Deathless Divide

by Justina Ireland

  “Stevens ain’t looking for a wife at all,” Jane continues, nearly upsetting her plate with the force of her spoon smacking the bottom. “That man loves the sound of his own voice too much. He doesn’t want a wife—he craves an audience.”

  “Believe what you want, Jane, but I know what I see.”

  And as if to prove my point, Mr. Stevens sidles over at that moment, giving me only the most perfunctory of greetings before sitting down and engaging Jane.

  I scoop my beans slowly, with a self-satisfied smirk, as the realization of the truth of my proclamation dawns on Jane’s face. I know this is a sin, but there are few things I enjoy more than being right. I have been praying to the Lord to be a bit more humble. He just has not seen fit to show me the way as of yet. And as Stevens offers Jane his corn bread, and she just stares at him half in shock and half in revulsion, the range of expressions marching across Jane’s face is so delightful that I have to excuse myself lest I give away the joke.

  But the most delightful thing by far is that Mr. Stevens does not seem to realize Jane would sooner murder him than shower him with kisses. But the fact that she has not pulled her revolver on the man seems to be yet another indication that Jane is finding her way back from the darkness.

  All in all, the last couple of weeks have been an encouraging sign that I can one day have something close to the friend I lost in Nicodemus.

  I take my empty dish to the wash bucket and scrub it before putting it in the drying rack nearby. I wave at Sue as I pass, but she either does not see me or does not want to be bothered. She is deep in conversation with Roy, a large, nicely built Negro blacksmith who joined our train in Abbottsville, a rare gain when we had been losing members of our wagon train steadily. Roy had been an apprentice to another man and was ready to strike out on his own. Sue seems quite taken with him and he with her, and it is then time for my own painful revelation as I consider that by the time we get to Haven I might indeed be left to my own devices, just Lily and me. Well, as much as Lily needs me. She has been mostly self-sufficient during the trek.

  There is a commotion at the edge of the wagon ring. The sun has been staying up later as we move closer to summer, and the slanting golden rays of sunset still illuminate the land. I hustle over to where there seems to be a scuffle of some sort. Bartholomew, one of the boys from the wagon train, swings and misses at a man in a plaid red shirt and dungarees. The man’s face is indistinguishable beneath the low brim of his hat, but he moves out of the way of the punch with an easy grace that I cannot help but admire.

  “I said I’m not here to cause trouble or to steal from you. I’m looking for Jane McKeene. Bounty hunter known as the Devil’s Bride.”

  I recognize the voice, and it quickens my pace.

  “Mr. Redfern!” I say. “How in God’s name are you here?”

  Bartholomew turns toward me. That is the moment Daniel Redfern chooses to swing, catching the boy by surprise and felling him like a termite-infested tree.

  “Dammit, I’m sorry,” Mr. Redfern says, bending down to help the boy up, who is more than a little dazed.

  One of the other boys on watch comes running over, and I pass Bartholomew off to him. “Alexander, would you be a dear and take Bart back to his people. Throw his arm over your shoulder, yes, just like that. I will deal with our guest.”

  The boys walk off, Alexander giving Mr. Redfern one last uncertain look before doing as I asked.

  “Well, this is more than a shock, I should say, Mr. Redfern. I had taken you for dead back in Nicodemus.”

  “Miss Deveraux. It is . . . good to see you.” His speech is labored, and the reason is clear. Mr. Redfern must have been on the losing end of a previous bout, if his blackened eye and swollen lips are anything to go by. He looks like a rough character, indeed.

  My heart pounds. I do not believe in coincidence, and Mr. Redfern being here cannot mean anything good. Not for me, and most certainly not for Jane. But I will not let this man see my worry. “How did you come to be in California?”

  “Same way as just about everyone else, I suppose,” he says. His voice is gravelly, deeper than I remember, as though the world has pushed him down and his voice bears the scars.

  “Well, that is hardly helpful,” I say, my frustration grounding me for a moment. Annoyance is an easier emotion to contend with.

  “Look, I need to talk to Jane,” he says, not even bothering to continue the charade of polite discourse.

