He was glad to be condemned. They’d removed him from the situation, and Mama’s death and resurrection had ceased being his problem. He’d tried to do his duty to Mama, to respect her wish to stay dead. He’d done everything in his power, and it wasn’t his problem, any longer.
Of course, once they finished, they would take him back to the farm so he could take care of everyone. Half a dozen times he made up his mind to just leave. He would forsake his duty to his family and just head to the Midwest, where no one knew about lazy William Baker, and he only had to take care of himself. He could enjoy life. He would invite Franky along, at the least. Strangely, aside from Franky, the person he would miss most was Miss Sadie. Stanley, he could take with him.
But every time he resolved to leave, duty always called him back, weakened his resolve.
All those thoughts went out the window when the bells rang.
Stretching his arms out behind him, wincing at the pain, he pressed his face up against the cool glass. In the street below, the militiamen ran south, toward the edge of town. They tried to stay in rows, it seemed, but generally failed. The flow continued for several minutes, and slowed to a trickle of men. Thomas turned his head and pressed a cheek and ear against the glass, trying to look down the street, but he couldn’t see far enough to know what transpired at the south end of town. He could only see the straggling militiamen, and hear the bells.
If the zombies overcame the army, they would eventually find and kill him, too. But at least then he wouldn’t have to go to the asylum. And he wouldn’t have to make restitution for the barn. Or endure Charles any more.
He returned to the bed, sat on its edge. His stomach rumbled. He listened to the bells.
He wouldn’t have minded joining the fight. If he was going to die, he might as well die fighting evil. He knew the stories of when the Moabites had invaded, before. In fact, Mama had given birth to him and Charles on the day that the barrier went up. The zombies within the barrier had instantly caught fire and turned to ash, while the Moabites had retreated, leaving a city of tents behind. The barrier apparently caused a buzzing of bees in the head of anyone who’d participated in the raising of zombies. If such a person left the barrier, the buzzing stopped. Thomas didn’t understand how that worked. Strange magic.
Feet shuffled outside the door, and he looked up. They’d posted a guard, and from time to time Thomas had heard him snoring in the night. But he hadn’t heard a sound from the guard since a little bit before the bells started to ring.
The knob of the door jiggled, as if someone tried to turn it. Then came the metallic sound of a key entering a lock, the click of it turning. A moment later, the door opened.
And there stood Miss Sadie.
In boy’s clothing. Gray trousers, a cream button shirt, black suspenders and boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. Her curly bangs spilled out from beneath the hat, falling down her forehead and cheeks. She gave Thomas a no-nonsense look.
Thomas stood. “What are you doing here?”
She stepped into the room and closed the door. Her faint floral scent touched his nose as she turned to him, face solemn. She looked at ease in the clothes, even if Thomas found it unusual to see her in them. She stood with grace and poise. The pants outlined the shape of her legs. The shirt pulled tighter in the chest. No wonder women didn’t wear clothes like that: it wasn’t good for men.
She didn’t speak for several seconds, but stared at him with that same look he’d already gotten to know so well.
“What are you thinking when you look at me like that?” he asked. He had the urge to turn his gaze away from that visual digging, but fought it. “It looks like you’re trying to see what makes my soul. Like you’re looking as deep into me as you can.”
She didn’t respond. Just looked, furrowing her brow and shaking her head just a little. The silence grew uncomfortable, and he looked for words to fill it.
“I didn’t ever think I’d see you in boy’s clothes.”
“Oh? What did you think you might see me in?”
His face grew hot. “What do you want?”
“I won’t be caught running from zombies while wearing a dress, again. Last time could have gone badly.”
“I remember well,” he said. “Seems you made ground beef out of two zombies.”
“Did it scare you?” A wry smile touched her lips.
“’Surprised’ would be a better word.”
She nodded, took a deep breath, and assumed a weighty expression. “Your family left an hour ago. Apparently they’ll reach the top of Angel’s Landing around noon, and resurrect her.”
