by Pike, JJ
Jacinta pushed her way inside his room. “I need your help.”
Triple-H followed her into his cave and unwrapped the bar in an unhurried and studied way. She couldn’t rush him, though the panic rising in her stomach told her she didn’t have much patience left. He broke the bar into one-inch segments and lay them out on the gold foil. He counted them, thought, then counted them again. He shook his head. “Tamsen, Tom, Craig, Ellie…”
“Triple-H, could you do that later? I need you.”
“Hush a moment. I need five pieces for Bokerah’s kids,” he said. “They’re being so good, but why not give them a nice little surprise, eh?” He folded each spare in its own piece of foil. “Maybe Triple-H shouldn’t give it to the children, directly. That can look wrong these days. Go through the moms or the grandmothers or the aunties. That’s what Triple-H will do. Make sure they know it’s for the kiddoes, but let them decide what and when they’re rewarded for…”
“I need your help, H.”
Triple-H didn’t look her way. Perhaps this was a mistake; trying to recruit someone whose grip on reality was slippery, even on a good day. And today wasn’t a good day. She’d done an end run around the cabinet and allowed a Marine to subdue her best friend and lock her in…well, she didn’t know where Abbie was stashed and that was probably for the best.
“I know!” Triple-H slapped his hand to his forehead. “They can be a reward under the pillow, in exchange for teeth!” He was giddy with excitement. He removed his hat and hopped from one foot to the other for a few seconds. It reminded Jacinta of a Highland dance; the kind where they leap over knives. He was nimble for such a large man. “Triple-H needs teeth.” He pointed his hat at the wall. “The dinosaurs are giving way to early Man. Can you even imagine how great that will be? Real teeth. Well, I’ll be…”
“Truly. It’s time sensitive.”
He looked up. For a second, he didn’t look as mad as a box of lemurs.
“There’s more where that came from,” she whispered. “And, as long as you’re sensible and don’t go blabbing about it, I can get you a steady supply for the children. You can be like the tooth fairy, but in reverse. The tooth fairy who delivers chocolate.”
“The irony is not lost on Triple-H. But think. They’ll be able to come in here for years and point to a figure on the wall and say, ‘Those are my teeth. I helped make that.’” He ran his hand over the bleached bones that made up the back of a dinosaur. “Do you think many parents have kept their kiddoes teeth over the years? Triple-H thinks not. And that’s an error. You don’t want your genetic material falling into the wrong hands. Triple-H doesn’t let any of his go without knowing who has access to it and why.”
Jacinta had visions of him sweeping his floor for hair and affixing it to his wall art.
Triple-H took the chocolate wrapper, with its glossy purple background and ornate gold script, and gently hooked it onto his coat. “That’s going to have pride of place.”
Gah. That would invite questions, but if he became the reverse-tooth-fairy Downers would roll with it. He was Triple-H and off-the-wall; the rules didn’t apply to him in the same way. They could deal with it if it ever became an issue.
Finally—just when Jacinta despaired of getting the man to concentrate for long enough to hear her out—he turned his full attention to her, hands folded in front of him as if he was in the Principal’s office, waiting for a dressing down.
“I need you to get me something.”
“Triple-H is listening.”
“Neil has a blowtorch.”
“Triple-H is actively interested in what Jacinta Baule is saying. She’s not known for saying interesting things, if you don’t mind Triple-H saying so.”
Jacinta shrugged. It was strange to hear herself spoken of in third person, but it was his way. They’d gotten used to that vaguely disembodied feeling when talking to him. Almost as if your actions weren’t wholly your own anymore. A good thing, in this case.
“He also has oxygen tanks and, I am given to understand, more than one dolly.”
“Triple-H believes this to be the case, too.”
“Can you get them for me?”
