Crisped + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 2)

by TJ Klune

  He didn’t know that it mattered.

  They had work to do.

  Bad Dog watched him.

  “How’s your head?” he asked.

  Okay. He bumped his nose against Cavalo’s chin. It was cold. Huh.

  “What?”

  You smell different. Like Smells Different.

  “Oh?” Cavalo didn’t know what else to say.

  He smells like you too. He sounded strangely elated.

  “That so.”

  Bad Dog rubbed his head against Cavalo’s chest. Now you smell like me too. We all smell the same. Good smells. Not like yesterday. With the burning.

  No. Not like yesterday at all. Funny how quickly things could change.

  I had a funny dream last night.

  “Oh?”

  There was a rabbit.

  “You like rabbits.”

  Because they’re crunchy. And I bite them with my teeth.

  “Is that what you dreamed?”

  No. I was running for the rabbit. We were in the trees. In the forest. I was chasing the rabbit. It was really fast. There was a fire. It ran into the fire. I didn’t want to follow it, but I really wanted the rabbit.

  “What did you do?”

  Jumped into the fire. I thought I was going to get burned up! But it did not hurt me. And then you were there, and you told me I was a Good Dog, that I was a Good Bad Dog.

  “Is that it?”

  There were bees. On your eyes. They were really loud. I chased them away.

  “Things are happening.”

  Gonna be okay?

  “I don’t know.”

  Could we die?

  He wanted to lie, but he couldn’t. Not to his friend. “Maybe. Probably. There will be death. But there doesn’t have to be. We could leave.”

  We could?

  “Yes.”

  With SIRS? And Smells Different?

  “Yes.”

  And go where?

  “Anywhere you want.”

  Bad guys coming?

  “Yes.”

  For BigHank? AlmaLady?

  “Yes. But they’ve done things. Bad things.”

  They bad guys?

  Cavalo hesitated. Then, “No. They did the only thing they could.”

  Can’t leave.

  “No?”

  No. We’re MasterBossLord and Bad Dog. We get bad guys and make them pay! And no matter where you run, if bad guys are after you, they’ll find you. It doesn’t matter how far you get, they’ll find you. It’s better to turn and fight than get shot in the back with a boomstick. He licked Cavalo’s chin. And we don’t run.

  “We don’t run.”

  Never. Bad Dogs and MasterBossLords don’t run from bad guys.

  Cavalo didn’t have the heart to tell him that all he’d ever done was run. “Okay,” he said simply.

  We stay?

  “We’ll stay.”

  The bee-covered door with a dripping black mask closed behind them and disappeared.

  everyone dies

  THEY WERE cautious as they approached Cottonwood. After what they’d seen, they took no chances.

  It was midday, and the clouds above were growing fat and gray. The wind had started to pick up, pushing at their backs as if hurrying them back to Cottonwood. Not much was said between the three of them, but there didn’t have to be. Things were different now from when they’d left the day before.

  “Stop!” a voice cried out from the wall.

  They stopped.

  “Cavalo?”

  “Yes,” he called back.

  “Bad Dog and the Dead Rabbit?”

  “Yes.”

  “You alone?”

  “Looks like.”

  Silence. Then, “They’re not coming, are they. Grangeville.”

  Cavalo allowed his voice to harden. “Either shoot or let me in.”

  For a moment Cavalo fully expected a bullet. Instead, the southern gate began to rise.

  Lucas pulled his knife.

  “Easy,” Cavalo said.

  So you say.

  Hank stood in front of a small group that gathered inside the gate. Aubrey stood at his side, a rifle slung up on her shoulder. Cavalo thought he saw Alma, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Put the knife away,” Cavalo said.

  No.

  “You’re making them nervous.”

  They should be.

  Hank reached him first. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” he asked.

  Cavalo met his eyes. “No. Bill and them get off okay?”

  “Yes. They’ll be back in a few days.”

  “SIRS?”

