Who in their right mind would ever leave such a place?
Unfortunately, she wasn’t in her right mind. She was broken and had been as far back as she could remember. Her one solace, in the few times of reflection that she allowed herself, was the knowledge that even normal people had minds that were only a sneeze away from coming unglued. They were filled with distortions, fragmented memories, and outright lies. Wishful thinking took the place of rational thought and subtle fears dominated life choices more than most people realized.
She only rarely thought about such things, however. These were all distant concepts that were, along with twelve years of her life, kept in a locked box buried beneath a pile of dirty clothes in her closet. She kept the closet locked at all times with a clunky lock of cold black iron. It was a lock that no little girl such as herself had business owning.
Since she had the only key to the lock, which she kept on a string around her neck, it was naturally a surprise that she saw the closet door was open when she woke on that particular Christmas morning, with her pillow-styled hair and one arm curled around Teddy-the-Bear, that.
A curl of disquiet squiggled in her belly. Warily, the little girl edged towards the door, ready to run screaming for her daddy. A child’s laugh, high and happy from inside the closet, calmed her fear. She knew that laughter. It was from a long ago friend. A real friend.
“Corina!” the little girl cried and rushed to open the door wider. It was not the closet the door opened onto, however.
She found herself on a hill at night. The snow-clouds were gone, replaced by thousands of glittering stars. The smell of pine and cinnamon had been exchanged for the salty tang of the ocean. And the sounds of Christmas music and her mother’s voice had disappeared. It was a hushed nervous night.
A few steps below the girl of five and a half was an old, old man. No, he was an old, old priest, and one she knew despite the extra wrinkles and the white, feathery hair. “Father Amacker,” she said. He was not the only one who’d changed. Her voice had deepened and her hands were longer. She looked down at herself and saw a grown up. Jillybean almost bolted back inside the camper. “What’s going on?”
“We need you to call off your army,” Father Amacker said.
“Army?” Her eyes shifted around; there was a barbed-wire fence and people crouched low behind it. There were hills on either side and far down toward the ocean were the outlines of a town. “Highton,” she said. Her memory started to come back and as it did her stomach churned as she swallowed the greasy rinds of shame. With every memory, the nausea built, and right when she was sure something horrible was about to come pouring out of her in a black fountain, she turned to run back inside.
It was late, and she needed to get home before her parents got too worried. The door did not lead to her bedroom, it opened onto a dim room lit by red lights. “What’s going on?” she whispered to herself. The answer crawled out of her memory along with all the other horrors.
“It wasn’t me, it was Eve. She did this.” But was that true? Things were still hazy. She turned from the slightly befuddled priest and went inside to her monitors. The middle one showed the zombie army she had created marching relentlessly towards Highton. It was surprisingly close.
“It’s not supposed to be happening like this,” she said as the camper rocked. People were coming inside. They stood behind her and saw the grey wave; she was afraid to look back, afraid to see the hate. “And yesterday, too. Someone did something. They released them all. It was just supposed to be a few at a time.”
Troy snapped his fingers in her face to focus her. “We’ll deal with yesterday another time. We need to know how to stop these ones right there. Do you have more flares or anything like that?”
Donna shook her head. “They’re firing off the last of them now…right at the town.”
“Then we can’t stop them,” Jillybean said, in a whisper.
Chapter 42
The canoe had but the one paddle and with Mike still feeling the effects of being crushed by a half-ton zombie, Stu Currans gladly took it up. He stroked easily towards the lights of Bainbridge.
He was in no great hurry to reach the island since he knew his life wouldn’t change much when he got there. He would still be in love with a crazy woman, who had almost killed him and forced him to leave his home. His people would still be in terrific danger. They were lost and defenseless. They were bleating sheep among wolves.
To top it all off, he would be a spy. Gunner had fooled Mike and Jenn; they could be as naive as children at times. They believed Gunner’s lies because it was so much easier to swallow them whole rather than face the truth. Stu knew how things really stood. Gunner would start small with these innocent seeming reports to hook them and then gradually he would demand more and more.
