In Quaking Hills

by Kate MacLeod

  But then she had died, and the decision had been taken out of her hands.

  Gertrude had always told her that most times a coincidence was just a coincidence, nothing more, nothing deeper. She had managed to talk Scout out of waiting around for fate to light up a path for her, but this sense that larger forces were leading her around by the nose, laughing as they manipulated her, was hard to shake.

  She had waited her whole life for the rebels to come and make her one of them. She had been certain that was why she had lived when the rest of her family had died. She had thought her father had saved her for just that purpose.

  But he hadn’t. He had had no way of knowing that asteroid was on its way the morning he had given her a package to deliver to the next town and sent her and Shadow on their first solo delivery. Like Gertrude had said, he and her mother just wanted her to have a day away from her colicky little brother, and for them to have a day to give her brother their full attention. Nothing more than that.

  And now, the minute the coronal mass ejection event had ended, these rebels had headed out to find information that Scout had inadvertently brought right to them by quite a different route.

  Why had Tucker been there, at McFarlane’s hut, at the exact time Scout had shown up there?

  Scout squeezed her eyes shut tight and forced herself to stay calm. They had no reason to know she carried just what they were seeking, no reason to even suspect her. And in the morning she would be gone. She had nothing to worry about.

  “Malcolm,” Arvid called.

  Scout opened her eyes just as Joelle’s father turned to see what the other man was looking at, down on the ground. Arvid pointed at the tracks visible in the loose dust that always danced over the surface of the baked mud.

  The rover tracks.

  Malcolm came over to get a closer look, then the two men looked up at the rover towering over them. Scout flinched back. She was sitting in the dark with the window opened only a tiny crack—there was no way they could see her—but still she kept her head down.

  “What is it?” Joelle asked, stepping closer herself. She also looked from the tracks up to the rover, but then she turned to look at her father with a questioning arch to her eyebrow.

  “These look just like the tracks we followed from the wrecked town car to the demolished compound,” her father said.

  “That’s crazy,” Joelle said. “Scout’s just a kid. Barely my age.”

  “That doesn’t rule out anything, as you well know,” Malcolm said. “How many bandit vehicles have you run off the road? How many trains have you left smoldering on the tracks after we made off with the cargo?”

  “I never acted alone,” Joelle said. “Besides, if you met her, you’d know she’s not the type.”

  Scout smirked. It was true, she had not wrecked the town car. But she had set the explosives to bring the compound crashing down. She hadn’t had the time to dig nine graves, that had been the only reason for burying the entire compound, but Malcolm and Arvid seemed to suspect some more nefarious motive.

  But what was this about Joelle destroying trains? That didn’t sound like the “steal from the bandits” narrative they had been selling before.

  “You like her?” Malcolm asked his daughter.

  Joelle’s body remained as rigid as ever, her face revealing nothing. “I just met her,” she said stiffly.

  “Yes, but what’s your read on her?” he persisted.

  “Just what I said. Harmless.”

  “Recruiting material?”

  “No.” It was a very firm no.

  The corner of Malcolm’s mouth went up ever so slightly. “Would Tucker agree with that assessment?”

  “You’d have to ask Tucker,” Joelle said coolly. “But in this case, I would question his impartiality.”

  “Where did you say he met her?” Malcolm asked, the grin gone.

  “At McFarlane’s. Apparently she was looking for him too—McFarlane, I mean—but by the time she got there he was already dead.”

  “What did she want with McFarlane?” he asked, a dark, suspicious edge back to his voice.

  Joelle shrugged. Malcolm leaned down to grasp both of her shoulders firmly. She flinched, but her father didn’t seem to notice as he leaned in to speak closer to her face.

  “We need to know that,” he said. “We need to know what she knows, what she did, and why.”

  “Tucker knows more than I do,” Joelle said, not dropping her eyes from her father’s intense gaze.

  “Well, like you said. He might not be impartial with this new girl . . .”

  “Scout,” Joelle filled in.

