Capture (33 page)

From a strong and fairly sharp and spry old man to this—wasted and dying—in just a few days.
From an illness that neither doctors nor witches with healing abilities could name, much less cure.

And others could be dying of it too, right this very minute, in
the very place where I had promised them only safety and protection and shelter.

If we didn’t find a cure, how many more might die?
Bringing them here to the hospital obviously wasn’t the answer. For all their high tech equipment and education, these doctors seemed just as confused as the healers back at the village.

But as the doctor closed the door behind me, putting aside her professional curiosity in order to give Bud and me some privacy, I understood one thing at least.
In this moment, the people at the village weren’t who I needed to focus on.

Just for
one moment, it was Bud who deserved time and attention. And more apologies than I could ever say.

I stepped closer to the bed.
The hospital staff had left the plastic covered rails up, as if afraid Bud would roll off the bed. But he looked way too weak to sit up, much less roll around.

His breathing had grown harsher, each breath a small battle all its own for life.
And an accusation. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had caused this. If I had never asked him to drive our group…

I leaned in close and murmured,
“Bud...I’m sorry.”

His eyelids eased open.
“Hayden.”

He remembered me.
“Yes sir.”

“
I keep getting older, and you...” He struggled to swallow. “You keep getting younger.”

For a few seconds I was confused.
Then I remembered. The last time he’d seen me in bright lighting, I’d been disguised by Steve’s face aging spell. All the other times we’d spoken to each other had been under the dim lighting of the bus interior lights or parking lot lamps. “It’s the lighting.”

“
It’s sorcery.” His eyes searched mine with a cloudy desperation. As if begging me to tell the truth at last.

I nodded.

One corner of his mouth trembled upward, the ghost of a smile. “I knew it. Witches.”

I nodded.
He wouldn’t be able to lead anyone back to our village, and if he died, at least he would die knowing the truth as he deserved. “They’re good people, despite what the news and government say. I was trying to get them to safety.”

“
Did we make it?”

“
Mostly. But a few of them are sick now. Like you. So we’re not really safe yet.”

“
Your healers...they working on them?”

“
Yes. They tried to help you too. But they haven’t found a cure yet.”

“
They will. Pamela…she’s a good one.” He stopped for breath and a long, slow blink.

I should let him sleep.
I started to move away, but his eyes opened again. Wheezing, he grabbed my wrist.

“
Tell ‘em...tell ‘em don’t be afraid. Tell ‘em sorcery...ain’t the enemy.
Fear’s
the enemy. I wish they could feel it.” He sighed, letting go of my wrist as he smiled at the ceiling. “If they could know...the lives they could save...” His eyes closed. “Keep ‘em safe, Hayden. Until they see...”

Then the alarms went off, all the machines Bud was hooked up to refusing to let his exit from earth go unnoticed by the strangers who worked here, even as his family back in Oklahoma had no idea he was even in danger of dying.

In the chaos of the nurses and doctors rushing in, I slipped out, numb, empty but a million times heavier, and more confused than I’d ever been
before.

CHAPTER 20

Friday, December 25

I
didn’t turn on the radio on the way back to the village. No music would make sense of the thoughts inside my head right now.

I knew what Tarah would say, could hear her voice now, quietly telling me that Bud’s death wasn’t my fault, that sometimes it was no one’s fault at all, and trying to blame someone or something would just be my way of trying to make some sense out of it.

But it
didn’t
make sense. Why would Bud and the others get sick now? No matter what set of rules I tried to apply to the situation, none of them made sense. Why wouldn’t they have gotten sick when they were stuffed together in Grandma Letty’s house? Or in those cold military trucks for hours, or at the internment camp?

Age wasn’t a factor either.
The ages of everyone who’d gotten sick were all over the scale from young to middle aged to old. And none of them had seemed weaker than everyone else before they got sick.

And though I felt guilty about the sedatives we’d given Bud all week, I also had to face the fact that he was the only one who’d received
Grandma Letty’s potion, and yet others had gotten sick too. So the potion hadn’t caused it either.

By the time I pulled up the long road into the village’s clearing and parked, I was no closer to an explanation.
But I was close to hitting some kind of internal breaking point I was afraid to reach.

I turned off the headlights and caught a glimpse of my watch.
One a.m. I tried to remember what day of the week it was, then froze.

It was Christmas day.

I reached over the seat, found the sad little tree and its box base, and eased it up and over to its original resting spot in the front seat. Tarah’s presents. I’d wrapped them up together earlier. Where had I put them? I looked in the back. The single, lumpy package had slid across the backseat at some point.

