The Deadly Nightshade (21 page)

Chapter 38

As Connor and I get ready for work the next morning, I try again to convince him how imperative it is that we leave Sweetbriar immediately, but he won’t hear a word of it. With a scowl, he throws on his coat and hobbles toward the door, refusing to speak to me. He storms out, nearly colliding into Nate, who catches the door before it can slam back into place. The lieutenant remains in the doorway, staring after Connor.

“Everything alright with you two?” he asks.

“We’re fine. Just had a bit of an argument, that’s all.”

“Oh, that sucks, I’m sorry. Do you want to talk ab—?”

“No,” I say before he can finish the question.

“Alright then, I won’t pry. Hey, listen, you’re off the hook for hunting and patrol today. I put you on for sentry duty tonight, since Reina wants to increase security and all. We’re going to start a rotation. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, not at all,” I say, feeling glad for a break from the usual routine. Sentry duty will allow me the alone time I need to think, to figure out how I’m going to get out of here before Roman shows up, and to determine how to get Connor on board.

Nate leaves, and I shut the door behind him to keep whatever heat is left in the house from escaping. Alone for the first time in weeks, I find I am not quite sure what to do with myself. At first I attempt to go back to sleep in preparation for the long night I have ahead of me, but after rolling around on my cot for a few minutes I find sleeping impossible. Instead, I decide to make up for all the slacking I’ve been doing recently and catch up on my exercise. If yesterday’s fruitless chase showed me anything, it’s just how important it is to maintain my endurance; two and a half months of relative leisure have really set me back physically. I work through the routine my father taught me until I have completed every last rep, but not even half the morning has passed by the time I finish. Sweating and achy, I flop down onto the floor with a sigh and stare up at the ceiling, wondering how the hell Connor could stand it in here all those idle days.

After a few minutes of contemplation, I decide to keep my mind and body busy by braving the cold and going for a walk. Just as I am about to leave, I notice the machete lying on the floor where I left it yesterday. Its devilish black blade winks in the sunlight that filters though the adjacent window, begging to be picked up. Reluctant to leave the weapon behind, I snatch it up and loop it into my belt. It falls back into place at my hip as if it had never left, as if it is home again.

As I meander down the slippery cobblestone streets, arms folded across my chest to protect my warmth, I watch the townsfolk go about their business. Many wave to me as I pass, calling out sweet greetings. I acknowledge them with a nod or a quiet “good morning,” but do not stay and chat. However, as I walk by the old couple that owns the tailor shop—I have learned from Sheppard that their names are Mr. and Mrs. Sharma—the wife beckons me over.

After inquiring as to whether I am busy or not, to which I reply in the negative, she explains that her husband’s arthritis is acting up and asks if I would be kind enough to carry a few heavy boxes of clothing and deliver them to those in need. At first I am somewhat reluctant to agree, but remembering I have nothing else to do, I decide that doing one little favor for these people won’t be the death of me.

Mrs. Sharma guides me into her house, the inside of which is identical to the one Connor and I inhabit, except hers is furnished with a few tables topped with sewing supplies, a small bed, and a dozen or so handcrafted tapestries that hang from the walls. An intricate red and gold one depicting an elephant decorated with henna catches my attention. When I ask the old woman if she made these herself, she replies in the affirmative, explaining how in her free time she likes to create works that remind her of her country. As she bends to hand me box after box, I stare at her wrinkled, veiny, liver-spotted hands and wonder how such aged and delicate things could produce such otherworldly beauty.

When she has stacked four large boxes in my arms, she hands me a list of names and asks that I bring each labeled box to the person it is addressed to. Although it takes me a little while to figure out where to find the people on the list—I’ve never really bothered to get acquainted with the Sweetbriarans, so most of the names are foreign to me—I am able to deliver all of the clothes with only a bit of help from passersby. As I hand the last box to Dr. Lam, she asks me if I have noticed any improvement in Connor’s condition recently, seeing as she has cut her visits down to only once or twice a week. We discuss his health for a little while, during which time she assures me he will be fit enough to leave in only two more weeks or so. Little does she know two more weeks is time we just don’t have.

