by TJ Klune
“Yes, yes. You’re scary. I know. Magnetic lock? How ridiculous! In my prison, we actually want to keep the prisoners in.” SIRS pulled on the cell door. It held at first, but something snapped in the lock and the door slid open.
“Keys?” Cavalo asked.
“None on the unfortunate man out there,” SIRS said. “I looked after Lucas smashed his head in.”
“Is he alive?”
“I’m sure he is. I get the feeling that Lucas likes to play with his food.”
Lucas looked up at the mention of his name. He was sucking on his knuckles where the skin had been split against the robot’s chest. He pulled his hand away for a moment and grinned again. His teeth were stained with blood.
Blood, Bad Dog said dreamily. Smells like blood.
SIRS took Cavalo’s hands in his and, with a neat flick of his wrist, broke the cuffs around his wrists. The chains fell to the floor. Cavalo rubbed the raw skin. “Hank took my knife. My gun.”
The robot took a step back. Clicked. Beeped. In a conversational tone said, “Sun Tzu once wrote that the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.” Clicked again. Beeped again. “We’ll get them back.”
I have a knife, Lucas said. He gripped the handle at his side.
“Not that you’re going to use it,” Cavalo told him.
Lucas licked the blood from his lips. Shrugged. Smiled again.
Cavalo walked past them out into Warren’s old office, sure he’d find the guard with his skull cracked and leaking onto the floor. He allowed himself to be surprised when the guard snored at his feet, a raised welt on the side of his head. The old rifle he’d been carrying lay beside him. Cavalo bent and picked it up. Looked down the sight. It was off. The gun looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Not that it mattered.
“Empty,” he muttered as he checked the chamber. “Guarding me with an empty gun.” He was almost insulted. And he knew that didn’t bode well for their chances in the days ahead.
If they stayed that long.
THEY KEPT to the shadows as they moved through Cottonwood. Hank and Alma hadn’t taken his words lightly as there seemed to be an increased Patrol presence along the outer wall. Cavalo counted at least ten men and women moving along the platforms, their breaths trailing behind them in a vapor. They carried rifles. Pistols. Cavalo wondered how many of them were loaded, or if they even knew how to use them.
“Stay here,” Cavalo told the dog, Dead Rabbit, and robot. They stood near the back of a shed across from Hank’s house. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” He glanced over at the Dead Rabbit. “And no killing.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. The more you say it, the more I want to do it. He pulled his knife from its sheath and slashed the air around him.
“Keep him here,” Cavalo said to SIRS. “I mean it this time.”
SIRS sounded affronted. “I tried to keep him at the prison,” he said. “It’s not my fault he was worried about you.”
“He wasn’t worried,” Cavalo said.
I worry all the time, Lucas said, pointing the knife at him. The tip scraped against Cavalo’s arm, causing a shallow scratch. It didn’t bleed, but Cavalo had to stop himself from breaking the Dead Rabbit’s arm. I worry about so many things.
Cavalo didn’t believe him.
The knife pressed harder before it was withdrawn. Lucas sheathed it again, his gaze never leaving Cavalo. I worry what your insides look like. If they’re crawling with bees.
Cavalo ignored him, looking back up toward the house. It was dark. Dawn was still hours away. They’d be asleep. Deke. Aubrey. Hank. He’d be quiet. Get his answers. Then he could think about the next step. It was that easy.
Don’t get shot again, Bad Dog said. Tell Boy Deke to put down the boomstick.
“I won’t,” Cavalo told him. “And I will.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” SIRS asked.
“No. But it’s all I’ve got.”
He started toward the house.
And was stopped when a hand reached out and grabbed his own, pulling him back. He glanced down and saw Lucas’s hand holding his own. He didn’t understand. The grip tightened, grinding his bones together. He looked up at the Dead Rabbit. His eyes glittered in the oily mask.
Cavalo waited.
Lucas appeared to war with himself. He looked away, toward the dark house. His mouth stretched into a thin line.
