by TJ Klune
But he said no. Cavalo heard it. He heard it.
“Why you? Out of all of them? Why you?”
There would be a lie here, Cavalo knew. Some sort of lie that Lucas would spin. He was the psycho fucking bulldog. The babe found sucking on his dead momma’s titties in the forest. He was a pet to Patrick. Fucked and beaten and made into a psychopathic killer who preferred a knife to slice the skin of those that rose against him. Cavalo wondered briefly if there was ever a point when Lucas enjoyed Patrick’s cock sliding into him, the grunts above him, sweat dripping down on his body. Surely before Patrick slit his throat. Surely after it would have meant nothing. It would have—
There was anger in Cavalo. A dangerous thing. A petty thing. He almost opened his mouth to demand that Lucas take him into the Deadlands. To take him to the heart of the Dead Rabbits so he could cut it out and feel its last dying beats in his hands.
Do you trust me now? Lucas asked him. This time, he wasn’t covered in blood, stabbing a man to death.
God. He did. Somehow, he did. Hank be damned. Cottonwood be damned. And himself be damned. This was not how things were supposed to be. This was not how his life was supposed to end. He was supposed to slowly rot away in his prison until one day his heart gave out and he fell to the floor. Years later his body would be nothing but dried skin and bones and SIRS would still stand above him completely lost to his insanity screaming things about how binomial coefficients were the key to the kingdom of God and wasn’t he just a real boy? Didn’t the Fairy with the Turquoise Hair come in the blowing dust of humanity to take pity on him finally and make him a real boy?
“Yes,” Cavalo said.
And the boy in front of him, the Dead Rabbit who said he’d never eaten another human, the psychopath who had murdered others of his kind to save Cavalo from death, began to move his hands. Bared his teeth. Pointed in the direction of the Deadlands. Arched his back and neck, revealing the scar. Finger across the neck. Revealing tattoos, the lines and equations in black. Took his arms and cradled them, as if holding a child.
And from that, Cavalo understood what he was trying to say. Understood the four words that he heard in Lucas’s voice in his head. And while so many things began to make sense, so many more things did not. And he wondered if they ever would. Lucas had not been found in the woods, sucking on his dead momma’s titties. It might have been better if he had been. The truth was far worse and made things infinitely more complicated.
A hand to his throat. A finger across his scar. He cut my throat one day because of the bees in his head. Blood came out. But I did not die.
Lifted his coat and the shirt underneath. Traced the tattoos. And since I did not die, he carved his secret into my skin, because I could withstand the pain.
He carries the rest. And he will not stop until he uses it.
And his arms, cradled in front of him. I know what they say. About how he found me in the woods. How he groomed me. And I suppose in a way he did. He made me what he wanted me to be. But he did not find me in the woods. He didn’t find me in the woods because I have always been with him.
Patrick is my father.
Cavalo kissed him. His fingers went to Lucas’s face, aligning with the bruises left from before. It was a moment before the kiss was returned.
It wouldn’t be until later that night, when Lucas rode him, his back arched and hips rolling, Cavalo’s hands tracing the lines on his chest, that Cavalo realized it was the first kiss they’d shared that a knife had not been pressed between them. But that was later. Now, it was all lips and teeth and spit, horror and desperation. Screaming bees that cried, No, no, no, and the fatalistic realization that nothing could be done to stop the path they hurtled along. Cavalo didn’t know if he’d change it even if he could.
They broke apart when a voice came from the prison gate. “Well now,” SIRS said, standing next to Bad Dog in the snow near the gate. “This is certainly an extraordinary change of events. How funny you humans are. Grasping in the dark until you feel the hands of another to guide you back. Blink slowly, Cavalo. Your eyes are not used to the light.”
Cavalo stepped away from Lucas. He could taste him on his tongue. “Grangeville is gone,” he said to the robot. “They beat us there. The Dead Rabbits. We’re alone in this, and we don’t have much time.”
“Those poor souls,” SIRS said. “Do we have a plan?”
