by Jen Blood
Casey sat in the far corner, almost totally out of the light. A couple of sketchy-looking druggies Danny knew from around town sat on either side of her. Danny shuffled over and plopped down beside her, almost sitting on one of the guy’s laps to get him out of the way.
“Hey!” the junkie said. “Back off.”
“You back off,” Danny said. “I’m sittin’ here.” He was a little bigger than the junkie, and even though Danny wasn’t much of a fighter, he knew he could hold his own. He stared the guy down until he slithered out of the way a couple feet.
Once that was settled, he took a second to get a look at Casey. She didn’t look good—there was a burn on her face, and some cuts and scrapes and bandages. Her eyes had shadows the size of bruises under them. When he looked at her, he thought for a second she was about to cry.
“You okay?” he asked, quiet so nobody else would hear them.
She nodded, then took a second to pull herself together before she finally managed to get a word out.
“We’re gonna miss our gig,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
He couldn’t help it—he laughed out loud. She smiled at him, that smile that always made him feel like things might actually work out for the best in the end after all.
“You get your confession done for the reverend?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Danny said. “You had to do that, too?”
“We all did,” Casey said, nodding toward the others. Danny met eyes with the junkie he’d just pushed out of the way. The man nodded, serious and slack and shaking.
“He’s got somethin’ planned for us,” the man said. “And whatever it is, it ain’t good.”
“I kind of figured that about the time they knocked me out and tied me up,” Danny said.
“I’m Biggie,” the junkie said. “I’d shake hands, but I’m a little tied up right now.” Danny smiled at the joke. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Danny Durham,” he said. Biggie nodded, then looked at Casey. “No offense, but you’re not looking so good. You was one of the ones in that explosion, right?”
“Explosion?” Danny looked at Casey. She wouldn’t look back at him. “What’s he talking about?”
“The Dairy Queen—Sheriff Jennings went psycho,” Biggie said, “and blew the whole damn place up.”
Panic ran through Danny in a sharp, sickening wave. He looked at Casey with the question in his eyes. “Sophie?” he asked. The word came out choked.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him.
He felt dizzy. He couldn’t get worked up about things right now, he knew, but for a second all he could do was sit there, feeling sick and lost and hopeless. He looked at Casey, studying all those cuts and scratches and burns with new understanding.
He knew he ought to be more sorry about Sophie, with her grin and her pierced eyebrow and that way she had of saying his name when they were together... But all he could think was, Thank you, God. The world wasn’t a good place without Sophie, but he’d make it through.
He didn’t even want to think about the world without Casey.
Danny looked at her, and her eyes held onto his in a way he couldn’t remember them ever doing before.
“I’m getting us out of this, Case,” he said. He sounded a lot more confident about that than he felt.
Casey was the kind of girl with an answer for everything. Today, she didn’t say a word. They’d never been too touchy-feely, but she didn’t complain when he scooted a little closer. She just leaned against his arm, her head on his shoulder, seeming smaller than he remembered Casey being in the real world.
He started thinking up a plan.
Chapter Twenty - Solomon
11:50:08
It was just after noon when Diggs, Juarez, and I got to the Justice Sunshine Resort—a surprisingly nice place considering it cost next to nothing and was in…well, Justice, Kentucky. Blaze had given us until three o’clock to get some sleep and try to regroup, since we’d been running on pure adrenaline for as long as I could remember. With the electricity still out, the hotel was dark and felt every bit as creepy as you’d expect a hotel in a nowhere town on the brink of oblivion to feel. I lugged my suitcase along shadowy corridors with Diggs behind me and Juarez leading the way.
There were guards posted at the hotel entrance, rifles at the ready, while agents and soldiers and cops who’d flown in to fight the forces of evil milled around in the hallways. Diggs got a room on the second floor, and we parted ways at the stairwell after an awkward, “See you later.” Juarez and I retired to our room alone.
Our new safe haven came complete with kitchenette, sitting area, and bedroom. When we got there, Grace and Einstein were curled up on the couch in the living room together like an old married couple. I was secretly relieved when Stein at least had the decency to get up and feign enthusiasm when I walked through the door, his butt wiggling happily. Grace lifted her head and whined, tail thumping, but didn’t move.
I went in the bathroom, pulled off my clothes, and got in the shower. Without electricity, there was no hot water. I didn’t care. I rested my forehead against the tile wall and let the cold water wash over me until every thought in my head was frozen out. When I emerged, shivering, I went straight to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. Juarez came in and lay down beside me, stripped to his jockey shorts.
I thought of Diggs, in a room somewhere above us. I thought of the small, lifeless boy under the blanket; of what it would be like for his brother to wake up alone. I thought of Jessie Barnel’s tears, and the blood soaking her ankle-length dress.
I really wanted to stop thinking.
“You tired?” I asked Juarez without moving.
He grunted. He really isn’t the grunting type. I opened my eyes and rolled over.
“What are you thinking?” I asked. Juarez is the first man I ever met who actually answers honestly—or appears to—when I ask that question.