“What will Triple-H say he wants them for?” He didn’t pause long enough for her to answer. “An art project. Of course. This pleases Triple-H.” He tapped the side of his head. “You’re smarter than you look.” He winced. He’d fallen out of his regular speech mode. “Jacinta Baule is smarter than she looks. Triple-H had thought she was a bad choice to replace Alistair. Triple-H means no disrespect. Triple-H only believes that harsh times require tough leaders and Jacinta Baule is soft in the wrong places.”
She waited. He’d agreed to the mission. Now she had to get him moving. If she had to stand there and allow him to insult her it was a small price to pay.
“Jeff Steckle has his eye on Jacinta Baule’s office.”
It wasn’t news. Hearing it said aloud, though, OUCH.
“Jeff Steckle has been holding meetings. Late at night. In private.”
Jacinta nodded as if this wasn’t news. It was.
“Jeff Steckle plans to use the vote to bring a motion to the floor.”
“Wow.” No point feigning knowledge now. She needed him to fill her in on what had been happening behind her back. “Is Triple-H going to tell me what the motion might be about?”
Triple-H leaned against the wall, tracing his fingers over the head of what appeared to be an Oreo cookie, split in half, its creamy center carved into the head of a Roman Emperor, like a cameo brooch done in confectionary. “Triple-H would like immunity.”
“Immunity from what?”
“Triple-H doesn’t want to go to jail.”
“Hunter. Stop messing me about. What’s going down?”
He took two steps across his room and bent low so he was close to her ear. “He’s going to vote you out. If you resist, he has plans to remove you by force. He has a private army. He has weapons.”
Jacinta stood very still. Had Jeff Steckle been through the armory? Was she too late to arm her own men? Was she going to meet resistance? “When?”
“After the vote. He has words prepared. Jeff Steckle has language he’s recommending people add to their ballots. It’ll be ‘yes, open the doors to the Downers’ along with ‘oust the spineless leader.’”
“Let’s go.” She turned and exited Triple-H’s home.
There were people in the corridor, hanging by their front doors, trying to look casual and failing. They all had flappy-ear-itis. If they’d overheard anything it would have been a leader and a mad artist talking about chocolate and then…then?...there was no way they’d heard Triple-H reporting on the insurrection. That had been little more than a whisper.
She did her best not to avert her eyes. Wouldn’t do to look shifty now. For all she knew they’d all been at the same secret meeting Triple-H had attended. She hadn’t asked any important questions: What was Steckle offering as incentive? Did he have a mandate? A platform? Were that many people pissed at her? Had she bungled it so completely?
“I’ll say goodbye here.” She halted at a fork in the path. One way was the heavy-industry section of Down, the other her offices. “Meet me in Section 12 in twenty minutes.”
“Triple-H needs longer than that. Mr. Hendy likes to catch up with the goings on in Wolfjaw Down. Triple-H prefers to keep the pattern of his interactions with everyone who knows him as regular as pie.”
“I need it sooner,” said Jacinta.
H cleared his throat and leaned in close again. “If you want to do this and not get caught, you’ll learn how to fly under the radar.” He looked up and down the corridor. It was clear. No one was going to overhear him talking like a sane man. His cover was secure. “Go about your business. Talk to folks. Talk about the vote tomorrow. Be seen. Make sure you have at least four big interactions that people will remember. The chocolate was a good move, because it’s out of the ordinary. Coming to me was a good move because the Downers love my ar
t and trust that I’ll bring a little weirdness into their day. I help them feel like they’re not going off the deep end. As long as they’re not ‘as weird’ as me, they’re safe.”
Jacinta did her best not to gawp, but the man was talking such complete sense she wished she’d had him as an ally and advisor from day one. He was secretly brilliant.
“Once you’ve made your way through the residential warren, throw a little debate party. Crack open a bottle of something—rum, maybe; they’re getting tired of their home-made vodka—and shoot the shit with some of your constituents. Don’t overdo it. No one expects you to get the hang of this politicking right away. But you have friends. There are people who believe in you. Find Lila Nawrocki and get her to break out the drama troupe. They’re starving for a new project. If you tell them to mount a mock debate, they’ll be like little pink piggies in clover. And people will flock to see that. Make sure to laugh hard when they mock you…” He nudged her with his oversized elbow. “Are you listening to me?”
