After the fourth block, Troy chanced a concerned look back. They could not retreat forever. Awaiting them was the ocean and although some of them might be able to swim through the swells and breakers, they’d be leaving behind their loved ones to face the horrors of the horde. It wasn’t something they would do.
Another fire and another very thin line of Knights awaited them. They were not far from the sharp drop into the ocean where the tide was coming in. He could hear the great, thrumming blasts as the waves beat against the cliff face, sending up explosions of foam.
“Is her plan suicide?” he asked in shock. He didn’t want to believe that mass suicide was her end game, but nothing else seemed to make sense. If she had wanted access to the ocean, she should have cut to the north a half mile where the Guardian’s small fleet lay sheltered in a tiny cove.
That way was now blocked. The zombie horde was outflanking their scant defense, coming from both north and south. He could see them teeming along the cliff face towards the fire.
It was beginning to dawn on him that, insane or not, she was succeeding in her goal of destroying the town. The dead were flooding down every street, moving like an irresistible tide. Not only that, the Guardian’s fifty best fighters were being slain one by one, doing little besides using up the last of their ammo.
Come morning she could draw the horde away and pick up the pieces left behind without the least effort. She’d have a thousand new slaves to add to her growing empire.
In a spasm of uncontrollable fury, he spun and brought his M4 up, putting her directly in his sights. She saw the move and without the least bit of fear, she drew back her three-quarter length coat. It was almost as if she were daring him to shoot. Calmly, she folded it and set it aside. She then sat and drew off one of her long, leather boots.
A hand grabbed his shoulder. “What are you doing? Troy? We’re falling back! Come on!”
Knights Commander Walker was yelling above the din of battle and waving them to the cliff’s edge. Troy found himself running along with the others as bullets zipped past them to strike down the charging zombies. A few were not hit and Knights were pulled down from behind and dismembered in bloody chunks.
Troy put on a burst of speed and raced ahead of the others. He ran to the Queen and pointed his gun into her face. “I know what you’ve done!”
“I’ve saved you,” she answered, softly.
“No. You haven’t saved anything. You’ve declawed us. You’ve turned us into sheep, so we can be eaten by your wolves. I should kill you.”
She smirked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t have the balls to kill me. Killing is hard. Harder than you can ever imagine. But killing the innocent in the name of the greater good is the hardest thing there is.”
He loomed over her and growled, “You’re not innocent.”
The smirk became a tearful smile. “By the time I was seven I had killed five-hundred people,” she said in a whisper. “I don’t think I was ever innocent.” She glanced back at the zombies boiling over each other to get to the little group. “Die if you wish, but if you do, who will protect your people from me?”
Troy’s finger gripped the trigger and he was close to killing her. So very close. She only smiled and dove off the cliff, holding herself beautifully in a perfect swan dive. Troy’s head dropped as all around him his men were shooting like mad. He had failed. The Guardians were beaten and Highton was lost.
Chapter 45
“A little vomit never hurt anyone,” Jenn Lockhart said to the woozy Parade Queen. It sure had hurt her tennis shoes, however. The sickly-sweet, acid smell of pumpkin-spiced vomit was certainly one of those things that would out-live them all. “Besides, I’ve had worse on me.”
“I’m sho shorry,” the Parade Queen whispered, as she wiped away orange goo from her lips, using a handful of damp autumn leaves. She then croaked like a bullfrog and pawed uncertainly at the grass. Her tiara slipped from the top of her head to plop down onto the tip of her nose. She seemed confused, looking at the world through a crystalline lattice.
Gently, Jenn took the tiara. “You don’t want to get any of that on your crown. Do you need help getting up?” Mike and Stu started to take her by the arms; however, she gagged again, making a deep hitching sound and they backed away as though she had a disease.
“Careful of the dress!” a woman coming off the back of the float cried. She could have been pretty if she weren’t so stern. She wore a severe grey dress and had perfectly straight, brown hair. To go along with the perfectly straight hair, she had a perfectly straight and somewhat unsettling bar of eyebrow crossing her forehead from end to end. “Don’t let her get any of that ick on it.”
