Crisped + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 2) (6 page)

Cavalo looked to SIRS next to Bad Dog. His posture was rigid as he eyed the townsfolk. He clicked and beeped. Every now and then his eyes flashed.

Cavalo looked to Lucas on his other side. His posture was rigid as he eyed the townsfolk. His black mask was smeared around his narrowed eyes. Every now and then, his teeth flashed.

They were the same. He thought they were better, but they were no different.

Hank spoke. He said many things about power and water and Dworshak. About light and darkness. He spoke of their fallacies. About the blood on all their hands. Of the decisions made in the past. Of choices that had to be made in the days ahead. He spoke of who the Dead Rabbits wanted. Of what they would do if the town complied. About what the town would do if they did not. Of cycles ongoing. Of cycles broken.

Alma stood with the crowd. She caught Cavalo’s eye once. Held. Looked away.

The questions came as Cavalo knew they would. People could not live this close to the Deadlands and have seen what they’d seen without questions. Especially when it involved a Dead Rabbit. There was disbelief in the words as they were shouted. Skepticism. Even anger. Cavalo thought of mobs forming. Like a hive filled with bees. He started to dig his feet into the earth, cataloging those that would be the most immediate threat. They would be the first to fall, their life’s blood spilling onto the dirt before they even knew what had happened. It would be regrettable, but necessary. The sight of blood would either cow the rest or send them all into a frenzy. Either/or would do Cavalo just fine.

He tasted the dusty tang of copper in the back of his throat. “Be ready,” he muttered to those at his side. “Be ready.”

And it might have ended there, this story, with the spilling of blood and the deaths of dozens in this little town on the border of a radioactive wasteland. Humanity, after all, cannot always contain the rage within. The hive could have split, and a swarm of bees could have descended and crawled on the eyes of all those present, clouding their visions from nothing but death.

It was close. The hive cracked. Voices raised. Fury spilled over.

But it did not happen.

Instead, Lucas stepped forward.

The town of Cottonwood sighed as they took a step back. Cavalo thought of the tree-wife who danced in the haunted woods. Cottonwood sounded like the wind through the tree-wife’s leaves.

Lucas lifted his shirt up and over his head. Gooseflesh raced along his arms and back. His breath streamed from his mouth. The fat scar around his neck paled sharply in the cold. He dropped the shirt onto the snow. The black tattoos on his skin were bright against white flakes dropping from the heavy clouds above.

He raised his arms and turned slowly, just as he’d done in the cell block before. And when his back was to the town, his gaze met Cavalo’s. A snowflake landed on the thick mask around his eyes. It melted upon contact, and a black tear tracked its way down his cheek.

As the town of Cottonwood looked on in horrified wonder, Lucas watched only Cavalo.

And Cavalo, knowing how truly pleasurable it was to burn, did not look away.

push

THERE WERE
seventeen days left. Cavalo stood near the southern gates of Cottonwood, the sun not yet risen. Lucas stood behind him, twirling his knife, pack slung over his shoulder. Bad Dog sniffed the metal gate, anxious to get on the road.

“We’ll be back by tomorrow,” Cavalo told SIRS and Hank, tightening the strap of his own pack. “Afternoon at the latest, barring any storms. Are your people set?” He slid his bow over his shoulder. SIRS and Lucas had brought it down from the jail, along with his rifle.

Hank nodded. “Bill knows more about electricity and such than anyone else around. He’s kept the lights on this long. He’s the best we got. He’s taking his son Richie with him.”

“They know what to look for?” Cavalo asked, though he knew Bill knew his stuff. He’d come to the prison once to help Cavalo and SIRS with a short circuit that SIRS could not track down.

Hank shrugged. “As much as possible. It’d be easier if SIRS went with them.”

SIRS stiffened. “That might be so,” he said, “but the world is
far
too big and the chances of getting lost are extraordinarily high, and even
if
I wanted to—”

“Not an option,” Cavalo interrupted. “I need him at the prison. It will make things easier. They’ll have the walkies. You said they’re long-range. Are you sure they’ll work?”

“Never tested them that far,” Hank said. “I guess we’ll find out. They’ll be heading east, then north on the old US 12 toward what used to be Orofino. There’s a caravan route to follow. It’ll take them through higher elevations, but SIRS said we’re clear of any major storms for at least a week or so.”

