by Perrin Briar
“Do I detect a Texan drawl?” John said.
“You do,” Siren said with a smile.
A genuine smile—the first in a long time. Something about this man seemed to draw them out of her.
A woman appeared in the doorway to the house.
“Dinner’s ready, John,” she said.
She spotted Siren and smiled. She looked around forty, with a thick black mop of hair.
“Who’s this?” she said.
“Siren,” John said. “And I think she’d like some dinner.”
Siren felt weak. They must have seen it. It was not cold yet, but her body temperature had dropped and she was shaking all over.
“That’s very generous of you,” Siren said.
“Well, she’s not foaming at the mouth,” said the woman. “Come in, before you fall down.”
Siren approached, head bowed, exhausted. John leaned back and snuck a look at his wife.
“I think we should be generous with the shower before dinner,” he said.
Chapter Six
COMPARED to the gypsy brew of the previous evening, the fare at the Caldwell Farm, as she learned it was called, was far more satisfying. Stewed chicken, potatoes, corn, with plenty of butter, salt, pepper, and best of all, no poison. She ate with relish as John and Jessie shared the story of their lives.
“Of course, the news from outside isn’t the same, when we hear it at all,” John said.
He was almost fifty, but well-maintained. He did most of the talking, while Jessie, his girlfriend, made sure everyone had enough to eat.
“To tell you the truth,” John said, glancing at Jessie as she brought cold iced tea from the kitchen to refill their glasses, “we never cared much about what happened out there anyway. The truth is, things here have not changed much at all.”
“You haven’t been attacked here?” Siren said. “Or robbed?”
“Well, just like always, you need a good shotgun,” John said, “but you don’t have to use it very often.”
Siren imagined how a single shotgun would fare against the packs of Raiders she had seen. The evening drifted into a glowing, pleasant numbness as Siren enjoyed the absence of want—both within her belly, and with the presence of others.
She looked down at the clothes the couple had given her. Oddly, they fit almost perfectly. In a white blouse and jeans, she felt like she imagined a normal girl would feel in the old days. Now she just wanted to drift into a long, deep sleep. But she would help them clear away first.
She stacked plates in the sink as John and Jessie spoke quietly in the dining room. She met them at the kitchen door.
“Tell you what, young lady,” John said. “You seem pretty straight to us, and you’ve made it clear you wouldn’t mind staying a while. You can have the hayloft in the barn if you want to—it’s warm enough—and you can eat with us, as long as you pull your weight and do some work around here. We could use the help.”
Siren felt genuine kindness in both these people. It gave her hope for the future.
“Yes please,” Siren said. “Thank you so much.”
“Staying in the barn is only temporary, until we get to know each other a little better,” John said. “It shuts up tight, and we’ve had no trouble with our livestock since the outbreak. I’ll take you out there now. It’s getting dark. We’ve an early day tomorrow—as always.”
As they walked, Siren paid attention as John pointed out the chicken coop he wanted her to clean the following day, as well as other odd jobs around the farm.
Near the barn were a number of wooden and steel spikes that had been installed after the outbreak to keep the Grayskins out. Bloodstains told their story. They had been used.
But there was another, more unsettling question begging to dive from Siren’s lips. Jessie had given Siren some new clothes to change into, a pair of jeans and a snug T-shirt. They weren’t in Jessie’s size, so who had they previously belonged to?
The barn door was solid, but creaked as John opened it. The smell that had led Siren to the farm was present again, stronger than ever. Cows stirred, but did not speak as their master led his new farmhand through.
Siren felt the ground soften under her feet, a moist mixture of straw, mud, manure, oil, and sawdust. John pointed upward when they reached the ladder to the hay loft. A horse snorted loudly as Siren began to climb.
“The company’s good here,” John said, “though you might find the conversation lacking.”
Siren laughed.
“I’m not so sure,” she said. “Better than a lot of people I met recently.”
“Thank you very much,” John said with a mock snort.
Once Siren was at the top of the ladder, John walked away, taking the light with him in the form of his ancient kerosene lamp.
In the hayloft, it was now almost completely dark, some slivers of moonlight penetrating the cracks of the loft doors. Siren used them to find a place on the floor where the hay was thick, and slumped down flat on her back, rolling up her jacket for a pillow.
She listened carefully as John closed the barn door and stepped away without applying any chains or locks. Trust. A dangerous trait. Siren’s eyes closed and her muscles began to relax. She took in the sweet aroma of damp hay around her. She might be itching in the morning, but for now, this was almost perfect.
Almost, but not quite. She missed Wyvern terribly. His death had forced her to grow up too quickly. Once she had so much confidence, so little fear. It didn’t seem to matter that the two of them were on their own, because they were together. Nothing would ever happen to her as long as Wyvern was there to protect her.
He had been present just when she needed him, and never too soon. He seemed to know everything, or everything that was worth knowing. Wriggling around in another girl’s clothes, she felt like a different girl, her life with him so distant, so different.
She had wandered since he was killed, and never seemed to have enough strength—that strength her brother had always provided. How far could she go without him? It was too painful to consider.