“Every word. Twice. And consigning it to my permanent memory.”
“Tactically speaking it’ll look like you came to your political senses right in the nick of time.”
“How much do I say? What do I tell them? Do I make a case for…”
“Depends what you’re going to do with the blowtorch. If you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, I’d recommend you talk up Amy Heebner and Liam Bradstone.”
Jacinta nodded.
“Don’t mention the Outers. You don’t want to cloud the issue. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I do know you’re going to have a hard time convincing some people to open those doors, period.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t talk about disease. None of it. Understand me? Keep it zipped.” He pulled an imaginary zipper over his lips.
She nodded.
“Stay uniformly positive.”
“Positive. Yes.”
“If they ask hard questions, punt. They expect that. Alistair did it on a regular basis. The man wouldn’t have known a straight answer if it had hit him in the face like a two-by-four. You won’t get much push-back, as long as Jeff doesn’t make an appearance.”
“Why are you helping me, H?”
“Triple-H.”
“You know what I mean. Why?”
“No one wants blood on their hands. Certainly not me. Jeff’s willing to spill it.” He rested his huge hand on her shoulder. “I think you want to do better…”
The lump in her throat was so large and so heavy she couldn’t speak. This had been her struggle, her nightmare: That all that blood be splashed at her feet, soiling her legacy. She’d be known forevermore as the leader who couldn’t save her people from biological disaster; the one who’d bungled the closing of the doors; the one who’d hung their most precious and beloved citizens out to dry.
“Jeff Steckle no more wants to let MELT in through those doors than anyone else.”
“And he’ll kill to stop it?”
“You’re getting the hang of this. He and his militia would take out anyone with MELT as soon as fart.” Colorful, but it felt right. Jeff was that kind of snakey-opportunist who’d say what people wanted to hear then do what he thought best.
Not like Alistair. Jeff and Alistair were fundamentally different. Alistair had a vision: Wolfjaw Down was going to be a utopia, like Wolfjaw Ridge. They’d live together in mutual support and harmony. Jacinta bit back her bitter thoughts. Would Alistair have been able to hold on to that optimism if he’d faced what she was facing as Down’s leader?
“Go. Spend a minimum of three hours being seen and heard.”
“Three hours?” She ran her hand down the wall, then brushed the water off on her trousers, just as Trish had done earlier. “This needs to happen tonight.”
“By the time you’re done, I’ll have your doors unsealed. No one will know who doesn’t need to know.”
The doors were the other side of the sick bays. If done right, Triple-H would be able to work on the seal without anyone but Nurse Patrice and her patients being any the wiser.
“Before you start work, I want you to close the doors to the sick bay closest to us. It’s easy enough to declare quarantine. People are jittery,” she said.
“This is not my first showdown, Jacinta Baule. I’ve run operations far more complex than this in my time. I take it Patrice knows?”
Jacinta nodded.
“Who else?”
She hadn’t told anyone what she was planning, but Meredith already knew something was afoot. She’d told him to bring his best, which meant Marcus Hart, Christine Gasberg, Jamie Davies, and himself. All they’d know was that there was an operation that required military smarts. If Triple-H was right and Jeff had been sowing dissent, perhaps they’d assume her move was to quash his.
“That’s a bad habit you have,” said Triple-H, “wandering off into your own mind like that. People take it personally. You can’t be in your own space when you’re in charge of a crowd.”
Jacinta nodded. “Sorry. I’ve been so used to standing behind Alistair and waiting for orders I assume I’m still invisible.”
“You’re not. Who else knows about this?”
“Meredith.”
“Shit.” H wiped his forehead. “Meredith works for Jeff. He’s the head of Steckle’s militia.”
