Orphan Maker (24 page)

Subdued, Gwen allowed the movement of the crowd to guide her out of the gymnasium. The mention of Riddick had taken something out of Loomis. When she had resumed her seat, she was no longer the confident woman who had walked into the meeting. It didn’t help that Loomis herself was the one to bring up the name. Gwen had half a mind to hunt down these Hansens and burn their property to the ground for putting Loomis in a tight spot. If it hadn’t been for them, Loomis wouldn’t have withdrawn into herself like this. She looked up as she reached the doors, seeing Loomis surrounded by her family. They ran interference, blocking people from nearing her, pleasant in their intervention as they walked through the audience. The ease with which the townies accepted their behavior showed the family’s long-term experience with such preventative measures. Glancing back, she saw Weasel on stage with the council. He spoke with Kipfer, but his eyes were on her. He nodded to her. Setting her jaw, she turned away.

The sky had turned gray while everyone was sequestered indoors. A cool mountain breeze made Gwen shiver. She smelled rain on the wind. From the looks of the clouds, they might not make it home in time to avoid a downpour. While the majority of the attendees headed toward their camps to begin packing, a few clustered here and there to debate the day’s discussion. A group of Gatos off to one side spoke in low tones. She gauged their body language, wondering how they had taken the meeting. Cain caught her eye and waved her to join them. She glanced at the members of her homestead. No one noticed her and she acceded to his request. “’Sup?”

“You think that was all legit?” Cain asked.

Gwen frowned, scanning them. “Yeah. This is the way they do things here.”

“Talk, talk, talk.”

She swatted the offender, a fourteen-year-old soldier, on the arm. “Maybe, but they talk and look what they’ve done here. Food, homes, clothes. They work together just like we did only they made it. We didn’t.”

No one argued her point.

“But look what happened to T and Emerita.” A low rumble of angry mutters followed that statement.

“And look where they are now.” Gwen put her hands on her hips. “The Hansens are assholes, so what? Riddick was an asshole too. Assholes get what they deserve. Loomis says T and Emerita will be in their own cabin by mid-summer.”

Rogelio cocked his head. “So what do we do?”

Gwen smiled, dropping her hands. “Learn! Get your butts to these classes. Grow your own food, make your own clothes, build your own houses. Shit, dawg, we’ve been through Hell already. This is fucking Heaven.” That earned her a laugh, and her smile widened. “Get back to your homesteads. Maybe next Festival we can get together and pass on what we’ve learned, just like the townies do.”

They broke up after that, saying their goodbyes. Gwen found herself walking toward the field with Rogelio and Cain. “Weasel says you’re in danger,
chica
,” Rogelio murmured.

Scoffing, Gwen shook her head. “He’s jealous, that’s all.”

Cain shrugged. “Maybe. I heard he was pissed you dumped him.”

Gwen shoved her hands into her pockets, staring down at her feet as they walked. “It was time.”

Rogelio touched her upper arm. “He says Rick Loomis is a stone-cold killer. Shot a man in the back.”

That was more information than Gwen had been able to find. Looking up, she studied Rogelio. “What do you know about it? I can’t get any of them to tell me what happened.”

Cain answered, “Riddick’s posse tried to take over in the early days. Loomis stopped him. He had a hard-on for her ever after.”

“Yeah. I heard he tortured and killed a couple of kids. Greg said Riddick landed boot first in Loomis’s shit. When the dust cleared, Riddick and posse ran, leaving a dead body behind.”

Gwen scowled in thought. Megan’s father was dead and buried, meaning the boy Rick had killed had run with Riddick. It was nowhere near the full story, but it was more than she’d been able to piece together on her own.

“What are you talking about?” a cold voice asked.

Gasping, Gwen jerked to a stop. A pale Loomis stood before her. Her mouth opened before she had time to think. “Nothing.”

***

Loomis balled her fists at her side, staring at Gwen and the two Gatos accompanying her. She’d heard enough of the discussion when she came looking for Gwen. “You’re a liar, too?”

“No! I— We were just—” Gwen flailed, eyes darting around the field for inspiration, a flush growing on her cheeks.

Last night’s rest hadn’t done enough to make up for the weeks of sleeplessness. Loomis had spent days dreading Festival, of having to face her friends and neighbors with the knowledge that Riddick had brought these newcomers here. She’d relived the horror every sleeping and waking moment it seemed, and she had been forced to remind the entire town of what had happened to her. The last thing she’d expected to hear was Gwen poking her nose into her business, gossiping about her past with people who hadn’t been there. “You were fishing for rumors. Don’t deny it.”