Lucas touched his hand, a brief brush of fingers before he pulled away. It was enough. “We rise. We rise up and fight back.”
There was a click. A beep. An electrical snap, and the robot’s eyes grew bright. His voice roared out amongst the winter woods: “I AM BECOME DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS.” Beeped again. Said quite conversationally, “Then I suppose we have some work to do.”
preparation
WITH FOURTEEN days left until Patrick came for Lucas, they returned to Cottonwood: man, dog, and Dead Rabbit. SIRS remained at the prison, shoring up the tunnels as best he could to make it habitable for the young and the old.
Hank and Alma met them at the gates.
“Has it started?” Cavalo asked.
Hank nodded as they walked through Cottonwood. Though it was early morning and cold, the throngs of people moved through town, eyes resolute and jaws set. They stepped quickly, only stopping to speak if it was necessary: an exchange of goods, a request for help. He saw their eyes widen slightly as they passed, looking from Cavalo to Lucas and back again. Lucas noticed none of it, his glare fixed on Alma, who ignored him coolly. Cavalo saw his fingers twitching along the handle of his knife.
“Leave it,” Cavalo warned him in a low voice.
Lucas scowled at him. I don’t trust her.
“No stabbing,” he warned.
The scowl deepened.
“We started after you left,” Hank said, leading the way toward the other side of Cottonwood. “It’s harder because the ground is frozen, but they’re doing what they can. It might just be easier to stick to the roadways.”
Cavalo shook his head. “We can’t expect them to come from just the roads. They’ll swarm. All directions.”
“It helps that we’re shrinking the perimeter,” Hank said. “Keeping the southern wall and building it into the town instead of around it. The ground is softer here.”
They were only about halfway through Cottonwood when they came upon a row of men and women digging with shovels and picks, piling dirt and snow high. Beyond them stretched homes and businesses and the northern wall.
“They understand?” Cavalo asked. “That they’ll lose the houses?”
Hank shrugged. “Houses can be rebuilt. But there’s no coming back from death. I think they know that.”
“Fear motivates.”
“I wonder if Patrick says the same thing?” Alma asked.
Lucas started forward, but Cavalo pushed him back.
“Touchy subject?” Alma asked.
“You could say that.” He looked toward the walkways on the outer walls. Patrols moved back and forth. “Anything?”
“No,” Hank said, “but do you really think they’ll be seen if they don’t want to be?”
No bad guys in the woods, Bad Dog said. I would have found them and eaten their faces.
Cavalo scratched behind his ear. “Bad Dog says we’re good. But keep up the patrols. Are the walls being shored up?”
“As best they can. Materials are light.”
“It’s better than nothing,” Cavalo said. He didn’t say that it also kept the people of Cottonwood busy, giving them less time to think of what lay ahead. He hoped it was working for everyone.
“And the prison?”
“SIRS will have it ready.”
“How do we know we’ll have time?” Alma asked. “Why would Patrick keep his word on the date?”
“Because that’s the type of man he is,” Cavalo said, exchanging a look with Lucas. “He’s… putting on a show. For himself. For the Dead Rabbits. For us. The longer he waits, the more people have to fear over i
t, and the less ready they’ll be when he finally comes.”
“And Lucas told you this?” she asked, cocking her head at the Dead Rabbit. “How fortunate that we’re able to get so much insight.”
I’ll cut your fucking head off, Lucas snarled at her.
Alma laughed. “Try it, little one. You’ll be on your back again before you know it.” Her eyes shifted to Cavalo when she said this last. Cavalo stared back.
“Munitions?” Cavalo asked Hank.
“Not as much as we’d hoped.”
“Caravans?”
“Not since….” He frowned. “Weeks. It’s been weeks.”
“They’ve been stopped, haven’t they?” Alma said, keeping her voice low. “Either killed or warned off.”
“They’re spreading,” Cavalo said. “The Deadlands. It’s what he wants.”
“Would there be anything left in Grangeville?” Hank asked. “Aside from….”
