The oldster’s skin flushed, and he turned his back on Zel, as if he didn’t want the woman to see it.
Gabriel addressed her now. “And you. The ex-cop. The one who should be doing more than firing warning shots at these morons. Do you get all your frustration out by running around these rooms, exercising, wishing you could gut up enough to make Stamp leave you alone for good? How’s that been working for you?”
She seemed to resent his words—and maybe even herself.
“If you’re trying to shame us into action,” Sammy said, the visz still in his palm, “you’re—”
“Doing a fine job,” the oldster finished. He glanced at his neighbors. “Gabriel took it upon himself to be the only one to rationally confront Stamp last time the kid was here. It seemed to work, too. I was even hoping Gabriel might do us a favor and voluntarily keep being the one who takes the chance of facing down our troubles while we just stand by. Truth to tell, I was still hoping he’d keep on doing it since it’d allow us to stay where we like to be—out of sight, out of mind.”
The instinct to sit taller claimed Gabriel, but he didn’t do it. He only watched Mariah, who hadn’t contributed anything. But Chaplin kept looking at her with those big brown eyes.
Again, the faint discomfort of cowardice defined her in Gabriel’s thoughts. Why wasn’t she saying something? Where was that gumption he’d seen on the night she’d stuck a crossbow in his face?
From the back, a lazy voice cut the conversation. “This is nonsense.”
Everyone focused on the tall man with the wide chest who’d draped his arm over the scarf-wearing woman.
“I’ve never heard this kind of discussion here before,” he added, “and I can’t believe I’m hearing it now.”
Zel spoke. “Well then, Pucci, I suppose you have a better idea about how to handle matters? And you haven’t exactly been round much to hear us talking before now.”
“Dmitri gave me and Hana a visz, just like each of you, so we’ve been listening in.” He hugged the woman to him. “I say we can mollify this guy Stamp in some way so he’ll step off. If we show him that we want to work with him, he’ll be more receptive.”
The oldster rolled his eyes. “Genius idea. Why didn’t I ever think of it? Negotiating with bad guys always leads to success.”
Hana joined the conversation, her voice smooth, unruffled, even what some would call sisterly. Her tone carried an exotic accent, and if Gabriel had to guess, he would’ve said she was from somewhere in Africa.
“As far as Stamp thinks,” she said, “we are the bad guys. He needs to see we are not. If we could bridge an understanding—”
“You don’t know how this kid builds bridges,” the oldster said, rubbing his hand against his neck, as if the taserwhip were still there. He had his collar buttoned up tonight, so any burn marks he might’ve had weren’t visible. “Besides, who’s gonna go over to his place to bow before him, apologizing for the troubles with his men? You, Pucci? You, Hana?”
She actually seemed to consider taking up the option, but the tall man pulled her closer to him, as if telling her not to commit.
At least the oldster, Zeld cSammy were actually looking as if they were sick and tired of Stamp’s shit. That was a start.
Even Mariah, who was so quiet in her corner while petting Chaplin with the dedication of someone who’d almost lost a vital part of herself, seemed as if she could be open to new ideas.
If she was capable of it. . . .
Any way you sliced it, Gabriel thought, these people would have to decide to do something he could back them up on. Something that wouldn’t involve using a vampire, and he trusted that Chaplin was keeping quiet right now about who Gabriel really was because he knew the group would turn on a monster, even if it could aid them.
Maybe the dog also thought Gabriel would have to be the one to volunteer his services after a battle with Stamp was in progress, and, at that point, the community wouldn’t mind the kind of defense Gabriel could bring. . . .
The Intel Dog, with his strong, secretive mind, made so much more sense to Gabriel now. And here he’d thought that he’d swayed Chaplin into welcoming an injured fellow into his home. But the canine had turned the situation to his advantage, hadn’t he? That was probably why they called them Intel Dogs.
Typical. He’d had to go and get himself a familiar who might just be controlling him more than the other way around.
