I made a clicking sound with my tongue. “You have no clue what you’re doing, do you?” I crossed my arms and shook my head. “None.”
“I’ve never had this problem,” she said, then went back to shoving sausage in her mouth two at a time so she didn’t have to answer any more questions.
“I’m going before I kill you,” I told her.
She said something in response, but I couldn’t make it out while she was chewing.
I left Tuesday to her chewing and made my way into the kitchen, knowing today was a busy day. Issy had to can the last of the sweet potatoes before they went bad. If I couldn’t go stare at sludge that wanted to swallow me up and burp me out like a bad meal, I might as well help somewhere, even if it was a futile chore. Who knew—maybe the sludge would like a taste of sweet potatoes as it devoured this place.
There were four of them bustling around the kitchen. Two guys I’d seen in passing who were safe as far as death visions went. One would die of an infection, but not for a while. Tommy would die from what appeared to be a heart attack of some sort, but long after his bones wouldn’t straighten out and he’d lost all his hair.
Then there was Frenchie. Her blond curls would be white when she bled out. I wasn’t sure how she ended up with her ankle chopped off by an axe, but it didn’t end well.
“Issy, I’m free today. What can I do to help?”
Issy looked up from where she was dragging a rag across a filled jar, getting ready to seal the opening with the hot wax. Normally Issy would tell me she had everything under control. Today, she scanned the kitchen for what else needed to be finished.
“Can you take over Frenchie’s spot so she can start the evening stew?” she asked, while picking up a filled crate of jars. “I’ve got to move some crates around downstairs and make more room.”
“Got it.” When I’d been at the village, and they had given me chores before things got really bad, I hadn’t been allowed around the food. No matter that I was a second-generation Plaguer; contagion of the Bloody Death still lingered in some minds.
She smiled and left, assuming I’d know what to do when it came to canning. She headed down the cellar, and I didn’t say a word. She was already running crazy, and how hard could it be?
“What do you need me to do? Where should I pitch in?” I turned to Frenchie, trying to appear friendly, even though I didn’t particularly care for the young woman. It wasn’t that she’d done anything wrong to me. It was this tingling in my gut when she looked my way, like I’d swallowed a worm. Still, I was here to help.
She wiped her hands on her apron as she picked up a knife and started chopping up potatoes. She waved toward the center counter behind her and said, “I was about to start some more water to boiling. We need to sterilize the rest of the jars. You could start there.”
I walked over to the large cast iron pot she’d waved at, getting ready to bring it to the large fireplace that was rigged with hooks and poles across it. I picked it up and dropped it with a hiss, splashing hot water onto my arms to go with the burning hands.
Frenchie turned around. “Oh my, are you all right? I meant that pot,” she said, pointing to another one on the other side. “Let me see your hands.”
I saw the smirk on her face. She’d known what pot I was going to pick up.
“I’m fine. No harm done.” I smiled even as the stinging pain of the burn throbbed up my arm. I had a better inkling on how she might end up with an axe chopping off her ankle. Only curious thing now was why it took so long.
“Of course. You can’t possibly be burned, right? Don’t you heal people?” She smiled.
I’d thought her distaste for me might’ve come from the Hell Pit heading this way. Now I was wondering if it came from a different direction, maybe being able to save Issy?
“Only if I suck the life out of someone first. You willing to donate a little?” I asked, holding out a scalding hand. I let the silence drag out for a second before I laughed and waved it at her. “Only kidding with you.”
A lie for a lie. She hadn’t meant to point me in the direction of the hot pot, and I didn’t want to suck some life out of her. I turned and, with a pep in my step, went to the pot with cold water, determined to ignore her for the rest of the day. It worked out well, since she couldn’t stay far enough away from me now.
By the time we were done, it was still light out, but none of the guys had come back yet.
I walked outside, wanting to hunt them down but forcing myself to go to a different destination.
