Southern Cross (24 page)

11:50:08

It
was just after noon when Diggs, Juarez, and I got to the Justice Sunshine
Resort—a surprisingly nice place considering it cost next to nothing and was
in… well, Justice, Kentucky. Blaze had given us until three o’clock to get some
sleep and try to regroup, since we’d been running on pure adrenaline for as
long as I could remember. With the electricity still out, the hotel was dark
and felt every bit as creepy as you’d expect a hotel in a nowhere town on the
brink of oblivion to feel. I lugged my suitcase along shadowy corridors with
Diggs behind me and Juarez leading the way.

There
were guards posted at the hotel entrance, rifles at the ready, while agents and
soldiers and cops who’d flown in to fight the forces of evil milled around in
the hallways. Diggs got a room on the second floor, and we parted ways at the
stairwell after an awkward “See you later.” Juarez and I retired to our room
alone.

Our
new safe haven came complete with kitchenette, sitting area, and bedroom. When
we got there, Grace and Einstein were curled up on the couch in the living room
together like an old married couple. I was secretly relieved when Stein at
least had the decency to get up and feign enthusiasm when I walked through the
door, his butt wiggling happily. Grace lifted her head and whined, tail
thumping slowly, but didn’t move.

I
went in the bathroom, pulled off my clothes, and got in the shower. Without
electricity, there was no hot water. I didn’t care. I rested my forehead
against the tile wall and let the cold water wash over me until every thought
in my head was frozen out. When I emerged, shivering, I went straight to the
bedroom and collapsed on the bed. Juarez came in and lay down beside me,
stripped to his jockey shorts. 

I
thought of Diggs, in a room somewhere above us. I thought of the small,
lifeless boy under the blanket; of what it would be like for his brother to
wake up alone. I thought of Jessie Barnel’s tears, and the blood soaking her
ankle-length dress.

I
really wanted to stop thinking.

“You
tired?” I asked Juarez without moving.

He
grunted. He really isn’t the grunting type. I opened my eyes and rolled over.

“What
are you thinking?” I asked. Juarez is the first man I ever met who actually
answers honestly—or appears to—when I ask that question.

“I’m
thinking you’re cold,” he said. He ran his hand over my shoulder and along my
back. I shivered for an entirely different reason. “Jesus, Erin, you’re
freezing.”

“I’m
all right.” He pulled the blanket up around us both and put his arms around me.
He didn’t tell me what he’d been thinking, though. “It was a rough day for
you,” I said quietly. “Lots of heroics.”

“Not
that heroic,” he said. “A lot of people died today.”

And
he was the one who pulled the trigger on more than one of them, I reminded
myself. I propped myself up and tried to smooth the lines from his forehead. He
looked at me with dark, sad eyes—as though something heartbreaking was
happening. I just hadn’t caught onto what that was, exactly.

“You
did what needed to be done,” I said. “That’s a hard thing to take on.”

“Sometimes
it is,” he agreed, still quiet. “And we’re still not any closer to finding
Barnel or figuring out what’s in store for tonight.”

“Maybe
Jessie will talk,” I said.

“If
she wakes up in time. At least we got to the kids before it was too late,
though,” he conceded. “And probably put a pretty good dent in their explosives
supply.”

“You
think?” I asked.

“They
had enough stored down there to blow up half the forest. I can’t imagine
there’d be much left after that.”

“Well…
there you go,” I said. “Not bad for a day’s work.” 

I
laid my head down on his arm. He rolled over to face me, eyes still serious. He
smelled like sweat and gunfire. There was a streak of someone else’s blood on
his arm that he must have missed when he was cleaning up. He ran a hand through
my hair, toying with the strands. I moved in and kissed his neck, then his
chin, before I finally found his mouth. I thought of the fires we’d put out in
the night: of the picture of Dora the Explorer on the refrigerator in a meth
lab; of the chained hound dog and the broken cherub.

Before
the kiss could go anywhere, Juarez pulled back. He kissed my nose, looking
seriously conflicted about whatever was going on in his head. Then he sat up
and nodded toward the bathroom.

“I’m
gonna grab a shower, then I just want to check in with Allie,” he said quietly.
“Try and get some sleep, okay?”

I
nodded numbly and watched him walk away.

Sleep
was elusive after that. After Jack left to go find Blaze, I went out in search
of some kind of sustenance, even though I knew the vending machines wouldn’t be
working. There had to be something out there, though.

Somehow
in my travels, I found myself on the second floor. Private Abbott was stationed
by the stairs, seated with a rifle across his lap and his head back against the
wall.

“Hey,”
I said. “Don’t they ever let you people sleep?”

He
smiled. “You’re the ones that’ve been on for days. I just got here last night—I
figure I got a good forty-eight hours before I start achin’ too much.”

“Oh,
to be young again,” I said. Then, I just stood there awkwardly for a minute,
wishing I’d never come up here. I assumed everyone knew I was dating Juarez, so I really shouldn’t be sneaking into some other guy’s room during nap time.

“Diggs
is in 206,” Abbott said. “Just down the hall there.”

“Oh,”
I said.

“Agent
Juarez said you might be up,” he explained. “He said it was fine for you to go
on in, if you wanted.”

Of
course he did.

“That’s
all right,” I said. “He’s probably sleeping.”

“He
was just out here a couple minutes ago, actually. I doubt he’d go under so
fast. He looked strung pretty tight.” Abbott was unnervingly helpful.

“Ah.
Well… I guess if I’m already up here, I should at least check in.”

“Whatever
you think’s best,” Abbott said.

It
was idiotic for me to stand in the hallway freaking out about it, so I cut it
short and went to Diggs’ door. Then, I walked
past
his door. Twice. I
finally stopped just outside with my hand hovering an inch from the wood.