Just as I am about to leave, Dr. Lam asks if I could do her a favor and tell Reina she’s in need of more flu medicine. Although I don’t really feel like playing messenger after acting as the town delivery woman for the past hour, I figure there isn’t much else to do for the time being. Besides, the bags under Dr. Lam’s eyes are some of the puffiest and darkest I’ve ever seen, so I can tell she needs the help. Flu season can’t be easy for a lone doctor in an age where medicine has taken a hundred year back step.

I return to the Sharma house to let the old woman know I have completed her task. She thanks me emphatically, clutching my hand in her own shaky ones and repeating over and over again how grateful she is for my assistance. Assuring her it was no trouble at all, I make an attempt to leave, but she stops me before I can reach the door, insisting I let her give me something in return for my hard work. She disappears into the next room, returning a moment later with a hand-knit gray scarf. Placing the scarf in my hands with a toothless smile, she gestures for me to try it on. I shake my head, trying to give the thing back, but she refuses to take it. Finally, I wrap the scarf around my neck, which causes her to clap her hands together and grin with delight. After quickly thanking her for the present, I head out to complete my other request.

As I walk to Reina’s house, I notice a flood of people entering the cafeteria, which means it’s already lunch hour. If I hurry, I might be able to catch Sheppard at his usual table, playing today’s card game with Sophia’s nephew. I quickly make my way into the building and up the white marble staircase, figuring I will find Reina in her office as usual. Upon reaching the top of the steps, I catch the sound of Nate’s voice coming from Reina’s study. Not wanting to disrupt their conversation, I decide to wait in the hall until they are done.

I try not to eavesdrop, but although they speak in muted tones their voices are loud enough that it is impossible not to listen, and my interest is piqued immediately at the mention of my name. It comes from Reina’s mouth.

“How has Nightshade been getting along with the others in the group? Any more problems I should know about?” she asks.

“No, no problems. Everyone’s really warmed up to her, even Claire,” Nate replies.

“Yes, I have noticed. But what about her? Would you say
she
has warmed up to
them?”

The lieutenant hesitates to answer. “Compared to when she first got here, yes. She’s on friendly terms with all of us, but I’d say she’s closest to Sheppard and me out of anyone else.”

“You consider yourselves friends then?”

Again, he hesitates. “Well,
I
do, but I can’t speak on her behalf. I don’t really think she’s here to make friends.”

“And does she seem content with her new authority? Do you think she is enjoying the work?”

“She seems to like it. I’d say she’s adjusting well.”

“I need to know for sure, Nate. I cannot let her leave, not under any circumstances can I let that girl leave Sweetbriar—you know that. You and I need to do everything in our power to keep her happy, do you understand?”

“I know, Reina. I know. I’ll do whatever it takes, I promise.”

A lump forms in my throat and I nearly sink to the floor. Suddenly the walls of the narrow hallway feel as if they are closing in on me and the air is almost too thick to breathe. As my mind tries desperately to grasp what is happening to me, I realize this is the sensation of being completely and utterly trapped.
Cannot let her leave. Not under any circumstances. Keep her happy.
So I was right all along—I’ve been their prisoner from the beginning. The kindness, the hospitality, the promotion—they were all just tools in ensuring I would be complaint and remain in Sweetbriar. But now with Connor’s leg almost healed, Reina needs to find a way to tighten my shackles and keep me hostage without me ever being conscious of it. For the second time in years, I feel like prey, like a hare whose foot is caught in a snare and who can only thrash its body helplessly as it waits for the hunter to return.

