He unsheathed his knife, held the prisoner around the middle, and cut the rope binding his hands. His heavy body fell against his and Eli eased him to the ground. The prisoner slumped against the wall, half-conscious, his pained breaths rattling through the room. Seth would've said he was dead already. Life was the punishment and death was a mercy.
Kill them all.
Suddenly Eli was in that moment again, just before he pulled the trigger, looking down at the three women Seth lined up at his feet. His heart thudded hard and slow in his chest. The gun was heavy in his hand. Blue eyes, rimmed in red, bored into his skull, pleading. And still, he pulled the trigger.
Out of pity.
In that moment, he wanted to release them from the horror the world had become. The thought didn't bring Eli peace, but shame. He'd been so weak and pliable, as Olive put it. She and Seth both pulled out the evil inside him, dangerous and more real than anything Eli had known, molding it into the shape they wanted. To kill again was to give that beast even more power.
There had to be another way.
The prisoner woke from his stupor and lifted his head; he wiped the blood from his face with a shaking hand. Eli pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, knelt down, and brought it to the prisoner's destroyed nose.
"Take it." Eli waited for the prisoner to clean himself up. "Let's go."
He crouched next to him, wedged his hands under his arms, and helped him to his feet. The man's weight fell on his side and Eli helped him walk between rows of shelves to a dog kennel set up in the far side of the basement. Eli helped the prisoner inside, and he settled in a far corner.
"How many of you are there?" Eli asked.
The man scowled. "I said, I'm no rebel."
"And I'm not the enemy. I want to help."
The prisoner laughed. "Oh yeah? How?"
"Tell me what you know about the rebels."
"She'll kill them all if they don't stop." The prisoner's eyes burned through the darkness. "You've seen what she can do."
The words hung in the air. Eli shook his head. "I need names."
"Why? So you can die with them?" The prisoner leaned his head against the back of the cage. His voice weakened with every word he spoke. "There will be no peace here while she's around. And then someone will just take her place..."
"Please, give me names."
But the prisoner had closed his eyes and now breathed slow and steadily. Eli left, crossed the basement, plodded up the stairs, and considered his options.
The guest house was impregnable. The doctor was too valuable, and now he knew Eli's secret. To find more allies, he needed time, and he was buying time with violence. Olive wouldn't listen to any pleas for mercy, and Eli could pay with his life for trying.
He reached the top of the stairs, held onto the doorknob, and took a breath. "Help me find a way," he prayed. "Show me the answer."
Olive's death was the easy answer, the solution that became more normal with every passing day and order obeyed. But everyone deserved to live, even Olive. That had to be true if the world truly wasn't doomed.
Eli opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.
Voices floated in from the living room — Olive's breathy tone and a second, huskier voice. Eli padded through the kitchen and turned the corner into the living room. Olive sat in one of her plush armchairs with her head tilted back and a hand to her forehead. A woman leaned over her and pressed two fingers to her neck. Her voice was familiar. Eli's stomach prickled.
"Have you eaten today?" the woman said.
"Not much," Olive whined.
"My guess is your blood sugar is low, Mrs. Grant. You need something to eat."
"I feel like I'm dying," Olive breathed.
The visitor placed a hand on Olive's arm; the way she moved was familiar, too. "You're not, I promise."
Olive peeked over the stranger's rounded, muscular shoulders. "Mr. Stentz! Fetch me something to eat."
The visitor spun around and mossy green eyes met his. They sparked with joy and shock, but then she spotted his bloodied knuckles and the spray of red across his shirt and the joy melted into fear.
Eli almost yelled her name.
Jane.
Happiness pulsed through him like electricity and he stared at her, heart thudding in his throat, mind numb with shock.
"Now, Eli!" Olive spat.
He flinched. "Yes, ma'am."
Eli moved to the kitchen on shaky legs and snatched a pear from a bowl on the counter. He took a deep breath and bottled his excitement, freezing his face into a stoic mask. Olive couldn't discover Eli and Jane were friends, had the same secret and mission. Eli returned to the living room and handed Olive her fruit. He chanced a look at Jane and his resolve faltered.
