Hank laughed bitterly. “There’s the Cavalo I know.” He said nothing more as he walked toward Cottonwood.
And the man and dog followed.
THEY WANTED
his head, yes. He could see it in their eyes.
Though it was just past dawn, and although the snow fell heavily, they stood outside their doors. They peered out through their windows. They whispered his name with malice and rage in their eyes.
Flanked on all sides by men with guns, he followed Hank through Cottonwood. Bad Dog crowded him closely, ears flat back against his head, a low rumble emanating from his chest. They’d tried to put a rope around his muzzle as they entered the gates, but Hank must have seen the black murder in Cavalo’s eyes and held them off. They could chain him up all they wanted; they would not touch Bad Dog in that way.
As he was led through the town, he braced himself for the first raised voice. For the first thrown stone. For the first signs of the mob forming and writhing toward him, ready to take his life and the life of his friend for what they’d done. He would fight back, he knew. He couldn’t
not
. But they’d be overwhelmed, and the last thing he’d see would be the faces stretched in fury above him as they cursed his name and tore at his flesh. It would just take one stone cast. One insult hurled in anger.
But it did not happen.
He could feel their hatred, yes. It all but rolled over him. However, their fear of him was stronger.
They were scared of him and every step he took. They wondered at him with wide eyes. They knew what he was capable of, having seen the aftermath of his destruction. Maybe they thought it a trap. Maybe they thought he’d turned against them and Dead Rabbits were hidden amongst the trees, waiting for his signal.
None of them spoke against him, but his name was whispered again and again and again until it became how the Deadlands sounded when wind blew through the lifeless trees.
Bad guys
, Bad Dog growled.
All bad guys.
“No,” Cavalo said quietly. “Confused. Scared.”
Smells like bad guys.
“Calm,” he said.
Yes. Yes.
As they neared their final destination, there were three more:
Deke, who caught Cavalo’s eyes before looking away, hiding his face, hands tightening around the rifle he held.
Aubrey, who held Cavalo’s gaze. She had no fear on her face, only worry. Bad Dog wagged his tail briefly when he saw her, and for a moment, she looked as if she’d reach out to pet him. Her father shook his head and she took a step back.
And finally Alma. Always Alma. Alma, who stood on the porch of the small office that had belonged to her brother before he’d been murdered and eaten with only his head left behind as warning. She looked fierce as the snow fell around her, her mouth a thin line, her eyes narrowed. He remembered the song he’d heard her sing about good-bye, good-bye, saying good-bye.
“You’re alive,” she said when they stood before her.
“Yes,” he said.
“I thought you might not be.”
He said nothing.
“Cavalo,” she said. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
“I’ve done many things.”
“I know. But now… the others.”
“What others?”
“The UFSA,” Hank said. “They came from Grangeville. Looking for Wilkinson.”
“And you sent them to me,” Cavalo said. “Because you knew what I’d do. If I was still alive.”
Alma looked away.
“It wasn’t her,” Hank said quietly. “Or me. Someone else in town. Don’t rightly know who. Can’t say I blame them, though. I told you, Cavalo. You took away their future.”
“Where are they?” Alma asked. “The ones who went up the mountain.”
“In the ground,” Cavalo said coldly.
She nodded tightly, as if she expected nothing less. “They’ll come for us now.”
“Not for the reasons you think,” Cavalo said. “Crisped and sere.”
Alma raised an eyebrow. “And what does that mean?”
“I don’t know. But we don’t have much time.”
“Hank,” Alma said, dropping her arms to her sides. Only then did Cavalo see the tin star attached high on her coat. He was sure it was the same one her brother had worn. “Bring him in. Bad Dog too.” She turned and walked into the office.
I HATE
being in jail
, Bad Dog grumbled, staring forlornly at the metal bars as he lay his head on his paws.
“We live in a jail,” Cavalo reminded him. He tested the bindings on his arms, cuffs attached to chains that stretched to the wall. There was some give to it, the metal grating against the hooks they slid through. They were strong. He wondered where they’d been found. He didn’t remember them from when Warren was here.
No. We live in our home.
“It won’t be for much longer.” He didn’t know if he believed that.
