I shifted my weight. And steadily, the blue-gray haze of morning filled the air, killing the stars and giving the world a misty feel. And still nothing.
“Maybe they aren’t coming,” I said.
Jeryl’s eyes were granite. “They’re coming.”
* * *
It was midmorning. The clouds were fat and bright and moving quickly in a high wind like they were being pulled on a giant blue conveyor belt. No sign of Immunity. Jeryl had brought some meat, potatoes, and goat cheese that we munched on while we sat. No carrots. Carrots were too loud.
I looked at the blast machine sitting beside him. Such a small, simple-looking thing. Two knobs, a handle that twisted. Twist twist twist, boom! As easy as that. I hoped it worked. It had been hidden away for seven years. What would seven years do to a machine like that? What would a deep freeze do? Would the dynamite even be good? Had he sealed it up to protect it? Damn, it wasn’t going to work, was it?
I was about to ask Jeryl about it when there was a flash of white wings from the trees to the north. An “Aaahhhh” echoed through the valley. It was a crow, a white crow, flying across the east end of the clearing. I watched it pass and, for just a moment, forgot what we were doing there, what was coming for us. I pictured that white wolf in his cage back at Immunity’s camp—his silver eyes. The world is changing, both Braylen and Jeryl had said. Then I saw Jeryl’s back jolt from bent to rigid, and I turned away from the crow, focusing north. A figure emerged from the trees, entering the valley, followed by more men—guns in their hands—and five horses. Almost all of the men wore the white star. A few were leading sleds, carrying bags that were probably full of ammo. There were one, two, three, ten, twenty . . . twenty-seven. Six against twenty-seven. My heart beat against the bars of my rib cage.
“Shhhit,” I said.
Jeryl’s gaze was locked in place. His hands moved to the blast machine.
The men drew closer. Inching their way toward the mark, closer to the dynamite. I scanned the opposite hill. Where were Jax and Ken? Did they know not to shoot till the explosion? Maybe Jeryl had already told them.
When the men approached the mark, Jeryl gripped the handle of the blast machine. My eyes were raw from not blinking, my ears straining to hear every last sound. Their feet breaking the snow. The horses shaking their heads at their bits. And somewhere, something clinked—two pieces of metal tapping gently together. Clink. Clink. Clink. Just a little farther. Just a little farther. Jeryl twisted.
Nothing.
The group was halfway over it now, the meat of the party passing the mark.
Twist twist twist.
Nothing nothing nothing.
The bulk of the group was almost clear. “Dammit,” Jeryl said.
Twist twist twist twi—BOOM!
The noise sounded like a mountain had fallen on top of another mountain. The ground shook and snow and dirt erupted. Two men went flying, spinning upward. When the cloud of snow cleared, several bodies were strewn about on the white carpet. Two of the horses had kicked off their riders and were bolting for the trees while the others were being hastily brought under control by their riders. Some of the men had been killed or were writhing in the snow, wounded. But not enough were out of the fight. Maybe only five. The rest raised their guns to their chests, aiming at the surrounding hills.
Then a shot rang out from the east hill, and one of the men in the valley dropped to the snow.
Jeryl grabbed his rifle and raised it to his shoulder. I lifted my bow.
Damn it all. It was on.
38
Guns snapping, horses screaming, men dying.
I nocked an arrow and set my sights on a group of three men. My arms were shaking. Shit. I couldn’t hold them steady. If they were moose, elk, deer, rabbit, whatever, I’d be solid ice. But these were men. If we didn’t kill them, they were going to kill us. I could still see my arrow, puncturing the side of that man’s head back at Immunity’s camp. I shot and saw my fletching disappear harmlessly into the snow. I pulled again, fingers to my ear, head up, elbow back, adjusting for distance. “Always shoot calm,” Dad had said. “Take a breath first.” I took a breath. Missed. Dammit. I was better than this.
