Amazon Queen a-2

by Лори Девоти

  I could find the baby if I really wanted to. I knew that.

  But did I?

  A car pulled into the lot behind me, but I ignored it, choosing instead to change direction and walk toward the empty playground that stood about sixty feet from the rest area building.

  It was windy and warm. A swing moved in the breeze and a bit of dirt made its way into my eye. I was rubbing it out when I got struck from behind.

  "Ready to leave the flock?" A rough male voice whispered in my ear as I hit the ground.

  I flung back one elbow and was rewarded with a pain-filled grunt. I pressed my advantage by slamming my head backward, into, I hoped, my assailant's nose.

  The grip on me loosened and I sprang to my feet.

  My fairy godfather rose to his feet, blood streaming from his nose. "The sheep kicks," he commented.

  "Baa," I replied, then circled to the left.

  I needed this fight. I was even willing to risk human notice to have it.

  He grinned and circled too. "Have a nice day in Madison?" he asked.

  "Lovely," I replied.

  "Heard you stopped by an old friend's."

  I rushed forward, pivoting as I kicked. My foot hit him in the chest. He let out an umph of air and staggered backward.

  "Nice," he murmured. He moved in quickly, swinging with his left fist. I ducked, but not fast enough. His closed hand made contact with my cheek. I could feel the flesh begin to swell.

  He jumped back. "Oops. I hit a girl."

  "Good thing this girl"-I spun again, this time dropping low, going for the backs of his knees with my extended leg; he tumbled backward onto his ass-"hits back." I finished, moving in to kick him again, this time in the head.

  He grabbed me by the ankle and twisted. Pain shot through my recently reinjured back. I fell onto the ground beside him and he rolled over on top of me.

  "You know, fun as it is, I didn't come here to fight." He was breathing hard; blood and sweat streamed down his face. Pea gravel that had been poured onto the playground to protect toddlers who tumbled off the slide bit into my backside.

  "Really, why did you come?" I locked one arm around his, shoved the other into his chin, and rotated my body, flipping us over as I did. On top, I knee-kicked him in the groin, then pulled back my fist to sock him again in the nose.

  "What? Whoa!" A new voice boomed over us. "He bothering you, lady? Someone call the cops!" A trucker approximately six feet tall and almost as wide leaned over us. "Heard some noise. Thought it was some kids scrapping. . Don't you worry. I'll hold him till the cops can get here." He grabbed me and the son and hauled both of us to our feet.

  Adrenaline raced through me and my breath came in quick puffs. Across the trucker's wide body the son stared at me, his dark eyes almost glowing. Neither of us had been ready for the fight to end, but unless we wanted to take out the trucker, we had no choice.

  Of course, I also didn't want to stick around and talk to the cops.

  Apparently the son didn't either. After one last dark glance at me, he jerked his arm free of the trucker's grasp and sprinted for the parking lot.

  "Hey, you. Someone stop him!" the trucker yelled and lumbered after him.

  I took the opportunity to run myself, in the opposite direction. My business with the son wasn't over; I was tired of having him follow me around. And no matter what I decided to do with the high council's orders, that was going to stop. But I couldn't stop it now. The best I could do was get away before the trucker went through with his civic duty and called in the human authorities.

  I circled around the restrooms, drawing curious stares from a couple getting out of a small RV. The man stared openly at me until the woman elbowed him in the gut. Fussing at each other, they continued walking and disappeared inside the building.

  I cut across the grass and headed back to my car. The trucker was nowhere in sight, and there were now three cars parked in the semi area, making it impossible to say whether the son was still around or not.

  I guessed, however, that he had left in whatever vehicle he'd arrived in.

  I slipped into the Jeep and steered it toward the interstate, pulling the seat belt across me as I did. I'd gone maybe four miles and begun to relax when I caught sight of movement in the rearview mirror. Movement inside the Jeep.

