by Linda L Zern
The watercolors of the Florida wilderness were gone; all the green was hard and brittle.
The river edged the fields of black charcoal like a golden brown animal’s tail. On one side of the river, a wasteland, on the far side, a forest left riddled with a capricious spots of burning. She left her squad hunkered down at the edge of the river for the night. They had orders to go back without her if she didn’t return; she had a special assignment. They did not question her.
Britt wondered if Tess had crossed to the far side of the river. But her tracks didn’t cross over. They followed the river through the crackling destruction.
Couldn’t be easy for Tess to be seeing her home burned to the ground like this. Britt tried to dredge up some sympathy, but failed. If only she could remember when numb had become her default setting, maybe then she’d be able to find the way back to the feeling side of things.
Was that a good sign that she was even thinking about coming back to the feeling side of things? El would laugh.
El, the thought of her sister’s bone-white face, body curled in agony, barely conscious, in the corner of a closet where Britt had found her after the fire had swept by the Marketplace. She’d found El and thought her already dead. She had felt something then—she’d felt sick.
Britt pushed on after the girl who was going to lead them to Ryan, her brother.
The morning began eerily still, the only sound the rush of breeze that curled and puffed over the ground as it blew. It sounded like secrets whispered behind locked doors. No birds. No rustling. No far off sound of bleating goats. Silence and secrets. Offended by the assault, the woods kept to itself.
Parrish made a show of avoiding Tess’s eyes as they climbed down. He was all business and action, a default setting she quickly realized he fell back into when he felt strongly about something. At the base of the oak, she grabbed his hand and made him look at her.
“Yes!” Tess pressed her head to his shoulder. “I said it, and I meant it, and we’ll belong to each other no matter what we find out there.” She saw some of the tension drain out of his shoulders.
He nodded and gave her his quick grin. Something flip-flopped in her chest. They would meet the day together and the next and the next, and they would endure it together.
The sound of splashing crashed like a gunshot behind them.
Before Tess could think, Parrish shoved her behind him, had the knife in his hand.
The girl swimming in the spring was naked and stick thin and annoyingly familiar.
Tess reached out and pushed his arm down. The knife tipped forward to the ground. He did not relax. “She’s not armed, Parrish.”
Together, they watched his sister, Brittany Summerlin, notice their attention, stop swimming, and walk out of the Green Spring, calmly reaching for her clothes.
“She’s hardly going to shoot us.”
“She’s right. You should listen to her,” Britt said. “She’s naïve, but sensible.” Turning her back to them, she pulled on her black cargo pants, the uniform of the Marketplace Amazons. The glisten of ridged slash marks that crisscrossed her thin shoulders and back screamed for attention. She took her time shaking the sand out of her shirt. She wanted them to see the ruin of her back. She wanted her brother to see.
“Britt! Don’t,” he choked out. Tess held him from going to his sister with a hand on his arm. The muscles of his arm under her hand were iron.
Britt froze, her hands gripping the shirt in front of her. Naked to the waist, she kept her back to them, refusing to cover up. There were other scars, other wounds; someone had carved a smiley face into her lower back.
Finally, pulling her shirt over her head, she turned and faced them.
“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not you. Not any man.” She frowned at Tess as if she had just realized she was standing there. “You. I need you to come back to the Marketplace with me.”
Parrish moved closer to Tess.
“Stop it,” Tess said. He frowned down at her. If throwing himself in front of her every time he saw danger was his idea of marriage, they were going to have to have a talk. “She isn’t here to hurt me. Are you, Britt?”
“No.” She looked from Tess to her brother. “You.” She pointed at Parrish. “I counted on her finding you.”
“Why?”
She bent and picked up a well-oiled deer rifle. It was Tess’s turn to step forward.
Britt smirked, “Isn’t that darling? The two of you willing to take a bullet for the other. I’m not going to shoot anyone. But you’re still coming with me, both of you.”