The men had found us at this point and were firing up the hill. I spotted Anders and Harper among them, guns aiming, discharging. Bark splintered on a tree behind me. I scrambled to the other side of the trunk, watching Jeryl do the same as I shot off another arrow. This one sank into the leg of one of the men. He yelled out and limped away. I nocked the last of the arrows on my mounted quiver and shot again just as a bullet snapped off a branch above my head. I fell back from the shock of it and didn’t see where my arrow landed. I brushed bark crumbs off my cheek and scrambled over to my duffel bag.
“Wait!” A voice echoed across the valley, deep and booming. “Stop, listen!” Two figures emerged from the north hill, struggling through the snow. When I saw them, it was like a spoon had scooped out all my insides.
It was Conrad, arm wrapped around Mom, his rifle laid across her chest.
“That fat bastard,” Jeryl snarled, eyeing him through his scope.
“Listen!” Conrad said. The gunfire silenced, but the horses still jumped and jerked at their tethers. “You’re a fool, Jeryl. And a liar. You lied to me about those traders. You kept this stranger a secret. But I got eyes. And now you think you can win this fight? A goddamn fool. Your only shot was to make a deal, but since you don’t have the stones to do it, I’ll do it for you. Give up Gwendolynn and the stranger, and I let Mary go.”
Anders stepped forward, gun held in front of him. He looked from Conrad to the surrounding hills. “Works for me!” he yelled.
Conrad turned his gaze to Anders. “But you take me with you, understand? You figure out a vaccine for this thing, I’m the first to get it.” Conrad turned back to the hills and yelled, “I’m tired of sharing my land, my game with you people.”
“Agreed,” Anders said.
“There you have it, Jeryl, your move.” I could almost see the smile on his face.
“Son of a bitch,” Jeryl said.
“Kill him,” I said. Jeryl’s finger hovered over the trigger. A flurry of snow drifted down from the trees over our heads. “Might hit Mary.” Jeryl lifted his eyes from his scope, peering at the eastern slope across the valley. “Dammit,” he said. I followed his gaze. Jax walked down the hill. No gun, nothing in his hands. My stomach twisted around itself.
“There ya go,” Anders said. Men converged on Jax, guns drawn. “Keep your hands where we can see them and come on slowly.”
“What are we gonna do?” I asked. “Should I go?” Mom wasn’t struggling against Conrad. She was still. Probably scared out of her mind.
Jeryl didn’t move.
Three men approached Jax and led him behind one of the sleds. Rope was pulled out.
“Now the girl,” Anders said. “No deal without her.”
“Don’t be foolish, Jeryl,” Conrad called out.
I stood up before Jeryl had time to say, “Lynn, no.”
I started to walk when I heard the gunshot, saw two bodies fall, saw Jax moving. Knife out, stabbing, slicing, ducking, running, killing.
Men swarmed Jax, but others spread out toward the hills. Conrad ducked as the bullets flew. I saw Mom get her hands on Conrad’s rifle and shove the barrel into his face. His head lurched backward as she struggled free and ran for the cover of trees. I snapped a shot at Conrad but missed before he disappeared. Mom was now running back over the hill toward our cabins. Then I saw Anders raise his gun and aim, firing a shot that seemed somehow louder than the others. I watched as Mom toppled over into the snow.
“Mom!” I screamed. Blood pounding in my temple, tears springing to my eyes. Oh God, no, not this. I started toward her, heedless of the men in the valley, in the trees. None of it mattered. But Jeryl grabbed my arm.
“Lynn!”
Then a gunshot from behind us. Behind us? I spun around and saw Jeryl do the same.
Two men between the trees—one was aiming, the other reloading. Anders had surrounded us, like he knew where we’d be.
“Run!” Jeryl said. “Back to the cabin, now!”
“Jeryl—”
“Do it now! I’ll get your mom. They can’t have you.” He aimed and fired a shot at the two men, his hand slamming down the lever and firing again. He stuck his back against the tree as a shot struck the trunk. “We’ll meet you there. Okay? Ready?”
I wasn’t ready.
“Now!” He turned and fired again at the men as, God help me, I did as I was told. I ran with my bow through the trees and down the snowy embankment toward our cabins. I waited for a bullet to strike my side, my head, my legs.
Move, move, move.
Mom is just wounded. She isn’t dead. Please, God, she isn’t dead.
