by Bijou Hunter
“Based on the map created by Pixie and Fairuza,” Bronco says, “our main target is an old warehouse at the center of the Village. That’s where the Marks family is likely shacked up.”
On a few whiteboards, we go over how to raid the Village—access points, hiding spots, and team leaders.
“If we have the manpower to spare,” I suggest despite normally keeping my mouth shut, “we could park a large truck near the front gates. Turn on the lights real bright and rev the engine. If Marks thinks we’re coming in hot from the front, he might be more likely to bail out the back rather than digging in.”
Conor studies Bronco. “We could put Wyatt in the truck. He’ll act as our last line of defense between the Volkshalberd rushing into town. Plus, if the Killing Joes do show up, he’ll be there to take them on.”
Bronco fights a grin. We all know Conor just wants to keep his hotheaded cousin from going wannabe Rambo inside the Village. Best-case scenario, Wyatt kills an innocent Volkshalberd. Worst case, he tries to take down the president with a little friendly fire.
Bronco eyes the whiteboard. “Rooster planned to keep an eye on him. If we leave Wyatt loaded up in the truck and Rooster nearby with backup weapons, the front should be safe.”
“If those Volkshalberd dipshits come out to take on the truck, you know he’ll shoot them, right?” Lowell asks.
“Honestly, I don’t give a crap,” Bronco mutters. “They’re armed, and I have no doubt they’ll shoot us if they get the chance.”
“Yeah, but four dead bodies out on the street isn’t a good look.”
“The cops will be busy somewhere else. The Volkshalberd don’t bury their dead in town. If this goes well, not a single civilian will be the wiser.”
For the next two hours, we roll through various strategies and imagine every possible bad outcome.
I’ve never seen Bronco plan this thoroughly. Of course, he has a new wife and kid to worry about. I know the feeling. That’s why, before the rest of my club brothers show up to go over the final plans before sunset, I speak up.
“If something happens to me,” I say, and the three men all give me weird frowns as if I’m not allowed to feel fear, “I want your word that you’ll take care of Pixie and her family like you would if they were the family of any other member. I know she’s only been my honey for less than a week. Like technically, anyway. I also know the Yabo family is weird, and people here aren’t sure about them. I still need to know they’ll be safe if I don’t come back.”
Bronco gives me that look again—his “I forget you’re human” expression. In the past, I didn’t give it any mind. Today, though, that look pisses me off.
“She’s your old lady,” Bronco says, holding my gaze. “That makes her part of this community. No one gets cut loose, whether they’re around for a week or a decade. The Executioners will do right by Pixie and your people.”
Nodding, I rub the back of my neck. “I felt weird asking.”
“You are weird, Titan,” Lowell says, and the other men chuckle. “But we’re not blind. We see what you’ve got now, and we understand what you have to lose. No one will weasel out of what you’re owed.”
I nod again, feeling more comfortable. Maybe Bronco isn’t really at fault for thinking I’m not human. For the last few years, I haven’t shown him much heart. I arrived at the Woodlands with a duffle bag full of heads belonging to men I once called brothers. I went through almost-fatal withdrawal. I used his house’s blueprint to build my own. I never got hung up on one bunny or any woman. Finally, I lied and sneaked around with a woman he assumed was trash. I’m not someone that probably makes sense to him.
But right now, Bronco gets it. He was alone for a long time. Not like me. He had his family and then his daughters. He shares a bond with Lowell. But then he met Lana, and she wasn’t like the other women. I heard the honeys asking what was so special about that particular blonde stripper. Was Bronco just tired of fucking bunnies and decided his newest baby mama was special?
No, it wasn’t a choice. I didn’t know that before, but I do now. Bronco never chose for the next hot woman to be his wife. Lana is special to him. Just like Pixie is for me. I don’t know why she digs into my mind and puts happy thoughts where only darkness usually lingers. Pixie has a gift. That’s why she can be mine after less than a week.
