Crossroad (The Gunsmith Book 3)

by C. K. Crigger

  I opened my mouth. Closed it again. At the edge of my vision, Teagun hovered, looking—not worried exactly. More resigned.

  “Yes? You wanted to say something?” Hawkinson glanced from me to Teagun who shook his head. The policeman shooed Teagun away by telling him to go help the officer he’d brought along load the dead outlaws in the back of the police hovercraft.

  “Not me,” I cut in hurriedly, when his attention returned to me. “I have nothing to say. Zero. Nada.” I couldn’t seem to shut up.

  “Are you worried about what tales the girl might tell?”

  “Why should I be? Besides, she’s totally lost it. When you find an outlaw who’s missing one ear, you’ll understand what I mean.”

  His mouth quirked in a one-sided grin. “Yes. I’ve heard all about that. You’re not the only one the girl makes nervous, Ms. I collected Jennifer Bank’s body, along with the two outlaws, on the way here, thinking it would be best for the young woman if she didn’t have to face that scene again. They couldn’t wait to tell me about her, even if it meant confessing to their own crimes.”

  “I’ll bet. I can’t say as I envy you the ride to wherever you’re going,” I said.

  “As long as the prisoners remain quiet, she won’t need to know they’re in the back of the wagon.”

  “That would be a mercy.” A mercy for all parties, in my opinion. The policeman fell silent which made me a little restless.

  “Is that all you wanted, Captain Hawkinson?” I was confident I’d passed his inquisition with flying colors, without giving away too much. Without giving away anything. Congratulations were in order. Feeling cocky I turned, thinking to join Teagun.

  “My question, Ms. Irons.” His quiet voice halted me.

  Silently, I looked at him, warned by a wary quality in his stillness. Careful, I told myself. Here it comes.

  “Where are you from, Ms. Irons?” He smiled. “What is your birth date?”

  The strangest questions galloped through my mind. Like: Is it illegal to be a time-traveler? Like: Did one need a travel permit to be here, to walk through this empty land? Like: Did a certain age bestow new privileges on you or did it sign your death warrant? Like: Did they hang what they called brujas here? And, most importantly, what was this thing about mutants?

  My mouth, for a change, remained frozen shut.

  “To satisfy my own curiosity,” he added. “That’s why I’m asking.”

  I found voice, trying to laugh. “That’s two questions, Captain. But, I’ll answer them anyway. In answer to number one, I was born in this state. And I’m twenty-seven years old. You do the math.”

  He looked at me for a long period in which I tried to tell what he was thinking. “I thought so,” he said finally, and went to wake up the girl and load her in his craft. Magnetic lifters took hold of both the four-wheelers to carry them in as evidence, and when his patrol cruiser, or whatever you’d call it, took off, it resembled a flying junkyard.

  MY ANKLE HURT SOMETHING FEROCIOUS, though I’d tightened the already-snug wrapping before we started off across country once more. Walking yet again. Back to the tidy little camp I was almost ready to call home.

  We had two hours until daybreak, or so Teagun informed me. As soon as he dropped me off at camp, he was going to scout at the Crossroad. “Things should be getting pretty lively,” he said. “What with gang members disappearing every time they venture out. I’ll see if I can get in and get Petra to come out.”

  “You be careful,” I scolded. “Haven’t you had enough for one night? Haven’t you learned your lesson? Those goons were out to do you in. I think they knew who you were, too. It looks to me that for a hot-shot bounty hunter, you screwed things up pretty good.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “I didn’t know you cared.”

  “I don’t. The thing is, I’m scared to death something is going to happen to the Weatherby and I’ll have to stay here the rest of my days.” I knew that sounded awfully harsh. I meant it to.

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Yes,” I said, bald and in the open.

  “Because of your fiancé. Because of Caleb.”

  He remembered Caleb’s name very well, I noted.

  “Yes.” I could’ve told him Caleb wasn’t the only reason. The biggest reason, I agree, but not the only one. Plain truth—this land scared me. The dryness, the heat, the scorching violence of the people. All conspired to put the fear of God in me. Maybe I’d have faced these things with more equanimity if it meant being with Caleb. And maybe not.

