“He won’t be.”
“Are they going to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
She said nothing.
“I wanted to check on you, but I need to go down and see what everyone wants to do. I know they’ll want your opinion, but if you don’t really have one, that’s okay, too.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.” I stood. “It’s almost dinnertime. Do you want to come, or do you want to stay here? I know you might not want to be there when we talk about Hank, but you could go down and do a puzzle with the kids or something.”
She gnawed on her lip, looking up at me. “I can stay with you if I want to, though? Listen to what everyone has to say but not give my opinion?”
“Of course, you can.”
She stood. “Okay.”
I took her hand when we started walking, not looking at her, and she didn’t resist. It reminded me of when we were little, how we used to walk to school hand in hand every morning, and the way her eyes would gleam with excitement at the thought of getting food. The school’s food hadn’t been great, but sometimes, it was the only way we got to eat. We were lucky they’d provided breakfast, too.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked as we headed down the stairs. “About what happened when we were kids, I mean.”
Zara turned her head in my direction, studying me with her big, brown eyes. “Of course not, Kiaya. I mean, I was scared at the thought of leaving Mom and afraid I’d never see you again, but every day at home was just as scary.”
“I know,” I said. “I felt like I failed you, though.”
“Failed me?” Zara stopped, tugging on my hand to force me to as well. “Kiaya, you were just a kid, too. Mom was the one who failed us. Not you.”
Like up in the bedroom, I was suddenly on the verge of losing control of my emotions, only this time, I managed to rein them in. Barely. “Thank you.”
Zara smiled, and it lit up her face, warming my insides.
We started walking again, but this time I wasn’t thinking about Hank or even the foster homes I’d been in, or even all the times I’d worried about doing right by my sister. My thoughts were on Mom.
“When was the last time you saw her?” I asked as we reached the main floor.
“Mom?”
“Yeah.”
She let out a sad sigh and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “A long time ago. I think I was eleven. I was with my foster parents—we were going to a Colts game—and I saw her on the street. She was outside the stadium, filthy and holding a sign begging for money. At first, I didn’t know for sure if it was her. It had been so long since I’d seen her. Then she looked up and our eyes met, and I knew.”
“You have the same eyes,” I said.
Zara turned her big, brown eyes on me. Mom’s eyes. “So do you.”
My eyes.
It usually irritated me to be reminded of how much I looked like my mother, but today it made me smile. There wasn’t a part of me that wanted to be like her, which was probably why I clung to logic. It was my savior. If you were logical, you could never fall victim to something like addiction, because logic wouldn’t allow it. At least that was what I told myself.
“Did she know who you were?” I asked Zara.
“I don’t know. She was probably high, so it was impossible to say.” Her shoulders rose and fell, but she didn’t look sad at the thought that our mother might not have recognized her, and for that I was grateful. “My foster parents tried to give her some money, but I told them not to.”
“Smart.”
“I still felt bad.”
“I know.” I gave her hand a squeeze.
Our conversation was cut off when we reached the cafeteria, where we found nearly everyone already gathered. Only Hank and Buck were absent. The kids were on one side of the room, occupied by some activity—I didn’t know what—while the adults had gathered as far away as possible. They were talking, but in low voices, and the agitation in their movements told me it wasn’t going well.
The discussion died when Zara and I walked up.
Rowan stood, her focus on my sister. “You’re okay?”
Zara nodded, and Rowan gave her a sympathetic smile.
Devon cleared his throat. “We all know why we’re here, so there’s no point in going over what happened again. What we do need to discuss, however, is what we do next. We all know there’s no more justice system. No cops, no lawyers, no prisons. Which means it’s up to us to decide what justice means.” He looked the group over, his blue eyes so serious I could almost picture him in uniform. “From where I stand, I think we have two choices. One, we send Hank off. Give him a few supplies, a knife, put him in a car and tell him not to come back.
“The second option—” Devon paused so he could glance toward the kids, probably wanting to make sure they weren’t listening. When he was looking at the adults again, he said, “We adopt a no tolerance policy and kill him.”
Gasps and murmurs moved through the crowd, and a few people shook their heads.
“We can’t kill a teenager,” someone said in a low but outraged voice.
“It’s something we have to seriously consider,” Devon replied, not missing a beat. “I know it’s shocking, I get it. I used to be a cop. But things are different now. Just remember. It isn’t the only option. We can send him off. But we need to give it a lot of thought and decide what’s best for everyone.”
“But isn’t sending him off the same as killing him?” Grace was wringing her hands the way she had been earlier in the hall as she looked around. “I mean, he’s a teenager. We can’t possibly expect him to survive on his own.”
“Do you have another suggestion?” Devon asked.
She paused, hesitated, then shook her head.
“Can you at least acknowledge that he can’t stay here?” Devon continued. “You have a daughter. Do you want him around her?”
At that, Grace clamped her mouth shut.
“Okay.” He let out a frustrated sigh as he looked everyone in the room over. “Anyone else? Any ideas? Any arguments against discussing our two options?”
A few head shakes followed, but no more protests. It was like no one wanted to speak up or take responsibility. No wonder they let Gabe call all the shots.