  “Then talk.” Jane walks up with more than a little swagger. Her fingers rest on her side arm, and I tense. This could get very bloody.

  He tips his hat. “Jane McKeene.”

  “Daniel Redfern,” she says, but does not move a muscle otherwise. “You got business with me?”

  “I hope so,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “I want you to help me track down and kill Gideon Carr.”

  The bounty hunter gazed into the eyes of the homesteader’s wife, his expression steely. There was no use telling her that her husband was dead, and a ruffian besides. She was a delicate flower, and he would do everything he could to spare her from any more pain. He might be a man accustomed to a rough sort of life, but he could still appreciate beauty.

  —Western Tales, Volume 40

  —JANE—

  Chapter 43

  In Which I Realize Life Is Ludicrous

  Seeing Daniel Redfern—beaten and bloody, but alive and mostly well—is a shock I haven’t had since the first time Callie kissed me. She and I had been holed up in Nicodemus, huddled together for warmth, and she’d leaned over and pressed her lips to mine, transforming our awkward friendship into something even more fragile and exciting. In that moment, I’d been happy, aching as I was for the warmth and passion of that kiss, but as soon as it was over, the thrill melted into sadness. I knew, even then, that whatever the feelings were that were blooming between us, they—we—were doomed. Hadn’t Jackson taught me that, over and over again?

  Now, the same mix of feelings washes over me at seeing Daniel Redfern, because there is no way our time together will end well. He’s been a harbinger of despair in my life, and seeing him once more makes me wary of what is to come next.

  But there’s also nothing I want more than Gideon Carr’s head on a pike. And if that’s his goal as well, then perhaps our destinies are intertwined for the better, after all.

  I lift my chin up and look him dead in his eye. “I’m listening, Redfern.”

  “Daniel,” he says, and quirks his lip. “I thought we were on a first-name basis.”

  “Have you eaten yet, Mr. Red—er, Daniel?” says Katherine, ever mindful of whatever etiquette the situation requires.

  “No, and I’d be grateful for some chow.”

  We lead him through the wagons and toward the cook fires. Redfern holds his side as he moves, and I twist my lips. There are fresh lines in his face, and he looks older. I suppose we all do. It has been a humdinger of a year.

  “Who got the better of you?” I ask.

  “Gideon’s hired men. He’s gotten a bit more cautious—one might say paranoid—after I almost did him in down in Los Angeles.”

  “I thought he was in Sacramento?”

  “This was before. He did the hardest part of winter in the southern climes, even crossed over into Mexico for a bit.”

  “How long have you been tracking him?” I ask.

  A muscle clenches in Redfern’s jaw and his gaze goes far away. “Since Nicodemus.”

  We walk past Sue, and when she spies our unexpected companion, she gets up from chatting with her beau to follow us to the cook fire. As we get Redfern settled in with some beans and a tin cup of water, Sue elbows me in the side. “Ain’t that the sheriff from Nicodemus?”

  “One and the same,” I say.

  “How’d he end up here?” she says, not even bothering to whisper.

  “I came looking for Jane,” he says. “I’d been hearing tales of the path she’s been cutting through the Western states for months now; after
the fall of Sacramento, I made my way to Abbottsville, evidently only a day or so after you’d been through. I followed the trail hoping I could catch up to you.” He reaches inside of his vest and pulls out a newspaper, the Abbottsville Eagle. On the cover is a badly executed sketch of yours truly. I’m wearing a set of bandoliers and carry an oversized pistol, my lips overly large and my teeth pointed. Nearby is a group of terrified women and children. THE DEVIL’S BRIDE SIGHTED IN ABBOTTSVILLE, the headline reads. CITIZENS, BE WARY! At least they got my amputated arm correct, the end of the shirt pinned up neatly in the picture.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Katherine says, yanking the paper and tossing it into the fire. “The imaginations of these men . . .”

  “I don’t know,” Sue says slyly. “They got those messy braids right.”

  “I was gonna ask you to redo them, but your hands seem otherwise occupied since you’ve been busy with that blacksmith,” I say sweetly.

