1503951200

by Camille Griep

  I know he won’t be able to hear me. “Hiding. Obviously.”

  “Were you going through the Governor’s desk?” Perry bounded forward, tearing at the locked drawer. In a situation with lower stakes, the exchange would have been laughably absurd.

  “It’s locked, Perry. How would I look inside?”

  “Let me see your hands,” he said.

  “Perry, it’s me. Stop and think,” I said, coming up slowly, palms toward him. “We’re trying to help you.”

  “You’re nothing to me,” Perry said, bitterly. “All you do is babble. Where were you while I was away? That’s right. Here. You were here. Where I should have been. All because you’re following in the footsteps of some addle-brained Sanctuary nutcase. Nelle was there for me. She was my friend. She was my world. You won’t take her away from me.”

  “Okay, Per,” Len said, trying to de-escalate. “You’re right. No need to get upset.”

  “I should call the guards.” Perry turned from me to Len.

  “Can’t have that. Sorry, bud.” Len delivered a glasses-smashing right cross. Perry went down hard.

  “Is he okay?” I asked.

  “We’ll drag him into the doorway,” Len said. “Make sure someone finds him.” We raced up the stairs. At the top, Len threw a pot of geraniums onto the treads. We watched Amita’s light flood into the hallway below, her small robed figure drifting down the hall.

  We burst outside to connect with the night air. Above us, the stars burned as hot and bright and promising as the note in my back pocket.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Syd

  I spend my second morning at the Survivor camp visiting the horses and finding a pen and paper to write a note to Troy. I don’t know how I’ll get it to him, or if I’ll even deliver it if I get the chance. But I know I’ll feel better once I have my feelings somewhere else than racing through my head, skipping over and over like a needle on a record.

  Most of the men slept through the morning, catching up on what they lost tramping around the woods in search of the great tree-branch breaker.

  I’m sitting with Linsey and James after breakfast when Paul marches through.

  “Did you catch Bullwinkle yet?” I ask. He’s been out tracking down whatever interrupted last night’s dinner since the whistles began to blow.

  Paul helps himself to some chicory, but doesn’t sit. “This is all a big joke to you, right? We’ve got Nelle in there because someone was out here. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Do you even hear yourself? I have ten someones inside those gates, and ten someones outside, you moron. It doesn’t mean I’m going to go off half-cocked at every little noise.”

  “Now, now,” Linsey said, rising. “You two knock it off, already.”

  There is yelling in the distance, and all of us stand. But before we can investigate, a guard slips through the trees, holding none other than Len Willis. “Found him at the clearing. Says he’s a guest of hers.” The guard gestures vaguely toward me.

  “Get him out of here,” Paul says.

  “Len!” I say, leaping up. “Wait.”

  Linsey puts a hand on my shoulder. “You wouldn’t happen to be the cause of all the ruckus last night, would you?”

  Len frowns. “What ruckus?”

  “Something made a noise last night,” I explain.

  “A noise?” Len asks, in mock surprise. “In the woods? Do tell.”

  “He’s unarmed,” the guard says, seemingly antsy to get back to his post.

  “But I do come bearing gifts!” Len produces a courier sack, and hauls two big jugs of whiskey from within.

  Linsey smiled. “Ah, good man.”

  “I also have information.”

  Paul barks a laugh. “Are you serious with this? How many New Charitans are we going to feed and water here?”

  Everyone ignores him, including the guard, who slips back through the trees. “Len, these are my friends Linsey and James. The imbecile is Paul.”

  Len offers his hand. Everyone but Paul shakes it. “Much obliged for the hospitality.”

  “You hungry, son?” Linsey asks.

  Paul kicks dirt at the fire in disgust and disappears down the bluff.

  “What’s his problem?” Len asks.

  “Us, I think,” I say.

  James is frowning. “So are you two, well, you know?”

  Len laughed. “I play for the other team, man. And besides, my brother is . . . well. I don’t know what he is. He was something to Syd once.”

