Loomis hugged herself. “But he lived.”
Gwen nodded. “For a month. It looked like he’d get better, but after a week he started to get sick.” She grimaced, remembering the smell of gangrene as the man’s wound putrefied. “It got pretty ugly. Toward the end he became delirious, talking about coming home.” Speaking of looking ill, Loomis had turned gray.
What happened?
“We were fading fast by then. There wasn’t enough food, and everybody was getting weak. Weasel got him talking about Lindsay Crossing and where it was. After Riddick died, Weasel rounded us up and we left.”
“Did he receive a proper burial?”
She froze, knowing how Loomis felt about burying the dead. Lying was out of the question; all of the older Gatos knew the answer and the truth would eventually get back to Loomis. She steeled herself for castigation. “No. We left him in his sick bed.”
Loomis nodded slowly, her lip curled into a snarl. “Good.”
Gwen’s mouth dropped open as Loomis urged Tempest to a trot. She didn’t go far before slowing, just ahead of the horse Terry guided.
Turning to the boy, Gwen asked, “Do you want to tell me what the hell that was about?”
He shrugged, mystified. “I don’t know. I knew she was mad, but I don’t know who the guy is you’re talking about.”
Gwen grunted in acknowledgment, her attention on Loomis’s back.
Loomis stayed ahead of them for the rest of the trip. They bypassed Lindsay Crossing completely, turning onto a rough road and circling the town. Gwen thought it made sense from a security standpoint—no need to advertise a full load of goods someone else might want. She wondered if that wasn’t the reason. Maybe Loomis didn’t want to see anybody who might have heard about Riddick’s involvement with the Gatos. The longer she mulled it over, the more likely she thought that was the cause of the detour. Whatever had happened between Riddick and Loomis had left some ugly scars. Loomis didn’t want anybody to see how it affected her. Was he the cause of Loomis’s nightmare? If so, who was the boy Loomis was defending in the dream? A friend? A brother? Gwen frowned, remembering the photo in Loomis’s bedroom. The next oldest boy seemed too old to have survived the plague. That left Rick as the most likely suspect. He seemed okay, something she doubted would be true if Riddick had been involved.
Riddick had been all manner of asshole. He had liked hurting people. Weasel had been forced many times to step in when Riddick went crazy on his girls or with the other Gatos. Only the fact that Weasel had the manpower backing him kept Riddick in line. Fact was, even if the crew had made it a regular practice to bury their dead, they probably would have left him to rot where he had croaked. The only ones who liked him were a couple of crackers that hung with him. Come to think of it, Riddick was the last of that little clique. The two fuckers that had hung with him had gotten themselves killed in the same raid that had wounded him. No loss, really. The three were a violent explosion waiting to happen. Did all of them come from here? If they had, it was no wonder the townies weren’t pleased to hear his name. Considering how pure these people were, Riddick’s crew must have been a cancer in their midst. She wished she knew where Weasel or one of his lieutenants had ended up. They could tell her if those crackers had arrived in the city together.
It wasn’t much after midday when they pulled into the overgrown lane leading to the homestead. Gwen paid a little closer attention to her surroundings this time, seeing the solar panels with fresh eyes. She didn’t know shit about electricity, had no idea how much could be gathered by four panels. Did they power anything else besides the ceiling fans?
Once over the creek bridge, Terry steered the horses toward the cabin instead of the barns. Loomis was already there, dismounting and tying Tempest to a post by the woodpile. As Terry stopped the horses and hauled on the brake, she disappeared inside. Gwen slowly climbed out of the wagon, feeling more bruised and battered than she had upon her first arrival. She groaned and stretched, feeling her spine crackle in appreciation.
The door burst open, Megan and Delia dashing out, nearly running Gwen down. “What’d you get? Anything good?” Megan’s eyes were bright with excitement. Delia didn’t even bother to ask, climbing onto the bumper of the cart, trying to pull herself high enough to climb inside.
“Nothing for you.” Terry’s nose stuck into the air. “Unless you guys are babies. We got lots of baby stuff.”
“I’m not a baby!” Megan’s brow furrowed, looking exactly like Loomis had after her conversation with Gwen. The resemblance was so complete that Gwen stared at her, feeling the same dread as she had when discussing Riddick with Loomis.