* * *
My head broke the surface of the water, and I saw Callon’s feet by the side of the hot spring, a tinge of red in his eyes.
“I couldn’t find you.”
“I was here.” After hours in the kitchen beside Frenchie, I’d needed an outlet that didn’t include punching her in the face. This was the best I could come up with.
He might’ve looked human, but the beast still raged within. The beast, his strength but also his weakness, at least when it came to me. I was sure of it now. Something about me called to that side of him, and I wasn’t sorry for it. It called to me as well.
I lifted myself out of the pool, the t-shirt I’d been swimming in clinging to me.
His gaze didn’t drop from my face, but I saw the red grow stronger. He’d ignored me when I offered myself, but I wasn’t a complete innocent. I knew desire when I saw it. I grabbed my pants and tugged them on. If he was going to pretend he didn’t want me, I wasn’t going to keep putting myself out there. I’d pretend too. In the end, we were both liars, and life moved on.
“What’s wrong with your arms?” he asked, still looking at my face. Clearly he’d taken in the rest of me.
“I was helping out with the canning and splashed a little water. How’d it go today? Did you find anything that worked?” I tugged on my coat, pulling my wet hair out of the back.
“Not well. That’s why I’m here. We’re leaving for Dax’s in the morning. Only us. I want the guys here to keep working on it while we’re gone.”
Just like that, Frenchie didn’t matter anymore. Callon’s and my little game of pretend was wiped from my mind. Everything became real. I hugged myself, pretending my wet skin was what gave me a chill when it was Callon’s words. We’d hit a brick wall and there was no more denying it.
One of four things was going to happen next. The guys would figure out a way to stop the Hell Pits, which was unlikely. Bitters would know something that would help, which was equally unlikely. Bitters could break the Death Spell that joined Callon and I—possible, but again, unlikely.
Or someone was going to try to kill me. Highly probable.
He’d said “only us.” Was he afraid Koz would balk at what had to be done? Would it be only Callon returning?
Eighteen
“Don’t do it. You’re crazy.” Tuesday was hovering over me as I threw my few items into the bag.
I turned, putting my finger to my lips. Callon and the guys were outside making an awful racket, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t somehow hear anyway.
“You’re going to get me caught,” I whispered.
“Trying to get Bitters to undo it is crazy,” she said, but in a much softer tone that even the freaks of nature downstairs probably wouldn’t hear. “First off, you don’t know this wizard or what he’s about. He could trick you and do something bad instead. Second, why would you do that? What if they give up trying to stop the Hell Pits and figure it’s easier to kick you out instead? Well? Then what?”
And if Bitters can’t break it, they kill me instead. But those words wouldn’t leave my lips. I’d rather not make it back here than cost her the life she had now. Koz was a good man. He wasn’t a killer. She’d be happy with him. He’d eventually tell her he loved her, they’d have furry little babies, and life would go on. She’d fought for me too many times. This wasn’t her war.
I tied the string on my bag and tossed it over my shoulder before turning back to her. “If they
kick me then that’s their choice. I don’t have a right to ruin their home.”
Tuesday hugged me so tightly that it was as if part of her feared I’d be dead by tomorrow. Great. That made two of us.
He’d said he didn’t kill innocents. I was going to cling to that, too. And if it were bullshit, I wouldn’t go down without a fight. If one of us wasn’t making it back here, it wasn’t a sure thing it was me. I had some skills now. Hadn’t used them much, but I might be starting soon.
“I gotta go. He’s waiting.” I pulled out of her hug.
“You better come back.” Her demand started out strong but ended on a quiver.
“Don’t have anywhere better to go,” I said, laughing a little. It was all nerves, though.
Callon was talking to Koz in the hall when I walked down the stairs toward the front door. They stopped speaking before I hit the bottom stair. Could they have made it more obvious? I hated when people talked crap about you and then you had to guess what horrible things they’d said. It would be better if they told you. The stuff that ran through my mind was always the worst-case scenario. Like had Koz just asked Callon where he was going to bury my body? Asked him to be kind and make it quick? Had Callon been gracious enough to say he’d wait to kill me until after Bitters failed?
