Crisped + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 2)

by TJ Klune

“I know,” Cavalo croaked out.

  They reached the far room. It was mostly undisturbed. The covers on the bed had been thrown to the side, as if someone or someones had been awoken in the middle of the night to the sounds of the crashes from below or screams from the child’s room down the hall. How many of them had there been? How many other houses looked this same way? He wondered if he’d known the people who lived here. He wondered what it meant when someone such as him couldn’t stop shaking.

  He approached a broken window that overlooked the town center, shards of glass on the floor below. He told himself he knew what was out that window. What he’d see. What to expect. What it would mean.

  But when he saw the hundreds of bodies piled up in the snow, the hundreds of bodies of men and woman and children thrown atop each other as if they were garbage, he found he wasn’t prepared for it. Their faces. Their open mouths. Their silent screams. Their arms and fingers. Feet that stuck out into the air. Little faces that had seen things no little face should ever have seen.

  And they were all on fire.

  The dead had been piled high into the air and lit on fire. The sweet smell of burning flesh clung to the air. The smoke from the blackened skin rose toward the gray sky.

  Dead. The town was dead.

  Grangeville had never stood a chance. Not in the middle of the night. Not if they didn’t know what was coming. Not if they—

  Movement, near the burning mountain of the dead.

  He raised the bow and aimed the arrow.

  Held.

  Cordelia, the de facto leader of Grangeville, on her knees in the snow, disheveled hair around her face. Her head bowed. Little drops of blood dripped from her nose. Her hands were bound behind her back. She was only ten yards away. Cavalo could see the lines on her face. The tense set of her jaw.

  Next to her was a man Cavalo recognized as her grandson. Mac? Was that his name? Once he’d been drunk in the bar where Cavalo had gone for a drink. Young, foolish thing that he was had tried to get Cavalo into his bed. Cavalo looked at his youthful, innocent face with faint disdain and had turned him down. Repeatedly. That face was now swollen with bruises. Split lips. Blood oozed down his chin as he stared up at the sky with bruised eyes.

  Another man on Cordelia’s other side…. Cavalo didn’t recognize him. He looked no older than Mac. His arm was obviously broken, resting at an odd angle, what looked like bone poking through the skin of his forearm.

  There were others, yes. A small group standing in front of the three people on their knees. Four men. One woman. All but one of them laughed at their prisoners. They spat on them. Kicked them. Rubbed the flat side of knives against their cheeks. The woman slapped Cordelia viciously, her head rocking back, blood spraying into the snow.

  “Leave her alone!” Mac cried.

  The woman laughed. “Leave her alone! Leave her alone!” She struck Cordelia again with a closed fist.

  Her first, Cavalo thought. Arrow through her eye. Another arrow. The farthest man. In his heart. Another arrow. The smallest man through his throat. Another arrow. The laughing man. In his mouth. Another arrow. Last man. Last man. Last—

  The last man turned his head. Cavalo saw him in profile.

  Patrick.

  Bad guys, Bad Dog whispered. Bad guys and blood. Scary man and blood.

  Sweat trickled down Cavalo’s neck.

  Kill him. Do it now. Do it—

  And he would have. He would have let the arrow fly then, straight into that smiling monstrous face. It would have been the end of this, at least this part.

  But he didn’t. He didn’t fire the arrow because more Dead Rabbits began to come out of the shadows. From behind the houses on the other side of Grangeville. From storefronts. From behind the burning mountain. Dozens of them. Men and women. Black armbands on around their biceps. Some carried shovels. Bats with nails jutting out. Guns. Knives. Machetes. Swords. Grenades. RPGs. Blood on their clothes. Hands. Blood in their teeth. Sores on their faces and arms. Some had growths on their bodies. They moved quietly, like shadows.

  And they gathered behind Patrick. The light from the burning mountain flickered on their faces.

  “You had your chance,” Patrick said. His voice was almost kind. “I warned you what would happen if you chose to side against me.”

  Cordelia raised her head. Even beaten down, Cavalo could see the steel in her eyes. Tough old broad.