AlmaLady didn’t even give me a bone.
“She’s angry.”
With me?
“No. With me.”
Uh-oh.
“Yeah.”
The door opened. Alma walked in, followed by Hank. He closed the door against the cold. Alma glanced back at him and then turned toward Cavalo. She stared at him through the iron bars for what felt like an age. Then, “I half thought you’d be gone already,” she said.
“Some magic trick into thin air with chains laying on the floor.”
Cavalo shrugged.
Hank surprised him when he opened the jail cell door, grunting as he slid it to the left. Cavalo took a step back until he was pressed against the wall. Bad Dog growled low, but stayed at Cavalo’s side when Hank and Alma entered the cell, keeping the distance between them. Cavalo didn’t know what they were doing, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. These people were his friends, or as close to friends as he’d ever had. But he would kill them if the situation called for it. He would mourn for them, but his hands were already stained with blood. He wouldn’t mourn for long.
“Why’d you come back?” Alma asked.
“Lucas. They’re coming for him.”
“Who’s Lucas?”
“The Dead Rabbit.”
Her eyes widened. “He can talk?”
“No. He wrote it in blood on the walls.”
“Do I even want to know?”
Cavalo shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Things are different now. He’s….”
“He’s what?” Alma asked.
“Marked. It’s why they came for him.”
Cavalo did not miss the shared look between Hank and Alma. “Marked how?”
“Tattoos. All over his body.”
“Of what?”
“How much longer can you keep the lights on here?” Cavalo asked.
Hank didn’t seem fazed at the change in topic. “Through the winter,” he said. “Maybe a little longer if we ration.”
“And the water?”
Hank hesitated. “The snow helps. For now. We’re storing as much as we can. Our purifier is running. For now.”
“Because everything else is radioactive,” Cavalo said. “And it will eventually kill you to drink it. After the purifier goes.”
“And the droughts don’t help,” Hank agreed. “Summer rains are getting farther and farther apart. Not that we can really trust what comes down.”
“And when was the last time you saw a batch of potassium iodide?” Cavalo asked. “Or any other antiradiation pills? The caravans ran out of their supply a long time ago.”
“There was a rumor that someone found a DTPA cache up north a while back,” Hank said. “But I don’t think anything came from it.”
“And how many dead?”
“Cancer?”
“Yes.”
Hank shrugged. “Depends upon how far back you go. Dozens.”
“Cancer isn’t the only thing that kills you here,” Alma said, her words harsh and biting. “What’s your point, Cavalo?”
“Then why do you stay here so close to the Deadlands?”
Alma stared hard at him. He thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then, “Because there’s nowhere else to go.”
“That’s not true. There’s an entire continent.”
“Full of only God knows what,” Alma said. “You’ve heard the stories just like we have, Cavalo. Of monsters and men. Of stretches of irradiated land that go on for miles. Yes, they may be just that. Stories. But we have survived here. We have made a home here. Why take the risk?”
Bad guys
, Bad Dog agreed.
Scary bad guys with big teeth that live in the trees.
“Sometimes,” Cavalo said, “a risk is all there is.”
She laughed bitterly. “Those words mean nothing coming from you. Tell me, Cavalo. What risks have
you
taken? Why do
you
stay?”
“Because this is all I have,” he said honestly. “But sometimes, that’s almost not enough.” He thought of the tree that danced in the haunted woods. The tree that whispered poison in his ears.
“Then what changed your mind? You’ve never given a damn about anything other than wasting away in your prison.”
The words stung. “There’s more now.”
“What?”
“Lucas.”
“The Dead Rabbit.” She was good. Her voice gave away nothing.
“Yes.”
“You know what he is.”
“Yes.”
“What he’s done.”
“Yes.”
Now the anger came. “Did he do it?” Her eyes flashed.
He knew what she meant. “No. He had nothing to do with Warren.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Did you know Warren was working with the Dead Rabbits?” It was out before he could stop it.
She slapped him. He tasted blood. Bad Dog growled viciously at his side. “No,” he said, pointing toward the ground. Bad Dog lay back down, but his ears and tail were rigid, and he watched Alma with a curl to his lip.