  I’m embarrassed for Len and for me, too. I have no idea where I stand with Troy, and I’m sad to learn Len doesn’t know either. I need to forget everyone and everything except how to get back inside and take care of the Bishop before Nelle has a chance to access the floodgate.

  “Listen,” Len says, moving the whiskey aside. “We need to talk about what the Bishop is planning after Nelle relights the town. I think Dr. Mangold should hear this, too.”

  “We’ll have to bring this party to him,” I say.

  After Linsey promises to keep an eye on the whiskey and save some for us, I lead Len and James to Mangold’s tent. Paul has resumed sitting in front of it, carving a small figurine with a pocketknife. “No visitors.”

  Len tries reasoning with him. “Look, I snuck out of New Charity to talk to you all because it’s important.”

  “You’re a lot like your friend,” Paul says, holding out his pocketknife at me. “You don’t listen very well.”

  I’m sick of Paul’s surly antics. “What, you’re going to stop us with your pocketknife?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m going to stop you all right. Starting with your mouth.”

  “Come with or stay here, but we’re going in,” I say.

  Mangold appears at the tent flap. “All right, all right. Here I am.”

  Inside, things are in even more disarray than the last time I visited. We stand around the table awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.

  “Dr. Mangold, this is Len Willis. He has some information for us.”

  “A courier will be bringing an invitation for representatives from your camp to attend a party to celebrate Nelle’s restoring New Charity’s power.” Len swallows. “The celebration is meant to distract the townspeople. And while everyone’s chowing down on pie, he’s going to wait for Nelle to make her move on the reservoir and kill all of you as punishment.”

  Mangold deflates a bit, though no one looks particularly surprised.

  “Doesn’t he know we’ll just keep coming?” Paul asks.

  Len sighs. “I think that’s what he wants. To keep killing you, and anyone who helps you, until there are no more of you left.”

  James paces in concentric circles. “Well, what are we going to do?”

  I roll my eyes. “We take my suggestion and beat the Bishop to the punch.”

  Len shakes his head. “Syd, we found a note. From Cal. It proves the Bishop murdered your father. The curse doesn’t matter; Jayne doesn’t have to believe Cas. The note is enough. Her deputies should be able to arrest the Bishop. Keep him locked up.”

  Mangold laughs. “You think bars are going to contain that man? Not a chance.”

  I toe a gnawed pigeon drumstick out of the tent flap. “Half of the Sheriff’s deputies are in your father’s pocket, Len. Remember when they helped march me out of New Charity?”

  “However we choose to deal with the Bishop,” Len says, “Mangold can’t come for Nelle himself. We’ll have to find another way to return her.”

  “And leave her safety to your kind? Absolutely not,” Mangold says.

  “We’re all in a lot of danger,” Len says. “The point is, we need to work together, on both sides of the gate.”

  “What about the Governor?” I ask. “Can’t he at least protect Cas?”

  Len shakes his head. “He disowned her.”

  “Over me?” I have to sit down. I find a relatively stable-looking tree-trunk stool and I shove the dirty clothes from the top. Th
e scene from the gate rushes back to me with terrible clarity. I put my head between my knees to counter the nausea.

  Despite my best intentions, I’ve done exactly what Pi warned me not to do. My friends are in grave danger, and I’m no closer to stopping the Bishop. I’m running out of time to get Mina her antibiotics, even if I were still in possession of them. Which I’m not. “Fuck.”

  Someone snorts. “Well said.”

  Mangold unceremoniously boots us from his tent, citing his need for time to think, to consider his options. I’m afraid he’s too obsessed with Nelle to hear what I’m saying, but until we think of another plan, I’ll have to let him stew.

  Len and Paul are ahead of James and me, trading insults so easily they seem to have gained an odd respect for one another.

  “I want to grab something for Len while I’m thinking about it,” I tell James. “Go on ahead.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  The note is sitting in the far corner of my tent. I crawl inside to grab it and when I back out, James is standing close. Too close. “Syd, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  While James has been a fast friend, I need some more space. “Would you like to walk while we talk?”

