by Hilari Bell
Many of those drivers had abandoned their vehicles, taking advantage of a small park, with benches and a stream, that had been built to showcase the big WELCOME TO ALASKA sign.
That welcoming sentiment was somewhat diminished by the twelve-foot steel-ribbed fence that ran downhill on the stream side and up the hillside to the right, continuing out of sight in both directions.
Two cars pulled in behind Kelsa before the bikers rolled decorously around the curve and took their place in line. Clearly they'd known where the border station was. Had they used the time to ditch their weapons? And where were the other three? Out burying their drug stash in a place that could be reached from the Alaska side of the border? Or were they already on the other side, waiting for her to cross?
Raven had been wrong. Recharging the battery with solar sheets had cost them too much time.
"Hello, bitch." Kelsa jumped, but the low, fierce voice didn't come from behind her. It came from the small screen on the bike's display. "Punch the contact button. We need to talk."
It made sense for the gang to have a bike-to-bike com system. It probably had a feed in their helmets as well. Kelsa looked at the bikers, two cars back. Several had taken off their helmets, like good citizens enjoying the sun that had broken through the shifting clouds.
The one who was looking down at his display was the redhead who'd accosted her at the Woodland Café.
Kelsa's stomach knotted, but they were all locked in by other cars, surrounded by witnesses, and under the omnipresent gaze of the grid—a grid whose cameras were probably being watched by border agents. She would never be safer than she was now. She punched the "com on" button.
"What do you want to talk about?"
The camera's tiny lens distorted his face, making the nose more prominent and the ears recede. The puffy brown patches of fresh burns showed starkly against his pale skin.
She winced, and he must have seen it, for he grinned nastily.
"Yeah, you got me good. So you can't be feeling you owe me any dirt, right? If anything, you owe me a favor."
He was trying to sound friendly, but his voice lingered on the word favor in a way that made her skin crawl.
"What kind of favor? And what makes you think I owe you anything? I was defending myself. Creep."
It was only bravado, but it made her feel better, even though his expression didn't change.
"Now that's where you're wrong. You've got something that belongs to us, and we want it back."
"That big leather bag?" Kelsa's thoughts raced. "What's in it? Drugs?"
Could she trade them the bag, and keep them on this side of the border?
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he realized that she couldn't have gotten through the DNA-locked seal. She wouldn't have, without Raven's creative destruction.
"None of your business what's in it. It's ours, and we want it back. Drugs won't go through the scanners, so you don't want to be carrying it yourself."
That much was true. The cash and the gun would go through, but Kelsa's expression would certainly give her away to a customs guard trained to watch for people with a guilty conscience.
"Just bring it back to us," the redhead wheedled. "And we'll take it, turn around, and go. You'll never see us again. Promise."
It sounded like a lie, but she couldn't be certain. Even if he meant what he said, would Raven's enemies release their human tools now that they had the medicine bag within their grasp?
"Where are the others?" Kelsa asked suddenly.
"What others?" He hadn't expected this question, and his eyes slipped aside. He was lying. He was lying, and he knew it. The others might still be hiding the drugs, but there was an excellent chance they were waiting for her on the Alaska side of the border.
Cold dread gripped Kelsa's heart. She wouldn't be able to get away. Not from the bikers. Certainly not from Raven's enemies, if they could track the pouch she carried.
She wanted to heal the world; she didn't want to die for it.
"The guys who were with you at the lake," Kelsa said. She needed time to think. "There were nine of you. Where are the other three?"
"Just taking care of business," he said mildly. "Our business. Don't worry about them. You know we can't let you get away with robbing us, bi—uh, girl. You gotta give the bag back."
"I could turn it over to the border guards," Kelsa said. "And tell them how I got it."
His narrow face brightened with what looked like a real grin. "Well, if we end up in jail you can tell us how to get out. Jailbreaker. How did you do that? It ain't so easy to get out of the slam once you get in."
He sounded genuinely curious, and not at all frightened. He was right. She didn't dare approach the authorities. That would put an end to her quest as surely as if the bikers killed her.
"I'll think about it." Kelsa cut the connection. Her face felt cold despite the sun. Her hands shook.
She'd promised Raven to get the medicine pouch over the border. To finish what she'd started.
But if she crossed the border the bikers would be waiting. And even if she could elude them, Raven's enemies would sense her magic. She might be able to keep ahead of them till Raven caught up with her, but he couldn't defeat all of them. The ice had proved that. Sooner or later, his enemies would win and the quest would end.
No, her quest would end. Just as Atahalne's quest had ended long ago. It was her magic, not the pouch alone their enemies were tracking. All Raven needed was the medicine bag and a human, any human, who was stupid enough, desperate enough, strong enough to see the truth and take up their duty. It only had to be a human. It didn't have to be her.
I always finish what I start.
Raven was counting on her to finish. The bikers were counting on her to try to finish. To give back their cash and go racing across the border into their trap. Raven's enemies were counting on her to try. And die.
What if she did something no one expected?
The bottom of her stomach dropped away as if she were stepping off a cliff, but Kelsa got off the bike and opened the storage compartment.