Her thoughts faded to black as she began drifting into the welcome arms of sleep. A pinpoint of emotion entered her consciousness. A new person. A familiar person. Danger.
Siren jumped to her feet, wide awake now, heart pounding, fists clenched. Pupils dilated in the absence of light, she watched and saw nothing but different shades of black. She listened intently and heard only the rush of blood through the vessels in her ears.
Then a floorboard squeaked in the corner closest to her. Something moved in the blackness, a gray blob. She backed up to a stack of hay bales, looking, feeling for a weapon, something. Then someone spoke.
“Don’t freak out.”
Siren felt her heart drop a foot and the blood drain from her face. She knew the voice. A voice from her nightmares. Slowly, the figure stepped into the moonlight.
Quinn, hands raised in a gesture of surrender.
“Surprise,” he said.
Chapter Seven
“NO,” Siren said absently, her voice full of fear and adrenaline.
She threw herself at the ladder and slid down it, barely slowing her descent and picking up splinters on the way. The floor of the barn hit her like concrete. Her head made contact with it at full force of her twenty-foot fall. She gripped her skull, eyes watering, nose running.
“Siren, there’s no point trying to run away,” Quinn said, appearing at the bottom of the ladder.
Siren tried to get to her feet, her eyes fixed on his big glaring eyes. Her splintered hands finally found grip behind her. She turned and burst through the big door. She found herself nose to nose with a large Grayskin woman, slack-jawed and staring. There were others. Many others.
They hovered, not moving toward her, not backing away. Siren leaped back inside and slammed the door shut. The cattle shifted, moaning uneasily.
Quinn walked to the door and looked through the cracks toward the farmhouse. A light had come on. John was looking through the window to
check on the commotion. Apparently seeing none, he turned away. The light went out.
Quinn stepped back and looked at Siren, shaking his head. She gazed at him with a look of fear and hatred.
“You don’t call, you don’t write,” Quinn said. “I was beginning to think you didn’t want to see me again.”
Siren came at him, throwing a fist at his face with all her body weight behind it. Quinn stepped aside and let her fall to the ground behind him. Then he smiled ironically, checking his surroundings.
“This reminds me of our last meeting,” Quinn said.
He saw Siren’s eyes moving from left to right. She was thinking, hard. She wanted to find some emotion in him to twist. He was ready for her, and held steadfast onto his thoughts.
“You remember, right?” Quinn said. “That other barn back in Texas?”
His look of superiority faltered. He felt a twinge of fear as Siren slammed against him, feeling like he was on an emotional rollercoaster. Just as he suspected, she was trying to use her power to Compel him. She had panicked, and thrown power at him, unmindful of the suddenness of the change.
Siren was powerful, but not as powerful as she could be, Quinn thought. She had a lot to learn.
“Not working the way you want it to, is it?” Quinn said. “It isn’t quite so easy when someone knows what you’re up to, is it? Fortunately for me, the Grayskins never have a clue. They just obey.”
Siren did not give up, and redoubled her efforts. The waves of Compulsion smashed against him. Quinn began to have second thoughts. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Maybe it was better to just leave her alone and try something else…
“Siren!” Quinn said with a grin. “You almost had me there!”
He shook Siren’s imposed thoughts off.
“Let’s just sit down and talk for a spell,” he said. “Like adults.”
He looked at her, seeing a young woman who did not give up easily, no matter what. She had not let go of anything that had happened between them, that was clear. They stood, glaring at one another for a full minute, not saying a word.
Finally, Siren sighed and pulled up a milking stool. Wearily slumping, she stared at him with eyes full of hate and fear, but willing to listen, at least for the moment.
Quinn joined her on another stool. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, interlocking his fingers in front of him. Not a moment too soon. Sweat was running down his face from the effort of keeping her power at bay.
“Now,” he said, cocking his head to one side as he evaluated her, “where shall we begin?”
Chapter Eight
“I DON’T blame you for not trusting me,” Quinn said. “I didn’t do a good job of explaining myself before. It’s my fault, really. I needed more time. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“Using dead heads as thugs is not a good way to build trust,” Siren said.
She tried to appear calm, but under the surface her rage steamed like a pressure cooker. She leaned back against a stall and let her hands fall between the slats. On the other side was a pitchfork, probably left by whoever had mucked the stalls out last. Given enough time, she could thrust it between Quinn’s ribs.
“I’m not an idiot,” Quinn said. “I know I can’t force you to join me, or keep you from running away again. I’m looking for a partnership. Hear me out. If you’re still not convinced, I’ll leave you here and we’ll say no more about it.”
Quinn searched her face for a response. She didn’t say a word. She slowly moved her fingers around the pitchfork handle, trying to keep her face blank and her mind clear, mirroring his words.
Siren did not trust Quinn. He’d once told her his powers of Compulsion did not extend to living people. Whether that was true or not, Siren didn’t know. She supposed she would find out soon.
Taking her silence for assent, Quinn relaxed a little and began to tell his tale.
“I’ve never actually told anyone this before,” he said. “Is it strange that I feel nervous? I’m not sure where to begin exactly. I guess I can start with when I became aware of my abilities.”
