Jackal (The End of Men Book 2)

by Tarryn Fisher

  “If your driver is not out there yet, please take mine.”

  Jackal backs away gratefully when Sean finally sits back down, thanks him, wishes everyone a good night, and bolts. He barely looked my way. I let out a long breath and tuck into my food, plotting my escape. I’m not sure what to think about Jackal leaving. I hope it was all a ruse to escape grabby hands, but I’m concerned. It’s uneventful without him—the party falls flat. As I tell Sean good night, I kiss him on each cheek.

  “If it’s not too late to change my mind, I’d like to go to the summit with you,” I tell him.

  His eyes warm. “I’d love nothing more.” He comes in for another kiss, but I pretend to not realize it and open the door, making my quick escape.

  When I get back to the house, I half expect Jackal to be there, but he’s quiet. He didn’t come last night either. Maybe this is his way of ending this barely there relationship.

  TWENTY-TWO

  JACKAL

  Mouse sperm is larger than elephant sperm.

  Selfish is gone. And in her place is an almost militant-looking older woman, who is taller than me and does not have any humor, not even in her past—I’m sure of it.

  “Where’s Selfice?” I ask.

  “I’m Nordice.”

  “Did you make up that name to sound like Selfice?”

  She stares at me like I’m the biggest idiot she’s ever encountered in all of her seventy million years of living.

  “Selfice has been relieved of her duties. I’ll need a full evaluation of your daily routines and a log of where you’ve been for the last three weeks. It appears you’ve failed to turn that in. Protocol—”

  “No,” I say.

  She looks at me sharply.

  “Has she been assigned to someone else? I’d like to know where she is.”

  “I’m not at liberty to—”

  “Fuck liberty,” I growl. “If my schedule is being disrupted, I’d like to know why.”

  “It’s time for your booster,” she says, and without further warning, she pokes me with the needle.

  “Nordice, on whose orders are you here?” I ask, rubbing the spot where the needle poked my arm.

  “The Society’s, sir.”

  “And what did they tell you when they sent you here to take the job?”

  “That I was to be your new handler because the old one had timed out.” She stands with her hands folded in front of her, staring straight ahead.

  “Timed out?” I ask. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll have to check with the Society.”

  Selfish was a pain in my ass. She was condescending and uptight, but we had our rhythm, and in between the barbs we threw at each other, we worked well together.

  I go through the compound and it’s quiet. Everyone is either out or in their apartment; the common areas are empty. I step outside and the car is in place but no Yvonne. If they’ve gotten rid of Selfish, I’m concerned that they’ve gotten rid of Yvonne. I’m screwed if I can’t get to Phoenix.

  Back inside, I stare Nordice down, arms crossed over my chest until she goes to “her” apartment. I’m tempted to put a call in to the Society, but they’re the last people I want to talk to right now. I never thought I’d be concerned about Selfish—who knew the little wench had grown on me somewhere along the way. I take a shower and as I uncork the liquor to pour the nightcap Selfish usually has sitting out for me before bed, I see something at the very top of the bottle. It’s a piece of paper folded until it’s tiny. My fingers are clumsy as I unfold and unfold and unfold. The writing is messy, but I can make out the words.

  Watch your back with N.

  Well, damn. I pull the lighter out of the drawer and burn the note. I could’ve done a lot more damage had I known Selfish actually had my back. Maybe she was smarter than I ever gave her credit for.

  Regret is a bitch.

  The next morning before appointments, I go outside in search of the driver, praying to every god under the sun that it’s easy-to-bribe Yvonne. It’s not. The new driver is standing by the car with a ready smile. She’s all arms and wears braces, even though she’s older. I didn’t know anyone still did braces. There are faster ways to straighten teeth, but some like to go old school. I want to cheer for her. Go you, working on yourself in your twilight years, but she might think I’m patronizing her. It’s hard not to smile when she looks like a grey-haired fifteen-year-old.

