“Kole really wants Michael back, doesn’t he?” she said, and it wasn’t a question at all. Dietrich wished he could scan her emotional state.
Could it be?
Did she actually love Michael Cairne?
This could be dangerous. She could fuck everything up.
“Do we have a deal?” Dietrich implored, careful not to sound desperate.
Glancing casually at him, like a woman browsing a display in a jewelry store, she nodded once.
“Fine.”
It was all he needed—for now.
“Thank you,” Dietrich said, this time addressing the boy. “William, someday the men in your army will call you ‘General William…’ What’s your last name, boy?”
“Cairne,” the boy said meekly.
Oh, shit.
Offering his right hand, Dietrich’s stomach squirmed. William accepted the handshake, his face brightening.
“It’s a deal,” the boy said.
If Charlotte had been surprised at the boy taking Michael’s last name, she didn’t show it.
“General William Cairne,” Dietrich said, grinning falsely.
Charlotte abruptly rose from the tree trunk, forcing William shakily to his feet. Snatching the lantern from Dietrich’s grasp, she lifted it between their faces, as if to illuminate the gravity of her next words.
“He’ll be here soon,” she said.
Was it Dietrich’s imagination, or had that sounded like a threat?
“One more thing,” Charlotte said. “If you want this to work, I’ll need Selarix. Lots of it.”
A nod from Dietrich. “And you shall have it.”
17
Reggie had barely slept a wink the night Simon Keagan shared his story in the town hall. As he walked toward the Cold War Café for breakfast the following morning, his mind still spun with imagining how everything had gone down at Camp Brazen.
He was so lost in thought, he barely noticed a light rain beginning to fall, the drops like cold pinpricks against his neck. When he encountered William Casmas limping down the street, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it with his glove, Reggie’s hair was already damp.
“Hi, Reggie,” William said. “It’s raining. I like it, though.”
Reggie blinked a few times, then looked up at the overcast sky.
“Indeed it is, Will,” he said. “What are you doing out here alone? Where’s your mom?”
Standing in the middle of the street, William shrugged. He seemed suddenly dispirited by the implication he required his mother’s supervision. He rolled the baseball around in one hand.
“I don’t know where she is. But I guess I should be protecting her.”
Reggie approached the boy, flashing his palms in a gesture that said, Pass me the ball.
William tossed it toward him.
“Good arm,” Reggie said, catching it. “You’re a natural.”
William gave a meek smile. “That’s what Dominic told me, too. I want to play on a team someday.”
“And you will, too.”
He tossed it back. William almost caught it, the ball bouncing and rolling across the cracked pavement. The boy darted after it.
“Want to play a quick game of catch?” Reggie asked.
“Sure.” William jogged back to him. “But you don’t have a glove.”
“It’s okay. I have these things called calluses all over my hands. It’s when you use your hands so much for building stuff, the skin turns hard.”
William grinned. “Maybe I’ll get callis if I keep playing baseball.”
Reggie would have smiled, but he kept thinking about William’s words earlier. Why would he think to protect his mother? What could a little boy like him possibly protect Charlotte from?
They situated themselves at opposite ends of the street, then tossed the ball back and forth. William could throw, despite his awkward foot, but he struggled to catch.
“Practice will make you better,” Reggie said. “When Dominic’s not around—and even when he is—I’m happy to practice with you.”
William launched the ball so hard it flew over Reggie’s head.
“Nice one!”
“When Dominic gets back,” William said, “he can practice with us. We could be a team.”
“Absolutely,” Reggie said, jogging back to his spot. He tossed the ball. This time, William caught it. “See? You’re getting better already.”
“I guess.”
“Hey, Will, you said earlier you needed to protect your mother. Is she in danger? Protect her from what?”
About to throw the ball, William paused instead. Reggie was no telepath, but he could clearly read the sudden change in the boy’s expression—glum, whereas a moment ago, he’d appeared euphoric.
Something was up.
This time, when William threw the ball, it fell short. A half-hearted attempt. Reggie bent, letting it bounce into his hands.
“You’re only nine,” Reggie said. “Shouldn’t an adult like me be protecting her?”
William shrugged. “You’re friends with Michael Cairne, and Momma says…”
Another pause, the boy’s discomfort clearly deepening. Reggie approached him, then dropped to one knee and brought their faces to a level plane.
“What does your mom say about Michael?”
“Nothing.” William shook his head. “He was just mean to her once.”
“I heard that, too. What are you protecting her from?”
“Not her,” William said. “My brother or sister. Growing in her belly.”
Reggie stiffened. “Yes, that’s right,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable at having to deceive the boy. “She told me about that. And about your future brother or sister’s father.”
“Michael,” William said.
Could it be true? Or had Charlotte been steeped in a fantasy when she revealed her pregnancy to William? The girl wasn’t fully right in the head, which had become clear over the past several months. But she had no reason to lie about such a serious development to her own son—a boy barely old enough to do much with the information to begin with.
“Did your mom tell you she was pregnant, Will? Or did you hear her talking about it with someone?”
The boy squinted at Reggie, as if unsure whether this conversation—perhaps his even being here, away from his mother—was a punishable offense.
