Only I don’t wake up.
Lantern light coats the backyard in a sickening yellow hue. A deep gash darkens its center. Shovels lean against the wall.
Frank and Jericho stand by a pile of freshly turned dirt. A small lantern swings back and forth on a steel pole.
Both look over at us.
Jericho thumbs through his worn bible, the pages nearly falling out of their binding, grim look on his face. His dark overcoat is covered in sleet, a sign he’s been out here most of the afternoon. In the somber light it looks like even the smallest gust of wind will knock him over.
Frank stands beside him. His eyes are red. The big man’s been crying.
Sadie and Tracker take their hands off me and step away. The weary preacher offers Sadie and me a nod, and takes his place to start the funeral.
Sadie squeezes my shoulder.
The rustling of fabric fills the air. I look toward the source, a tan-and-black blanket frosted in ice. It’s wrapped in such a way that no part of his body can be seen.
Numbness settles through every muscle. My legs tremble as a soft shaking settles over me. I tighten my grip on the bone roses as it all becomes real.
No. That can’t be him. It just can’t be. He’s not dead. That’s someone else they’re carrying. Not Matthew.
Jericho gives a short nod to the two men and they carry him closer.
Tracker moves to the opposite side of the grave, blanket clasped in his strong hands. Both men’s eyes meet.
With great care and respect, they slowly lower him into the ground.
Please, don’t. Tears chill against my flesh. A sharp breath hitches in my throat.
The fabric rustles, followed by a soft thud. His body settles beneath the frozen earth.
It feels like I’m being torn apart.
Get up, Matthew. Show them you’re not dead, I whimper. Please. Don’t let them put you in the ground. Get back up. Please don’t leave me here.
A dull, low buzzing assaults my ears. Everything shifts, the lantern light shifting and blurring. All I see is him falling. Bleeding. Dying in front of me.
I try to step backward, run away and not look back. Flee from Rondo. Flee from the past. Run until I no longer can.
My knees wobble and collapse into the icy slush.
Sadie towers over me, fingers digging into my shoulders. I can’t hear what she’s saying.
All I see is the hole in the ground. The long winter days and nights spent laughing and pretending life could be good in Rondo. The gentle kindness of not being a “witch” in his eyes. Being able to cry on his shoulder when things didn’t go well on raids or when Rondo just got to be too much. The closest thing to a best friend and big brother I ever knew, lying there under that blanket, the shovelfuls of earth being cast down on him. My friend, gone.
The bone roses rest tight against my chest.
Please, God, watch over him, I plead, deep down a part of me believing that he’ll hear the cry.
I’m vaguely aware of a second set of hands touching my shoulders with Sadie’s—of Jericho standing by the grave with his bible open, lips moving as he recites the forbidden words. Our Lord’s prayer. The old Psalms.
A loud crack shatters the buzzing before anyone can lie down in green pastures, or beside the still waters.
The bible’s onionskin pages and leather whip up in a whirlwind.
Jericho drops to his knees.
Every sense sharpens, as blood rapidly stains the snow—but not my blood.
I’m dragged to my feet and against the cottage wall in an instant. Sadie stands beside me, one hand clutching her shawl, the other on me.
Frank and Tracker look to the dark South Ridge and help the wounded preacher across the yard.
A second gunshot rings out, and sparks fly from the lantern’s steel pole.
Tracker shoves Jericho at the wall, bolts, and grabs a handful of snow. Throwing the lantern door open, he dumps the snow over the flame, plunging us into complete darkness as a third gunshot deafens the air.
Chapter Twenty-Four
He prowls the South Ridge aboard his shadow stallion, fingers intertwined with a platinum trigger. A smirk adorns his lips.
“You can’t run from me.”
His words take aim at my mind.
I cling to the frozen wall, too scared to let go. A few feet away the falling sleet pummels the ground as though the earth has cracked open with the gunshots. We huddle on its precipice. Nowhere to go. No place to hide. He’s treed us in our own territory, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.
