by Penn Gates
Wow, Nix thinks, how many scenes can he make in one day? Then decides she doesn't want to find out. She helps carry the dishes into the kitchen and even dries some of them.
“Let's go, girls, it's getting late and we have fun stuff to do.”
Margaret looks as close as she ever does to being annoyed, but Brittany is in hyperdrive. “I was thinking, Nix. I'll bet that book is written in a real old-timey way—you know, like the Declaration of Independence, where the s looks like an f." She puts away a stack of plates.
“Why don't we ask Emma to take a look at the book, too? Margaret knows about recipes and measuring, but Emma knows a lot about history and literature and stuff like that.”
“That's another good idea, Brit,” Nix says. “You find Emma and we'll all meet in the—”
“Have any of you seen Jason since supper?” Cash's voice makes her jump. Crap! It should have taken him a lot longer to get those guys settled in.
“He's not in here,” Nix says, her words clipped. “Go look someplace else.”
Martin sticks his head in the kitchen. “I searched the whole house, Cash,” he says importantly. “Even the attic.” He holds up his flashlight. “He's not here.”
“OK, I'm gonna jump in the truck and see if I can find him before it gets too dark,” Cash says. “Michael saw a coyote when he was huntin'. You don't want to meet one of those suckers at night.”
“And what'll you do if you find him uneaten?” Nix asks. “I doubt if he'll talk to you, let alone get in the same truck with you.”
“Then come along, by all means. Everyone obeys your orders. You can even threaten to shoot him if you'd like.”
“I'm going with you,” Brittany announces. “I'm the closest thing Jason's got to a friend. Maybe he'll listen to me.”
“I'm drivin',” Cash says.
“Let me sit by the door,” Brittany says quickly. “If we find him, I can jump out and talk to him.”
Great, Nix thinks. She beat me to it. Neither one of us want to sit next to Cash, although probably for different reasons.
“Which way?” Cash asks at the end of the drive. “Which way would he go?”
“Frank's place!" they all say at once.
“It's the only thing that makes sense,” Nix adds.
It takes them five minutes to catch up with Jason, trudging along the side of the road. He's still three or four miles from Frank's place.
“Hey, Jase,” Brittany calls. “Wait up. I want to talk to you.”
Jason seems not to hear her. Cash pulls over to the gravel shoulder and Brittany jumps down. “I hope that coyote isn't out there,” she squeaks.
Nix pulls her gun. “If it is, I'll shoot it, OK? Now go talk sense to that idiot so we can go back to the farm, and this day can finally end.”
Neither Cash or Nix say a word as they watch Brittany trotting to catch up with Jason, illuminated by the headlights. Nix slides over to the passenger side and rests her elbow out the open window.
Jason finally stops and waits for the girl who, until quite recently, he’s been pursuing, instead of the other way around. From the truck cab, Nix can't see his expression, but Brittany stands talking earnestly to him. Long and earnestly. Nix shifts restlessly. Finally she's had enough. Jason is playing games for attention, like the brat that he is. Nix opens the door.
“Let her handle it,” Cash says.
“She's been handling it for, like half an hour,” Nix retorts. “Now it's my turn.”
“Hey Jason,” she calls, as she strides toward the two of them. “The night you guys showed up on my doorstep, you asked for refuge—and I took you into my home." She comes to a halt in front of him and looks up into his face. “Now there's a little dust up and you're going to bail? What's with that?”
“I didn't have a choice then, did I?” he sneers. “But I do now—and I'm making it. So fuck off!” He turns and starts walking again.
“Jason, wait, come back!” Brittany wails.
Nix remembers Terry's talk about keg parties and sighs. She has no idea how much drinking Jason might have done in his short life, but she's guessing it was whenever he could. A bright guy would put two and two together when he first saw Frank and the poor conditions at his place—in a world where vigilance and planning are what keep you alive, alcohol can kill you. But she's never thought of Jason as very bright.