  Patrick smiled at her. “Fire,” he said. “Just like him.”

  “You’ll never get what you want,” Cordelia said. “People like you never do.”

  “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” Patrick said. “I’m okay with that.”

  Cordelia said nothing. The unknown man on his knees groaned. Mac’s shoulders shuddered.

  “Such savage business,” Patrick sighed. “Things didn’t used to be this way.”

  “This is your doing,” Cordelia snapped at him. “This is you. This is all because of you. There were children. They were just children.”

  “No,” Patrick said. “This is on him. For taking what belonged to me. For standing there in front of me with disdain and anger and fire burning in his eyes. Like I was nothing. Like I was no one.”

  “You are nothing,” Cordelia said. “You are no one.” She spat blood and mucus at his feet.

  Patrick shook his head sadly. “No. I am the man who has brought you to your knees. I am the man who has taken everything from you. But it didn’t have to be this way. You forced my hand. This, my dear, rests on you. I gave you a chance. I gave you an opportunity. I told you how it could be for you and your people.”

  “He will beat you,” Cordelia said. “If I know anything about him, it’s that he will be the one to kill you.”

  “Cavalo?” Patrick laughed. “He is a broken man hiding in a broken prison. He will be nothing but memory soon enough.”

  Cavalo almost fired right then. Somehow, he held.

  The unknown man next to her groaned.

  “What was that?” Patrick asked, cupping his ear.

  The Dead Rabbits laughed. It sounded like broken bones rubbing together.

  “Just… tell him…,” the man said through gritted teeth. “Please… Cordelia… just give him… what he wants.”

  “There is nothing left to give,” Cordelia snarled at him. “Thomas, he has taken everything from us. We are not him. We are not the Dead Rabbits. We will never join them. We will never fight with them. That is not who we are.”

  The female Dead Rabbit slapped her face again.

  Thomas cradled his broken arm. “If I… tell you,” he said to Patrick, “will you let me go?”

  “I think that can be arranged,” Patrick said with a smile. Cavalo thought him a liar.

  “In…. Cottonwood. There’s a person. Who. Works for… them. I overheard the others. When they were here. Before they left to find Wilkinson.”

  “Who is it?” Patrick asked. “Give me a name.”

  “It’s—”

  But that was as far as he got. Cordelia lunged at him, her teeth going to his throat. She bit down, and blood poured over her face. Thomas screamed. It echoed over the burning mountain. Cordelia pulled back, tearing out his throat. Thomas fell forward, blood spilling out onto the snow. He landed facedown. He twitched once. Twice. A shudder rolled through his body. Then he was still.

  Silence. The Dead Rabbits watched.

  Finally, Patrick said, “Well, that was unexpected. Am I going to get anything further from you?”

  Cordelia said nothing as she lay atop Thomas.

  “I thought not,” he said.

  “He will rise,” Cordelia said through skin and blood. “He will—”

  Patrick shot her in the head. Pointed the gun at Mac. Shot him in the head.

  NOW NOW NOW.

  The bowstring tensed. He lined the arrow with Patrick. He—

  Another hand grabbed his the moment before he let go. The arrow slipped from the string and clattered to the floor. Knife, Cavalo th
ought, that cool mentality of a killer falling over his mind. Elbow to the stomach. Head back into face. Spin. Knife into gut. Pull up to eviscerate.

  He saw the slender fingers on his own. Heard the breath behind him. He’d been so intent on the scene before him that he hadn’t heard anything approaching from behind. He cursed himself silently, wondering when it was he’d gotten so soft. So old.

  He shot his elbow back. Heard the sharp exhalation behind him. Dropped the bow. Knocked his head back. Empty air. Connected. He spun, pulling his knife as he moved. Brought it up in a flat arc.

  A knife already at his throat. A hand at the back of his neck.

  Lucas, eyes narrowed, nose bleeding.

  He thought to stab him anyway.

  “What are you doing?” Cavalo said in a low voice.

  You can’t, Lucas said. You can’t.

  Blood, Bad Dog whispered. He sounded as if he were dreaming.