“I don’t know,” Cavalo admitted. “I think they’d have raided the armory. Or at least destroyed it.”
“Do we send someone back?”
“Is it worth the risk?” Cavalo asked.
“Is any of this?” Alma asked him.
“Warren would have thought so,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her eyes hardened, flickering between Cavalo and Lucas. “We’ll never know, will we? Because of his people.”
“He had nothing to do with Warren,” Cavalo said.
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe him.”
“Yes.”
She looked away.
Cavalo picked up a shovel and started digging.
THAT NIGHT, Lucas prowled the house, going from window to window.
“You need to sleep,” Cavalo told him.
Lucas scowled and pulled his knife, heading up the stairs.
Cavalo stared at the ceiling most of the night, the house creaking with every step Lucas took.
WITH THIRTEEN days left, Cavalo stood in front of a small group of people, all of whom eyed him nervously. It wasn’t going well.
“You’ve never had target practice?” Cavalo asked, fighting back the urge to scream. “You’re Patrol. How can you….” He shook his head.
“There were never enough bullets,” Frank said. He seemed to be the de facto leader of the Patrol, which did nothing to put Cavalo at ease.
“How many of your guns are loaded right now?” Cavalo asked.
About half raised their hands.
“Fuck,” Cavalo muttered. “Knives? Bow and arrow?”
They shuffled their feet and said nothing.
Cavalo lined them up, one by one. Their stances were off. They held the rifles wrong. They couldn’t use the sights. Lucas scowled at all of them as he walked up and down the line.
This is ridiculous! he growled. Cavalo didn’t miss the looks of fear and disgust as the Patrol looked at the Dead Rabbit.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
We screwed? Bad Dog asked him.
“Probably.”
His ears went flat against his head, and he whined. I don’t like getting screwed.
“We need the ammo from the prison,” he sighed. There wasn’t much left. And some of it would be needed for those that holed themselves up in the tunnels for protection.
When’s he supposed to be here? Lucas asked him.
“SIRS? Two days. He’ll know what to bring. He’ll lead the rest back up the mountain.”
He stopped at Aubrey, whose posture and form weren’t bad. In fact, they were actually quite good.
“She’s here because Hank said,” Frank told him. “I think she’s too young. Don’t want her getting in the way.”
He pushed the stock of the rifle farther down until it rested more in the crook of her shoulder. “Can you use this?” he asked her quietly. He saw that she did not flinch. The last time he’d been this close to her, he’d held a gun to her head.
“Yes.”
“Are you good?”
She hesitated.
“Aubrey.”
“Yes.”
“Better than the rest?”
More forceful, “Yes.”
He took the rifle from her. She looked up at him in surprise. He held out the rifle to Lucas, who switched it for an old bow. The wood was strong, but he thought it’d need to be restrung before too much longer. He handed it over to Aubrey. She nocked an arrow and pulled it back. Took a breath. Released. The arrow flew into a post twenty yards away.
He took the bow from her. Handed it to Lucas, who watched her with narrowed eyes. Cavalo watched her too before taking his knife and handing it to her and stepping back.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’ve never learned how.”
“Lucas,” he said.
In a flash, Lucas stepped forward, snatching the knife from her hand. Brought his arm back and then snapped it forward, throwing the knife. It flashed above the snow before it split the arrow still embedded in the post in half.
The Patrol stared at him, jaws dropped.
“You will learn from him,” Cavalo growled. “And if he’s with me, you’ll learn from Aubrey. Are we clear?”
They nodded.
THAT NIGHT, Cavalo fucked Lucas in an upstairs bedroom of the vacant house. Lucas shuddered underneath him as Cavalo licked the tattooed lines between his shoulder blades. After, Cavalo fell asleep with Lucas curled around him and a knife pressed against his stomach.
WITH TWELVE days left before the deadline, Bill, Richie, and Deke returned from Dworshak. The news was not good.