  Sue coughs, and I’m glad to see I’ve scored a direct hit.

  “Daniel, perhaps you could start at the beginning,” Katherine says, settling onto a vacant stool. She tugs her skirt over her knees primly, as the knife strapped to her thigh causes the material to ride up. Her hands move too much, she readjusts her bonnet and smooths her hair, telegraphing her nervousness to anyone who knows her. She ain’t happy about Redfern showing up.

  Sue and I take seats, and once we’re settled Katherine turns to Redfern like she’s hosting a soiree. “The last time we saw you was before Nicodemus fell.”

  “That’s right.” Redfern nods. “While I came to know who Gideon Carr really was in that doomed town, Kansas was not our first meeting. I worked for the Carr family right after I left the Lancaster Combat School. Like Attendants, we were placed with families of means. I was assigned to Mayor Carr’s security team, one of those whose job it was to provide personal protection for him and his family. I had a knack for combat, and for surviving; within a few months, I’d become one of the mayor’s most trusted men, and that’s when he assigned me to his son’s personal protection detail. At that time, Gideon was attending the School of Thanatology in Baltimore, where we first met. I’m sure you ladies remember the very public failure of Professor Ghering’s experiments?”

  I nod. “Indeed. Thank you for saving my neck,” I say, quite belatedly.

  He shrugs. “I wasn’t trying to save you, exactly. Just ending the threat.”

  Sue lets out a laugh. I immediately regret showing him my appreciation.

  “Weeks earlier,” he continues, “I was waiting for Gideon outside the lab where he had been collaborating with Professor Ghering. I was supposed to escort him home. That’s when I heard a cry from inside the lab. I found him on the floor, next to a cage in which he had a shambler imprisoned. He’d been bitten. I immediately dispatched the shambler, and I was turning my pistol to Gideon when he got to his feet and begged me to let him live.”

  “It seems like that might’ve been a mistake,” Sue says drily.

  “In hindsight, yes. But at the time I figured there was no harm in waiting to see if the boy changed. I would have had a hell of a time explaining things to his father if his son died by my hand, shambler bite or no.”

  “And you’ve always been one to put yourself first,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  “But Gideon Carr did not turn,” Katherine interrupts, ignoring our back and forth.

  “No. He didn’t.” Redfern gazes down at his plate, a hard look carving its way into his features. “He believed he’d found a cure. A way to stop the plague. But while the formula had worked on Gideon, other test subjects hadn’t fared so well with the same injection. Professor Ghering continued to work on Gideon’s formula, and Gideon grew increasingly frustrated with the man. He convinced his father to let him build a lab in the basement of their family estate so he could work in private, and he began testing his vaccine on members of the household staff. Those who objected were let go; those who agreed, well . . . I believe you can imagine what happened to them.

  “Gideon had yet to duplicate the success of the test he’d done on himself, but the results of his failed experiments steadily piled up, and so Mayor Carr sent him to Summerland, where he’d have more freedom to test his vaccine, as well as put into practice his mechanical defense systems. By this time, the Survivalists had brought in Negroes from the Lost States into the town to fill out the patrols. Gideon had all the test subjects he could ever desire. Sheriff Snyder’s only rule was that he couldn’t test his vaccine on any white residents.”

  A sharp pain shoots down my jaw, and I realize I’m gnashing my teeth. I could thrash Redfern for standing by and watching all this happen. Katherine is similarly vexed; the color that rides high in her cheeks is visible in the waning sunlight.

  “You knew that this was going on and you did nothing to stop it?” Katherine says.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” Redfern says grimly. “Although it is true that I waited too long to intervene. I wasn’t sent to Kansas until I was put on the train that carried you out there, and almost immediately I sought out the leadership in Nicodemus, in an effort to figure out how to save everyone in Summerland. But . . . well, you know how that ended.”

  “How did Gideon end up in Nicodemus?” I ask, trying to push aside my emotions and not end up all in my feelings. If I fall into that dark well I might not ever get out, not even after Gideon Carr is dead. The sheer injustice of it all has already set my blood to boiling. Anyone else would have been stopped long ago, but Gideon Carr keeps getting opportunities to hurt people over and over.