Delia made it into the cart and tugged on the knots holding the tarp in place. “Oscar’s the baby now.”
“Yeah, Oscar’s the baby,” Megan stuck her tongue out at Terry.
“Hey, none of that now.” Loomis appeared at the door. She picked up Megan, giving her a kiss before depositing her in the cart with Delia. “You’ll always be my baby.”
The little girl rolled her eyes. “That’s different.” She scrambled forward to help her friend.
Kevin and Rick came out, still chewing mouthfuls of food. Gwen’s stomach rumbled as she realized it was past lunchtime. She remained in place, watching Loomis as she spoke with the two of them, reaching out to pat Kevin’s shoulder in greeting. Despite her attempt to appear pleased at being home, there was a level of aloofness that didn’t leave her hazel eyes as she imparted instructions about unloading the cart.
“What happened?” a soft voice asked.
Gwen jumped as she realized Heather had come out to stand beside her. “What do you mean?”
“Loomis is upset. Can’t you see it?”
A stab of irritation spiked through Gwen, but she held off snapping. “She’s been upset since talking with Annie Faber this morning.” She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. What would the rest of the Loomis household have to say about her news?
Heather’s expression was puzzled. “Why? What did Annie say?”
Gwen turned toward her, face stern. “She told her that Riddick was the reason we came from the city. He’s the one who told us about Lindsay Crossing.”
Heather’s eyes widened, and her complexion became wan. “Oh, my God.” Her glance flickered beyond Gwen’s shoulder.
Looking behind her, Gwen saw Loomis still deep in discussion with the boys, Terry having joined them at the front of the cart. “You going to tell me what the hell is going on here? How come Loomis got so furious when she heard his name?”
“Whose name?” Cara had come outside.
Heather turned and whispered a response.
Cara’s lips thinned, and Gwen saw the same hatred spark in her brown eyes. “Don’t ever say that name around here again.”
Gwen wanted to let loose her anger, push the issue. Everybody knew what significance this information had but her. She hated that. Right now her position was weak. She was still too new, too much an outsider to have any power in this situation. Maybe when she had some time to ingratiate herself more with Loomis, become a member of the “family,” things would be easier to talk about. Until then she was left with little recourse but to keep her mouth shut. She nodded agreement to Cara’s demand and let herself be distracted by a bowl of stew inside the cabin. Lucky was there, rocking Oscar in the crib as she struggled with reading a book. She came to the table and sat with Gwen, discussing her day at the homestead. Gwen pretended to pay attention, wondering when and where she could get her questions answered.
***
Predictably, the afternoon was spent unloading the cart into the cabin. Delia and Megan were pleased to receive a handful of stuffed animals to add to their collection, dusty as they were. Loomis doled out a ream of paper to each person, leaving her with a handful of legal pads that she carefully placed on one of the living room shelves for the future. Also unavoidable were the responses of Heather and Cara when they saw the contents of the sewing room. They squealed almost as much as the little girls did over their toys. Gwen shook her head. She watched Cara going over the dressmaking dummy, removing the partially completed outfit still attached to it, and felt a measure of amusement despite the woman’s caustic order earlier. Heather pored over the abundant material, separating it into various piles.
The shoes were a bit big for Kevin. That was a good thing. At least he had room to grow into them. He came away with a pair each of tennis shoes, hiking boots and mustard colored knee-high boots that obviously went with one of those weird outfits. Gwen watched him chatter to Lucky about his shoes and couldn’t help but smile. When had she ever seen him this open and happy? Whether or not things worked out here for her, it looked like both Lucky and Kevin had found some measure of belonging.
With Terry’s help, Rick had been forcibly stuffed into one of those elaborate tunics. There were wide belts in one of the wooden chests from the basement, and he wrapped one around his cousin’s waist, trying to figure out how to buckle it in place. On the back of the couch was the red cloak and one of the swords from the mantel. Terry planned on dressing Rick from head to toe in the getup, and the older boy laughed, interrupting the attempts by tickling his cousin.