  “Is she pretty?”

  Joelle shrugged. “Not the sort of thing I would notice. Ask—”

  “I will ask Tucker, about everything,” Malcolm said. “Don’t worry about that. And I’m sure Tucker has already wormed a goodly amount of information out of her without even knowing she might have what we’re looking for. He’s a sponge for intel, that boy. Very useful. I’m going to wake him up right now to find out. But I want more than one account from her, see how things compare, if she’s a truth-teller.”

  “I think she is,” Joelle said.

  Malcolm looked at her closely, then released her shoulders to straighten back up. “You’re a good judge of character. I’ve long relied on that. I’m relying on that again now. No need to wake her now, I don’t want her panicking or thinking something is going on here. Just, when she’s up in the morning, be there. Talk with her. Be friendly. But sound her out, see what she knows. You know what I’m looking for?”

  “Of course,” Joelle said. “I’ll find out.”

  “Without her suspecting you’re pumping her for information?”

  “I took that as said,” Joelle said.

  “Of course you did. You’re your mother’s daughter for sure.” He gave her a fond smile, then took the bag Arvid held out for him, and the two men headed to the compound interior.

  The bags over their shoulders were clinking, a dull metallic clink, as they walked. Weapons, Scout guessed.

  They had gone out to meet Ruth, the governor’s daughter, just as they had arranged to do before the solar storm started. Ruth had been expecting an exchange of information, a meeting around a table with pastries and coffee or tea, all parties neatly dressed and well spoken. Not that Scout had ever spoken with Ruth about it—Ruth who had been the first of all of them to die during the storm—but Scout had seen at once that Ruth was mid swan dive, about to plunge into deeper, murkier waters than she had known existed.

  Scout could sympathize with that. Her life before her family had died had done nothing to prepare her for her life after.

  These scarred, sun-ravaged fellows had been about to meet her, with a bag of guns apiece. The little girl Ruth had been traveling with, Clementine, had been a deadly force with or without weapons, but she had never actually been on Ruth’s side. She had been an assassin who only looked like a normal tween girl, waiting for the perfect moment before she made her move.

  Scout watched Joelle standing alone in the semidarkness of the canyon nook behind the rover. The sun would be up soon, and Joelle didn’t look like she’d slept a wink. She had her hands in her vest pockets, her eyes on the toe of her boot gently erasing the lines from the rover treads in the dust. Then she looked up at the rover itself and Scout felt like their eyes met, just for a moment.

  But maybe not. Joelle turned and walked back to the equipment room and Scout was once more alone with her sleeping dogs.

  Scout considered the massive wheel locking the gate doors together. It didn’t look like anything could blast that open, even if she had kept some of Ottilie’s explosives, which she hadn’t. The hinges on either side that fastened the doors to the rock walls of the canyon itself were harder to judge. The bolts didn’t look so very large, but there was no way to tell how deeply into the rock they penetrated. A short bolt of that width might pull free of the rock at the first push from the rover’s armored body, b
ut a longer bolt? Maybe not.

  And firing up the engines, ramming the back end of the rover into the gate, gunning up the engine to batter those doors down? None of that was going to be anything like quiet.

  Scout slipped down from the top bunk and went to the kitchenette to fire up the coffee maker. She briefly regretted not bringing the last of the jolo with her before destroying the compound, but after four days of drinking bottle after bottle, she had grown sick of it. Now, not even a full day later, she was craving that double hit of sugar and caffeine again.

  She would just have to make due with coffee, bitter as it was. It didn’t really matter, so long as it kept her awake and alert.

  While the coffee was brewing, Scout got dressed. Then she touched the disks still hidden in her pocket. They weren’t compatible with anything in the rover or with Gertrude’s equipment. She had no way of reading what they contained. But something in the equipment room she was never allowed to look at might be compatible.

  If threatened, would she give the disks up? Without knowing what they contained, what the rebellion planned to do with the contents, how many lives might be threatened if she surrendered what she had? How could she weigh the risks?

