He gave Tess a crisp wave forward. It was all business until it was over. His actions would be on a structured autopilot. Thunder’s face was one of disgust, his eyes were alight. He hadn’t agreed with Steele’s conclusion, but he gave deference, barely.
Tess walked forward into the middle between the groups. Her steps were short, but her chin was held high. She sidled up in front of him. Her eyes said she cared little for anything he was about to say.
Steele held his chin up higher. “Tess, do you deny assaulting and attempting to murder the pastor?”
“I do not.”
“Do you deny murdering one of the Chosen men?”
“No, I do not.”
He stared down at the ground for a moment then back up, his eyes connecting with her fierce, almost coal-colored, eyes. “I will not stand for violence between our groups.” He would not back down. “I sentence you to thirty-nine lashes.”
Steele turned and glanced at the pastor, waiting for the elder to decide if the punishment met the crime.
The pastor regarded him with neither acceptance or denial of the sentence. After a few moments, the pastor lifted his chin up. “In the spirit of forgiveness, we accept the punishment for the crime.”
“No!” the pastor’s men cried out. Peter’s voice rose with fervor. “String her up!”
“Quiet,” the pastor commanded. His men grew silent.
Tess gave him a small smile. “That all you got?”
Steele ignored her. “Thunder, tie her to the tree.”
The heavyset biker led her to a grooved, dark gray tree. He swung a rope around and around her wrists then knotted the rope around the tree. He turned and glared at Steele. Steele nodded to him.
Thunder released a knife from his belt and gently cut down the back of her black shirt. Her shirt flipped out to either side, hanging free. Her back was bony and each rib visible through her skin.
Thunder marched away back to Steele. “You’re making a mistake,” he said on the way by. Steele ignored him. Her fate was sealed.
Steele gave Rick a nod and the average, curly-haired man brought Steele a thin pliable reed and handed it to him. The reed felt wet in his hand but heavier than a thin branch should. Steele nodded to the man. Rick gave him a short nod back and rejoined the volunteers.
Tess slipped her chin onto her shoulder. “Come on, Steele. Give it to me.”
Do you think I want this?
Steele moved close. He let the reed bend back and forth in his hand for a moment.
“Go on,” she said.
“Come on,” Luke hissed.
Steele tightened his mouth, and swung his arm back, and whipped the reed onto her flesh. She sucked in a sharply. He surveyed the work at his hand. A thin red line appeared diagonally, biting into her skin.
“One.”
Whip. She cooed this time. She turned her head back to him. “Stings.”
“Two.”
Whack. She breathed heavier now.
“Three.” Blood trickled down her back.
Again and again he whipped her, each blow taking more and more fight out of her tiny frame. She didn’t cry out until he had hit twenty-three lashes. By thirty-three, the tree held her up. By the last lash, she knelt on the ground whimpering, her face resting against the tree’s trunk, the flesh of her back chewed up and raw, blood soaking into her pants.
Despite the cool air, sweat ran down his face. His armpits were damp. His chest heaved. He threw down the tool of her punishment. He approached her and loosened the tomahawk from his belt, pulling it free. Swinging it, he chopped through the rope binding her. She fell back into his arms. He gently wrapped them around her.
“I am sorry,” he whispered. Thunder handed him a blanket and he covered her front with it.
Her eyes opened a crack and her voice came out, a weak whisper. “Is that all you got?” She gave him a short smile. He picked her up in his arms and carried her. The people parted before him. They avoided eye contact with him, not wanting to meet his gaze.
He laid her facedown near a fallen tree. Folding up his jacket, he placed it beneath her cheek. The faint sounds of Jackson’s men eating, drinking, and hollering at one another around fires taunted them from the opposing shore, penetrating the island trees.
Steele’s men and women had no fires. They were wet and cold, tired and defeated. He sat down next to Tess. “One more push and we’re done,” he said to himself.