Loomis sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, arms crossed as she watched her family with an odd expression on her face. There was a soft smile on her lips, almost wistful looking, like she was happy for them but didn’t expect to ever feel the same for herself. One or another of them would draw her into conversation, but only for a moment or two before they were distracted by their bling-bling. As soon as their attention deviated, Loomis returned to the outskirts of the muted celebration, always watching.
Did she always step back from them? The rest of the Loomis clan didn’t seem to notice their head honcho’s disquiet, thereby flashing a big red neon light of warning to Gwen that this was standard Marissa Loomis behavior. Good leaders usually did keep themselves at least a little separate from those they guided. Of the few gangs she had some experience with, Gwen counted the most powerful ones as having a cool and distant head as the chief. Weasel had been that way. Otherwise the Gatos would never have survived as long as they had. She frowned to herself, comparing her past experiences with what she saw here. Loomis and her townies might be pure, but they followed the same general principles. The reason Loomis held power was because she kept herself at arm’s length. People respected her for her detachment, listened to her because she didn’t flap her gums all the time, and obeyed her orders because she didn’t give them often. About the only difference Gwen could see was that Weasel backed up his commands with violent reprisals if he was disobeyed. Had Loomis been like this when she was a kid? Or did it happen when Riddick fucked things up for himself so much that he had to run away to the city?
Loomis glanced at her. Their eyes locked, and Gwen felt a tremor run up her spine. The pleasant expression on Loomis’s face disappeared with amazing speed, replaced by a grim countenance. Even from this distance, she saw the hazel eyes lighten, a sure indication of irritation or anger. Gwen felt a rush of indignation and opened her mouth to say something in her defense. Before she could, Loomis stood and quietly went outside.
Gwen had a finely honed sense of justice. She’d had nothing to do with Riddick other than know who he was. There was no way she was going to take the emotional crap that Loomis was dishing out over the issue. Pausing long enough to be certain everyone else remained occupied, she followed. She stepped out of the cabin, using a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Rick had put away the cart and released the horses into the corral, so nothing blocked her view of Loomis striding past the garden toward the pond. Gwen hobbled after her, feet still aching, the pain no longer as excruciating as it had been upon her initial arrival. By the time she caught up, the woman was seated on the end of the small dock jutting into the pond. Her fingers dangled in the water, and she stared unseeingly at the brush fence on the other side. The dock was a free-floating one. When Gwen stepped onto it, the entire thing shifted with the new weight, heralding her presence.
Loomis turned to glare at her. “Leave me alone.”
“No.” Gwen approached. “You’re not the boss of me yet.”
“Yet?” Loomis repeated, her anger flickering with confusion before she made a conscious effort to remain annoyed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Gwen snorted and sat down beside her. “Neither do I, but it looks like we’re going to.”
“Just go away. Leave me alone!”
Loomis’s voice had an almost pleading quality to it, and Gwen smothered an irrational surge of sympathy.
Fuck! It’s not like we’re friends on anything!
When she didn’t answer or accede to the request, Loomis tried to stand. Gwen reached out and caught her wrist, tugging her off balance until her butt returned to the dock with a watery thump.
“Let me go!” Loomis demanded in a shrill tone.
Not expecting the panicked glaze in Loomis’s eyes, Gwen quickly released her. She held her hands up in surrender.
Loomis lost no time scrambling to her feet. She panted, her eyes somewhat crazed, but she didn’t move away.
“Look, I…I don’t know what he did, and I don’t care,” Gwen lied, talking fast to get her words in before Loomis ran. “But you’re treating me as if I had something to do with…whatever it was. It’s not my fault that motherfucker was with the Gatos. Like I said, he was there before me. We didn’t hang together, if you’re worried about that. Not many of us did. He was an asshole through and through. He deserved what he got, and then some.”
Loomis stared for a long moment before a contrite expression crossed her face. She looked back to the house, flushing. Making a decision, she slowly sank to the dock, not looking at Gwen. They sat in silence for a while. As much as Gwen wanted to push, she kept her trap shut. Loomis needed to get there on her own.
“I’m sorry.” Loomis spoke barely above a whisper. “It’s just… I just wasn’t expecting to hear… And then you…” She took a bracing breath. When she spoke again, her tone was stronger, closer to normal. “You’re right. It’s not your fault. I apologize.” She risked a glance at Gwen.