by Nora Roberts
“Will he lead?” she asked Ann. “Your Yancy?”
“I’d say he and Sal will help run things, as much as they’re run. Yancy’s quiet, but he’s nobody’s fool. And Sal doesn’t take crap for certain.”
They walked to a box of a building with two chairs on a narrow porch. Inside, the prisoners sat on the floor, bound hand and foot.
Sal had her booted feet on the desk while she sipped whiskey. She’d been a redhead once, Fallon noted, as streaks of ginger still wound through the gray of her long braid. Like Yancy, she wore a cowboy hat, hers tipped down over her forehead. And a gun belt with a pistol rode on her narrow hips.
“Hey there, Ann, how are those knuckles?”
“Just fine now. This here’s Fallon Swift, and—sorry, I didn’t get the other names.”
“That’d be young Travis and Meda. Had my ear to the ground,” Sal added. “I’m pleased to meet you. Maybe a little sorry you figured you should heal up these assholes, but pleased just the same.”
“It’s easier to talk to them if they’re not bleeding.”
“Got nothing to say to you, devil whore.” One, black-bearded, potbellied, spat on the floor. “Or any of your like.”
“Oh, I think you’ll have plenty to say.” Tapping her fingers on the hilt of her sword, Fallon circled the bound men, arranged back-to-back on the floor.
The potbellied one wore boots with toes as pointy as needles, a fancy flag—red, white, and blue—sweeping up the sides. And soles worn so thin they showed holes at the balls of the feet.
She decided to start with the youngest—bearded as well, but scraggly, patchy. He wore a faded denim jacket that carried a poorly embroidered PW AND PROUD! on the back.
He’d taken an arrow in the hip, and though she’d healed it, she hadn’t taken the pain. She imagined it ached like fire.
He couldn’t have been older than Ethan.
“What’s your name?”
“Ain’t got nothing to say to you, whore.”
She gave Travis a glance, then crouched down to stare eye to eye. “I can smell your fear.”
“Fuck you.”
“You follow Jeremiah White.”
His eyes, a faded blue, held hate as well as the fear and pain. “He’s gonna wipe you and your like off the face of this earth.”
“How many have you killed? How many women have you raped in your quest for purity as defined by Jeremiah White?”
He twisted his mouth into a sneer that helped dampen any pity for his pain. “Many as I could.”
“You tell her, Ringo.”
She glanced to her left, to the bald man with a grizzled gray beard.
“Really? Ringo?”
“He goes by that,” Travis said easily, “because it makes him feel badass. His name’s actually Wilber.”
“Looks like a Wilber,” she said as he shot a wide-eyed glance at Travis. “I’m going to call you Wilber. Where’d you come from, Wilber? Where’s your base? How many in your base?”
“Fuck you, whore!”
“Excuse me.” Travis nudged by Ann, walked over, slammed a fist into Wilber’s face. “Call my sister a whore again, I’ll pull your guts out through your broken nose.”
The move surprised her, she couldn’t deny it. Travis preferred diplomacy over fists. But at the moment, the glint in his eyes didn’t have a hint of the diplomatic.
“That’s all right, Travis. Being called a whore by a cowardly rapist named Wilber doesn’t bother me. You know these people want to string you up like you’ve strung up the innocent magickals you’ve tortured.”
She cocked her head, smiled in a way that drained the color bravado had put into Wilber’s face. “Maybe I’ll let them. After all, their community, their rules. Or I could try to reason with them if you tell me what I want to know. Where’s your base?”
Though tears leaked from his eyes, blood streamed from his nose, he said nothing.
“California,” Travis supplied. “The northern part, sort of central, he thinks. They called their base Second Eden.”
“Shut your mind down, asshole,” the black-bearded one snapped. “That demon’s pulling thoughts out of your head.”
“Try shutting your own down . . . Pete,” Travis suggested. “Wilber here’s afraid of the rope.”
“He oughta be.” Enjoying herself, Sal drank more whiskey. “It’s something we’ve got plenty of around here.”
“How many on your base?”