  “Jackal Emerson,” I say, hand outstretched.

  “Betsy Shoemake.”

  Her accent is from the Orange, I recognize it immediately.

  “I worked with your mother for years,” she says.

  My smile drops and so does my hand.

  She leans forward. “Never saw eye to eye, I’m afraid. I hope we’ll get along better.”

  I nod. Yeah, I do too.

  “Can I drive you anywhere this morning?”

  “I need you to take me to Selfice.”

  Her eyes skirt around, making sure we’re alone. “That won’t be possible. She’s gone…”

  “Where? What does it mean to be timed out?”

  Her coloring pales and her pupils dilate; it happens so quickly and then she regains her composure.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Nordice.”

  “She shouldn’t have spoken those words to you...it isn’t anything you need to concern yourself with. It was time for your handler to take a break. She was reported for a long list of issues—failure to comply with procedure, substance abuse, badgering her employer…”

  “Ridiculous. We did equal badgering.”

  “It might be hard to adjust, but I assure you, Nordice is quite excellent. In the long run, I really think you’ll appreciate what she brings to the team.”

  I grind my teeth, staring straight through her.

  TWENTY-THREE

  PHOENIX

  If a male Tasmanian devil is not very good, the female will just get up and walk away during sex.

  The next morning when I walk into the kitchen, Gwen and Tahira are reading an article at the table. They barely register my presence when I say good morning. I pour myself coffee and stand behind them. The picture attached to the headline is Gwen’s mugshot. It slowly fades to an overhead view of the prison before becoming her mugshot again. I feel embarrassed to be seeing it, but then I remember that Gwen didn’t actually do anything to deserve prison.

  Where is Gwen?

  The article begins, questioning where Gwen and the other hundred women who escaped are hiding. A couple of sentences in, my heart starts racing.

  With the success rates of the End Men decreasing, first with Marcus—where is he anyway?—and now with Folsom gone, how necessary are the End Men to the future? There is a climbing belief among the citizens of the nation that we take care of our Regions, rather than let our sole focus be on repopulation.

  We need the Gwens of the Regions to ascend from the ashes and give us hope again. We are not downtrodden, we are not in despair, we have a new purpose, and that is to empower one another. Breathe new life into our bones and build a new Region. One that we can all be proud of.

  I sit down and look at them. “Who wrote that?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Gwen says. “They brought up Marcus, so they know he’s missing. People should be asking where he is.” Her forehead crinkles in the middle and she swipes to find more; when she doesn’t, she looks at me. “Where is Jackal? It’s been days, Phoenix...”

  “I—I don’t know. It’s like he’s just disappeared. I’ve not heard from him.”

  “That doesn’t seem like Jackal,” Gwen says.

  “I don’t know what seems like Jackal,” I say. “I don’t understand him.”

  Gwen just laughs. “You say that with your words, but there’s a whole other language being spoken when the two of you are together.” She holds her fingers in the shape of a heart, and I throw a pillow from the couch at her, knocking her hands apart.

  “He looks
like he wants to devour you.” Tahira laughs. “It’s gross and yet I can’t look away.”

  “You can both go away now.”

  I hear the ding of my parents calling and mute it. I’ve been avoiding them for a couple of days now, already too tense to deal with them. It dings three times in a row and I roll my eyes. I get ready to leave for the day, packing my leotards in the duffel and my costumes in the garment bag. My lessons with Jackal have paused since we’ve been out at the house so often; I wonder if he intends to keep up with them at some point.

  The girls are doing laundry and cleaning the bathrooms as I leave.

  “Chop your leg off,” Tahira yells, the customary “good luck” wish before someone dances cracking her up. She says it even when I’m not dancing. I’ve told her it doesn’t work that way, but she doesn’t listen.

  Our first show of the week ends in a standing ovation. It’s when I’m taking my final bow that I see them, second row, right in the middle.

  The mothers are in town. That’s what I get for not answering their calls.

