Past Never Dies

by Cate Clarke

  Kennedy.

  She stepped over the one with his teeth in his palms and made her way over to the leader that had almost crawled his way to the alley. Grabbing at his collar, she threw him up against the concrete wall and bent down so she was at eye level with him.

  “You know something?” she asked him. “Hey—don’t pass out. You know something?”

  Patting at his cheek and tucking a firm finger under his chin, she forced him to look at her. Her ears were still filled with a high-pitched whine.

  “Come on, kid.” She moved a black hair out of his face, and he looked at her with an intense stare of fear. “Was this just for fun?”

  “It was f-f-for the money,” he said, blinking hard.

  “Do you have any information or not?”

  His lips pressed into a hard line, and she slapped him across the face. A red handprint spread across his cheek, the chill in the air worsening it all. He grimaced.

  She placed the bat across her perched knees and asked, “What’s your name?”

  “D-Damian,” he said.

  “Damian, I’m not going to ask again.” The bat teetered over her knees. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing! I mean—” He coughed, putting a hand to his reddened cheek. “It was Wesley! He told us to do it—to set this all up so he could…get the money.”

  “That’s a lie,” Diana growled.

  Standing up, she lifted the bat off her knees, and he lifted his hands to his ears. “No, I swear. I swear, Ms. Weick. It was him.”

  She looked over her shoulder to the chaos she’d caused, the blood by the train tracks, the other boy now gone, sneakers slapping against the pavement somewhere down the block. This had all been for Kennedy, but had she been focusing on the wrong kid? Wesley had tried to stop her before she’d come. If he really set them up to it, why? Diana couldn’t believe that her boy would do this either way. Though, Wesley was naive. He’d always been the first one to cave into pressure of any kind, unlike Kennedy, who’d always tried to forge her own path.

  As she began to walk away, her intuition picked up. The boy whose jaw she’d broken was reaching again for his gun so as she walked past, she crushed his fingers with her boot. He screamed out in pain, the bones snapping and crunching under her weight.

  She was in Russia again, stepping onto the reaching hand of a guard. Kushnir in front of her, spinning in an office chair, his silenced pistol to Rank’s head.

  “Make a move, Weick,” Kushnir snarled.

  Sweat dripped off the side of her face, soaking into the collar of her uniform, the bomb on her back weighing everything down.

  With a click, the safety went off, and Kushnir leaned forward in his chair. “Make a move, and I blow his fucking brains out.”

  The security screens behind him flashed with images of every hallway of the compound and exterior wall. Guards hustled by with guns hanging from their hips, tanks and armored cars rolled by outside. Snowman’s motionless body was bleeding out in one of the hallways, red seeping across the blue tile as a guard came to inspect him, poking at his back with the barrel of his gun.

  The screens lit the back of Kushkin’s balding head with a cobalt blue—the front of his wrinkled stony face washed with shadow, shiny glasses teetering on the edge of his nose as he held her gaze.

  “Kill him.” Kushkin pointed toward the guard. “Kill him now or he dies.”

  Diana looked to the guard’s crushed fingers under her boot and to his face, covered in sweat, blood and fear, staring up at her with wide eyes. Swinging the rifle around her body and pointing it at his forehead, he groaned and began to pray in Russian.

  “You kill your own guards now?” Rank asked from his knees, and Kushkin bashed him in the back of his head with the butt of his gun.

  “No,” Kushkin said. “She does.”

  The guard’s eyes were still on her, latching to her, sweat and tears dripping into his mouth as he begged God to forgive his sins. There was a twist in Diana’s stomach—before she’d had the strength to push down everything in combat. Kill an enemy to save her comrade. It seemed like an easy choice. Even now, reflecting on it, Diana knew it was as simple as choosing one human over another. Something she’d done all her life and career. But when she pulled the trigger and the fear left that guard’s eyes, Kushkin shot Rank anyway, with no regard for distinguishing between his enemies and allies. No reflection on humanity.