There were tears in her eyes. Alma, who said that tears were a useless thing. A sign of weakness. He understood then.
“You knew,” he said.
She looked away.
“There’s much you don’t know, Cavalo,” Hank said quietly. “Choices had to be made.”
“You both knew,” Cavalo said. “About Warren.” The bees screamed in his head. “What have you done?”
“We ensured our survival,” Alma said.
“I’m sure Warren doesn’t see it that way.”
“I could kill you,” she said. Cavalo believed her.
“He came out of the woods one day,” Hank said, looking down at his hands. “We thought he was a drifter. We get them, every now and then. He was charismatic. He laughed. He smiled. He ate with us in my house. With my children. And then one night, he told me just how easy it would be to take Aubrey into the woods. How pink her skin was and how it would taste under his tongue. How it would crack and boil over a fire. She would scream, he said, as he peeled it away. Fear did something to the flesh. Gave it more of a tang.” He took a shuddering breath. “And we would watch. He would make us watch as he devastated my daughter. Then the rest of us would follow.”
“Patrick,” Cavalo breathed.
Hank nodded. “It’s been a little over two years now. Only the three of us knew.”
“You son of a bitch,” Cavalo said. “What did he want? In return?”
Neither answered, nor would they look at him.
“
What did he want
?”
“Supplies,” Hank said. “Information. Caravan routes. How often they came through. Grangeville. How many. How often we traded. The surrounding area. The mountains. Rivers. Dams. Never told them about the prison. They never asked.”
“That’s it?”
“And people.”
Cavalo closed his eyes. “To recruit?”
“No.”
Cavalo felt sick. “How many so far?”
“Five,” Hank said. “The first was from Grangeville. The second was from a caravan. The third was found wandering the woods. I never even knew her name. The fourth was a man from the south who had raped a woman and left her for dead.”
“And the fifth?”
“He couldn’t do it anymore,” Alma said. Her voice was flat, like SIRS when caught in the grip of his insanity. “He said this isn’t who we are. He told us we had to stop. That it was time to rise up and fight back.”
“Warren,” Cavalo said.
Alma nodded. “He went out one day. Said he’d be right back. That he was just going to talk some sense into them. The Dead Rabbits. I begged him not to. I begged him to stay. You know what he said?”
“What?” Cavalo croaked out.
“It’s not what Cavalo would do. Cavalo wouldn’t stand for this. Cavalo wouldn’t let this happen.” She wiped her eyes. “Always Cavalo with him. Cavalo, Cavalo, Cavalo. You would have thought you walked on water rather than crawled in the dirt.”
Without thinking, Cavalo rushed them both, forgetting the chains that bound him to the wall. All he could think about was his hands around their necks. To squeeze until blood vessels burst in their eyes and they saw all the world in the same red sheen that had fallen over him.
The chains snapped his arms back. “You fucking bastards,” he snarled at them. Bad Dog was at his side, teeth snapping, eyes narrowed. “You
fed
them!”
“And you murdered three men to save one of them,” Hank said. “What does that make you?”
“Fuck you, Hank.”
Bad guys?
Bad Dog barked excitedly.
They bad guys now?
“Hold,” Cavalo snapped at him. “Don’t move until I say.”
Alma and Hank took a step back. Cavalo pulled on his chains toward them. His arms stretched back. He bared his teeth. The bees crowed at his savagery. “Let me go,” he said. The chains scraped against the metal hooks.
“We can’t do that, Cavalo,” Hank said sadly. “Not yet. Not until we get some answers.”
“Or what? You going to feed me to them too?”
Alma winced but ignored his words. “Why did they want him?” she asked. “The UFSA. They knew who he was, didn’t they?”
“What happens if you can’t find someone to feed to them?” Cavalo asked. “What happens then? How do you choose?”
“Does it matter?” Hank asked.
“Yes.”
Hank glanced at Alma. She shook her head, and he sighed. Cavalo thought that’d be the end of it, but then Hank spoke. “Lottery,” he said in a soft voice, as if speaking the word any louder would make it real.
“Lottery,” Cavalo repeated.
“They wouldn’t know what for. Whoever was chosen.”
“And if it was Deke? Or Aubrey? Or either of you?”