Her face was marred with bruises and smeared with dried blood. What had she suffered, all alone, after he'd lost her? Eli's fingers itched to touch her check and trace the imaginary lines between her freckles.
Olive leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes with a hand to her chest, munching her pear. Eli studied the floor, listening to Jane breathing. He clung to the sound, hardly believing she was alive.
When Olive had eaten half her pear, she breathed deeply and slowly smiled. Her cold, dead eyes sprung open to drag over Jane, assessing her worth, trying to figure out how to use her. She smiled.
"Let's talk on my terrace, shall we?" she said. "I have a few questions."
Chapter 33
Jane sat next to Eli at dinner. He stared at her from the corner of his eye and the rest of the room faded to gray shadow and echoing noise. The heat of her body, the feel and smell of her, revived him.
Will you sleep next to me?
Eli remembered the weight of her head on his arm that last night, her body pressed against his, the feel of her small, calloused hand. The curve of her neck and ear and the way the lamplight kissed her skin. He was another man then, whispering in her ear, trying to ease her pain. Sitting beside her, at Olive's long dinner table, he felt that man return.
But what would she think of him now?
He snatched another look at her bare shoulders and the soft skin beneath her collarbone. It was dusted with sandy freckles like her cheeks. Eli leaned in.
"Are you okay?"
They were the first words he'd spoken to her since she arrived. Jane peeked at him, then at Olive, who sat at the head of the table. She nodded and dropped her hands in her lap, her plate of half-eaten food forgotten.
Sounds volleyed across the room: voices and laughter and the clink of utensils against plates. Sweeping violin music screeched from distant speakers. Outside, a fierce wind whistled, stripping the trees of their autumn leaves. Gold and red and orange fluttered past the darkening windowpanes like confetti. Olive's guards lined both sides of the table; Olive sat at one end, Dr. Ghrist at the other, Eli and Jane in the middle. Eli bent his head toward Jane. Down the table, Dr. Ghrist eyed him over his glass.
"She find a job for you?" Eli asked.
"I'm not sure yet." Jane's voice — husky, impatient, firm — was comforting to hear. "Don't think she's decided."
But if Olive had no use for Jane, she'd be dead already. This dinner was further proof of her acceptance, and the implication gave Eli goosebumps. He dropped his hand beneath the table and reached for Jane's. She flinched, then eased into his touch and squeezed his fingers.
"You'll know soon, I'm sure," he croaked.
Conversation hushed for a moment. Jane shifted in her seat and glanced down the table at Olive. She chewed her food delicately with a vague smile, bulbous eyes watching her guests carefully. The voices swelled again.
"I tried to find you," Eli said.
The crease between Jane's eyes deepened. Eli studied the healing bruises and cuts across her face.
"Thought I'd got infected. Ran so I wouldn't go after you. Then I got lost," she murmured. Beneath the table, Eli stroked the top of her hand with his thumb. "All I knew to do was head north. Then they found me."
"I'm so sorry," Eli said.
A faint smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. She entwined her fingers in his, the calloused tips scraping his skin. "I'm glad you're okay."
Eli's stomach flipped. Hers was the first kind smile he'd seen in weeks. It hit him with the force of an electric shock.
You're a good man. Truly good. You want to save everyone.
But that woman was wrong. Unspoken words crowded the tip of Eli's tongue and he wanted to scream them all out at once.
Jane, I've beaten up dozens of people.
I stabbed a man in the throat.
I murdered a man's wife and daughters.
I couldn't save Lily.
Olive's laugh tinkled from the head of the table. She sipped red wine and smiled her broad, dead smile. Her eyes caught Eli's as a gust of wind rattled the windows, whipping dead leaves against the glass. His stomach lurched at the way she looked at him, what she saw. What they'd done together.
"They drag you in, too?" Jane whispered.
"Yeah." Eli kept one eye on Olive; she was talking to a guard seated next to her. "But on purpose."
"Why?"