When Travis punched Wilber again, Fallon brushed him back. “Jesus, Travis, enough.”
“You didn’t hear what he was thinking about you and Meda, and these other ladies. Trying to keep his mind off the question. Give me a minute, they’re all thinking at once. Earthquake. Ah, okay, okay.”
Travis shut his eyes. “They had about two hundred. The bald guy—hi, Tom—he and some others made it up there from the L.A. area. Earthquakes there drove them out. Then bang, they get hit with another in their Eden. Leveled the base, killed most. The ones they rode in here with lived through it. They’ve been riding for weeks—lost a few on the way. Haven’t had much luck hunting, mostly because they’re dicks, got good and lost a couple times. Again, dicks. They’ve been out of supplies for days now, then spotted the settlement here.”
Nodding, Fallon rose, circled them again. “I can take it from there, follow the logic. They’d kill everybody they could, rape and enslave the rest, take the food, the horses, cattle. Maybe settle down right here until they figured where to go next.”
“Time to get that rope.” Sal tossed back the rest of the whiskey, winked at Fallon.
Wilber began to blubber, literally blubber, with tears and snot leaking.
Fallon walked over to ease a hip on the corner of the desk. Ann leaned in to whisper in her ear, “She doesn’t mean it.”
“I got that. Would you mind if we talked outside, Sal? And maybe Ann could find Yancy. Travis and Meda can stand guard here.”
“I could use some air. That’s some trick you’ve got, young fella,” she told Travis. “And you got a solid right jab along with it. Ann, I think Yancy went on down to the livery.”
When they stepped outside, into star-struck night, Sal hissed out a breath. “Sam Tripper was a friend of mine, a good friend. I’m not going to tolerate any lynching, but we’re not going to cut those bastards loose, either.”
“I have a solution that should satisfy you and the rest.”
“Is it a dark hole where they’ll never see the light again or have one minute of joy? Because, goddamn it, Sam was a friend of mine.”
“I think it’s close. Tell me this before Yancy comes. How many of the women could be trained to fight, and be willing?”
“All of them.” No hesitation. “Every blessed one.”
“Good. I can send someone to help with that, and with your security. How many would you estimate are battle-ready now?”
“What kind of battle?”
“Major.”
She took off her hat, slapped it over her thigh a few times. “Maybe a dozen here could handle that. Maybe.”
Fallon watched Yancy walk, a lanky stride, from the paddock. People rushed toward him, obviously asking questions. He took the time, she noted, to answer before moving on.
“Would he be one of the twelve?”
“He would. He’s not as placid as he looks. He can ride like a son of a bitch, and shoot the same. Got a level head on his shoulders.”
“That was my impression. And you?”
“Yeah, I can handle myself. Yancy,” she said when he joined them.
“Sal. Ma’am, I want to thank you and those with you for helping dig the graves. We’ll have a memorial in the morning, say some words. I asked Old Eb to say them, Sal.”
“That’s a good choice.”
“My Faith’d like to have you all to supper. You’re welcome, Sal. We can get somebody to watch the prisoners.”
“Will you let me take the prisoners?” Fallon asked.
“I’d be ha
ppy to give them over.”
“Just hold on,” Sal interrupted. “I’d like more particulars there.”
Yancy puffed out a breath, looked up at the stars. “We can’t keep them here, Sal, and that’s a fact. Somebody’s bound to get their blood up and do them in. Too much of me, I gotta say, wants to let them, and be done with it.”
“We have prisons,” Fallon explained. “Travis and Meda can take them back tonight. They’ll be locked up. They’re murderers. They’ll be locked up for life. We have the means, the system. It’s your place, your people, your decision, but I can promise you if you let us take them, they’ll pay.”
“You talking bars and locks?” Sal demanded.
“I am. We have other facilities for prisoners of war, those who qualify. But these aren’t POWs. They’re killers. Bars and locks.”
“I can live with that. How many you got locked up?”
“Including POWs? Several thousand.”
Sal’s mouth dropped open. Yancy simply stared out of narrowed eyes.