  “At the prison. Is it bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re not willing to help? That doesn’t sound like Cordelia.” He frowned, and Cavalo could see he didn’t truly believe his words.

  “They’re dead.”

  He took a step back. “What?”

  “We were too late.”

  Hank looked shocked. “All of them?”

  “As far as we could tell.”

  “How?”

  “Dead Rabbits.”

  Cavalo did not miss the thunderous glance Hank gave Lucas. “How do you know?”

  “I watched them. Patrick. His people. Cordelia was still alive. Mac. Another. They said….” He stopped. Looked up at Hank. Hank was right. They’d been friends. Once. Maybe they still were. Things had changed. “They killed them. Burned the bodies. All of them. I think they came at night.”

  “But Grangeville had at least five hundred people in it!”

  “And Patrick has an army.”

  Hank shook his head. “Can we do this? Do we even have a chance?”

  “You know what the alternative is,” Cavalo said.

  A low cry went up behind Hank. A woman in the crowd had heard them. Another was running toward town. It would spread. Quickly.

  “You’ll have to convince them,” Hank said, looking shell-shocked. “We’re alone now, and you’ll have to convince them.”

  “No,” Cavalo said. “I’ll tell them the truth. There’s no one coming to help us. We’re in this on our own. It’ll be up to them to convince themselves.”

  He saw Alma then. Standing in the growing crowd, hood pulled over her head. Their eyes met. He didn’t know what she saw, but whatever it was caused her to look away.

  THEY GATHERED in front of Hank’s house, all of them, as the snow began to fall again.

  At first there were whispers:

  How can they all be dead?

  Dead Rabbits.

  What do we do now?

  My brother lived there!

  Dead Rabbits.

  How did they die?

  Were they burned?

  Eaten?

  Murdered?

  Dead Rabbits.

  Did they suffer?

  Was there suffering?

  The voices raised:

  Dead Rabbits.

  They did this!

  How can we beat them?

  They’re going to come for us next!

  Dead Rabbits!

  We’re all going to die!

  We need to run!

  We need to leave!

  We need to fight back!

  We can’t be scared anymore!

  It’s his fault.

  It’s that Dead Rabbit. That Lucas.

  People began to shout. To scream:

  DEAD RABBITS!

  GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT!

  HOW CAN YOU HAVE LET THIS HAPPEN?

  WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?

  WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?

  DEAD RABBITS!

  IT’S HIM THEY WANT!

  NOT US!

  GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT!

  THEY’LL LEAVE US ALONE!

  THEY ALWAYS HAVE!

  WE’VE SURVIVED THIS LONG!

  WE DON’T CARE ABOUT POWER!

  GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT!

  GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT!

  GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT!
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  Cavalo knew the power of the combined minds of men. He could see the fear in their eyes, saw them swarming like bees. The snow fell around them as they began to shout. Their fists raised into the air. Some waved guns. Some waved clubs. Some demanded they kill Lucas right then and there. Others watched with tears streaming down their faces. Children were held and hugged, unsure of what was going on. The crowd would surge forward at any moment, and when they did, Cavalo knew blood would be spilled.

  But not his. Nor would it belong to Bad Dog or Lucas.

  No, the bees whispered. It would be them. Anyone that dares attack any of you. Look at Lucas with his knife. Look at Bad Dog with his teeth. Look at you with your gun. They may get in a few good swings, but how many of them would fall before you would? And how many would you kill to stop them?

  All of them. Cavalo would kill all of them.

  “You all need to calm down now,” Hank said, raising his voice.

  “IT’S THE DEAD RABBITS!”

  “KILL THE DEAD RABBIT!”

  “HE DID THIS!”

  “HE BROUGHT THIS TO OUR HOMES!”

  “HE’S ONE OF THEM!”

  Any second now it would start, and the blood would spill.

  Bad guys? the dog barked at him. Are they bad guys?

  Let them come, Lucas snarled, brandishing his knife. Let them come.

