Gideon drops my hand and crawls backward out of the room like a crab scuttling for a hidey-hole. As he does, another shot destroys what is left of the window, the bullet lodging in the wooden flooring and kicking up splinters near my boots. There are no more shots, but the dead outside begin to stir, and I can just barely make out the sound of Gideon banging out of the back door, footsteps thundering away from the house as he flees.
This day just keeps on careening off the cliff, over and over again.
The front door opens, and a girl walks in carrying a rifle. The sunlight paints her outline, a pleasing one at that, and when the door closes I am only mildly surprised to see Callie.
“Helluva shot,” I say. “Unless you were aiming for me.”
She gives me a tight grin. “Thanks, but no, I was aiming for that yellow-bellied bastard that just ran out of here.”
“Well, I’ve got some unfortunate news for you,” I say.
Callie shrugs. “Maybe next time.”
There’s a dark feeling welling up in me, one I’ve been fighting for a long time. It’s part hopelessness, but it’s mostly rage. I’m angry that I live in a world where people can listen to a man like Gideon Carr and whatever fantasies he wants to spread but continually ignore girls like me. If the fine folks of Nicodemus and the refugees of Summerland had evacuated when Katherine and I had told them to, they’d be alive right now. But they’re not.
I tire of watching this tragedy play out.
Callie’s eyes are shadowed and red, and I wonder how long she’s been perched somewhere, waiting for the perfect moment to take her shot. She seems unconcerned about the dead outside, and that convinces me that I ain’t the first girl Gideon Carr has experimented on.
“So he got you as well?” I say, gesturing weakly to my gangrenous arm.
“When he first came to town, before he went to the leaders of Nicodemus to try to do it all official-like.” She gives me a sad smile. “I thought I loved him, you know.”
“Did you help him dismantle the rear gate?” I ask, remembering the smaller-size boot prints.
She nods. “I thought they would just leave, that we could close the breach up after. But they didn’t, and it was everything we could do to get them into that barn before they overran the town.” Her expression goes hard, but it’s tinged with grief. I’m not the only one who has lost loved ones these past few days. “It didn’t matter, anyway. I should’ve known it wasn’t true. Gideon always lied to me. It’s what he does.”
“I’m starting to see that now.” What else is there to say? We both got duped by his kindness.
Callie nods and swipes her hand over her nose. “My family is all gone. They’re out there, walking monsters now. Or in pieces. I’m the only one left.”
“Yeah, that’s rough,” I’m starting to feel unsteady once more, and I sigh. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m truly sorry you missed. And if I get the chance, I won’t.”
“You got murder on the mind then, Jane McKeene?” She smirks.
“If I don’t die first,” I say. I want to hold on to my anger and grief, but it’s hard when I don’t feel like doing anything but dying.
Callie walks over and takes the chair Gideon vacated. She wrinkles her nose in an expression that can only be described as utterly adorable, and something in my middle shifts. It’s poor timing, but who am I to deny myself a little glimmer of humanity when I feel like an absolute monster?
She gestures at my bandage. “You’re going to have to lose that arm.”
And over her shoulder, the ghost of Jackson grins at me. I blink, trying to dispel the apparition, but he stays put.
“An amputation!” he says. “This is excellent.” He settles himself near the window, leaning against the wall. He wears a different outfit now than he did the day he died, a sapphire-blue waistcoat decorated with peacocks, and dread is a heavy stone in my belly. His damned green eyes are crinkled with amusement.
“I think Gideon had some ether, down in his lab,” Callie says, climbing to her feet. “It should make the process a little more bearable. And I want to make sure that sonuvabitch is gone, anyway.”
“If he isn’t, kill him,” I say. I lean back against the settee and close my eyes again. Maybe this is all a nightmare, and when I open them I’ll be back in the Nicodemus jail, Sheriff Redfern watching me with that inscrutable look of his.
Callie moves away, the back door slamming as she departs, and I turn my full attention to Jackson. He removes the hat he wears and sets it on a nearby table. He smiles, and I’m sure there’s nothing good that can come of that look.
