Boil (Salem's Revenge Book 2)

by David Estes

  I look at his hand, wondering whether this is some kind of a trick, but then figure I’m in no position to fight back anyway. I take it, pulling away sharply when his grip nearly crushes my fingers.

  “This is Hex,” I say, motioning to my dog, who’s sniffing at Lieutenant Hemsworth’s black boots. “And this is my…friend, Laney.”

  “That wasn’t awkward,” Laney says, giving me an eye-rolling look. “Glad I got introduced after the dog.” Hex barks as if to say, Of course!

  She ignores Hemsworth’s offered hand and says, “How do you know Bil Nez?” At least that’s the question she asks, but I can see in her glare that what she’s really asking is, “And why on earth would you refer to him as your friend?”

  I can tell Bil’s gritting his teeth, his jaw moving slightly. The soldier glances from Laney to Bil and back again, and I wonder if he can feel the tension between them. “Bil’s been running key missions for the president for a while now. When he’s not outside the fence, we play cards. Although I wouldn’t advise playing Texas Hold ’em with him, he’s a real shark.”

  Bil shrugs when Laney’s eyebrows go up. “If there’s anything we learned to do on the reservation, it was play cards,” he says.

  “God,” Laney says, not trying to hide her sarcasm even a little bit.

  “You got a problem with Bil?” the soldier asks. “’Cause if so, you got a problem with me, too.”

  “No,” Laney says. “No problem at all.” Bil smiles at that.

  “So the president will be rolling out the red carpet for Rhett, right?” Bil asks. “The full royal treatment.”

