Take and Give

by Amanda G. Stevens

  “I’ll be up in a bit,” Tatum said. “There’s things to talk over.”

  Austin nodded. So far, Tatum didn’t know they were without a vehicle.

  They found Brenner awake and claiming hunger. He fed himself with a slow but steady hand and didn’t leave a single bite. As Lee took the empty dishes from him and set those on the table, a smile eased the lines of weariness from her face.

  Brenner repositioned the pillow at his back and leaned forward. “Have you seen any Constabulary in the hotel?”

  “Not so far,” Violet said, and Lee echoed, “No.” Austin shook his head.

  “How far are we from the border?”

  Lee sat beside him on the bed. “We’re just into Oklahoma. I’d estimate another four hours, no more than five.”

  Brenner nodded, and quiet settled over them as he absorbed, calculated … sighed. “I don’t know how we’ll get there.”

  “Tatum will help,” Violet said.

  Brenner studied her a long moment, and Violet didn’t avoid his eyes. Her smile all but held words. We’ll be okay, Marcus. How had she grown so comfortable with him? She couldn’t know him well, not given the timing of her disappearance and his arrest. Brenner’s gaze traveled to Lee and flickered.

  “It’s true, we don’t know her,” Lee said as if answering something he’d said. “We’re also without options, and Violet did observe her assisting other fugitives.”

  Brenner nodded. “Okay. What’s going on at the border?”

  “What do you mean?” Austin said.

  “Well. In June …” His mouth crimped, and the quiet teetered on the edge of something. He cleared his throat. “Texas had been talking about leaving, but nothing had happened.”

  Right. The man had missed four months of news coverage. Austin had to stop forgetting that.

  “They seceded before July, I don’t remember what day it was.” Violet sat on Austin’s bed and leaned back on her hands. Her hair brushed the bedspread behind her. “Last week, the government was all about respecting their borders and stuff. This week, it’s like no one ever said that, and they’re still deciding whether they can go into Texas and capture fugitives. There’s a federal border patrol now to keep us here.”

  His brow furrowed. “They don’t want us. Why keep us?”

  “You’re terrorists.” Lee bit the words, though not at him. “A clear and present danger to peaceful citizens if you’re allowed to amass on our doorstep. Who’s to say you won’t acquire weaponry and try to claim America for God?”

  Brenner stared at her and hadn’t blinked yet when someone rapped on the door.

  “It’s Tatum,” came her soft drawl.

  Violet hopped off the bed and hurried to the door. No one spoke until Tatum had slipped inside and the door was shut again.

  “How’s everyone? Get enough to eat?” Tatum’s eyes darted to Brenner.

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  “It’s what I do, sir.” Her smile appeared and faded in a moment, and her hands swept her curls into a ponytail and held for a moment. “Now, here’s what’s up. You need to be out of here within the next three hours.”

  The stutter of Austin’s heartbeat must have reflected on his face as well as everyone else’s. Tatum held up her hands, palms open.

  “We’ve got a system here, an oiled machine, so don’t worry. When the border patrol got called up, a young man of ours—decorated cop, shot in the line of duty and God spared him—he volunteered to serve. Was accepted without question, if nothing else to fill a quota, given his injuries keep him from active duty on the force. This man is our weak link in their chain.”

  Brenner shook his head. “What happens in three hours?”

  “Eight, actually. He gets off work. They do ten-hour shifts. He won’t work another one for two days.”

  Eight hours. Four or five to drive there, so yeah, they had to be on the road in three at the most. A clock started ticking in Austin’s skull. They should leave now.

  If they could.

  Tatum gathered up the breakfast dishes with a smile that said why are you all frowning at me? “I’m sure it won’t take you more than three hours to pack up.”

  “We don’t have a car,” Violet said.

  “You … what?”

  Violet shook her head.

  Tatum’s eyes darted to each of them, seeking contradiction.