A corner of
the gift’s wrapping was torn open. Carefully I eased the paper edges back together, trying to use a little glue to fix the tear. But the wrapping was too tight around its contents. There wasn’t enough overlap at the tear to allow the paper to stay stuck together.

I could start all over.

But I didn’t want to. That would mean admitting that I couldn’t fix this.

I could fix this.
I just needed the right tools. I dug through the tree box base, found a roll of clear masking tape. I used a piece of it, carefully lining up the edges of the torn paper before sticking the tape over it.

And it held.

I rearranged the sad little tree skirt back over the box of decoration supplies to hide it, then set the present under the tree. There, everything was ready for Christmas morning.

But when I reached for my door handle, I just couldn’t make myself open the door to get out.
Everyone would want to know what had happened at the hospital.

I’d been so sure the doctors would have a diagnosis.
I’d promised Pamela and Steve that I would come back with answers that could help everyone. I’d thought I could finally be a real hero, and this time it would be because
I
wanted it, not because my family expected it of me.

Instead, I had returned with nothing but failure and the promise of death for everyone who was sick.

My hands ached on the steering wheel. I hadn’t even been aware of grabbing it. Gritting my teeth, I tore my hands loose then pushed my muscles to carry me out of the truck.

But I still couldn’t go inside
my house.

Going inside meant seeing the hope in Tarah’s eyes die.

I needed to do something, though. Something that would keep my hands busy and my mind empty for awhile. Back home when I felt like this, I used to shoot hoops in the backyard. But there was no hoop and no basketball here. Just the surrounding mountains’ false promise of security even as we slowly died, hidden away from a world that hated and feared us.

The tiny house.
That would keep me busy for awhile till I could find a way to break the bad news to everyone.

I reached for the kit’s instruction booklet like a drowning man grabbing for a life raft.

I worked in the dark with a flashlight at first, focusing on being patient and going slowly. And it was slow going. But eventually I had the beam section for an exterior wall up. And then another. And then another, until the ghostly outline of a house began to take shape.

At some point, it grew light enough that I no longer needed the flashlight to see the instructions.
Still I kept working. The others would wake up soon and come seeking answers from me. Until they did, I would focus on connecting bolt sixteen to beam F.

Too bad leading an outlawed group of dying
Clann outcasts didn’t come with such clear cut instructions.

“
Hey,” Tarah murmured behind me, her voice the first sound to break the perfect stillness of the morning.

I looked over my shoulder at her standing there in the dim predawn light, her feet together, her hands primly clasped in front of her.
And once again, the way she stood there with that perfect posture of hers reminded me of the days when she had pretended to be the queen of Damon’s and my imaginary realm.

And now that
queen had come to demand news of her knight’s latest quest.

I looked away, my mouth twisting.
Did queens in the medieval days ever fire knights who proved too lousy to do the job? Or did they just behead them for their failure?

Of course, Tarah wouldn’t have to go nearly that far to punish me.
All she’d have to do was look at me while her face filled with disappointment and sadness and fear. That would be punishment enough.

Might as well get it over with.

“Bud died.” The words slipped out, harsh, with no warning. “The doctors couldn’t explain what was wrong with him either.”

There.
Now she knew.

I heard her swallow hard, take a crunching step closer across the snow.
Then her hand was over mine, and my face was buried in her neck and it was all wrong because I was supposed to be the strong one here. But it was she who did the holding, and me who was held, wrapping my arms tight around her so she wouldn’t see the fear I could feel twisting my face now.

We weren't little kids anymore. This was no child's game of pretend
, I was no knight in shining armor, and Tarah wasn't a real queen. But she was still mine to save.

But
how
?

There was only one way to keep her safe.
“You need to go be with your parents.”

She froze, but she didn’t let go of me.
“No.”

“
You have to. Otherwise you could get sick. You still could, even then. But maybe not. It doesn’t seem to be everywhere right now, just here in our village. At least the odds would be better for you away from here.”

“
No.”

“
Then go to my grandma’s. She’ll be happy to hide you again as long as needed. She’ll even get you a lawyer to help clear yours and your dad’s names. I can take you to a bus station and get you a ticket—”

“
I’m not leaving.”

Desperate, I leaned back, searching her face.
Her expression was unreadable. “Tarah, your family wouldn’t want you to be here. Even Jeremy would want you to go somewhere else, somewhere safe.” They wouldn’t want Tarah to get sick and die in the cold woods, cut off from the rest of the world where they couldn’t even say goodbye to her.

