He meant those words, I can tell. His lips aren't simply pressed against mine in some game of make-believe, they're worshipping me. His arms aren't wrapped around me, they're cradling me. His body isn't next to mine, it's molded against it, supporting it.
I wrap my arms around Wesley's waist and for a moment, just a moment, I lean into him. I let myself kiss him back. It feels good not to think about anything else for one short second, but then I realize it's been more than a minute or two. I’ve let the world disappear for too long.
I push on Wesley's chest and he stumbles back, his eyes hooded, his lips swollen. He glances up and down the road, and then a lazy smile takes shape. “I guess they're gone.”
I cock one eyebrow. “I guess they are.”
He gestures up the street. “Well, should we be on our way?”
I stuff my hands in my pockets this time and start walking. Wesley doggedly follows, sliding his arm through the crook of my elbow. A moment later we turn a corner and head down a side street. “Truck is right up here. I don't know why you're so pissy. We gotta maintain appearances or we won't get out of here to save dear old Samuel.”
“Oh?” I ask. “Is that what you were doing back there? Worrying about saving Sam?”
“Is that what you were doing?” He shrugs. “Can I help it if I'm talented and convincing? There are no small roles, you know, only small actors. I'm not a small actor, and I always rise to the occasion.” He smirks.
Before I can craft a biting retort, I notice movement up ahead, a mother sitting in a rocking chair in front of a picture window, holding a swaddled baby. It's pristine, like a print from Before. The mother leans over the child, a tiny hand clasped around a single finger. When I notice the mother is Libby and the child is Rose, something in my heart eases.
Until Libby looks up at us. When I saw her last night, the Mark was gone, her forehead beautifully clear. The sores on her arm and neck were healing up, the weeping gone, the skin turning the shiny reddish-pink of new skin. Today, the Mark's back. My eyes shoot frantically to Rose, whose forehead is still free of any rash. But the fact remains, even with a liberal dosing of my blood, Libby isn't cured. She's still dying.
I stop dead in my tracks and shake my head.
I left Sam back at WPN because I thought there was nothing I could do to save him. I knew if I escaped the island, I could help the people here. Now Sam might be alive, and nothing on earth could have made me leave his side if I knew that at the time. But I'm here now, and if he were able to talk to me, I know what Sam would say. He'd tell me that he can take care of himself. Or even if he can't, my duty isn't to any one person, not now, even if that person is him.
My head begins shaking, and my mouth dries up like a tumbleweed. I couldn't speak a word if I wanted to, but Wesley understands.
He pulls me against him and our fingers interlace again. His hand squeezes mine tightly. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of my head when he finally says, “You aren't going with me to Galveston today, are you?”
I'm so sorry, Sam. I'm always sorry, always a disappointment. But no, I’m not.
The babies here need their moms, and I'm their only hope. As much as it pains me, and as much as I love Sam, and I really do, I can't walk away from them, no matter the pain it causes me.
9
I hear shouting before I even walk through the door of the plasma center, which isn't a good sign.
“-could you not know where she is? And you didn’t think to mention that Ruby thinks her boyfriend isn't dead until now? Once she's already missing? Your recklessness borders on stupidity. Frankly, I’m assuming you’re involved in her escape.”
Rafe whirls around when Wesley and I walk through the door. He stands with his booted feet spread wide, and his fists clenched at his side. His head pivots around and when he recognizes me, he breathes a huge sigh of relief and his hands unclench.
“I haven’t escaped.” I frown. “You can pull the bamboo shoots out from under their fingernails, oh esteemed leader.”
Rafe fumes. “Where have you two been? Job said you were in your room, but your window was wide open and your bag was gone.”
Wesley holds his hands up, palm out. “You need to calm down, dude.”
Rafe steps toward Wesley, the muscles in his arms quivering. He should look silly with his mohawk, his combat boots, and his baby face, but something about his eyes frightens me. Resolve maybe? Determination?
Rafe enunciates each word. “I am calm.”
Wesley’s shoulders square and his hands ball into fists, which really isn’t helping anyone cool down.