  Chapter 9

  A boot-clad foot appeared over the top of the back bench seat. I recognized it instantly-the son. I kept my hands on the wheel, maintained my speed, and basically didn't react at all, but my mind was spinning. We were in a stretch with no exits, making my only option to pull over onto the shoulder, but that wasn't the wisest choice either.

  Some busybody Good Samaritan would surely spot us and either stop or dial 911.

  At that moment I wished more than anything I had a talent for magic. Unfortunately, I needed direct physical contact with the son to do him any harm-or did I? His leg followed his foot. I waited until he was straddling the seat and then I slammed on the brakes.

  The Jeep fishtailed, swerving sideways across two lanes. The seat belt cut into my shoulder and jerked me backward. The son flew forward, his body twisting, his legs hitting the roof before the rest of him collided with the passenger seat and he fell to the floor. Smoke curled around us, five years of tire tread left on the road.

  A horn sounded behind me, long, hard, and angry. A pickup truck pulling a horse trailer barreled toward us. I punched the gas and shot the Jeep onto the shoulder. Once there, I slammed the vehicle into park, unsnapped my belt, and threw myself over the seat and onto the son.

  I socked him in the jaw. He groaned. I hit him again and pulled back my arm for another swing. This time he reached up and grabbed my wrist.

  "I told you I wasn't here to fight."

  I twisted my arm, trying to break his hold. His eyes glimmered. "Back down or I shift. Do you really want to be stuck in a closed car with a forty-pound pissed-off wolverine? And trust me, I'm getting mighty pissed off."

  His threat didn't bother me, but truth be told I was getting curious. I pulled back and sat on the edge of the middle seat, but I kept my attention on him, my body tense and ready to spring. Still on the floor, he stretched out his legs and studied me. After a second he held out one hand. "Truce?"

  I ignored the overture, choosing to stare back at him instead. I was curious what he wanted if it wasn't to kill me, but I couldn't begin to think of a question. Then I had it. "How long have you been watching me and why?"

  He studied me for a second, then gestured toward the front seat. "Why don't we get going before state patrol decides to check and see what the ten feet of skid marks you left back there are about?"

  I must not have looked all that eager. He added, "You drive; I'll talk. We've still got an hour or more, plenty of time to get to know each other as well as you like." His voice lowered on the last.

  I wasn't all that keen on being trapped in a car with him, but on the other hand, if he was with me, I knew what he was doing and he was right, sooner or later a trooper would wander along. I climbed into the front seat, placing my foot firmly on his gut in the process.

  He didn't comment, didn't even grab my foot, just let out a slight grunt. Once I was in place, he wedged his body through the opening between the seats and levered his long frame in the space allowed between seat and dash.

  "You could have come through the door," I said.

  "And risk you peeling out over my foot? I don't think so." With another grunt he pulled on the seat adjustment and sent the thing whizzing backward.

  I didn't bother responding. He was right; I would have. After checking my side mirror, I pulled back onto the interstate. When I glanced back at my uninvited guest, he was lounged against the passenger door looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

  "Well?" I snapped.

  He raised both brows.

  "Talk." I whipped the Jeep into the left lane to pass a convoy of semis before a man in a sedan wearing a business suit and chatting on his phone could cut m
e off.

  The son waited for me to get back in the right-hand lane. I frowned at him. "I can stop again."

  "In the same manner? I don't know if your tires can take it."

  I put on my turn signal.

  He held up one hand. "Fine. I'm Jack Parker, your neighbor of five years and an Amazon son."

  Sounded like a confession, like you'd hear at some twelve-step program. I waited to see if another confession was coming, but his lips were firmly closed.

  "Five years?" I thought back to where I had been, what I had been five years ago. Two days ago I would have said exactly where I was now-but today's events had made me realize that wasn't true.

  "Five years. That's when we got organized enough to assign sons to the safe camps," he explained.

  "So all the safe camps have sons watching them?" This was information the council, if they still existed, would want to know.

  He shrugged. "Of course. Don't think it will help you, though. The sons assigned to the camps are good. You won't find them unless they want to be found."