“
I belong here.”

“
I can’t protect you here! Don’t you get it? I can’t save you from whatever the hell this disease is.”

Her chin and lower lip jutted out a bit.
"I can't leave yet. I need to know how their story ends first.”

"You'd really risk your life for a stupid story?"

"It's not just a stupid story. It's life or death for them. If I leave now, I can't finish their story. If I can't finish their story, I can't tell it to begin with. And if I don't tell their story, who will? I'm the only voice they've got." She stepped closer to me and whispered, "If I don't tell the world the truth about them, who will, Hayden?"

Growling in frustration, I turned away.
“You are the stubbornest, most hardheaded person I’ve ever met!”

“
So are you.”

After a minute, I turned back to face her.
“How can you not be afraid?”

"Who says I'm not?"

I stepped closer to her, searched her eyes, and found the glimmer of fear hidden in their depths. "Then why stay?"

"Because
the world out there giving in to its fear is what got these people in this situation in the first place. It's okay to be afraid. But you can't make good choices based on it. Fear is the real enemy, not the Clann, and not the outcasts. We're all going to die someday. The real challenge is to learn how to live."

Her words reminded me of Bud’s last words.
Fear is the enemy.

I scrubbed both hands over my cold, tired face.
“What do we do then? We’re not healers. How do we stop this village from dying?” How did you fight a dragon that had no name and couldn’t be seen?

She sighed.
“Well, you could start by wishing me a Merry Christmas.”

I scowled.
Having a happy holiday was the absolute last thing on my mind. “I meant something to fight the virus. Do the healers need anything? Maybe some new herb I could get for them? Something they haven’t tried yet?”

“
They said they have everything they need for now. And we have plenty of others helping bring firewood and water.”

“
Then what can I—”

She tugged me toward the truck then opened the driver side door.
Did she want me to take her somewhere? Slowly I climbed in, watching as she circled around to the passenger side to join me.

Once our doors had shut out the world beyond the truck's cab, s
he reached across the seat for my hand. “Merry Christmas, Hayden.”

I stared at her, wondering if maybe she was insane after all and I should just kidnap her out of here.
She could thank me later. Maybe years later, knowing Tarah’s temper when it finally got riled up high enough. Dragging her away from here like some kind of caveman would definitely tick her off. But if she’d temporarily lost her mind because of the stressful situation or whatever, then taking her out of here could only do her good. Someday she’d see reason.

A long sigh
slipped out from her. “Now it’s your turn to say it back,” she added as if she were talking to a three year old.

I gritted my teeth, calculating if I could get the truck moving fast enough to prevent her from jumping out.
No, that would never work unless she was tied to the seat. The snow would slow us down long enough for her to realize what I was doing and dive out the door.

“
What good is it to celebrate Christmas?” I muttered. “Do you think those sick people in there care that it’s Christmas while they’re dying?” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the infirmary.

“
They need the rest of us to be strong and brave for them, Hayden.”

But even in the fantasy, the hero always had to actually do battle with the dragon.
Simply being brave and wishing it away never worked.

“
You know, my parents are Methodists,” she continued, each word slow and measured. “But they didn’t force me to share their beliefs. They let me check out other religions on my own. So I got to research and try out several, and I learned some pretty interesting things along the way. For instance, did you know Christmas Day isn’t just a Christian holiday? Before the development of Christianity, Christmas Day was celebrated on the winter solstice by pagans as the time of year when the long, dark nights would begin to grow shorter and the light would return.”

She lifted my hand to her cheek, closed her eyes, and kissed my knuckles.
And in that act, I finally saw the smallest hint of desperation hidden within her. “Fear comes with the dark. But the dark always ends eventually. We just have to hold out and stay strong until it does.”

I stared at her for a long time. Finally I managed to choke out,
“Merry Christmas, Tarah."

She smiled and whispered,
“Thank you.”

Wordlessly I handed her present to her.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she eased the paper off, her eyes widening. Then she sighed, her hands caressing the red leather covered journals for a moment before she lifted the lid off the small box on top of the stack. The early morning light, just peeking over the tops of the treeline, caught the rhinestones embedded in the sides of the short pink pen as she lifted it out, making it sparkle brilliantly.

“
My very own wand,” she sighed, and if I hadn’t been so terrified of losing her, I might have still known how to smile. “So now I can weave a spell with words.” She gave it a silly little swish in the air.