What's wrong with boys?
I step in between them. “We were leaving, Rafe. There's no point in lying about it. Wesley was going to give me a ride as far as Texas City. Sam might be alive, and I couldn't let that go, not without going after him.”
Rafe grabs my arms and shakes me. “You stupid little princess. Even knowing how badly we need you, knowing you may be the only person who can save all of us, a hundred thousand people relying on you, and you'd risk your life?” His grip is tight, and in addition to rattling my teeth, my arms ache where his fingers press into them. “You'd risk all our lives because your boyfriend might not be dead?”
Wesley throws the punch over my right shoulder and when his fist connects with Rafe's face, his hands release me. Rafe flies backward and slams into a metal table covered with instruments, which clatter noisily to the ground. Seconds later, Rafe launches himself at Wesley. I jump back against the wall, trying to stay clear of the two brain-dead idiots pounding on each other.
“Job!” I point at them in frustration. “Do something.”
He throws his hands up in the air. “What am I supposed to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, “but you’re a guy. Don’t you know what to do?”
Job splutters. “I’ve never hit anyone. I have too much sense for that.”
We both look on, horrified, but unsure how to stop it.
Rafe handles himself well, but Wesley's got thirty pounds on him. He's wiping the floor with Rafe's ridiculous mohawk when the door opens and people stream inside. Rhonda, combat boots thumping on the tile floor, followed by Todd, eyes wide as saucers as they take in Wesley pounding Rafe to a pulp on the tile. Three more people follow, and two boys I don't know in black coats and black pants stand on either side of a thirty something man with a neck tattoo. A tattoo of a cross, of all things.
Wesley drops Rafe and sits back. “Uh, we were having a minor disagreement, but I don't think we needed all of you in here.”
Rafe sits up and wipes the blood from his lip on his sleeve. He spits red all over the floor. “What's going on?”
Todd glances from Rafe to Wesley and back. He shakes his head once and rolls his eyes. “We have a messenger from WPN, sir.”
“Sir?” Neck Tattoo scoffs. “This kid's your boss? How the mighty have fallen.”
Todd swears and steps toward him menacingly. “One touch and you can stay right here with me.”
Neck Tattoo flinches backward satisfyingly.
Rafe stands, leans against the wall, crosses his arms, and glares at Todd. Rafe’s going to have an impressive black eye, but somehow it makes him look tougher. “What's the message?”
Todd shrugs. “He won't tell me. He said his orders are to talk only to the leader of the Marked.”
Neck Tattoo looks down at Rafe, and for the first time I understand the phrase ‘looking down your nose’ at someone. Neck Tattoo stands a few inches taller than Rafe, which means he towers over most of the Marked kids, literally looking down at them. He thinks because he looks his age and he's healthy, that he's better. Which means he buys into David Solomon’s propaganda, that WPN citizens are somehow chosen of God, and anyone infected with Tercera deserves it.
He's a moron.
The Marked may look like kids, but they're really late teens or early twenty somethings. They watched their parents, their caretakers, the government, and the
leaders of the world die. The ones who survived picked up the broken pieces of what remained and crafted a world out of it. They look like kids, but they run their own organization, one that feeds and clothes and cares for hundreds of thousands of people. They grew up fast, but their bodies don’t reflect that growth, not physically.
Rafe isn't a kid. He hasn't been a kid in a decade. But this guy can't see past his body, his stature and his disease, which is what makes Neck Tattoo the smallest, sickest person in the room.
“King Solomon would like to make you an offer. He's holding the prisoner known as Samuel Roth, whom you left for dead.”
My heart lurches in my chest, but I bite my lip so I won't speak. This message is for Rafe, not me.
Neck Tattoo continues. “Our excellent healers worked a miracle to save his life and continue to care for him, even as we speak. His father runs the Unmarked. They're willing to provide a handsome ransom for him, but King Solomon doesn't want a ransom. He doesn't care about the Unmarked, and WPN doesn’t need their money or their resources. King Solomon wants for nothing.”