  But how could she discern between her enemies and friends? Especially now with her son crossing a line. Kushkin had been a successful powerhouse of Russian and Ukrainian terrorism with no regard for these lines. Diana felt herself shifting between them, her judgement slipping away. Especially as she dragged her bloodied bat across the rail tracks and back toward her car, looking back at the scene from behind the steering wheel. True, she had vanquished her enemies once again—but which side of the line was she on? More importantly, which side of the line was Wesley on?

  Chapter 8

  Kennedy Tennison-Weick

  Wenatchee National Forest, Washington

  It was her stomach again that woke her. Kennedy turned over in her half-sleep, waiting for the pain to subside but it didn’t, so she forced herself to her feet. The fire had burned down to black bits during the night, and it had taken over the smell of pine with ash in Kennedy’s small cliffside site. After emptying her stomach yet again, it felt as if her whole body was deflated. She was so empty. So thirsty. So hungry.

  She had to make a move, or she was going to die.

  One good thing, her ankle was beginning to feel better and the swelling seemed to have gone down, but she couldn’t waste the energy on taking off the U-splint to check. Her fingers were covered in hangnails that stung every time she grabbed anything. Her head was still heavy, foggy and pounding, but Kennedy couldn’t be sure if that was because of the fall or the starvation.

  Her original plan was to look for stinging nettles or crab apples. As she made her way back toward the channel and then past it in the other direction, it was just rows and rows of pine trees. She mentally swore at each one as she passed.

  The woods cleared way up ahead, rounding into a field of, finally, different trees. Birch popped up in between the pines until there was a clearing of green, knee-high. Kennedy recognized it as cow parsnip—edible. There were small hairs on their stems that she was sure would make the stinging on her hands worse, but it didn’t matter—it was food.

  Tears welled at the sides of Kennedy’s eyes as she dropped to her knees, digging around the larger stems for young ones. She was able to harvest two dozen of them. Carrying them between her arms and snacking on three on her way back, Kennedy finally felt some hope. They were stringy, bitter and delicious.

  A few hours later, her stomach filled with cow parsnip and more groundwater, Kennedy was looking over the side of the cliff once again. She couldn’t wait any longer. This was likely the strongest she was going to be for a long time.

  “Hey!”

  Kennedy nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Hey! Don’t get too close there!”

  Kennedy searched for the source of the voice. Along the lake, two people, a man and a woman, were standing on the shore, looking up at her with their hands cupped over their eyes.

  “You okay there?” the woman yelled.

  Her lip trembled, trying to find words, anything. Mustering a yell, but when she tried, it just came out as a dry cough.

  “My n—” Kennedy coughed again. “My name is Kennedy Tennison-Weick! I’ve been trapped—lost up here for days.”

  “Oh my gawsh— You’re that girl from the news!” the man yelled.

  “Oh boy—let’s get you down.”

  “Can you jump?”

  Kennedy looked down. It didn’t seem as far as it had on her first day, maybe forty feet. Still, Kennedy had never jumped from anything this high. The closest thing she’d ever done to this was go up a rock-climbing wall and down a zip line at camp once.

  “Y-yeah,” Kenn
edy yelled. They were close to where the waterfall was spilling out, staring up at her and waiting. What was the alternative? Go back through the channel where there was no chance she’d be found, or jump from this cliff with an already sprained ankle, where at least someone was waiting for her at the bottom.

  So after a pace around the ashes she’d left in a pile and her hole for water, Kennedy prepared herself by clearing away the pine branches that would be in her way. The sap stuck to her fingers, the needles blanketing her palm. The cow parsnip had coated her mouth, and her tongue was sticking to her cheeks, trying to absorb the little saliva she had left.

  She bent at her knees, holding to the ground, ready to run.

  Mr. Steedman’s voice rang in her head: “A scout is what? Trustworthy, loyal and—”

  “Prepared!” Another scout’s voice.

  “Courteous.”

  “Obedent—”

  “Obedient,” Steedman corrected. “And, Ms. Weick?”

  “A scout is…” she whispered and then shouted. “Brave!”