“In fact,” Bronco says as we hear our club brothers coming down the stairs, “why don’t you bring Pixie and the crew over here tonight? We’ll be out late, and they can crash in the guest rooms. That way, they’re not alone in the cul-de-sac with half-finished houses.”
“I bet they’d like that. Even just ordering dinner rattles them. And I know Dove really enjoyed spending time with your girls.”
Bronco smiles easily whenever his daughters are mentioned. “Summer has big plans for Dove. Teenage crap that I don’t get, but I think they’ll have fun together. And the chaos of so many people together will distract Lana and Pixie from what we’re doing.”
Our bonding moment ends once our club brothers fill the basement. Each of these men has someone who’ll worry tonight. The community might seem normal from the outside. Yet, every person in the Executioners’ sphere will know we’re going to war.
PIXIE
Anders’s departure puts me in a sour mood. I’m afraid of someone hurting him. What if Wyatt is with him? Will Anders be safe? I should have told him what I heard in the restroom, but I was afraid to upset him before his important biker club meeting.
To distract myself from worrying about my giant sequoia, I decide to take Future to the wondrous world of “Up.” Mama frets downstairs as I open the gate and walk just behind the boy. Dove stays in front of our brother. We’re prepared to catch him if he tumbles. With each step, his bright eyes grow wider.
“Up!” Future squeals with delight.
I keep my hand at his back when he steadies himself at the top step. Dove prepares for him to run. On one side of the walkway are two bedrooms and a bathroom. On the other side are two more bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a big empty room. Before seeing Bronco’s house, I didn’t know why Anders built a place so big. Now, I understand he was copying his president, and Bronco must have known he would have many daughters.
Future doesn’t run. Instead, he kneels down and presses his face between the bars in the railing so he can see Mama below. Waving up at him, she begs Future to be careful.
“Don’t fall, my blessing.”
Future smiles bigger and starts exploring. Dove explains what each room here is used for at Bronco’s house. This one belongs to the baby. This is Desi’s purple room with a bed covered in a curtain. Then, we move over the walkway to the other rooms. This is Sidonie’s pink princess room. This is Summer’s cool, teenage room. And finally, there is the playroom.
“It’s filled with toys and dolls and so much stuff,” Dove says, sounding overwhelmed. “Why do they need so many things?”
“People in the outside world like to collect things. It gives them something to do.”
Dove nods as Future runs around the empty room. “Do you think this could be a playroom?”
“For you?” I ask, sensing my sister still owns a child’s heart.
“I’m too old for toys.”
“Says who?”
Dove shrugs. “People.”
“You aren’t so much older than Desi and Sidonie, and they play with toys.”
“Summer doesn’t.”
“That’s only because she played so much when she was little that she got bored. You never had all those toys. That’s why you wouldn’t be bored yet.”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to play.”
“Dove Yabo,” I say, holding her by the shoulders, “you are a Dandelion. That means you can play with toys when you’re Mama’s age. Or you can never play with them at all. You choose, not a rule made by others.”
My sister smiles softly. I already know she’ll wipe her face before her fingers make a move. No matter how many good or bad
events happen in her life, she can’t free herself of the day Papa died.
“Should we have our bedrooms up here?” Dove asks.
“Is this where you want your room?”
Dove wipes her face again and lowers her head. “I want to stay with Mama and Future.”
“They’ll be just downstairs.”
“I don’t want to be up so high,” Dove admits, looking embarrassed to share despite us never keeping secrets. “It’s pretty from downstairs looking up, but it’s scary to be up here looking down.”
“Are you safe?” Mama asks, walking into the room. “I didn’t see you for too long, and I worried.”
“Dove doesn’t want to live upstairs.”
“Summer’s room is upstairs,” Dove says, wiping her face again.
“Well, you’re not Summer,” Mama explains while grinning at a giggling Future. “And she’s not you. I don’t like it up here. It feels wrong, like the apartment building. I’d rather be in the basement. We have our own kitchen.”