Jenn didn’t know if the woman was speaking to her or to someone in the crowd around them that had sprung up, seemingly from out of nowhere. The gorgeous white-rose float had ground to a halt as the barrel-bellied mare stared to chew on the rope hooked to her harness. Everyone in the crowd was somewhere between tipsy and inebriated. One was nearly as sloppy drunk as the Parade Queen.
“Let’s get hers back on to the flows…no, the froat,” he tried to say. “The fa-rose froat. Someone get her ankles.”
Stu stepped between him and the heaving Queen. “That’s not how you treat a lady.”
The drunk began to get his back up and a green glint crept into his eyes. He looked as though he were about to take a poorly thought-out swing at the rangy Hillman when the woman who’d been with the float squawked, “It is most certainly not how you treat a lady, Mister Graham. We are not grabbing anyone by the ankles. You two,” she pointed at Stu and Mike, “If you’re sober enough, help her inside.”
They had been watching the parade, standing on the lawn of a little three-bedroom ranch. “This isn’t our house,” Jenn explained.
“No duh,” the woman said. “Of course, it’s not your house. You came in last night and everyone knows that Norris Barnes is always in bed by eight and nothing except an invasion would get him out of it until eight the next morning. The man’s the human equivalent of a sloth. Come on. Don’t be shy with her. She doesn’t know which way is up.”
Mike and Stu approached the girl slowly, in the same manner they’d approach a wounded animal. When she didn’t attack or spray them with an orange fountain, they lifted her gently by the arms and helped her stumble inside, while behind them, Jenn snatched up her white shoes as they fell off, one by one. There wasn’t much to the shoes; crystal-studded white straps and a spike of a heel, four inches long. She was both fascinated and mortified by them. How could anyone walk in such shoes? she wondered. This thought was followed up by, Would anyone care if I tried them on?
She was too nervous and set them aside as the two men laid the mumbling queen on a couch and simply stared at her, not knowing what else was expected.
The woman in grey hurried off to look for a bucket and some towels. “She’s not done yet,” she said over her shoulder as she rushed from the room. “Don’t let her get anything on the carpet.”
“How do we do that?” Mike whispered to Stu, who lifted a single shoulder in reply. It was not usual for any of them to see someone full-on puking drunk. On the Hilltop it was too dangerous to get this out of control, and while the people of Alcatraz were a little freer, they couldn’t afford to be wasteful with anything.
They stood back, scarcely breathing, afraid that any movement would bring on another orange explosion. The Parade Queen held back until the bucket appeared and then out came another foul-smelling rush of fluid.
“Quick!” the lady cried. “Get her out of her dress.” Mike and Stu backed away before fleeing the room altogether. The woman in grey snorted, “It’s like they’ve never seen a girl in her underwear before.”
“They probably haven’t,” Jenn told her. “This,” she pointed at the girl, “is not a normal sort of thing where we’re from.”
“You’re going to have to brace yourselves then, because it’s going to be normal this week. Here we go.” S
he had managed to slip the dress off in one piece. She held it up to the light to examine it for orange vomit and when she didn’t see any, she held it up to Jenn. “You’ll do just fine.”
Jenn’s blue eyes shot wide open. “Just fine for what?”
The woman arched an eyebrow. “To be queen, of course. Trust me, like I said, you’ll be fine. You’re a natural. All you have to do is wave and be pretty. It’ll be perfect. You’re new. What better way is there to get to know people?”
In a tornado of white silk, makeup and hairbrushes, Jenn was thrust into the dress and then thrust outside minutes later to be presented to a gaping crowd. One of the gapers was Mike Gunter who said, “Woooow.”
She beamed at him. “Puked on one moment, a queen the next. You’d think that this would be a first for me.”
