As he skirted the rise that Jenson must have hidden on, based on his scribblings on the map, Hick tried to talk himself out of his hopelessness. He'd chosen Devon Myers because of the man's history. Hick knew more about him than Myers imagined. All about how his mistake had led to a tragedy that had cost dozens of innocent lives. About how that led to his forced resignation from the British police, an unhappy time spent going from job to job—mainly as a security guard—and his eventual repatriation to the US. He'd come home in search of his father and the trail had gone cold in Hope. Hick reckoned Myers senior had probably drunk out his last days beneath a bridge somewhere. Maybe even in Ezra itself.
But for all that, Devon Myers was a formidable man who suffered from one fatal flaw: he carried guilt like the ghost of Jacob Marley, rattling in his spectral chains. Hick knew he himself had plenty to feel guilty about, but he simply wasn't wired that way. Myers, on the other hand, was looking for redemption and he'd find it in the rescue of Sam, though his true motivation was to protect Jessie Summers. A fine-looking woman, but as flaky as a Danish and pregnant by a knucklehead. Hick smiled to himself as he considered the extent of his manipulation of Myers and Summers. Yeah, they'd be okay. They could be home any day now.
"Boss, there's a gully there. We could crawl up careful like, and we could prob'ly see right into that there camp."
Hickman followed Brain's chubby finger. For once, he was right. "C'mon. You first."
Hick followed Brain's butt up the shallow ravine, feeling like he was the back end of a donkey in a Nativity play. The rocks amplified the heavy thudding of Brain's boots as he lost his footing on the gravelly, rocky slope. As they neared the top, they used the thick, woody stems of the low bushes that lined the valley to pull themselves up.
Finally, they found a gap in a clump of rocks to peer through. "Good grief, it's huge!"
A couple of hundred yards beneath them, a low metal single-story building squatted in a landscape dominated by a complex network of roads showing white among the yellows and greens of the desert. Beyond this, the twisted remains of an industrial complex spread as far as the eye could see, looking like a dinosaur graveyard. Three circular tanks filled with blue-green water stood beside the remains of a massive building with conveyor belts that looked as if they could spring into life at any moment. To the right, a long, low machine seemed to have been caught in the act of nibbling at a mountainous heap of yellowy-white crushed rock.
But the only movement in this otherworldly landscape was directly below them, in the low metal building that looked so small compared to the scale of the ruins around it. Black rectangles on the ground marked where cars had exploded on that first night, but what had been the parking lot now contained the unmistakable signs of human activity. Canopies—or maybe they were tents, it was impossible to tell from up here—had been erected in a block along one side of the building and Hick could see small figures moving from one to the other, briefly exposed in the gaps.
"Them's the trucks they brought into Ezra," Brain said, pointing into one corner of the parking lot.
Hick grunted. "We're gonna have to get closer. A lot closer. I wouldn't know the sheriff if I saw him from up here."
So, they carefully picked their way down the slope. Halfway to their intended hiding place, Brain cried out as he slipped, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
"Careful, you idiot!" Hickman hissed. They both froze as he watched the dust rise and then dissipate as it caught the breeze. He thought for a moment that one of the figures down below had looked this way, but no cry went up, so he breathed out and they crept down.
"Now, unless we can positively identify the sheriff, we ain't goin' no farther. You understand?"
Brain nodded. "Seems strange, but I can't see no guards, boss."
He was right. Twice in one day. No matter how hard he tried, Hick couldn't imagine the settlement below as the outpost of the bandits who'd attacked the hospital in Ezra. Now he was closer, he could see that many of the moving figures were women and children, and none seemed to be carrying weapons. That made no sense to him. Even if they were trying to live peacefully, they had to realize they needed to protect themselves. And, in any case, Jenson had been shot when he'd tried to go in. So, they did have weapons somewhere.
"That's him, boss, that's him!"