  My sweat feels cold against my skin. It’s okay, I tell myself. I’ll talk them into staying at the apartment. It’ll be fine.

  I walk offstage and skitter off to my dressing room, shutting the door behind me and exhaling as I turn on the light.

  “You were flawless tonight,” Jackal says. I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice.

  I lean back against the door and catch my breath. “What are you doing in here? I thought we agreed we wouldn’t be seen together.”

  “And we’re not.” He smiles. “I just wanted to—”

  “I need your help,” I whisper.

  He moves in close, pulling my waist to his and reaching around to grab my backside.

  “Not that,” I mutter, pushing his arms off. “You need to get out of here unless you want to meet my mothers.”

  His eyes widen just as there is a knock on the door.

  “Either hide or come up with a quick exit,” I tell him.

  “One minute. Phoenix, I’m worried I won’t have a chance to see you before we’re in the Red. I have a new—”

  The knocking gets more aggressive and he looks up to the ceiling then nods and motions for me to open the door.

  Mama B and Moma stand there, already slightly put out. “What took you so...long?”

  They’re both wearing black dresses, Mama B’s is on the conservative side, while Moma’s has the sequins and low-cut neckline. I smile fondly at them even though I’m annoyed. Mama B’s voice fades when she notices Jackal behind me.

  “What have we here?” she asks.

  Jackal’s face settles into a pleasant, friendly, clean slate. Their eyes appraise him, not with hearts in their eyes like most women, but with suspicion and no small amount of dollar signs.

  He holds out his hand. Moma takes it first and shakes it heartily.

  “I never miss a chance to see Ms. Moyo’s performance,” he says. Then he directs his attention to me. “You were exceptional tonight.”

  “Thank you.” I don’t know where to look. I’ve never felt more awkward.

  “So sweaty,” Mama B’s nose crinkles up.

  She touches a finger to my shoulder and then holds it up to the light to examine how much sweat it’s picked up.

  “You really should get to your shower, Phoenix,” she says, pointing to the bathroom behind me. She then holds out her hand to Jackal. “Bisa Moyo, nice to make your acquaintance. This is my wife, Sylvia,” she says. “I do believe you’re the first End Man we’ve ever met, isn’t that right, Sylvia?”

  “I’ve talked with a few, but this is the first time we’ve crossed paths with you,” Moma says.

  I look at her, surprised. “This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

  “We’re exhausted from the trip, but you should come out to the house for dinner while you’re in our Region.” Mama B goes into detail about the farm and the lovely drive by the water.

  “It would be my pleasure. I have to get to the after-party, but I’m glad to meet you both.” He glances my way. “Have a good night.”

  He leaves and they both look at me, wide-eyed.

  “For a man, he’s decent.” Moma shrugs.

  “From your extensive experience with men?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “You don’t have to know them to know the stories about them.”

  I laugh and try to hug them, but they both back up and point to the shower. I go and as I’m washing the work off of my body, I try to come up with a way to keep them from the house. My mothers are two of the most stubborn people I’ve ever known. I come up with a plan to tell them there’s a rat problem.

  When I come out, they’re cleaning my dressing room; one is spraying the mirror and wiping it down, the other is dusting.

  I groan. “I know you mean well, but just stop. Please. Welcome back. This is such a...surprise.”

  “If you would’ve answered our calls, you would’ve known,” Moma says.

  “It’s been hectic. I’m glad you’re here now. Why don’t we head over to the apartment? I have a nice wine and we can relax. You can tell me about your trip…”

  Mama B nods. “That sounds nice.”

  I stare at her a moment, so thrown by her being agreeable that I laugh, hard. It stuns them and they stare at me.

  “We won’t stay long.” Moma gives my back two brisk pats. “You look exhausted.”

  And just like that, we’re back to square one.