I stumble down the stairs and rush back outside, gasping as my lungs fill with thin winter air. Finally I can breathe again, I can think again. As I stand out here in the open, I stare at the gray stone walls that cage me. But these are only temporary barriers. I am not a hare, and if I were I would bite through that cord around my leg—or the damn leg itself, if it came down to it—and liberate myself. I am not going to become a fixture in this town. I
will
escape this place. All I have to do now is figure out how.

Chapter 39

I spend the rest of my afternoon alone in the house, musing over my situation. Now I am fighting a three front battle. On one side Reina is attempting to do everything in her power to keep me in Sweetbriar. On another, Connor refuses to leave because of his attachment to this wretched place and his emotions for Savannah. And on another, Roman is doubtlessly creeping closer than ever.

When dinnertime rolls around, I decide to pay Connor a visit at the schoolhouse to ask if he wants to get dinner with me before I go to my post. With any luck, he will accept my peace offering and walk with me to the cafeteria, which will give me another shot at convincing him to leave with me. When I reach the school, I find the classroom empty except for the two teachers.

Connor and Savannah stand close together, talking in hushed tones, a flirtatious smile playing on both of their lips. They are so absorbed in each other that they do not notice me enter at first, so I slam the door behind me to draw their attention. Both heads snap in my direction and both pairs of cheeks flush. Friendly as ever, Savannah greets me with her warm, genuine smile and a cordial “Hello, Nightshade, it’s lovely to see you!” I reciprocate the greeting, but my eyes are set on Connor, who slinks toward me sheepishly. He knows exactly what I’m thinking, but I decide not to say anything and instead ask him about dinner.

“Actually,” he says after some hesitation, turning to look at Savannah, “we were planning on getting dinner together in a little while.” Then, noticing my irritation, he adds, “I really appreciate the offer, though. And I’m sorry about last night. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Right,” I say through gritted teeth, hoping he can feel my scathing glare on his skin. “We’ll talk later.”

I wave goodbye to Savannah, wish her a good night, and make my way out. So that’s it then—he has made his choice, and he has not chosen me. Well screw him. If he wants to stay in this miserable place for the rest of his life, then that’s perfectly fine with me.

I storm off to the cafeteria, grab a tray, and scarf down my food before reporting to my post at the west wall. I climb up the sentry ladder until I reach the top, which is just wide enough to walk along. As the sunlight wanes and night swoops in like a raven, I pace back and forth along my section of the wall, more intent on what is going on inside than out. A few Sweetbriarans wander down the street back to their homes after a long day of work, with only the moon and stars to light their path. By now the daytime hum of the busy townspeople has lulled to a whisper, which, in a few hours, will fade to complete silence as they settle down to sleep.

A young woman’s laughter sounds from somewhere below me—a light, musical laughter like wind chimes. A boy’s chuckle joins it—a familiar chuckle—and their symphony of giggling lasts for a minute or so. From where I stand, I spot two figures exiting the cafeteria, walking so close together that their shoulders brush. Although I can’t make out their faces in the dark, the crutches the boy uses to walk give away their identities.

“So when did Dr. Lam say you’d be off of those?” Savannah asks.

“Should be any day now. I can’t wait to be able to walk without them. They’re such a pain in the ass, you know?”

There is a small pause, then Savannah slows her walking pace until she is nearly at a standstill. Connor turns to face her.

“So, I guess that means you’ll be leaving soon, then . . .” she says.

“Oh, right . . . I hadn’t even thought of that.”

They are silent for a moment, both of them just standing there facing each other, wordless. Then, Savannah blurts out, “I don’t want you to go. The children will miss you.
I’ll
miss you. I just— I don’t think you belong out there. You’re not
like
her, Connor. She’s dangerous and powerful and self-sufficient—she was born to be out there. But you? You’re gentle and sweet, and you belong here in Sweetbriar with the rest of us where you can be safe. I know she’s your friend and you love her, but you need to think about what’s best for you, and in all honesty I think you know leaving isn’t it. I care about you, Connor, and to think what could happen if you go . . .” She trails off, and I can practically hear the oncoming tears in her voice.