“Everyone’s gone. Gwen’s trapped in Iowa. Kevin hung. Ahmed and Macleod are missing, most likely killed by Jackson.”
She coughed. “You still got.” He leaned down next to her face.
“What was that?”
“You still got me,” she squeezed out. She groaned as she turned her head in his direction. “Even if you take me for granted.”
He bent down, giving her some water, and said softly. “We’ll get you cleaned up.” My only friend left and I beat the hell out of her.
GWEN
Reynolds Farm, IA
A fire crackled in the stone-encased fireplace in her grandparents’ parlor. Gwen leaned forward, studying the black-and-tan square-checkered board, her elbows resting on her knees. She gently let her hand settle upon a hard chess piece the shape of a horse. She glanced up.
Her grandfather sat across from her. His eyes were cool as if he’d been here a thousand times before. A smile quivered underneath the surface. She pulled her hand back as if the horse had bitten her. She studied him for a moment. He folded his hands in his lap impatiently.
“You’re lucky we’re not playing with a timer.”
She narrowed her eyes and definitively placed her hand on a crowned white piece. She slid it diagonally over the board and tapped a pawn. She put the piece on her side.
Her grandfather gave her a small smile and slid his rook into her white knight, scooping up the piece. Both of her white knights sat on his side of the board, one standing and one on its side in a haphazard pile of defeat.
“Check.”
She stared at the board. How could he have snuck that by me? She picked up her king and moved him over a single space. Her grandfather rubbed his hands together. He plucked his other bishop in the air and placed it on her side of the board.
“Checkmate.”
“Wait.” Gwen held up a hand. She lifted her king and shifted him up a square. The black rook took him on that move. A pawn blocked one way and his knight mated alternative squares of retreat.
She shook her head in dismay. “Pa, you always win. One more?”
Her grandfather checked his watch in the dim light. The fire was dying. He slowly found his feet and placed a single log on the fire. “But when the fire goes out, we have to be off to bed or Gram will be mad at us.”
“Of course,” she said with a smile. She tightened a blanket around her shoulders. The fireplace provided them with extra heat, but the furnace was no longer running.
He sat back down and set the board up again. She had always been the white pieces growing up. As a child, she thought they were prettier, and over time, it stuck. Her grandfather always had the black pieces. He set his pieces in a row, the small pawns up front, and the specialty pieces in the back row. He gave her a cautious glance.
“Gwen, you’ve always been too hasty. Remember, your queen protects your king.” He tapped the top of the queen with a weathered finger.
She followed along, setting up her pieces.
“She’s the best player of the game.”
Her eyes leapt up to his. His eyes crinkled in kindness. “Ah, and the most valuable to the king. The longer you keep her around, the longer he will stay in the game. Most of the time, anyway.” He straightened his back row. “Two rooks are probably just as good, but don’t be in such a hurry to get her in the game. Best to let your knights, maybe a bishop, feel out your opponent’s defense. Be patient.”
“I did beat you once,” she reminded him.
“You did. I didn’t let you win either.”
&nbs
p; The dry wood cracked and popped in the fireplace, sending embers up the chimney.
He smiled. “Shall we begin? White always leads.”
“I know, Pa,” she said.
“Just checking.” His brow furrowed a touch. “How’ve you been feeling?”
She picked up a white pawn from in front of her king and moved it two spaces forward.
“I’m feeling all right,” she said cautiously.
He picked up a pawn and moved it two spaces forward. “I know that yesterday was hard on you. You’ve been under a lot of stress. I don’t want you straining yourself.”
She moved her knight diagonally back from her pawn. “I’m not.”
He moved his knight right behind his pawn.
“Did Gram tell you?” she asked.
He was taken aback. “Honey, please. Tell me what?”
She rolled her eyes. “I told her to keep it a secret. Should have figured she’d spill the beans.”
Her grandfather gave her a knowing smile. “Your gram is leakier than a sieve.” His bushy eyebrows rose in mirth. “But don’t tell her I said that.”