It
opened before my knuckles ever hit.

“What
the hell are you doing?” Diggs asked. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to
lurk outside people’s doors in the middle of an Apocalypse? You’ll freak
someone out.”

“Sorry.
I’m rusty on the etiquette.”

I
waved at Abbott to signal all was copasetic, then went into Diggs’ room without
being invited.

Where
Juarez and I had a whole little suite all to ourselves, Diggs’ had just bed and
bath. His clothes were draped over a chair in the corner. He went back to the
bed and lay down on top of the covers, his arm over his eyes, his right hand
resting on his stomach. He wore shorts. Very little else. There was no doubt
about it: Diggs had been hitting the gym since our adventures over the summer.

My
mouth may have gone a little dry.

“Condoms
are in the bathroom if that’s what you’re looking for,” he said without looking
at me. “Juarez didn’t come prepared?”

“Funny.”

He
removed his arm from his eyes, but otherwise remained still. “Where’s your
better half?”

“Shower
and a confab with Blaze. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d check on you. Make
sure you’re okay.”

He
sat up. The way he was looking at me suggested he knew my story was bullshit. I
waited for him to call me on it. He didn’t.

“I
should be asking you that,” he said. “It hasn’t been an easy twenty-four
hours—you’ve been playing Florence Nightingale with a vengeance since you got
here.”

“Tell
me about it,” I said.

He
sat up and nodded to the bed. “Sit.” I sat.

“Juarez thinks most of the explosives Barnel had were in the cabin,” I said.

“Yeah?”
he said. There was a hint of doubt in the word.

“You
don’t think so?”

He
shrugged. “If Barnel is the one orchestrating this whole thing, it’s possible.”

“But
you don’t think he is,” I said.

“Not
really, no.”

“I
don’t suppose you have any ideas who the puppet master might be.”

He
shook his head, which was a little surprising. Diggs is rarely short on
theories.

“Do
you think Danny’s the one who took out Brother Jimmy and tried to kill Barnel?”

“Nope,”
he said without hesitation. “If he’d done it, he wouldn’t have run. He’s a
hothead—not the kind who thinks about something like that enough beforehand to
get away with it.”

I
didn’t question it. For one thing, I knew Diggs well enough to recognize that
debating the issue would be futile. Of course, I’ve never minded futile debate
with the man when I’ve had good reason. I had a feeling he was right about
this, though: the whole shooting at the tent meeting had been so bizarre that I
just couldn’t see Danny being the one behind it. If he was, why would he just
leave his truck at Casey’s? And why would he go to Casey’s in the first place,
hang out shooting the shit with her little brother, then all of a sudden hear
some kind of Siren song and take off to kill Barnel?

We
fell silent. For the first time, I noticed a folder on Diggs’ bedside table. I
tensed. Diggs followed my eye.

“That’s
the file on Cameron?” I asked.

“Also
known as ‘the hooded man’? That’s the one,” he said. He was amiable enough
about it, but I could tell he was watching me for a reaction. He took the
folder from the table, set it on his lap, and began flipping pages, casual as
you please. “He’s former military, you know,” he said. He kept his eye on the
page. “Born and raised in Lynn, Indiana.”

“Where
my father’s from,” I said. Theories started forming in my head before I could
remind myself I wasn’t pursuing this thing anymore.

“And
Max Richards,” Diggs reminded me. “Cameron grew up a couple blocks from both of
them.”

“Do
you think he has anything to do with what’s happening here?” I asked. The
question had been bothering me for some time now. 

“I
don’t know,” he said, his frustration plain. “I still have no clue what his
motivations are. Who he works for. It could be that he really is just here
checking up on you—making sure you’re following orders like a good little
soldier.”

“Which
I’m trying to do.”

“I
know that,” he said seriously. He set the folder between us, open. Cameron’s
face peered up at me.

“This
is exactly what he warned us not to do,” I said. “You may not care what happens
to you, but I do. So far, Kat and my father have been able to keep me alive
thanks to whatever it is they know, but you know Cameron won’t hesitate to take
you out.”

“I
know that, too,” he said.

“Then
why are you pushing this?” I asked, my temper rising.

“Because
you aren’t. And that’s not you.”

“It
could be me,” I said. “People change. What the hell’s wrong with that? I’m
trying to evolve here.”

“So
evolve,” he said, his voice rising. “I’m all for that—but don’t have a friggin’
lobotomy. You ask questions. Dig. Push so hard you almost make me nuts—that’s
what you
do
. It’s what you’ve always done. It’s what makes you one of
the best reporters I’ve worked with. It’s what makes you… you.”

I
picked up the damn file. Stared at Cameron’s face. A barrage of images ran
through my head: the Payson Church burning; my father on his knees, blood
streaming down his back; Matt Perkins, dead; George Ashmont, dead; Rebecca
Ashmont, Noel Hammond, Max Richards, Will Rainier… All of them, dead. Diggs,
hands bound, face bloodied, a gun at his temple.

It’s
not that I didn’t want to know; trust me, I did. I wanted to know who Cameron
was, where he came from, what kind of background had led him to my father. I
wanted to know, once and for all, why Cameron had burned down the church on
Payson Isle; if he knew where my father was, or if he was the reason my father
was running in the first place.

Diggs
watched me like he could see the hamster wheel spinning in my head.

I
closed the folder and handed it back to him.

I
don’t think I’ve ever seen Diggs disappointed in me before. Certainly not to
that extent. His eyes fell.

“I
should go,” I said. “Juarez will wonder where I am. He’s already been weird since
he got here.”

“Maybe
he’s just tired of being with someone who’s in love with another man.”