Hickman sighted along Brain's shaking fat finger. Yes, it was the sheriff. He'd acquired a limp since Hick had last seen him, but he recognized the round-shouldered walk and red-tinged gray hair that made him look like an arthritic grizzly. Dammit. Unless he was prepared to brain Brain and leave him out here for the crows, he was going to have to try to free Kaminski.
"Doesn't look as though he's got no chains on. No cuffs neither," Brain said. "Why, he could just get up and walk out of the place."
"Don't be a moron," Hick spat. But then, he might as well have asked his late, lamented dog Buster not to relieve himself on the rug. It was in their nature. "You can see he's limping. How far d'you think he'd get on foot, 'specially in the direction he'd need to head to get back to Ezra? That's if he even knows where Ezra is. Dollar to a dime he was out cold when they brought him here."
Brain sat and sulked as Hick laid himself flat and squeezed between two boulders so he could get the best possible look at Kaminski. "There's somethin' wrong with him, for sure. Aside from the limp, he don't look steady on his feet. Like he's drunk or somethin'."
"Maybe he is. I sure could do with something stronger than water."
Hick rolled onto his side to look back at his henchman, coughing as he accidentally inhaled a nose-full of dust that left his throat tasting of metal. "You ain't gettin' nothin' unless we get back safe and sound with that lummox down there."
"Boss?"
Hick flipped back onto his belly. "What?"
"Why d'you wanna rescue the sheriff? He ain't no friend of yours."
"Because you blabbed to Jenson that he was still alive," Hick said, realizing as he said it that even Brain would know this didn't answer the question. "Look, there's trouble in Hope and I need someone straight up and down to help me."
"Trouble? You mean the reverend?"
He rolled over again. "You know what he's doin'?"
"Sure. He asked me to be on his side. Said I could be his chief of security."
"Oh, did he? And what did he want in return?"
Brain chuckled. "He said all I had to do was get rid of you. Maybe lure you out in the middle of nowhere and bash your brains out. Then I could be in charge of making sure everyone did what they was told. He said I'd get a badge and everythin'."
Hick didn't move. He kept his eyes locked on the limping figure below as he desperately tried to keep the panic at bay. Was it possible that this idiot had maneuvered him out here so he could ice him? For a shiny badge? Had this been the plan all along? To tell Jenson the sheriff was alive and have him fail so Hick would be forced to attempt a rescue? But if so, who else was in on it? Jenson? Gil Summers? The mayor of Ezra? Oh yes, she'd been pretty anxious for him to go, and her daughter to stay. No witnesses.
"Now don't you fret, boss. I'll make it nice and quick."
Hick rolled slowly over to see Brain kneeling above him on the slope, but out of view of the people below. He held the shotgun leveled at Hick's chest. "What the hell are you doing?" It was all he could manage as his heart thudded and black spots circled his vision like ravens of death. "They'll hear the shot!"
"Yeah, well, I figure I'll be long gone by the time they get up here. And they'll get the blame for your shootin'. I'll make like you're a hero, don't you worry, boss. I'll say you tol' me to run."
"After all I've done for you," Hick said, shaking his head. His only hope was to keep the lummox talking. If he'd had the brains he'd been born with, he'd have done the deed by now.
Brain's eyes narrowed. "All you done for me, boss? Tol' me I'm a idiot. The reverend said you wasn't right to be mean to me, an' now I got a place with his folk. An' I'll go to heaven, jus' like h
im. 'Cos I'll be at his right hand."
"That's what he told you, was it? Can't you see he's using you? He wants me out of the way and you're fool enough to do it so he don't have to."
The shotgun inched closer, its tip vibrating. Hick watched the podgy trigger finger.
Then he rolled to his left.
Boom!
Dust and grit spat into his back as he pushed himself up, twisted over and sprang at the rock Brain was behind. Except he'd moved.
Boom!
Hick thought he felt the heat of it whistling past his ear, but he plunged in the direction of the noise and came up with a handful of Brain. He pulled hard, yanking his opponent backward. He didn't know what he was doing, other than trying to keep Brain off balance, but as the shotgun came around, he struck out and the weapon flew away onto the rocks.