  The soldier shows his teeth, but it’s not a smile. “Depends on whether she thinks he’s a spy,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  There’s a whole lot of rustling and the scrape of boots on bark as the soldiers scramble out of the trees on either side.

  ~~~

  Lieutenant Hemsworth likes to talk. A lot.

  “When all the bad stuff went down,” Hemsworth says, “the armed forces were caught with their pants down, so to speak. Most of us were dead before we even had a chance to think about fighting back.

  “I got lucky though. A few battalions were missed, almost skipped over, like the witches were the plague and we had lamb’s blood on our doors. These soldiers…” He motions to the twenty-eight men and women marching beside, behind and in front of us. “…they’re the future. They’re the ones keeping the last of the Americans safe.”

  “That’s it?” I blurt out. “That’s all that’s left of the army?”

  “I was being dramatic, son. We’re just the ones on the front lines, guarding the outskirts of New Washington. There are a few thousand others, too. A couple hundred Marines. Some wannabe Marines. Several dozen Rangers. And a couple rocket scientists. They control the real weapons.”

  “The missiles,” Laney says.

  “So you’ve seen their work, I guess,” Hemsworth says.

  “You could say that,” she says, not giving away a thing.

  “They’re the real saviors. Without them, the witches could pour right into New Washington and finish what they’ve started. But the witches ain’t the kamikaze type. They’re as interested in getting themselves blown up as an elephant wanting to cross paths with a mouse.” I’m not sure if that analogy makes any sense, but I keep quiet.

  Laney, of course, doesn’t. “That’s a myth, you know. The whole elephants being scared of mice thing.”

  Hemsworth looks at me and laughs. “Your girlfriend can be a real buzzkill sometimes,” he says.

  “She’s not my—” A scathing look from Laney stops me. Wait. Is she my girlfriend? Does putting a label on a relationship even matter anymore?

  “What happened to the president?” Laney asks, deftly moving the conversation away from our relationship.

  “She’s a rock star,” Hemsworth says. “Without her, things would’ve fallen apart a long time ago. She made everything happen. Organizing the witch hunters. The missile strikes. Our strategy to retake the east coast. If we’re the parts, then she’s the glue holding it all together.”

  “I meant the previous president,” Laney says.

  “See what I mean?” Hemsworth says. “Buzzkill.” But before Laney can respond, he says, “President Bartlet didn’t make it past the first night. He was obviously a target and the witches knew exactly where he’d be.”

  “Makes no sense,” Laney says.

  “What doesn’t?” I say.

  “Why they’d take out the President of the United States and not the second in command.”

  “The vice president,” I say, chewing on her words. “They would’ve targeted her, too. Vice President Washington.” Laney’s got a point.

  “They tried,” Hemsworth explains. “There was a glitch in her schedule. She was meant to be in one place but a last minute change landed her somewhere else. The screw-up saved her life.”

  “And maybe all of humanity,” Bil says. “The VP stepped up and became president.”

  “And ordered a hit on me,” Rhett says.

  “She thought you’d switched sides,” Hemsworth says.

  “I didn’t.”

  “She really thought you did,” Bil offers.

  “Maybe next time she should get her facts straight,” Laney says. Hex barks his agreement.

  “You can tell her when you meet her,” Hemsworth says.

  “Still, it seems like an awful lot of effort for just one guy,” I say. “I’m just a teenager.”

  “A teenager who’s one of only three known Resistors,” Hemsworth says. “We can’t let you fall into the wrong hands.”

  Things go quiet for a while after that, the quiet thump of three dozen sets of feet rattling the waning daylight. I stare straight ahead, wondering whether this has all been a huge mistake. The president could decide I’m still a threat. Could order me killed. In this new world, there are no trials, no need for evidence. Instinct and fear rule our decisions these days.

  The world darkens around us and still we march on, the soldiers using flashlights to light the way. Something spindly and full of holes looms before us, like a giant thicket. A thicket that seems to extend indefinitely on each side and a hundred feet over our heads.

  “Is that...?” I murmur

  “The fence,” Bil says. “It goes around all of New Washington in a five mile radius. Well, almost all the way around. They’re still working to fill the last of the gaps.”

  A fence? Really? That’s how they expect to keep the witches out?

  As if sensing my doubts, Bil says, “It’s electrified and full of barbed wire, but most of us understand that it’s more a symbolic barrier than a real one. It’s the witch hunters, the army, and the missile threat that’s keeping the witches out.”

  Makes sense. The witches I’ve seen could bust through a pathetic metal fence like it’s a wall made of toothpicks. And this isn’t even a good fence. As we get closer, I see that it’s been cobbled together from sections of fence scavenged from various sources. Most of it looks like the stuff that surrounds playgrounds, basketball courts, tennis courts—that sort of thing—but other parts are different, perhaps from batting cages and prisons. The sections are bound together haphazardly by metal wires and thick ropes. It’s the Frankenstein of fences.

