Last Rites (24 page)

“You think?” Even though she felt a rush of excitement at the prospect, Rachel started to have all the usual doubts. Would Will be upset about it? He usually didn’t get home until much later than she did, so it wasn’t like she was wasting time they could spend together—not that he’d been any fun lately, anyway. And it didn’t cost anything, so he couldn’t complain about that.

“Yeah, come on,” coaxed Ken. “It’ll be fun. We won’t stay long.”

“Okay, sure,” Rachel agreed. “Just let me run in the house and leave Will a note.”

She trotted inside the entryway of her house. As she set her purse down, Rachel considered hiding it in the closet and leaving without it, she was still so scared of losing it or leaving it somewhere. But then she’d have to strap her shoulder holster back on, and she didn’t feel like that. So after scribbling a short note, she grabbed the handbag and headed out.

After that brief detour, the three of them started walking. They chatted about the job and what might be built next in the city. Rachel wondered if she’d even be here for the next building project. She’d need to discuss things more with Will. This whole fixation of his with getting out of the city as soon as possible, and his depression with being here—all of it was starting to annoy her. It didn’t make sense. If she saw Truman this evening and he was fine, then she’d present that evidence to Will and he’d have to start thinking and acting more reasonably. Rachel didn’t want to think about the possibility of leaving him, or even about having a big fight over it, but she had to be practical, had to look out for her own happiness. That was just normal.

They passed through the gate into the Dead End, a tent city just outside the walls of New Sparta. Stepping outside was a bit of a rush, even to Rachel, who hadn’t been in the city that long. It wasn’t like when she was on the job—there were guards and stuff then. This was more naughty and thrilling—not a place like work that you had to go to, but a place you weren’t supposed to, but chose to anyway, even with that knowledge. Once when she was little, her brother had taken her to an abandoned factory near their home, and this place reminded Rachel of that—somewhere forbidden, broken, dangerous, and wrong.

The smells of tobacco and beer were pervasive as they walked among the tents and ramshackle buildings. They were accented with an occasional whiff of urine, gunpowder, and marijuana, all of it swirling into the nastiest but most compelling mixture Rachel could imagine. Every smell and sound drew them to explore further. Roger dropped off some money on zombie blackjack. Ken playfully covered Rachel’s eyes, making her laugh, as they walked past a tent proffering the allures of zombie strippers. This was a lot more fun than she’d had in ages, but it also made Rachel angry that Will would probably never consent to come to a place like this.

“Hey—it’s getting late,” Roger observed. “We don’t want to miss the show. Where is that Doctor Jack’s tent?”

“Don’t know,” Ken said. “I haven’t been here in forever.”

“They should’ve put a map on the flyer they handed out,” Rachel added.

“Yeah. I think it’s up here,” Roger said. “Let’s hurry.”

They found the right tent, indicated mostly by the size of the crowd lined up outside it. The two men paid for their tickets, gallantly refusing Rachel’s offers of helping to pay. That was just as well, since she’d splurged on the bag, but she felt like she had to be polite. They also offered to buy her a beer when they got two for themselves at a stand outside the tent. Rachel had enjoyed the drink when she had it at Ken and Shayna’s house, so she was tempted, but she had to decline this time. As heady and alluring as the scents of the Dead End were, they were starting to get to her a little, making her feel pretty nauseous at the thought of drinking beer. She joined Ken and Roger in laughing at the dead man who gave them their beers, because he was so intent, and seemingly so proud of his ability to pick up a bottle, open it with a metal opener, and hand it to the next customer, repeating the same motions over and over.

The line into the tent snaked past another stand, where a dead man handed them the promised bags of free popcorn. He was dressed in a blue uniform and wore a paper hat. They’d put gloves on him, and no one seemed to mind being served food by a zombie, so Rachel hid her surprise and slight distaste. She didn’t want to seem boorish or uncivilized.

The popcorn was cold and too salty, making Rachel’s lips sting as she bit into the first handful. But she was really hungry, so she grabbed another handful as she stepped through the entrance of the tent. She was chewing that mouthful when she saw Truman in the center of the tent, strapped to some metal frame.