“Then it’s time to talk about what we should do,” Devon continued. “I’ll start with the most extreme one. The death penalty.”
“I’ve never been in favor of the death penalty,” a woman in her mid-thirties said. I thought her name was Trudy. “I’m not about to change my mind now.”
“I get it,” Devon said. “It’s a hard concept to swallow.”
Unable to listen to this idiocy without speaking up, I got to my feet. “I want to say something.”
All eyes turned to me.
“I understand the hesitation when it comes to murder, trust me, and I’m not bringing this up just because it was my sister who—” Like Devon, I glanced toward the kids. “Got hurt. But we need to consider what happens if we choose to send him off instead of killing him. What if he comes back?”
Again, there were murmurs as people exchanged glances.
“He’s a kid,” Grace said. “What is he going to do?”
“I said the same thing,” I replied, holding her gaze. Not blinking. Trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. “I had a bad feeling about him, but I ignored it because he’s just a kid, and I told myself he couldn’t do any real harm. I was wrong. You could be, too. What if he comes back to get revenge?”
“So, you want to kill him to prevent him from doing something he might not even do?” the anti-death penalty woman said. “What are you, the thought police?”
I was well-read enough to know what she was referring to. “This isn’t 1984,” I said, holding her gaze. “It’s worse than that. At least in Orwell’s world they had rules and law, even if it was oppressive. We have nothing.”
More murmurs followed, as well as more head sha
king. I wasn’t even sure which way I was leaning, but the general tone of the group bothered me. They were unwilling to listen, unwilling to accept that things had changed, and that was a problem.
Devon sighed like he was as annoyed as I was. “Is everyone okay with a vote?”
“Can we abstain?” Grace asked.
Figured. She’d illustrated how spineless she was from the moment we arrived.
“Fine,” Devon replied, not hiding his irritation. “But that means you can’t complain about the decision.”
“Fine.” Grace crossed her arms defiantly.
Devon sighed again, this one more exaggerated. “Okay, all in favor of capital punishment?”
“You mean murder,” the anti-death penalty woman snapped.
“However you want to look at it,” Devon said. “Raise your hand if you think Hank doesn’t deserve to live.”
Hands went up, Devon’s included. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how I felt, and when I raised my own hand, Zara’s eyes widened.
Devon counted silently, his lips moving as he took in the numbers, and already I knew we were on the losing side—unless most of the people here had decided to be a coward like Grace and abstain.
Hands were lowered when Devon said, “Everyone who thinks we should banish him, raise your hands.”
Every person who hadn’t voted to kill Hank—except for Grace—raised their hand. Rowan and Lisa included. I wasn’t surprised. We’d already discussed this point, and it had, after all, caused problems with Rowan and her father. I was okay with it, too. People had a right to differing opinions. That was how democracy worked, which I guessed we were still part of. Who knew for sure, though?
The way Devon held himself told me he wasn’t thrilled with the decision, but rather than mention it, he gave one quick nod. “Okay. So, we’re going to need to get some supplies together. A few days’ worth of food, some water. One knife.”
“Just one knife?” Grace said.
Devon didn’t even bother looking her way. “You abstained. Remember that. But yes, one knife. I’m not giving a dangerous kid a gun, and you shouldn’t want me to. Not only that, but between the group of kids and Heath’s people, we’ve lost quite a bit of guns and ammo, and we can’t really afford to give any more away at this point.”
Lisa got to her feet. “I’ll get the supplies together. The sooner we have them, the sooner he can be on his way.”
“Thank you,” Devon said then turned his focus on Gabe. “Do we have a car he can take? I don’t want to give him one of the trucks, so something small might be better.”
“We have Ari’s old Civic.”
Rowan’s car came to mind at the mention of the Civic. We’d driven it all the way from Phoenix but had stashed it in her neighborhood the other day after staking out the school. Just in case we needed a getaway car at some point.
“Take it.” Ari waved his hand. “I don’t need it, and I don’t want someone like that around.”
“I guess that pretty much takes care of everything, then,” Devon said. “Thanks, everyone.”
People stood and began to disperse, a few leaving the cafeteria while others headed into the kitchen. Gabe had a shovel in his hand when he got to his feet, telling me he was going to dig Lane’s grave. As for me, all I could do was stand there with my arms crossed, disappointment at the miscarriage of justice I’d just witnessed radiating through me.
18
Rowan
Kiaya and I stood side by side as Buck escorted Hank from the building. Devon had packed his belongings—not that there was much—and everything was already loaded in the waiting car. Now all that was left to do was send him on his way. Then we could bury Lane and finally have a few minutes of rest. Hopefully.
Hank’s head was down as he passed us, his thick, dark hair shielding his face from view. I was thankful I couldn’t see his expression because he had to be terrified and I didn’t want to feel bad for him. He didn’t deserve my sympathy.
Devon stood beside the open driver’s side door, his arms crossed as he watched Hank approach. He was wearing what I liked to think of as his cop expression, his blue eyes icy when the teen stopped in front of him.