“I won’t. You know, I didn’t tell her. She already knew.”
John shook his head in a knowing manner. “She knew when Becky was. She knew when your mother was with you. Hell, when she was with your father, she told me the next day. That woman has a sixth sense about these things.”
“Just don’t tell Becky.” She stared off into the fire. “All I need is her reminding me that I got pregnant out of wedlock.”
“Like a steel trap.” He twisted his fingers in front of his mouth like he was locking a key.
She moved her bishop out and across the board directly diagonal to his black knight, threatening to take him.
He leaned in. “So it’s really true?”
“Yes, Pa.” She eyed him, worried that she might be disappointing him.
A wide grin spread over his wrinkled face. “Wow, that’s just great.”
“You think?” Her voice felt small and weak like a child’s in front of him.
“What’s not to be excited about? More grandbabies? That’s fantastic,” he said, his voice too loud. Haley rolled over on the couch and she snuggled deeper into her blanket. The phantom blond boy slept next to her. He still haunted her, always lurking in the shadows of wherever she was.
Gwen gave a laugh and held a finger to her lips. “Shh, Grandpa.”
Her grandfather smiled. “The Rossolimo Variation. An excellent attack to the Sicilian Defense.” He slid his pawn up on the other side of the board. “That’s a good start.” He paused a moment, taking in the miniature battleground. “So I guess I can run Jake off then?”
Gwen glanced away. “Please don’t.”
She slipped her white bishop over a square and took his knight and he quickly took her bishop with his pawn.
He set the piece on the side of the board. “He’s not the father. He shouldn’t be coming ’round these parts if you’re bearing the child of another man. You can’t be running around town with every Tom, Dick, and Harry. It ain’t right for neither of ya.”
She pushed a pawn up from her back row creating a diagonal chain of pawns in defense. “Just don’t.”
“It ain’t right to be feeling another man while you carry somebody else’s.”
“I know that.” Her voice came out sterner than she would have liked. She peered back at the dancing flames in the fireplace. “Jake just reminds me of home. Like you and Gram.”
He nodded. “You’ll always have a home here, but remember, home is where your heart is. If it’s not with Jake, then don’t be with him. He’s a decent man. I think he’d treat you well, but I can tell your heart isn’t with him.” His fingers touched his bishop and moved it a single space.
“Thanks, Pa.”
“You know, your grandma wasn’t the only lady in my life.” He paused, letting her absorb his information.
Gwen’s eyes widened. “There was somebody before Gram?”
Grandpa Reynolds nodded. “Beverly Henkins. A real looker too.”
Gwen gave him a disbelieving frown. “No. I thought you dated Gram since high school.”
He gave her a mischievous smirk. “We did, with a short break.”
“Short break?” Gwen’s eyebrows shot up on her forehead.
“Not my idea, Gwenna.”
Gwen set her pawn back on the board. “Wait, Gram didn’t want to date?”
Her grandfather’s bushy eyebrows twitched. “Taking a break, I think you kids call it.”
Gwen laughed, a smile settling on her lips. “I’ve heard of it.”
“But I met Bev at a roller rink over in Burlington. We skated the night away,” he said with a far-off gaze. He leaned back, his chair creaking. “We even kissed on the first date. For back then, that was fast.”
He nodded his head, impressed with himself.
Gwen laughed. “What’d she look like?”
“Curly brown hair. Stunning blue eyes. Not as pretty as Lydia. But she would make men’s heads turn.”
“What happened?”
“Well, over time, my heart wasn’t in it because mine never really left your gram. I came back to Lydia and begged for her back. She wasn’t quite ready but I waited until one day I came home from work and my Mama said Lydia had called. Didn’t even call her back. Jumped in the shower and then drove to town as fast as my old pickup would take me.”
“Why?”