Connor hobbles toward her, and in the dark their bodies morph into one. “I know, Savannah,” he says. “I know you’re right.”

My eyes follow the couple as they continue walking, shoulder to shoulder, until the night envelops them whole. When they are completely gone from my sight, I sink down into a sitting position, throwing my legs over the side of the wall. For a while I’m not quite sure how to even process what I just heard, but when I finally do I come to a realization.

Maybe Savannah
is
right. Sure, I made Connor into more of a survivor than he would ever have been without me, but can he really last out there? To force him to leave with me might be to sentence him to death. Maybe he
is
better off surrounded by people, by the children he teaches, by the girl he loves. Maybe this is where his road ends. Maybe this is where he belongs.

He doesn’t need me, not anymore. I can’t force him to leave if he doesn’t want to go, and I know how badly he wants to stay. Maybe it’s better this way. I’ve grown too attached too quickly, something I told myself I would never do, but against all odds he made me care about him, and now I must suffer the consequences. I’m better off on my own—I always have been. This is how it’s supposed to be.

I stare down at the forest floor, estimating that it would be about a twenty-foot drop from here to there. There would be less risk of injury if I were to climb down. I take a long look around to determine if I am visible to any of the other sentries, but it is far too dark for anyone to catch me. All of my belongings are with me—my knife belt, my katanas, my rucksack, the machete—the only things I’m missing are my guns, but I suppose I can leave those behind if I have to. Although I will miss them terribly, they are a small price to pay for liberty.

My mind is made up to descend down the wall when it hits me—Roman is still coming for us, which means Connor is still in danger if he stays. It’s only a matter of time before he finds Sweetbriar; even with all the dense foliage that camouflages the town and the loud noise and bright light restrictions, it’s impossible to hide it completely. If Roman tracks us here there’s no telling the havoc he could wreak, and I would be leaving Connor right in the middle of the fray.

But, then again, it’s
me
Roman is after.
I
was the one who took the black machete as a trophy,
I
was the one who killed The Leader—not Connor—and he must know that. And if his tracking skills are any good, which I’m inclined to believe they are considering recent events, he will pick up my trail again and hopefully bypass Sweetbriar entirely. Besides, even if he were to find the camp, how many men can he possibly have? At this point I have killed eleven or so of his people, so unless he has an entire army at his disposal surely the Sweetbriarans, with their gate and walls, will outmatch him and his people by a long shot, won’t they? Not that it should matter to me what happens to them anyway. I need to focus on what’s best for me, what will ensure my own survival, and climbing over this wall is the first step in doing that.

Filled with determination and the sheer desire to leave this place behind forever, I mentally pick a path down the wall that will offer me the least chance of slipping and injuring myself. Although the ivy is thick, it is unlikely it will be able to support my weight for long, which means I’ll have to move quickly or I could come crashing down and not only break something, but wake up the whole town as well.

Just as I have positioned myself to begin my descent, the sound of movement nearby startles me nearly enough to send me flying over the wall. Realizing someone is climbing the sentry ladder, I scramble back to the top. Nate pokes his head over the wall, flashing me a grin. Without a word, he climbs up and takes a seat beside me.

Shit.
Now the whole damn thing is ruined—unless of course I were to kill him—but no, no, I can’t do that. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have so many stupid morals.

Frustrated beyond belief at his impeccable timing, I hiss, “Here to babysit me?”

“What?” he asks, appearing caught off guard by my sudden hostility.

Remembering he has no idea that I overheard his conversation with Reina, I say, “Nothing. Never mind.”

“I just thought you might want some company. I know it can get pretty lonely up here, especially at night.”

Although I know Reina most likely put him up to this, the grin he wears on his face suggests he genuinely wants to be here, and considering Nate is a pretty see-through guy I decide he isn’t so bad. After all, he’s just following orders. I can’t really blame him for that.