“Now this,” he says, rubbing his hands together in delight, “is about to be a spectacle.”
Part Two
The Road to Perdition
— One year and five months later —
Washington is not a place to live in. The rents are high, the food is bad, the dead are everywhere, and the morals are deplorable. Go west, young man, go west and help save this country from the Undead Plague.
—Horace Greeley, 1865
—KATHERINE—
Chapter 24
Notes on a Card Game
Carolina Jones thinks he has a hand.
I know it, the same as I know to pull the trigger when the dead are in my sights. Carolina’s dark face twists in concentration as he worries the unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth. Then he leans forward, a crease slowly furrowing his brow, looks intently at the four cards in the middle of the table: a six, a jack, a ten, and the ace of spades. He looks at the two cards in his hand, and sighs. It is a nice show. But the silly man is his own worst enemy. The merry beat of his leg bouncing under the table gives away the truth beneath the lie.
I have been traveling with Jones for months now, from New Orleans through Nicaragua and now on my final leg to San Francisco aboard the steamship Capitán. Carolina is one of the few people left in this miserable world who I trust. Not that I have ever been one to thoughtlessly place my faith in people. A misstep when I was thirteen taught me the brutal lesson that everyone will turn on you; it is just a matter of when and where.
A memory of Jane flits past as I consider Carolina, and I immediately dismiss it. It has been nearly a year and a half since we lost her in Nicodemus, and only recently have I been able to consider her passing without feeling a gut punch of regret and pain. For some reason, Jane’s death affected me more deeply than just about anyone else I knew. I still have not puzzled out why.
So, then, Carolina. He is a fabulous traveling companion, the kind of man a single young lady fair of face could trust. One reason for this is that he prefers the company of gentlemen in his bedchamber. But another is that his kindness of heart is of the sort one is hard-pressed to find in this world. He was the one who spoke to the ship’s captain on my behalf when I threw a deckhand overboard for getting too fresh. He’s also the one who found Sue and me positions on this boat, working security for the lady passengers. He gave us a chance to earn a living and provide for Lily. We have fought shamblers together while walking through Nicaragua, and have spent a fair number of evenings drinking to our heart’s content. . . . Well, Carolina had gotten drunk while I sipped politely at whatever rotgut was being served and Sue had murmured about the evils of drink. It would have been rude to refuse outright, but I know better than to overindulge. I am a lady, after all.
All of this to say, I know Carolina’s tics and mannerisms as well as my own. Now, as I sit in the Capitán’s galley and play poker—gambling is a vice, but one must keep oneself busy on these long trips by sea—I cannot help but put all of his tells together: Carolina Jones thinks he has a winning hand. The man is a terrible actor, and I simply adore him for it.
“Are you in or out, Mr. Jones?” Dr. Cornelius Nelson sits to my left, his generous chin whiskers vibrating in agitation. Dr. Nelson is a Negro surgeon—“the best in New York,” he will assure you, likely within the first few moments of introduction. Of course, I find that hard to believe, sinc
e he is apparently lacking in the good sense God gave every man. He has proposed marriage twice, and each time I have politely declined, even when he insisted upon composing an ode to my blond hair and blue eyes and dusky skin. It was all quite improper, and the height of embarrassment. On the third occasion I had been forced to draw one of my Mollies and threaten to feed his liver to the fish if he did not leave off.
It was completely out of character for me, and I wholly blame my time with Jane McKeene for the lapse in decorum. Jane loved pointing bladed weapons at people. It was part of her charm.
But I am not going to think about that.
Dr. Nelson has mostly left me alone since that day, but every now and again I can feel his glance directed at me. If I were interested in a husband, or in any of the requirements of marriage, he would not be a terrible prospect. Even after nearly a month of hard travel, he is still pressed and tidy, due in no small part to the efforts of his valet, Hector. Hector stands just a bit behind Nelson, his dark face impassive. Dr. Nelson is light-skinned, and with a shave and some careful avoidance of the sun he could pass as white, if he wanted. He apparently does not, since he is on the decks designated for colored folks. That is a thing I respect about him.