“No! Loomis—I want to help you.” Gwen stepped forward, reaching out to Loomis. “I needed to know so—”

“You’ve been trying to make me talk about it since you got here.” Loomis pulled out of Gwen’s reach, snarling. “I told you I don’t want to, but you keep pushing and pushing. It’s none of your goddamn business!” She watched Gwen’s face pale and felt pangs of both sorrow and pleasure. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

She spun around and marched away, scattering bystanders. Only then did she realize she’d been shouting and had drawn an audience. Embarrassed and angry, she held her head high, refusing to succumb to the tears of betrayal threatening her. She could break down when she got home, not before.

***

Rogelio gave a low whistle as Loomis stalked away. “She pissed,
chica
.”

A hollow had opened up in Gwen’s chest at Loomis’s verbal attack. She filled it with anger as she noted multiple nearby townies giving her sidelong looks. Focusing on them, she glared back, pleased that the gossipmongers hastily moved away, keeping their thoughts to themselves. “She’s not the only one.” She began walking toward their campsites.

Cain took a subtle sideways step out of arm’s reach. “You gonna be cool?”

Gwen’s chuckle was bitter. “I always am.” She looked at her friends. Since she was already in trouble with Loomis, it wouldn’t hurt to dig for more information while she could. “You hear anything else about Riddick?”

“Nope. That was it. One dead, four headed for the city. Then Riddick showed up with the Gatos the next spring.”

She nodded. That had been the winter of plenty despite the roving bands of children. She’d escaped Beau around that time and run into Weasel late the following summer. Of all the refugees to gather together, it was both a blessing and a curse that Riddick had been one of them. God, what were the chances? Without his presence, Gwen wouldn’t be in Lindsay Crossing now.
Without Riddick, Loomis wouldn’t be broken.

The trio arrived at their encampments and immediately went to work breaking down tents and packing belongings. Loomis was nowhere to be found. No one in the family seemed to find her absence surprising, nor did they treat Gwen any differently. Gwen realized that they thought Loomis had fled because of the meeting. Loomis hadn’t told them what had happened between her and Gwen. The Baxters assisted with tearing down the dragon tent. Soon Gwen jostled in the cart with the others as Cara guided the horses to the road. With no activity to keep her mind occupied, she stared unseeingly at the passing landscape, piecing information together. Riddick had badly hurt Loomis, leaving scars inside as well as out. Rick had shot Megan’s father in the back. Megan’s father was dead and buried. Riddick wasn’t Megan’s father.
Then who the hell is?
Obviously one of Riddick’s posse was the dad, but only Riddick’s name caused such anguish in Loomis. How could it be anybody else?

Mentally cringing, she thought back to her own past, to Beau’s final attack on her. He had beaten and gang-raped Gwen mere weeks before Loomis had suffered the same fate over a hundred miles away. Gwen had fled and spent the lonely months dealing with the repercussions, scrabbling for survival by hopping from apartment to apartment, eating what the dead had left behind in their pantries and cupboards. In Lindsay Crossing, Loomis had been surrounded by people who loved her, protected her, and helped as her belly grew large with the baby of her rapist. With all those resources at her fingertips, Loomis had refused to deal with what had happened. Rather than face the horror, she’d hidden from it. She was weak, flawed. How was that even possible? Gwen remembered the first meeting in the church, the Festival gathering in the school gymnasium. Loomis was a power in this town, whether she thought she was or not. How could she be strong enough, smart enough to lead with only a few words but still be so broken?

Weasel knew Gwen well. Gwen always followed power. She’d come to terms with her scheming ways long ago. She’d made a conscious decision to live with Loomis the minute she’d seen how the townies viewed her opinions. Right now, Gwen’s calculating side urged her to jump ship. It wouldn’t be surprising after the public takedown Loomis had given her. The townies and Gatos would gossip a bit until something else grabbed their attention. Whatever strength Loomis portrayed was only perception—the perception of two hundred or so teenagers and children who saw her as their savior because she’d had some good ideas and had beaten up the town bully. The power was in the town council, the true leaders of the people. Loomis remained on the outskirts of that power, wounded and untrusting, unable or unwilling to risk reaching out to grab it. Sure, Weasel would be smug if she left Loomis, pleased he’d spoken true. The thought of his sardonic grin didn’t strike Gwen with much dismay, however. His opinion no longer mattered.

