Banished (16 page)

I held Chub’s hand and supported Prairie with my other arm, half dragging her, retracing our steps down the alley toward town. Rascal followed, docile again. Any traces of the vicious attack dog he’d been moments ago were gone. I listened for footsteps behind us, the sound of tires on gravel, but there was nothing.

We reached a shuttered drugstore and I could see the pay phone in a pool of light at the edge of the parking lot. I hesitated—we’d be a visible target for anyone who came along.

A taxi cruised slowly by.

I jumped into the street. I’d never hailed a cab in my life, but I held my hand high and waved it hard. For a moment I thought the cab was going to pass us by, but at the last minute it slowed.

“I can’t—my arm,” Prairie said.

“We can cover it—”

Prairie shook her head. “No. It’s too dangerous. If he sees blood, he might insist on taking us somewhere. A police station, or a hospital.”

“Would that be so bad? Come on, Prairie, you’re
shot
. You need a doctor.”

She shook her head hard. “No. You don’t understand. Bryce is
connected
. In more ways than you can imagine. I’m sure he’s got people covering the police scanners, the highway patrol—if we end up with the authorities, we’re as good as dead. Besides, we can’t take Rascal.”

“But—”

The cabbie rolled down his window. “Excuse me, miss. You coming?” he asked in a thick accent.

Prairie shook her head again. I made a split-second decision. “I just need to use your cell phone, sir. Please. We’ll pay.”

The cabbie narrowed his eyes and frowned. “No ride?”

“No, I’m sorry, I just really need to use your phone.”

He muttered something I couldn’t understand and started to roll up his window.

“No! Please!” Frantically I gestured for Prairie to give me some money. She dug in her pocket and handed me a roll of bills. I peeled off three twenties. “Here. Just for a few minutes. I promise we’ll give it right back.”

The cabbie hesitated, then sighed and reached into the pocket of his coat. He handed me his phone and I passed him the money. “You stay right here,” he said, stabbing a finger at me.

“Yes, okay.”

I handed the phone to Prairie. She stepped back into the shadows while I waited next to the cab, Rascal sitting calmly at my side. Chub watched the transaction closely from my arms, his eyes wide and worried. “Phone,” he said. “Prairie call.”

“That’s right, Chub. We borrowed the nice man’s phone so Prairie could make a call.” I glanced at the man, hoping his expression would soften when he saw how sweet Chub was, but he stared stonily ahead, arms crossed.

It didn’t take long. Prairie shuffled back and handed me the phone. She was trembling. “Thank you,” I said as I gave the phone back to the driver. He didn’t respond but took off, wiping the phone on his shirt.

“I talked to Anna,” Prairie said. She had started to shiver all over. “She’s coming. We need to stay out of sight. I told her we’d be in that first yard.”

She pointed back the way we’d come. A compact bungalow was separated from the street by a row of mature trees and a thick hedge. With luck, the trees would keep us hidden.

Before I could reply, Prairie started to sway. I grabbed her good arm and steadied her, then half dragged, half carried her. Chub walked behind us, hanging on to my jeans belt loop.

A low stone retaining wall ran along the side of the yard. There were no lights on in the house. I prayed that the people who lived there were heavy sleepers. Once I got Prairie settled on the stone ledge, I looked at her arm again. I couldn’t tell in the dark whether it was still bleeding, but the makeshift tourniquet was wet with blood.

“Isn’t there something I can do?” I asked. “You know … heal it?”

Prairie shook her head. “Healers can’t help each other, Hailey.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just how it’s always been. But we’re strong. Stronger than most. I’m going to be fine.”

Her shivering eased as we waited, but the stone was freezing beneath us and the night seemed to be getting colder with each passing moment. Chub burrowed against my knees. “Sleepy,” he murmured, and I ran my fingers through his hair, over and over, the way he liked.

The minutes ticked by, the occasional car passing just a few yards away. Finally, a car pulled along the curb. It was small, and in the light of the streetlamps I could see that it was old and dented. The man who got out of the driver’s seat was tall and broad-shouldered.

He stood silhouetted against the streetlight, fists clenched at his sides as he looked around. I couldn’t see his face—he had a hood pulled up over his head—but something stirred inside me, the deep, intense feeling I sometimes got around the Morries, of longing and loss and connection and fear all run together. Could it be one of the other Banished men? How could he have gotten here so fast?