Gabriel tried to take back some of that control. “Seems to me that you all are taking up a whole lot of time to come up with a plan of action.”
Pucci grunted out a laugh, and Gabriel concentrated on him—the seed of complacency in the group.
Maybe he could slap that useless quality down a little. “Power can be lost easier than most might think. First you suspect there’s something bad going on out there, but you only hear about it—you haven’t so much run into it yourself. You think that your life can never be taken over, and trouble’s gonna pass you right by if you’re just quiet enough. Then, while you’re sitting there, hoping time is going to take care of the situation, what power you took for granted is replaced by something bigger. Something worse.” Gabriel looked around the room. “Together, you guys can make a stand before it’s too late.”
Pucci and Hana stayed mute. Mariah kept holding Chaplin to her. Zel and Sammy meandered away from the crate table. But the oldster’s lips were pursed, as if he remembered times Before.
It wasn’t lost on Gabriel that though he’d been preaching “take back your power,” he didn’t intend to do any such thing himself by using his abilities. Hypocrite.
The oldster finally tossed his hands up. “We’re just gonna sit here?”
Pucci sounded off from his and Hana’s corner. “I think just sitting here would’ve solved our troubles very nicely before we got into this pretty fix.”
What did that mean?
With a loaded look toward the rest of the crowd, especially at Chaplin and Mariah, he guided Hana toward a door, which he opened.
At the same time, Hana gave a helpless shrug.
They left and, one by one, the others ultimately retreated, too—Sammy to his door, Zel to hers—leaving just the oldster, Gabriel, Chaplin, and Mariah, who pulled the blanket closer around her as the dog laid himself down, his adrenaline no doubt spent and the drugs taking over.
She’d been under the blanket for such a long time that Gabriel started to wonder if, maybe, she’d gone through some trauma, and he’d been too quick to judge her.
Just as he was about to try communicating silently with Chaplin to find out if she was okay, the oldster hunkered down on a crate, his expression serious.
Gabriel quietly asked him, “What did Pucci mean by just sitting here—and that it might’ve been a good thing if you’d done just that?”
He heard Chaplin stir, but the oldster was already answering.
“Pucci’s a malcontent. He’s . . . not happy about letting in new people”—the old man jerked a thumb toward Gabriel—“or new situations.”
The explanation didn’t sit quite right with Gabriel, but the oldster was changing the subject. “So if we were to do anything about Stamp, what would be your way of going about it?”
He was asking for guidance, and Gabriel was gratified.
“Seeing as I’ve never played four-star general before,” he said, “why don’t you just lay it out?”
The oldster did so, and Gabriel listened to what amounted to a bunch of crazy revenge fantasies. But at least it was a start.
Especially since Mariah sat there listening, too, just as if she were hanging on every idea and considering it, even if it would require going outside.
15
Mariah
After I listened to Gabriel talking to the oldster, me and Chaplin followed him to my domain.
It was the time when night was at its coolest, with the sun a few hours away from starting its rise, but Gabriel clearly wasn’t ready to rest. No, now that he’d given us his op
inions about what we needed to do, I could see he was itching to grab a weapon and go outside, because he wanted all of us to see that he wasn’t afraid, and we shouldn’t be, either.
Right. Hell, I could still feel my neighbors’ gazes on each other, watching. Waiting. Seeing what I would do next, too.
In the end, the oldster had been full of his own ideas. Gabriel had obviously revved him up to a level where he could spit fire, but I knew the rest of the community wouldn’t act. There was too much to lose.
Still, a part of me had listened to Gabriel and wanted to follow him, ready to face down Stamp, whatever the cost. And part of me knew it was just a plain bad idea, because once we came out of hiding, there’d be no holding back—that’d be it. Our lives would change.
They might even end.
Gabriel perused my weapons wall, and I retreated to my room with Chaplin, who was still sluggish. There, I shed the knit cap and blanket I’d been huddling under, my hair still damp from an earlier bracing shower until I took my time now in drying it more. Then I put on my nightclothes—a simple linen sleeveless top and pants. I intended to bury myself under my covers, just as soon as I made sure Gabriel wouldn’t be causing any trouble.