He tried not to look surprised, though he hadn’t thought they’d leave so early. An unexpected regret came to him. Not only would he not stop them, but he also would miss Mama’s resurrection. That was probably akin to missing a child's birth.
“It’s just as well.”
“I thought you wanted to stop the resurrection.”
“I did. I do.”
“They why is it 'just as well'?”
“Because I’ve done everything I could. But no one will listen to me, and even fire can’t stop them.”
“Burning the barn was an interesting choice.”
He shrugged. Now, looking back, it did seem a bit insane. Drastic, too. But at the time, it had seemed like his only option.
What was she driving at? What did she want to know? He would tell her anything if she would just quit talking at obtuse angles. He would pretty much do anything she asked, anytime.
“Do you really want to stop it? The resurrection?”
He laughed and shook his head, sat back down on the edge of the bed.
“Of course I do. I destroyed a man’s property and animals to try and stop it.”
She took a step toward him, and folded her arms. “And why is that? Why do you want to keep her dead?”
“How many times have I said it?”
“I don’t think your reasoning is honest. I don’t think you want to keep her dead to respect her wishes.”
“Well, that’s the reason. It’s a matter of respect. Look, if you just came here to impugn me, then you can leave. I’m not interested in anyone’s judgments and dirty looks. If I wanted that, I’d—.” He nearly said that he would resurrect Mama.
She raised her eyebrows, and shook her head. “You’re lying. Want to know why I think you don’t want her to live again?”
“Not really, no.”
“It’s because you hate her.”
He looked up, clenching his jaw and inhaling through his nose. Though others had made the same accusation, from her it felt solid, more like a bullet piercing his heart than a slap on the wrist. Did it hurt because it was true, or because it was false?
“Well, thank you very much for that unique insight. Enough people haven’t said the exact same thing to me.”
“They’re just guessing, though. I’m not. I can read people.” But her face became troubled, her tone less certain.
“Can you, now? The way you look at me, it sure seems like you can’t figure me out.”
Her confidence wavered. He sensed it in how her posture changed, sagged just a bit, how her face softened and her head tilted to one side.
“I think you hate her.”
He clicked his tongue. “You don’t sound so certain, anymore.”
Her expression deteriorated further, into a graceful scowl. “I can read people, you know. I have the gift. I can read most people without a problem. I can reconcile their actions with what I read in them.”
“That must be very interesting.”
It made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like the idea of someone analyzing him. Of course, she’d been doing it all along. He’d guessed right about that look she gave him—she was trying to understand him every time.
“It’s fascinating,” she said. “But you’re different than most people. I can’t make sense of you. You’re too inconsistent with your emotions and actions. They don’t match very often. It's dif
ferent than most people. Most people just lie. I can tell when they do. But you—I can't figure you out.”
Thomas’s discomfort raised a notch. Why did she insist on invading his personal domain like that? Was it just a female thing to do, to try and figure you out?
“I don’t know whether or not to be flattered that you can’t figure me out.”
She looked at him long and hard, shook her head as if telling herself something. Then she stepped forward to him, knelt on the bed beside him. So close, he could smell her skin and hair. She’d taken a bath or shower since the hatchery, and smelled fresh, clean. Like flowers.
She leaned around him, reaching for his hands. The ropes tugged on his wrist.
“You’re untying me?”
The ropes loosened. He could move his wrists, slide them across each other a bit. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how much his wrists had hurt.
She didn’t answer. She leaned into him further, her body against his shoulder. To his dismay, his heartbeat raced at her closeness, and the smell of flowers. A strand of her blond hair tumbled down over his shoulder, into his face. He bit his lip.
Was this what happened to all his friends? A girl got close and they lost all reasoning? Body and natural instincts just took over, made the decisions for them? Took their freedom away.
He fought it, told himself to calm down, that he didn’t want anything to do with girls or their bodies or hair.