Jones rubs his chin as if deliberating, still deep in his chicanery, then shrugs and throws a few dollars into the center of the table. “I call.”
I toss my money in as well. Dr. Nelson, who made the original bet, smiles, his eyes more on me than the pot. What a ridiculous man.
Two other crew members, Baldy Pennington and Lazy-Eye Earl, watch quietly from their chairs, their dark faces impassive. They folded after the first few cards were played, protecting their rapidly dwindling piles of coins against any further loss.
Lazy, who is dealer this time, flips over the last card—a jack. The good doctor only hesitates a moment before pushing what is left of his stack into the middle. After a few tortuously obvious moments of deliberation, Carolina calls once more. I do as well.
Dr. Nelson reveals his hand: a pair of tens, giving him a full house. But before he can make another move, Carolina Jones whoops in triumph. He tosses his cards on the table: a jack and a six, giving him a better house. Nelson’s face falls; it’s not often that the good doctor is so roundly beaten.
As Jones goes to scrape up the pot, however, I tap his hand, gently, like a school marm correcting a student. “I do believe that belongs to me.” I lay my cards on the table near the middle for all to see.
A pair of aces.
The table goes silent for a long moment before Baldy begins whooping with laughter. “Oh, looks like the pretty little miss beat you again!”
Dr. Nelson mutters a curse and heaves his bulk out of the chair. He barely pauses to tip his hat before he strides out of the room, his man Hector rushing to keep up. I am certain his pride smarts even more now.
Once he is gone, I reel my winnings in from the center and grin at the remaining men.
“Another round?” I ask, widening my eyes innocently.
Lazy guffaws and climbs to his feet. “You can flutter those lashes all you want, little miss, but I know the score. You’re as deadly with those cards as you are with your swords.”
Baldy says nothing, just nods, tipping the remnants of the whiskey bottle on the table down his throat before standing and heading for the door.
I watch the men take their leave until it is just Carolina and I. He sits there, chewing on the end of his unlit cigar. “Pretty incredible hand you had there.”
“Is there something amiss, Carolina?” I ask.
He leans forward, striking a match and finally lighting the cigar. “How much you pay him?”
I blink. “Pay who?”
“Doc Nelson’s man. How much you pay him to tip you to everybody’s cards?”
My heart thumps painfully in my chest, and for a few heartbeats I am fearful, truly afraid. I know what betrayal feels like, and I have let that pain drive me to become the woman I am today. I sincerely do not want to have to kill the one friend I have remaining in the world.
But I will do what is required of me, even if it means cutting down Carolina where he sits.
I shove the dark emotions aside and force a slow smile. “Ten dollars. How much did you pay him?”
Carolina laughs, the sound sharp and bitter. He leans back and draws deeply on his cigar. “Five.”
“Oh, Carolina. You simply must stop being so cheap! If you continue to overestimate the generosity of people, you are only going to end up disappointed.”
Carolina shakes his head and I relax. I slide a cut of the money across the table. We have been running something of a game on the swanky upper-decks passengers since New Orleans—not playing with each other, but not exactly playing against each other, either—and I see no reason to stop now. In a world that is morally gray, I somehow still believe in right and wrong.
And I refuse to change that until I must.
I tuck my winnings into the pocket sewn inside of my skirt, a trick I learned from Jane, and I think about San Francisco and the life waiting for me there. I have my heart set on opening a millinery. Something small at first, see where I can take it. Sue thinks it is a silly idea, but she has agreed to help me with the shop until she finds herself a husband. We have discussed it at length, and we both think it will be best for Lily, the stability of a life in a single place, settled and constant.
I might have to hire out as an Attendant when I first get to the city, or possibly work with one of the protection crews the Chinese run, although I am not certain they accept women. But either position would only be temporary. My heart is set on being a businesswoman.