“We have things to do,” Parrish said. “There’s Tess’s family—”
“It has to wait. Did you think you slipped through our very capable, very violent fingers, Tess? I needed you to find my brother. I needed you to lead me to him. We let you go, and then I followed you.” Britt’s eyes raked over Tess from head to foot, insult and anger raw in her face. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out what El is thinking when it comes to you two. But I do know she wants you, and you’re coming with me.”
“What for?” Tess demanded. “What’s this for?”
“For El. She wants to talk you, Ryan from Richmond Parish, Virginia. She’s got big plans.” She slung a leather messenger bag over her shoulder, over the scarring hidden away beneath her clothes.
Britt looked at Tess, up and down, smirked again. “And you. She wants to talk to you, too. I won’t beg. And I won’t say the magic words.” She jerked her shoulder toward the blackened side of the river. Time to move out.
Parrish shrugged. Tess knew he wasn’t prepared to fight his sister, not today, but maybe they’d be able to slip away. She followed his lead. At the water’s edge, a giant, felled oak arched across the river untouched by fire. They stepped across the log bridge and into a desolate world.
CHAPTER 36
Britt set a brisk pace, hardly slowing for the downed limbs and tree trunks that blocked the path. By the time they hit the big curve in the river where Indian mounds lined the riverbank, their pants were caked with black filth. The graves resembled lonely heaps of coal next to the water.
They’d buried Tess’s grandfather here, and a tiny girl named Moss.
“Parrish,” Tess called when she realized where they were. “Hold up.” She meant to take a moment, catch her breath, remember her grandfather’s careful training, his love for his family.
Britt was already halfway around the big curve, annoying woman; she never looked back. “Parrish, tell your sister that if she wants us to follow she needs to slow it down for a minute.”
Tess refused to budge, staring at what had become their family graveyard. The mounds of dirt partially obscured the water, but they couldn’t completely hide the mud covered faces of two owl-eyed boys who’d popped into view. Tess squeaked out, “Parrish! Look! Tell Britt to come back.”
She scrambled between two of the biggest mounds, sliding down the side of the riverbank. Two boys grinned back at her, their smiles like half moons in grimy faces.
Three big Nubian does and Ruben, their herd buck, stood in the mud at the river’s edge next to two boys.
Tess yelped when she hit the water’s edge. She grabbed the closest Hawk Brother and squeezed him. The other one ducked his head and avoided looking at her.
“We got ‘em,” the taller of the Hawk Brothers said.
“But not those horses, they ran too fast, away from the bad ones. Hey! Mister Parrish.” The younger one waved happily. Mud rolled down his arm, dripped from his elbow. They both smelled of musky buck goat and swamp.
“Boys. Are you—?” She cleared her throat. “Is it just you and the goats?” Tess said. “Where are the others?”
They looked sheepish.
“We said it. The horses were too fast after those man-catchers lost them.”
Parrish stared down, said something, but the boys were too busy flooding Tess about their near brush with marauders and then the fire and their clever plan to t
ake to the river and ride it out. The look on Parrish’s face changed when real anger snapped into his eyes. He butt scooted down the wet slide of the bank, grabbed the nearest goat by an ear and started to yank her up out of the river.
“Tess, help me. And you, boys, get out of that water. The fire’s gone. Are you waiting to get eaten by an alligator?”
That word galvanized the brothers. Two startled squawks propelled them out the river.
Tess grabbed Ruben’s collar and dragged him after the escaping children.
“You were lucky,” Parrish said. “The gators are probably full. Too many choices in the river right now. “
The goats nuzzled Tess, looking for breakfast, recognizing their mistress. Ruben lowered his stump of a head and butted Parrish in the backside. He stumbled forward.
Shock replaced anger on his face. The boys howled.
“He thinks he’s the biggest goat around.”
“He’d better be careful, or I will feed him to the next gator I see.”
Big Hawk scoffed and took a long line of twine out of his pocket to rope the goats together.