The ropes came loose. She slipped them over his hands, and off. But she didn’t move away immediately. Instead she rocked back on her knees just a little, so that her face was right next to his, just inches away. Her breath brushed across his nose. He could smell it—like oats. He’d never looked at a girl’s face so closely, before. He’d always just moved in for the kiss.
She held her face there, almost like she waited for him to kiss her, almost like she would kiss him. It was as much an invitation as Miss Wendy’s pushing the barn door almost closed, jumping back into the hay with a laugh, and inviting him to join her. He certainly wanted to accept Miss Sadie’s invitation. How soft would her lips feel against his? How supple? How warm or wet?
But he wouldn’t do it. He wanted to—blessings, how he wanted to just lean in close to her—but he didn’t. He wouldn’t let his instincts determine his actions like his friends had.
Disappointment flickered across her eyes as she blinked and turned her head away. She stood up. He both hated it and loved it.
He brought his hands around to his front, surprised at how it hurt his shoulders and biceps. He’d thought his body couldn’t hurt much more than it already did. Blowing out a breath, he rubbed his wrists in turn.
“Why are you freeing me?”
She stood above him. The studious expression had returned to her face.
“Because I want to see what you’ll do. And I want to figure out why you do it.”
“Am I some kind of experiment?”
She shook her head. A wry smile touched her lips.
“You’re much more than that. You’re a person of unique interest to me.”
Now he blushed. No girl had ever spoken to him like that. Not even Miss Wendy. Not ever. He was just some poor country boy with out-of-style clothes and a hat with a silly red cloth around it. At the hoedowns he’d danced and laughed with girls, and while some had kissed him, none had ever taken interest in him. Only Miss Wendy. And Miss Sadie.
She went to the door and opened it. The hallway beyond stood empty. No guard. He must’ve gone to help with the zombies. The bells, forgotten during the exchange, still rang. She stepped around the doorway and returned a moment later with his knife. It was the only thing they’d taken from him when they’d incarcerated him. She handed it to him, and he took it.
“You have your freedom, Thomas. You can leave here and stop your family from resurrecting your mother, or you can stay here. Face your punishment like a man. The choice is yours.”
He stood up, ignoring the aching of his back and legs.
A gun fired in the distance. Then another, followed by an extended volley.
If he left the jail, he would suffer greater punishments later. If, of course, anyone lived through the battle with the zombies. Yet, he could stop his family from resurrecting Mama. He knew he could. He just didn’t know how.
On the other hand, he could also take the opportunity to leave. To do what he wanted to and head east. Perhaps in the confusion of the battle, people would think the zombies had eaten him. Maybe then Franky wouldn’t feel abandoned. Stanley would probably never forgive him, though.
I know what a good son would do. The question is: did I teach you well enough that you’ll make the right choice? Do you understand your duty enough?
“Do zombies eat people?” he said.
She raised her eyebrows. “What are you going to do, Thomas?”
There was no question what he wanted to do. In the end, there was also no question on what he would do.
“I’m going to stop that family of mine. What about you? Just going to watch?”
She shook her head. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
“Well then.” He grabbed his hat off the table. “Let’s go see that my Mama stays good and dead.”
When I took Thomas and Charles to Zion’s Canyon, and atop Angel’s Landing, Thomas hardly spoke a dozen words in that canyon. Charles would not shut up about the horse he rode with me. That day saw the start of many things.
Chapter 25: Desecration of holy ground
Out on the street, in the cool morning air, women and children ran every which way, terror on their faces. Men with rifles and swords headed south, where the militia gathered and spread out. Smoke from gunpowder hung in the air in that direction, although the gunshots had stopped. Thomas could smell the sharpness of the spent powder. Through the haze, and due to the mob of men at the end of the street, he could not see any zombies.
“Those guns won’t do any good,” Miss Sadie said as she ran along Thomas’s side.