Jacinta turned to run. She’d handed her best friend over to a man who’d already betrayed her. What if…? God, it didn’t bear thinking about. If Meredith Hoffelder had killed Abbie she’d curl up and die.
H grabbed her by the arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“My office.”
He swung her back toward the wall as if she weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers. “Have you understood a word I’ve said?”
Jacinta’s brain was firing off in all direction. Pictures raced across her memory: Abbie getting married to Paul; Abbie holding baby Felix after a jillion hours of labor; Abbie organizing potlucks and camping retreats and fun-runs to raise barter points for the school.
“You go about your business. You’re the leader of Wolfjaw Down facing the most important vote of your career. Go and talk to your people.” He fished around inside his pocket. “Here.” He handed her an apple. “Eat this and calm yourself down. Then walk away and don’t look back. Do everything I’ve told you, to the letter. I’ll take care of Meredith. He already thinks I work for Jeff. We’re good.”
“Abbie…”
“Abbie Prosser?”
The blood ran out of Jacinta’s brain leaving her dizzy and disoriented. Had she killed her friend? For what?
“He’s taken Abbie?” Thank goodness she’d gone to Triple-H. She hadn’t known it, but he was a tactical genius dressed up as a madman. “He’ll have stashed her near the head of the stream. It’s one of those places he thinks no one will bother to look, because of the proliferation of algae on the rocks. It’s slippery, even if you know your way around underground caves.”
“She’s alive?” Jacinta’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“Go about your business and report to the sick bay when you’re done.”
Jacinta had her orders. If there was one thing she was good at, it was following through on a plan. She left; one foot in front of the other, heading for the performance of her life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MARCH 2022
Barb lay on the floor of her tent, sweating and shivering, her head still propped on KC’s soft, furry side.
Hedwig had tried to move her away from her dog-pillow, but KC wouldn’t allow it. She held the cup of pungent, powdered herbs to Barb’s lips and urged her to drink, but that wasn’t happening either. She was close enough to her patient that she could smell the suppurating wound under the bandages. The box of herbs would have something to treat an infected sore, the only problem being nothing was labeled. There were roots and leaves and powders but without Barb to tell her what to do—how much, in what form, and how often—it was al
l useless. Worse. She knew enough to know that some of the roots were poisonous when ingested but okay to use as a poultice, but more than that and she was out to sea.
A couple of berries of purple nightshade would make you choke to death. Lily of the Valley could bring on heart palpitations. English yew, hemlock, poison ivy…the list went on and on.
The door to the outside world opened. Sean with water. He decanted the rain into the filtration buckets situated around the perimeter, put some into the dogs’ bowls, then crouched down beside Hedwig to inspect the sick woman. “Want some lamb’s ear?”
“What?”
Sean pointed at Barb’s arm. “They used lambs’ ears in the Civil War.”
She had learned not to underestimate Sean (even though he was a full-on veggie which made her nervous because, well, protein and minerals and missing vitamins and whatever). He knew things she didn’t expect a rich kid from Manhattan to know, but she hadn’t expected him to come up with a meat-based solution. She waited.
A couple of dogs excused themselves from their posts, went and drank (noisy and sloppy, drops dripping from their muzzles as they returned), and retook their places watching Barb.
All except Lexie, who stayed by the door, panting and whining.
The whole tent was concentrated on Barb. If the collective will of two humans and fifteen dogs was to carry the day, she would have made an instant recovery, got up and made them a delicious stew while waving her miraculously healed arm in the air.
That didn’t happen, of course. Hedwig had come to understand in the months since they’d taken refuge from MELT that miracles were smaller and required the hands-on work of the supplicant.
Sheesh. What were the odds of her turning into a God-bod? She’d gone to church with her folks, but she’d never been moved or thought too much about what it meant. But here she was, begging God to show her the way. Literally. She was all, “Guide my hands to do Thy will” on the inside and stoic concentration on the outside. What would Paul make of it? She hadn’t told him. It was too…raw. Too weird. Too personal.
GOD: Um…