Her grandfather laughed a bit. “Because she was my heart and I was hers. We only needed a little time apart to see that.” He blinked his eyes, caught up in his story. He pointed to his chest. “Your heart knows. Your mind will try and make sense of it, but the heart always knows.”
Gwen scooped a tear from the corner of her eye. Hearing her grandfather talk about how much he loved her grandmother touched her soul and made her ache for Mark. She sniffled.
“I wasn’t trying to make ya cry, sweetheart.”
She sighed. “I know, Pa, but you made me remember everything I love about Mark.”
As they had talked, the fire died low. They sat in the almost totally dark room. She could only see the gray outline of one of the greatest men in her life.
“I know he’s your man,” Grandpa said with a nod. His fingers stopped. “But I have to say, check!” His fingers left a rook in line with her king.
She studied her pieces. Her white soldiers had dwindled, one of her knights and bishops lay slain off to the side, but her queen was still on the board. She tapped it with her fingers before she brought it diagonally and swiped his black rook.
His eyes grew wide. His jaw dropped open a bit. He knew what was coming.
“Checkmate,” she said.
He stared at his pieces and brought a speckled hand to the top of his head and scratched. “Would ya’ look at that.” He folded his other arm over his chest, using it to prop up the one holding his head up. He pointed from one move to the other, trying to figure out how he got bested at his own game.
She let a smile curve her lips up at the corners, watching him.
“Pa, you’re going to have to accept you’ve been bested.”
He held up a finger, shaking his head.
A loud knock echoed from the front of the house. Gwen stood up and released her Glock from her hip holster. Her grandfather used his chair arms to help himself up, the chair protesting the entire way. He hobbled over to his shotgun sitting in the corner.
“Gwen, it’s me,” a man shout-whispered.
Her grandfather pointed his shotgun at the door.
“Who is it?” he grumbled at the door.
“Hank. We got a problem.”
Gwen put a hand on her grandfather’s sleeve. “Pa, it’s okay.”
He lowered his gun with a nod and she opened the door.
Hank stood awkwardly, holding his hunting rifle in both hands. He bounced from foot to foot in nervousness. He ripped open the screen door.
“We found Steele’s g
roup. It’s bad.” He looked back out into the night as if he heard something.
“No need to yell, son. Come in,” Pa said.
Hank stepped inside. “Take a seat and tell me exactly what happened.” She waved him into the parlor. Pa walked to the fire and bent over gingerly, tossing a log on the dying flames. He poked at the hot embers with a black iron poker like he was in a duel. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks,” he said, looking at Gwen.
“What happened?”
Hank gulped, his skin hanging relatively loose around his chin. His belly had rapidly shrunk since she’d known him.
“Me and Chase were tracking the convoy down the river.” He paused to catch his breath.
“And?” Gwen said.
“Colonel Jackson caught up to them.”
“What do you mean? Like a portion of his followers?”
“It looked like the entirety of his forces. We couldn’t tell from so far away, but Steele’s group got pushed onto some island out in the Mississippi. There’s no way off. They’re trapped.”
Her grandfather’s eyebrows pushed together in the center of his head. He clamped his mouth shut, not knowing what to say.
“About how far away?” John asked.
“The river bends, ’bout two miles down the road?” Hank said.
“Sounds like Harlem Island. Only a mile or so by water. Filthy swampy island filled with mosquitos all summer. This is not good.”
“What do we do?” Hank said excitedly.
Gwen stared at the chessboard. The white queen stood tall on the board across from the white king. The black king lay on its side, effectively checkmated.
“Pa, let’s get the horses saddled. I’ve got some house calls to make.”
“It’s late to be a callin’ on folk.”
“We’re in our darkest hour.” She turned back to her grandfather. “Not everyone agrees with the mayor. They’ll listen.”
Grandpa Reynolds frowned. “What’s your plan?”
She stared at the tan-and-black checkered board. The flames leapt in the background, reflecting the glossy chess battlefield with fire. “It’s like you’ve always taught me. A queen always protects her king.”
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 34