  “Your pal, the cop,” I said, changing the subject before it became too fraught. “Did you know he was giving me the third degree?”

  “The what?”

  Shifts in the speech patterns, Boothenay, I reminded myself. And 116 years.

  “I mean he was asking me all these personal questions. Where I’m from and when I was born. I didn’t know what to say.”

  Teagun snorted. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I was born here and I told him my age.”

  “Then what did he say?”

  “He said he thought so. Whatever that meant.”

  Teagun moved ahead and kicked the scattered branches of a lightning-struck juniper tree out of my path. “It means he suspects you of having power. And, of course, he’s dead right.”

  “What’s wrong with having power? Aside from making sure it’s used ethically.”

  He didn’t answer, pretending as though he hadn’t heard.

  “What happens if you have extra powers, Teagun? Has anything happened to you?” I struggled to keep up with him, trying to see his face.

  Though he kept walking, I sensed a stillness about him. A secretiveness hard to breach. What a good thing for crickets, I thought. They gave me something to listen to while I waited for him to talk.

  “Clive took the girl, Sy-enna, in trade for you and me,” he said at last. “Because of her powers. He took her so we wouldn’t be questioned.”

  “What?”

  “In the old days, I’ve heard people disbelieved in the workings of power. Magic, they called the talent. Tricks, illusions. And they scoffed. Isn’t this so?”

  “Well, yes. But—”

  “It’s different now. The United States Commission of Provisional Government is on constant lookout for people of power. The government automatically assumes control over the power and over the people who have it. Every person of talent they find, young or old, is subject to governmental programming. If they catch you, you are taken into the state-run university for further education. You never come out.”

  Though he must have been terrified by this threat to his freedom, he sounded quite dispassionate.

  “Oh, Lordy,” I said. The idea of the government, any government, controlling my powers horrified me. I vowed I’d get home if it took every drop of blood in my body. I already knew I couldn’t live in a world such as he described. “And I complain about having it bad! In the 2000’s, you see, I can’t tell a soul either. But not from a fear of brainwashing or mind control. Or slavery.

  “My problem is that no one believes in magic. People would be more inclined to think I’m nuts and stick me in the looney bin. Humiliating. My family hates the power, you know. They don’t tell anyone either. And now there’s⏤” I stopped short of mentioning Caleb yet again, changing what I’d started to say into a question. “Are there many people of talent?”

  “Quite a few. More all the time. I don’t know why. No one does. That’s one reason the states want to identify and study us.”

  His story went quite a way in explaining the queer spell I’d had in the aftermath of the shooting when I’d wanted to turn the laser’s force on Teagun.

  “Sy-enna,” I breathed. “When I almost shot you, it was her putting the idea in my mind. I thought so, but didn’t really see how she did it.” I was limping badly by now, the wrapping around my ankle working loose. Stooping, I pulled the ends tighter.

  He stopped in mid-stride
, waiting for me to catch up. “I’m lucky you’re stronger than she is. I could feel death’s fists knocking on my door about then.”

  “Why is Captain Hawkinson protecting you?” I’d wondered at the strangely awkward relationship between the men before this. A stilted alliance that seemed as if both men were trying a little too hard.

  At this, Teagun grinned. A genuine, amused grin that stretched his mouth and deepened his dimple. I don’t think I’d ever seen him look like that before.

  “He wants to marry my mother. Thinks if he helps me, he’ll make points with her.” Moonlight winked from the flash of his dark eyes. “He doesn’t know it yet, but Petra has already made up her mind. The hold up is that she wants me settled before she leaves here.”

  “Settled.” I hesitated. “As in married?”

  His grin faded. “Yes.”

  “Why isn’t he here, then, helping you? I’d think he’d be frantic about Petra, but—”

  He cut me off. “Petra and I can take care of this ourselves. We always have before. Anyway, she doesn’t want him to know she’s a hostage. It’s embarrassing.”

  Embarrassing! I’d think that was the least of her problems.

  “Isn’t that what he’s for? He’s a cop, isn’t he?”

  “He has no jurisdiction here.” Teagun sounded impatient. He started walking again, one hand under my elbow. “And he’s more valuable to us if the connection is unknown.”