Britt had doubled back. She waited at the curve in the river trail, hands on her hips, one corner of her mouth quirked up. It was almost a smile.
“We did it,” said Little Hawk. He seemed insistent on Tess acknowledging their accomplishment.
“Yes. You did.” She knelt down to be able to look him in the eye. “You did.” He had lost the teeth on the sides of his mouth that gave the children a funny horsey-toothed look—nine or ten years old then—a baby when the lights went out. But old enough and smart enough to understand worry and disaster.” Did you see anyone else?”
“Anyone? You mean goats?”
“No. I mean anyone like people. ZeeZee or Stone?”
The Hawk Brothers shuffled their feet in the ash. They knew what she wanted, needed them to say. They shook their heads.
“Goats. Just goats.”
Britt raised her eyebrows and started to speak. With a raised hand, Parrish cut her off.
“Goats, a very positive sign, Tess. The river worked to protect these boys. Jamie’s not stupid. We’ll find them, especially if we stick to the river trail.” He glared at his sister, dared her to interject.
“Yeah, I keep hearing the river theory,” Tess said. “I’m counting on it.”
Ruben squared off again on Parrish, but before he could ram him again, Parrish knocked him between the horns with a chunk of branch. Authority established, Ruben backed off. Parrish tossed the branch away.
“Let’s go get them. Find the others on our way back to the Marketplace.”
Britt lifted her hand, palm up. “Maybe we’ll stumble over them or not. Sure. Weirder things have happened.” She sauntered off, leading the way.
Parrish reached for Tess’s hand, gave her a squeeze. “We’ll find them. Britt and El will help. If I have to make them.”
CHAPTER 37
Gray ash covered the soldiers of Myra’s invasion, making them resemble ghosts caught in a fog bank. Myra liked it. It was better than a uniform, the way it turned them all one color. Myra liked the way they looked. They looked hard and dangerous and ghostly. Her army of ghost warriors.
When they smiled, the ones with teeth looked like the Cheshire Cat from that kid’s book. Pirate cats bent on scratching out the eyes of whomever Myra aimed them at.
They hadn’t waited for the ground to cool, trying to make good time across the flattened countryside. Fire was so handy really; it killed the snakes and eliminated the groundcover for ambushes. There were downsides, of course: no kindling for fires, not much scavenging once the bodies started to rot, and pond water scummed with ash. Then there was that faint, metallic sulfur smell that caught in the back of their noses, their throats. When she closed her eyes, she felt like she’d eaten the world, and it tasted of hell.
She’d turned the world to part desert, part nightmare. She liked the way it all looked, smelled, tasted. Sure. If grid collapse had taught Myra anything, it was that someone with a strong enough mind could get used to anything. Sure. Absolutely.
“We won’t make it before dark. They said to tell you that this is farther inland than we’ve done before. And the horses are having a hard time with that Water Buffalo they’re dragging.” The kid they’d sent to give her the bad news was skinny, probably needed a big dose of vitamin C. Absolutely had tapeworms. He looked tired, anything but tough. He was a sad excuse for a terrifying invader.
Too bad that so many coastal towns were thinking they were off Myra’s radar these days, after those Summerlin women had run amok up and down the coast on their campaign of smash and grab—just like thieves trashing a jewelry store—only they’d liberated the slaves, freed them. What do-gooding crap.
Myra’s men were running short on all the important stuff: cigs, liquor, medical supplies, whatever that was left worth taking. She needed the Marketplace. She needed the ripple of fear it would send up and down the coast. Time for a big win.
She punched the wormy kid in the face. Her fist left a patch of freckled skin peeking through the smear of ash on his cheek. Her bodyguards, two men with hands like stumps, shifted forward. She waved them down. “Don’t let them use you again to deliver the bad news. You got me? Those men that gave you the message are not your friends. I am. What’s your name?”
“Little Buddy.”
“What is it? Little? Or Buddy? Or what?”