But he wouldn’t get anything of real value, not if Stu had anything to do with it. The next time he met Gunner, he would have bullets in his gun and he’d use them without hesitation and without warning.
Until then, he was still technically a spy. It made him sick to his stomach.
“Look!” Mike cried, pointing towards the little harbor. “The Calypso. Do you think they’ll let us have her back? They should, right? She’s not theirs. And it was Jillybean’s idea to take that skiff. And you can’t compare a dinky skiff to a real boat.”
“They’ll probably give her back,” Jenn said, speaking softly. There were zombies floating in the Sound and the canoe was the least stable boat she had ever been in. Even a normal sized person could pull it over with little effort. “They seemed like good people.”
Good people that they had agreed to spy on, Stu thought.
“Maybe they aren’t so good,” Mike said. “They were the ones who basically took her in the first place. If they had done just a quick patch job and given her back none of any of this would’ve happened. We would’ve never taken a Corsair boat and there wouldn’t have been a war.”
Right, Stu thought. Jillybean had wanted the war, which meant she had probably talked her father into pulling the boat out of the water in the first place. It seemed so obvious now. He was about to mention this when one of the searchlights swept across them. They watched as the light swung away and then slowly came back. Once more it passed over them and kept going, but not for long.
It suddenly stopped and then began groping in zigzags across the black water until it finally found them again. It blazed into their eyes and cast deep black shadows behind them. The light was so piercing that Stu got a queer chill. He felt naked and exposed, as if the glow was like some sort of X-ray that could expose his guilt.
Mike and Jenn shielded their eyes. Stu didn’t have that option; he had to keep paddling forward, squinting at first, then as more lights swiveled in their direction, he closed his eyes entirely against the shrieking brightness. Eventually, they had a dozen lights roaming all around them, searching the empty waters of the Sound, hunting for more boats, in case the canoe was the first of hundreds in an all-out assault.
When they got close, someone on the wall challenged them. “That’s close enough. We generally don’t let people in after dark.”
Jenn answered, “Could you make an exception for us? We were uh, chased by bandits.” She had almost said that they had been chased by Corsairs, but changed her mind at the last second. It was possible they wouldn’t be let on the island if they were dragging a Corsair army behind them.
“Were they Sons of Flame or North Benders?” the man shouted back.
“I don’t know. We didn’t see them. It was dark and they started shooting, so we ran and that’s how we got here. We’re looking for refuge. There’s a guy named Neil Martin who can vouch for us.”
From the top of the immense wall came a flurry of whispers. It went back and forth for some time until one of the guards told them, “Neil Martin is dead. Sorry. We’re going to let you come in, but you’ll have to give up your weapons. Also, we’re gonna have to house you in the station ’til morning. I hop
e you understand.”
“As long as it’s warm and there’s a bed,” Stu said, sounding tired.
They came in through the water gate and were greeted by a sulking Danny McGuinness, the night harbormaster. He waddled out of his shack, wrapped in an immense blanket. He didn’t make any move to help them from the canoe.
“It’s you three,” he said, recognizing them from the last time they had visited, weeks before. An unhappy sigh escaped him. “Come on. No sense standing out in the cold.” The dock creaked under his weight as he went back to his heated shack. As he did, he cast a disappointed glance at the Calypso. It was scheduled for auction and he had planned on putting in a bid for the boat.
He was never going to sail it himself; instead he would rent it out on a daily basis, figuring that it would pay for itself in two years and after that was just gravy. Only here were the rightful owners, showing up just days before the auction, ruining everything.
“So,” he said, after he had sat back in his leather recliner and arranged his blanket. Like a toad, he eyed them as they were frisked. They possessed almost nothing; a few of Jillybean’s medical books and the last white and gold flag that had marked Jenn’s brief time as queen. Danny thought it was a tablecloth and barely gave it a glance. “Once more you come to our island without anything except expectations to beg from our table.”