“You have enough food for about a week if you ration,” Devon said. “Water, too. We gave you one knife and a full tank of gas, and that’s as much as you’re going to get. I don’t want to see you here again. Understand?”
Hank said nothing, and he didn’t lift his head.
“Look at me,” Devon ordered, his tone growing colder.
The teen lifted his head, but his back was to me, and I couldn’t see his expression.
Devon’s jaw tightened. “If I see you again, you are dead. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” the kid spit out.
My back stiffened. I’d expected him to sound meek and scared, thought he might even beg for his life. Instead, he sounded angry. Defiant. Nothing like he had any other time I’d spoken to him.
Devon worked his jaw for a second as if trying to bite back his words, then pointed to the open car door. “Go.”
Instead of moving to the car, Hank turned, his gaze sweeping over the few people gathered outside, and a chill ran down my spine. Since picking him up in Amarillo, the teen had been quiet and withdrawn, and his brown eyes had always looked so innocent to me. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t suspected he was the one who’d tried to watch me change. Even after he’d started giving me the creeps, he just hadn’t looked the part.
He did now.
Hank was like a different person. His eyes were hard in his bruised and slightly swollen face, his expression twisted. Had something in him broken, or had he always been like this? Had he been hiding his true self this whole time?
“You can’t send a person to die and expect things to end there,” Hank said. “This isn’t over. Far from it.”
Devon grabbed the kid’s arm and shoved him toward the car. “Leave. Now.”
Hank’s upper lip curled, and he paused long enough to spit on the ground at Devon’s feet, then he climbed into the car. He was gone in minutes, pulling from the parking lot and disappearing down the street, but the unease inside me didn’t lessen. Maybe we’d made a mistake. Maybe we should have taken more time to discuss his fate. Maybe…
Gabe cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention his way. “We have the grave ready for anyone who wants to pay their respects.”
He and a couple of the other guys had worked on digging it while we took care of the Hank situation, and it was clear that the work had been strenuous. Gabe’s shirt was clinging to him, emphasizing the muscles he’d worked so hard to cultivate, and at his side, Brian, too, was sweaty. There was dirt streaked across his face, making his complexion seem twice as pale. It was the first time he didn’t look hard, though. He looked almost agonized at the thought of burying Lane. As did Gabe. Maybe they hadn’t gotten along well recently, but they’d known each other for a long time, and it was clear he dreaded saying goodbye.
The men headed for the gate—still open after Hank’s departure—and Kiaya and Lisa followed. A few other people followed, Buck among them. Matt was standing apart from the rest of the group the way he usually did, and it occurred to me that he hadn’t said much of anything since coming back to the school. He looked toward Devon, his expression uncertain, then toward the others who were headed toward the grave. His indecision made him seem younger, and for the first time since meeting him, I realized he was actually a good-looking guy. He had the kind of looks you’d describe as boy-next-door attractive. He was young, too.
Devon held his hand out, and I took it but focused on Matt.
“You coming?”
His head dipped once, his eyes darting toward Devon. “Yeah. I wanted to.”
“Walk with us,” I said, nodding toward the gate.
Devon gave me a curious look but didn’t protest, and the three of us started walking.
“I guess I should introduce you to Matt,” I told
Devon as we stepped through the gate.
His eyebrows jumped in surprise. “Matt?”
“Yeah.” I gave Miller a reassuring smile. “We got to know one another a little better at the hospital. I’ll tell you all about it later. For now, I wanted to introduce you.”
“Okay,” he said, still sounding slightly uncertain, but focusing on Matt. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”
Matt’s head dipped once, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. Then his gaze went to the ground. “Sorry for being an asshole in the past. I’m going to do better, though.” He ventured a look up. “I promise.”
“Okay,” Devon said, and even though there was still a little uncertainty in his eyes, he sounded sincere.
We joined the others in front of the school where the hole had been dug. Next to it lay Lane’s body, wrapped in a brown tarp. I was thankful to not have to see her battered face, but it couldn’t erase the memory of the tortured expression she wore as Heath kicked her, or the sounds of her pained cries. They would haunt me forever. Even worse was the knowledge that my father had chosen to stay with that monster rather than go with me. It made me queasy.
Gabe’s gaze was focused on the hole when he cleared his throat. “I’ve known Lane for a long time, and while we didn’t always get along, I respected her. Respected that she didn’t let people walk all over her. Respected how strong she was and how quickly she bounced back when life handed her shit. She didn’t deserve this.” He lifted his head, his gaze moving to Lane’s body. “I’m going to make sure Heath pays. I promise.” Gabe blinked a few times and cleared his throat again, his focus returning to the waiting hole. “Does anyone have anything else they want to say?”
Kiaya stepped forward. “We didn’t have the opportunity to get to know one another that well, but the little bit of time I spent with Lane showed me how tough and determined she was. She will be missed.”
She stepped back, and silence settled over us as we waited for someone else to speak. It stretched on, and no one stepped forward, but still Gabe didn’t make a move. Since staying quiet had never been something I was good at, the urge to speak was strong, but I hadn’t known her, and it felt wrong to pretend.
Far Series | Book 3 | Far From Lost Page 29