  Scout poured herself a large mug of coffee and took it to the dining nook. She took a long drink of hot, bitter coffee and sighed. She couldn’t. So she had to assume the worst. She had to be prepared to do anything to keep every secret that had been entrusted to her.

  She hoped when Liam arrived he would have something that could read these things. And that when she finally saw what she had been carrying this entire time she didn’t have cause to regret anything she did now in ignorance. But somehow she doubted she’d be that lucky.

  There was just no way she wasn’t going to mess something up.

  Pushing away that thought, Scout took another slug of coffee and settled in to wait for dawn and Joelle.

  13

  Scout woke from a nap she hadn’t realized she had been taking to a soft, tinkling, chiming sound. She sat up too quickly, nearly doubled over from the sudden stab of pain in her chest from the movement, and knocked the thankfully empty coffee mug to the rover floor, where it clattered loudly.

  The chiming continued with no particular pattern. Scout got to her feet and saw the dogs both sitting up on the bunk, heads tipped as they too puzzled over what they were hearing. Scout retrieved the mug from the floor and set it on the counter in the kitchenette near the sink.

  Two thoughts struck her in the same moment. The first: Was the rover moving? The second: The chiming sound was the collection of sporks in the sink gently striking against each other. Scout put a hand in the sink and pushed them all away from each other until they quieted, then turned to look toward the cockpit.

  It did feel like they were moving, albeit over very smooth ground. She couldn’t hear the engines, but there was a gentle rocking back and forth of the rover under her feet.

  Scout ran to the top of the cockpit steps to look out the panoramic window. She was still in the rebels’ hideaway, parked next to the two armored jeeps.

  Then the dogs started barking, suddenly and with great urgency. Scout went back down the stairs and heard a soft tapping at the rover door. She touched a hand to her pants pocket, felt the data disks still snuggled down in the depths, quite hidden, then punched the control to open the door.

  Joelle looked up at her almost sheepishly. Her tactical vest was gone, replaced by a ridiculously soft-looking cardigan of a brilliant ruby red that actually looked quite nice on her. More than nice—it muted the effects of her cargo pants and combat boots and made her look thoroughly feminine, and younger.

  That, and the basket in her arms, discreetly covered by a clean white tea towel. She was a fairy-tale character on her way to Grandma’s house.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d wake you,” Joelle said, timing her words to the gaps in the barking.

  “Hush, dogs,” Scout said, rubbing a hand over her still-crusty hair. She was sure she looked terrible; she really needed a wash. “No worries. I was awake.”

  “I brought you some breakfast before you leave,” Joelle said, holding up the basket. “Can I come in?”

  “I suppose,” Scout said, extending a hand to help Joelle step inside. The moment she was in view, both dogs jumped down from the bunk to paw at her. She tried to pet their squirming forms and remembered both of their names, but it was clear she didn’t share her brother’s excessive love of dogs.

  “Okay, down, you two,” Scout said, grabbing collars to drag dogs back from jumping all over their guest.

  Joelle gave a smile of thanks. She set her basket on the middle of the dining table and pulled back the tea towel. “Do you drink coffee?” she asked with a friendly smile.

  “On occasion,” Scout said. “Say, did you feel the ground shaking just a moment ago?”

  “Ground shaking?” Joelle repeated. The smile never left her lips but her eyes found reasons not to meet Scout’s. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “It was shaking the whole rover. Not as bad as—” She stopped herself from saying “as yesterday,” although she couldn’t say why she refrained.

  At any rate, Joelle didn’t seem to be really listening anyway as she poured out two tiny cups of coffee from a cylindrical decanter that had been wrapped in more tea towels to keep it warm. She looked up at Scout standing uncertainly near the door and invited her to sit with a gesture.

  “If it’s dawn, we should be probably be going,” Scout said.