  I glanced at him. "I found you."

  "Not at your camp. I showed myself to you there. I didn't have to."

  "You did if you wanted to steal the baby."

  "Save. We saved the baby."

  I concentrated on the road for a minute. I wasn't ready to talk about the baby just yet. I had to decide what I was going to do about my assignment, but not at this exact moment.

  "So, you've been watching us. Why?"

  He twisted in his seat, sinking down a little and playing with a pen he'd picked up from the floor. He flipped it over the knuckles of his right hand so quickly the motion was nothing but a blur.

  "I was told to."

  "Ha." I shook my head. "Who's the sheep?"

  His fingers stilled. "I was told to, but I was given all the information. Then I thought about what I was doing, knew the consequences and believed in the cause."

  "I believe in the cause." Not his cause, but the cause of the Amazons.

  "Really. Tell me what you believe. Tell me what you want for your tribe."

  What did I want? Survival, strength, happiness. . I shifted my hands on the steering wheel. "I'm not the one who's supposed to be talking; you are. Tell me how you got the baby, what else you know."

  He held up the pen and waved it back and forth like a no you don't finger. "Bossy, aren't you? Of course, I knew that."

  I suppressed a growl.

  "The condor you saw. He knows the mother."

  I let that compute.

  "So she gave him her baby?" I asked. It was possible; not all Amazon mothers were as "motherly" as Mel. "Does he have the child now?" I was avoiding stating the baby's sex. I had been told it was a girl, but Mel claimed it was a boy. I'd like to hear this son confirm one or the other before offering it myself.

  He smiled. "He may. Let's talk about you and the Amazons."

  "You can't beat us," I replied.

  He quirked his head. "Who said we want to beat you?"

  "I'm sorry. I misunderstood the bite on my leg-what was that?"

  "I didn't start that fight."

  "You did, you-"

  "Saved the baby. I know, we've covered that."

  Not really. But maybe it was time we did. "Why?" I asked. Attacking us like they had, two against two, had been a risk.

  A shadow passed behind his eyes. "Because we know what the Amazons have planned for him."

  Him. He'd said it. "The baby is a boy? How do I know that?"

  He frowned. "Why would I lie about that? He's a son, Mateo. . the condor's. . son. The mother is on your high council. When she learned some of the council members planned to kill her child, to send some kind of message to the rest of the tribe, she contacted Mateo."

  "What message?" I asked.

  The pen stilled. "That the Amazons are the same baby-killing bitches they've always been?"

  I tensed, but didn't react. "If that were true, you wouldn't be sitting in this car."

  He laughed. "One short two-hundred-year or so break. What? I'm supposed to give the Amazons an award? I don't think so."

  "I wasn't asked to kill the baby, only to retrieve him." I didn't mention that I had been told the child was a girl. It would only strengthen the son's case that the council had planned to have the baby killed.

  "Would you have?" he asked.

  I jerked, startled by his question.

  "It's a simple question, Zery. If the council had told you the baby was the son of a son and a high-council member. If they had told you they wanted him dead. Would you have killed him?"

  I stared at the road in front of me. . black, straight, and unending. I didn't know how to answer him. I hadn't questioned when I was told to take the child. . what would I have done if I'd been told to kill him?

  A chill passed over me. I felt sick.

  "What will you do with him?" I asked.

  "I don't know. He's Mateo's son. I assume he'll raise him."

  "And the mother?"

  "I haven't asked."

  A sort of truce between us, we fell silent for a while. I watched the road disappear beneath the car. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe the council didn't want to kill the child; maybe they just wanted to make sure he wasn't raised by the sons.

  The sons were dangerous. They were, if they chose to be, a threat. The child did have the potential to be powerful.

  Did we want that power being raised in the hands of our enemy?

  But then that would mean Amazons keeping their sons, raising them alongside their daughters. That would mean the end of who and what we were.