There’s rustling in front of me.
“Damn Kingdom Corps,” Jericho hisses through clenched teeth. “Nothing’s sacred to them.”
“Are you okay?” Sadie’s voice trembles on my left.
“Define ‘okay.’”
“Did he hit you anywhere else?” Tracker moves on the right.
“I don’t think so.”
“Sadie? Frank?”
“Bastard missed me.” Frank shuffles his feet against the ice. “Honey?”
“No, no I’m fine.” Her voice cracks. Frank’s gentle hand touches her shawl and I hear a soft swish from her skirt as she moves away from the wall and into Frank’s safe embrace.
“If I catch that blond-haired bastard—” He holds her close. “I swear I’m gonna—”
“Rags? How about you?” It takes a second for Tracker’s question to register.
“I’m . . . okay.”
“You can’t run from me.” Henny’s words continue to rake through my mind.
Tracker moves closer, his breathing calm, like this is little more than a raid gone sour.
My grip tightens around the bone roses. What I wouldn’t give for even a fraction of his courage right now.
He stops. I feel his gaze through the darkness.
“The rifle is behind the door. Take it. Stay away from the windows.”
Wait. What? He’s not sending me out there alone, is he?
“Do as I say.”
I’m glad he can’t see me shaking right now. He expects me to go out there, alone.
Of course, he does. You’re a rustler. It’s not that far, I tell myself. Just a couple yards at most, and there’s a tree between here and there.
Tree or no tree, a lot can happen in a few yards.
The scope on his Damascus is equipped with night vision, and not just that old, pre-Yellowstone grainy kind. This is the kind that sharpens the image to daylight level and contains a lethal thermal-imaging mode—every Damascus has it. It’s the one mode that guarantees death and the sole reason why even if I wasn’t scared of the dark, no wise rustler raids at night when there is even a chance of a Damascus in range.
He can see us. We can’t see him. Step away from this wall and it’s over.
“In case it’s slipped your mind, I have a perfectly fine house we can hide in right here.” Jericho thumps a hand against the peeling blue siding.
I nod even though no one can see me.
“You can’t hide from him.”
My heart sinks at Tracker’s words. I know they’re true but that doesn’t stop me from wishing he was wrong, just this once.
“How do you figure?” Jericho growls.
“Your windows.”
“What about them?”
“They’re facing the ridge. Walk past them and you’ve made this easier than it already is for him.”
“It’s not easy for him.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I don’t care how easy anything is for him,” Frank cuts in. “Just get us the hell out of here.”
“Then we go to the farmhouse,” Tracker says. His gaze shifts back to me. “Go to the house, Rags.”
He never gives orders lightly and right now mine are to walk into a set of cross hairs and get shot—this plan sucks.
It’s just another raid, I try to tell myself. He’s just another soldier.
Except he’s not “just another soldier.”
He’s one of the Kingdom’s finest hunters and he can see me.
I stare into the black abyss in front of me and it growls, warning me not to do this. Coarse wooden siding grates against my back. Tracker’s hand touches my shoulder and gives a firm, guiding shove into the open.
I close my eyes as if the motion will somehow protect me. It doesn’t help. My legs buckle against the glassy surface, anticipating he’ll pull the trigger and tonight I’ll be joining Matthew.
I clutch the bone roses, trembling so bad they almost fall from my hands.
Henny. . . I try to focus on being in his cross hairs. Those horrible amber eyes and smirk fill my mind as he watches me.
“You’ll ride in a blizzard but won’t walk the ten yards from here to my house in the dark.” Matthew’s words resonate deep in my mind.
I jump and can almost see him standing there through the darkness, one hand on the doorframe, this odd little smile on his face.
“I’d rather fall off than have the sky fall on me.” Was the reply as I stood, arms crossed by the curio cabinet. I expected a hurt look, for him to get upset.