“Stop it, Brit. He may not be doing what's best for him, but he's doing what he wants." She puts her arms around the girl's shoulder. “Come on, let's go home.”
Brittany waits for Nix to climb in first again so she's stuck in the middle, a place she's always hated to be. It feels too much like being trapped. Which, as it turns out, is exactly what happens. When the truck stops at the house, Brittany jumps out without a backward glance, but Cash grabs Nix by the arm before she can make a move. He releases the brake and the truck creeps forward toward the machine shed.
“Say what you have to say,” Cash says as he stops in front of the old garage doors and switches off the engine.
“Apparently it's you who wants to talk. I just want to go to bed after a long, fucking miserable day.”
“Bullshit,” he says. “You're so mad you can't see straight.”
“You broke the agreement we made!” she says accusingly. “We said we weren't going to be provoked into violence.”
“Yeah, I did. Want to know why?" He opens the door. “Let's get out. We can at least sit on the tailgate, look at the stars while we argue.”
She reluctantly climbs down, but ignores his suggestion and leans against the passenger side of the truck. “Do I want to know why?” she repeats, folding her arms and then letting them drop to her sides as she realizes it makes her look defensive. “Let me guess. You were defending my honor?” she asks sarcastically. “But that can't be it because I'm pretty sure you know I'm capable of handling that on my own. I'm not a child.”
Cash rests his elbows on the tailgate, which he hasn't bothered to let down. “Yeah, I know—you may be the world's oldest woman—isn’t that what you always say?" Cash laughs, but he doesn't sound amused. “But when it comes to other people, you act more like a five-year-old.”
“What the hell's that supposed to mean? I'm not the one who acted like a kid on the playground and socked the big, bad bully.”
“I could tell you I put Frank down to show that nobody gets away with disrespectin’ the boss—that discipline will be enforced.” He pauses. “Because I know that's what you want to hear. But that would only be part of the truth.”
Nix bites her lip. If she doesn't say another word, maybe he'll stop now.
“I can hear you thinkin’,” Cash says. “You want me to shut up because if I keep talkin’ I might say something real scary.”
“Yeah, I want you to shut up,” Nix says belligerently, “But nope—I can't imagine what you could possibly say that would scare me.”
“Good to know,” Cash says and approaches her. “Because I saw red when that drunk prick insulted you. I wanted to kill him.”
Nix pushes herself away from the truck. “OK, that's it. Discussion over.”
Cash reaches out and grabs her hand. “No, you don't. I'm not finished.”
“Quit now, while you're ahead,” Nix says breathlessly. “Don't say anything you'll regret later.”
“Why would I regret tellin' you how much I care about you?”
“Why do you need to! My partner on the force was important to me, but I didn't have to spell it out. He knew I had his back just like I knew he had mine.”
“I'm pretty sure I should quit now, while I'm still out in front of this,” Cash says quietly. He lets go of her hand. “Go ahead, run—if that's what you need to do.”
She considers bolting, but what if she's got this wrong? Maybe he's just trying to—damn!
“I don't do running,” she says flatly. “If there's anything else you have to say, get it out. Because this won't be happening again.”
“When that limb broke,” h
e says, “I had one thought as I fell—if I'm lucky, I'm gonna die.”
“Seems reasonable. I'd have probably felt the same, under the circumstances.”
“Then I woke up and all I could see in front of me at first was fire, and I thought—fuck me, there really is a hell after all.”
Nix starts to relax a little. If all he wants to do is reminisce, tell her how he owes her for saving his life, that's fine. He's probably forgotten that he already said he was grateful when he asked if he could stick around.
“Then I saw you,” Cash says in that same quiet voice, “Across the fire, and you squinted at me through the smoke, and I thought—I’ll never look at another woman again. It's her, or nobody.”
“You'd just fallen on your head, for Christ'sake! You couldn't even focus your eyes.”