“And who’s the third person going with them?”

Hank hesitated.

“Hank.”

“He’s a good boy, Cavalo. What happened was an accident. He asked to do this, and even though it goes against my better judgment, I agreed. I think he sees it as his penance.”

“Deke?” Cavalo asked. “Shit. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Not sure of much anymore.”

Cavalo felt the scrape of a knife against his arm. He had to stop himself from lashing out instinctively. He looked over at the Dead Rabbit. There was a question in his eyes. He made an L shape with his thumb and forefinger and pointed it at Cavalo.

“Yeah. That was him.”

Lucas glared at Hank. Jabbed the knife at him. Motioned between Hank and Cavalo. Jabbed the knife again. Pointed at Bad Dog.

Hank didn’t appear to be put off in the slightest. “What’d he say?” he asked Cavalo.

“Said you better make sure Deke knows if he’s going to point a gun at someone, he’d better be ready to use it.”

“That’s all he said?”

“Yes.”

Lucas scowled at Cavalo. Waved the knife again.

“That wasn’t all,” Hank said sagely.

“I’m not going to say that,” Cavalo told Lucas.

Lucas pressed the knife against Cavalo’s stomach. The tip poked through the outer layers and dimpled his skin underneath.

Cavalo sighed. “And if Deke ever points a gun at me again, Lucas will cut off his arms and feed them to Bad Dog.”

And I will eat them with great satisfaction
, Bad Dog said with a growl.

“And Bad Dog will eat them.”

With great satisfaction
, Bad Dog instructed.

“With great satisfaction,” Cavalo muttered.

“Duly noted,” Hank said. Cavalo could hear the hidden smile in his words. “Let’s keep that to ourselves. For now.”

“Tell Bill to keep his head down. They move quick and quiet. If there is any sign of trouble, they run.”

“Bill knows. Should take them five days or so. Couple of days there, a day at the dam, couple of days back.”

“And any caravans come through, you get all the ammo you can. And if they won’t stay and fight, you tell them to run.”

Hank was amused. “I’ll make sure.”

Cavalo nodded. “We should go.”

Lucas sheathed his knife and grinned at Cavalo. He turned toward the gate as it began to rise.

“Do be safe, Cavalo,” SIRS said. “This is the most excitement we’ve had in years, and I would surely hate it if it ended with all of your heads on a pike as a warning to others. I think that would be a most painful way to die.”

“Thanks,” Cavalo said. “I think. You know what to do?”

The robot’s eyes flashed. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m
only
capable of understanding complex quantum mechanics. I don’t know how I’ll ever shepherd a bunch of meat suits to my prison.”

“You understand quantum mechanics but can’t figure out the rest of the schematics?” Hank asked.

“You aren’t allowed at the prison,” SIRS said. He beeped loudly, and his eyes went dim. His head rocked back with a loud creak and he blared, “G.H. LEWES WROTE THAT THE EMERGENT IS UNLIKE ITS COMPONENTS INSOFAR AS THESE ARE INCOMMENSURABLE, AND IT CANNOT BE REDUCED TO THEIR SUM OR THEIR DIFFERENCE.” His head came forward as the lights of his eyes grew brighter. “Why are we all standing around talking?” he asked, sounding affronted. “We have work to do!”

“We’ll be ready,” Hank said.

Cavalo wasn’t sure if he believed him. “Alma?” he asked quietly.

Hank shook his head. “Give her time, Cavalo. She’s—
we’ve
made mistakes. Terrible choices. It’s hard for her. For all of us.”

“Could you tell her….” Cavalo stopped himself. He didn’t know what he wanted Hank to tell her. Words were frivolous things, and he’d used more of them in the past few days than he had in the past few years. He was tired of speaking.

“You can tell her when you get back,” Hank said quietly, as if he only wanted Cavalo to hear. “She’s just not sure about”—his eyes flickered over to Lucas—“everything.”

“It’s not—”

“He fits,” Hank interrupted. “Like the missing piece of a puzzle. He fits, Cavalo. With all of you. I can see that. And so does she.”

“It’s not…,” Cavalo tried again.

“It’s not what?” Hank asked kindly.

Cavalo didn’t know.

“You know what you have to do. You have to push.”

“Push what?”

“The Dead Rabbit. For everything he knows. It’s better if….”