She brought out the big satchel. The weight of its load pulled the slit together. It looked more like a fold in the leather than the damage it was. Her heart was pounding, but Kelsa took her time, giving the bikers every chance to see what she was doing. She needed maximum confusion for this to work. Chaos and running crowds. They'd run toward the money, right?
"Hey!" A startled voice came from the bike's com. "What are you doing?"
Kelsa ignored him. Hefting the bag she set off, walking between the lines of cars toward the border station. Toward the border station's guards.
Several of the guards seemed to notice her. Or maybe they were looking at the person whose steps she heard jogging up behind her.
"Hey!" The voice was louder than it had been on the bike's com, and angrier. "What are you doing with my bag?"
Kelsa didn't stop until a rough hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. It was Redhead, and his burns looked even worse in person than they had on the screen. Kelsa no longer cared.
"It is your bag," she said. "And the drugs inside will have your fingerprints and DNA all over them, which is why I'm turning it in to the authorities. They're watching us." She nodded toward the guards, since both her hands were clamped around the bag's handles.
A female border guard had started walking toward them.
The gang leader followed her gaze, and his expression darkened. "They want you for jailbreak. You can't squeal."
"They only want to talk to me about it." She hoped that was true. "They can't prove I did anything. All they're going to do is deport me. You plan to kill me. I'd have to be crazy not to turn myself in."
He didn't even bother to deny it. An angry flush flooded his face as he reached out and grabbed one of the handles. "Give me my bag, bitch."
The approaching guard quickened her pace, but she was still too far away. A man two cars back opened his door, looking concerne
d, and she could see the worried face of the woman in the car next to them. The woman was turning on her com pod.
"No." Kelsa pulled back, letting the guard see her beginning to struggle, letting the cameras record it.
The soft click of a cocking gun was familiar only from vids, but Kelsa froze, staring at the biker.
Only one of his hands gripped the bag now. The other was concealed beneath it, pointing the gun at her.
"Let go or I'll shoot."
But his gaze flickered toward the guard, who was jogging now, and frowning.
Kelsa met the biker's cold eyes. "There are dozens of cameras recording every move we make. Recording your face. You don't dare."
She gave him several seconds to think about that, to realize its truth, before she let go of the handle he still held and pulled on hers, opening the slit in the leather wide and putting distance between them.
"Gun!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "He's got a gun! He's trying to rob me. Help!"
She twisted her wrist, flipping the gaping bag. Money tumbled into a growing pile, and the plastic gun skittered across the pavement.
Not everyone in the nearby cars could see it, but the guard did. She tapped on her com button, then pulled out her own gun as she ran forward. "Hold it right there! Both of you. Freeze!"
Kelsa let go of her handle and turned to run. The bag swung down revealing the gun in the biker's hand. The woman in the car behind the biker began to scream.
The boom of the shot almost deafened Kelsa; it wasn't at all like the mild bang she heard on the vids. She spun to look back, staring in horror, wondering where the pain was.
But the biker had fired at the guard, who had dived behind a car and was yelling at the people in it to get down.
Was Redhead insane? Every second of this was being caught on the net. Kelsa hadn't dreamed he'd actually shoot at someone.
But he had. Horns sounded, and people yelled and jumped out of their cars, running away from the shooting—except for a foolish few who were creeping in on the money.
Redhead looked back, toward his gang, his bike. The gun in his hand was a clear warning. Kelsa heard the hum of a swarm of bikes drawing near. She turned and ran, weaving through the parked cars.
Shouted commands were followed by shots as more border guards ran forward. If anyone got hurt in this mess it would be her fault—though she'd never dreamed the biker gang would be crazy enough to try to shoot their way out in full view of the net!
The penalty for possessing an illegal gun was ten years. The penalty for firing one was much, much worse. Thank goodness she'd refused to touch the gun in the bag! She hoped the plastic bullets wouldn't penetrate a car.
As a fusillade of shots rang out behind her, Kelsa dodged around a final bumper and reached the park where the sign welcomed everyone to Alaska.
She pressed her hands over her ears and dived behind a concrete planter, praying that everyone survived. This had gotten totally out of hand!
But she still had a job to do. Looking around, she saw that most of the people who'd been waiting for walk-through traffic on this side of the fence had taken shelter behind the welcome sign. At least, there were a lot of feet beneath it.
On the other side people were crouching behind whatever cover they could find—planters, benches. Who to choose? One boy, who'd taken shelter behind a tree that looked too small to protect him, caught her gaze.
He was clearly a full Native American, with cheekbones higher and broader than Raven's. His shining black hair was cut in modern wedges, and he wore what looked like a business suit and shiny black shoes.
No teenage boy dressed like that voluntarily. Someone's driver perhaps? He looked too young for that, but he also looked like someone who would understand Native American magic far better than she had. And at least she could be certain he wasn't a shapeshifter, because not even a supernatural being could have anticipated this!
Like everyone else, he was staring toward the gun battle. The shooting had stopped, and the guards were shouting demands that the bikers surrender, while the bikers were yelling for the guards to back off.