Prairie saw the man too, and I could hear her surprised murmur. Terror shot through my veins when I saw that he’d spotted us. I got ready to run, even though I’d never be able to move fast enough, not with Prairie and Chub.

But Prairie put her hand on my arm to stop me.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s Kaz. Anna’s son.”

C
HAPTER
19

H
E CROSSED THE LAWN
in a few long strides and barely looked at me before giving Prairie a careful hug.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” she said, wrapping her good arm around his shoulders. “You’re so tall! I think you were only twelve last time I saw you.”

“Let’s get to the car,” he said urgently. “Mom’ll kill me if I don’t get you home fast, Aunt Eliz—”

He stopped and shook his head like he was embarrassed. “I mean,
Prairie
. Sorry. Mom told me.”

“It’s okay,” Prairie said. “I was Elizabeth for a long time … don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, it’s just … I mean … Anyway, I’m Kaz,” he said, finally turning to me and offering his hand. I couldn’t make out his features in the darkness, but the faint light from the streetlamp glinted off his teeth as he smiled.

When I took his hand, I felt the electric connection I often experienced around the Morries. It wasn’t as strong as when I touched Milla, but it was alive with energy. Kaz’s skin was chilled by the night air, and his fingers were rough and callused, but his hand felt good in mine, and I held on for a second longer than I meant to.

And in one way he was different from any of the Morries I knew except Sawyer: he felt safe.

“I’m Hailey,” I managed to say. “And this is Chub. And that’s my dog, Rascal. Nice to meet you.”

He nodded, then turned his attention back to Prairie. “We can talk more at home, but Mom’s got everything ready and it looks like you’re going to need it. How did you get here?”

“Drove,” Prairie said, gritting her teeth. “But the car’s fine where it is, no one will notice it for days.”

“And … does the dog come?”

“If it’s okay with you,” I said quickly. “He’s good.” I couldn’t leave Rascal after he’d come so far with us.

“Doesn’t bother me. My car’s seen worse. Okay, Prairie, how bad off are you?”

“It looks worse than it is.”

“If you say so.” He took her good hand and pulled her carefully to a standing position. “I’d offer to carry you, but—”

“Considering I used to read you Elmo books, that might take a little getting used to,” she said with a weak laugh.

I followed, carrying Chub, who was nodding off. When we got to the idling car, Kaz helped Prairie into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt while I got Chub settled next to me in the backseat, Rascal in his usual spot on the floor.

Kaz pulled away from the curb and accelerated fast. We didn’t talk much on the drive, winding through tight-packed streets to the core of the city. Kaz took a road that curved along the lake, and suddenly there it was—all of Chicago laid out like a sparkling wonderland on the right, the black emptiness of Lake Michigan on the left. I couldn’t take my eyes off the view, but soon we were back in a grid of city streets. Beautiful old buildings rose up all around us, but as we went farther, they gave way to plainer neighborhoods with run-down buildings.

“Almost home,” Kaz murmured. “Hang in there.”

He turned down an alley and into a tiny garage behind a little house tucked between others just like it. As soon as he turned off the engine, he got out and went around to help Prairie, easing her out of the car.

“I’d better get her inside,” he said, almost apologetically.

Chub had fallen asleep again, and I tried to unbuckle him without waking him. I finally got him out, and found myself on a neat concrete walk in a tidy square of shrub-lined yard, tall fences separating it from the neighbors’. Rascal followed me and made an efficient tour of the yard. Three steps led to a brightly lit back stoop, where a woman waited, silhouetted in the door.

Yet another new thing to face. I took a deep breath and headed for the steps.

“Hailey,” the woman said softly. She was about my height, with softly rounded curves and pale hair curling around her shoulders. “I am Anna. Welcome. You come in. Dog too, is okay.”

The door opened directly into a kitchen. It was warm and cozy and smelled like bread and spices. Prairie was seated at a round table, and Kaz was setting a steaming cup in front of her. He had pulled his sweatshirt hood down, so I could see his face. He had sandy brown hair that was just a little too long, and a strong jaw. When he smiled, his eyes glinted like blue ice.

“You’re safe here,” he said, and I
felt
his words as well as heard them, his low voice skimming along my skin, my nerves.

Anna went to the sink and began scrubbing her hands with a small plastic brush and a generous amount of soap. “Please do not think I am rude. I think I must fix Elizabeth now. I mean, Prairie. Yes? Then, we talk.”