“I’m thinking you’re cold,” he said. He ran his hand over my shoulder and along my back. I shivered for an entirely different reason. “Jesus, Erin, you’re freezing.”
“I’m all right.” He pulled the blanket up around us both and put his arms around me. He didn’t tell me what he’d been thinking, though. “It was a rough day for you,” I said. “Lots of heroics.”
“Not that heroic,” he said. “A lot of people died today.”
And he was the one who pulled the trigger on more than one of them, I reminded myself. I propped myself up and tried to smooth the lines from his forehead. He looked at me with dark, sad eyes—as though something heartbreaking was happening. I just hadn’t caught onto what that was, exactly.
“You did what needed to be done,” I said. “That’s a hard thing to take on.”
“Sometimes it is,” he agreed, still quiet. “And we’re still not any closer to finding Barnel or figuring out what’s in store for tonight.”
“Maybe Jessie will talk,” I said.
“If she wakes up in time. At least we got to the kids before it was too late, though,” he conceded. “And probably put a pretty good dent in their explosives supply.”
“You think?” I asked.
“They had enough stored down there to blow up half the forest. I can’t imagine there’d be much left after that.”
“See,” I said. “Not bad for a day’s work.”
I laid my head down on his arm. He rolled over to face me, eyes still serious. He smelled like sweat and gunfire. There was a streak of someone else’s blood on his arm that he must have missed when he was cleaning up. He ran a hand through my hair, toying with the strands. I moved in and kissed his neck, then his chin, before I finally found his mouth. I thought of the fires we’d put out in the night. Of the picture of Dora the Explorer on the refrigerator in a meth lab; the chained hound dog and the broken cherub.
Before the kiss could go anywhere, Juarez pulled back. He kissed my nose, looking conflicted about whatever was going on in his head. Then he sat up and nodded
toward the bathroom.
“I’m gonna grab a shower, then I just want to check in with Allie,” he said. “Try and get some sleep, okay?”
I nodded and watched him walk away.
Sleep was elusive from there. After Jack left to go find Blaze, I went out in search of some kind of sustenance, even though I knew the vending machines wouldn’t be working. There had to be something out there, though.
Somehow in my travels, I found myself on the second floor. Private Abbott was stationed by the stairs, seated with a rifle across his lap and his head back against the wall.
“Hey,” I said. “Don’t they ever let you people sleep?”
He smiled. “You’re the ones that’ve been on for days. I just got here last night—I figure I got a good forty-eight hours before I start achin’ too much.”
“Oh, to be young again,” I said. Then, I just stood there awkwardly for a minute, wishing I’d never come up here. I assumed everyone knew I was dating Juarez, so I really shouldn’t be sneaking into some other guy’s room during nap time.
“Diggs is in 206,” Abbott said. “Just down the hall there.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Agent Juarez said you might be up,” he explained. “He said it was fine for you to go on in, if you wanted.”
Of course he did.
“That’s all right,” I said. “He’s probably sleeping.”
“He was just out here a couple minutes ago, actually. I doubt he’d go under so fast. He looked strung pretty tight.” Abbott was unnervingly helpful.
“Ah. Well, I guess if I’m already up here, I should at least check in.”
“Whatever you think’s best,” Abbott said.
It was idiotic for me to stand in the hallway freaking out about it, so I cut it short and went to Diggs’ door. Then, I walked past his door. Twice. I finally stopped just outside with my hand hovering an inch from the wood.
It opened before my knuckles ever hit.
“What the hell are you doing?” Diggs asked. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to lurk outside people’s doors in the middle of an apocalypse? You’ll freak someone out.”
“Sorry. I’m rusty on the etiquette.”
I waved at Abbott to signal all was copasetic, then went into Diggs’ room without being invited.
Where Juarez and I had a whole little suite all to ourselves, Diggs’ had just bed and bath. His clothes were draped over a chair in the corner. He went back to the bed and lay down on top of the covers, his arm over his eyes, his right hand resting on his stomach. He wore shorts. Very little else. There was no doubt about it: Diggs had been hitting the gym since our adventures over the summer.
My mouth may have gone a little dry.
“I’ve got condoms in my suitcase if that’s what you’re looking for,” he said without looking at me. “Juarez didn’t come prepared?”
“Funny.”
He removed his arm from his eyes, but otherwise remained still. “Where’s your better half?”
“Shower and a confab with Blaze. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”
He sat up. The way he looked at me suggested he knew my story was bullshit. I waited for him to call me on it. He didn’t.
“I should be asking you that,” he said. “It hasn’t been an easy twenty-four hours—you’ve been playing Florence Nightingale with a vengeance since you got here.”
“Tell me about it,” I said.
He sat up and nodded to the bed. “Sit.” I sat.
“Juarez thinks most of the explosives Barnel had were in the cabin,” I said.
“Yeah?” he said. There was a hint of doubt in the word.
“You don’t think so?”
He shrugged. “If Barnel is the one orchestrating this whole thing, it’s possible.”
“But you don’t think he is,” I said.
“Not really, no.”
“I don’t suppose you have any ideas who the puppet master might be.”
He shook his head, which was a little surprising. Diggs is rarely short on theories.