I had one arrow in my hand. Dammit. I’d left the duffel bag. I was almost defenseless. I stuck the arrow back on the mounted quiver and kept running.
I was nearly at the bottom of the hill when a figure, a man, came running toward me. I was reaching for the arrow when I realized it was Ramsey. He was holding out his pistol and yelling something. Down? “Get down!”
I dropped to the snow. Behind me, about twenty yards away, was another man, standing between two pines, gun raised and aimed. The report of Ramsey’s gun sounded. The man jerked and put a hand to his thigh. Ramsey kept shooting. Quiet, sweet, brave little Ramsey.
Miss miss miss, connect! The man grasped his neck as he fell to the ground. Ramsey’s gun went click, click, click. Empty. The man squirmed as a fountain of blood streamed out of his mouth. Ramsey had shot him in the throat. I thought about using my last arrow to put him out of his misery, but I didn’t want to risk breaking it.
More gunfire sounded in the distance.
Ramsey rushed over; blood was smeared across his forehead. “What are you doing here?” He pulled a fresh magazine from his jacket and loaded his gun.
“Heading back to the cabin. What the hell are you doing?” I asked. “You were supposed be with Mom.”
“Fucking Conrad attacked us. Hit me with his gun. I woke up and she was gone.” Ramsey looked at the single arrow in my hand. “Where are your arrows?”
“With Jeryl.” I looked back up the hill toward the sound of more gunfire.
“I know where more are,” he said.
“What?”
“Come on.”
He ran through the snow. I followed after him, doing my best to ignore the choking, slurping sounds of the dying man behind me.
Ramsey threw the door to Jeryl’s cabin open.
“He was keeping them for you. For when you ran out. They have to be here somewhere.” He ran to Jeryl’s room. The seconds blurred into minutes. I could feel time pressing in on me. In the distance, more gunfire. Sounds outside. Footsteps? I turned.
“Maybe he put them in the equipment shed.” Ramsey barreled for the door just as a bulky form stepped through.
“Hi there.” It was Conrad. The sweaty, fat fucker.
Ramsey’s face contorted, the picture of panic. He lifted his gun, but Conrad dove at him, grabbing his wrist and twisting. A shot splintered the wood beside the door.
I nocked my arrow and aimed. Conrad pulled Ramsey to his body like a shield. “Now wait a minute. I just want to talk. Why don’t you drop your bow, and we’ll have a chat.”
“No,” I said.
“Then I’m going to kill him.”
“You fucking asshole!”
“Just lower the bow and—”
I shot. It was a bad decision. But things weren’t going to end well if I put my bow down. The arrow hummed the short distance across the room and sank into Conrad’s shoulder. My last arrow.
“Fuck!” he yelled. Ramsey dove forward, but Conrad’s grip was firm. He pulled Ramsey close. Then he put the boy’s head between his thick paws and squeezed like he was crushing a watermelon.
“Stop!” I yelled.
Ramsey’s face was red. He was suffocating, groaning and gasping for air.
“Fuck you, Gwendolynn,” Conrad said. Then he twisted violently.
“No!”
A loud snap. Ramsey went limp. Conrad let him go, and the blond-haired boy fell to the floor.
39
It was like watching it in a flip book.
The twist of his head. The agony in his face. I could probably point out the very moment his soul left his body. Ramsey. He was family. He was part of us. And I’d watched him die, powerless to stop it.
I was still staring at him when Conrad yanked the arrow from his shoulder with a grunt and slammed into me. I was crushed against the far wall beneath Conrad’s bulk. I squirmed, but he pushed harder. I got a hand free and clawed at his eyes. Didn’t manage to get his eyes, but my nails drew a satisfying gash across his cheek. He yelled—roared, really—and threw me, sending me crashing against a chair.
He came at me again. I tossed the chair at him. The frail wood bounced off his shoulder like it was Styrofoam. Damn Conrad for being a big fat-ass of a man. I kicked as Conrad reached out. His fist struck me in the side of the head. I toppled over. My forehead struck the wooden floor of the cabin and bright yellow explosions erupted in my vision.