  This made sense. A man on the inside, so to speak. I fell silent, trudging along beside him until I believed he was properly lulled before I hit him with the big question.

  “So...do you have anyone in mind? To marry, I mean.”

  I was thinking of Maganda, and when he said, “Maybe,” as though by osmosis it came to me he was, too.

  AS SOON AS we hit camp, I fell onto the sleeping bag and, exhausted, went instantly to sleep. I’d gone beyond caring about Teagun’s activities.

  I suppose hearing the word “married” is what brought the dream on. Anyway, as I slept, I dreamed of home, of Caleb, and of my brother Scott, whose wedding must now be only days away. I knew that at home they would be fretting about me and the knowledge carried a terrible feeling of guilt.

  Look at me, messing up Scott and Sonja’s elaborate, well-laid plans this way. How could they ever forgive me?

  But I’m used to quarreling, then making up with Scott. And so, in my dream, I let this worry drop from me. It was Caleb I wanted—needed—to reach. Caleb who offered true haven. Caleb, whom I could find, if all went well, in dream-time.

  As I did find.

  He looked angry. He even felt angry in the way I can intuit at times when I’m dreaming. To my dismay, I felt his anger was directed at me. I tried telling him I was sorry about disappearing.

  “It isn’t my fault,” I tried to say. “I’m doing my best to stay alive and find my way home.” But with tired hurt, I felt he didn’t care enough to hear my message. His green eyes burned, his face was turned from me.

  As much as I wanted to shunt aside the memory, I found myself thinking of the feel of Teagun’s lips when he’d kissed me today out at the farm. The kiss had been pleasant. Not earth shattering, but pleasant.

  Great. So now I had this humongous build-up of guilt to contend with; a gnarly problem to be sure. Did Caleb sense this transgression? But I hadn’t meant it to happen. Nothing, and I say this with clear conscience, nothing I said or did invited the attention.

  “Caleb,” I called, aware of sounding like a terrified child. “Please help me. Please. I want to come home.”

  I saw a youngish-looking woman bending over him, a subtle, but clear invitation in the flick of her long, made-up lashes, and the set of her full lips. She was handing him a drink—Wild Turkey Rare Breed Kentucky whiskey. She wore a uniform, crisp and fresh. Her hips swayed as she walked away, passing from sight down a narrow isle.

  An airplane! They were aboard an airplane. Why, or perhaps I should ask where, in the world was he going? He hadn’t mentioned that he needed to travel. Didn’t he care at all if I came to grief in this terrifying future world?

  “Caleb!” His name burst from my throat, waking me from a suffocating sleep. I knew he didn’t see me, maybe didn’t want to see me. My cheeks dripped with tears; my heart felt like a chunk of solid stone in my chest, and I opened my eyes to the sight of a haggard-faced Teagun Dill glaring down at me.

  “Get up,” he said. “More of those bastards have pulled in at the hotel.”

  MY ANKLE HAD SWOLLEN, the puffiness extending all the way to my toes. It ached miserably, throbbing in synch with every beat of my heart. I tried to pretend this was the pain causing my tears. Teagun didn’t buy the story.

  “I heard you say his name,” he said. “Caleb again. What’s the matter? What was happening?”

  I didn’t answer, though if I had, I would have told him to mind his own business. Instead, I forced my Reebok, shoestring removed, over my distended foot and rewrapped the ankle with an elastic bandage. When I raised my face again, the heat had dried my tears to nothing more than a trace of salt in the corners of my eyes. I was resolute about letting any more fall. I just wouldn’t. After all, I never cry.

  Well, hardly ever.

  “How many more outlaws?” I asked on a note of resignation. “And what do you want me to do?”

  My simple question served to put a brake on his fury. He slumped, his shoulders drooping, onto the storage chest with his head clasped between his hands. He was a picture of despair if I’ve ever seen one. Title of it: Portrait of male, hot and tired. That fit.

  “Ah, hell. I don’t know what to do. Two more drove in about ten minutes ago. Only two, I guess. So far. Get rid of one rodent and up pops another.” His fist slammed into the side of the chest, until the plastic was in danger of shattering.

