Dread Nation

by Justina Ireland

  She keeps talking like I haven’t said a word. “But I don’t feel that way about anyone, Jane. I never have and I’m not sure I ever will.”

  “Oh, well, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “But that’s what makes it so hard. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to chase after some man or set up housekeeping with another woman. I’m just not interested. I want to see the world! I want to write my own future, like Hattie McCrea.”

  I laugh. “Well, everyone wants to be Hattie.” Hattie McCrea’s story is the dream of every Attendant-in-training. She was the first real Attendant, assigned to Martha Johnson, President Johnson’s daughter. They say she single-handedly killed a horde that tried to swarm the White House back in ’69. Whether the story is true or not, it made Hattie famous. She traveled the world after that, her name made, teaching girls how to defend themselves against shamblers, and finally marrying a handsome French duke. Well, at least that’s how the story goes. She could’ve just as easily been killed by some random shambler in a swamp down south in the Lost States, for all we really know.

  Either way, Hattie was the example we all strove for—Hattie and her selflessness, or Hattie and her fame, or even Hattie and her ability to make her own decisions about her life, free from the restraints the rest of us labor under. All of us Negro girls wanted to be like Hattie, respected and admired.

  Even Katherine, who could’ve passed as a fine white lady if she wanted.

  “If you want to see the world like Hattie, you can. I ain’t never met someone half as determined as you are.” I put my arm around her shoulders and squeeze. “We just need to get out of here, first. I am truly sorry I’ve put you through this, but you do understand that your pretty face is just as much a weapon as your rifle, right?”

  Katherine wipes her eyes and gives me a strange look, like I just sprouted an extra nose. I lean back a little. “What? What did I say?”

  “Jane, I’ve never thought of it that way, that beauty could be a weapon.”

  I laugh. “That’s because you’ve never met my momma. She used to say the only thing more lethal than a bullet was a woman with a pretty face.”

  “Strangely enough, that actually makes me feel better.”

  “Good. But let’s not forget that isn’t the only weapon in your arsenal now. You’ve still got the promise of your virtue.” I give Katherine a wry smile. “The thing is, what are we going to do with all of this admiration you’re getting? More important, what are we supposed to do once we get clear of this place?”

  Katherine purses her lips in thought, the storm of her earlier emotions subsiding. “Well, that is a question. I’d figured we’d go back to Baltimore, but since Miss Preston’s is no more, there isn’t much there for us.”

  I shake my head, because I’d never planned on going back there except to kill Miss Anderson, but now that’s not going to happen. I’m a little disappointed, but the gnawing worry in my gut is stronger. How many survived that devastation? Are my friends out there in the wild somewhere now, or are they still in Maryland, yellow-eyed shamblers all?

  I take a deep breath and push my worry to the side. One crisis at a time, thank you very much. First, freedom. Then, everything else.

  “Well, I think for now there ain’t much we can do besides find our rest. A fine lady like yourself, well, this heat would just be entirely too much for you. You should get some sleep.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “For now, the same. Tomorrow I’m going to implore the good doctor for some laudanum.” Katherine arches a brow at me. “You know, for your lady problems.”

  “Jane . . .”

  “Look, I’ve got plans, and it isn’t just stealing some supplies and hoping I can make it to the Mississippi River and hitch a ride south, like Jackson. I told you before, that boy is all impulse.”

  “And what plan is this?”

  Quickly I fill Katherine in on how I’d planned on dosing the sheriff.

  “Jane, that’s thoroughly dishonorable!”

  “I ain’t planning on killing the man, just turning him shambler.” Of course, I’m going to kill him after. Nuance is important, that’s what I always say.

  Katherine disagrees. “You turning him into a monster is just the same as murdering him, Jane.”

  “Not if he’s already a monster.”