“No,” Jenn answered when Stu only glared, and Mike looked uncertain. “That’s wrong. We plan on working. And we didn’t come with nothing last time. We had the Calypso, which is worth a lot. It’s better than all your dinky boats put together.”
“Maybe. But the question I’ve always had is, where did you three kids get her? Did you steal her?”
His tone was aggressive to the point of being rude and had the question been any other, Jenn would have been properly angry. However, they had stolen the Calypso, at least initially and although they had replaced her with a bigger boat, it was still technically true. When she hesitated, Danny sensed weakness in her. His only chance at getting the boat was if he could find something illegal or unsavory about them.
“Is the real owner going to show up and demand her back?”
Before she could answer, one of the guards growled, “What the hell, Danny? They are the real owners.” Todd Karraker was the oldest guard on duty. With forty closing in, he was somewhat soft in the belly and his camouflaged uniform was stretched tight. Still, he had a long-perfected scowl that caused Danny to shrink into his blanket.
One of the younger guards pushed forward. He had shaved the day before and wouldn’t need to for another week. “Where did you guys go? You showed up all jacked up and then you just disappeared, like out of the blue, you know?”
“That’s into the blue, Zoid,” another said, shoving his friend. “I want to know what happened to Jillybean.”
“Yeah, had you guys gotten back to San Francisco?”
“Dang, Zoid, it’s did you guys get back? Where’d you learn English?” He gave his friend another push, hoping to catch Jenn’s eye. “Did she fix up your friends?”
“Where is she now,” Todd asked, quickly.
Stu turned away and refused to say a word about Jillybean. Jenn was afraid to say anything because she didn’t know if they had done anything illegal in leaving the island the way they had. And then there was the possibility that they were semi-spies. How was she supposed to answer questions with that hanging over her head?
This left Mike, who stammered out: “We should talk to the Governor in the morning.”
“I just want to know if she’s still alive,” Todd demanded. Many years before Jillybean had helped him and his brother escape a bandit chieftain; it was not something he would ever forget. People sometimes ridiculed her, but they never did so when Todd was around.
“Yes.” Mike didn’t think there was any danger in answering that question.
Relief washed over Todd. “Is she coming back?”
Mike looked to Jenn for help, but she only gave a weak shrug which Mike imitated as he answered, “I really don’t know. She’s not herself and, well, if she comes back it may not be good for you guys. You know what I mean?”
They all understood. The younger men elbowed each other, but straightened and assumed looks of innocence as Todd glared around at the small knot of people, daring one of them to say a word. When no one took him up on his silent challenge, he began to ask another question, but Stu cut him off. “No more. We already said we’d talk to the Governor in the morning and that’s what we plan on doing. We’ve been on the run for days and I’m not going to say a word until I get some sleep.”
Actually, he didn’t plan on saying anything at all and if it was up to him he wouldn’t even be in the same room with the Governor when Jillybean was being discussed. But it wasn’t something he could leave on Jenn’s shoulders. For a fifteen-year-old she was smart and capable and yet in many ways, she was still a kid.
Although Todd was frustrated by the answer, he escorted them to the island’s only police station. While they walked through the cold night, he kept shooting looks their way, especially at Jenn. Finally, he said, “In the dark, you sorta look like her. Like Jillybean, I mean.”
“Thanks” Jenn answered, honestly. Jillybean had an exotic and frequently dangerous beauty, while she had always thought of herself as something of a plain Jane. “Were you two close?”
“She was like a kid sister. That’s how I tried to treat her, but she didn’t really need or want a brother. Not after what happened to her real sister.” He looked like he was about to go on, then his face clouded over and he remained troubled until they reached the police station.