Rachel choked and could not keep her balance as she realized what was happening. The curiosity she’d felt when first hearing about the show no longer seemed natural or normal, and the pleasure she’d felt earlier in the evening at all the sights now turned into a cold, bitter pain in her stomach. Ken had to grab her to keep her from falling down, as she stumbled into him and began shivering uncontrollably, her popcorn spilling on the ground.

Ken’s big arm held her—and although the grip was comfortable and strong, it didn’t seem at all reassuring now to Rachel. She managed to rally enough to look at what was going on in the center of the tent. Truman appeared unconscious. She couldn’t really tell what the big man in the suit was saying, but he clearly was in charge. He towered over a small black girl. What was she doing in this terrible place?

“What’s wrong, girl?” she heard Ken say next to her. It was probably his normal tone, but it sounded petulant and accusatory.

“They can’t do that!” she sobbed. “What is that thing? They’re electrocuting him?”

“Yeah, too bad we missed most of it,” Roger said through mouthfuls of popcorn. “But they’ll probably let him come back around and zap him some more. It’s still early.”

“No!” Rachel shrieked and threw herself at the man in the middle of the tent. She had to punch one guy in the face to get to the larger man, who was turning toward her as she howled and gave him a left to the side of his head. She raked her nails along his nose and cheek, but then the first guy she’d hit, along with another assistant, grabbed her from behind.

“You get outta here!” the big man with the goatee shouted as he and the assistants, joined by others, started pushing Rachel from the tent. “Crazy woman! Upsetting normal people! Now get!”

Rachel had dug in her heels and was thrashing around, screaming the whole time. “No! You can’t! Let him go!”

“Look, lady,” the man said, “that’s just crazy talk. If you have money, that’s something we can discuss later. But you’re nuts if you think you can come in here and try to make me give you something just because you say so. Now go!”

“He doesn’t belong to you! He’s not your property!”

“The hell he isn’t!”

“Come on, Rach,” Ken said, taking hold of her and trying now to shield her from some of the pushing and shoving, but at the same time helping to hustle her from the tent.

“This your woman?” the man in charge said. “You oughta keep her under control. You people on drugs, out here with law-abiding folks?”

“No, she’s just—” Ken didn’t seem to know how to continue, and he turned toward Rachel. “Rach—you got to calm down. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. This isn’t right.”

“Of course this isn’t fucking right!” Rachel howled, still swinging with her purse and her fist. “They’re torturing someone! What’s wrong with you people?”

“Nothing! What’s wrong with
you
, crazy bitch?” the man yelled as they finally got her outside the tent. It was drizzling outside. The rain felt good on her face, helped clear her thoughts a bit, though it didn’t diminish her anger and frustration at all.

Rachel turned to face him, panting from the exertion. The large man and his assistants stood blocking the entrance to the tent. Rachel ran her tongue around the inside of her lower lip and tasted blood. Must’ve cut it in the struggle. She was pissed enough and high enough on adrenaline to think of pulling the .38 out of her bag. She knew, of course, that it would accomplish nothing and just get her killed or arrested, but there was a part of her that wanted to see that moment of fear on his face, wanted him to realize that pushing her around might end badly for him.

Ken kept trying to calm her down. Maybe he sensed how close she was to taking it too far. “Come on, Rach,” he said again. “You should calm down. We should go.”

They were backing away from the tent. “You definitely need to keep that woman under control,” the man called to them as he waved dismissively.

Rachel tensed and almost made a move to spring again, but Ken gripped her more firmly. “Stop it,” he said in a low voice. It was the first time Rachel had ever heard him sound really angry, and the change was as disappointing as it was unexpected. “Just stop it, or Roger and I will go and leave you here and I don’t know what’ll happen to you.”

Rachel let herself be led farther from the tent, then she turned on Ken. “Go ahead and leave, then,” she said, looking from him to Roger and back. “I don’t fucking care.”

Ken didn’t look angry anymore, but more hurt, confused, almost scared. “What’s going on with you?” he said. “We were having a good time and you went nuts in there. I don’t get it.”