  Lose something, Charlie? Cavalo thought.

  He raised his hand above his head.

  And for the fiftieth time since he struck out on his own following the death of his father, Cavalo fired his gun.

  It was old but well maintained. He felt the pleasure of pounds of pressure it took to pull the trigger back. The rise and fall of the hammer. The firing pin against the cartridge. The detonation of the gunpowder. The flash of smoke and fire. He regretted the loss of the bullet. He did. They were hard to come by. But he had no choice.

  The crack of gunfire echoed over the crowd.

  They sighed as one and took a step back.

  The smell of gunpowder burned Cavalo’s nose. The bees wanted him to point the gun at the people in front of him and pull the trigger again. Maybe the sight of the blood of one of their own would cow them. At the very least, it would make Cavalo feel better. They hadn’t smelled the mountain of the burning dead like he had. They hadn’t seen the look on the unknown man’s face as Cordelia ripped out his throat with her teeth. Cavalo had felt horror then, but it was slowly sinking in, the admiration he’d felt too. The same admiration he’d seen on Patrick’s face as he raised the gun to shoot her in the head. Cordelia had impressed Cavalo. She had impressed Patrick.

  Fire, he’d said.

  So, yes. He wanted to shoot them. The cowering, angry masses. It’d be easier. And surely they’d suffer less. He could make it quick for them. Tell them to close their eyes and think of a better place. There’d be no pain. The flash of the gun and then darkness. Wouldn’t they rather die at the hands of a man who could give them that than at the hands and teeth that would tear at their flesh? He could give them what the people of Grangeville did not get.

  It was close. Maybe a fraction of a second.

  But somehow, he was able to push the bees back.

  They screamed.

  He lowered the gun to his side, his finger twitching along the trigger.

  He said, “Enough.” His voice was an earthquake.

  Cottonwood sighed again.

  “You’ve seen what he is,” Cavalo said. “What he means. To them.”

  They watched him with fearful eyes.

  “You know what would happen if they took him again.”

  A brave (or possibly stupid) man cried out, “We don’t know anything but what you’ve told us! How do we know what you’re saying is the truth?”

  The crowd murmured their agreement.

  You’ll have to convince them, Hank whispered in the bees.

  His hand tightened on the pistol grip. “Why would it be anything else? I could have left you all here to die. I’m not the one who has been feeding them, after all.”

  Aubrey and the other children looked confused. The adults hung their heads. Hank winced. Alma looked away.

  “We had a chance!” someone else shouted. “The UFSA was here! Government! They could have protected us! They could have saved us.”

  “Yeah!” Another voice rang out. “And you killed them! They’re never going to help us now.”

  “They weren’t who you thought they were,” Cavalo said, struggling to maintain composure. “They were torturing Lucas for information on Patrick. They didn’t care about you. They didn’t care about this town. All they wanted was Patrick. To get his secrets. They didn’t know what they had with Lucas. They didn’t know he was part of it.”

  Quiet murmurs through the crowd. Cavalo wasn’t sure if he was gaining them or losing them. He was done with placating. He was done with pleas. It’d been a while since that old feeling came in, that part of him that dealt not in words but in bullets and death. He slipped back into it with alarming ease.

  “It seems to me that you have a few choices here,” Cavalo said, voice flat and harsh. “You can do nothing and hope what happened to Grangeville doesn’t happen to you. You can do something and hope what happened to Grangeville doesn’t happen to you. Or you could line up in front of me, single file. Families together. Children in front. I’ll shoot each of you in the head and put you out of your godforsaken misery because surely it would be easier than what is to come.”

  “I don’t think that’s quite what I meant by convincing them,” Hank said quietly, sounding bemused.

  Cavalo ignored him. “If you’d prefer I shoot you, then let’s do it now and get it over with.”

  No one moved.

  “Who’s first?”

  No one volunteered. Cavalo wasn’t surprised.

  “If you make me choose, you’re not going to like my decision.”