“You don’t have any outside communication,” Fallon decided.
“We get someone comes through now and again,” Yancy said. “Maybe brings some news in. Heard some rumors about fighting back east, about you. We got Carrie—she sees things. She says she’s seen you fighting, an army with you, but she didn’t know where.”
“There’s been more than one fight. You don’t know we’ve taken D.C.”
Sal gripped Fallon’s arm. “Girl, you took those government bastards down?”
“We did.”
“You’re the answer to prayers I’ve been afraid to speak. I’ve got a pile of questions for you.”
“They got Sal’s son, the government did, and my sister.”
“I’ll answer your questions. Let me arrange to have Travis and Meda transport the prisoners. I’ll stay the night. We have a lot to talk about.”
__________
When she got home, snow fell in fat, soft flakes. And she saw her mother coming from the greenhouse with a basket, moving along a shoveled path.
Her hair bundled up under a red cap that matched her knitted gloves, Lana kept her eyes on the ground to watch for slick spots. On a surge of love, Fallon rushed toward her.
“Mom.”
Lana’s head jerked up. She very nearly lost her balance, then beamed and opened her arms. “You’re home! You’re finally home.”
“Just this minute. Let me get Laoch settled—and I promised Faol Ban one of your biscuits.”
“I’ll get it for him.” She met the wolf’s patient eyes while Taibhse glided—white through white—to one of his favorite perches. “I’m so glad to see you all. This calls for some serious hot chocolate.”
“With whipped cream?”
“It’s not serious without it. Don’t be long. Come on, boy, I’ve got a biscuit with your name on it.”
Home, Fallon thought as she scooped grain for the alicorn, gave a carrot treat to the faithful Grace. Not the farm, but still, home. Stepping out again, she looked through the snowfall toward the barracks. Duncan should be there, she thought.
She sent her mind toward his. I’m home.
Moments later, she heard his voice in hers. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I missed you.
So smiling, she walked through that snowfall and into a kitchen that smelled of chicken soup, bread, and, gloriously, chocolate.
“Have you eaten?”
“Not since breakfast. I stayed a little longer than I’d planned.”
“Then it’s soup first.”
“I’ll get it, for both of us. Where’s Dad?” she asked as she got bowls, ladled them with soup.
“Hunting party. Ethan’s in town. He’s had this idea to hold a kind of vet clinic. They’d both be here if they’d known you’d be home today for certain.”
“I stayed longer to help with some basic training—combat and magickal. Bright Valley’s an interesting place.”
“So I hear. Travis filled us in. Earthquakes in California?”
“Apparently severe enough to destroy a PW base. I flew over to see for myself. It’s rubble. The prisoners?”
“In the Hatteras facility. It seemed the best choice for now. Hard cases,” Lana said as she turned the hot chocolate to low, sat to eat with her daughter. “Travis said their minds are, at least for now, hardened. Even the young one. He also had a lot to say about the land out west. The mountains, the plains. He enjoyed every minute of the trip—and said you’d managed to recruit over five hundred.”
“A lot of the five hundred are green and greener than green. But they can be used as non-combatants. I want to hear about your trip.”
“Well, it cemented I’m an East Coast girl. All that flat land, miles and miles? I like the hills. And my God, Fallon, the wind. It just screams over that flat land. And so much of it empty,” she said. “It brings it home just how desolate the world is now. You can forget, living here in a busy, thriving community, that there are miles and miles of nobody.”
“And Riverbend?”
“Small and segregated, as you said. I tell you, when you see those miles and miles of nobody, it shows how ridiculous it is to live barely a stone’s throw from other people and behave as if they’re not there.”
“Bigotry comes in all levels. It’s never right or smart or productive. You talked to Lucy’s grandmother?”
“The formidable Mrs. Aldi. A very tough nut to crack.”
“Did you?”
“I’d say some cracks opened. She does love Lucy—or Lucia, as she calls her. DUs attacked when Lucy was just a baby, so Mrs. Aldi’s prejudice has its roots there. And Lucy’s mother came into power. A witch.”