Noticing the scarf wrapped around my neck, he touches it and says, “That’s pretty. I don’t think I’ve seen you wearing it before. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, it was a gift Mrs. Sharma gave me for doing her a favor earlier.”

He smiles. “That was nice of you, helping her out in your free time. You can make a lot of friends around here by doing little things for people. It’s amazing how such small acts can mean the world to—”

“I know what you’re doing,” I interrupt.

His eyes meet mine evenly. “And what’s that?”

“I’m not staying, Nate. You can try to convince me all you want, but I’m not staying.”

“I know,” he whispers. “Reina thinks we can persuade you, make you love it here enough so you never want to leave, but I know better.”

I narrow my eyes, feeling a wave of suspicion creep over me. He just revealed all of his cards, but why? Maybe he and Reina spotted me eavesdropping after all. Maybe this is some new tactic, some good cop/bad cop crap they are employing to try to win my trust. The only way to find out for sure is to keep pushing.

“Why does she want to keep me here so badly?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you. She’s a mystery sometimes, she really is. Over the years I’ve learned not to question the way she works. But if you’re asking me, I think it’s because she likes you.”

“Because she likes me” isn’t exactly the answer I’m looking for, but I decide it’s not worth pressing and settle for it; if I push too hard, he might clam up.

“What’s her story, anyway?” I ask, feeling it is about time I get a little background on the Sweetbriar leader.

“Who, Reina? Well, I’ll tell you what, that woman was born to be a leader. Before all of this, she was a politician—first a town councilwoman for a number of years, then a county judge. After everything went downhill, a group of survivors banded together for safety, me included. There were about thirteen of us in total. That’s when I first met Reina. She was the clear choice for our leader from the start—everything the woman said
just made sense.
Listening to her talk, it gave you hope. It really did.

“Of course, there was dispute at first about who should be in charge, as there always is. Some of the people were hesitant about letting this woman they hardly knew take control of things, but she proved herself. She was a real badass with a gun, and she wasn’t shy about using it either. People began to respect her, admire her, even love her for the way she defended the rest of us.”

“Really?” I ask, somewhat incredulous. I try to picture Reina wielding an assault rifle, but the image is almost laughable.

“Oh, yeah, you’ve got no idea.” Then, continuing the story, he says, “Soon more and more people joined our group—ten, twenty—until we had an entire miniature colony of survivors with us. Reina promised them a sanctuary, a place where we could settle down and restore civilization to what it once was and never have to live in fear of the gangs again. She rallied them behind the idea that she would deliver them to some safe haven where they could live in peace, away from the violence of the outside world. It took over a year—a lot of good people were lost in the meantime, including her own wife—but Reina eventually came through. I’ll never forget the look on her face when we found Sweetbriar—it was like she had arrived at the golden gates of Heaven itself.”

The thought of Reina collapsing onto her knees in front of the iron gate of the Sweetbriar Housing Community brings a smile to my face. Despite my distrust toward her, I can’t deny that she is a remarkable woman. If it wasn’t her intention to trap me here forever, I might actually like her.

Nate and I sit in silence for a while, swinging our legs as they dangle over the wall and staring out into the dark woods. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice him shift his position an inch closer to me in the most discreet manner possible, as if pretending he was uncomfortable and needed to readjust. Suddenly his fingers touch my scarf again, and I have to restrain myself from letting my defensive instincts take hold and launching him over the wall. He doesn’t seem to notice my alarm, however, and delicately rubs the gray fabric between his gloved fingers, admiring it.

Part of me wants to laugh. Is this actually happening right now? Is Nate really trying to make a move on me? I mean, I have to give the guy props—if there was ever a time and place for a romantic gesture, it’s here and now. With a slight smile to let him know there is no harm done, I gently remove his hand from my scarf. Although appearing a bit humbled, he doesn’t seem too disappointed.