordon said, waving his hand at me in frustration and glaring at Reiny. “I told you.”

  “Told her what? That I’m a realist?” I couldn’t kiss Gordon’s ass, no matter how hard I tried. He was just so infuriatingly out of touch.

  “Listen, you two,” Mia said, pinning first Gordon and then me with her eyes. “Stop acting like children. You’re going to have to set aside your differences and make this work.”

  “She’s right,” Reiny agreed. “David, if you think it is a waste of time, then don’t come. Lonan and I can vouch for you and get you a fill-in job at the resort.”

  “What about Kaylee?” I asked. “I’m not leaving her here alone every day.”

  “Kaylee will have to make her own decision,” Lonan said.

  We all turned to look at her, and she set her eight ball aside, smiling at us. Then, she slid from her chair and sidled up next to me, slipping her hand into mine. It sounds like an adventure straight out of a book, she said. I want to go.

  I didn’t have to tell anyone what she’d said. It was obvious by the expression on her face. I was afraid she was going to be disappointed if she was expecting an adventure, though. This sit-in thing could be a risk, but I doubted it. Anytime the tribes protested anything, the world ignored them, so it might actually be a great place to hide. Still, I wasn’t looking forward to camping in the desert when it had almost killed us not so long ago.

  I turned to Reiny. “I guess we’re coming with you.”

  Reiny glanced at Mia, and Mia glanced at Gordon. There was something else they weren’t telling me.

  “The facility we told you about last night,” Mia finally said, “the one your mother, and uncle, and Gordon broke into. It was a government chemical arms depot that was decommissioned a few years ago. It’s on the Umatilla land.”

  That was why Gordon thought I’d met with someone. If he believed I’d set this whole land-grab thing in motion, he had vastly overestimated my abilities.

  “So, what’s there now?” I asked.

  “Abandoned buildings and pronghorn, mostly,” Reiny said. “But it’s tribal land and the government promised to return it to the Umatilla people.”

  I could tell by the look on Gordon’s face that a government promise had nothing to do with it. He wanted to go back to Umatilla for reasons of his own. He just wasn’t willing to admit it.

  “So, when do we leave?” I asked.

  “As soon as we can,” Mia said. “We’ll pack up the truck, and Reiny and Lonan can drive it. Gordon and I will take the RV and you and Kaylee can ride with us.”

  “I’ll have to make arrangements for the horses,” Lonan said. “And Reiny can work on covering our shifts at the lodge. We should be able to get it all taken care of by tonight.”

  “We’ll see you at our place tonight then,” Mia said, as she and Gordon got up and hurried out.

  13

  JASON

  The sound of the dogs baying grew louder, closer, more urgent. They had my scent, but it didn’t matter. I was too winded to run anymore, so I huddled in a patch of brambles next to a stream, muddy, shivering, and waiting for the inevitable.

  My old man was going to kill me this time. I’d pushed him too far. And I should have known better because he’d been on one giant alcoholic binge ever since I’d appeared out of thin air and fallen smack into the middle of his late-night poker game, scattering chips everywhere.

  That’s what that bitch, Olivia, had done to me. One minute I’d been at the compound in the dome trying to help save her, the next she’d thrown me right back to him. And not just me, but the bullet too, the one she’d taken from me and crammed into Fineman’s cube: it was in my fucking pocket when I landed.

  My father and his drunk poker friends were so freaked out, they fucked me up pretty bad. They searched me and found the bullet, but my old man just laughed and shoved it back in my pocket. “You keep that,” he said. “Maybe someday you’ll have the balls to use it on yourself.”

  That had been nine days ago. Nine days of living in the kennel with the dogs, just like old times. The same dogs howling after me now. They weren’t pets or companions. They would bleed and tree me as fast as any prey they’d been set on. My old man treated me like a dog, but the dogs had always known the difference.

  The third day in the kennel, he’d pulled me out to interrogate me, and I’d told him most of it. Not the part about wanting to kill him. He already knew that. And I left some other things out, but I told him enough that he got the picture. Fineman had gone to war against The Hold without him, cutting my old man out of the action, even after he’d done all the doctor’s dirty work and killing at the Eidolon.

