Authors: Ann Christy
I nod, urging him on with an impatient wave of my hand he very kindly overlooks.
“Well, that means that people on the lookout for Jovan, and his companions, will get through without a doubt. Southeast has a firm policy about accepting Strikers under their political asylum rules, but that doesn’t mean they’ll put you under guard or anything. And once you get beyond a crowded city, or even just in a spot not visible, you’re fair game for bounty hunters.”
“We’re screwed,” I say.
Susanna leans forward and forces me to meet her eyes with her earnest gaze. “No, you’re not. You just have to be smart. And watch your language, if you please.”
Suitably chastised, I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and ask, “Then please tell us how we can be smart about this, because I’m at a loss.”
“That’s where the options come in,” Mario says and pulls out a big green log book. He flips it open, thumbs past bent and well-worn pages, to check something. “We’ve got a trade with Florida scheduled for the coming week. That will take you as far as you can get in the Southeast and still be in the Southeast. Or at least, you will be once you get past the Gulf lands and that’s an easy trip on good roads. We can land you in just the right spot.”
“How does that actually help us? Won’t a bounty hunter just find us anyway?” I ask.
He inclines his head, admitting the possibility, but says, “Or you can just wait it out. Eventually, the clock will run out because he’ll turn eighteen so any bounty will be an illegal one with a lot fewer takers. Or, even better, they’ll think you died.”
Died? I hadn’t actually considered that as a viable option while I was worrying about whether or not I would actually die. But now that he’s brought it up, it’s a good idea. Carrying it off successfully means not being seen though, giving no one any reason to believe we’re still alive. And that I have no idea how to do.
Jovan pushes his freshly washed hair back, though all that does it make it stick up in a way that begs me to smooth it for him. He seems to be waiting for me, or perhaps Cassi, to either decide or ask another question.
“Okay, we’re listening,” I say.
We’re going to owe the Flint family a boat. Specifically, we’re going to owe them a replacement for the blue-bottomed boat Marcus just paid to make seaworthy. That, plus an engine that burns gasoline and can push a boat very fast. Right now, I don’t think they’re too worried about any actual repayment. Marcus says that he’s gained something much better than a boat. Then he looks with such moon-sick eyes at Cassi it makes me laugh. She’s got it just as bad for him. Even Jovan approves.
We’re leaving tonight, but for three days we’ve been resting and recovering here inside the Flint house, taking care not to be seen. Jovan is like a different guy. I’ve never had the opportunity to see him at home—his home—before, so I’ve never seen what kind of person he is around the house. He’s like some kind of weird new form of domestic dynamo. It’s not just that he’s neat, since I’ve always known that about him—it’s that he seems to like tidying things.
It’s a strange juxtaposition, fitting the Jovan I know in with this interesting new form of him. Washing dishes is a good example of how he’s different. Connor, Cassi—everyone I’ve ever had occasion to wash dishes with—would rather dry dishes than wash them. Even I would prefer that. Not Jovan.
We volunteered that first evening to wash dishes in an effort to be good guests. While Cassi and Marcus went off to whisper and stare at each other without a boat in their way, Jovan and I tackled the mountain of dishes that a dozen people can leave after a big meal. When I stationed myself at the washing side, Jovan neatly tapped my waist to move me to the other side of the sink and took my place.
As he set to work, I realized he wasn’t just putting on a facade as a guest. The way he worked, so efficiently washing the dishes and then dipping them into the rinse water just so, made it clear that he’s done this a lot. I couldn’t help but give him a look, which just made him laugh. It was a full laugh, the kind that tilts the head back and brings a smile all the way up to a person’s eyes, and my heart nearly stood still in my chest. I also nearly dropped a plate.
“Whatever,” I said, turning back to my chore.
He shrugged and picked up a handful of suds, letting them drop back into the water with a soft plop. “I used to do this with my Mom. I just like the way the soap feels. It’s no big deal.”
It is a big deal. It’s a connection with people he loved. I patted his arm and kept drying. Ever since, he’s been helping out Susanna with the extra load our staying has made. He’s even good at laundry.