  “Protecting him?”

  Protecting you. They would find you. There’s too many.

  “You fucking bastard.”

  Yes.

  “They killed them.”

  Yes.

  “All of them.”

  Yes.

  “Did you know?”

  No. But you did, didn’t you?

  “How many? How many are you?”

  We are many, Lucas said. We are legion.

  “It’s Wormwood,” Cavalo said. “It’s all Wormwood.”

  Lucas nodded, as if he understood. For all Cavalo knew, he might.

  “I can kill him.” He tried to move. The knife at his throat moved with him.

  You can’t. Not yet.

  “Can we do this?”

  I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not.

  With Cavalo’s knife at his side and his own against Cavalo’s throat, Lucas leaned forward. His forehead pressed against Cavalo’s, eyes glittering in the mask.

  Cavalo thought he could hear Lucas’s bees screaming above his own.

  One breathed out. The other breathed in.

  Again. And again.

  “I will kill you,” Cavalo swore. “If you betray me. If you betray any of us, I will kill you.”

  You can try, Lucas said. Do you trust me?

  “No.”

  Blood, Bad Dog whispered again.

  They stood there for a time. As shadows lengthened. As bodies burned.

  IT WAS dusk before they thought it safe to leave Grangeville.

  The Dead Rabbits were gone.

  The town stood quiet as they walked out of the house.

  The bodies smoldered. The air was thick. Cavalo thought he saw a star in a break in the clouds overhead.

  They walked between the houses. They moved with care, sticking to dark corners.

  They did not speak.

  He is a broken man hiding in a broken prison.

  Cavalo could see the hole in the wall up ahead. Fifteen miles to Cottonwood. Maybe they’d make it before morning if they moved all night. He didn’t know if he could. He was very tired.

  The town was silent, the air clearer here.

  It still felt like death.

  “Cut across the fields,” Cavalo said quietly. “Stay low. We’ll make it to the road.”

  Okay, Bad Dog said.

  Cavalo stopped. Turned.

  Lucas was gone.

  “Lucas!” he hissed.

  Nothing.

  Then:

  Bad Dog yelped in pain.

  Cavalo saw bright lights as something heavy struck the back of his head.

  He went to his knees. Hands into the snow.

  “What do we have here?” a deep voice said. “Looks like he was right. Stragglers.”

  A woman laughed. She sounded familiar. They both did.

  He looked up.

  A large black man stood in front of him, dressed in Dead Rabbit gear. A large growth protruded from his neck. The woman was also a Dead Rabbit. Their clothes were covered in gristle and dried blood. They smelled of smoke and fire. Death.

  Bad Dog lay off to the left, breathing but otherwise not moving.

  “You just get back into town?” the big man asked. “Or were you hidden?”

  He would kill them. He would kill them both.

  The woman laughed again. “He’s getting angry.”

  Lucas did this. He knew. He’d known the whole time.

  He couldn’t get his arms to move. His head was ringing. The bees were caught in a storm.

  His knife was taken from him. His rifle. His bow. His arrows. His pack.

  Get up. Get up. Get up.

  “Poor little doggy,” the woman crooned, standing above Bad Dog. “Poor little guy.”

  “Wait,” the man said. He sounded unsure. “Didn’t he say….”

  “What?” the woman asked. “Who?”

  “Get over here.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Now.”

  She left Bad Dog alone. As she passed Cavalo, she kicked him upside the head. The flashes became an entire universe of stars.

  “You stupid bitch,” the big man snarled. “Don’t you know who this is?”

  “Straggler,” she said. “You said straggler.”

  “It’s him. The man. Look at his fingers. They’re wrapped.”

  Cavalo pushed himself up. Sat back on his legs.

  “So? He broke them.”

  “Or the robot did.” The woman looked frightened for the first time. He recognized her. She was the one who’d punched Cordelia. He recognized the man. He was the man who’d almost found them hiding in the bushes with a dead deer.

  Cavalo grinned through a bloody mouth. “I know you,” he said. “I’ve seen you before.”

  “It’s him?” the woman cried.