  “There’s time yet. Let the dogs run a bit before you coop them back up in here and have some coffee with me. I brought chocolate croissants,” Joelle said, the last bit in a singsong voice. She held up a crescent-shaped, dark brown pastry, wiggling it back and forth.

  It smelled incredible. Scout relented, shooing the dogs outside and sliding into the seat across from Joelle. She picked up the tiny cup in front of her and looked at it dubiously.

  “It’s called a demitasse,” Joelle told her. “It’s small because the coffee I put in it is quite intense. Try it.” Scout took a little sip. The caffeine rushed through her, instantly making her heart race. Joelle smiled. “These are my mom’s things, the cups and the French press. She had been very particular about her coffee. She died before I was old enough to appreciate it myself, but I remember her making it when I was little. I always watched her. I think I’ve remembered all her little tricks correctly. It’s good, right?”

  “Yes,” Scout said, taking another sip. “Very strong.”

  “The chocolate croissant recipe is hers as well. Things out here weren’t so militaristic when she was still with us,” Joelle said almost wistfully.

  “That was before the Space Farers dropped rocks on us,” Scout said.

  “Yes, it was,” Joelle agreed, looking down at her coffee. Scout’s hands under the table clenched into fists. The desire to reach a hand across, to lend comfort, was strong. But she knew Joelle had been sent here specifically to win her over. And she was nearly succeeding even though Scout knew what she was doing. Scout clenched her fists tighter, driving her nails into the flesh of her palms.

  Just a little bit longer. Then she’d be free.

  Joelle came out of her reverie and looked around the rover, taking in the overflowing crates of electronic parts stashed everywhere. “This isn’t what I expected it to look like in here,” she said.

  “It’s just a rover, nothing special,” Scout said, then reached for another sip of coffee. The coffee had strings attached, but the rush of caffeine was worth the price.

  “No, I mean, it doesn’t look like you. I would think your home would be a bit more . . . ordered.”

  “Well, it’s not really my home. It’s only mine temporarily,” she said, then immediately regretted it. She was giving Joelle information. She shouldn’t be doing that. Granted it was information Tucker already knew, but still. She had to be more careful.

  She tore the croissant in front of her in half and stu
ffed one of the halves in her mouth. That should keep her quiet for a minute.

  The croissant was still warm from the oven. She looked at the end of the half still in her hand. All those flaky layers wrapped around a dark ooze of chocolate: this wasn’t the sort of thing one made in a hurry. Joelle likely hadn’t slept a wink since talking with her father.

  “This could be really cool if you did it up nice,” Joelle said, still looking around the rover. “Put some curtains over the bunks for privacy, paint the walls a softer color. Some pillows on these benches—”

  “Like I said, this is only temporary for me,” Scout said. She hoped that was still true. “The only stuff here that is really mine is in those saddlebags.” She pointed over her shoulder to the floor near the bunks where she had left the twin bags from her bike. The bike was in storage over the rear treads of the rover, but she had brought her bags inside to have access to her own things.

  Joelle looked like she was casting about for the next chipper thing to say, but Scout didn’t want to hear it. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social visit.” Scout felt a stab of guilt at the sudden look of hurt in Joelle’s eyes and had to bite down on her tongue to keep from apologizing. “I’m guessing you’re trying to determine if I’m a security risk before you let me go. I’m sorry if I sound angry, but I was coerced into coming here in the first place and promised that I would be allowed to leave again when I wanted. Being lied to tends to make me angry.”

  “Tucker stretched the truth,” Joelle said.

  “Yes, but not just Tucker, am I right?” Scout persisted. “You guys are a team, and he’s not that big of a loose cannon, is he?”

  Joelle was shredding the croissant in her fingers, letting it crumble to pieces on the little plate edged with silver. Probably also her mother’s. Scout reminded herself to stay angry.

  “You’re not being entirely honest either,” Joelle said, dusting the last of the crumbs from her hands and giving Scout one of her more usual stern looks. Scout instantly felt more comfortable. Joelle was back to being herself.