  And yet, as we pass through a gate that a couple of soldiers open for us, I feel safer. It’s a mental thing. When you’re trying to comfort and control thousands of people, a fence makes sense, no matter how ineffective.

  We make our way across a flat wasteland that I’m pretty sure used to be office buildings and apartments which are now burned to the ground. Piles of debris—burnt wood and scorched bricks and black pipes and severed wires—is all that’s left of the structures that used to stand here. “Did the witches destroy all this?” I ask.

  “No,” Hemsworth says. “We did.”

  “What?” Laney says sharply. “Why would you destroy the city?”

  “We needed a buffer zone,�
� he says. “If any of the magic-born get through the outer defenses, we’ll still have time to take them out before they make it to the civilians. So we burned a ring around the city, making it easier to perform recon. If we have to use our big guns, at least the collateral damage will be minimal.”

  I don’t point out that it’s because they’ve already done enough collateral damage themselves. I don’t point it out because his logic kind of makes sense.

  “This was all President Washington’s idea,” Bil says.

  An hour of following a meandering path through the rubble and we reach the next checkpoint, a large iron gate between a gap in a fifteen-foot-high stone wall. It’s illuminated by a yellow spotlight high atop a pole. I wait for the gate to open, but it doesn’t.

  Hemsworth turns to look at us. “Your weapons,” he says.

  The side of my lip curls up. Nuh-uh. “Not a chance,” I say.

  “Only if you want to lose a hand,” Laney adds.

  “Until the president clears you to carry your weapons inside the city, we’ll have to requisition them,” Hemsworth says. “It’s either that, or we can march you right back outside the gate and you’re on your own.”

  I look at Laney. She looks at me. I glance at Hex, giving her a sign. They can take our weapons, but we’ve still got Hex. Our secret weapon.

  Laney seems to understand because she says, “We won’t be able to find Trish without their help,” as if that’s her reason for giving in to their demands.

  “True,” I say, feeling a pang of guilt as I hand over my magged-up sword and other weapons. Laney does the same. I hope it’s not the last time we see them.

  Bil Nez gets to keep his crossbow and rifle.

  “What about him?” Laney asks. “If anyone’s dangerous, it’s him.”

  Hemsworth raises an eyebrow. “The president trusts him,” he says. “And I thought you didn’t have a problem with him.”

  Laney doesn’t respond, even when Bil winks at her.

  The door opens with a monstrous groan.

  The first face I see inside is a familiar one. A stern expression seen during many a debate, light pink lips drawn into a political smile, striking, bright-blue eyes. A tight, gray bun resting atop her head, making her appear a few years older than her years.

  “Welcome to New Washington, Rhett Carter,” President Washington says.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Laney

  Rhett tries to grab me but he’s too slow. I squirm away and stalk toward President Washington.

  “Laney,” Rhett says from behind me.

  I ignore him. “You tried to kill my friend,” I say to the president.

  There’s the hint of a smile on the president’s lips, which really pisses me off. I’m ten feet away, then five, then standing face to face with the woman who ordered my friend’s execution.

  Strong arms grab me at the elbow, holding me back, despite the fact that I had no intention of hitting this woman. More strong arms grab me from the other side, clamping down on my shoulder like a vice.

  She takes a step forward, so we’re practically nose to nose, her blue eyes glittering under the glow of the security light over the gate.

  “Why?” I say.

  “Should we take her to lockup?” It’s Lieutenant Douchebag—I mean, Hemsworth—just over my right shoulder.

  But my eyes never leave President Washington’s.

  “No,” she says, unblinking. “You’ve got fight left in you. That’s good. It’s okay to be angry, even at me. You’re going to need that anger and we’re going to need your fight. I hope you’ll accept my sincerest apologies for targeting your friend. From where I was sitting, it really seemed as if he was on the verge of joining the Necros. The result would’ve been disastrous, so I made a decision. Apparently I was wrong. You can thank Bil Nez for making a better decision and bringing Mr. Carter here. The three of you will be major assets in winning this war.”

  She could’ve slapped me and I wouldn’t be any more shocked. Did the president just apologize to me? And admit she was wrong and that Bil Nez—Bil freaking Nez—made a better decision than her.

  “I—I—yes,” I stammer, trying to get my mind around what just happened. “I accept your apology. Thank you. If you’re not going to kill us, then I’m here to help. But only if you help us.” If nothing else, I appreciate the woman’s honesty, something I didn’t think politicians were capable of. Politicians don’t admit when they’re wrong, not if they want to keep their careers. But I guess there won’t be any new elections anytime soon, so she doesn’t have to worry about that.

  Her eyebrows go up. Have I been too bold? “Go on,” she says. Before I can speak, she flicks her eyes to either side of me. “Release her.” The rough hands withdraw from my elbows and I shake out my arms, which feel slightly bruised.