“I’m coming back,” Cavalo said. He didn’t know why he felt the need to reassure Lucas. He didn’t know why Lucas was here at all.
Lucas nodded tightly. He let go of Cavalo’s hand and took his knife out once more. Flipped it and caught it by the blade. Held the handle out to Cavalo. Take it, he said.
Cavalo hesitated. “I don’t think I’ll—”
Insistent. Take it. Take it.
Cavalo took the knife. “What about you?”
Lucas gnashed his teeth. I don’t need it.
“No eating anyone,” Cavalo said sternly, pointing the knife back at him.
Lucas just smiled.
Cavalo took a breath and left his strange group hiding in the shadows.
The house was quiet as Cavalo stepped onto the porch.
He tried the front door. Locked, of course. Cavalo would have been disappointed if it’d been that easy.
The front window was locked too. That was easier. He stuck the knife between the frame and bent it back until the wood cracked, and the window popped up with a low groan. He stuck the knife in his teeth as he propped the window up with a small slat of wood set against the frame. He climbed in, feeling strangely guilty about the act.
This is Hank, he told himself.
Who is not who he seemed, he told himself.
The house settled around him as he stood in an old mudroom. He took the knife from his mouth.
Low lights flickered through a doorway off to his left. Little flashes of orange and red. Dancing shadows. Cavalo thought it beautiful.
He walked through the doorway.
The fire in the fireplace burned brightly. The room was warm.
From his chair in front of the fire, Hank said, “I wondered how long it would take you.” He didn’t look at Cavalo.
“Waiting long?” Cavalo asked quietly. He listened for the sounds of an ambush: the quick intake of breath, the light steps of feet. There was only the pop of fire and wood, the shifting of the old farmhouse.
Hank shrugged. “There are many answers to that question, Cavalo.”
“Cryptic doesn’t sit well on you, Hank.”
“I don’t mean to be,” he said with a sigh. He lifted a glass filled halfway with a dark liquid to his lips and drank. His throat worked, and Cavalo gripped the knife tightly in his hands. The blade flashed against the firelight. “Scotch,” Hank said as he lowered the glass. “One of the caravans had it. Never opened. Cost me an arm and a leg, but I had to have it. From 2004.” He shook his head. “Hard to believe there was ever such a time as Before.”
“I don’t know what year it is now,” Cavalo admitted.
Hank laughed, but there was no humor in it. “It is the year of our Lord 2123. Give or take a year. I don’t think anyone knows for sure.”
“SIRS does. Probably.”
“He here?”
Cavalo said nothing.
“Of course he is,” Hank said. “And Bad Dog. And your Dead Rabbit. What happened to Jacob?”
“Jacob?”
“The guard.”
“Will wake up with a headache,” Cavalo said. “Nothing more. Though you should tell him to clean his gun. And actually put bullets in it.”
Hank winced. “Saw that, did you?”
“Yes.”
Hank looked over at him for the first time since he’d walked into the room. He looked older than Cavalo had ever seen him, and his eyes were bloodshot. Cavalo wondered how much of the scotch he’d had tonight. “Thought you might.”
“You knew I’d get out.”
“Maybe. Probably. You never were
one for cages, except for the ones you made for yourself.”
“Deep, Hank.”
Hank glanced down at the knife. “Are you here to kill me, Cavalo? I thought us friends once.”
“No.”
“To which? Killing or friends?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might.”
“The first.”
Hank nodded. “We were friends, weren’t we?”
“I think so.”
“But not anymore.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why him?”
“Who?”
“The Dead Rabbit. Lucas.”
Cavalo knew what he meant, even though he didn’t want to. “I don’t know. He… smells different, I guess.”
Hank arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Cavalo shook his head. “No. That’s what Bad Dog calls him. Smells Different.”
“Ah,” Hank said, as if it all made sense.
“But he is. Different.”
“Than what?”
“The rest.”
“You didn’t seem to think so when you brought him here with a rope tied around his neck.”
“Things change.”
“They do. Who would have thought you’d be standing in my house in the middle of the night after breaking out of our jail, deciding whether or not you really want to use that knife on me?”
