by Toby Neal
Cash kept his eyes on Missing Tooth’s face. “I like to know the names of men I kill.”
The man guffawed. “You can pray to Angel in a few minutes, if you like.”
“Now there’s a misnomer.”
Angel ignored the insult as he set his pistol down slowly. Cash lowered his knives, laying his big Buck skinning knife and the butterfly blade on the worn wooden floor.
Cash tracked the other two men. One wore red boots, and the other an orange down hunting vest patched with silver duct tape. Red Boots encouraged Angel, “Give him hell, man. You got this.”
Orange Vest chimed in, “After you take Ken Barbie here down, we can cut his nuts off and show the photo to the Boss and Jolene.”
Angel brought his fists up into a street fighter’s stance, bouncing on the balls of battered work boots. Cash kept an eye on the other two as he and Angel circled. Red Boots put his pistol back in its holster, but Orange Vest rested his on crossed arms. Angel darted in with a couple of decent jabs. Cash let him land a showy blow that split Cash’s lip and drew blood, making the other men howl like wolves at a kill.
Encouraged, Angel rushed Cash, attempting to corner him. Instead of engaging, Cash spun away and leaped into a roundhouse kick that hit Red Boots right in the jaw. The man flew back into the wall, his head at an impossible angle.
Cash pivoted into a forward kick that knocked Orange Vest’s gun into the air. It flew end-over-end and landed behind the potbellied stove with a clatter. A spinning back kick connected with Orange Vest’s throat. His mouth opened soundlessly and his eyes widened as he tried to breathe through a crushed windpipe.
Angel dove for his gun, leaping across the room to where he’d left it, but Cash made it to his weapons first. He threw the Buck knife, and the heavy blade soared through the air and buried itself to the hilt in Angel’s kidney, dropping the man to his knees as his scream filled the cabin.
Cash grabbed Angel up by the hair and ran the sharp edge of the butterfly blade across his throat. He fell face-first to the floor, landing in the spreading pool of pumping blood.
Cash yanked the Buck knife out of Angel’s back and spun to face the room. Orange Vest’s eyes bulged and his mouth open and shut uselessly, while Red Boots lay still, Cash’s kick having broken his neck. Cash wiped his blades on a dry section of Angel’s shirt. When he looked back up, Orange Vest was dead.
He had to intercept Dwight and his gang before they reached their vehicles. He dug through his backpack and found another shirt since Sunshine wore his. He grabbed up his compound bow and the quiver of arrows, slinging them on.
He left the cottage, running into the forest. If he could head them off before they reached the road, he was pretty sure he could take the four men, including Dwight.
Cash ran with the ground-eating stride he used to track game, following the familiar trail back to the road. A glimmer of white caught his attention and he paused, kneeling by the discarded net used to capture Tiny.
Carrying the hundred-and-seventy-pound dog must have grown difficult and they’d leashed her, possibly even giving the lead to Sunshine. Tiny’s loyalty to Sunshine meant she’d follow the woman anywhere without a fight.
Cash ran on and reached the road without encountering Dwight’s band. Emerging from the trees, he cursed at the sight of two SUVs heading back down the road, accelerating. He nocked an arrow only to let the bow fall to his side.
What good was a bow against a truck?
He cursed, long and low. A good distance rifle could take out a tire and bring those vehicles down, but no, he had to have a hang-up about guns. “Damn it to hell.”
The adrenaline rush drained from his body and Cash sank into a crouch of despair.
Sunshine and Tiny were gone.
Cash didn’t know the location of Dwight’s compound or what the sick bastard planned to do with his girls. He needed intel and more manpower. And guns.
Cash spied a couple of motorcycles in the bushes, probably left for the men meant to kill him. At least he had a ride. But first he needed to return to the cabin, see what he could find on those men, and then go into Grimesville for help.
Cash forced his body into a run toward the cabin. Moving through the trees gave him time to think.
It was time for him to get over his aversion to guns.