  I fire a victorious look over my right shoulder at Lieutenant Douchebag, who responds with a frown. “Thanks,” I say. “We came here because we need your help. My little sister is missing.”

  The president’s lips form a tight line. “I’m sorry, young lady, but there aren’t many real missing people these days. If you can’t find her, she’s probably gone.” And by gone she means dead. But she doesn’t know what Trish is. And I can’t tell her. Can I?

  Then I realize who’s with us. Who knows the truth and might not be so tight-lipped. My fists clench at my sides as I dare Bil Nez to open his mouth and tell the president that my sister’s a witch.

  “We think the witches took her,” Rhett blurts out, pushing around Hemsworth to stand by my side. Is he trying to take control of the situation before Bil can?

  “Ah,” President Washington says, “the infamous Rhett Carter. The Resistor. I was wondering when you’d stop letting your friend do all the talking for you.”

  “Well, I, uh—you see, she’s very, uh—what I mean to say is—”

  “He never could get me to stop talking,” I say, winking at him.

  “Yeah. What she said,” Rhett says.

  “So you’ve moved on from Beth?” the president says, her eyes boring into Rhett.

  Rhett looks crestfallen. I take a deep breath. Then another. Although I want to, I can’t go nose-to-nose with the president again. She already gave me one pass. She won’t surprise me with another. “With all due respect, ma’am,” I say evenly. “There’s no such thing as getting over the loss of someone you love.”

  Rhett’s eyes dart to mine, then back to the president.

  “No,” she says. “I suppose there’s not. And that’s a good thing for us, isn’t it? That’s why you severed ties with the Necros. Because of what they did to Beth.”

  Rhett turns, looking behind him, and I follow his gaze. Bil Nez stands awkwardly, rocking from foot to foot. He refuses to meet Rhett’s eyes.

  I suddenly get it. How the president seems to know so much about Rhett and Beth and his relationship with the Necros. Like she was there.

  Bil. Freaking. Nez.

  “You were spying on me?” Rhett says.

  “Information gathering,” Bil says to his feet.

  “I defended you,” Rhett says.

  “I did the same for you,” Bil says.

  “By spying. By telling the president all about me.”

  “Did you have something to hide?” the president says, but Rhett, to his credit, ignores her, his attention firmly on Bil.

  “The information you gave her made her want to kill me,” Rhett says.

  “But I didn’t,” Bil says, his eyes still downcast. His voice is coming out as barely a whisper. He’s ashamed.

  “Young man,” the president says more loudly, her voice commanding enough attention to draw Rhett and I back around. “He was merely giving me the facts. Not once did I ask for his opinion. In fact, he tried to offer it, but I didn’t want my judgment to be clouded by anything. And yet, he offered it anyway. He said he didn’t think you’d join the Necros. He said you’d more likely kill them than join them. But I couldn’t take the c
hance. We only know of three Resistors and our enemies already have one of them. I couldn’t risk them getting another.”

  A shiver runs through me, because that doesn’t make sense. I glance at Rhett and I can see he’s confused, too.

  “Why would you care about the witches getting Resistors?” he asks. “I can’t hurt you any more than any other human. I’m only a threat to the witches.”

  Only one response would make any sense at all. But that can’t possibly be the answer. It’s as impossible as monkeys flying out of my butt. And yet, that’s exactly the answer President Washington gives.

  “Some of the witches are helping us fight back,” she says.

  I clench my buttocks, waiting for the monkeys.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Rhett

  I want to hit her, to hit her guards, to hit someone. Anyone. Before I can even really think about what the president just said, what it means for the world, for humanity, the anger is ripping through me, tensing my muscles, urging them to action.

  But that kind of mindless action is the antithesis of who I am, who I used to be. I’ve changed a lot, but not to the point where I’ll take a swing at a woman. And not just any woman—the President of New America. If I ever reach that point, I’ll ask Laney to put me in a strait jacket.

  Hemsworth must’ve seen my muscles tighten and has both my arms in a full nelson. I can’t really blame him. He doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know that I wouldn’t have done anything to the president.

  Hex is growling at the soldier’s feet, ripping at his pants with his teeth. Acting like a normal dog trying to protect its owner. “I’ll break both your arms if I have to,” Hemsworth hisses in my ear. “You might be able to resist magic, but you can’t stop your bones from breaking. Call your dog off. Now.”

  “Okay, okay,” I say. “Down, Hex.” I don’t expect him to listen, but he does, releasing Hemsworth’s pants. He’s still acting. My body slumps and I close my eyes, not wanting to see Laney or the president.

  “I understand that you’re shocked and angry,” the president says. I open my eyes to meet her gaze. She doesn’t look angry at all. Composed. Even keel. The face of a leader. “I wasn’t so receptive to the idea either—at least not at first.” She flinches slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if she’s still not fully on board with working with the witches.