“Me neither,” said Lena. “Only Nathan says Alex got hold of it. But how? Either she knew about it and forced Jess to give it to her, or Jess handed it over herself. Whatever. It’s not back in the closet, which means that Nathan still has it, and I’ll bet it’s got the same shells.”
Yeager stared at the black Remington cartridge and then craned up to look at Nathan. “Is this true? Do you have the shotgun?”
“Yes, I retrieved it after Alex tossed it. That’s my job.” “Yeah, but did you clean it, asshole?” Lena shot back. There was a short silence, which Yeager broke. “Why is that important?”
“Because,” Lena said, “there was blood on the stock and hair and—”
“Alex hit Jess,” Nathan said, contempt dripping from every word. “What do you expect?”
Yeah, yeah, bite me. “But not all the hair was Jess’s. Some was, but there was other hair, darker and shorter, that didn’t match. The only person with hair like that who got bashed in the head the same day was Chris.”
She looked at Yeager. “Nathan made up a story about Night to cover himself, and maybe Jess . . . I don’t know. But I looked at Night’s hooves right after they brought him back, and they were clean.”
“Snow probably did that,” Nathan said.
“Maybe. But then there’s the thing about Alex pitching the shotgun. Why would she do that? Does that make sense? She goes to all this trouble to get two guns; she’s got a good rifle and the shotgun, and then she throws one away?” She saw the sudden narrowing of Yeager’s eyes as he digested this.
“She panicked,” Nathan offered, but even to Lena it sounded feeble.
“So you say.” Yeager evidently heard the same thing, because he jerked his head at one of the other guards, who nodded and slid out of the front room, heading for the door. “I presume you won’t mind if we have a look at this shotgun.”
“No,” Nathan said, but Lena thought there was nothing else he could say.
“I don’t understand this.” Chris looked dazed. The imprint of his grandfather’s hand was a purple stencil on his cheek. “Why would Nathan . . .”
“It couldn’t just be Nathan. It had to be both of them, together, Jess and Nathan,” Lena said. “Because that case—the black one that was so important to Alex? It’s in Jess’s room, on the same shelf.” Chris’s mouth unhinged. “Alex left it behind? She’d never do that.”
“But it’s there. I can show you.”
“I think,” Yeager said, “that this is something we’d all like to see.”
17
The shotgun’s stock told its story well enough. Chris’s eyes panned from the weapon the guard had retrieved from Nathan’s rooms to that black padded case and back again. The Remington’s stock was crusted with dried blood in which hair, gray and black, was easily visible, preserved like insects in amber.
Unzipping the case, Chris folded back the top, but he already knew from the weight that the two sturdy bags, filled with gray ash, were still there. Alex would never leave them behind. He feathered the air over the case’s contents, unwilling to touch them. These belonged to Alex, and her parents deserved respect. Handling them more than necessary was like walking over their graves.
“I don’t believe it.” Weller, who’d retrieved the case from Jess’s room, stared down, wide-eyed. “It was them? Jess and Nathan?”
“So it appears. Please,” Yeager said to Nathan, “tell us you have an explanation.”
“I’ll explain it,” Weller broke in, and rounded on the other guard. “You son of a bitch, you were in on it. Either you hit Chris and Jess both, or she did Chris and then you did her to make your story stick.”
“But why?” Tori asked. She and Sarah stood with their arms around one another, as if holding each other up.
“I know why,” Chris said, grimly. “I came back too early. I was supposed to meet up with Peter, but I decided to ride straight through. At the checkpoint, one of the guards mentioned he’d seen Alex on Kincaid’s horse, and so I knew something was wrong, and then . . .” His fists bunched in frustration. “I just don’t remember. I can see Alex on the horse, and then it’s this blank stretch until I woke up here.”
“You don’t need to remember. I’ll tell you how it went down. You ruined their plans, and then they had to improvise.” Weller threw Nathan a murderous look. “Nice touch, doing Jess. I’ll just bet you guys were sweating bullets, worrying Chris would remember what happened. What I want to know is what else you’ve done. You had to intercept the runner, Lang. He was the only one who knew where we were and what route we were going to take to get back to Rule. You must have had guys waiting and then tipped off those bounty hunters. You son of a—”
Uncoiling, Weller slammed his fist in a solid uppercut. Nathan’s head snapped back on the stalk of his neck, blood fanned in a fine mist, and then Weller drove the bony ridge of his forehead into Nathan’s face.