He swiped at a trickle of blood from his bottom lip. “Both. It’s both those names. That’s what they call me. They said it was both, from some show on the TV. From back before. Some shipwreck thing. And that you,” he stopped and gulped. “You’re the Skipper.”
Myra started to laugh. Sure. “Make them deliver their own bad news from now on. That’s free advice, Little Buddy.” She watched him scramble away.
“Boy-O,” she said, pointing to a man who tracked her movements with pale blue eyes. “We push on. Through the dark. No rations ‘til we see the old Oviedo mall. Let’s make this fast and hard. Not like we haven’t done this before. But back then, your cousin was along for the ride.”
Whenever she mentioned his missing cousin, Roy Terry, Boy-O had the quirky habit of crossing himself in one of those pointless churchy rituals people had counted on, once upon a time. Well, if it gave him comfort and kept him thinking of new and better ways to destroy their enemies, who cared.
She pushed by the clump of men surrounding her as a dirt devil swirled up in the dust of her boot prints.
If they groaned or cursed her, they kept it to themselves.
Britt marched them through the gutted ranch without looking backward. The pace kept the goats breaking on and off into their wobbly trots, with the Hawk Brothers struggling to keep them moving in a straight line. Britt took point. Parrish hustled up the rear. Tess helped shoo the goats along. Goat wrangling helped Tess keep her mind off her family. Landmarks were buried or obliterated. Ground that was as familiar as her own face had disappeared, leaving only hints and clues. She struggled to get her bearings, make sense of it all.
Parrish was no help. His thoughts disappeared behind a frozen scowl. What was he planning? What was he thinking about facing El? When Tess glanced back at him, she saw nothing: no hint or glint or wink of what was going on in his head.
Britt kept to the riverbank, moving steadily—silent and stony—veering off to head for Highway 46 when the river widened, turned to soggy swamp. Close to the highway, Britt took a hard left, heading back into the wetlands and bog that fed into the Little-Big Econ River, slogging through ankle deep muck.
Feral pigs grunted from the depths of the saw grass swamp, tearing at roots, looking for the bits of cover that still stood.
Behind them, the sound started small. People moving fast over bare ground, a lot of people, somewhere near the highway.
Britt shot Tess and Parrish a hard look and then edged deeper into the saw grass and cattail clumps without speaking.
At the base
of a stand of cypress, Britt rallied the group, squatting on a hump of dry ground between bony cypress knees. The goats plunked down, content to chew and rest. The boys plopped next to the animals.
“Can you take us out of here?” Britt asked Tess. “We’ve got to get to the fortress before—” A gunshot banged out, followed by the squeal of a dying animal. Britt glared at Tess. “Soon.”
“Not me. But Parrish can lead us out. He knows this part of the swamp.”
Tess watched him reach out to touch his sister’s arm, shocked when she stiffened and jerked away.
Someone splashed toward them, a scouting party.
“We should move deeper, and get into the heart of the swamp,” Parrish said.
Britt nodded, crouched, waved the boys to follow. “We’re moving.”
Parrish didn’t wait. He slipped into trails between clumps of rattling grass, stopped, turned, and held out a hand to Tess. “Hurry.” He pulled her to her feet.
The sound of a watery splash mixed with cursing alerted them. Whoever was scouting this part of the swamp wasn’t too light on his feet, and he was way too close.
Parrish pulled his hand out of Tess’s, whispered something to Britt that made her nod, and then disappeared into the maze of saw grass.
Britt held her finger up to her lips and kept going.
Tess helped the boys pull the tired goats to their feet; luckily they were too worn out to complain. The kids pushed and pulled and got them headed through the cypress trees.
Snakes. Snakes staying ahead of the fire, this would be where they’d have wound up. Tess started praying the snakes hadn’t made it this far.
The sounds of invasion faded. The swamp turned into a slog of duckweed and muck, high enough to make Britt have to raise her weapon above her head. No one questioned the order to move deeper into the swamp.
“Over there.”