“It’s okay,” Reggie said. “If it’s true, then we all need to protect her. It won’t just be your responsibility, you understand?”
“But I’m her blocker,” William said. “Only I can protect her.”
“What’s a blocker, Will? Can I be a blocker, too?”
William shook his head. “Only I can. Because I’m like Michael. I’m tella…tellup…”
“Telepathic?”
His confidence restored, William nodded in obvious pride. It was no surprise the boy had telepathic gifts. After all, his own mother was a Type 2 talented enough to pull off an illusion so complex even Michael had fallen for it, believing Charlotte was actually her sister, Arielle, during the most intimate of physical acts.
But what was a blocker? He would have to ask Dominic and Louis when they got back. More importantly, he would have to share the news Charlotte might be pregnant with Michael’s child.
Delicately share it. Who knew how Michael would react?
“Well,” Reggie said, rising, “I may not be telepathic, or a blocker, but I’m pretty good with a gun. And I promise you, if anyone tries to hurt your mom, they’ll be eating my bullets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. With a side of bullet soup, and bullet ice cream for dessert. You feel me, kid?”
William chuckled. “Bullet ice cream,” he repeated, then he laughed so hard he had to clutch his belly.
“And don’t forget the bullet juice,” Reggie said, placing a hand on the back of the boy’s head to gently turn him in the direction of the café. “Now, let’s get some breakfast.”
The trucks arrived in a neat procession that eve
ning.
Reggie counted them in the day’s fading light, as they stopped beyond the guard towers and began to unload. Eleven trucks total, each carrying at least ten men in the seats and cargo holds.
Simon Keagan walked with him to greet the men. There were handshakes all around, though Reggie sensed most were still wary of the former warden’s presence.
Michael jumped from the back of one of the trucks. He gave Reggie a nod, but he mostly ignored him. Instead, he busied himself with unloading whatever precious cargo his truck had brought to Gulch. Peter and Eli jumped out after him, assisting as Michael took Arielle by the hand and gently guided her out. The boys then proceeded to carry a narrow bed lifted by Ian and Dominic at the other end. Midas soon followed, keeping his gaze on the skeletal man strapped to the medical cot.
Reggie hurried over. Barely capable of lifting a pale, veined hand, Louis Blake smiled.
“You made it back.” Reggie rested a hand on Blake’s chest. “You old scoundrel.”
Blake winked.
“Reggie Gunsmith,” he said, invoking an old nickname he hadn’t used in years.
Reggie’s eyes filled with tears. He blinked them away, then motioned for the boys to carry Blake into town.
“You could have parked inside,” he told Midas. “Would have made getting the old man to medical much easier.”
Midas shook his head. “The trucks are being sent away. Tracking devices. We disabled them best we could, but you can never know for sure they didn’t hide a few.”
“You’re all staying, though…right?”
Another quick shake of the old doctor’s head. “Half these men are returning to the NDR, to tell people what happened and prepare the way. They’ll take a few with them who have already expressed interest. Rocio, Sally, Fran, and a few other women volunteered to go before we even left. They’ll be safer in civilization. They know that.”
“And the other half?”
“Staying as protection. Until we can get everyone out.”
Keagan joined the conversation. “Are we ready?”
“Protection from Harris Kole,” Reggie said.
Keagan put a comforting hand on Reggie’s shoulder. “Word about what happened has probably gotten back to the Republic by now, which means by the end of this week, you’ll have soldiers and FSD agents scouring every inch of these mountains.”
Reggie pulled away, Keagan’s hand slipping off his shoulder.
“So, it’s over,” Reggie said, gazing beyond the fence to the peaceful town nestled in the canyon. “I grew up here, you know. Blake found me scavenging in one of the houses when I was a teenager. He took me in and treated me like a son after that. Taught me to shoot.”
“We’ll put those marksmanship skills to good use,” Keagan said. “I can promise you that. Come on, Officer Smith. Let’s unload these trucks before nightfall.”
Officer Smith.
Reggie liked the sound of that. Not as much as he liked those shiny AR-15s, though.
18
When Michael wasn’t by Louis Blake’s side, he spent his waking hours with Arielle.
It took him a few days to adjust. After the horrors he’d witnessed at Camp Brazen—both as a prisoner walking its grounds and as a wanderer in the Dreamscape, where he’d borrowed the eyes, ears, and memories of so many miserable men—Michael found it tough to shake feelings of guilt and shame at having made it back home, when so many others had been forced to suffer and die in that hellhole.
Arielle could now sense his shifting moods as easily as if they both shared a single consciousness. It had been that way in the Dreamscape; she and Michael had shared their feelings for each other, along with every other feeling in the human spectrum of emotion, with an intensity that left them empathetically linked afterward.
“Let’s go in the pond,” Arielle suggested after lunch, a few days after Michael’s return to Gulch.
Was it too soon for that sort of thing?
The sun had risen through a clear sky to heat the previous day’s rainfall, turning the canyon into a misty sauna. Wiping sweat from his brow, Michael tilted his head in uncertainty. He badly wanted to go, but…
“It’s okay,” she said, as if reading his heart and mind. “You don’t have to worry about them.”