  Katherine sighs. “I want to be rid of him as much as you, but—”

  “Yeah, you tell me that after he’s taken the lash to your back,” I snap, the fear and pain and humiliation of the memory rising up quick and sharp. Katherine falls silent, her expression troubled. I sigh. “I’d have no problem putting a bullet in the man in a duel, Katherine. But there’s no way we’d make it beyond the berm if I do that. He ain’t a good person, and I ain’t pretending like he deserves to live. Think about the way he’s starving most of the Negroes and drovers in town while he and his boys and all the good white folks stay fat. Summerland was supposed to be about a better life for all, but it’s worse here than it was in Baltimore. Do you think that’s the word of a good person?”

  “But that’s the point, Jane. If you kill him, that makes you no better than he is.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  Footsteps outside on the porch silence whatever else Katherine was going to say. She gives me a wide-eyed look of alarm. “I don’t think I can handle any more company today.”

  “Well then, it’s a fine thing that you have an Attendant to handle it for you, ain’t it?” I jump up from the bed, closing the door to the bedroom behind me. I don’t bother stopping, just go straight to the door and yank it open.

  Mr. Gideon is on the other side, hand poised to knock. He startles as he looks at me, adjusting his spectacles before doffing his hat in a lovely display of manners that I’ve seen men lavish on white ladies, but I sure ain’t used to. The movement draws my attention to his fetching eyes and the fullness of his lips, and a flutter starts up somewhere low in my belly. Katherine’s words about the way I look at him ring like a fire bell in my head.

  Lordy, I hope this foolishness is due to my having missed lunch. Ain’t nothing good going to come from losing my head over the tinkerer.

  “Miss McKeene,” he says.

  “Mr. Gideon. I’m sorry, but Miss Katherine is indisposed.” I put a bit of a drawl in my voice, stressing the natural cadence of my words. Hopefully he won’t hear the lie in them. For some mysterious reason I find it difficult to lie to the tinkerer. Perhaps because I get the distinct feeling that he sees through each and every one.

  His brows draw together slightly. “Oh, I do hope she’s okay?”

  “Oh, yes, she’s just feeling a mite dizzy because of the heat. Was there something I could help you with?”

  “Well, perhaps, but I’d rather wait to discuss it when both of you are present. I know I’m being terribly forward, but would you and Miss Deveraux consider joining me for the noon meal tomorrow?”

  “That’s a fine idea,” I answer before I’ve properly thought through why I’m so eager for the tinkerer’s company.

  His expression brightens, and he dons his hat once more, settling the bowler into place. “Fantastic. I’ll come by tomorrow at noon to escort Miss Deveraux to the lab. Sheriff Snyder said that he is in the process of refortifying the town’s defenses in the wake of an unanticipated shambler pack pressing against the eastern wall, and it’s all for the better that Miss Deveraux remains in her rooms until the problem has been rectified.”

  “Of course, Mr. Gideon. I wouldn’t want Miss Katherine to come to any harm.” There’s a hidden warning in his voice, and I sense that he knows more about the current dangers in Summerland than he’s letting on.

  He strolls off and I watch him go, his limp more pronounced than usual.

  As I close the door, I worry that he’s pressing himself too hard, and just that little bit of concern is enough to make me realize that I’m in a heap of trouble.

  My heart ain’t never goin
g to be safe.

  I will not tell you that I am not worried about you. That would be an outright lie. These are dark times we live in, and it is only by keeping our wits about ourselves that we can truly survive.

  Chapter 32

  In Which I Am Invited to a Battle

  Word of Katherine not feeling well gets around quicker than a brush fire in August. A few minutes after I speak with Mr. Gideon, a few roughnecks come by with a basket of blackberries that they found out along the creek, like some fruit is going to cure whatever ails her. I smile and thank them before closing the door, firmly refusing them entry. They’re followed by another group of men, this time with a handful of wild onions and another with a rabbit, cleaned and ready to be cooked. By the time all of the shifts have returned, Katherine and I have the makings of a rather fine meal, and even though it’s far too hot to stoke a fire in the hearth, I do it anyway, roasting the rabbit along with the onions over patties that thankfully smell more like grass than anything else.