  “It has to be.”

  “We have to tell Patrick.”

  “He’s already gone back to the Deadlands.”

  “He said he knows us.”

  “Lies.”

  “Bushes,” Cavalo said. “With the deer. I saw you. You didn’t see me.”

  The woman grabbed his face with a strong hand. Leaned forward. Kissed his mouth. He tasted blood and flesh. “Maybe he can be our little secret,” she said as she pulled away. “Maybe we can keep him to ourselves.”

  Those were the last words she spoke.

  One moment she had a smile on her face that did not reach her eyes, and the next she was flung away, her nails scraping Cavalo’s face. Shadows moved, and the woman screamed, which faded into a wet gargle. The stars were growing dimmer, and through them, Cavalo saw a flurry of movement ahead of him. Grunts. Gasps. Cries of pain.

  The stars cleared.

  The woman lay on the ground to Cavalo’s left, her throat slit from ear to ear, eyes open but unseeing.

  The big man lay on his back, hand above him as if to ward off an attack. The knife came down. Fingers fell to the ground. The man shrieked. The knife came down again. The man’s feet skittered across the snow, digging deep red grooves. Eventually he stopped moving. Stopped breathing.

  But Lucas stabbed him again. And again. And Again.

  With each thrust of the knife, Cavalo could hear him screaming in his head.

  DO YOU TRUST ME NOW?

  DO YOU TRUST ME NOW?

  DO YOU TRUST ME NOW?

  the only choice

  THEY STOPPED inside an abandoned barn five miles outside of Grangeville.

  Lucas left them and prowled the hayloft above.

  The wood creaked around them. Cavalo hoped it would hold.

  He spread a blanket on the ground.

  “You okay?” he asked Bad Dog as he turned in circles before lying down on the blanket.

  Head hurts, he said. He looked at Cavalo with big eyes. Some jerky would help.

  “Would it?”

  Yes.

  “I don’t know if we have any jerky.”

  There’s a whole bag in your pack. I can smell it.

  “Can you? You must be feeling better, then.”

  I ca
n barely smell it, Bad Dog corrected. He whined and lay his head down on his paws. Getting… dark. Must have… rabbit jerky….

  Cavalo gave him the jerky. When he was finished eating, Cavalo covered them both with another blanket and curled up at his side.

  They listened to Lucas moving above them. Pacing back and forth. Over and over.

  His bees are loud, Bad Dog whispered.

  “Are they?”

  Yes. They are always loud. But now they are really loud.

  “Oh.”

  Is it because of the bad guys?

  “I don’t know.”

  I think it’s because of the bad guys. He killed them.

  “I know.”

  Made their blood come out.

  “I know.”

  Smells Different bad guy?

  “I don’t know.” A hesitation. Then, “I don’t think so.”

  I know bad guys.

  “Do you?”

  Yes. They are scared of Bad Dog.

  “They are.”

  Smells Different not scared of Bad Dog. So he’s not a bad guy.

  “I don’t know if that’s quite how it works.”

  It works. Trust me.

  “Always.”

  MasterBossLord?

  “Yeah?”

  We going home?

  “Yes.” It felt like a lie, that word.

  SIRS at home?

  “Yes.”

  I miss my home. And my bed. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: And my SIRS.

  “Me too.” He didn’t think things would ever be the same. “Head feel better?”

  Jerky helped, Bad Dog said as his eyes closed. Maybe I should have some more in the morning, just to be sure.

  “Just to be sure. Sleep.”

  The dog took a deep breath. And slept.

  For a while Cavalo tried to follow him under. His eyes burned. His body was exhausted. His head hurt. He was cold. Even though they were miles away, he could still smell the burning mountain of the dead, sickly sweet and noxious. Could still hear the sound of the unknown man’s throat tearing as Cordelia bit into it, knowing she was already dead.

  The moon came out from behind the clouds. The light filtered in through the cracks in the barn walls.

  He lay on his back.

  Movement above him.

  Back and forth.

  He ignored it.

  He tried.

  He closed his eyes.

  He opened his eyes.