“Do you think Danny’s the one who took out Brother Jimmy and tried to kill Barnel?”
“Nope,” he said without hesitation. “If he’d done it, he wouldn’t have run. He’s a hothead—not the kind who thinks about something like that enough beforehand to get away with it.”
I didn’t question it. For one thing, I knew Diggs well enough to recognize that debating the issue would be futile. Of course, I’ve never minded futile debate with the man when I’ve had good reason. I had a feeling he was right about this, though: the whole shooting at the tent meeting had been so bizarre that I just couldn’t see Danny being the one behind it. If he was, why would he just leave his truck at Casey’s? And why would he go to Casey’s in the first place, hang out shooting the shit with her little brother, then all of a sudden hear some kind of Siren song and take off to kill Barnel?
We fell silent. For the first time, I noticed a folder on Diggs’ bedside table. I tensed. Diggs followed my eye.
“That’s the file on Cameron?” I asked.
“Also known as ‘the hooded man’? That’s the one,” he said. He was amiable enough about it, but I could tell he was watching me for a reaction. He took the folder from the table, set it on his lap, and began flipping pages, casual as you please. “He’s former military, you know,” he said. He kept his eye on the page. “Born and raised in Lynn, Indiana.”
“Where my father’s from,” I said. Theories started forming in my head before I could remind myself I wasn’t pursuing this thing anymore.
“And Max Richards,” Diggs reminded me. “Cameron grew up a couple blocks from both of them.”
“Do you think he has anything to do with what’s happening here?” I asked. The question had been bothering me for some time now.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I still have no clue what his motivations are. Who he works for. It could be that he really is just here checking up on you—making sure you’re following orders like a good little soldier.”
“Which I’m trying to do.”
“I know that,” he said. He set the folder between us, open. Cameron’s face stared up at me.
“This is exactly what he warned us not to do,” I said. “You may not care what happens to you, but I do. So far, Kat and my father have been able to keep me alive thanks to whatever it is they know, but you know Cameron won’t hesitate to take you out.”
“I know that, too,” he said.
“Then why are you pushing this?” I asked, my temper rising.
“Because you aren’t. And that’s not you.”
“It could be me,” I said. “People change. What the hell’s wrong with that? I’m trying to evolve here.”
“So evolve,” he said, his voice rising. “I’m all for that—but don’t have a friggin’ lobotomy. You ask questions. Dig. Push so hard you almost make me nuts—that’s what you do. It’s what you’ve always done. It’s what makes you one of the best reporters I’ve worked with. It’s what makes you…you.”
I picked up the damn file. Stared at Cameron’s face. A barrage of images ran through my head: the Payson Church burning; my father on his knees, blood streaming down his back; Matt Perkins, dead; George Ashmont, dead; Rebecca Ashmont, Noel Hammond, Max Richards, Will Rainier… All of them, dead. Diggs, hands bound, face bloodied, a gun at his temple.
It’s not that I didn’t want to know; trust me, I did. I wanted to know who Cameron was, where he came from, what kind of background had led him to my father. I wanted to know, once and for all, why Cameron had burned down the church on Payson Isle; if he knew where my father was, or if he was the reason my father was running in the first place.
Diggs watched me like he could see the hamster wheel spinning in my head.
I closed the folder and handed it back to him.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Diggs disappointed in me before. Certainly not to that extent. His eye
s fell.
“I should go,” I said. “Juarez will wonder where I am. He’s already been weird since he got here.”
“Maybe he’s just tired of being with someone who’s in love with another man.”
It wasn’t meant to be cruel—Diggs never means to be cruel. It still stung, though. There was a challenge to his eyes that told me he expected me to fight him on this one thing, at least. We’d get riled up, the heat would spark something…
Instead, I turned around on the bed calmly so I could face him, pulling my legs under me. I was very, very tired.
“Do you remember what happened the day you found out I was marrying Michael?” I asked.
He didn’t look surprised at the question, despite the apparent lack of a segue. If he’d expected me to scream and shout, I definitely expected some kind of deflection from him. The flicker of regret in his eyes was impossible to miss when he nodded.
“Michael announced the engagement at that faculty thing we all went to at BU,” I said.
“I told you I remember, Sol,” he said. “And he only did that because I was there. He was a forty-five-year-old, smooth talking, womanizing prick. You were twenty years younger, and you were gorgeous. And the friendship between you and me drove him nuts.”
“I know,” I said. I wasn’t so sure about the gorgeous part, but the rest of the story certainly held up. “And as I recall, I apologized for that. Michael and I fought. I left the party; Michael stayed.”
“To go home with his best friend’s wife,” Diggs pointed out. Correctly, as it happened. He closed his eyes. “Do we really have to relive that whole night?”
“I just want to make sure you remember the same things I do. Because the way George was talking the other night made it sound like I was the one who broke your heart. And that’s not how I remember it.”
“Fine,” he said. He scratched his head and blew out a lungful of air. “Go ahead. Michael stayed at the party. You left.”
“And at midnight, you showed up on my doorstep. Drunk. High as a kite. Any chance at all you remember what happened next?”