The slope took him and he fell backward, pulling Brain with him as they tumbled, first together, then apart, down the slope. He cried out as a jagged rock stabbed his spine, but he couldn't stop his progress down the hill, pulled faster and faster by the inexorable force of gravity. He heard Brain crying out as he hit something, but he no longer cared. He was entirely at the mercy of physics, so he let himself go, doing nothing more than rolling up into a ball and hoping for the best.
Hick glanced off a boulder and tumbled sideways with a yell of pain before coming to a sudden halt. Something softer than rock jabbed into his back, and he felt a cold, hard object press against his temple.
An unfamiliar voice said, "Shall I shoot him?"
Chapter 19: Hickman
"No, I guess you'd better not," another voice said. A familiar voice this time.
Hick rolled onto his back and looked up, screwing his eyes to make out the silhouetted figure standing over him.
"Though the world might be a better place without him."
"Rusty?"
A hand appeared in front of his face and he took it, wincing at the pain in his back and shoulders as he sat up against a boulder and rubbed his eyes. Rusty Kaminski stood there, examining Hick with his hands on his knees and a smile on his face.
"What in the name of all that's holy is goin' on? You're a prisoner. I came to rescue you!" Hick said.
Kaminski laughed. "I'll consider myself rescued, then. You deserve some credit after that performance."
Then Hick remembered. "Brain? Where is that two-faced, treacherous ba—"
"He broke his neck on the way down, I reckon." Kaminski gestured to where a body was being dragged out of the rocks and toward the settlement. "I'm interested to know why you two was fightin' like a pair of jackals, though. If I had been relyin' on you to get me outta here, I'd be in a sorry state."
Hickman shook his head as if to clear his mind. "What's goin' on? You're a prisoner!"
"No, I'm not," Rusty said.
Hick looked from the sheriff to the people standing around him. Men, women and children; maybe a dozen of them in all. "Are these the bandits who attacked the hospital?"
"These are the survivors. But, let's get you inside. Seems as though we both got a story to tell."
Hick followed Kaminski under the canopies and into the building he'd seen from above. It had plainly been an office of some sort for the mining company. A wall calendar was showing the month of March with a picture of spring flowers on the edge of a desert. What a different world it had been when that calendar was printed.
They walked into the reception area, though the counter had been taken out to make more room for chairs and beds that were pushed up against the walls. A door behind where the counter had been led to a short corridor with rooms running off either side. "This is where the womenfolk sleep with the kids. And I got an office at the end."
Hick eased himself into a moth-eaten office chair as Kaminski sat opposite. A woman followed them in—short, plump and gray-haired, she pulled up a stool and sat beside the sheriff.
"This here's Kristi," he said. "She's the leader of the community here."
The woman nodded, but Hick was in no mood for social niceties. "Look, what's goin' on here? I saw you attacked on the truck, and Jenson said you was a prisoner here. And now it looks as though you run the place."
"As I said, Kristi is the leader. I just take care of security."
"And a fine job you did of that!" Hick said, unable to help himself. "We got to within fifty yards of you."
Kaminski smiled. "I know you did, Paul. We've had eyes on you since you parked your car. You could've saved yourself a long walk. But what are you sayin' about Jenson? What's he got to do with anything?"
"You shot him a few days ago. He tried to sneak into the camp at night and got away with a bullet for his trouble."
The smile evaporated. "That was him? Is he okay?"
"Yeah. He's in hospital in Ezra. He'll live."
Kaminski's face darkened, his chair creaking as he tensed. "That's unfortunate."
"What's going on here, Rusty? I saw you being shot by … well, terrorists is what Hawkins calls them, and from what I saw she's about right. I thought you were dead," he lied, "and then I heard from Jenson that you weren't. I turn up here and you're runnin' the place."
"No, Kristi runs the place. And the people here aren't terrorists, Paul, and they never were. They're just desperate."