It is that single, small dream that has kept me going over the past few months. I dare not lose it now.
Carolina draws deeply on his cigar, the sweet smoke filling the room. “How’d you get so smart?”
“A girl has to survive. It is a cruel world,” I say.
Carolina nods, and once more we sit in companionable silence for a long moment, before Carolina says quietly, “We friends, Katherine?”
I laugh, because that is what you do when a man says something ridiculous. But I am not thinking about him. For a moment my breath flees, and my chest tightens. I am overwhelmed by memory, screams of terror and the moans of the dead. I think of Jane, of the last words she said to me.
Thank you for being my friend.
And then I let her die.
I clear my throat, bringing my mind back to the conversation at hand. “Well, since you have neither proposed nor propositioned me, I am willing to consider that we may indeed be friends.”
He contemplates the end of his lit cigar, avoiding my steady gaze. “If we’re pals, then that means I can give you some advice.”
My amusement evaporates. I have had quite enough of men and their advice in my eighteen years. “You can try.”
Carolina runs his finger along the bottom of his mustache. It is a familiar motion, one I have seen often when he is thinking on a complicated situation. “We’re going to be in San Francisco in three days.”
“That is what we have all been told,” I say, my words clipped.
Jane wanted to go to California to find her mother. Perhaps that is why I have found myself on a ship bound for the Golden State. An ache blossoms in my chest, and I pick up my untouched glass of whiskey and drain it. The liquid tastes as smoky as my memories and burns all the way down. It feels like penance. That is the real reason I do not drink too often: I am afraid that if I find my way to the bottle I will be lost forever.
I shake my head to clear it; I know exactly what Carolina is going to say. “Your offer is generous, but I must refuse. I have business in California.”
Carolina sets his cigar in a nearby ashtray before leaning forward over the table. “So now you’re a mind reader?”
“You want to know if I will stay on with you. Keep working security for the Capitán.”
He says nothing for a few heartbeats. From outside the gal
ley comes feminine laughter and a man’s answering rumble, followed by echoing footsteps. It is late, and people are settling in. No one lacks for company on the Capitán, if they are looking for it.
“It’s a chilly night,” he says. “How do you know I won’t ask you to come and keep me warm? When was the last time you went for a tumble, Kate?”
I snort, manners forgotten for the moment. “Do not call me that. And stop trying to provoke me. We both know that there is nothing I can offer that you want. If you are lonely, you should go find Dr. Nelson’s valet. He was very complimentary of your facial hair.”
Carolina laughs. “It is a very fine mustache,” he says, smoothing the waxed ends, which curl up like catfish whiskers. Humor is always bubbling beneath the surface in him, whether relaxing after a game of poker or knee-deep in lake water fighting the dead. It is insufferable. And yet, it’s one of the reasons I am overly fond of him. He reminds me of Jane.
“Stop being coy and ask your damn question so I can retire,” I say. I am tired and out of sorts, the memories that I have tried so hard to bury are too near and too real. Even the money we have won tonight is not enough to loosen the hard knot of rage that has been festering in my middle since leaving Nicodemus. I have replayed my time there again and again in my mind, trying to find ways things could have turned out differently.
I have been unsuccessful.
“I know you intend to go to California, set up a business, maybe find your friend’s momma,” Carolina starts, choosing his words carefully. “And I think that’s admirable. But what makes you think you’ll be happy there?”
I pick up my whiskey glass and put it to my lips, only to remember that it is empty. I settle for sliding it across the table from hand to hand. “What makes you think I will be unhappy?”
Carolina leans back in his chair. “I think you’re running, Katherine. There’s a haunted expression you wear when you think no one is watching. And I want to help you, because you’ve been a great partner to me these past few months. Hell, I’ve come to look on you and Sue as sisters. Working regular on a ship like the Capitán offers protections against many of the dangers faced by those back on land. Ones you witnessed firsthand. You could be safe on this ship. Here. With me.”
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