“I don’t.”
“Your eyes say differently.”
“It’s the bees,” Cavalo said.
“That buzzing in your head.”
“Yes.”
“It wants you to use that knife.”
“Yes.” The bees wanted him to end this once and for all and leave this foolish man to the fate he’d created for himself.
“Can you control them? The bees.”
“For now.”
“And Bad Dog? Lucas? SIRS? Can they control theirs?”
“Yes.” That felt like a lie. He remembered the sound of his bones breaking as SIRS bent his fingers. The blood on the Dead Rabbit’s teeth.
“You know what’s at stake.”
“Yes.”
Kill him, the bees said. Stab him and let his blood out to see what colors it would make in the firelight.
“If Patrick finds out about Dworshak. If he gets Lucas back. If he gets power. Water. It’ll be over, Cavalo. For all of us. It won’t be long before there are missiles and bombs. Satellites with lasers. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. If he wins. If we give him what he wants.”
“All you’ve done is given him what he wanted,” Cavalo retorted.
Hank closed his eyes. “Because there was nothing else we could do. Before.”
“And now?”
“There’s a chance.”
“For?”
“A life. For my children. For their children. For others.”
“Do you think of them?” He took a step toward Hank, gripping the knife again.
“Who?” Hank did not look afraid as he opened his eyes.
“The people you’ve killed. The people you’ve sent to die.”
“Every day.” Hank’s voice shook. “I don’t sleep much anymore. I see them all when I close my eyes. That look. That look of understanding. Of what we were doing. Of what would happen to them. Have you ever seen that look, Cavalo? All fear and anger and hatred rolled into one.”
“Like a cornered animal.” A bear in a cave.
“Yes.”
“I have,” Cavalo said. He bent over until he was level with Hank, the knife pressed against the side of Hank’s head. “I see it in you right now.”
The bees screamed.
Hank took a deep breath.
Cavalo stepped away.
“Grangeville,” he said.
“What?” Hank asked. A tear trickled down his cheek.
“We have to tell them. About what’s coming. They’ll need to help. They’ll need to hide. Cottonwood would be easier to defend.”
Hank shook his head. “We can’t fit all of them here. We’d be bursting at the seams.” He sounded dazed.
“I know. That’s why those who can’t fight—the children, the elderly, the infirm—they’ll go to the prison with SIRS. The defense grid will hold them. It’ll be tight, but they should fit.”
“You have enough power?”
Only just. “Yes. And Dworshak. You’ll need to send a team to Dworshak. To make sure it still stands. That the Dead Rabbits haven’t found it. People you trust. People who can move quietly. Send two or three who know what to look for.”
“And you?”
“I’ll take Lucas to Grangeville. They’ll want proof. We’ll be gone only a day. We can’t take any more than that.”
“What will I do?”
Cavalo looked into the fire. “Prepare,” he said. “We have eighteen days.”
“They’ll need convincing. The people. Cottonwood.”
“Then I suggest you think of something. You’ll tell them later today.”
“And Patrick? How… we need him. His… skin. If he’s got the other half.”
“I know.” Cavalo hadn’t gotten that far yet. He was surprised at how much he’d already said. He should have killed Hank and left. Talking always messed things up. “I need to sleep. Is the house down the way still vacant?”
“That’s it, then? You think I will just let you go?”
Cavalo chuckled bitterly. “You don’t have a choice. Not anymore. Is the damn house vacant?”
“Yeah. Go. I need to think. And sober up.”
Cavalo turned and was almost out of the room when Hank called his name. When Cavalo glanced back at him, the big man had stood from his chair and stepped toward the fire. “Does it ever stop?”
“What?”
“Seeing them. When you close your eyes.”
“No,” Cavalo said. “And sometimes, you see them even when your eyes are open. That’s how you know you’re well and truly fucked.”
He left Hank sitting in the dark.
THE DOOR to the empty house was unlocked. It was cold inside. SIRS found some blankets in a closet. They were musty, and Bad Dog sneezed as he curled up against Cavalo for warmth.