“We have tea,” Kaz said. “Milk for Chub, if you think he’d want any?”

“Uh … I don’t think he’s going to wake up,” I said. A clock on the wall read 1:40. I couldn’t believe it had gotten so late, but a lot had happened already tonight. I was exhausted down to my bones, and Chub was unbearably heavy in my arms. I longed to sit, but the kitchen table was covered with first-aid supplies—gauze, scissors, plastic bottles—and I was afraid I’d be in the way.

Anna turned from the sink and shook her hands, droplets sprinkling the air. “Kaz, show Hailey their room. This handsome boy—”

“Chub,” I said. “His name is Chub.” I’d carried him for hours, and my spine felt like it might never be straight again. I could smell the stink of my sweat and fear. Even worse, I felt the hot pooling of tears that threatened to spill onto my cheeks.

“Chub,” Anna repeated. “Let’s get boy to bed, okay? You and Chub have Kaz’s room tonight. Prairie will stay with me, I have big bed. I will take good care of her—I am studying to be nurse, so no need for worry.”

“I can’t take your room,” I protested, but the hitch in my voice was obvious even to me.

“Oh. Oh,
ukochana
. You poor child, go with Kaz now.” Anna pursed her lips as she settled in the chair next to Prairie. Then she took Prairie’s arm gently and began to cut away the shirt I had knotted in place. Prairie stayed silent, but her skin was pale and shiny with sweat, and she had purple circles under her eyes. Her hair hung in greasy clumps and her mouth was set in a bunched line.

“Come on,” Kaz said. “Do you want me to take him?”

Before I could protest, he lifted Chub out of my arms and laid him over his shoulder, Chub’s face tucked into his neck. I slid my backpack off and dangled it in my hand, my muscles numb from carrying Chub. Anna was dabbing at Prairie’s wound with cotton, and there was a strong smell of antiseptic in the air. The skin around the wound was black with blood, but the cotton came away bright red. I shivered and turned away.

I hoped Anna knew what she was doing.

The hall was narrow. At the end I could see a tidy living room. On one side were a bathroom and another room, with its door slightly ajar and a lamp glowing softly inside. Kaz opened a door on the opposite side.

“I’m, uh, sorry about the mess,” he said. “I didn’t have a lot of time to clean before you got here.”

It wasn’t cluttered or even messy, like kids’ rooms on TV shows or in the movies. I had been a neat freak my whole life, but I knew it was due to the rest of my life being so out of control, and Kaz’s room wasn’t like that either. It was comfortably disordered, with an iPod and books lying open on the desk and an empty soda can on the floor near a big bean-bag chair.

On the shelves, books were lined up neatly along with lacrosse trophies and a compact set of speakers. Posters of lacrosse players lined the walls, as well as pennants from Johns Hopkins and Syracuse and a few other teams. Crates on the floor held gear—gloves twice the size of an average person’s hand, rolls of tape and elbow pads and other things I could only guess at. A blue and white helmet sat in a place of honor on top of the dresser along with more books and a Mac laptop. The bed was made—barely, a quilt pulled crookedly over a lumpy comforter and pillow.

“If you pull back the covers, I can set Chub down and maybe he won’t wake up,” Kaz said.

“You’re good with him,” I said as we got Chub settled.

“I babysit for a family down the street,” he said with a shrug. “They have four kids. I like this age. They’re so … determined, you know?”

I did know. It described Chub perfectly. And suddenly I wanted to tell Kaz all about him, about our life with Gram, about the way it had all ended. I felt like I could talk to him for hours, without the staggering shyness I usually felt around kids my age.

Maybe there would be a chance, later. But right now I had other things to focus on. “I need to go see how Prairie’s doing.”

In the kitchen, Anna had finished cleaning the wound and stopped the blood flow, but I had to look away—the sight of Prairie’s torn flesh was more than I could handle.

I knelt in front of her, grabbing her free hand and squeezing. I wanted to do something more—but I didn’t know what. I knew that if all the bad things hadn’t happened, she would never have let me see her weak or scared, the way she looked now.

But what was I supposed to do? Prairie and I had saved each other—well, mostly she had saved me—over and over again. She had proved herself to me.