Though my getup wasn’t an outfit a woman would wear to entice, I think I ended up doing it to Gabriel, anyway, because when I came out of my quarters, his gaze lingered on me, making me aware that the material showed off much more than my usual baggy shirts.
Even half out of it, Chaplin seemed to notice Gabriel’s attentions, too. My dog positioned himself in front of me, close to my legs, his fur seeming to bristle, his gaze lowered at our guest.
Gabriel sure enough caught my friend’s protectiveness. But would he also recognize that Chaplin was just as put out with me, too?
I rushed to get this over with so I could bury myself in bed. “You going out again?” My voice was flat, and it sounded as if something inside me had lain down and wouldn’t get back up after the drama with Chompers and Chaplin. It sounded as if I’d already been beaten by the trouble that was bound to rain down on us now, with this newest death.
Gabriel checked over my shotgun, which I hadn’t unloaded after I’d used it to cover him when he’d arrived that first night. “No use in my staying in here. You just go on and get some sleep, and I’ll hammer my time out by patrolling for any activity until the sun arrives. Maybe Stamp hasn’t discovered Chompers’s body yet. Besides, I think the heat will bar any imminent attacks, even if Stamp’s crowd has got suits to withstand the day. If you ask me, I can’t see anybody coming at us until dusk, but it’s good to watch the entire landscape for signs of them now. The viszes wouldn’t give me such a wide view from down here.”
I couldn’t believe it. “You want me to sleep?”
“It’s either that or go outside with me.”
He said it like it was a challenge, as if he suspected I was some sort of coward for using walls and blankets as cover.
I was just about to go back into my quarters without giving him the satisfaction of an answer when Chaplin woofed at me.
He was talking nonsense, and I bent down to quiet him. Gabriel stood there, uncomprehending.
He’s right, Chaplin said. Let’s go outside, Mariah. It’s time. It’ll make you stronger. It’ll whip the fear out of you, bit by bit, until you can master it.
“I don’t think so.”
But before I could rise to my feet, the dog took his paws and pushed at me, making me stumble back. I fell on my ass, my breath jarred from my lungs.
Gabriel took a step forward, but Chaplin slumped away from both of us, muttering something angry that not even I understood.
Had the mutt lost his senses? His behavior was almost enough to make me think he was pissed at me for letting him get captured. Didn’t he know I’d been out of my head with fear when I’d seen him bound up and drugged on the visz? I’d been so upset that I’d even lost some time or . . . I don’t know what I lost, but there’d been a blank spot in my emotions and thoughts, a blip, just like I remembered a television looking when you switched from one channel to another.
But I knew Chaplin was angry about more than my staying inside.
“Going out there wouldn’t result in anything constructive,” I said. “It wouldn’t mean I was gaining control of any kind of fear, and you know it.”
Gabriel’s expression told me that he was using my side of the conversation to build a whole one, as if he were thinking that Chaplin was asking me to go outside in order to make up for not coming after him earlier. No wonder Gabriel looked at me as if I were a coward.
I could feel my face flushing, my blood boiling.
Chaplin turned round to bark at me, his comments sleepy yet irate. Gabriel’s expression changed, as if he suddenly understood what the dog was saying. But how?
Unless he was a vampire and Chaplin was allowing him access to his mind . . .
Get it together, the dog said to me. I told Dmitri I would see to your survival. Told him I would help you get better. Yet, how can I if you won’t allow it?
“But what if—” I started.
Try, the dog said with a yowl.
Instinctively, I held up a hand in front of my face, rearing away from his livid sounds. But just as my own frustration and rage was welling up, Gabriel reached out, offering his own hand to help me up.
I turned my face away from him. I breathed, settling my pounding heart, the rise in my blood temperature, the quaking that threatened my body.