“I’ll keep watch,” SIRS said. “But we have to hurry, Cavalo. I have to get back to the prison.” He sounded desperate. “I can’t be out in the world like this for long. I am slipping. I can feel it already.”
“Won’t be long. I promise. I have plans for you.”
“Okay.” A bit of relief crept into the robot’s voice. “I miss our home. Funny, that.”
Cavalo propped his head up and looked beyond the robot. Lucas stood near the door, flipping his knife again and again. The scowl was back. “You should sleep,” Cavalo told him. “You’ll need it. You and I are going on a trip.”
I’m not going anywhere with you.
“You will.”
Go to sleep, Lucas said. Go to sleep so I can cut your heart out.
“There’s a blanket there if you need it. It’s going to be cold.” He looked away before he could see the reply. He turned toward Bad Dog, who huffed at him.
“What?” Cavalo whispered.
He wants to come down here too. Smells Different wants to be in our Bad Dog pile.
“No.”
Yes. His bees are too loud, though.
“You can hear them?”
Yes. They scream. Like yours do sometimes. Except his are all the time.
“Go to sleep.”
Bad Dog did. And somehow, Cavalo followed him.
Until he was awoken a short time later.
He opened his eyes. Bad Dog snored against his chest, his tail twitching against Cavalo’s leg. And from behind him, a warm body pressed against his back. Cavalo turned his head and found eyes glittering in the dark, a knife pressed against his ribs. Cavalo thought it possibly a dream. Surely it felt like one. The man and Dead Rabbit watched each other for a time. No words were spoken. For once, the bees did not make a sound. It was
in this incredible silence that Cavalo realized he did not want to look away.
Eventually Cavalo laid his head back down. He brought his hand up to the Dead Rabbit’s and pressed down. The knife dug into his side. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting. The scrape of the knife told Cavalo he wasn’t dreaming. The scrape of a kiss behind his ear told Cavalo he wasn’t sane. And with the breath of a clever monster upon his neck, Cavalo slept again.
WHEN MORNING came, the town of Cottonwood gathered around them, distrust and fear in their eyes. They whispered to each other. They pointed fingers. They bowed their heads. They swayed like trees. Cavalo wondered if all they saw when they looked at him was blood. On his hands. On his face. In his teeth. Every part of him told him to run. To run and never look back. And when he looked up at the town around him again, he saw the blood on their hands. On their faces. In their teeth.
They were no different. They thought themselves better, but they were no different.
Cavalo glanced down at Bad Dog at his side. His posture was rigid as he eyed the townsfolk. A low rumble came from his chest. Every now and then his teeth flashed.
Cavalo looked to SIRS next to Bad Dog. His posture was rigid as he eyed the townsfolk. He clicked and beeped. Every now and then his eyes flashed.
Cavalo looked to Lucas on his other side. His posture was rigid as he eyed the townsfolk. His black mask was smeared around his narrowed eyes. Every now and then, his teeth flashed.
They were the same. He thought they were better, but they were no different.
Hank spoke. He said many things about power and water and Dworshak. About light and darkness. He spoke of their fallacies. About the blood on all their hands. Of the decisions made in the past. Of choices that had to be made in the days ahead. He spoke of who the Dead Rabbits wanted. Of what they would do if the town complied. About what the town would do if they did not. Of cycles ongoing. Of cycles broken.
Alma stood with the crowd. She caught Cavalo’s eye once. Held. Looked away.
The questions came as Cavalo knew they would. People could not live this close to the Deadlands and have seen what they’d seen without questions. Especially when it involved a Dead Rabbit. There was disbelief in the words as they were shouted. Skepticism. Even anger. Cavalo thought of mobs forming. Like a hive filled with bees. He started to dig his feet into the earth, cataloging those that would be the most immediate threat. They would be the first to fall, their life’s blood spilling onto the dirt before they even knew what had happened. It would be regrettable, but necessary. The sight of blood would either cow the rest or send them all into a frenzy. Either/or would do Cavalo just fine.