  It only confirmed what the others were telling him—all the scattered compound CAMFers who’d been streaming into the lodge daily, each with their own story of how and where they’d ended up. He questioned every one, and not a single soul had seen Fineman. It seemed the doctor had disappeared without a trace, leaving the field wide open for my old man to lead the new order of CAMF.

  That should have made him happy. It was what he’d always wanted.

  But it wasn’t until he’d come to me this morning, his meaty fists gripping the bars of the kennel, that I’d discovered what was really bothering him.

  “Did you see Tony at the dome?” he blurted.

  “What? No,” I answered, surprised. A few months before I’d gone off with Marcus, my step-brother, Tony, had been recruited for a special CAMFer assignment. My old man had been so proud, his perfect son going off to the perfect job, following in his footsteps. My brother hadn’t said goodbye to me, and no one had bothered to tell me where he’d been assigned.

  But now I knew.

  My step-brother had been working at the compound.

  He’d been displaced just like me.

  Except, he hadn’t come back.

  My poor old man was stuck with the son he loathed while the one he really wanted was missing. And the irony of that was so funny, I couldn’t help but laugh. I didn’t just snicker either. No, I threw back my head and laughed hard, and I didn’t stop, even when I heard the kennel keys jingling against the bars. I didn’t stop when he reached in, dragged me out by my hair, and punched me in the temple.

  “Shut up!” he yelled, punching me again, making my ears ring. “Shut up, you fucking piece of shit.”

  “No,” I said, grappling with him, trying to get out of his grasp. “I’m never gonna shut up. You’ll have to kill me to shut me up, just like you did ma.”

  He backed off then, suddenly letting go of me, fear creeping into his eyes. “Your ma fell down the stairs in a drunken stupor and broke her neck,” he said, but his voice was weak and unconvincing.

  “I saw you shove her,” I said. “Tony and I both saw you do it.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Tony told the truth to the police. She tripped and fell.”

  “Tony lied to protect you.”

  “Tony did what any good son would do,” he said, glaring at me.

  “I’m your son,” I spat, yanking up my pant leg to show him the undeniable evidence of my PSS, “and I have this. Do you really think they’ll let you lead CAMF when your son is a freak? Even if you kill me, they’ll remember. They’ll talk about it even more. Because killing me doesn’t change the fact that I was born this way and I’m your son.”

  “Your ma was a whore and everyone knew it,” he said. “You’re not my son, and you never have been. If that shit was in my genes, Tony would have it too. But he doesn’t.”

  “Maybe,” I said, shrugging, smiling, “unless his mother was the whore and he’s the one who’s not your son.”

  I knew I’d crossed the line, even before he grabbed me and threw me from the kennel. He was screaming incoherently, spit flying from his mouth. The dogs leapt against the bars of their cages, barking and fueled by his fury. I was running before he’d pulled out his gun, dodging between trees, headed for the stream. I ran as fast as I could, escaping into
the woods and using every trick I knew to hide my trail, but it hadn’t worked.

  They were coming now, the dogs who had been my kennel-mates for much of my life. Their baying echoed louder and louder in my ears. From where I cowered, I thought I could hear the splash of their paws in the stream, and in the distance, the calling of men, deep voices booming back and forth. “This way. He’s over here.”

  When they found me, my old man would finally kill me and put us both out of our misery.

  “Get up,” someone hissed, grabbing me from behind and yanking me to my feet.

  I turned, expecting to see one of my old man’s hunters, but instead I found myself staring at Mike Palmer.

  “Cover your face,” he ordered, pulling a small bottle from his pocket and spraying something all over my clothes, my boots, and where I’d just been sitting. I covered my mouth and nose just in time to avoid the worst of it, but there was no mistaking the smell of skunk oil. Hunters often used it to mask their human scent from prey, and it also worked on dogs. Our hounds were trained not to hunt skunk. As soon as they hit that patch of scent, they’d go off my trail. My eyes watered and my throat clenched, but it was worth it. Mike Palmer had just saved me, and he was spraying himself now.