“I’ll be good as new soon,” she said, trying hard to sound cheerful. Anna clucked under her breath and poked black thread through the eye of a curved needle. The smell of antiseptic was almost overpowering. “Anna took the bullet right out. It was just a little thing.”

Bullet
—that word did it. I laid my face on Prairie’s knee, my shoulders shaking. Prairie patted my hair, my neck, whispering that it was going to be all right. That made me cry harder, but I was afraid that I would jostle her when Anna was taking a stitch. And besides, my nose was running all over her pants, and even though they were grimy from the past two days, I still couldn’t stand the idea of messing them up. So I got to my feet, shaky and stumbling, wiping my nose on my sleeve and swallowing my tears down hard.

“Hailey, there are tissues on counter,” Anna said, her voice calm but kind. “Please help yourself.”

I did. I blew my nose and splashed water on my face from the sink, and washed my hands and dried them on a pretty yellow dish towel. And then, even though I was afraid to look, I sat down and watched Anna close up the wound with tiny, careful stitches, the line of black
x
’s the only proof that Prairie had been shot just a few hours before.

Kaz had wandered in without me noticing. “Chub went right to sleep. I left your backpack in there. You can, uh, use the bathroom or go to bed or whatever when you’re ready. You can use my mom’s stuff.”

“Yes, of course,” Anna said. “Thank you, Kaz. Hailey, please make yourself home. There are towels in closet in hall, okay?”

“Thank you.” I knew I was filthy and that I probably smelled, and I was embarrassed for Anna and Kaz to see me like this. But I wasn’t ready to leave Prairie. I stood behind her chair and watched as Anna finished up.

“So, Hailey, you are sophomore in high school?” Anna asked, glancing up from her work and giving me a smile.

“Um, yeah.” Though it seemed unlikely I’d ever be setting foot in Gypsum High again.

“Kazimierz is junior at Saint Michael’s. That is Polish name, we call him Kaz. Saint Michael’s is nice high school, lot of good teachers. You do good in school?”

“Me? I—No—”

“Hailey’s smart, like her mom,” Prairie said, her voice soft. She had closed her eyes and rested her head against the chair back.

“Is she going to be all right?” I asked, worried.

“Oh yes, there is nothing to worry about. I think she is just very tired. This little wound, mostly I just make sure no germs, no bone chip. Bullet comes very close to bone here, see.”

I looked where she was pointing, at the neat stitches in Prairie’s arm.

“But all good. I have to poke around a little, that does not feel very good for Prairie. But I give her something strong to drink, make her relax, make her feel little bit sleepy.”

I watched Anna finish the stitches and carefully bandage Prairie’s arm. I wished I could just put my hands on her and heal her like I had with Milla and Chub, but the rushing urgency wasn’t there, and I knew it was true—I couldn’t help her. Anna, Banished like us, was using thread and a needle and medicine, traditional tools, and in comparison they seemed so … inadequate. And I understood how Prairie could have been tempted to try to use her gifts to heal as many people as she could, how she could have gotten dragged into Bryce’s crazy scheme if she believed that she was going to find a way to share the powers.

I had Prairie’s hand in mine, and I could feel her pulse slow and steady in her wrist. I thought she might have gone to sleep, but when Anna started to pack her supplies back into the case, Prairie sat up and blinked a few times.

“Anna, I don’t know how to begin to thank you.”

“No need to thank—we are family.”

I figured that whatever had caused their rift, it couldn’t have been that bad if Anna still considered Prairie family.

Anna turned to me and patted my knee. “Your aunt has told me all about your grandmother Alice. I am so sorry you had to live with her. In Poland, there were stories among the
Blogoslawiony
—”

“That’s what they call the Banished in Poland,” Prairie said.

“Yes, the people who came from old country. Anyway, after they left Ireland, sometimes a Healer woman is born who is not right. The gift is too much for them, they are not strong enough to use it right way. They turn mean, families have to lock them up. Usually very sick, die young.”

“Gram was …” I couldn’t think of what to say. She was so many things, all of them bad.

“Anyway, now you are with aunt, with our Eliza—our Prairie—much better.”

Prairie sighed and reached out to touch Anna’s hand. “I owe you so much. You were right. You told me to leave that job, and you were right. I don’t know what else to say … except that I’m sorry.”

That must be it, the reason they’d grown apart. Anna shook her head, eyes cast down. After a moment she squared her shoulders and met Prairie’s gaze. “There is no need to speak of it again.”