  He ignores me. “If you’re not with Len and not really with his brother, then I was thinking maybe you might want to be with me.”

  “You mean like date you?” At first I think he’s joking. “Do you know a nice Italian restaurant somewhere?”

  “It’s hard to find a partner these days, let alone someone you like spending time with.”

  “I found that when I was living in the City, too,” I say. I think of the seemingly thousands of conversations I’d had with Danny about the family he and the lucky Mr. Danny would have. But I hadn’t truly understood, still trying to figure out how to take care of myself, and mourning the passing of my mother, my career. Until Mina, I hadn’t even dared to dream I’d have a family of my own.

  “Syd, of all the Survivors in all the world, how did you end up in my camp?”

  “You might need to work on your pickup lines, my friend.” I try to move around him, but I can’t without losing my balance and crashing through the tent.

  “I’m serious,” he says, grabbing my arms.

  “I can see that now. And I’m sorry. But look at everything going on around us. Relationships are hard enough when everything is going smoothly. This,” I say, pointing to the camp around us, “is a recipe for disaster.”

  “You tried with Len’s brother, didn’t you?”

  I want to explain how it’s different, though I’m not sure if that’s the truth or what I simply want to be the truth. “He was my childhood sweetheart. It’s different when you’ve known someone all your life. And besides, I just told you it didn’t work out. I’m apparently not cut out for this sort of thing.”

  “But if all we’ve got is today . . . If the big New Charity shindig is our last go-around, shouldn’t we, you know, try to be happy together?”

  “If all we’ve got is today? I have to believe in tomorrow, or what we’re doing—trying to give the City a future—is completely pointless. I have friends in New Charity. I have friends in the City. I have to put their lives before my own happiness. And your libido.”

  He coughs. He’s been into his own stash of whiskey already. “So you were just leading me on?”

  “I was being friendly. I want to be your friend. We’ve already established this.”

  “Why did you want to get to know me if you weren’t, you know, interested?

  “I am interested in your life, your past, your interests. I am not interested in being your woman. Make sense?”

  “What was that kiss on the cheek all about? You do that to all your friends? Probably why the guy in New Charity threw you over.” His voice has acquired a meanness, and I’m getting nervous. Even with his shoulder injury, I’m reviewing my options if he presses the issue. Though they aren’t many. My pocketknife is useless—back in the upstairs bathroom of the ranch, where I left it while I was changing my jeans. “Paul was right, you are just a traitor whore. Probably not even a decent lay.”

  Len’s voice carries from behind James. “Dude. Knock it off.”

  James turns, and I take the opportunity to put some distance between us.

  Len glares at him. “Come on, man. That’s not how a guy treats a girl. It’s not how anyone treats anyone. Apologize.”

  James glares at Len but says nothing.

  “Look,” Len says, “my brother just broke her heart. If she says she’s not ready, she’s not ready.”

  “Whatever.” James looks at me, but evidently he hadn’t considered heartbreak to be one of the reasons I might reject him. At any rate it allows him to save face a bit. “Sorry, Syd,” he mumbles.

  “Shake on it,” Len demands.

  “Why do I have to?”

  Len rolls his eyes. “Just do it, Syd.”

  I offer my hand. “Friends?”

  “Friends.” James looks equally nonplussed.

  “Good,” Len says. “Let’s go have whiskey.”

  Back around the cooking fire, the whiskey files the hard edges off everyone. James sits at the far end of the table, but he seems to have returned to civility.

  Paul tells us stories from before, the art pieces he installed at museums in small towns and airports in big towns. How metal is something he understands. How he wishes he’d been the one to sculpt the giant horses into New Charity’s gate.

  “That’s what we need,” I say. “A surprise horse. A Trojan horse.”

  “Yeah,” Len slurs. “Like a gift. From us to the Bishop. Surprise, asshole.”

  I imagine a shining animatronic statue. Cannonballs of manure falling onto the Bishop’s giant head. “Too bad you guys don’t have anything that goes kablam,” I say.