Instead he stepped back into our kitchen and took my hand in his with a confident smile.
“Then let’s do something about that shall we?” His shoulder brushed mine and he led me outside into the here and now. “See? We’ll walk together. One foot in front of the other. Nothing will get you, I promise.”
A subtle warmth brushes against my shoulder again.
My hands fumble with the bone roses, too frightened to move. Was I hit? I didn’t hear any gunshots.
Struggling to fight the rising panic, I stand shivering, exposed out in the open. If this happened in Hydra, or any Kingdom military establishment, I’d be dead. Giving the enemy a clear shot is the last thing you ever do.
Henny holds back.
The presence stops and lingers beside me, patiently waiting.
I press my eyelids tighter together and force myself to take another step. Tears drip down my cheeks.
“See? Not so scary now, is it?” His gentle voice whispers by my ear. It almost feels like an arm drapes around my shoulders, warmth and the smell of freshly turned earth and hay enveloping me, shielding me from Henny and the world around me. In an instant, it lifts away and the feeling’s gone.
The wind changes, blocked by a shielding wall. I open my eyes and reach out. The wooden door’s rough surface greets my hands.
The farmhouse. I made it to the farmhouse? Chills overpower my body. I actually made it.
Henny didn’t shoot. Trembling more from fear than the cold, I slide my palm over the splintered wood and cling to the door knob.
The others though. They don’t have a prayer against him.
Get the rifle. Help cover them.
The uneven door grinds against the floor. Dry air embraces me, ushering me away from the cold and placing a thick oak wall between me and him.
Our rifle. I have to get the rifle. With it, we’ll be able to glimpse the ridge and see Henny’s hiding spot. I feel my way through the kitchen. One of my heels steps on a broken plate.
Red eyes flare to life in the living room.
My left hand sweeps the countertop for a weapon. I wrap my fingers around a metal handle, my boots scuffing the tile in retreat. Keeping the bone roses between me and them, I brandish the weapon.
The red eyes continue to watch, pulsing, unblinking in the darkness; patient, like Wrath, the big white wolf dog the slave master kept.
My wrist trembles.
He stands there, muzzle wrinkled, lip peeled back, dagger teeth exposed. His eyes flash in the lantern light. No growl passes his throat. Not one muscle so much as twitches. Just those awful crimson eyes on us. Waiting for one word. The one that unleashes his hellish fury—seize.
My hip strikes the counter’s edge. “Go away.” The words refuse to leave my lips. “Please, leave me alone.” Again, no response.
I hurl my weapon at the eyes.
“Ouch, mother son of a f—” Colton’s voice pierces the air. “Damn that smarts.”
My weapon lands on the floorboards and rolls to a stop as he rubs his forehead. I quiver and shake, cold sweat beading on my flesh at the realization that Henny didn’t put the hellhound of the mines in our house—it’s only Colton and the woodstove.
I fall to the floor, shaking viciously as sobs break down what little defenses I have left. The collected sleet drips and tangles in my hair to join the salty tears trickling down my cheeks. My wet sleeve doesn’t dry them, only works with the fringes to smear the water around.
“Jeeze, Frost Flea. You scared me.” He grabs a lantern, lights it and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“H-Henny,” I manage to whimper, trembling and clutching the bone roses until a tiny trickle of blood oozes down my palm. “They’re still out there. M-my family.”
His eyes widen. “Okay, calm down. You stay here okay? I owe you a favor, remember?”
The tears continue to fall as Colton sets the lantern down near me and hurries through the kitchen door, into the cold and darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I don’t know much time passes before a comforting hand finds my shoulder. The once quiet kitchen floods with a muddling of complaints and grievances about a certain “blond-haired bastard” and a word to describe the Kingdom that nearly sends Sadie up a wall.
He didn’t shoot them. I glance up in time to see Colton shut the door behind him and lean his shoulders against it with a relieved sigh. He let us live. He had the clear advantage and yet we’re alive.