  More confused than ever, I gripped the wheel and wished I was back at the camp sparring with Areto, not sitting here being forced to face that this baby signified a lot more than just his own tiny life.

  Jack tapped the pen against the heel of his hand. "All babies are important. All life is important. Do you believe that?"

  Finally I answered, "Amazon life." It was the simple answer, pat.

  He sat silent for a second, then he replied, "I don't believe you."

  "You should." Amazons lived too long. Saw too much death. It didn't pay for us to value any life besides our own.

  "Because humans come and go?" he asked.

  I nodded. Came and went. Been there, done that.

  "Who?"

  The questions were going somewhere I didn't like, somewhere I didn't want to go.

  "You ever been in love, Zery?"

  I reached for the radio, to turn it on. He grabbed my hand. "Tell me your secret and I'll tell you mine."

  I glanced at him. "All of yours?"

  His fingers were warm on my skin. I wanted to pull back but didn't let myself.

  He tilted his head. "Most. As long as it doesn't endanger anyone I love." His eyes flickered.

  I swallowed. Why not tell him my story? It had happened a lifetime ago; it wasn't important, not anymore. The girl it happened to didn't even exist anymore. Give him this, make him think I trusted him, and he'd give me more. I pulled my fingers away from the radio knob. He let me.

  "Once," I replied. "I was young and stupid. . sixteen. A baby in Amazon years. We were living in Arkansas and my friend Mel was in California. I was all alone, or felt that way.

  "It was hot that year, really hot, and before most people had air-conditioning. I spent my days swimming in the local springs, and I met a boy. Mother was too busy doing whatever she was doing to pay attention to me, and I was too old for the hearth-keepers to manage-to keep me on track with the warrior training my mother thought I was doing.

  "He was young too, and even more stupid. He started gambling-there was a lot of gambling in Hot Springs then, and prostitution and bootlegging. The place had it all. Made for an exciting time." I wiped sweat off my palms onto the steering wheel. I hadn't told this story in a long time, not since I'd told Mel. . seventy-three years ago.

  "What happened?"

  I didn't look at him. I felt silly telling the tale; it was
so long ago. . didn't matter.

  I licked my lips. "We went out and gambled, even though we knew we'd gone over our limits. When they pushed us to pay, we ran. It was fun, a rush-until they started shooting."

  I looked at him then, could feel the deadness in my own eyes. "It isn't like they show in the movies; isn't glamorous at all. Bullets hurt, and the noise. . " I bit the inside of my cheek. "I got him into the car and got us away. We'd both been hit, but I'm an Amazon. I heal fast. He wasn't and he didn't."

  The son was quiet for a second, then, "And after seventy-plus years, you still have the scars."

  Surprise and suspicion shook me out of the cloud that had settled around me. "How'd you know?" I reached across my body and touched the scars hidden under my shirt where the bullets had gone through my side.

  His gaze dropped to my hand, then moved back to my face. "Not those, the other ones, the ones you hide from everyone, even yourself."

  I put my eyes back on the road. "Tell me about the guns," I bit out.

  "What guns?"

  "The ones in your cabin."

  "The cabin you blew up?"

  "I did not blow up your cabin. You know who blew up your cabin."

  "Really? You?"

  I'd wanted to change the subject away from me, but this conversation was beginning to feel like a tennis match, and I was almost overcome by a desire to smash the ball back over the net-to flatten it, actually.

  "I told you a secret. One I haven't told anyone for a long time. Now it's your turn. Tell me about the guns."

  He inhaled with long exaggerated patience. "I don't know anything about any guns-at least not at my cabin."

  It was my turn to breathe, and struggle to remain calm. "When we went to your cabin. . before you blew it up and tried to kill me. . I looked inside the window. There were guns, most in boxes. What were they for? What do the sons plan to do with them?"

  He leaned back. "Guns? Really? In my cabin?" His expression was studied innocence. Then he raised his hands. "Sorry. A guy has to make a living."

  "By selling guns?"

  He shrugged. "That's so much worse than stealing and conning?"