“If you’re going to be queen, you’re going to need this.” He held out the last flag that bore her symbol: a bold gold crown stitched on a pure white background. With Stu’s help, they let it fly over the rose float. It got tongues wagging and Jenn took her place on the float to stares and whispers.
The moment dragged out until the woman in grey came hurrying from the house. “What are we waiting for? You people act like you’ve never seen a queen before. Let’s get that float moving. We’re creating a logjam, people.”
In the dress and tiara, with her banner flying high, no woman on Bainbridge could have looked more the part of queen than Jenn Lockhart. It wasn’t just the accoutrements and her physical beauty that created the image. Everyone saw that there was something deeper to her than just a girl who’d won a popularity contest. She carried herself differently than any previous winner; she stood taller and there was a touch of cold reserve about her. And her smile wasn’t the usual toothy grin of a pageant winner. It was genuine and within it was a touch of melancholy.
Yes, on one level, she was only the queen of a meaningless parade of floats, and yet, on another subtle level, she was much more. If only for a short time, Jenn had been an actual queen, who had made life and death decisions, and these still haunted her. A day didn’t go by without her thinking back and second-guessing herself. Her brief reign had been marked by one impossible decision after another, as well as one death after another.
Still, she could say, as queen, she had never faltered when given the choice between right and wrong—as a person and an unprepared surgeon, she could not make that same boast.
There was a final, very subtle aspect to her that made people look at her and see a real queen: for someone who lived by the signs that the universe provided, Jenn could not help but see the tiara as an omen. She didn’t see it as a bad omen, however. In fact, it felt as though she were being given a little gift, as if the world was trying, in some small way, to make up for the hell it had put her through.
She took the gift and waved and smiled, and had a wonderful time, oblivious to the wild rumors that rippled along the parade route.
At first glance, most people actually mistook her for Jillybean and there was talk that she had spiked the real Parade Queen’s drinks with one of her pseudo-magical potions. When it was discovered that Jenn was a complete stranger and one who had shown up the night before with her own royal flag, even wilder rumors raced around. Some said she was a real queen who lived in a stone castle somewhere on the coast. Others said that she was in hiding after the Corsairs had taken her lands. A few even suggested that she was “husband shopping” for the right man to be her king.
Soon, the streets became absolutely clogged with people and the Queen’s float had no lack of volunteers to haul it along after the grey mare had wandered of to nibble on a discarded piece of pie. Despite being weak and wounded, Mike and Stu had been the first to grab the ropes. Now, there were always twenty men crowding on each rope, none of whom equated the two raggedy, bearded men with the beautiful young woman standing in the center of the white rose.
It was just as well. Neither wanted to spend the day repudiating all of the many rumors. They were content to enjoy the time drinking pumpkin beer and scarfing down slices of pie when they were offered.
Eventually, Jenn’s day in the sun had to end, but it did in a most unexpected manner. They completed the circle around the parade route, which finished across from a brilliantly decorated park where there were booths and rides, and many little temporary theaters, all of which were little more than slapped-together wooden stages, draped by homemade curtains, and hand-painted backdrops.
A cheering, half-drunk crowd awaited the Queen’s float. Front and center on one of the little wooden stages was Deanna Grey, Governor of Bainbridge, wearing a brilliant smile. When Jenn approached, walking through a narrow lane, Deanna didn’t recognize her as the same filthy, worn girl who had brought in the sinking Calypso weeks before.
“Welcome to Bainbridge,” she said, smoothly. “My name is Deanna Grey.” She held a hand out.
Jenn hesitated, suddenly afraid to give her own name. If the Corsairs knew she was alive, it would spell trouble for everyone, Jillybean included and, despite everything, Jenn still had a soft spot for the real queen.
Stu had more than a soft spot. He was carrying a torch for her, one that could be seen from space. Still, he had his own honor to worry about. He would not be a spy even if he had to live his life looking over his shoulder day and night. When Jenn hesitated, Stu stepped in and said with utter sincerity, “Her name is Jenn Lockhart, Queen of the Hill People and all of San Francisco Bay from Sacramento to Alcatraz.”