“Weller!” Kincaid shouted. “Weller, stop!”
No, don’t stop. Chris was gritting his teeth so hard the muscles corded in his neck. Alex is gone, and so is Peter, and this asshole deserves everything he gets.
Nathan’s knees buckled, but Weller was still on him, drunkwalking him back, muscling the other man across the room. The old men of the Council scattered in a startled flutter and swirl of black robes, like a murder of crows. Nathan had his hands up now, and he was tucking, protecting his face, not even trying to fight back. Cursing, Weller aimed a vicious kick at Nathan’s groin. Nathan gargled a breathless screech, and then he was folding in two, retching, still trying to dance away, butting against a small display table, going down in a crash of wood and porcelain figurines. The dogs, still sequestered in the kitchen, began to bark.
“Enough, enough!” Yeager shouted. Plum-colored splotches splashed the old man’s withered cheeks. “Weller, stop! We need answers first, and then you can do what you like, but stop now.”
“Rev, you . . . you don’t understand.” Huffing, Weller staggered to his feet. On the floor, Nathan was curled into a tight, unmoving ball. “The guys guarding the Zone, John and Randy and Dale— they got to be in on it, too. Ain’t that right, Nathan? Huh?” Weller let fly another kick to Nathan’s middle, and the other man grunted out a gurgled moan. “Ain’t it?”
“Kill him now, and he’s of no use to us,” Yeager said. “You’ll get your chance, I promise you.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Weller spat, then armed blood from his face. “Rev, we got to get those other men before they run, too. And I’d post a couple guys on Jess, if I was you.”
“She’s no threat,” Kincaid said. “The woman’s in a coma. Without equipment or power, it’s hard enough to keep her stable as it is. I barely have enough of the right medicine.”
“Yeah, like the little girl said, that’s real convenient,” Weller said. “How do we know you aren’t keeping her in a coma with all these drugs of yours?”
Kincaid’s face flooded with genuine shock. “What are you saying? I took an oath.”
“Yeah, only maybe not to Rule,” Weller said. To Yeager: “That girl’s right about another thing, too. Kincaid and Jess, they’re real tight. I think we got to keep an eye on her. Maybe if Kincaid’s not allowed near her, she’ll wake up.”
“Or she might not,” Kincaid said. “Rev, you keep me from doing my job, you might kill her.”
“Perhaps she deserves nothing less. Go, Weller. Do whatever you think is best,” Yeager said, and then turned to Chris as Weller ducked out. “You will also reap what you sow. You do understand that?”
“Yes,” Chris said. He thought his voice was steady, but he felt the sweat pearls on his upper lip. The world as he knew it was again coming to an end. He’d seen it happen, with his own eyes, right in this room. Nathan and Jess and . . . and Kincaid?
They killed Alex. They sent her out of Rule and into the Zone. They murdered her just as surely as if they’d put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.
“Good,” Yeager said. “I would hate to think that any blood kin of mine, however tainted, is a fool. You have defied me; you have sided with those who would ruin me, the Council, Rule. You have chosen a girl over me, and that will not stand. Alex is done, too. If she returns, I will not give her sanctuary.”
“She wouldn’t crawl back to you. She’s survived before, without our help, and she’ll do it again.” God, he wished he believed that.
“You know her that well?”
“I know how I feel about her.” He willed his gaze not to waver. She would fight this old man. She would never back down, and neither would he. As soon as he saw his opportunity, he would go after her, because, maybe, there was still a chance. “You can’t take that away.”
“True. But I will take you.” Yeager’s eyes drifted to Kincaid and Lena, and then locked, once more, on him. “I will take you all.”
18
It was what Crusher Karl would’ve called a filthy night. When the large drays pitched a fit—dancing and kicking when the guards boosted them onto the running boards—they almost went nowhere, which would’ve suited Lena just fine. The wagon was open, and a single lantern bounced and swayed as the thickening snow drew down in a dense, billowing curtain that swirled and eddied and muffled all sound. They might as well have been in a tornado in a bell jar or snow globe. The wind snatched and plucked at her hair because they hadn’t let her get a hat, and her ears were so icy they burned. The lantern was a swinging fuzzy blur, and their guard, a mountain of a man, had been reduced to a white hump.
A sudden gust scoured her face. Lena winced, blinking as tears pooled. She wanted to wipe them away, but her fingers were numb even in gloves because of the plasticuffs. When the guard zipped them on, she tried tensing her muscles, but then he’d slapped her hard enough to sting.