“They did fine back in Hurricane.”
She grunted and shook her head, as if to mock his naiveté.
“It was a few hundred against two dozen. A hundred bullets will stop a zombie because they’ll shred its body so it can’t walk or move. This time the odds will be fairly close.”
“You and I did relatively well against two zombies.”
“That was different. Those zombies were focused on getting me. If their purpose had been to kill us . . . ”
He understood, intuitively, that she spoke the truth. “It’ll be a slaughter, here.”
She shrugged. “Maybe the barrier will go back up.”
They ran north. Faces peered out of windows at them. More than one woman in the street shot them a dirty look, no doubt wondering why Thomas wasn’t off fighting with the rest of the men. Well, he had his own fight ahead of him. He had no idea what he would do, and he might very well arrive too late, but he needed to go to Angel’s Landing.
At the far end of town, they came to the farm where Thomas had wrought his arson. The barn lay in a pile of ash and charred wood. Smoke still rose from the deepest parts, and heat still lifted in shimmering waves. He paused to admire his handiwork.
“Pretty effective job,” he said. “If I do say so myself.”
She grunted and went on to the corral. There, her horse waited, along with several others. From a nearby shed and stables, they pulled out her saddle, and found one for Thomas. He selected a mellow-looking mare that didn’t seem as jumpy as the other horses, and started to saddle her up. As Miss Sadie tightened a buckle on her own horse, she gave him an amused look.
“You can’t choose one that has more spirit?”
“I’m no Charles,” he said. “I’m not a fabulous rider. I don’t want speed. I want poise and endurance. She’ll do fine.”
As they finished preparing their horses, a woman emerged from the house and stood on the porch. She shouted at them. Something about stealing horses, but did not
approach.
“Lovely. I’m not only an arsonist, but also a horse thief.”
“The worst kind of person,” Miss Sadie said as she mounted. She seemed quite accustomed to pants and settled into the saddle with ease. With a frown, she adjusted her grip on the reins. “We can ride double on my horse, if you want.”
Thomas liked the idea of being so close to her. “We need speed. I’ll just have to deal with being a horse thief later.”
Ignoring the woman’s continued shouting, they headed out at a trot. For the first half mile the road followed the river on the right, with pinion pines and junipers growing close on the left. On both sides of the river, the ground sloped up past the trees and river, growing steeper for more than half a mile, until the hills touched the bases of the sacred cliffs of Zion’s Canyon. To the left, west, sunlight brightened the top half of the cliffs, making them practically glow white and red, but those to the east still lay in shadow. Thomas couldn’t help but stare at the cliffs as they rode, marveling at their height, coloring, and steepness.
These were not the cliffs of stories: sheer faces rising like unnaturally smooth walls at a uniform height. Instead, these cliffs consisted of massive, jagged sequences of white and red stone, rising to handfuls of peaks that varied in height. With a little bit of courage, a lot of care, and a fair amount of time, a person could have climbed most of those cliffs. Quite suddenly, Thomas remembered wanting to do exactly that the one time he’d come to Zion’s. He hadn’t ever thought of that in the years since, but now it came to him with clarity.
Further into the canyon, the cliffs would become the stuff of stories: sheer, unclimbable faces. In fact, Angel’s Landing would have proven impossible to get up if not for the round-about way up the back. And even then, if Thomas remembered correctly, the climb included a number of spots that, if you slipped at, you’d end up splattered all over the rocks below.
As they rode away from town, the guns started up again, a dull roar in the distance. The sound diminished to stray echoes off of the mountains, and soon fell behind. Except for Thomas’s and Miss Sadie’s own breathing and the clop of their horses’ hooves, the quiet of nature closed in around them: the river rushing by, the sigh of the wind in the trees, the singing of birds, and the occasional chatter of squirrels. Thomas and Miss Sadie didn’t speak, but did ride side-by-side.
Keep Mama Dead Page 23