It didn't sound promising, but Kelsa had to get the boy's attention. Now. Somehow.
The planter that sheltered her was filled with dirt, covered by a layer of smooth stones.
The first rock she threw over the fence clattered on the ground several yards from the boy. He glanced at it, but he didn't look at her.
Another shot was fired, and the shouting grew louder.
Kelsa gritted her teeth and took careful aim. She wasn't good enough to throw anything through the fence's tight-spaced ribs, but...
The next stone banged off the tree over his head, and the boy jumped as if it were a bullet. This time he had the sense to look around.
Kelsa waved frantically at him. Once his gaze was fixed on her, she pulled the medicine pouch from beneath her shirt and held it up for him to see.
It took only moments to wrap the cord around the pouch. The leather was warm from her body. Her father's ashes were mixed in with its dust. She'd given her heart to completing this quest. But it was Atahalne's quest as much as hers. Humanity's quest. Humanity's duty.
Love and death and duty didn't seem quite as clear-cut to Kelsa now as they had a few months ago.
It was time to pass it on.
She threw the pouch over the fence. She'd intended it to fall at the boy's feet, even into his waiting hands, but the pouch wasn't as aerodynamic as a stone. It landed almost six feet short of the tree.
The boy's brows rose, questioning.
Kelsa gestured impatiently for him to pick it up.
He seemed to make up his mind all at once, scrambling to snatch up the pouch and then diving back to shelter as still more shots rang out—though that tree really was too small to protect him.
Kelsa prayed once more that no one was hit, that no one had died, because the bikers had created so much more of a diversion than she'd intended.
She was still praying, with her eyes closed, when the sound of applause and honking horns signaled the bikers' surrender.
The sudden relief sent weakness shooting through her, and her knees gave way, dropping her to the ground beside the planter.
The Native American boy was staring at her, curiosity and concern on his face. She made a little gesture of shooing him away, hoping he'd realize he should stay where he was and do nothing. The less contact between them the better.
In a few days Raven would track down the pouch, and a shapeshifting stalker would appear in the boy's life to explain. He would probably cope with it better than Kelsa had.
If the cameras had caught her strange behavior, she'd say she'd been trying to warn the boy that the skinny tree he'd chosen wouldn't stop a bullet and he should find somewhere else to hide. It wouldn't be any more suspicious than the rest of the story she'd have to tell—though when she added the bikers, Raven's wild creation almost made sense.
She could say she'd wanted to be alone, to camp and travel to get over her father's death, which was pretty much true. She could tell almost all of the truth about the bikers trying to assault her in the Woodland Café, and her escape.
She could say she'd picked up Raven for protection against the bikers, that she'd been afraid to travel alone. She'd tell the story he'd given her about making a pod call for him, and having no idea how he'd gotten out of jail.
Would she ever see Raven again? If he had any decency, he'd at least come land on her windowsill and tell her how it had worked out. He wouldn't. She'd come to like him, but she'd also come to know him, and that kind of human understanding wasn't part of his nature. If the tree plague ended, that would be her answer.
She could tell the authorities most of the truth about the bikers tracking her down—at a campsite, since the clerk at the cabins had seen Raven that night. She'd say she'd run off into the woods, circled back, and stolen one of their bikes to escape on. She'd come to the border intending to turn that bag in to the author
ities there. She didn't even want to go to Alaska. She didn't have any desire to go on healing her world, to feel the brimming rush of life-giving magic—
"Miss, are you all right?" The urgent question was accompanied by the pressure of a gentle hand on her shoulder. Kelsa looked up into the concerned face of a border guard and realized that her face was wet with tears.
"Are you all right?" he asked again. He carried a first-aid kit, and his gaze was already straying to the shaken people emerging from behind the sign.
"I'm fine," Kelsa said huskily. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Not that we've found so far. If you're all right, would you mind staying here for a bit? We're sorting this out, but it's going to be a while before anyone can move on."
"I'll stay here," Kelsa assured him. She rose to sit on the planter, and had just enough time to slide Elizabeth Stayner's betraying PID down into the dirt before the guards who were looking for her showed up.
"Would you please come with us?" It wasn't a question, despite the polite phrasing. "We have some questions for you, Miss...?"
"Kelsa Phillips." They'd get the information from her DNA scan anyway. And soon after that she'd have to face her mother, who'd be harder to lie to than the cops.
She wasn't just going to be deported, she was going to be grounded forever.
"Yes, I'll come." Kelsa rose to her feet, careful not even to look over the fence at the Native boy.
It was in his hands now. And he was probably the right person to finish this healing.
Her mother had believed that the hospice staff were the right people to deal with her father's death. Had she been right, after all? Wrong?
All you could do was the best you could do. No one could do more. And unlike the shapeshifters, Kelsa could change her mind.
"I'll come," Kelsa repeated. "And I'll answer your questions. I'm ready to go home."
* * *
EPILOGUE
HE SHOULD HAVE GONE ON. The moment the pouch left her hands he'd felt it, the dissolution of the energy song that Kelsa and the catalyst had created between them.