At the other end of the table, Dr. Ghrist drank deeply from his glass and draped an arm over the back of his chair. Eli's skull prickled; nerves shot down his arms to his fingers. He clenched the hand not holding Jane's.
"The girls are here."
Jane breathed in sharply. "Where?" she nearly yelled.
Olive's pale head twitched in their direction and Eli's blood froze. He studied his plate, pushed a cold piece of steak around with his fork. A minute later, he heard Olive's throaty laugh.
Jane lowered her voice. "Where?"
"The house behind Olive's."
Jane's small hand grasped her fork and she ground her teeth. Eli missed that strength and fire, but in Grant's Hill, it would only get her in trouble.
"Is Lily here?"
When he didn't answer, Jane turned to him, her eyes boring into his. As usual, she read the truth in his face. The mossy green irises shimmered with tears. She took a deep breath and gripped her fork tighter.
"We can't talk here."
"Where?"
"Southeast corner, near the oak tre —"
A sharp clap split the air and voices grumbled to a hush. Olive sat up straight in her chair at the head of her table. She gazed at a corner behind Eli, raised her eyebrows, and three servants bustled in. They cleared away the dishes.
"I have something to say." Olive raised a hand, and everyone quieted. "Now, I know I'm not known for my charity, so you may be wondering why you're all gathered here for a luxurious meal. Call it a revelation, or a good mood, or a second wind." Olive fingered the rim of her wine glass absently. "I don't need to tell you it's been a difficult few years. But we've made such progress. We're all safe and fed and happy, despite our hardships. And that's a glorious achievement in this dark, dangerous world."
"Here, here," a few of the men called.
"Consider this dinner as a thank you for your hard work. For keeping order, helping to hinder this rebellion."
The men clinked forks and knives against their glasses, a few stomped their feet. Olive raised her hands for silence.
"I would like to bestow particular praise upon a few individuals. Marcus Simms and Joel Whittaker, for your excellent detective work." The men nodded. "And the newest member of my security team: Eli Stentz."
Olive gestured at Eli with her long-fingered hand. His skin tightened over his bones and he grasped Jane's hand underneath the table, willing Olive not to elaborate.
"Mr. Stentz has played a vital role since arriving here a couple weeks ago. No one has been more efficient, more obedient or brutal in keeping these peasants in order." She raised a glass. "You have earned your keep, Mr. Stentz."
Jane inhaled, her muscles grew stiff, and her hand slipped from his.
A slow, smattering clap erupted around the table. Eli studied the shiny mahogany table in front of him, now empty, longing to reach for Jane's hand. The applause died down and Olive lowered her glass.
"And that brings me to our newest arrival." Olive smiled at Jane. "These days, good fortune is a rare diamond. I'm happy to say, good fortune has arrived in Miss Beedie. Or shall I say, Dr. Beedie."
Olive clapped her long, slender hands in a solo applause, and the others joined in one by one as whispers hissed down the table. Beside Eli, Jane sat frozen, breath pumping in her chest, her cheeks now pale as milk under her sandy freckles. Dr. Ghrist's mouth hung open. Servants slid small plates in front of each guest, each presenting a sliver of apple pie.
"Miss Beedie is a talented and knowledgeable healer and a compassionate and selfless woman. She'll breathe new life into our humble little settlement. And a new beginning —"
"Mrs. Grant," Dr. Ghrist cut in. "I think I should assess this woman's talent and knowledge before you put her in charge of —"
"I don't require your opinion, Terry." Olive's voice shot across the table like a jet of cold water. She smiled. "As I was saying. If we're to survive in the long term, we must thrive and once again dominate this world, not hide behind walls in the shadows."
A few people hooted their assent.
"For the first time in years, I see a way forward. A way we can thrive and grow stronger." Olive laughed with a sound like wind chimes. "I don't usually speak such grand nonsense, I know. But good fortune has smiled on me."
"So you're confident the rebellion has been quashed, Mrs. Grant?" Dr. Ghrist called from his end of the table.
"No. But I am confident that the rebellion has lost its strength, that the people responsible have been shown the consequences awaiting them if they challenge me."
A pale eyebrow arched at Eli. He felt queasy.