  Once the entire mess is ready, Katherine and I eat it greedily, the past week of good eating not quite able to make up for the weeks of starvation. Around mouthfuls of rabbit and blackberries she confesses that even the rations for the white folks have become smaller and smaller since so many families have arrived in the past couple of weeks. It makes me feel a little soft toward the drovers for bringing Katherine their food. Most likely they were counting on it to round out their own dinner, and it says something that they were willing to give it up for Katherine.

  She is less impressed.

  “Those men are just another part of the problem, and willing enablers. Where do you think Mr. Gideon gets shamblers for that machine you told me about? There’s danger right below our feet, and they’re the ones keeping the cycle going. Not everyone is a prisoner here, Jane. Some of them deeply want Summerland to succeed, no matter what the cost.”

  Katherine has removed her hairpins so that the mass of her honeyed curls hang down her back. She looks younger with her hair down, the shadows around her eyes more pronounced. Now that I know what it costs her emotionally to go along with my ruse I’m even more anxious to put our plan into action. It’s only been a few weeks since Katherine went from being just another colored girl at Miss Preston’s to a white lady, and the change in her is obvious as we eat. She is careful in her movements, and the sound of footfalls past our door causes her to look up with a fearful expression. The guilt that rises up in me is near to crippling.

  I miss the old Katherine, the one I knew back in Baltimore, even as that girl was sorely vexing. I don’t like this quiet girl with the haunted eyes, and I’m starting to think that maybe I didn’t do her a favor after all. But I can’t change the past; I can only push headlong into an uncertain future.

  “Kate,” I say after we’ve eaten our fill as a sudden thought occurs to me. “I came poking around on this side of town the night before I took that whipping. I recognized a couple of the families that just arrived. They were at Mayor Carr’s dinner.”

  Katherine purses her lips and leans back on the settee. “Oh, I met them. You don’t have to worry about them, Jane. The funny thing about rich folks is they never remember the hired help. I assure you, my secret is safe.”

  When a knock sounds at the door, loud and forceful, Katherine turns apologetic eyes to me. “Jane, I’m sorry, but would you get that?”

  “Of course. Why don’t you go ahead and retire for the evening while I make your apologies. It’s near curfew, anyway.” The fire in the grate has burned low, and the air coming in through the open window in the front room bears a chill, the land getting cool as the sun sets.

  Katherine gives me a grateful look and I get up and trudge once more to the door. It’s too late for respectable callers, but there ain’t a whole lot of respectable folks in Summerland. So it’s with some surprise that I pull the door open to find the last man I ever want to see. Every muscle in my body tenses.

  “Sheriff.”

  “Jane. Where’s Miss Deveraux?”

  “She’s retired for the evening, sir.” It kills me a little to have to give the sheriff even the barest semblance of respect when all I want to do is test the edge of my sickles against his neck.

  “I need to speak with her.”

  “It will have to wait until the morning.”

  “It can’t wait,” he snaps. He attempts to glance past me into the depths of the rooms and I move to block his view.

  “Is there something I can help you with, sir?” I ask, all icy politeness. There’s something a little off about the sheriff; I don’t think he’s been drinking, but his insistence has an undercurrent that puts me on alert. There’s no way I’m going to let him into our rooms.

  “Sheriff Snyder, is there something amiss?” Katherine appears in the doorway to the sleeping chamber, clutching her wrap tightly. I scowl at her. I had the situation under control. She ignores me.

  The man removes his hat and bows. “Miss Deveraux, I apologize for the intrusion, but I need to borrow your girl.” I bristle at being referred to as an object, but say nothing.

  “What’s going on?”

  “There’s been a breach on the eastern edge that is more serious than I initially suspected. I need everyone who can handle a weapon with me to take down a pack of shamblers heading toward town.”

  “How many?” I ask, forgetting my place.

  “About thirty, maybe forty. They’ve already ripped through half my patrol. They’re about two miles away, heading straight toward us.” The sheriff shivers in a way I’ve not seen from him since I arrived.