  He put the can of skunk scent away and turned, stepping into the water and heading up-stream, gesturing for me to follow.

  And I did. What else was I going to do? With Palmer, I might get away. With the dogs and my old man, I’d run out of chances.

  When the baying of the hounds had mostly faded behind us, I took a few quick steps, forcing my boots from the sucking stream muck, and caught up with him. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I was just passing through when I heard the dogs,” he said. “But I guess now I’m saving your ass.”

  Just passing through? Yeah, we both knew that was bullshit. Palmer had been a major player in Fineman’s regime. Maybe he knew where the doctor was. Maybe he’d come here spying for him, gathering information on my old man’s doings. Mike Palmer was not my friend. I would have killed him back in Illinois, if Olivia hadn’t stopped me, and we both knew it.

  The stream grew deeper and we clambered onto the bank. Then it got wider, opening up to a small waterfall, and we stopped there as Palmer surveyed our surroundings. I’d been to the waterfall many times. The hunters liked to stop there for lunch, a swim, and some cold beers. The baying of the dogs had died out long ago, but that didn’t mean we weren’t still being hunted. Men could track without the dogs, if they were good enough. My old man wouldn’t give up so easily, but I was parched, so I crouched down on the bank and filled my hands for a quick drink.

  “Your father appears to be rallying an army,” Palmer said.

  It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer it. There had always been whispers at the lodge that Palmer was a double-agent for The Hold. I didn’t believe it. Especially after I’d seen him kill their most treasured PSS pet at the dome. The Holders would never forgive him for that. Which meant right now he was a man without a hole to shit in, and that kind of man was very dangerous. When I finally stood up, wiping my mouth with my sleeve, he was staring at me, his eyes scanning my face.

  “You don’t look like your brother,” he said.

  I did my best not to react, turning toward a thick bush to piss before responding. “He’s my step-brother,” I said, flicking myself dry and zipping up my fly.

  “When I spoke to your father, he seemed very concerned for his welfare.”

  Palmer had balls if he’d strode right in and talked to my old man. I’d give him that. Did he really know something about Tony, or was he just baiting me? That tactic had worked on my old man, but it wouldn’t work on me.

  “I don’t give a fuck about my step-brother,” I said.

  “I just want to get out of here. So, where are we going?”

  “Well, I’m going to Indianapolis,” he said. “If The Hold is still intact, that’s where they’ll be, and I need to gauge their next move. As for where you’re going, that’s up to you. I just got you away from the dogs. I’m not adopting you or anything.”

  “You’ll just let me go?” I asked, surprised.

  “Sure,” he said. “You have money or a place to crash?”

  “No,” I said. “Not really.” I had the money Mr. James had paid me to shoot Samantha, but I’d locked it up in the barn back in Indiana. But if I could get back there, I might be able to work that angle again. Marcus’s uncle paid well, he didn’t treat me like a dog, and it was really my only option. I’d just have to be careful around Palmer. He’d probably sell me to the highest bidder. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. “I’ve been back with my old man for days,” I said, a plan forming even as I said it. “I’ve heard and seen things. If you need an in with The Hold, you could offer me up as a rat.”

  “And you’d be willing to play that out?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “If I have to.”

  “Fine,” Mike Palmer nodded. “You can come. But you screw me over and you won’t live to regret it. Is that clear?”

  “Got it.” I nodded.

  Then he led me to a pick-up truck parked in some brush near the boundary line of my old man’s land. We drove to a rundown motel to grab his gear and try to shower the skunk smell away. While I was in the bathroom toweling off, he opened the door and handed me a wad of clean clothes. I put them on. They must have been his because they were way too big, but there was a belt so I just cinched everything up.

  After Palmer took his shower, we packed, left the hotel, and ended up outside some skanky gay bar in Fort Worth. Palmer got out, went in for about ten minutes, and came back with a fake ID. The name on the license was Bubba Lynch and it said I was eighteen. It even sort of looked like me if you squinted real hard.