  Austin ground his knuckles against his thigh. Don’t be angry. But she’d just waved their greatest vulnerability like a bullfighter’s cape, without a discussion first, without … Chill. It wasn’t as if they could avoid telling Tatum.

  “We didn’t have a choice.” He flexed his hand. “It’s complicated. What matters is, we had to ditch our vehicle.”

  “Where?” Tatum set the dishes back down.

  Violet’s face had flushed the moment after she spoke. Her right thumb rubbed a frantic rhythm along a bone of her left wrist.

  “Not important,” Brenner said. Oh, so he was taking the lead? Fine.

  Tatum’s eyes narrowed, and she stared down at the dishes, tapping her finger on the edge of the fruit bowl. “Hm. I think I can get you … yeah, I can get someone to drive you within an hour or so, but … shoot. He has a pickup truck. Not room for five people including himself.”

  If another vehicle could be recruited, Tatum would know. They had to take this truck. In the pause, everyone circled around to the same conclusion. Austin watched it happening on their faces, one by one, Violet’s last as she lifted her head to stare bug-eyed.

  “Someone could hide in the bed,” she said. “Like we did before.”

  Tatum’s eyebrows arched. “Not a chance. Even if this truck had a cap—which it doesn’t—Danny would have to search it, or he’d look suspicious.”

  “So we have to split up?” Violet’s voice trembled.

  “I don’t see another way.”

  Brenner and Lee were already nodding. Brenner’s gaze targeted Austin, grimness tugging his mouth. “You and Violet. We’ll follow in two days.”

  “But—but, Marcus.” Violet hugged herself and hunched forward. “You’re sick. You should go first.”

  “Agreed.” Lee’s voice held an edge.

  “No,” Brenner said.

  If the man wanted to stay behind, Austin wasn’t going to argue with him. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’ll take Violet now.”

  “Good.”

  “You are the primary target.” Lee pinned her glare on Brenner. “And if hiding becomes necessary, you won’t be able to move quickly.”

  “And there’s con-cops everywhere,” Violet said. She shot a glance at Austin, frowned when he said nothing. “Come on. You guys know we’re right. It should be Marcus.”

  “No,” he said. He shifted his attention to Tatum, who answered before he could voice the question.

  “One cryptic phone call, and he’ll be here in forty-five minutes.”

  Brenner nodded. “Thanks.”

  Packing would eat about one tenth of that time. Then they’d wait. And then they’d set out, Austin and Violet, and he’d get her over the border, and then … Who knows? His entire life had become one endless, shadowed maze to be navigated without a map, without a flashlight, without even the assurance that Violet would be feeling her way forward alongside him.

  Brenner looked at him again, part challenge, part trust. Austin nodded, and Brenner nodded back. First things first.

  30

  Violet’s embrace tightened around Lee and refused to let go. When Lee tried to step back, Violet stepped with her. Austin stood in the doorway, mussing his hair with one hand, his duffel in the other.

  Perhaps Lee should tell her everyone would be fine, that they’d see each other again in three days. But they might not. Lee set one hand on Violet’s back, and the girl squeezed harder. Abo
ut the time Austin began to shuffle in place, she dropped her arms to her sides. Lee took a deep breath.

  “I have to say something to you,” Violet said.

  Lee tried not to react, but her lips tightened. If only Violet would walk away, but no, she had to try to evangelize first. Strange that for all her pushing, Lee still dreaded her absence. If circumstances did make this their last interaction, Lee’s life would be emptier. Evangelism notwithstanding.

  Violet gave a tiny smile. “I love you, Lee.”

  You … what?

  Another quick smile, a squeeze of Lee’s hand, and Violet turned away as if Lee’s response to that outlandish statement didn’t matter. Lee should say something, but what?

  Violet stepped over to Marcus and whispered, “Hey.”

  He sat on the side of the bed, his good leg hanging over, foot propped on the bed frame. His damaged leg stretched to the side, along the edge of the mattress. An awkward position, but a good sign that he’d gained the strength to sit up without the aid of pillows and headboard. As Violet took his hand between hers, creases of a smile formed around his eyes. He placed his other hand on Violet’s.