The three peaceful days we’ve had since have provided a much needed rest and some comfort. I’ve got clean clothes, hand me down’s from members of this huge family, and my skin is truly clean. Even my bruises and scrapes are fading and healing up. I’m still skinny, weeks of inadequate food can’t be made up for in a few days, but I feel better. Stronger.
Mario has enlisted the aid of family and friends in our endeavor. It seems there are benefits to being a member of the biggest family I have ever personally heard of. That is especially true when that family has fished and traded along the Gulf and the river for generations. Everyone is related to them, it seems, if only by marriage.
A cousin of some sort, who is also possibly an in-law as well as some other relation I can’t determine, is bringing Creedy via a slow ferry downriver. I think it’s foolhardy, but they assure me that it’s better to know where he is than not and I can’t argue with that logic.
According to radio traffic, he’s adjusted his offer and increased the bounty with no requirement that Jovan be untouched, only that he be alive. As for those of us with him, he still wants Cassi and me alive, which is chilling, but his offer for Connor and Maddix requires only a proof of death as a minimum to collect the reward. And he’s been actively polling everyone for information about us.
This is a bad turn and broadcasts that he’s not satisfied with leaving an open bounty and moving on to wait for someone to come claim it. And it’s not just a case of not giving up easily. It’s a clear signal that he’s not giving up at all. Whatever hold Jovan’s father has on Creedy, it must be a strong one.
Susanna calls me in to her bedroom on this final day of rest and I leave the small sunny room that must have once belonged to a pair of young girls. It’s filled with frills and pink things. I feel out of place in it, much too big in every way, but I like the soft bed piled with warm quilts and the clean scent of freshly washed linens. And I like sharing with Cassi, hearing her breathing and knowing there’s someone I can trust and care for an arm’s reach away.
On Susanna’s big bed she has laid out a startling array of things, all lined up neatly with a pair of bags to contain it all nearby.
“Okay, this is where we’re at,” she says as soon as she sees me in the doorway. She waves a hand over the items on one side of the bed and says, “This is for you and this is for Cassi. Check to see if I’ve forgotten anything.”
I have absolutely no idea what half of the things on the bed are aside from the clothes, so I’m equally clueless if she’s forgotten anything or not. There are tiny bags and boxes and plastic bottles that I’m almost afraid to touch. She gives me a sympathetic look and explains it all.
There are bottles of hair dye to use after we are finally safe, which she says we’ll have to reapply every couple of weeks, more often if we spend a lot of time in the water. Scissors for cutting hair, which makes me cringe a little. Shampoos that smell like flowers, soaps that smell like herbs and all sorts of stuff. It’s a lovely, generous gesture.
I help her pack and I can plainly see the worry on her face. “It’s going to be alright,” I say, though I’m trying to convince myself even more than her.
She shakes her head and answers, “I hope so. But you’re all so young. It’s not right for all this…this thing you’re planning.” She stops and turns to me, strokes my cheek in the tender way I’ve always wanted my mother to, and then gives me a motherly peck on the cheek. It’s such a warm gesture that I instantly feel pressure behind my eyes, like I might cry. All I can do is push it back and give her a shaky smile.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “He didn’t give us much choice in the matter. We’re just doing what we have to. None of us, not even Cassi, will be safe if we don’t.”
When her lips purse, I’m pretty sure that she’s thinking of her grandchildren, the ones living and the ones she’ll have from Marcus and Cassi if things keep going like they are. She gives a sharp nod, hands me the bags and says, “Then don’t miss.”
When darkness falls, I see that the moon is rising in that same slender sliver it did when we first escaped from Bailar. It’s hard to believe that we’ve been gone a month. It’s been both the longest and the shortest month of my life, though it would be hard to explain that to someone else. Each night of walking in unfamiliar territory and hiding in fear was endless when taken individually, yet they all blend together into one long night and day when I think of them together.
We slip out in groups of two, Marcus and Cassi, Mario and Jovan and finally, another brother named Georgio and I take to the streets. It’s quiet at night here in the place they call the suburbs, but not empty. People stroll along in pairs, jog with dogs on leashes—which surprises me because only the very rich keep dogs as pets in Bailar—or sit out on porches and fan the damp air as they talk.