Cavalo was helping with the trenches, unsure if they’d actually finish in time. His back hurt. His arms hurt. He was not as young as he used to be, and it was starting to show. He did not complain and worked through the pain. He could not show any sign of weakness. He kept his face schooled as his back seized. He would push through it. He’d been through worse. He’d survived worse.
He stood an hour later, stretching. A woman whose name he did not know brought him some dried meat and a small amount of water. He thanked her quietly, and she blushed before scurrying away, a small smile on her face. He wondered at it but let it slip from his mind as his gaze landed on Lucas, prowling around the members of the Patrol, slapping their hands for gripping too tight, shoving their guns up higher to actually give some semblance of proper aiming.
Cavalo told himself it was nothing. He told himself that fucking was fucking, and that’s all it could possibly be. That it could ever be. Lucas was a Dead Rabbit. He might not have done the things the other Dead Rabbits had, but that didn’t matter. He had been one of them. This was nothing. They had nothing. Soon, they would most likely die, they would face whatever came after this life, be it judgment or darkness.
It was nothing. Lucas meant nothing.
So why, then, did Cavalo’s traitorous heart skip a beat in his chest when he saw that familiar scowl? There was a complicated tightening in Cavalo’s chest, and he hated it. He didn’t like complications. He liked things black and white. Good and bad. Quiet isolation. As few words as possible. It was what he’d grown accustomed to, and he had no desire to change it.
And yet….
Lucas must have known. Must have heard the bees in Cavalo’s head and heart. He looked up, directly at Cavalo. As their eyes met, the scowl on Lucas’s face disappeared. He didn’t exactly smile, but Cavalo knew what it meant. He knew Lucas’s facial expressions now. He didn’t know when that had happened.
Hank had asked him days before if it’d be easier if Lucas had something to write with, that he could express himself better. Or why didn’t he just mouth the words he was trying to say?
Cavalo had told him it wasn’t necessary, that Cavalo knew what he was trying to say. He could translate. He didn’t go as far to say he could hear the Dead Rabbit’s voice in his head, a hoarse and gravelly thing that caused Cavalo’s skin to itch. He didn’t want to scare them, the people of Cottonwood, any m
ore than he had to. They already thought him an oddity, a murderer. Something to be feared in reverence. They spoke of him in hushed whispers and told stories that probably only held partial truths.
He was already too far gone to be saved. The bees made sure of that.
Which is why as Lucas watched him, he wondered at their silence. They said nothing as Lucas grinned that feral grin and jerked his head to the left. Cavalo shook his head. Lucas ignored him and turned to the Patrol, motioning for them to pick up the bows and resume practicing. Then he turned and walked away.
Cavalo resumed digging.
He lasted a minute. He stopped. Sighed.
“I’ll be right back,” he muttered to Bad Dog, who lay on the snow near the trench, gnawing on a stick he’d found. “Keep an eye on things.”
Bad Dog immediately stood and paced in front of the workers in the trench. I’m in charge now, he barked. Work faster!
He followed Lucas, telling himself to turn around.
Weak sunlight filtered through small breaks in the clouds above. He could see his breath coming from his mouth. Lucas never looked back, as if trusting that Cavalo would have no choice but to follow.
This meant nothing. It couldn’t. Cavalo was broken beyond repair. Lucas was a psycho fucking bulldog. A pet. Patrick’s son, something they hadn’t told a soul. His heart was dark. He had murder in his eyes and death on his lips. He said he’d never eaten another human. That could very well be a lie. All of this could be a lie.
The bees tried to whisper in his head, sounding like Hank, saying words about trust and truth and what if? What if this is nothing more than farce? A way to get inside your head until you spill all your secrets that can then be used against you?
Lucas disappeared around the corner of a house.
Cavalo followed him. There were shadows here, the sun blocked by a barn behind the house. He could hear people moving around Cottonwood. Their voices as they laughed. As they cried. As they worried through their day. But they were far away. Cavalo and Lucas were hidden.
Cavalo found Lucas in the shadows, leaning against the barn.