“Yeah, maybe, but, I don't think so. I've been over that concussion for months, and I still feel the same way.”
“And let me point out,” Nix continues doggedly, “Strictly speaking, there are no other women around. Just girls.”
He looks at her. “You can really say that with a straight face? After you saw Brittany do a striptease for me?”
“That only proves you're smart. You can be smart and still be desperate.”
“You know what I find interestin’? You're givin’ me all these reasons why I can't feel the way I do, but you haven't said shit about how you feel.”
Nix closes her eyes. “I feel like a pedophile.”
“Interestin’,” Cash says, and she hears the smile in his voice. “Why is that?”
She opens her eyes. “Because if I was attracted to someone half my age—that would be—perverted.”
“Wow! Perverted. That's pretty extreme, don't ya think? I mean, 'perverted' is havin a thing for farm animals or small children.”
Nix refuses to look at him. She keeps staring down at her hand, the one Cash has just taken hold of again and refuses to release.
“It's not how many years you've lived,” he says slowly. “It's how much you've lived.”
“Fortune cookie?” Nix mumbles.
“By that standard,” Cash continues as if she hasn't spoken, “I'm pretty sure you and I are the same age. I may even be a little older.”
Nix takes a shaky breath. “Forget about it. This isn't going to happen.”
“It already has happened. For me, you're the one. Can't change it. Don't want to change it."
She knows he's staring intently at her. She can feel it. But she refuses to raise her head. If she looks into his eyes, she doesn't know what might happen.
“If this is just a casual thing for you, then it's better we keep clear of each other,” Cash says finally.
“Is that some sort of ultimatum?” Nix suddenly feels panic-stricken. What if he leaves?
“Don't worry. I'm not goin' anywhere.” He lets go of her hand. “I'd never run out on you—or the rest of them.” And without another word, he disappears into the machine shed and his shack of a room at the back of it.
As she walks slowly toward the house, Nix thinks about what's just happened, but she has no answers. How Cash feels is beyond her control, but she's determined to keep her own impulses in check. No matter what he believes, sudden flare ups of sexual heat are common between people in close, constant contact—especially under intense stress. But they come and go like lightning. In a world of a couple dozen people, there would be no place to escape each other after it was over. The two of them work too well together, what they accomplish together is too crucial, to allow anything to jeopardize their partnership.
Chapter 17
Freddie Krueger is slumped against the barn, mumbling to himself. Cash squats down and lifts his head, none too gently, so Nix can see his face. Beneath his nose and around his mouth, like the grin of some demented clown, is red paint.
Nix looks at the paper bag still clutched in his hand and the empty spray can next to him. “Throw some cold water on him,” she says in disgust, “And keep him walking until he starts to make sense.”
She glances around at the group of young men who have gathered to see what's going on. “Marcus—you and Jake do the honors. And try not to break him,” she says mock seriously, “But don't treat him like an accident victim, either. The little shit did this to himself.”
The two look a little nervous, but between them, they get Freddie on his feet and half drag him toward the pump.
“C'mon guys,” Cash says, “Nothing more to see. Get back to what you were doin'." He turns abruptly and follows the group, leaving Nix standing alone, staring down at the paint can.
Nix feels a surge of resentment at how easily he's adjusted to the distance between them. She'd never had to pretend to be the fearless, confident leader with Cash. It had been such a relief to let her hair down occasionally and allow her confused, messed up self say a few words. Apparently hanging out with a bunch of guys closer to his own age has more than compensated for her decision to keep their relationship—no, their association—strictly business. She kicks the can as hard as she can and it flies twenty feet before landing in the gravel of the drive.
“Fuck,” she says as she walks over and picks it up. She's not sure what would happen if a tractor ran over a pressurized can, but it couldn't be anything good.