  “I have to tell you something, too,” she said. “Thank you. For letting me go.”

  Marcus nodded.

  “Thank you for showing me Jesus.”

  His grip tightened on her hands.

  “I’m glad and—and honored—to call you my big brother.”

  “Violet.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll see you again.”

  His words dug into Lee’s chest. Hope, assurance, trust—parasites all.

  Violet stared down at their hands for a long moment, then looked up and smiled. “See you soon.”

  “Or later.”

  She nodded, let go, and hurried from the room. Austin turned to follow.

  “Wait,” Marcus said quietly.

  He slung the bag over his shoulder and faced them. “I’ll protect her. However I have to.”

  “I know.”

  “We’ll meet up in a few days.”

  Marcus nodded. “Hope so.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other, eyeing Marcus.

  “I … I’ve got to know something.” Marcus coughed.

  “Okay.”

  “There was an undercover agent. Clay Hansen. Did you know him?”

  Lee’s body chilled from the center outward, ice creeping toward her hands, her feet. Undercover. A member of Marcus’s church.

  “Hansen?” Austin’s brow furrowed, and he ran a hand through his hair again. “He’s a civilian. Wait a minute, how do you know about—what do you know about Hansen?”

  Marcus’s hand clenched around the mattress.

  Austin’s eyes widened. His next words were hushed. “Jason made sure you knew, didn’t he. Who it was.”

  Who it was that … turned him in. Lee’s fingernails gouged her palms.

  “He wasn’t an agent,” Austin said when the silence threatened to asphyxiate. “Just a guy who’d do anything—literally anything—to protect his family.”

  Lee snapped her gaze to Marcus’s face and nearly missed the flinch. He blinked, and the lines in his face smoothed away. Hiding. But Marcus didn’t hide. Ever.

  Except.

  The day eight years ago when she’d told him she wouldn’t date him if he was “the last person on earth.”

  The day four years ago when he’d put his dog Tessa to sleep because the arthritis in her joints had progressed too far for her to walk down his porch steps.

  The day last year when he’d driven to her house in a blizzard to tell her he’d found out about her abortion and wanted to help her, and she’d slapped his face.

  This flinch was the same, this blankness was the same, and Austin couldn’t see it, of course. Didn’t know Marcus, didn’t understand what his words had done.

  “Anyway,” Austin said. “We should go.”

  “Yes.” Lee stood.

  “See you in a few days.” He disappeared after Violet.

  Marcus swung his good leg up onto the mattress and eased back against the pillows. His face was a wax figure’s, expressionless, and Lee was probably the only person alive who could interpret that lack.

  “Marcus.”

  He shook his head.

  “Clay Hansen—”

  The crumpling of his face broke off her words. She had to leave this alone.

  “All right,” she said quietly. “We won’t discuss it.”

  He nodded. In a few hours, he would be with her again. The wax, the shell—he never remained inside, only crouched behind it when some unexpected wound tried to bleed him out. She would never understand the care he felt for his church, care that gave them power to hurt him. The responsibility he took for them, the …

  Love.

  They probably didn’t know. He’d never verbalize it. He wouldn’t know how.

  “You’ll be all right?” Lee said, and he nodded again. “Then I’ll give you some time to yourself.”

  Another nod.

  Marcus, if I could make him pay, I would.

  She left her purse in the room, slid a key card into her pocket and left. Halfway down the stairs to the hotel’s main floor, she met Tatum. The woman peered up the stairwell, then down, listened a moment, and motioned Lee to the corner of the landing.

  “You said you’re a nurse.”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a woman who came in last night, your neighbor on the right. She’s got something wrong with her, but she won’t tell me what it is.”

  Neighbor on the right. A fellow fugitive, then. Lee quirked an eyebrow at her. “Her health is her own business.”

  “Well, she told me she’d talk to you. If you’re really a nurse.” Tatum tugged at her shirt hem.