A pang shot through Gwen’s heart at the thought of leaving. She imagined telling Cara and Rick, easily imagining relief on both their faces. That angered her. They thought their family shield was what Loomis needed, that Gwen was a danger. Well, she was. Loomis needed to face what had happened to her, emotionally put the violence to rest. As long as she stuffed it down, the nightmares would reign over her, control her every waking and sleeping moment as they had for the last five years. Gwen couldn’t leave her.

Why do I care?
Frustrated, she snorted aloud. She ignored Tommy Boy’s suspicious glance, turning away from the crowded cart to look out the back. She thought of their morning kiss, the feel of Loomis’s fingers in her hair. She tried to picture Loomis’s expression if she chose to leave, replaying the look of betrayal Loomis had given her after the meeting. The hollow in Gwen’s chest became a bottomless chasm, and she grabbed the edge of the cart to keep from reeling. Her eyes burned as tears pricked them.
What the hell is going on with me?

***

With some effort Loomis kept control of her emotions long enough to saddle Tempest. Her family gave her worried looks. They didn’t interrupt as she mounted her horse and left the field. Rather than take the road home, she turned left at the crossroads, urging Tempest to a gallop as she left town. The swirl of emotion remained with her no matter how fast she flew. Bent close over Tempest’s neck, she raced away from Lindsay Crossing and Gwen Grant, not seeing the dwindling houses through the tears in her eyes. She didn’t slow until she entered the ravine that led to Cascade and the city a hundred miles farther on. Loomis wanted to continue the breakneck speed, flee the memories and emotions, put as much distance as possible between herself and her obligations and responsibilities. Instead, she reined in. The road here was pockmarked with the carnage of five extreme winters and no repairs. She didn’t want Tempest to pull up lame by stepping into a pothole.

Gwen was right. It had taken the meeting for Loomis to realize how much power she held, how much she manipulated proceedings. She’d spent the previous day talking to the Baxters, Malcolm Schneider and Rick, arranging for the most powerful way to present her ideas to the town in order to guarantee acceptance. As Tempest picked his way along the broken asphalt, Loomis allowed herself to search back through the years. This wasn’t an unusual Festival meeting. If she had an issue she wanted voted on and passed, she’d taken control of every meeting in the past regardless of the town council supposedly running the show. She had to admit that even her initial fistfight with Riddick all those years ago had been a calculated risk for control. Had she lost, she had counted on Walker to do the chivalrous thing and intercede. She had convinced herself she didn’t want a spot on the council because she wanted to return to the homestead rather than stay in town. In reality, the physical distance from the center of Lindsay Crossing had nothing to do with her refusal. Subconsciously, she knew she’d be much better at pulling the strings behind the scenes than running the show.

High on her latest success, the upcoming Cascade expedition, the last thing she’d expected to hear was Gwen scrounging for information about what Riddick had done to her. Hearing this so close on the heels of having to publicly express her naked pain to her town, Loomis felt her heart crush within her chest, overwhelmed by hurt and betrayal. When Gwen had topped the insult off with a blatant lie of denial, Loomis had wanted to vomit. Looked like Weasel was right. Gwen had come to Loomis for only one reason—Loomis had swayed the initial vote to allow the Gatos to remain in Lindsay Crossing. That had piqued Gwen’s interest and caused her to jump at the chance to escort Loomis home. Would she have tried to horn in if Loomis had requested only boys? A bitter smile crossed Loomis’s face. She had no doubt Gwen would have moved heaven and earth if that had been the case.
She doesn’t want me. She never did.
That made much more sense to Loomis than Gwen caring for her.
How can you love a shell?

Loomis continued along the road, letting the cool mountain smells soothe her. The river gurgled to her left, thick pines crowded up the side of the ravine on her right. The urge to keep going filled her chest with a tremor of fear and excitement. A lot of kids had run away in the early days, following the lure of a world without restrictions, a world without parents. Over three hundred had shown up that first month in Lindsay Crossing. What with accidental deaths and illnesses the township had no ability to medicate against, just over two hundred resided there now. Roughly two fifty with the influx of the Gatos. The rest had scattered north and south along the mountainous highway, never to be seen again.