  That has to end.

  Redfern clears his throat, and I pull myself back to the moment. “Gideon’s only religion is science, and I don’t think the Snyders ever really trusted him. He grew frustrated with their rules, with the lack of resources they provided him, with their patronizing regard for his experiments. It wasn’t long before he was seeking out a place that was a bit more willing to see the potential of what he promised.”

  “So Gideon Carr found his way to Nicodemus,” Sue says, lips twisting.

  “Callie told me he said she was special,” I say, my heart cracking. “But she was just the one test case where his vaccine worked.”

  “Not the only one,” Daniel says, lips pressed together in a thin line.

  I laugh, the sound hollow and dry. “He got you, too?”

  “In Baltimore. I was the only member of the household staff that didn’t turn, but mostly because he never got the chance to jam me in a cage with the restless dead. It wasn’t until after Nicodemus that I was . . . that I discovered I was immune.” Redfern’s gaze goes distant, and I wonder if he’s remembering those few days after the bite, the nausea and sickness and deep abiding despair. “Sometimes I wish the vaccine hadn’t worked on me, either.”

  I know exactly what he means.

  Gideon did have successes, here and there. It’s seeming more and more like my survival hadn’t been an accident, but actual proof of an effective serum, the perfect combination of science and time. If Gideon Carr had been a mite less impatient Nicodemus might still be standing, a town full of healthy, unafraid people able to survive the dead . . .

  But none of that mattered. He’d rushed things, failed to let his setbacks humble him, and refused to listen to anything but his own inclinations. The end result was tragedy. There’s a lesson to be learned from that, and I don’t aim to repeat Gideon’s mistakes.

  “So what’s the story here?” I ask, mulling over the possibilities as they unfold before me. “You could have killed Gideon in Nicodemus. Or Summerland. But you’ve traipsed halfway across the country through endless dead to hunt him down. Why?”

  “Because—” Redfern begins, and anguish clogs his throat. His eyes fill with tears, and he swipes his hand across his face to chase them away. “He killed Amelia.” And then Daniel Redfern is sobbing outright as the wall of his emotions break.

  “I knew it,” Sue
mutters, before digging a handkerchief out of her sleeve and handing it to Redfern, who accepts it gratefully. I can’t decide if I’m more sympathetic or horrified to see the man lose control of his emotions, even over Miss Duncan, but Katherine is less insensitive, and she scoots her stool closer and takes Daniel Redfern’s hand, patting him reassuringly until he manages to compose himself. He gives her a grateful smile and takes a deep breath before continuing.

  “I knew as soon as the gates were down that Nicodemus was lost. And Gideon Carr’s handiwork was obvious to anyone who has seen how quickly his experiments can go awry. I was ready to leave Nicodemus then and there, but Amelia was determined to stay and help people. Because it was the right thing to do.”

  “She was bit,” I say, and he nods. “She was there, during my convalescence. Seeing Miss Duncan like that . . .” I trail off, because there ain’t much more that needs to be said than that.

  “I wandered south in a daze,” Redfern says. “There aren’t a lot of places that are safe for Indians, let alone one traveling by himself. And it wasn’t like I had any place to go.” He shrugs. “I had no plan. For the first time in my life there was no one to tell me what to do and where to go, and I had no idea what to do with that. I was lost, no meaning, no purpose. The dead were no threat to me any longer. And yet, I couldn’t die. The only thing left for me: to hunt down Gideon.

  “I eventually made my way to Denver. There was an article in the paper, talking about Gideon lecturing about the possibility of a vaccine. I almost had him there. He escaped before I could confront him. But I’ve been tracking him ever since.”

  He turns to look at me and shakes his head. “I’m sorry to ask such a thing of you. But I figure if anyone wanted Gideon Carr dead as much as I did, it was you.”

  “Plus, I’ve always been happy enough to run off and kill someone who deserved it,” I say.

  He gives me a terse nod. “If what they say about you in the papers is even half true . . . well, I need help, and you seem more than capable of killing Gideon.”