“But all these rooms are empty,” Dove says. “Summer’s house is so full.”
“Because they’ve lived there for a long time,” I explain. “Anders was here all alone. What did he need with this room or any of the others?”
“It seems sad to leave it empty.”
“Look at Future on the carpet,” Mama says as my brother rolls on the soft, gray-gold flooring. “He doesn’t need a bunch of toys. He can come up here and roll.”
Dove smiles nervously. “Do I have to go to school?”
“No,” Mama and I say in unison.
I take my sister’s hands. “You can’t be Summer any more than I can be Lana. We don’t know how. Just like Summer and Lana couldn’t live at the Village or the Collective. They wouldn’t know the rules. You need time to learn them. One day, or maybe never, you can do the school stuff. But you can never be anyone except you.”
Dove lowers her gaze. “What if we have to go back to the Village?”
“The Volkshalberd turned on us,” Mama says, hugging Dove. “They promised if we got rid of our old beloved mementos and acted like them, that they would accept us. But they wanted to hurt Pixie for helping Anders. They wanted to give you to that oaf tyrant with his gross skin and beet stink. The Volkshalberd lied to us. I won’t go back, even when the Marks family is gone. If Anders doesn’t want us here, we’ll search for the other Dandelions and go to them.”
Exhaling roughly, Dove calms herself. “I wasn’t happy at the Village.”
“It was part of our journey to our new home,” I say, and Dove smiles. “This house was very strange when I got here. I still don’t understand why there are so many buttons. However, this home is beautiful, and we have so much space. My heart also enjoys knowing Anders is nearby.”
Future crawls over to us and asks me to sit on the ground with him. We all do before eventually rolling around like him.
Mama presses her fingers into the deep carpet. “Why is the floor soft here and in the basement but not on the main floor?”
“Because that’s how Bronco’s house is.”
“Where is Anders’s family?” Dove asks from the other end of the long room where she crawls on her elbows and knees with Future.
“Those terrible people are dead. They were cruel to him. That’s why he gets lost in the darkness of his mind sometimes.”
Mama nudges me with her shoulder. “If Anders will let us, we’ll be the family he deserves.”
“He’s been alone for so long that he sees himself as a weed,” I say, missing him so much that my chest hurts. “As part of our garden, Anders will know how beautiful he truly is.”
Mama’s warmth toward Anders destroys what’s left of my sour mood. I spend the next few hours playing upstairs with my family before sitting in the backyard where we count clouds.
When Anders arrives home, I leap onto the furniture to get higher to hug him. He wraps me tightly in his strong arms until I can barely breathe. But I don’t complain. I feel the burdens resting heavy on his shoulders. When he explains how we’ll spend the evening at Bronco’s house, I hold him tighter.
I try to be brave by not asking questions. Mama, Dove, and I pack a few things for overnight while Anders locks down the house. When the five of us climb into the SUV together, I feel as if we’re a family whose story is just beginning.
ANDERS
During the last hour before sunset, I memorize the Village’s layout. I also study our most recent picture of John Marks with his overly tanned skin, bald crown, and white hair starting partway down his skull. Finally, I look over photos of his platinum blonde sister, Steph, and his bald brother, Craig. The latter is rumored to have OD’d in Chicago years ago, but I want to be ready for anything.
Steph is definitely in the Village. According to Fairuza, the “balloon-breasted” woman would frequently read aloud from mystery books as if the ideas were her own. The Volkshalberd were expected to gasp at the big moments and clap at the end.
“Some of the brainless toadies cried,” Pixie said, rolling her eyes.
I have to believe more than a few of the seventy-plus people still in the Village must know the Marks family is bad news. But they were raised to think a life without suffering led to impure bloodlines. Starving to death probably feels like a gift to some of them.
I’m afraid to tell Pixie I’m leaving. She reads me too well. If I look worried, she’ll know this club job isn’t like those from the last few nights. Pixie’s anxiety will feed mine, and I need to remain calm.