Dr. Ghrist eased back in his chair. "That's interesting, because my impression is quite different."
Olive pursed her lips. Her eyes turned to ice chips in her skull. "Meaning?"
"That you've been fooled."
"I am no fool, Dr. Ghrist. There's little in this settlement that escapes my attention, I assure you."
The doctor's snow-white eyebrows flickered above his glasses. "Is that a fact? Then I'm sure you know these loyal men you're so quick to praise aren't as loyal as you think."
Olive grasped her now empty wine glass and her knuckles turned white. "I know all about disloyalty, Dr. Ghrist. About being used and manipulated, held hostage by fear. More so than most, I'd wager. That will soon come to an end, I assure you."
Dr. Ghrist shook his head. "Mrs. Grant" — he flicked a finger at Eli — "there is a plot being hatched right under your nose. Do you not see —"
A crack erupted in the room as Olive pounded the table with a balled first, sending dishes and utensils and cups rattling.
"Do not speak to me as if you're my superior!" she screamed. "You are not."
The silence was cut only by wind whistling outside and a chorus of tense, labored breathing. Olive forced a smile to flicker across her face.
"Dinner is over. Off with you," she said. "But Mr. Stentz, Dr. Beedie, Dr. Ghrist — you'll stay where you are."
The guards all rose at once. Chairs scraped the wood floors, low voices grumbled and drifted from the room. Olive sat at the head of her empty table, watching the servants clear the plates, the only remaining sounds the whistling wind and Olive's shrieking violin music. She hummed along with her eyes closed.
"You're blind, Olive," Dr. Ghrist said, twirling his wine glass on the table. Olive's stony mask didn't crack. "Ask your beloved Mr. Stentz what he's been doing when he's out of your sight."
Eli reached for Jane's hand, but she raised both to rest on the table, out of his reach. Olive's ice-blue eyes sprung open.
"I think it's time to have a talk
in the basement," she said, turning to the doctor. "Lead the way, Dr. Ghrist."
A smug smile slithered across Dr. Ghrist's lips. Eli's heart quickened.
The doctor rose and waltzed past Olive, back straight and nose in the air, into the kitchen. She followed. Eli traded looks with Jane and nodded. They padded through the kitchen to the basement door, their footsteps echoing in an uncoordinated chorus down the steps.
Jane didn't know what went on in the basement, but Eli's knuckles tingled.
They descended into dim light and stale air. Dr. Ghrist reached the bottom first, then Olive, Jane, and Eli. Olive stopped in an aisle between the shelves of beans and vegetables and sacks of grain and turned to face them like a performer before her audience. Her face was serene and detached, but her cheeks were flushed. Eli sensed what that meant: she was excited.
She pointed at the floor three feet in front of her.
"On your knees, Dr. Ghrist."
"Excuse me?" the doctor said. "I most certainly will not."
"Oh, yes, you will." Olive crooked an eyebrow. "Mr. Stentz."
Eli played his role. He felt Jane watching as he grabbed the doctor by his shoulder and shoved him to the ground; his kneecaps cracked on the stone and the man cried out. Deep inside him, Eli took pleasure in the sound.
"Next to me, Dr. Beedie," Olive said.
Jane stepped to Olive's side, her lips white with fear. Olive peered at Eli. He knew what her orders for him would be.
"Mr. Stentz, stand next to my prisoner."
"Prisoner?" Dr. Ghrist blurted. His eyebrows arched halfway up his wrinkled forehead and he laughed. "What is this?"
Olive stared at him without a word and inclined her head slightly at Jane.
"I meant what I said — about your talent and compassion. But I'd like to make something very clear from the start, Dr. Beedie. You belong to me. My food feeds you, my water satiates your thirst. You are alive because I allow it to be so. In return, you keep me alive and healthy. That is your job. Do you understand?"
Jane glanced at Eli, anger and defiance flashing across her face, making Eli's blood run cold. He held her eyes a moment, willing her to read his face.
Do what she says. Please, Jane.
A New America Trilogy (Book 1): The Human Wilderness Page 26