He looked absently at the roof fifty feet above them, as if picturing the scene.
“We were coming across the Grayskins all the time,” he said. “Just as everyone was. It’s always a struggle to stay safe and clear of them. Somehow, I was able to.”
Quinn put his hands on his knees and looked briefly at Siren, checking to ensure he had her attention.
“One time, I got separated on a scouting mission,” he said. “I wasn’t paying attention, but I felt something. Suddenly, I was surrounded by Grayskins.”
His eyes lit up as he recalled his anxiety.
“No one else was there,” he said. “I was in a stand of trees. There no branches low enough for me to climb. I had no weapons. We were low on ammunition and, being the youngest, I wound up not carrying one of the few guns we had. I had no escape. They were closing in on me. I just yelled ‘STOP!’”
“And the most surprising thing happened,” he said. “They actually did stop.”
He was looking straight at her. He knew Siren would have had the same experience as him, of waking up to these strange new powers.
“It took me a while to understand it, that it wasn’t my voice, but those around me I was hearing,” he said. “It’s very nuanced, you know, because the Grayskins don’t have much going on up here.”
He pointed to his head.
“In some ways it makes it easier to Compel them,” he said. “I began to wonder how long I had possessed this ability. My mother was killed by Grayskins shortly after the outbreak. Could I have saved her? Why hadn’t I tried? I could have, I’m sure.”
Quinn looked affected, like he might break into tears any moment.
“You remember Greer, my stepfather?” he said. “It was his view that we had a much better chance of having some kind of life beyond survival if we came together and formed a community. At first, though, we had the expected problems. Raiders attacked constantly, forcing us to expend many of our resources just defending against them. I could keep the Grayskins away for a while, but it was exhausting. I can’t Compel them when I’m sleeping, and I could only drive them away so far. At times there were too many of them and they overcame my powers, so we lost people.
“Greer always had a mind for politics and deal-making, but he couldn’t help our failing to gather enough resources. He made a deal with the Merchant, a mysterious robed figure.”
“You,” Siren said.
“Yes, me,” Quinn said.
“Why didn’t you tell him what you could do?” Siren said. “What was the great need for secrecy?”
“Telling, and then showing someone I could control the Grayskins?” Quinn said. “That would have gone done well, I’m sure. They would have thought I was a monster, that I couldn’t be trusted.”
“They would have been right,” Siren said.
Quinn sighed.
“I’m not a bad person,” he said. “Whatever you might think. I made deals with Raiders in the area, convincing them to patrol the area, keeping it clear of Grayskins during the night while I kept the area clear during the day. I need to sleep too sometimes.
“I invented the Merchant to hide my identity. There’s so much fear now. Fear of anything and everything. If I had told anyone about my ability, I might have been run out of town.”
Quinn looked at Siren, his eyebrows raised, as if wondering if he was getting through to her. Siren looked down. She suddenly felt like she was nine years old, listening to grownup talk. She was still waiting for the right opportunity to attack and make a run for it.
“It was a fine arrangement,” Quinn said, smiling a little, pleased with himself, “but really, I wanted something more. If I knew someone with similar powers, with the ability to control the living, I could-”
“Sounds cozy,” Siren said, voice sharp with sarcasm. “But one of your Raiders murdered my brother.”
She looked at him with dead eyes.<
br />
Quinn nodded.
“That was… unfortunate,” he said. “But Hell’s Angel, he’s not a Grayskin. I could not control him the way I can others. With your help, nothing like that will ever happen again.“
Siren’s grip tightened around the pitchfork. She was still waiting for the right moment to bring it round.
“Unlike you, I can’t control the living, Siren,” Quinn said. “I’m as blind to them as you are to the Grayskins. If I’d known how bad Hell’s Angel was, I never would have worked with him. But the truth is, not just anyone can do the kind of things the Raiders do. Only a man such as him could do what needed to be done when unwanted visitors, Grayskins or otherwise, approached us. A man without remorse.”
Quinn paused, giving Siren time to absorb the realities of running a community in a lawless world.
“I don’t condone what he did to your brother, of course, or his methods,” he said. “But I had to keep giving him and his crew what they wanted. Unless I could find someone like me, someone who could protect us while I slept.”
He looked deep into Siren’s still-untrusting eyes. Then a smile crept over his face.
“And that’s when it came to me,” he said. “I couldn’t be the only one like me. And a community like ours, well supplied, well defended—hell, we even had a school! That kind of community attracts people.
“Well, it worked. We grew stronger. But after years of waiting, I never found another person with the gift of Compulsion. Or if I did they hid it extremely well. And then you arrived.”
Quinn looked at Siren expectantly. Siren shook her head, as if he was looking for something where it wasn’t.
“Quinn, I can’t control Grayskins,” she said. “I can barely control people. Even if I wanted to come back to Whitegate and stand guard with you, I can’t. The Grayskins could care less what I want them to do. Speaking of which, isn’t Whitegate unprotected with you so far away?”
“They’re vulnerable right now,” Quinn said. “But I value you enough that it was worth the risk to leave them until I found you.”