He needed them in this situation. By witnessing the terrible story of Tony’s death and giving him a different perspective on it, Sunshine had broken the chains holding him back.
Fully armed, he’d be unstoppable.
For the first time, Cash wanted to give full range to his lethal potential. As much as he hated guns, Cash had still gone to the firing range regularly and was a crack shot. All of Paulie Luciano’s kids knew how to handle firearms, including Lucy.
Back at the cabin, Cash retrieved the men’s guns and searched their bodies for extra ammo.
He found a radio with text capability on Orange Vest’s belt. He typed out a message: Job is done, Boss. We’re bringing you his balls, but one of the bikes died so we’ll be delayed.
That should buy him some time.
Searching Angel’s pockets, he found a motorcycle key and a pocket GPS that had a pin dropped in a map of the hills about fifty miles away.
Cash loaded up his belt with three pistols and extra ammo. He took time to down a few protein bars for energy and drain a quart of water, then slung his pack onto his back and moved out, leaving the dead men where they lay.
They didn’t deserve the dignity of burial.
Back at the road, Cash inserted the key he’d found into the first bike, and it fit. He wheeled it out of the trees and cranked the engine. It started with an obliging roar.
Sunshine’s anguished face and haunted eyes as her racist, sick brother hauled her out the door flashed before him, the memory seared into his brain. Her courage and self-sacrifice made his chest swell with love and pride, even as he cursed what she’d done. Why didn’t she just stay out of the way and trust him to keep her safe?
“Hang on, Sunshine,” Cash muttered as the motorbike roared toward Grimesville. “I’m coming for you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jolene
The SUV pulled up to the entrance of the once-abandoned mining compound and the gate rolled slowly aside. Jolene’s heart beat hard as they drove into the courtyard.
Why had she volunteered to return?
All those guns leveled at Cash! The dark barrel’s evil eye aimed right at his heart had forced Sunshine into action. Her return meant Cash lived.
She’d escaped once; she could do it again. Jolene took a deep breath as they drove around the central square.
Men and women worked side-by-side, laying out tables and chairs, setting up a dance floor, stringing lights, preparing for a celebration. In a way, it reminded her of the work she’d seen in Grimesville, except for the clear gender divide.
All the women wore the same white dress that she’d awoken in. They kept their eyes down and moved with a wariness she recognized from her past: the cautious posture of the abused. Most of the men sported shaved heads, worn leather vests and faded jeans. Tattoos and scarification covered their exposed skin.
While Grimesville’s wet weather nurtured life—greenery, moss and mold—the Compound’s mining history left a gray dust that coated everything and everyone.
The SUV trundled over to Dwight’s private residence: a trailer set up against the mountain. Similar trailers dotted the compound.
Mostly people lived in the caves and mine shafts, but some preferred the trailers. Dwight divided the residences between men and women, except for married couples who shared rooms. The women served communal meals three times a day. Nausea swamped Jolene as memories of the forced feeding she’d suffered returned with a vengeance.
“Hank will be anxious to see you again,” Dwight remarked as he climbed out of the SUV. “Take that dog to the kennel,” he directed his men. The two soldiers in the back with Jolene clambered out and opened t
he trunk. Tiny, leashed and muzzled, growled as they yanked her to the ground.
Jolene covered her face with her hands, pressing against her eyes, trying to push back the tears that threatened to escape.
“Come on,” Dwight called through the open door. “Hank is waiting.”
Another wave of nausea rippled through Jolene. Hank, her betrothed.
She climbed out of the SUV. The gray of dawn fringed the mountains and the air held a moist chill.
Jackson, Dwight’s right-hand man, kept a steely grip on Jolene’s arm as they crossed the compound toward Hank’s residence. “He would’ve come with us to get you but had some business to attend to,” Dwight explained.
Jolene didn’t answer. What could she say? Please don’t do this. Please let me go. She’d tried begging before and it never worked.
She must escape.