By them, she meant the former prisoners, forty of whom had stayed behind to assist in Gulch’s relocation. The others had followed Keagan to New Dallas. This included several women and children—like Rocio, Fran, and Sally, who had promised to wait for Peter, Ian, Michael, and Eli.
“They won’t see us,” Arielle said, rolling her eyes. “Not like they’re really gonna care their esteemed leader—the Great Michael Cairne—is taking a dip in the pool with his girlfriend.”
Michael chuckled at the playful jab. “Fine, but only for an hour. There are a lot of trucks that still need to be fixed.”
Kissing him lightly on the lips, Arielle took him by the hand and led him in a light jog toward the waterfalls.
I’ll be at the pond if anyone needs me, he sent telepathically.
Peter, Ian, and Eli responded immediately.
Don’t get too freaky, Eli sent.
Remember the rest of us have to drink that water, Peter added.
Whatever, have fun, Ian sent, probably knee-deep in a truck or motorcycle engine.
Dominic’s response was bitingly sarcastic, as usual.
Public sex. So befitting of such an inspiring leader.
Shut up, Dom, Michael snapped. And no, you can’t watch.
Sweat pouring down their bodies by the time they arrived, Michael and Arielle quickly undressed in the cabin, keeping their underwear on to maintain at least some decency.
Relax, Arielle soothed.
I am, Michael sent. Promise.
And he tried, pushing away all thoughts of missions, battles, and the arduous process he would undoubtedly face when the time came to convince the people of Gulch to leave their home for some distant promised land few could even imagine.
“What do you think it’ll be like?” Michael asked. “New Dallas.”
Paddling her pale, slender legs against the warm water, she swam over to embrace him.
“Lots of fun. We’ll go out to restaurants, maybe to museums. We’ll go out dancing.”
“I don’t know about dancing,” Michael said. “I mean… It’s just that I’ve never…”
She splashed him. “You’re telling me you’re not afraid to walk into a prison camp, but when I mention dancing, you get all nervous?”
He wiped his eyes, smiling bashfully. “When you said dancing, I almost ran to my motorcycle. I’ve got a full tank of gas. You never would have caught up to me.”
“That’s not funny,” Arielle said, her expression deadly serious as she splashed him again. “You’re not going anywhere without me, so don’t joke like that again.”
“What’s wrong?” Sensing the sudden downturn in her mood, Michael swam to her, pulling her close. “I was kidding. I would never leave you.”
Arielle’s misty blue eyes studied his face. “It’s not that, Michael. I just mean that… What I mean is, you can’t leave me. Not that it was my intention to…” She shook her head. “I didn’t plan to put you in any kind of situation.”
“It’s okay, Ary. This is exactly what I want. To be with you, no matter what.”
“With us,” Arielle said, her gaze penetrating.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure yet. But… but… we might be a family soon.”
A sudden jolt ran through Michael’s body. He swept his arms through the water, pushing himself back.
“You’re pregnant,” he said.
“Well, you don’t have to swim away from me like…like I have some kind of disease!”
Her face crumpled. Spinning away from him, she began paddling toward the cabin.
“Arielle, wait.”
Michael chased her. She was a strong swimmer, stronger than he was—though, admi
ttedly, his body had yet to regain its previous strength after several weeks of poor nutrition at Camp Brazen.
Finally reaching shore, Arielle stormed toward the cabin, arms crossed.
“So that’s what it was,” Michael called, standing waist-deep in the water.
The words halted her. Letting her arms slap against her sides in exasperation, Arielle whirled to face him.
“What what was, Michael?”
“In the Dreamscape. I sensed it in your mind. In your heart. You were holding something back. I thought you were just afraid at first—afraid to let me in. To let me really feel just how much you might care about me. You’ve never held back like that before.”
“I was afraid. I am afraid—more now than I was this morning. Thanks, by the way.”
Michael stepped out of the water. “You’re not the only one. I know what it’s like to be afraid. Terrified. I’ve been afraid more times than I can count, but it was always selfish fear. Afraid of dying, of being tortured, of losing control and hurting others. None of those things scare me anymore. When I was in that prison camp, the only thing that scared me was that you might be alone in this world.”
When he was only a few paces away from her, Michael stopped. Arielle stared back. He could sense her curiosity as easily as he could smell the fragrant flowers growing in patches around the cabin.
“But I’m not afraid now,” he continued. “Not of you, not of having a baby with you, or even of dancing with you out in public.”
He raised his arms and spun around, both legs kicking up a light jig.
Crossing her arms again, Arielle’s lips nevertheless curled in the hint of a smile.
“So…” she drawled. “What are you afraid of, Dancing Man?”
“Nothing. Definitely not of being seen out here naked.”
Grinning madly, his hands flew up to the waistband of his boxer shorts.
“Michael!”
Arielle broke into a run toward him. Michael received her with open arms, embracing her and kissing her so fiercely her toes lifted several inches off the ground. As he spun her wildly, their lips remained locked in a kiss until the moment she realized why he was suddenly running, whisking her toward the water.
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