  With a push off her good leg, she sprinted forwards. Her bad ankle held her back and at the edge of the cliff, she couldn’t get the grip that she wanted so she ended up falling off more than jumping.

  Her hands flailing in the air, no scream coming from her mouth, the air rushing by in an instant—Kennedy landed in the water below.

  It was so much colder than she’d anticipated. The chill collapsed down onto her like a wool blanket thrown over her head, suffocating her in it. Her hands slapped against the water as she tried to regain some strength, but she could feel her body losing this battle. Ankle drumming with pain and water entering her mouth and nose, Kennedy felt her heartbeat deep in her ears. It was fast and then slower—slower still as the water overwhelmed her.

  This was it. She had spent days in the woods, drinking out of the ground and eating weeds only to drown in this icy lake. Her throat caved in. Her eyes closed.

  “Oofda.”

  “Look, Bobby! Yup. Oh my gawsh. She’s okay.”

  Kennedy’s eyes fluttered open. She was looking at a yellow hat and as the man lowered his head, she saw there was an embroidered bobcat in the middle of it.

  “Kennedy, can you sit up?” the woman said, placing a soft warm hand at her back.

  Kennedy groaned, slowly gathering herself to a sitting position. She was staring up now at the cliff that she’d made her home, the rocky face of it jagged and intimidating—she couldn’t believe she had jumped.

  Her cheeks were tight with cold. Her fingers were numb.

  “Oh good,” Bobby said, leaning next to her with his hands between crouched knees. “Kennedy, we’re the Lefferts. Hi there. I’m Bobby.”

  They both had an accent that made her think they were visiting Canadians. Bobby reached out a hand, and she shook it. Water dripped off his shoulder-length blond hair but his clothes were dry.

  “Yup, that’s true. And I’m Willow,” the woman said, leaning into her vision. “Like the tree!”

  Long gray curly hair made her look older than she was. Her face was young and round with peachy cheeks and wide-set eyes that were watching Kennedy intently.

  Kennedy coughed, spat out water onto the dirt, and took a deep breath.

  “Kennedy.”

  “Well, yeah,” Bobby laughed. “We know that.”

  “Seen you all over the news, you know?” Willow added, nodding at the man in the cap.

  “Right,” Kennedy said, looking across the lake for anyone else. The waterfall rushed, the trees creaked in the wind—they were the only ones here, maybe for miles.

  “We’re gonna take you home, okay, Kennedy?”

  Kennedy’s eyes welled with tears, and she nodded. Pulling her knees into her chest and getting to her feet, she sobbed. It released out of her—heavy—and Willow encouraged her to sit down again. Looking to her rescuers, mucus covering her upper lip, all she could say between racketing sobs was, “Thank you.”

  Chapter 9

  Diana Weick

  Seattle, Washington

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  Merino was in her face, inches away, coffee and mint gum on his breath. Diana had her arms crossed over her chest, sitting on the uncomfortable metal chair in the interrogation room.

  “They were kids, Diana,” he spat. “One of them was seventeen! Same age as Wesley.”

  “They didn’t have their age printed out next to the handguns they were carrying,” Diana replied, moving her eyes up to the detective. He stepped away, circling the table and then sitting on the other side.

  “You’re lucky,” he said, flipping open the files on the desk. “They decided not to press charges.”

  “Sure, because they tried to extort and rob me first.” Diana shrugged.

  “I’m doing my best to keep this out of the press,” Merino continued. “But the one kid, his family owns Julien’s—”

  “That sandwich shop chain?”

  Merino nodded.

  “You’re wasting my time, Merino. I could be out there looking for Kennedy right now,” Diana grumbled.

  “So could I!” he yelled. There was a slight twitch in Diana’s gaze. “I could be out there too, Diana, but instead I’m here, lecturing you about beating up kids.”

  “Where’s the search party today?” Diana asked, glazing over his reprimanding.