  Katherine and I exchange a glance, and I give her a slight nod. She turns to the sheriff. “Please, take Jane. She’ll be able to help you.”

  The man plops his hat back on his head. “Much obliged, Miss Deveraux.” To me he says, “You got one minute to prepare yourself.” He stomps off without another word, off to rustle up whoever else he needs to help.

  I hurry back into the rooms, pushing past Katherine and grabbing the cavalry sword and my sickles. I’m about half a dozen weapons short of what I’d like to have to take on a horde, but it’ll have to do.

  Katherine runs to the wardrobe. “Jane, help me get into this thing.” She pulls out a modest dress of calico, similar to mine but the full length that real ladies wear.

  “No.”

  Katherine freezes and turns to me. “You can’t—”

  “No, you ain’t going,” I say. “You’re a lady, Katherine. This is too dangerous for you.” I move closer to her and whisper, “Someone has to be here for Lily, especially if Jackson sees this breach as an opportunity to come looking for her. The girl’s right next door. Please.”

  “Okay, Jane. I’ll look out for Lily.”

  “There’s something powerful frightening about this, Kate. I’ve seen the wall. There’s no way a shambler can get over it. If it’s been breached . . .” I trail off, the idea of all those shamblers on the prairie making their way into Summerland stunning me into silence.

  There’s yelling out in the street as the sheriff continues to round up folks, and I turn toward the door. “Make sure you bar this, and don’t let anyone in. Certain death can make a man act in unusual ways, forgetting right and wrong.”

  Katherine nods. “Jane, be safe.”

  I grin. “Ain’t no shambler going to put me down, Kate. You should know that by now.”

  She glares at me and closes the door as I leave. I pause on the porch until I hear the bar slide into place, then I jog out to join the knot of men gathering in the street. A few of the girls from the day patrol are there as well, including Ida. Her eyes go wide when she sees me.

  “I thought you was dead.”

  I shake my head. “Not yet.”

  “How’d you end up over here in the fancy part of town?”

  I just wink at her. Let her come up with a good rumor by herself.

  “Do you know how the wall was breached?” I ask Ida.

  She shakes her head. �
��No. It seems strange. It ain’t like shamblers can destroy the wall, they can’t even figure out how to get over it.”

  None of the Negroes milling around have weapons, which is hardly a surprise, but if what the sheriff says is true, everyone needs to be armed. I’m about to open my mouth to say so when I remember how my concerns were addressed last time.

  Mr. Gideon rides up on a fine horse, the beast dancing sideways in agitation. I move over to him, even though the last place I want to be is anywhere near the monster he rides. “Mr. Gideon.”

  His expression softens as he looks down at me. “Miss McKeene.”

  “How exactly did that grand wall come to be compromised?” I ask him.

  The corners of his mouth turn down. “That is a question I would also like answered,” he says, his tone grim. It troubles me that the smartest man in town doesn’t have the answer to what should be a simple question. But I have more pressing issues to fret about.

  “I can’t help but notice that none of the Negroes are armed,” I murmur. “It would be a terrible tactical error to go into battle against the dead without the proper weapons.”

  The tinkerer quickly assesses the situation before nodding. “I’ll have a word with the sheriff.” He rides off, and Ida walks up as he leaves.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “That we need proper weapons.”

  “That would be a nice change.” She eyes my sword enviously, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of a girl that is maybe more than she seems. But then she sees me watching her, and the glint disappears, her usual dull expression taking its place.

  “Ida.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Would you like my sword?”

  She startles. “You serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what would you use?”

  “My sickles.”

  “Those are weapons?” she says, looking askance at the blades tucked in the ties at my waist.

  “Yes, they are. Besides, you don’t honestly think all those drovers are going to last long out there, do you? I’ll grab one of their guns when they fall.” It’s a bluff, but I got a feeling about Ida, and if I’m right then I want her feeling indebted to me in a way that assures that she won’t be likely to betray me.