  “It’s close enough. Hold these,” he said, shoving two plane tickets to Indy into my hands.

  At the airport, Palmer pulled out some kind of badge that got us through security without a search or any questions.

  I slept most of the flight. An airplane seat was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the floor of a dog kennel. Palmer slept, too. He didn’t seem nervous about entering The Hold’s main territory, especially for a guy who’d killed their most valuable asset. Then again, I’d never seen Palmer nervous. Maybe The Hold was in shambles like CAMF. Or maybe Palmer had something to offer them even more valuable than me. Then it hit me: he must have been looking for someone back on my old man’s land. My guess would be Olivia. With Kaylee gone, whoever had Olivia had the power. The two of them had certainly wielded more than their fair share of it. That was for damn sure. And all I’d ended up with was the inability to jump off a cliff.

  When we landed in Indy, three Hollywood-looking thugs met us at the gate and immediately escorted us to a limo at the curb.

  “Who are these guys?” I asked Palmer as we climbed into the back. “Where are they taking us?”

  “You said you’d give information to The Hold,” he said, “so why beat around the bush? I called Mr. James from the motel back in Texas while you were in the shower. He’s expecting us.”

  Fuck. Palmer didn’t kid around.

  The limo drove straight to the James mansion where the man himself was standing on the steps, waiting for us. He looked desperate. Hell, he smelled desperate. Last time I’d seen him, he’d been King of the World about to dominate the CAMFers and take the dome. He’d fallen a long way since then.

  “Michael,” Mr. James said, opening the door, practically pulling Palmer out, and giving him a hug. “How is Samantha?” he asked softly, still embracing him. “Is she safe? Does she hate me?”

  “Yes, and yes,” Palmer answered, pulling away. “But she’ll get over it.”

  “I got a call while you were on the plane,” Mr. James said, still keeping his voice low. “Kaylee and David were seen a few days ago on the Warm Springs reservation in Oregon and my—”

  “Good,” Palmer interrupted him, casting his glance m
y way, clearly unhappy I’d overheard that.

  So, Kaylee was alive, and she was the one Palmer had been searching for on my old man’s land. He must have faked killing her back at the dome. I’d always thought a knife was an odd choice of weapon for that whole scenario. Guns were much more efficient. Anyway, it sounded like Marcus was with Kaylee. I guess there was no doubt now that Palmer had been playing both sides. Damn, the guy was good. He’d certainly fooled me. And I hadn’t missed the comment about Samantha either. She was off somewhere, still pissed at her dad. I’d seen an old, torn luggage tag from Portland, Oregon, on Palmer’s bag back in the motel in Texas. That must be where Samantha was and her lesbo lover, Passion, was probably with her. This was all information Palmer and Mr. James obviously didn’t want me to know. Now that I did, what were they going to do about it? Hopefully, not kill me.

  “Hello, Jason,” Mr. James said, holding out his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You too, sir,” I said, shaking his hand. And I almost meant it.

  “It’s good timing, actually,” he said, a glint of something more devious flaring in his eyes as he gestured his men to take the luggage inside. “I present my case to the new Hold council tomorrow night.” He was still speaking softly, even though we were standing outside, just the three of us. “It was going to be a challenge with certain key witnesses missing, but at least now I have some backup.”

  “You’re going to put him on the stand?” Palmer glanced at me, sounding surprised. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? He has no stake in Hold politics.”

  “All the better,” Mr. James replied. “No one would suspect him of lying for me as they might have with Samantha or Passion. And he was at the Eidolon as well as the dome. It’s perfect.”

  “I don’t know, Alex,” Palmer said. “It could get messy. What if they—”

  “I’ll do it,” I interrupted Palmer, looking directly at Mr. James. “But I want double what you paid me last time.” Last time two of my friends had been killed, and I’d had to jump off a cliff while being shot at by a helicopter. But Mr. James had taken care of me afterwards. He’d paid me and housed me and treated me like a man.