  Merino sighed, his shoulders lowering as he ran his fingers through his thick hair. He closed the file and said, “They found some broken branches at the edge of a drop-off. It goes down into some kind of channel, but we need better equipment to get down there. They’re strapping up for it as we speak.” His fingers danced against the tabletop, nails clicking. Merino added, “If reporters get even a whiff of this. They’re going to pounce.”

  “Let them, then,” Diana said, standing up from the chair and moving to the door.

  “We’re not done,” Merino snapped, hopping up from his chair as well, the metal legs scraping against the concrete floor.

  “Yes, we are. You told me they’re not pressing charges—”

  “Ms. Weick—Diana, I need you to stop and think for one damn second about what you’re doing,” Merino started. “Your enemies getting a whiff of this means that they know exactly where you are and how volatile you are. I talked to your old captain— the Kushkins are still active, the son has taken over, and there’s been reports of him starting up trafficking again in Ukraine. You’re putting yourself in danger, and you’re putting Wes and Kennedy in danger. You need to lay low.”

  “Not exactly my style, Merino.”

  “I don’t give a shit if it’s not your style. You lay low or I put you in jail for impeding this investigation.”

  Diana narrowed her eyes and put her hand on the doorknob, glaring over her shoulder, daring Merino to stop her. He returned the glare and shook his head. A smile spread across her face because it was the first time that Diana saw Merino as capable of finding her daughter.

  Sneakers bursting against the pavement, there was pain in her shins and in her knees. The signs of aging drove Diana to jog faster through the Seattle suburbs. Diana kept in shape. After the Navy, not knowing which path to take that would allow her the flexibility motherhood needed, she’d gotten certified as a personal trainer. With her notoriety, she’d been able to pick up a select few high-paying clients that paid for the mortgage and funded the kids’ college accounts. Minimal work and high pay—the opposite of her experience in the SEALs, and that guilt weighed on her. That drive to always do more, push harder, be better.

  “Hey, champ.”

  Rex came up alongside her, pumping his arms in time with her, dressed head to toe in black Under Armour.

  “Jesus, Rex,” Diana whooshed out, stopped for a moment but then kept running when she saw that Rex didn’t even pause. She caught up to him. “You following me?”

  “No. But I know your route and you run past Dillon’s house all the time.”

  “Right. How is Dillon?”
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  “Ah. He struck big on a couple of condos downtown. He doesn’t mind me sleeping on his couch when he’s busy making cash like that,” Rex said between his breathing. Despite his pudgy stomach, Rex had great endurance. He had always been more of a long-distance guy while Diana had been a sprinter. When they’d first started dating, they’d used to race often, breaking across the Olympic track at their gym, all eyes on them as they nearly broke their necks trying to beat each other.

  There was silence as they huffed along next to one another—Diana on the sidewalk and Rex on the road.

  “Di, I saw what happened with those kids—”

  Diana looked to him as they turned a corner. She shrugged and clarified, “Kids with guns.”

  “Yeah, no, I’m on your side, you know? Those little shits deserved everything they got.”

  Diana tucked in her lips. The wind was much colder on this open street, whipping against her cheekbones like rug burn.

  “You see it in the paper or—”

  “Online,” Rex replied.

  “Shit. Reporters got a hold of it either way.”

  “They love you.”

  “Lucky me.”

  They came to a park where they’d taken Wesley and Kennedy when they were young, and they both hesitated near the gate. If Rex wasn’t here, Diana would have barreled right through, looping around the park and heading back. But she couldn’t deny that it was nice to speak to someone who understood, even if it was this dipshit.

  Rex looked at her as they came to a stop, seemingly hesitating with the same memories.

  “You want to go in?” Rex asked, testing the waters.

  Diana shrugged and walked through the iron fencing, Rex trailing behind her. They strolled past the playground where Wesley had his first kiss with their neighbor’s daughter, and where Kennedy had fallen and broken her collarbone when she was seven.

  “Rex,” Diana started, letting out a long sigh. “I’ve been thinking about your offer—”

  “To move back in?”

  “Yeah. Let me finish.”

  Rex nodded, miming a zipper over his lips that were chapped from running in the cold.