“Ready?” Callon asked, his stoic expression giving no clues to what their discussion had been about.
I nodded, my mouth too dry to speak.
He walked to the door and opened it. A big metal thing with a bench and handles was waiting outside. I’d seen things like it that had wheels attached. This machine had weird ski-looking things underneath.
I wasn’t worried until I saw his bag and another already tied down on the back.
“What is this?” He better not want me to climb on that thing.
“A snowmobile.” He walked toward it and then sat on it. Worse, he looked at me as if I were going to climb on behind him. “We’re taking it part of the way.”
Callon wasn’t going to kill me miles from here. He was going to kill me a few hundred feet from here with that machine in a “tragic accident.”
“You want me to get on that thing?”
“I don’t like wasting what gas we have, but you’re too slow and we’ve got too far to go. This will be more comfortable.”
His words were like flies buzzing around my head that I wanted to swat away.
Hell Pits. Bitters. Hadn’t I told Tuesday how important it was that I meet this Bitters guy? If I didn’t, I’d be dead before the month was out, and not because of sludge. They’d have no choice. Someone would do it, probably while I slept.
If this was how it had to happen, then so be it. Walk forward. Walk forward, damn it. Climb on the back of the metal monstrosity like you didn’t have a fear in the world and do what you have to do.
“We’re losing light,” Callon said.
With a deep breath, I forced myself forward and climbed on the back of the thing.
When it sprang to life, I jumped, wrapping my arms around Callon’s waist. I might’ve shrieked a bit when we took off, but I’d gotten on.
* * *
I’d never thought of myself as being stupid, but it took me longer than needed to realize we weren’t stopping for anything as silly as sleeping or eating. This revelation should’ve hit me when he’d handed me some dried meat before we got on the bike after our last call of nature. It hadn’t. I didn’t catch on until the sun settled in for the evening but we didn’t. I’d given up on stretching my legs, and my back felt like I’d been stoned, but I’d tolerated it because Callon obviously felt a pressing need to get to Dax’s as fast as possible.
When he stopped suddenly without me requesting it, my breathing hitched, my pulse raced, and my hands shook. And now here we were, stopping in the middle of some strange hills for no apparent reason. This was it. He was going to kill me.
“Get off. I’ve got to switch us out.”
I jumped off the metal monster and then took a few more steps backward for good measure. I tried not to take it personally. He didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t get rid of me, and I was the draw for the Hell Pits. It was me or his home. Me or his people. It wasn’t personal, right? But couldn’t he at least wait to see if Bitters could help? Didn’t I deserve that?
Fuck him. This was personal. He drove the thing into a hole in the hill as I shook out my arms and cracked my neck. I was as ready as I was going to be, and I wouldn’t go down without a fight.
He walked back out of the hole in the hill with another metal machine, this one with tires and our bags already strapped to the back.
He walked it closer.
I jumped back. “That’s all? You just wanted to switch out the bike?”
“What did you think we were stopping for?” he said, eyes intent.
He knew what I was thinking. He had to. It wasn’t a crazy thought.
“If you’re going to try to kill me, then let’s get on with this. May the best person win.”
He rolled the bike a few feet toward me. “Get on the bike, Teddy. I don’t have time for this.”
I waved my hand toward the bike. “Why? So you can kill me farther away? Or after Bitters can’t help? It’s going to happen. You’re going to have to kill me, so let’s get this over with. Give it your best shot.” I reached out so if he charged me, I’d hopefully have time to kill him first.
Fuck. I was going to have to kill him. Now my eyes were burning as if I were going to cry. What kind of ninny was I? This wasn’t the behavior of a survivor.