“If?”

Hank looked away. “If it’s done away from other people.”

Cavalo understood. “In case he… reacts.” For a moment, he hated Hank more than he ever had before. It was a flash of white-hot rage where Cavalo almost shot Hank in the face. It faded as quickly as it’d come.

Hank gave a grim smile, unaware of how close he’d come to death. “Reacts. Yes. He knows, Cavalo. More than we ever could. If we’re to do this, we need to know what he knows. Every little detail. It’s our only chance.”

And that’s what worried Cavalo. How much the Dead Rabbit knew. How much he’d give up.

And if he’s really on your side at all
, the bees whispered.
Or if he’s playing you. Pushing his way in like a worm into a rotting corpse until one day, when you least expect it, you look down and see his knife buried in your chest, his teeth biting into your skin as he begins to feed.

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Travel safe.” Hank squeezed his shoulder.

Cavalo nodded tightly and turned toward the southern road, suddenly dizzy from the burst of bees in his head. He did not miss the way Lucas frowned at him, the knife again in his hand.

THEY FOLLOWED
the southern road, or rather, what remained of the southern road. There were curious legends, faded green signs that let them know they were traveling on what used to be known as the US 95, back in Before. Mountains were in the distance to the west. Ahead of them and east stretched snowy white fields as far as they could see. They were out in the open, but they could see if anyone approached them. But it also meant they could be seen by anyone
as
they approached.

Cavalo could not remember the last time he’d traveled to Grangeville through the old farmlands as they did now. It’d been months. Possibly even a year. Surely before the snows fell last. Maybe a bit longer. Hank had said that the bigger town was still run by Cordelia, an older woman who looked like someone’s grandmother until you crossed her the wrong way and she brought out her gun. She may have been old, but she was a tough old broad who didn’t take shit from anyone. And for some reason, she liked Cavalo. He wasn’t sure why. He thought she’d help. Or she’d shoot at him until he left. For all he knew, she’d had a similar deal going on with the Dead Rabbits. Cottonwood and Grangeville were the only towns within a hundred miles this side of the Deadlands.

He didn’t know what she’d make of Lucas. Perhaps she’d shoot him and Cavalo would be rid of him once and for all. It would certainly be easier.

Bad Dog wandered ahead, his nose low to the snow, ears twitching.

Lucas walked beside Cavalo. The knife was still in his hand, his grip on it tight. Cavalo wondered who he wanted to stab. He decided it wasn’t an answer he wanted that badly.

They continued on in silence. Cavalo continually scanned the horizon. He thought he saw a smudge of black against the white clouds off to the east, but his eyes weren’t as sharp as they’d once been. It might’ve been nothing. Still, when US 95 turned east and the smudge was ahead of them, he couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

It was slow going, the snow thick under their feet. They kept to the road as much as possible, but the old highway was split and cracked, large chunks rising up out of the earth at sharp angles. The frames of farmhouses and barns stood off in the distance, some crumbling, some charred. Cavalo wondered, as he sometimes did, who had lived there Before. How had they lived? How had they died? These were questions he could not answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answers.

They passed a pile of wood sticking out of the snow. Lucas stopped, cocking his head at the rotted wood. Faded reds and greens mixed with the white.
What is it?
he asked, pointing the knife.

“Billboards,” Cavalo grunted. “From Before.”

What’s a billboard?

“A sign. For food and places. People.”

Food?
Bad Dog asked hopefully, sniffing around the wood.

“You’ve never seen one before?” Cavalo asked Lucas.

Lucas shook his head.

Cavalo had. A few times. Most were destroyed. Those that had still stood were illegible. One had been high in the air, somehow still standing after all else around it had collapsed. The words and pictures were almost gone, but he could still make out the smiling man with the large teeth next to the words
BEEN INJURED IN AN ACCIDENT? CALL DICK LEWIS FOR HELP! 1-800-GET-DICK! WITHOUT HIM, YOU WON’T GET DICK!
The billboard had been falling apart. Dick’s face sagged. Some of his teeth had torn away, and metal struts showed through. He looked like a monster. Cavalo had hurried past him and never looked back. That had been in his wandering days. Before Elko.

“They sold things,” Cavalo said now, though he wasn’t sure if that was quite right. “Told people what to buy.”