“Former Queen,” Jenn said, quickly, standing as tall as she could, which was surprisingly tall with the four-inch heels propping her up. She shot Stu a quick glare that only confirmed to Deanna that neither of them were lying. And yet it was so unbelievable.
The Governor looked again at the flag and then back at the young woman. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“I was queen for a very short time,” Jenn admitted.
It was such an unexpected thing to hear that Deanna was momentarily at a loss. She looked back at her advisers; every one of whom shrugged. Deanna forced her politician’s smile back in place. “Being a queen must have been something. I have to hear all about it, but first diplomatic courtesies have to be followed, though I’m not sure what the proper protocol is.”
Now it was Jenn’s turn to be surprised as the Governor dipped into a deep curtsey, lowering her head. There was a moment of hesitation before the men and women around her did the same.
The kneeling spread as did the whispers of, “She is a real queen.” Mike and Stu were the last to take a knee, each wearing confused expressions.
“No,” Jenn said, taking Deanna’s arm and gently lifting her. “I’m no longer queen. Jillybean is.”
Deanna had knelt because her politician’s instinct had told her it was the right move at the right time. Her instinct had not prepared her for Jenn’s statement. Her eyes flew wide. “Jillybean? Our Jillybean? Wait, I know you.” She pointed at her and then at Stu and at Mike. “I know all three of you. You came through a couple of months back and then disappeared…and you say Jillybean is a queen? A real queen?”
“Yes,” Mike answered quickly. He was angry at Stu for having given up their identities so quickly and was worried that, in her naively honest way, Jenn would make it worse. “But we should talk about it someplace else.”
“I agree,” Deanna said after a pause in which more whispers spread throughout the crowd. “Joslyn can you see them to the mansion. I need to officially start the ceremonies and then I’ll be right over.”
Joslyn Reynolds, in an electric blue dress, couldn’t stop staring at Jenn as she led them through the crowd and down a little, tree-lined side street to the Governor’s mansion. She set them on a plump leather couch in the Deanna’s office and then hurried off to fix tea. When she returned she stared some more before politely asking, “Were you good friends with Jillybean?”
It was a hard question to answer. Stu said nothing and only stared into his tea. Jenn wanted to answ
er “yes,” but then hesitated. Sometimes…frequently, she thought she had never met the true Jillybean.
Mike, who had been the least friendly with her said, “I think so. She had her good points.”
Jenn thought she deserved more praise than that. “I guess you could say I was her best friend. And she really is a good person down deep.” That wasn’t good enough, either. She was trying to think of something to say that would be more appropriate, when people started trickling in. This commenced a long painful silence that was made worse by the unabashed staring on the part of the Governor’s staff. It was like they were having a contest in which the only loser was Jenn.
Deanna was the seventh and last person to enter the room. “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” she suggested from behind her desk. “How did you get off the island?”
The paranoid part of Jenn had hoped to keep the route a secret, just in case they had to escape, but the question couldn’t be ignored and a lie right off the bat seemed like a terrible way to start their time on the island. “There’s a secret tunnel in a building over by the cemetery,” she admitted. “I think it’s called a morg-tuary or something. The tunnel leads out under the wall and into the Sound.”
“Go on,” Deanna said. “You left the island and where did you go?”
Jenn did not liked the looks the Governor’s staff were giving her. It was as though they were offended that they had snuck off the island. When she didn’t go on right away, Stu, the quietest of the three, became their spokesman. He took his time and gave measured responses. He spoke in terse sentences, barren of all description, as he explained how they made their way to Grays Harbor, stole the Corsair boat and how it led to the first battle on the Hilltop. He maintained that an “incident” caused them to head to Sacramento where Jillybean first crowned herself queen.
“And people just bought it?” Joslyn asked in disbelief. “Hi, I’m queen and all of you have to do what I say. I don’t see how that can possibly work.”
Generation Z (Book 4): The Queen Unthroned Page 44