  No one spoke.

  Cowards. All of them. But then Cavalo knew cowardice well.

  “Fine,” he said. Before anyone could react, he’d taken four steps forward. He was getting older, but he was still quicker than most. His joints ached every now and then, and when it rained, his knees were stiff, but he could still move. One moment he stood before them and the next he stood next to Aubrey, arm extended, the barrel of the pistol pressed against her head. “We’ll do it the easier way.”

  Instant noise. Screams from the crowd. Shouts of warning. People moved. Alma’s eyes widened. Hank’s eyes narrowed.

  “Cavalo,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “Don’t you do this.”

  He started for Cavalo, surely to rip him limb from limb. But Bad Dog and Lucas stepped in his path, teeth bared and knife drawn.

  He glanced back at Aubrey. She had a tear on her cheek, but only one. Her hands did not shake. She did not cry. Her jaw was set, and she did not plead. Cavalo admired her. She was strong.

  “Cavalo!” Hank growled.

  “She’ll be first, then!” Cavalo shouted so all could hear. “Because this is what you want! This is what you’ve asked for.”

  “Don’t you dare hurt my daughter!”

  Cavalo laughed bitterly. “What would have happened when she came of age and her name had been drawn? What then, Hank? Would you have said the same thing?”

  Hank said nothing.

  “Any of you?” Cavalo said, again raising his voice.

  Nothing.

  “No? Then you’ve already lost. I already have blood on my hands. Let me take from you so you go quietly into the dark. If you’d seen what I did in Grangeville, you’d be begging me for it.”

  “What happens when I come of age?” Aubrey asked, her voice all steel and knives.

  “That’s a question for your father,” Cavalo said, not unkindly. “What do you want?”

  He thought she would hesitate. She did not. “To stay,” she said. “To fight.”

  “Is it because I have a gun to your head?”

  “That might be part of i
t. But not all.”

  He cracked the barest of smiles. “You could die.”

  “I could die right now. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Everyone dies.”

  “Yes,” Cavalo said. “Everyone.”

  “So we can either fight together,” she said. “Or we’ll die alone.”

  Cavalo didn’t have the heart to tell her that they’d most likely die regardless. Better to let her words affect the others than lose all potency.

  “But do you believe that, Cavalo?” she asked. The steel and knives now pointed at him. “Or are you going to run and hide like you always do?”

  “Girl,” he said, “if you hadn’t just proved my point for me, I would kill you.”

  “Then take the gun from my head before you change your mind.”

  He did. She took a deep breath. Shook her head. But she did not step away from him, in anger nor in fear. “I could smell it.”

  He nodded. “The gunpowder. It’s strong.”

  She searched his face. “Would you have? To prove your point?”

  “Killed you?”

  She nodded.

  Yes. “What do you think?”

  She didn’t answer. He thought she knew.

  He turned back toward the crowd. “We’re done. No more discussion. Do you fight?”

  At first, nothing happened. Cavalo’s heart sank, and he wondered just what would happen to these people. There was no way he could take the Dead Rabbits on his own. Not even with Lucas, Bad Dog, and SIRS at his side. They wouldn’t last long. They’d have to run. If the town let them leave. He wondered how high the mountain of their bodies would be. Not as big as Grangeville. There weren’t enough of them. Or maybe they’d be dragged into the Deadlands to be consumed.

  But then a young man stepped forward. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Curly blond hair. Slender. Slight. The bluest eyes Cavalo had ever seen. He would break hearts one day if his own hadn’t already been ripped from his chest. A woman who had to be his mother tried to stop him, but he shook loose from her grasp. “Together,” he said. “We fight together.”

  He was alone, but only for a minute. A man stepped forward. Followed by a woman. And then others. And more. Soon they all stood, shoulders squared, the fear in their eyes now lit in flames. It was almost enough to make Cavalo believe they actually stood a chance.

  They’d go down fighting, at least. And that was a start.