  When we get to the apartment, I try to message Gwen, but she doesn’t respond. I’m too nervous to drink, even foregoing the nightly vodka. I barely hear the details of their road trip, chuckling when they do, and mmhmm-ing in the spots that seem fitting. But my head is at the farm. When they get up to go, I jump up.

  “I’m coming with you!” I tell them, sounding far perkier than I feel.

  “You should be asleep already...we’ve stayed so late,” Moma says.

  “We should’ve just gone straight to the house if you wanted to be out there,” Mama B says at the same time.

  “You should stay here,” I say firmly. “I’ve had a problem with rats at the house…”

  “Rats?” They say in unison. Moma looks startled.

  “I’ll set out the traps then. Maybe it’s time to get a cat.”

  I groan. Mama B is the proactive one. I should have known a rat story wouldn’t scare her off.

  “I’m allergic to cats,” I remind them.

  The plan completely backfires when Mama B gets a determined look on her face.

  “We better get over there right away. I can’t believe you didn’t mention this before, Phoenix,” she says.

  I just lost the war.

  “I’m coming too,” I say miserably. “Let me get my shoes.”

  The drive takes an eternity. Moma drives and I send continuous messages to Gwen. Still nothing. She’s been saying she needed to try going to bed earlier to see if that would help her get another hour or two—she’s been waking up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. Of all nights for her to start that. When we pull into the drive, the lights are off. I hope to God they’re in the barn already. If they’re in the house, we’re dead.

  We go through the back door and nearly trip on all the shoes. Gwen and Tahira both have smaller feet than I do. My stomach is in my throat.

  “Who’s here?” Moma asks.

  “I had friends over during the weekend and they left their shoes.” I shrug. I slip off my shoes and leave them next to Gwen’s.

  “You have friends?” Mama B gasps, and then they both dissolve into a fit of giggles.

  I roll my eyes and when we reach the kitchen, I go for it and yell as loud as I can. “I am so glad you’re home! I cannot believe it!” I wrap my arms around them both and hug them tight.

  Not used to physical affection from me, or even much with each other, they both try to get out of my grip long before I’m done. I see Gwen and Tahira run past and adju
st our hug so I’m the one facing them. When they reach the front door, I breathe deeply and release my parents. I’m surprised to see that Moma’s eyes are shining.

  “It’s good to be home,” she says quietly.

  Mama B shakes her head. “You are acting so weird, Phoenix. Get to bed. I’m worried about you.”

  I wait until I think they’re sleeping and then walk through the kitchen to the back door. I crack it open and a voice behind me says, “Why don’t you tell them to come in now?”

  I flip around and Moma stands there holding up her Silverbook.

  “I have cameras installed for when we’re away. Normally you’re not here very much. I’ve seen everything.”

  My face gets fiery because if she’s seen everything, that means...

  Her lips tighten. “Yes, that too.”

  I put my head in my hands. “Does Mama B know?”

  “I didn’t want to see the footage of Jackal’s ass, but yes, I’m aware,” she says, coming around the corner. “It was too entertaining to watch you lie through your teeth to us.”

  Her eyes narrow and I feel the dread like a chain squeezing around my neck.

  “Rats. Honestly, Phoenix. Like I’d be scared of rats.”

  “Please don’t turn them in. Please. They’ve been through so much.”

  They look at each other and the glint in Mama B’s eyes makes me stop breathing until she speaks.

  “What kind of people do you think we are, Phoenix?”

  Unyielding, not very warm...but not uncaring. I bow my head and a tear drips down my cheek.

  “I couldn’t turn them away.”

  I’ve been pleasantly surprised before, but most of it has been related to the stage: when I got my first solo dance after an audition that was sub-par; when I beat out younger, more qualified dancers; when I broke my toes and was able to keep dancing anyway…but nothing surprises me more than my mothers and their quick acceptance of my stowaways.

  I go to retrieve them from the barn, shuffling my feet feebly on the floor as I explain.

  “Can we trust them?” Gwen asks.