"What for?"
"Help! Tell me, has anyone had the sickness in Hope yet?"
Hickman nodded as his insides wrapped themselves in knots. "Yeah. We took in some folks from Ezra and some of them turned out to be sick. It's spread wide. Got Martha, though she ain't dead. Not yet anyway."
Kaminski cursed. "You let them send you their sick? Are you insane?"
"Now hold your horses, Rusty. How was I supposed to know about this flu virus? I agreed to take care of some of their folks."
"And what did you get in return?"
Hick sighed. There was no point in denying it; he hadn't done anything wrong, after all. "I got weapons from the National Guard armory. After those militia took over, I wanted us to be able to defend ourselves."
"So, you've set up a defense force? Well, that's good at least."
He couldn't help himself but smile. Hickman liked to think he was a self-contained, rational kind of a guy, but he sure liked the occasional scrap of praise that came his way. "Yeah, it's all set up. Keepin' it small at the moment."
"Good call. Who'd you put in charge? Waydon?"
"No, it was a guy I met in Ezra, during the battle—"
Rusty lurched forward so fast he almost fell off the chair. "You left an Ezran in charge?"
"Well, yeah. He's a good fella." Hick decided this wasn't the right moment to mention his doubts about Bekmann. "Look, Rusty, it's time you explained what is goin' on. Why did these folks attack the hospital?"
Rusty Kaminski looked across at the woman beside him. "Because Mayor Hawkins left them to die."
For the second time in forty-eight hours, Paul Hickman found himself standing beside a row of graves.
"My husband," Kristi said, gesturing at a rough wooden cross in the sand. "It all started when a family walked into the settlement one day, not long after the firestorm that killed most folks here, and we took them in. Chris was a maintenance worker, and we'd come to pick him up because he was missing the Super Bowl. We were walking across the parking lot to meet him when everything went to hell. This was the only building that wasn't connected to the power grid. He said it was an experimental solar project they were working on.
"Those people got sick soon after they arrived. Turns out they were running away from the disease, but they brought it with them. Chris had rounded up everyone he could find from Carson—that's the little town just down the road—and brought them here. Pretty soon half were sick and half of those were dead or dying. So he drove across to Ezra, found the mayor and asked for her help."
Hickman looked up from the sad little patch of desert, the wind chilling his bones. "And she refused?"
"Yeah. Seems some of her people had gone down with it alr
eady. She sent him away. Three times he tried to get her to help, as folks here were gettin' sicker and sicker. Three times she sent him away. And the last time, she did it at the point of a gun. Then our son got sick, and he snapped."
Hick shook his head as the woman kept her eyes on the grave. "And that's when you attacked? Good grief, I thought you were terrorists."
"No, we were just desperate. And we lost a lot of people in that fight. Including my husband. Rusty here tried his best to stop the bleeding, but it was too late."
The world seemed to be spinning as his beliefs and assumptions were stripped away. He'd thought he knew Mayor Hawkins. She was tough, but fair and honorable—it was her weakness. But perhaps that had merely been a cloak hiding a heart of flint. Her people came first, second and third. He tried desperately to work through all the implications for him and the people of Hope.
"Don't you see, Paul?" Rusty said, emerging from the shadows and putting his arm around Kristi, "She's fooled you into carin' for her sick."
"She didn't fool me. I knew what I was doing."
"Did you, though? You took a Trojan horse into Hope that weakened the people there with fear and disease. I guess you got a curfew in place, too?"
Hickman nodded. He felt as though he were a rabbit with its foot in a wire trap.
"And you got an Ezran runnin' your defense unit?"
"Yeah, but Gert's a good guy. I fought alongside him at the hospital."
"What a coincidence. I wonder who organized that?"
Hick stepped back as if trying to get away from the implication. "You're saying she arranged all this? She's got him set up to take over from me? I thought Ward was the one stirring up trouble!"
"Oh, I'm sure he is. But Hawkins is the empire builder."
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