The clopping of horses’ hooves drew her attention toward the gate. A man astride a sweating Appaloosa galloped toward them. He pulled up short in front of Dwight and held out a paper message. Dwight took it from him and smiled over at Jolene as he opened it.
“National communications are down so we’ve reinstated the Pony Express, one of America’s great institutions, invented by the white man.”
Which went out of business after only a year and a half.
The rider turned and galloped back toward the gate, clearly with more messages to deliver. Dwight read the notice and then passed it to Jackson who released his grip on Jolene to hold the paper open, angling it so that she couldn’t read it.
Like she cared.
Jackson slipped it into his pocket and nodded to Dwight.
“That’s how we found out Tanner Hillish died.” A voice came from behind them. Jolene turned to see Mickey, another of her brother’s men, striding toward them. They’d all grown up together. Mickey had spent his entire life following Dwight around.
“Hillish is dead?” Jolene asked.
Dwight gave a curt nod. “Dead, but not gone. His work lives on in all of us. We continue to follow the righteous path he paved for us.”
Since when did Dwight reference righteous plans? He’d never gone in for the religious ravings of Tanner Hillish, or the idea that God anointed them to release Scorch Flu.
A pragmatist, Dwight blamed others for his problems. People of color, immigrants and fools had all fucked up Dwight’s life. When President Harris began building the wall along the country’s southern border, Dwight sent Jolene a text: The white man’s time is returning. It will be here soon, sister. You’ll see.
Jolene shivered, remembering how she’d blown off that text as another one of Dwight’s drunken ramblings.
Would anything be different if she’d paid attention?
Probably not. Hate had really won this round.
“Tanner Hillish’s work does live on,” Mickey repeated. “And we still take his libation daily, don’t we, Dwight?”
Dwight nodded. “Sure. Why don’t you go do that now.”
Dwight had never taken the cult’s toxic brew of Chaga mushrooms and rattlesnake venom in the past. He’d always prevented Jolene from drinking it, too. As a pragmatist, he knew drinking snake venom only led to illness. But as a leader, he understood the importance of traditions.
She looked up at Dwight. Her feckless brother had blossomed in this new environment where anger, hate, and viciousness ruled.
Mickey left them and Dwight muttered something to Jackson, who barked a laugh as they started across the compound again. Jolene scanned the chain-link fence topped with razor wire that surrounded the encampment and spotted the section that she’d escaped through previously. Someone had mended the hole.
A sinking sensation made her steps heavy. She might not get away this time.
“Ah,” Dwight turned. “Here comes Hank now.”
Jolene’s eyes darted in the direction Dwight gestured. Her fiancé strode across the compound. Hank towered above the other cultists at six foot five, with broad shoulders and a thick body. His blond hair clipped close to his skull, the man embodied the Aryan ideal. Hank’s huge hand raised in a wave as he grinned at her. His ice-blue eyes smiled at her as if they were friends. Though they’d known each other most of their lives, Jolene had never thought of Hank as anything more than the boy who put gum in her hair and teased her on the playground.
The contrast with Cash was almost unbearable. Her Cash was brave and good and strong; he’d spent a lifetime regretting an accident. Hank never questioned the moral implication of his actions; he was a cog, a soldier, willing to do whatever her brother asked. Hank was the type of man who stood by and did nothing as evil engulfed the world.
Dwight leaned close to her. “If I were you I’d keep the existence of Loverboy under wraps. You wouldn’t want Hank to get jealous.”
“His name is Cosimo Luciano.” Jolene needed to say his name, to remember that he existed, that a good man loved her.
Dwight’s lips curled up into a cruel smile. “His name was Cosimo.”
Sunshine stopped breathing. Her mind spun. “What?” She hissed. “You promised.”
“That’s right, but Angel didn’t.”
Dwight held out a walkie-talkie with an LCD screen that read: Job is done, Boss. We’re bringing you his balls.
Jolene’s vision blurred and the blood drained from her face. The only sound she heard was her thudding heartbeat. He was gone. Cash was gone.