Conrad was breathing hard. More gunfire outside the cabin. Jeryl? I opened my mouth to yell, but then I felt Conrad’s body on me again. Fat, heavy. He lifted my head, then slammed it down onto the hard wooden floor. Again and again. The cabin dipped and swirled. I tasted blood, rich and thick in my mouth. I felt a tug at my pants and heard Conrad’s animal grunt.
“You’re a fucking whore, you know that? You always have been. I knew it the second I saw you.”
My pants were at my ankles, my boots still on. I heard the clink of his belt buckle.
He spun me around. I couldn’t fight it. Dad? What do I do? It’s too late. It’s all too late.
Spiderwebs in the corners of my vision.
Why fight? I was too small. Too weak. Just a girl. I wasn’t a survivor.
Sorry, Dad. You were wrong.
* * *
I saw it all like a dream.
Maybe I passed out. Maybe I died. But there he was. Dad, smiling at me. No notebook in his hands, no flu hollowing his face. Just Dad, the one I like to remember. Mine.
He lifted a hand and wiped the blood at the corner of my mouth.
“I won’t let the river swallow you.”
Swirling, rushing swells all around me. I wanted to cry, to bury myself in his chest.
“Now, swim, Lynn. Kick. Kick, kick, kick!”
* * *
My leg jerked up and my heel drove as hard as it could between Conrad’s legs.
The fat man let out an “Ooof” and doubled over. I pulled my pants up, fumbled for my knife. My Hän knife. Dad had given it to me. “Always keep it sharp,” he said. And I did.
Conrad’s lips pursed like a cat’s butt. His pants and underwear were at his knees, his pink penis pointing at me.
“You fucking—”
I plunged the knife into his neck, deep in his thick, ugly beard. His eyes and mouth shot open. Syrupy blood spouted from his skin, spilling onto my hands. He staggered, then dropped to his knees. Daylight shot through the half-open door. His white face matched the snow outside. The blood on his cheek spilled down his neck in a streamer of deep scarlet.
He swayed for a moment, then fell like fucking Goliath.
40
I passed out. No dreams. Just black.
I woke to a blurry, fuzzy world. I was in Jeryl and Ramsey’s cabin. I sat up, and the room tilted. I was going to be sick. There was Ramsey, crumpled on the floor in front of me. I managed to stand, to check Ramsey’s pulse because, well, just in case. His skin felt cold beneath my fingers. I probably should have cried. Should have wept like a baby. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not yet.
I walked over to Conrad’s large, lifeless body. Revenge is supposed to feel good. But it didn’t. I extracted my knife from his neck and wiped the bla
de on his jacket. Then I spat on him. I picked up my bow and moved for the door, carefully, as the floor tilted beneath me.
I took a step outside. The snow was too bright. My head hurt, my face throbbed, and there was a hole in the bottom of my stomach. Black, angry, empty. All was quiet outside. No gunshots, no voices. I saw two bodies on the ground, blood staining the snow beneath them. I ran for Mom’s cabin.
I shoved the door open and saw Jeryl crouching over Mom, wrapping blood-soaked bandages around her shoulder. Her eyes were open, staring at me.
“Lynn,” she said weakly. “Thank God you’re all right.” Her face was pale, reminded me of Dad near the end.
“Mom, you’re—”
“She’s going to be fine,” Jeryl said. “Shot through the shoulder. A nice clean exit wound.”
Mom grimaced and lowered her head onto the table. “Nothing about this is nice or clean,” she said. I could have cried with relief. I held it back.
“You sure she’s all right?”
“I’m fine,” Mom said. “Have you seen Ken?”
“No.”
“Where is he?” Pain and worry etched her face.
“And Jax?” I asked.
Jeryl wiped his sweaty brow. “They got Jax,” he said. “They’re taking him north.”
Jeryl must have seen the look on my face because there was panic in his voice when he said, “Lynn, wait.”
I turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Mom asked, her voice weak.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Lynn!” they both called.
Ken was missing, Ramsey was dead, Mom was shot up, and they had Jax. After all of that, they still won?
Well, fuck that.
I turned north. I didn’t have any arrows. But I knew where to find some.
* * *
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