  Being memorable to a stranger was inadvisable, fugitive or not. But if this woman was truly ill and couldn’t see a doctor … Lee trailed Tatum back upstairs, down the hall of beige walls and beige carpet.

  The hostess stopped at the door past Marcus and Lee’s and knocked. “It’s Tatum.”

  In a minute, the door opened. Lee slipped in after her and shut it.

  The room was a carbon copy of next door with one exception. The painting on the wall wasn’t a still life but rather a close angle of a dusty road. In the foreground stood an open gate, through which several sheep—some black, some white, some gray with black faces—rushed, hooves blurring with motion, into a lush pasture. Interesting art choices.

  “Who’s she?”

  The woman had already retreated to sit in the stuffed chair, arms folded. She wore a modestly cut, pink camisole and a plaid pair of lounge pants. In her forties with an average build and a brunette pixie cut, she stared up at Lee without any sign of trust.

  “The nurse,” Lee said.

  The woman slapped her palm on the arm of the chair. “I said I was fine.”

  Lee faced Tatum. “And I said it was up to her.”

  “Listen to me now, Debra, this woman is a fugitive herself, and she’s caring for—”

  “Stop.” The word snapped from Lee, too loud. “Debra, I apologize. It wasn’t my intention to force my help on someone who doesn’t want it.”

  She’d nearly reached the door before Debra sighed and stood up. “I know what’s wrong with me, and you can’t help, ma’am. Not unless you could write me a prescription. I have a bladder infection. It’s not the first one.”

  Debra listed her symptoms, and the localization of the pain as well as her other complaints suggested her diagnosis was correct. She wouldn’t get well without antibiotics.

  The medical bag on the other side of the wall became a magnet, tugging at Lee’s brain. I can heal this person. For a cost.

  Debra didn’t seem to have a fever, but if the inf
ection spread to involve her kidneys …

  Her life could be threatened.

  Lee excused herself. Tatum nodded too hard and tugged her shirt hem. Debra didn’t nod at all, as if convinced Lee wouldn’t bother to come back.

  She slipped inside and eased the door shut, but Marcus wasn’t asleep. He sat up in bed with the book she’d left on the nightstand. Not reading it, of course, but rather using it like a dumbbell, curling his forearm toward his shoulder. Lee picked up her medical bag and opened it on the other bed.

  He set the book aside. “What’s going on?”

  Lee opened the bag and counted the pills. They didn’t multiply because she couldn’t multiply them, and because God didn’t.

  “Lee, I heard your voice in the other room.”

  “There’s an ill hotel guest, a woman. A fugitive.”

  “Can you help her?”

  Lee’s teeth fused. No. She could not help. Not both of them.

  As if she’d told him everything—but maybe no real leaps were required when she stood cradling the Amoxicillin bottle in her palm—Marcus sighed. “Do it.”

  “You need to stay on this for three more days. You could relapse.” Her fingertips were numbing around the bottle. She pressed the cap end to her forehead and closed her eyes. Isn’t there an end to the games You play on us?

  “It’s serious, what she’s got,” Marcus said.

  “Yes.”

  “And a few days without a doctor could make a difference.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Could she die?”

  Lee tried to respond and could only swallow around a sour lump in her throat.

  “Give her the medicine.”

  “You’re not strong enough, Marcus.”

  “I can breathe. I can eat. Give it to her.”

  Lee hurled the bottle past him into the wall.

  He didn’t blink at the impact, but his mouth tightened. “I’m mending. Like you said.”

  “Look at you. Look.”

  His lips pressed tight to hide the wince, but his eyes failed to. He drew in a breath that shook his body, or maybe her words did that. He bowed his head and looked at his ravaged frame.

  And she’d wanted to throw Austin out of the room for saying something to wound him. Hypocrite. Still she couldn’t stop the words. “For once in your life, you should have done the sensible, selfish thing and gone first. I should have dragged you out of here if it came to that.”