Yet, I really want the feel of her on my lips and against my skin before I face possible death. Her comfort or mine? I fight my natural selfish tendency to put myself first.
I peek out at Pixie, who plays in Bronco’s backyard. Earlier, she learned about washable chalk. Now, Pixie is obsessed with drawing flowers on the back patio.
“We can create a new garden after each rain,” she told me earlier, wide-eyed and breathless with excitement.
As Pixie plays with Bronco’s girls and her siblings in the backyard, I sneak out of the house with my club brothers.
Tonight, my main task is to keep Bronco alive rather than kill anyone. He’s wanted to end John Marks for decades. No doubt, Bronco will kill Steph, too. In a perfect world, he’ll end their bloodline before dawn.
Bronco, Lowell, Drummer, Akron, and I slip through a broken spot in the fencing around the Village. This is the same location Pixie used to sneak out. She also told us about another weak spot near the crops. Conor and his group will enter from that direction.
The darkness hides our movements but also our path. We wear night goggles to see well enough to move through the thorny woods. If the Killing Joes wanted to set up traps, they’d do it closer to where they were hiding. Out here would be wasted effort.
As we arrive near the center of the Village, singing fills the air along with the sound of trash can lids turned into makeshift drums. The celebratory sounds hide our approach but do little to disguise the Volkshalberd’s suffering. Under the racket echo the cries of starving people.
Crouched in the brush, I catch sight of a whimpering woman carrying her limp child. These people won’t last much longer. In fact, the young Volkshalberd hungry for war likely spend much of their days digging graves for their dead elders.
My mind shifts away from the starving people. I don’t think of the assholes needing to die. I only see Bronco in front of me. Even my other club brothers are background noise.
When I used to get high, the world dropped away. Nothing mattered except chasing the dragon for hours. I could be sitting in a burning house without noticing a damn thing.
Tonight, I use a similar single-minded focus. If Bronco goes low, I do, too. If he moves faster, I keep pace. If someone fires at him, my body will shield him. Focused only on keeping him alive, I see nothing else.
“Our bloodlines are strong and pure!” yells a male voice over the racket made by the starving masses. “We are the Volkshalberd! Swords of war!
We will not falter!”
Is John Marks rallying his people? When I take off my night goggles to study the well-lit outdoor meeting area, I spot a man not much older than Pixie. He stands facing less than a dozen young men who stare in awe. These are John Marks’s true believers.
“We wallowed in the shadows until he came and restored our honor!” the young man hollers, wearing an unhinged yet joyful smile.
The men cheer with psychotic zeal. They’re pumped for battle. The cries of their fellow Volkshalberd mean nothing. Their mothers, fathers, and siblings are viewed as weak sheep while these psychos see themselves as the wolves. What does that make the Executioners?
Killing them won’t bother me one fucking bit. And letting them live isn’t an option.
After we slaughter the wolves, the Executioners will save the sheep. Supplies are ready to go. Following a small bloodbath, we’ll turn into the fucking Red Cross.
Bronco backs away from the lighted area and into the darkness where he texts Conor. I read over his shoulder how the second team should target these zealots while we’ll focus on Marks likely hiding in the main building.
Back on the move, I notice a woman watching us from her spot on the ground near one of the tents. I have no doubt once she alerts the others, shit will get loud very quickly.
But the woman only looks down at her hands and whimpers. I stop holding my breath. The sheep know they’re heading for the slaughter. What difference does it make who the wolves are?
Moving again, we reach the large building meant to keep the Volkshalberd warm during the worst winters and through dangerous storms. The place is lit up like a fucking shopping mall. A TV commercial plays loudly inside. Near the front door, a well-dressed blonde woman bobs her head to music. Without even seeing the bitch’s face, I’m certain she’s Steph Marks. Besides the young male zealots, no one in this fucking place except the Marks family would have the energy for bouncing.
We’re in position when Wyatt drives a box truck to the front gate. On our signal, he revs the engine and makes a scene.