My hands rest flat against the floor, my head bowed, sending up a heartfelt praise for whatever miracle got us all across those ten yards that should have been our last.
I look to Colton, who offers up a comforting wink, immediately shying back when Tracker curls his lip into a warning snarl.
We’re anything but safe though. I don’t know what Colton did to save my family out there, but we’re alive. Henny needs us alive.
The woodstove door’s hinges shriek, spilling fiery light into the living room as Tracker stirs the coals and draws thick black curtains over the windows. His foot bumps my almighty weapon—an egg whisk—and he picks it up, examines it for a second before tucking it into his jacket pocket.
“Rags.”
I try not to blush, embarrassed for the both of us and look away.
“Go bring some blankets.” His eyes turn to Colton and he bares his teeth. “You go help.”
“Yes sir.” Colton nods and falls in step behind me.
I hurry out of the kitchen and up the stairs, thankful that he didn’t say anything about my inability to retrieve the rifle and do as I was told. Right now, I think he’s just happy that no one got killed.
That we’re safe for now.
A floorboard squeaks under my boot.
My hand traces the wall, checking and rechecking to make sure the doors are secured. They are, placing another fragile barrier between us and Henny. I feel around in the darkness shrouding the bathroom for the limited surplus of blankets we acquired over the years.
“Jesus Christ and the twelve apostles that hurts,” Jericho’s shout rises from the living room.
A loud slap follows. “Don’t you take that name in vain.”
“I wouldn’t if you’d hurry up.”
“You want to keep all of your fingers? Do you?”
Jericho yelps again.
“That’s what I thought. Tracker, go get me some hot water and a cloth.”
His heavy footsteps pass by the stairs and into the kitchen. I try to ignore them, rooting around for blankets on the bathroom shelf. The bone roses shift to my left hand as I reach for the blankets with the other. Colton holds his hands out and accepts the ones I give him, following me to the living room.
Sadie and Jericho sit on the couch while Frank holds a small candle over the preacher’s right hand. Blood stains the flesh so badly you can’t even s
ee its pale color underneath. Sadie continues to examine the wound.
I put the blankets on the couch and watch the woman work. Tracker soon returns with a cloth, our sewing kit, bandages, and a pan of cold water, which he sets on the woodstove to boil. He pauses, looking down at Jericho with this “I told you so” look.
“We’re lucky that’s all he did tonight.”
Jericho winces through a glare. “This is getting ridiculous. He’s one man, Tracker. Surely he can’t be that difficult to get rid of.”
Tracker crosses his arms across his chest. “It’s harder than you think.”
“Bullshit. Just put a bullet between his eyes.” He makes the clear motion with his other hand as though firing a pistol. “Problem solved.”
Tracker shakes his head. “Again, it’s not that simple.”
I try to focus on the wound Sadie struggles to clean up.
“It sure as hell is. Look at us.” He motions to the group. “We’re being hunted like animals. Tell me what’s wrong with this picture.”
“You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
“And I don’t want to find out.” Jericho tries to lunge to his feet but Sadie stops him with a harsh tug on his wounded hand. “We need to deal with him before he kills us.”
“I am aware.” Tracker’s eyes narrow. “But rushing into this is the quickest way to die. We have to wait.”
I stare at him. There’s a lot I don’t get about Tracker, especially now. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to go after Henny—like he’s afraid. Even though Rondo is on the path to destruction and if we don’t act, it’s over for everyone.
“Wait? Wait,” Jericho snaps. “Are you blind? Do you even see what’s going on here? I swear you’re—”
“Boys.” Sadie doesn’t look up from the wound. “There’s nothing we can do tonight about it, and since you both need to live with each other until tomorrow, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say it at all. So I don’t want to hear one more word about him tonight.”
“We’ll discuss this in the morning.” Tracker admits defeat and retrieves the boiling water from the woodstove.
The Bone Roses Page 15