She felt split in two, like her soul and body were no longer one.
“There’s my little lady.” Hank wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her tight against his body, rough and repellent. His breath heated her cheek as he whispered into her ear. “I missed you. Why’d you run away?”
Hank’s bruising grip on her waist released the tears that had started building at her brother’s terrifying words. They slid down her cheeks and she did nothing to try to stop them, or hide them. She just gripped the walkie-talkie, staring down at the message, releasing the pain of loss that sucked at her, pulling her away from this moment.
“You’re so happy to see me you’re crying. That’s sweet.” Hank brought up a thumb and swiped a tear away. “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He leaned in to suck on her neck. Jolene cried out and pushed at his chest, revulsion moving her at last.
“Hey, wait until tonight.” Dwight yanked Jolene from Hank’s grasp so hard that she stumbled.
Hank stepped forward, his eyes glittering, but Dwight held up a hand. “It’s only a few hours till she’s yours, my friend. You two must stay chaste until you’re bonded by God.”
Hank grunted and stepped back, staring at Jolene’s breasts, loose in Cash’s shirt.
“Take her over to the women’s quarters. They need to dress her.” Dwight pushed Jolene toward Jackson. Jolene looked up, and Hank caught her gaze. He smiled and blew her a kiss. She couldn’t help but notice his knuckles, cut and bruised from fighting—or more likely, beating someone.
He couldn’t be her future.
Jackson’s steely grip clamped on her bicep as he directed Jolene toward the cave where the women were housed. He called to a woman stringing lights. “Sally, get over here. You’ve gotta help get her ready for tonight.”
Sally turned on the top of the ladder and grinned at him. “Sure will, Jackson.”
She picked up her skirts and hurried down the ladder, running over to them. She hooked her arm through Jolene’s. “You’re so lucky. Hank is such a catch.” She looked over Jolene’s head at Jackson, batting her eyelashes. “I just hope I become someone’s wife soon. I can’t wait to help repopulate the world.”
Jolene swallowed the bile that clogged the back of her throat.
The woman’s arm through hers made Jolene’s skin crawl. She looked down at her body, and Cash’s shirt. She fingered the hem, breathing in his scent, remembering his touch, his smile, the gentle rise and fall of his muscled chest.
How could he be dead?
Why would Dwight keep him alive?
Why had she ever believed Dwight would keep his promise? Some small part of her had still hoped that her brother cared enough about her, about human decency, to keep his word.
Her eyes fell onto the gun holstered on Jackson’s hip.
Maybe Jolene couldn’t escape, but she couldn’t stay either.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cash
Cash went straight to the boardinghouse. He’d barely slung a leg off the Harley when Maud came out onto the steps. “Where’s Sunshine?”
“Her brother and his men took her. I need help to get her back. Where’s Jeb?”
Maud hurried back into the inn, and Cash heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie as she called the town’s erstwhile leader.
Maud and Cash met Jeb and Billy in front of the old post office, now a crude jail and community center for Grimesville. The surviving man Cash had intercepted grabbing Sunshine was locked up inside the mail sorting room, a secure enclosure with no windows.
“That guy has given up some information on the skinheads who told them to abduct Sunshine. The leader’s name is Dwight Kane,” Jeb had successfully interrogated the prisoner.
“That’s Sunshine’s brother.”
Jeb nodded, his brow deeply furrowed. “From what the fella said, he’s moving into the position left vacant when the cult leader, Tanner Hillish, was assassinated.” He opened the door and led Cash into the former service area of the post office. A large table littered with maps took up most of the space.
Cash drew his brows together as he approached and looked down at a map of Grimesville and the surrounding area. “Dwight seemed to want Sunshine for some purpose. It could be just because she’s his sister, but I have a feeling there’s more to it.”
“We need to pull together to protect the town,” Maud turned to Billy. “Get that gang of yours in here.”
“Gang?” Billy raised an eyebrow. “We prefer to be called peace officers.”