Rafe stares at the man, eyes wide, head cocked sideways. I expect him to say something, but he doesn't open his battered mouth, or even so much as grunt. I already know how he feels about the idea of wasting resources or risking my life to save one person, even if it's a person who's dear to me and strategically valuable.
And at the end of the day, the Marked might benefit from supplies, but the only thing they all desperately need is my blood.
Even so, hoping Sam's alive and hearing that he is are vastly different. My heart cracks in my chest and then knits back together. Hope soars inside of me that it might be true, but despair follows closely on its heels. Because if he survived, that means I really did abandon him. He's being 'cared for', which probably means he's being mistreated horribly. He's valuable, but that doesn't guarantee anything, not with Solomon. I believe that he doesn't care one iota about a ransom, and I’ve seen firsthand that he wants for nothing.
Actually, that's not quite accurate, although Neck Tattoo has no way of knowing. Solomon wants something badly. He wants me, and not because I’m his daughter.
I wonder how quickly Rafe will turn him down.
“And?” Wesley asks. The left side of his jaw is puffy and the knuckles on his right hand are bruised and swollen.
Neck Tattoo cocks his head sideways and shifts his gaze to study Wesley. “Who are you to be asking me questions? I don't answer to you.”
Rafe growls. “Out with it, idiot. What does your king want from us?”
Neck Tattoo frowns. “King Solomon offers you two boons today, as he's in a generous mood. He's willing to release this Samuel Roth into your care. You can trade him to the Unmarked for whatever supplies and materials you may need. He's also willing to cancel all plans for the Cleansing, or the ritual removal of all Marked persons from the Earth. He believes God may be willing to grant you a reprieve. His daughter actually pleaded for clemency for the Marked recently. After careful prayer, he wants to offer you that opportunity.”
Rafe lifts his chin, his eyes flashing dangerously. Faster than I thought possible from anyone but Sam, he whips a gun out and crosses the room to where Neck Tattoo stands. He shoves the barrel up against Neck Tattoo's head. “I've heard about this Cleansing. Your boss intends to murder every single one of my people. He's doing this to make the world pure again, to remove the virus that threatens your more valuable lives. Your boss thinks we’re nothing, and that if we don’t agree to his terms, we'll just roll over and die, does he?”
Neck Tattoo swallows slowly and we all watch as his Adam's apple bobs. “He doesn’t believe there’s anything you can do to stop it, no.”
“Is that so?” Rafe cocks his gun. “Is that what you think?”
Neck Tattoo narrows his eyes and his nostrils flare. “I think you can shoot me, a lone man who came to deliver a message, but that's not the same as facing off against an entire army of properly equipped and well-nourished men bent on ending a threat to their families and livelihood, especially since God stands with us.”
I watch the muscles in Rafe's arm work as his finger tightens and releases on the trigger, but after two more big breaths, he steps back and lowers his arm. “Your precious king offers us these two boons . . .if what?”
Neck Tattoo swallows again, eyes darting intermittently toward the gun resting at Rafe's side. “King Solomon will promise not to proceed with the Cleansing, and will give up any plans to do so in the future.”
“Not much of a sacrifice since we’re all dying anyway, but you’ve mentioned that. Get on with it.” Rafe angles his hand to showcase the gun, cocked and ready even if it’s not shoved against Neck Tattoo’s temple anymore.
“He will also surrender Samuel Roth.”
“Are you a wind up toy?” Rafe snorts. “You’ve said all this. Solomon won’t try to kill us without provocation, and he'll give us a prisoner we can trade in exchange for a few muffin tins, or some cases of supplies.” Rafe shakes his head in disgust and steps back. “For those great prizes, what does he want in return?”
“Something small,” Neck Tattoo says. “Something easy. He wants a face-to-face meeting with his only daughter who you stole from him. Ruby Solomon got into a fight with her mother and ran off a few days ago, and you snatched her on the bridge before she had time to consider what she was doing and come back home.”
I'm staring right at this idiot and he has no idea who I am.
Rafe quirks one eyebrow. “Why would she run away with Marked kids, and if she did, why would he want her back? Won't she be Marked?”