Mike, Jenn and Stu had the exact opposite reaction. With every step, they felt their fears and worries recede. The island was wonderfully lit in preparation for the Fall Festival which was to begin the next day. Gold and orange lights gleamed like warm stars wherever they looked. Rivers of bunting swooshed and swirled like autumnal icing from the larger buildings and each house was positively plastered with autumnal decorations.
On every block was a decorated float—a trailer or long cart that was made up in some sort of theme. One was of a twenty-foot-tall turkey made of a mesh of stiff wire, leaves, and paper mache. Another was a gargantuan hollowed-out pumpkin complete with a six-foot tall candle. The most impressive was a smiling, straw-headed scarecrow that was three stories tall.
This was a happy place. It was a safe place.
The Hilltop had never been safe; it had been lucky for a time, but never safe. And Alcatraz had earned it nickname as “The Rock.” It was cold and unforgiving. Bainbridge was the opposite; it felt like home to the three of them.
Jenn’s hand found Mike’s and the two strolled easily, pointing out their favorite decorations. They looked like they were coming home from a date. Stu was silently envious and, at the same time, was happy for them.
They even found the police station inviting. For one, it was warm. Jenn couldn’t remember the last time she bedded down without wearing a hat and coat. It was also guarded by a pleasant woman with dark, Latin features; she had hair that was long, rippling, and black as the space between the stars.
The three slept soundly in consecutive cells and the night was marred only by its brevity. It was after three in the morning by the time they closed their eyes and the kickoff of the Fall Festival was not a quiet event. At sunrise the first of the three competitive marching bands began warming up.
Stu was out of his bunk at the hhhroom of the first tuba. Mike took a second longer because of his broken ribs. “Ow! Son of a…what is that?” People simply didn’t play musical instruments on The Rock or the Hilltop.
“I think that’s a tuba,” Stu answered, grinning. He raised a fist and worked it up and down in time as the tuba began to whomp, whomp, whomp! This was answered by a brassy cry that rang across the island. It was taken up by others until Stu felt the demand of the music. “Let’s go see what’s going on.”
The trio said a quick goo
dbye to the black-haired woman and went out into a new morning, smiles on their faces as a thousand bells began to ring. Hundreds of people were spilling onto their porches with bells in hand. Most were brass and the red bows on them gave them a Christmas feel. Some people clanked cow bells as if they were at a hootenanny. One family set up a stand for a heavy ship’s bell that was green copper. The strangest of all was a large circle of shining gold that a man struck every few seconds with ceremonial slowness and a maniac’s grin on his face. It was a Chinese gong and the shimmering sound it made was fascinating to the trio; none of them had ever heard a gong before.
It was a cacophony of merriment that was not universally appreciated. In the midst of everything, a flight of black birds winged angrily by cawing their contempt.
Jenn’s smile dropped. Out of habit, she counted them. Five! It meant that sickness was coming. As bad as that was, at least there weren’t six of the birds. Six meant death was coming. She had never in her life counted six birds and not had a death follow close after.
Even as a sigh of relief began to slip from her lips, another bird, just as black as coal kicked off from the gutter of a house and hurried after the first group. Before it could join the rest, she turned away, telling herself that it was five she had seen. They hadn’t been altogether. It was a lie that she whispered.
“Are you okay?” Mike asked, smiling down at her.
She could barely look at him, afraid that she would see the birds—all six of them—cutting across the sky. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Death was coming. Still, it didn’t mean her death or Mike’s or Stu’s. It could be anyone. There were people everywhere; happy, smiling people.
“Yeah…it’s just, what is all this? They act like…well, I don’t know what. I’ve never seen anything like this at all.”
“It’s how you’re supposed to ring in the Fall Festival,” a grinning man said. He was red-faced and, in his excitement, his nostrils were flared as curvaceously as a dancer’s hips. “Where you guys from? Agate Point? You coming to see who’s got the best float this year? Wyatt Way East is getting the trophy back this year. You’ll see!”
Generation Z (Book 4): The Queen Unthroned Page 41