Thinking about holes people can leave in your life leads Nix to consider the possibility that maybe Freddie feels abandoned by Jason. Jason didn’t have many good qualities, but he'd always looked out for Freddie—probably because he didn't see the smaller, weaker kid as competition. Cash has included Freddie in his boot camp for the newcomers, but she has no idea how the slightly built kid is handling it because well, she and Cash don't talk any more unless it's absolutely necessary.
She wonders about so much. How is ‘Hatfield's Militia’ coming along? She's seen them at a distance as they practice shooting, and some of them can actually hit a target now. But is it wise to give guns yet to these guys? Until recently, they were playing computer games where shooting anything that moved figured quite prominently.
◆◆◆
By early the next morning, Freddie is hung over but fully conscious of his surroundings—and his situation. He looks terrified when Nix orders him into her office and slams the door behind them.
“You really fucked up this time, dumb-ass,” she says immediately.
He nods mutely and studies his feet. So does Nix, and she’s amazed that his high-tops, much the worse for wear, are actually printed with tiny little skulls. Jesus!
“Hey!" she barks. “Look at me when I'm talking to you!”
His head snaps up, eyes as red as the paint he huffed yesterday.
“From now on, you are not to use the name Freddie,” she says, dropping into the chair behind her desk. “Did you hope people would be creeped out if you used the name of a character in a slasher film?”
He looks disoriented by the question, which is exactly what Nix wants. Suspects always have their little scripts written out in their heads. Feed them a line they don't expect, and they're lost.
“Speak up! I asked a question, and I expect an answer—now!”
“I didn't come up with the nickname,” he mumbles. “Other people did.”
“Is that right? Well I don't like it, Douglas. It's stupid. They were probably making fun of you.”
“Doug. My name is Doug.”
“Your mother called you Douglas when you were a bad boy, didn't she? And you've been a very, very bad boy,” Nix tells him. “Which is why you're here, Douglas!”
Beads of sweat roll down his forehead. He looks like he's going to collapse, but Nix doesn't offer him a chair. She hopes he does fall on his face.
“This might surprise you, Douglas, but I’m a great believer in free will,” Nix says. “People should make their own choices, chart their own course."
She crosses her arms and wills herself to be several inches taller. “That's why I'm about to give you a chance to do just that." She fixes him with a hard stare. �
�Are you capable of understanding me, Douglas? Because what I have to say is important to your future.”
“Yes,” he answers, nodding his head emphatically. “You're going to offer me a choice.”
Nix raises her index finger. “Choice Number One: You can understand that you’re part of a group that needs to work together for the survival of all, and start doing your fair share for a change.”
“OK." Douglas nods vigorously.
“But here's the catch. If you choose to huff, sniff, or even stick mood-altering substances up your ass again, I will take that as solid evidence of a desire for self-destruction.”
Nix holds up two fingers. “In which case, you’ve made Choice Number Two: You won’t be a part of this place any more. You’ll be gone.” She looks him over and shakes her head. “You look pretty fragile, Douglas. You better hope you starve to death out there before some real bad guys catch you and, well, use your imagination.”
His face looks waxy—just like that first night when she and Margaret struggled to keep him alive. And it means nothing to him, she thinks, because as soon as life hands him something he doesn’t like—boom! He runs for oblivion.
Nix snaps her fingers. “I’m feeling generous this morning, so I’ll give you a third choice. If you decide to use again, instead of trying your luck out there in no man’s land, you can choose a quick, easy death. All you need to do is ask. I’ll be happy to shoot you myself.”
Douglas stands without moving a muscle, his jaw slack with shock.
“You're doing that mouth breathing thing again, Douglas. It's not an attractive look.”
Gramps' old Seth Thomas seven-day clock ticks away the seconds. A fly buzzes against a window pane, desperate to get outside. Nix waits for a full minute before she breaks the silence.
“Speechless, Douglas? Well, never mind. No answer necessary. Actions speak louder than words. And make no mistake—I will be watching your actions closely for your answer."
She points at the door. “Get out of here. Go do something useful." She grins nastily. “Or not. The choice is yours.”