Neck Tattoo shakes his head. “Her father prayed for her safety, and he's sure she’s remained unharmed, even in the midst of this terrible affliction and danger.” Neck Tattoo gestures around the room. “His power and faith are that great.”
“Apparently the Mark only appears on people God has forsaken.” Rafe growls.
Neck Tattoo shrugs. “I only know what King Solomon says.”
I choke off a laugh so I can form words. “I'm confused about why this little princess would fight with her mother and run away from a chance to be heir to such wealth and power. Perhaps your king isn't as wonderful as you think.”
Neck Tattoo smiles a toothy smile at me, but there's no joy in it. “Clearly you’ve never met her. The daughter's an ingrate and a brat. King Solomon recently found out she's alive, and he showered her with presents. Unfortunately, she couldn't follow basic rules. I think he's better off without her, but the King wants what the King wants, and only God can fully understand at his level. He wants to help her, maybe it’s to do God’s will. Or it could be because his wife couldn't have any more kids, so he's got a soft spot for this one. God spared her life in all this madness, so there must be some kind of purpose in it, even if I can’t see it.”
I can’t even. “So it's an fair trade in your mind? King Solomon's daughter, for a random prisoner, who we can ransom to the Unmarked for a small fortune?”
“He’s hardly a random prisoner. He’s the best marksman we’ve ever seen and God worked a miracle in sparing his life. Possibly to get King Solomon’s daughter back. I don’t know.” Neck Tattoo squints at me, finally glancing up at my forehead. He curses. “You're her, aren't you? You aren't Marked. Even though you’re here, in this place, and His Royal Highness said you couldn't get it. He said his prayers would keep you safe, and thank the Almighty, they worked.”
Solomon’s so full of crap, I can barely believe anyone listens to a thing he says. I roll my eyes. Rhonda barks a laugh.
Job bangs the table before laughing heartily. “Her father's certainly keeping her safe, and he's probably up in heaven. Maybe Solomon's not so much delusional as truth challenged.”
I love Job.
“You're right, Neck Tattoo,” I say. “Your King Solomon thinks I'm his kid, the ungrateful brat who doesn't accept any discipline. My name is Ruby, only I prefer the last name Behl to Solomon.”
&nbs
p; Neck Tattoo's entire demeanor changes now that he knows who I am, or who he thinks I am. “One clarification, your highness.” He bows to me, like he literally bends his body in half. “He doesn't require your commitment to stay in Galveston with him. He wants to talk to you in person, but that's all. After that you're free to go. He said you care about this Samuel. You can leave Galveston with him, but only if you talk to King Solomon personally first. He wants the chance to apologize to you. He knows your life has been hard, and he might have come down a little too sternly. He wants a chance to get through to you, to explain. He wants you to know what he’s offering for your future.”
“He’s trading someone he knows is important to me as a prisoner and demanding I return. And he’s doing all that so that he can show me how much he loves me?” My face couldn’t be full of any more skepticism, and still Neck Tattoo seems to notice none of the inconsistencies.
Rhonda crosses the room to the door. “Is that the entire message?”
Neck Tattoo glances at me. “Should I answer her, Your Highness?”
Oh good grief. “Yes, yes, answer anyone who asks anything.”
He nods. “That is the entire message. Your father wants me to stay with you to ensure your safety and your speedy return. I'm entirely at your disposal until we reach Galveston safely.”
My safety? More like Solomon wants his walking cure to make it back alive, at which point good old Wannabe Dad will be the biggest threat to my survival. Will Neck Tattoo help me against him? I think not.
“I have one more question,” I say. “When does my loving, devoted father require my presence?”
“I don't understand,” he says.
Wesley grunts. “She’s asking how long we have to decide.”
“He sent me with a vehicle, and the trip shouldn't take more than eight hours. He will allow two days for the Marked rabble to make up their minds. If he doesn't hear from them within three days time, he’ll assume you're being held against your will, and he'll launch the Cleansing now. The new primary aim will become freeing his daughter. The destruction of the infected will be a secondary, albeit important, goal.”
Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set Page 36