“I’m not going to kill you now. I’m not going to kill you if Bitters can’t help with the Hell Pits, because I don’t want to. Can you get on the bike now?”
“How am I supposed to believe that? It makes no sense. That’s not a good reason.” Lots of people didn’t want to do things. What kind of stupid logic was that? I didn’t want to kill him, but if he came for me, I would.
“It’s all I have, so get on the bike. We’re wasting time.”
I looked at him, then the bike, then the woods. It wasn’t as if I could get away from him. We were stuck together unless one of us died.
“Your hands are capable of sucking the life out of me while I willingly let you wrap your arms around me. If you think I’m going to kill you, go ahead and take me out first. Otherwise, we need to be moving.” He climbed onto the bike and waited.
I didn’t move. Could he be that stupid? Or that trusting? I would kill him if I had to. Did he not believe it? I would. I could do it under the right circumstances.
“Any day now,” he said, his back to me.
How stupid was he? You didn’t turn your back on your adversary. He was going to get himself killed one of these days.
Or was it his inner beast who was giving me his back? Callon might not like me, but it wasn’t that simple, was it? I walked over and climbed on the back, feeling a bit more confident.
“It’s the beast, isn’t it? He won’t let you kill me, will he?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“You’re gloating like I’ve been bested. I’m the beast; the beast is me. We. Are. The Same. Fucking. Person.”
“You say that, but I’m not so sure.”
The bike roared, ending the conversation.
Nineteen
The bike slowed. I lifted my cheek from Callon’s back, wondering if we were doing another switch or if the bike needed to drink more stuff. It needed to drink more than I did.
I knew it was neither of those when I saw the gate we were approaching late in the morning. A man pulled it open. As we turned the bend, he nodded to Callon. He took a longer look at me as we passed. Strangers weren’t a good thing in the Wilds, especially if you had something worth fighting for, and they definitely did.
They called it a farm, but I’d thought that was a nickname. It wasn’t. This was a real farm. It looked like it had been plucked right out of a picture from the Glory Years, back before the world had gone to shit. There were fields with cows,
big black and white spotted things roaming around, and fluffy-looking sheep. There were chickens squawking and pecking in front of a large yellow house that had a wide front porch with chairs and a swing.
Beyond the house there were smaller buildings scattered around. One was big and red. Other ones looked like smaller houses, like the smattering of cottages that were around the lodge, but not as hardy looking, like they didn’t need to withstand the same elements.
There were quite a few people going about their business, carrying baskets and working the land. Too many people. I’d have to try to keep my distance, or I was in for a long and torturous day.
The front door of the main house swung open as the bike roared its way toward it. A woman about my age stepped out onto the porch, her hair so blazing red in the sun that it made all the other colors around seem dull. Dax followed behind her, stepping too close to her to make the woman anyone but Dal, his wife.
Callon pulled the bike up, and I climbed off before he turned it off. I straightened up a little slower than I had a few hours ago, which had been slower than the time before.
Dal and Dax walked to the edge of the porch toward us. I took a peek at the scar on the top of her hand. There wasn’t a P visible, but the placement was telling.
She paused out of my range of death vision. It wasn’t out of courtesy to me. It was most likely her range as well. She smiled at Callon, before her eyes, the color of spring grass on a sunny day, met mine. “Teddy?”
“Yes. Dal?”
She smiled and nodded. “Perhaps we shouldn’t get too close? I can see certain things from your past, usually the worst.”
Wow, she had been stopping for me. I’d never even considered warning people of my visions.
“If you’re game, so am I. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Callon stepped in front of me. “Maybe Dal has a point.”
I jerked my head in his direction. Why would he care? Was he embarrassed by me? Why else would he stop us? Was it too much to be tied to the girl who’d been abused for years? An embarrassment that he couldn’t escape? He was a beast, after all. He didn’t have the same vulnerabilities. He was probably disgusted by my weakness.
Savage One: Born Wild Book Two Page 12