Chaplin smoothed out his tone. This is the situation we find ourselves in, Mariah. I’m doing my best with it, and you need to, also. Prove to me . . . to yourself . . . that we will get over this. Do it now while we’re still offering to help. While anyone is still offering.
Gabriel picked up where the dog ended, keeping his palm outstretched. “Just come outside for a short time. Give Chaplin what he’s asking for. It clearly means a lot to him.”
He was apparently trying to keep the peace in this household, because the last thing we needed was to be divided in the face of Stamp.
He added, “Chaplin would be able to sense any of Stamp’s men if they do come around, Mariah, and I’d get you inside pronto if need be.” He leaned closer to me. “Just take one step forward, because you’re going to need all the ground you can get underneath your feet from this point on.”
It seemed as if Chaplin had given Gabriel some background on me, and I glanced at the dog. Tears were making my vision wavy, so I saw Chaplin through the heat of them.
None of this was fair. I hadn’t asked to be like this. I hadn’t let those men into my family’s home in Dallas to do what they’d done.
I’ll be out there, too, Chaplin said, just in case. And Gabriel . . . having him with you is going to do a world of good. You’ll see.
Gabriel . . .
He still had his hand out to me, and I knew if I refused him, Chaplin would give up on me altogether. There was nowhere for me to go, really, no other choice for me to make.
I had to move forward.
Closing my eyes, I gripped Gabriel’s hand, expecting the body-electric awareness I got just from touching him.
A second zinged by. I don’t know what he was thinking, but his fingers seemed to tighten, as if my flesh on his shocked him just as much as me.
Then he hauled me to my feet and helped me to a stand.
Chaplin clumsily rushed over, as if hurrying before I changed my mind. He nudged me to my quarters, and it wasn’t a minute later when I emerged wearing a large, pea-colored coat and my boots. Afterward, with the dog panting at the foot of the ladder, I ascended, one rung at a time. Gabriel followed, and Chaplin went to his trapdoor to get out.
When Gabriel came up top, he immediately covered the a with his weapon, just in case something was round. But we were all clear. Then Gabriel helped me outside, Chaplin’s gaze trained on me, as if proud to see me taking this step. But there was concern there, as well, as he again sniffed the relatively cooler air, which w
as traced with dryness and the grit of wasteland.
Gabriel took up position at my shoulder. “Looks like Chaplin didn’t find anyone out and about who shouldn’t be.”
I merely stared into the distance, toward the rock-jammed hills. Stamp’s place would probably be just beyond.
Chaplin lethargically circled round to bump the back of my legs, urging me to move. My heart rate seemed to take me over, fast and frail, likely to snap at any minute into a run. I breathed, told myself I could do this, if only to show Chaplin I could.
“So where’s your usual perimeter?” Gabriel asked me. “I mean, how far do you normally go at any given time you need to be out here?”
“My normal perimeter?” My mouth turned up in a mirthless grin. “I don’t go past the cusp of our community, if I come out here at all.”
Thud-a-thud went my pulse.
I had the coat bundled round me as if it were a life jacket in this sea of dirt and gray-cast, waning-mooned night. A slight wind cuffed at my hair, and I thought that it just might be with enough force to send me back inside.
Gabriel grabbed hold of my coat, discouraging me from going anywhere while clutching the shotgun in his other hand.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Might as well make the dog happy.”
He pulled me along, Chaplin following at a distance. Smart dog.
My flailing pulse beat harder when we came to the edge of the community caverns. I stopped, unwilling to go any farther, my breathing strained as I lowered myself to a knee.
I wanted to break free . . . wanted to run . . .
Couldn’t . . . do . . . either.
“Far enough,” I said. “Can we go back now?”
Chaplin barked. No. You’ve been doing fine, so now you’ll sit here and face it for once.
“And this is your way of helping,” I said, wishing I could just kill him.
Stop being afraid. Chaplin was glaring at me via his sleepy eyes. Fear destroys this control you’re showing right now. Don’t. Fear. We can’t afford for you to be weak—not anymore.
Bloodlands Page 15