As if she just needed to touch, Lana reached out, ran her hand along Fallon’s arm. “Like too many in the beginning, the change drove her mad. She tried to burn down the house, with the baby in it.”
“Oh my God.”
“Mrs. Aldi saved Lucy, and to save her, killed her own child.”
“To have to make a choice like that . . . It’s no wonder she’s bitter.”
“It’s a terrible burden, Fallon, a terrible price to pay. I had more sympathy for her when she broke enough to tell me. In any case, after we talked, and after she read Lucy’s letter, she gave me one for Lucy in return. She isn’t giving her blessing, but she’s giving her acceptance. That’s the gateway.”
She’s so beautiful, Fallon thought. She’d seen it all her life, knew it went beyond the physical, but in that moment, over soup in the kitchen, it simply struck her hard.
She leaned her head toward Lana’s shoulder.
“She saw something in you. She had to see it.”
“I don’t know about that, but she heard me. Finally.”
“And on the other side of the river?”
“Not as stubborn,” Lana told her. “The sentiment there seemed to run from apathy to resentment for their neighbors. I’ll say you were right to send your family. It gave us weight and status we wouldn’t have had otherwise. And Ethan, along with an injured puppy, helped turn the tide on the NM side.”
“How is that?”
“This poor little pup had been mauled by a larger animal. They were going to put him down, and the little girl who loved him begged and begged her father not to kill him. He was suffering, and they didn’t have the means to help the poor little guy. But Ethan intervened, was able to keep the puppy calm, begin to heal him until I got there. The little girl hadn’t named him yet—the little guy was barely weaned. He’s Ethan now,” she said with a laugh.
“A sweet little mutt named for our boy—who showed them in a very real and simple way that magick can be kind and compassionate.
“The upshot is, we have forty-eight willing to fight. And your dad thinks others will come along.”
“That’s really good news.”
“Oh, I have better.” Lana rose to finish off the chocolate. “We found the other communities you earmarked. Add seventy-three more. And best of all?” She t
ipped her finger in a bowl of cream to whip it. “We found—or they found us—a band of nomads who’d traveled east from Idaho, down through Colorado, into Kansas, picking up more along the way. This way, Fallon. They were coming east to find you, to fight with you. Nearly seven hundred.”
“Seven hundred?” Fallon’s spoon clattered against her bowl. “That’s more than I ever hoped for.”
“There’s more. Mick sent word he’s added three hundred, bands migrating up from the south—again on their way to find you. Every base is adding more. The light, my baby, it spread, even through those miles and miles of nobody. They’re coming to fight for you.”
She felt the lift, the thrill of light spreading. “We’ll take New York. We’ll take it back from the dark. We’ll take it for the light, and for you, Mom. For you and Max.”
She looked over as Duncan came to the door, pulled it open. “Welcome home. Hi, Lana.”
“Hi yourself. Come in and shut the door. We’re about to have some hot chocolate.”
He stomped snow off his boots. “I could go for some, thanks.”
As she got the mugs, Lana studied the way they looked at each other. Love, she thought with an inward sigh, that came with longing and a healthy dose of lust.
“And for the goddess’s sake, kiss the girl.”
“Good idea.” He strode across the kitchen, lifted Fallon off the stool, circled her once. And kissed the girl.
He couldn’t stay long, but had a little more time with Fallon when she walked back to the barracks with him. She watched the troops train. Battles didn’t wait for fine weather, so they held their mock fights in the snow, taking on Mallick’s ghosts and each other.
Others did the same, she thought. In the West, the Midwest, the South, the North. And more, still more, would come.
At Lana’s invitation, Duncan and Mallick joined the family for dinner. She put on a hell of a spread—a kind of welcome home, Duncan imagined—with a rack of lamb, potatoes that looked like accordions—which, it turned out, Ethan called them—roasted with butter and herbs. Kale, nowhere on his list of favorites, done in some creamy sauce that made him a convert, a fancy salad crunchy with sprinkles of grain. Bread, wine, and the promise of lemon-berry tarts for dessert.