  Linsey laughs. “Oh, little Syd of littler faith. Who says we don’t?”

  Len raises his eyebrows and almost falls off the log he’s occupying. I welcome the laughter, because I’m coming uncomfortably close to the hiccups.

  Linsey continues. “We’ve still got what we collected to blow the gate when we were going to do the raid with Nelle. We’ve got about naught for ammo—specially after last night—but kablam, we’ve got in plenty.”

  I have a feeling that in the morning, Paul is going to be upset that Linsey shared their ammo situation with New Charitans, but for now, he simply looks like he’s deep in his own imagination.

  “How would we get the metal?” James asks.

  “I’ve got a little bit saved from here and there,” Paul says. “And I’ve got torches. We’d need more, though. And a rolling base to put it on. And we’d need everybody working on it.”

  “I think I have a solution to both problems,” I say. I am proving I can drink with the men. Now I’ll prove I can be useful, too. If helping the camp gets me closer to stopping the Bishop, then so be it. “Gentlemen, have I ever told you about Cressida?”

  It’s light out and Len is in my tent. He’s snoring and his breath smells not unlike what I imagine of a water buffalo. I elbow him. “Move over.”

  I run through the events of the night before. Len’s arrival. Warning Mangold about the Bishop. Drinking. Drinking a lot. Our brilliant plan to build an actual Trojan horse out of my Cressida. James’ proposition. James angry about Len in my tent. Len offering to sleep with James instead.

  We stumble to the cooking fire, where Linsey is up and whistling away. “Morning, sleeping beauties,” he says, handing us mugs of chicory.

  “No hangover for you, then?” I ask.

  Linsey laughs. “Everyone was up early to go retrieve your car.”

  “Ha ha,” I say. “We drunks always have the best improbable ideas.”

  “Not that improbable, apparently,” Linsey says. “They’re gonna try it anyway. It’s not a horse, exactly. But it will explode.”

  I lose my grip on my cup, scrambling to grab it before it hits the ground. “They’re going to blow
up Cressida?”

  “It’s really genius if you think about it.”

  “How so?” Len asks. “Sorry, that part is a little blurry.”

  I’m equal parts delighted, surprised, and perplexed that they’ve finally decided to take some—any—of my advice. “We can take a group of us in inside the car, unseen. We take out the Bishop with a small explosive while Nelle’s turning on the lights. After he’s gone, the Ward should disappear.”

  “How big of an explosive?” Len asks. He’s turned an unhealthy shade of pale. “Logistically, we’d have to make sure it wasn’t near the celebration, right?”

  “Well, I’m not the boss of this shit show, sonny,” Linsey says. “If you want to talk to Mangold about it, they’re working up in the clearing.”

  Len downs the rest of his chicory and we head to where the group is gathered. Paul is talking animatedly to Mangold and James from a ways off. They’ve built a wooden frame on the top of the car, and Mangold is working to take off the driver’s side door. I feel a pang of sorrow. Cress was one of the biggest reminders of my mother. And yet, it’s a hunk of metal. An albatross. I can have my pick of old heaps from around the countryside. The people who bother to drive these days drive things that are reliable. The only person really losing out here is Doc, and I’m sure he’s already gleefully repurposing Agnes’s old station wagon.

  Mangold looks our way and waves us over. “So far, so good,” he says.

  “How did you get it here?” I ask.

  “It started up fine for us. Must’ve just been a bit overheated the day you ditched it. Lucky it was still there, really.”

  Tiny pieces of our drunken plan were filtering back to me. “And you found the keys?”

  Mangold smiles. He looks like a new man. And it’s good to see him out of his tent. Implementing a plan. “Like you said. Right in the gas cap door.”

  Paul walks over to us. “Doesn’t look like much now, but by this time tomorrow, it will be incredible. There’s so much extra metal on this car—did someone reinforce it for you?”

  I nod, wishing I could shake a sense of something wrong. I chalk up the feeling to my hangover. This is my idea. And it will get me closer to the Bishop.