“You don’t get it? They were torturing him. Did you
get
that? I got to hope he’s not dead, or it’s my fault.” Rachel had to catch herself a moment when she said that last part, or her guilt and grief would overwhelm her anger and she’d break down completely. She was again glad for the rain, as it hid the little sniffle she gave as she peeled the matted hair back from her face.

“What’re you talking about?” Ken said. “It was just a zombie. It’s just for fun. You’re not making sense.”

“No, you’re not making sense. He’s a person, and it’s my fault he’s in there. I got to make this right. You got money? That big guy wanted money.”

“I can’t give you money to buy that thing. You got to be crazy.”

“Leave her, man,” Roger said, trying to pull Ken away from Rachel. “I think she really is nuts. I never seen a woman act like that, hitting people and shit. Maybe she’s on drugs, like that guy said.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ken said, some of the anger creeping back into his voice, though it still sounded mostly like fright mixed with disappointment, maybe even a hint of feeling betrayed. “And I almost left her alone with Aisha tonight. You got to tell me what’s wrong with you, girl, or I’m not letting you near my family again.”

“
Let
me?” Rachel’s voice rose. God, she’d had everything so ass-backwards for so long. She’d blamed Will for so much, and she’d forgotten what unbelievable pricks other guys could be. “
Let
me? You’re not the fucking boss of me. You don’t
let
me do anything. And you sure as hell don’t tell me to do anything, either. Or did you get it in your head that I’m your
girl
or your
woman
? Is that what you think?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it that way. Just calm down.”

“No. Fuck that all. That shit I just saw in there finally got my head straight. You people sit and watch that stuff? You cheer as you eat your cold popcorn and your bad beer and some poor guy who’s better than you has his brains fried? For Christ’s sake - you even let a kid in there to see that? I wouldn’t care if I didn’t know him - I still couldn’t watch that. You’re sick. You’re messed up. Animals don’t fucking act like that.”

Rachel reached in her purse and pulled out the holster with the .38 still in it. Both men gasped and backed away from her.

“Oh shit,” Roger said, hiding behind his friend. Ken had his 9mm on his hip but didn’t make a move for it. Roger wasn’t even packing. Idiots—both of them.

Rachel threw the handbag at Ken. “God, you two really do think I’m fucking insane,” she said as she slipped on the holster. “I’m not gonna shoot you. I just don’t want that bag. I don’t want anything from you people.” She got the holster on all the way and drew her shoulders back. “There. That’s how I’m gonna carry my gun from now on. You mind? Anybody mind a girl with her gun out for everyone to see?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ken and Roger both said, backing farther away from her.

Rachel set off from them at a jog, splashing in puddles as she went. God, she really was out of shape, as she was panting after just a little while. The running was making her feel nauseous again, too. But she didn’t let up. She kept pushing herself to continue on through the dark streets of the city.

Earlier that day, Truman had sat in his cage, waiting for his big show later in the evening. He watched the living people come and go from the tent as they brought in all the various parts to the electrical contraption they would use on him later. He didn’t even have the comfort of Ramona; she never sat close to him when they were around. Truman frowned. So much stuff you had to keep from weak, ignorant people, lest they get frightened and kill you.

Late in the afternoon, Doctor Jack approached Truman’s cage. “Get up, you,” he said. Truman considered disobeying the command, but eventually decided there was no point and acquiesced. He rose and stepped over to face the larger man.

Doctor Jack sized him up again. “You’re awfully popular,” he said, dragging the “aw” sound out. “I’m giving your friends the night off. It’ll be all you tonight, Professor. I sent some kids into the city to hand out flyers for your special show, and they keep coming back and asking for more to give out. I’d think they were throwing them in the trash to get paid more, but they’re good kids, like Dalia. So I think you’re gonna draw a pretty good crowd. Shouldn’t surprise me, I suppose. Haven’t had a hanging in years. Some whippings, and those got huge crowds, but we haven’t even had one of those for a couple months. See—smart people learn not to do crazy shit and get in trouble. But not you dumb asses.”