We don’t dally, but we also don’t make a show of hurrying. We just go straight to the docks as casually as possible. The night watch is taken care of, yet another cousin of some sort. There is little business there during the night hours so we aren’t observed.
Georgio isn’t coming with us, but he tends the lines for us on the pier. Mario takes the smaller boat, still ragged-looking on top but now sporting a powerful engine, and roars away to do his part. We launch next, the four of us once more on Marcus’s boat. The sails are rather limp in the early night air, but he assures us that the winds will pick up. The little engines and the current do most of the work getting us into the flow of the river and moving south again.
A quick radio check between Marcus and Mario is the last open communication we will have. Once he gets near the slow ferry and the port where it will land, we’ll use only clicks and codes to be sure our plans are going as they should. That makes me nervous but Marcus says it’s normal and he doesn’t seem in the least bit worried.
We’ve got two days, maybe three, before our plan comes to fruition and I’m wound up so tightly I doubt I’ll sleep between now and then, but I have to try. Jovan and I have our shift steering the boat in the morning so he interrupts my pacing on deck to urge me below and to bed. I don’t feel like I could sleep or even stop moving, but he’s right that I should try. In the same cabin I shared with Cassi before, I feel like the snug space has grown smaller and tighter. I feel like I can’t breathe.
After tossing and turning for what may have been an hour but feels like days, I throw back the covers in frustration and pad into the main cabin to wait out the night. I’m not the only one who’s had trouble dropping off. Jovan is sitting on the long built-in couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes on the small windows that line the upper parts of the cabin. The gun remaining to us is laid out neatly on the couch, the cleaning kit nearby. The oily rags he used release their sweet, but somehow dangerous, scent into the cabin.
I clear my throat to let him know I’m there, to give me a chance to gauge how welcome I might be from his reaction.
“Can’t sleep either?” he asks.
He seems relieved to see me, or at least, relieved to see someone. I take that as encouragement and sit down next to him on the side that doesn’t have the gun.
“No,” I say with a sigh. “I’d really like to but it just isn’t happening. I just keep thinking about all the things that can go wrong. And about what happens if it goes right, too.”
Jovan hands me a pillow from a stack at the end of the couch and I stuff it against my middle. How he knew I needed it, I don’t know, but I suppose we’ve been together long enough for him to know I’m a hugger of random things. My pack, one of the bags we carried, whatever else may be at hand. When I sit and am worried, I clutch one to my middle. It comforts me.
“Thank you,” I say, patting the pillow.
“Sure,” he says, and goes back to staring out the narrow windows that show nothing but stars. We’re silent a while, just looking at the bright points of light as they bob back and forth with the motion of the boat. I hear a soft laugh from above, Cassi’s, and am glad that she and Marcus have each other on this beautiful night.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it,” he says, suddenly.
I look at him, the stars no longer of the slightest interest. “If it comes to it, I’ll do it. Unless it’s just the idea of killing him in general that you’re having second thoughts about,” I say.
He shakes his head but it isn’t a convincing shake at all. That worries me. This plan we’ve cooked up with the help of the Flints—or rather, the Flints have cooked up with many enthusiastic nods from us—is complicated but clean. Creedy will only wind up dead because he continued the pursuit. And he will meet that end out on the water, where there is no law and his body won’t be found. It’s perfect.
I feel weird about it as well, but really, what choices do we have? With the bounty, this never-ending chase and Jovan’s status as the only son—and heir—to one of the richest landowners of Bailar, we have to cut the ties and do it permanently. The simple and stark truth is that none of us will ever be safe to go and live our lives unless we do this terrible thing. Jovan knows this as well as I.
“I can tell you why it’s hard for me to think about killing Creedy, even though I know as well as you that he deserves it,” Jovan says.
When he doesn’t speak further, I motion for him to continue. It’s an impatient move that says very eloquently that he’s wasting his time.
“When I was too little to sit a horse, Creedy used to sit me up in front of him and take me with him through the pastures. He’d give me milk right from the cows, still warm, even though my father didn’t like it,” he says quietly. “You don’t understand.”