  “Here,” I said, hoping to divert his anger. “Let me get you a drink of water. You look like you could use something cool and wet. A quart of Coors would go down real smooth about now, I’ll betcha.”

  “A quart of Coors? What’s that?”

  “Beer.” I sighed. I kept forgetting that a century separated us, which made a short explanation necessary ever so often. “You drink beer, don’t you? Listen, Teagun, two outlaws isn’t so bad, is it? Looks like they’re slowing down. We’re still better off than we were yesterday.”

  “Humph,” he growled.

  The tone of his reply gave me pause. “Aren’t we?”

  “Yeah. Sure. We’re a couple up.”

  As I brought him water, getting a drink for myself whilst I was at it,

  I finally pried my eyes fully open. It was no wonder I felt so rocky. I hadn’t been asleep for more than an hour or two. The daylight had that early-in-the-day look to me, and I wondered what Teagun had been doing, running around in the heat.

  “What time is it, Teagun? Have you had any sleep at all?” In my own ears I sounded a little short—both of sleep and of temper.

  He rolled his shoulders in that Gallic throwaway motion. “I slept yesterday, remember, when we were waiting for Clive. Anyway, what difference does it make? I’m awake now.”

  I yawned. “So am I. You hungry?”

  He said no, but I fed him anyway, and let him tell me about the two who’d checked in at the hotel as we ate. They’d arrived at dawn. He’d found their files stored in his Bounty-Line program, which he keyed up on his wrist com for me to see. Both the man and the woman had large raised scars on their jaw line, in about the same place Baldy had cut me with the oscillator knife.

  “Is this a kinky kind of ritual scarring thing these outlaws do?” I asked, frowning and fingering the healing cut on my own jaw. “Mark both themselves and their victims?”

  Teagun almost laughed. “Not hardly. Lifer criminals are stamped with a code number when they’re incarcerated. It tells their criminal history. The scar you see is where they had the tattoo cut out. A sloppy, amateur job as in most cases. I think they tried to erase the documentation with an oscil
lator.”

  “Ugh. Lovely people you have around here. Looks like I owe you one for making sure I don’t have a scar like that. Thanks.”

  He seemed embarrassed by my gratitude, so I rushed on with the next item, out of a dozen or so that was bothering me. “You called the outlaws lifers. Looks to me like they’re out of jail and free as the wind. Does this mean they were legally freed, or does it mean they escaped from their prison?”

  Gently he tapped his wrist com, saying, “They wouldn’t show up here if they’d been freed, Boothenay.”

  “Wonderful! That’s what I thought you were going to say. Here,” I pulled on his arm to try and see his com. “What did they do. Let me read this.”

  But he pulled his arm away and bobbed his head in denial. “Knowing will only make things worse. Trust me.”

  He ought to have known nothing in this world could have intrigued me more, or made me more determined to discover the truth, than those two sentences.

  CHAPTER 14

  I understood Teagun’s need to push events to a conclusion. His impatience, distress, and the pent-up anger over his mother’s ordeal grew with every hour we had to sit and wait. Wait for darkness, wait for the proper karma, wait for a break. The list seemed endless. And to make a bad situation worse, he hadn’t had a signal from Petra via his wrist com since yesterday morning. I know he was beginning to think of the coming operation as an act of vengeance rather than a rescue. Strike a match, I thought, and he’d burst into flame.

  Twilight found us hiking to our now-familiar pile of rocks to spy on the hotel once again. Teagun walked silently, absorbed in his worries. I had my work cut out in trying to keep up. My ankle was better, a condition I didn’t want to compromise.

  I had on my blue Revos. The hood of the burnoose hid my hair and shaded my pale face from the sun’s last brilliance as it slid down the western horizon. I kept my hands concealed inside the folds of the cloak.

  Impelled by the exertion, sweat started. In my hairline to begin with, before spreading to drip down my back and chest. Walking in that heat was like running into a wall. The temperature must still have stood at the century mark, with no sign of the comparative cool nightfall usually brought. In my opinion, Teagun was crazy to be out in this, no matter how much he fretted. And I was equally as crazy for going along with him.