Day 9 (26 page)

 

CHAPTER 58

 

Warpath Journal

Dateline: New Justice, New Mexico

The last of the Poison Oaks are as good as dead. Dunne, Kitty, Gowdy—they don't have a chance. We're ready and waiting for them.

Knox, our on-camera bait, squirms and flops like a fish on the sand. I coach him from off to one side, just out of the shot. Weed and his dozen henchmen and brides surround the cave exit—the Willow family mausoleum—with guns drawn, itching to open fire.

It'll be a massacre. It'll be so brief, it's almost a shame. Almost anticlimactic.

But my family will be avenged. The Poison Oak threat to America will be vanquished for once and for all. And New Justice will be free—just as soon as the dust clears and I kill Jeremiah Weed.

As I look over at him, he whips an arm in the air. It's a signal to his troops, and they tense up at once in response.

My own heart beats faster as the moment of truth races toward us. I've waited so long and worked so hard to get here...called into play all my skills, made terrible sacrifices. Like all warpaths, my journey has changed me in unexpected ways—made me stronger, harder, darker. And now the end is in sight.

I pray that God will bless me with the power to finish this. That He will guide my hand as I strike down my enemy with the holy art of
Sendodansu'dinegaan
, the clawed death dance of my Apache and Ninja mentors. That He will hurry the dark souls into deepest Hell as soon as I heave them through the veil.

That He will forgive me for the blood I am about to spill.

Something thuds and crashes inside the mausoleum. As I watch the marble door, waiting for the enemy to emerge, I am revisited by the vision of the bloody corpses in the church.

Unseeing eyes stare in my direction from the crowded pews. Puddles of blood reflect diadems of flickering candlelight. A crimson question mark combined with a crucifix is painted on the wall.

Amish Amos comes to mind. I don't see him among the corpses. For the first time, I wonder if the reason I don't see him is that he's part of me.

If it's possible for Knox to exist within Quincy, couldn't Amos live within me? But if so, how did he get there? And how can he survive my killing ways when the act of murder is anathema to his people?

For now, I know, it must not matter. I can't let it, not when there's work to be done.

Kill now, ask questions later.

The mausoleum's marble door inches open...then stops. I am so intent on watching it, I don't at first notice that Knox is no longer writhing and moaning on the ground.

I don't notice until his hammy hands have clamped around my throat.

 

CHAPTER 59

 

Dunne couldn't breathe. He doubled over in the back of the mausoleum, gasping for air.

Gowdy had been pushing the door open, and he stopped. "Are you all right?"

Hannahlee reached for Dunne, and he waved her off. "Just need...a minute."

But the truth was, he didn't know if a minute would be enough.

The whole way through the tunnel from Gowdy's cave, Dunne had felt fine. He and Gowdy had lugged Leif up the stone stairs in a makeshift stretcher (a blanket and metal poles) without any problem.

But once inside the mausoleum at the top of the stairs, Dunne had gone downhill fast. All he could think about was the trap that might await them beyond the mausoleum door.

Dunne was armed with three guns, all taken from niches in Gowdy's replica of the Willows' museum in the tunnels. The guns were perfect copies of souvenirs from the Willows' TV cases...
working
copies, complete with ammunition. Gowdy was a believer in authenticity (and keeping weapons on hand in case of emergency).

Dunne's guns included two semi-automatic pistols in his waistband and a rifle slung over his back. He'd hoped the firepower would make him feel less scared...but the panic attack had come on just the same. Like always, Dunne filled with fear at the hint of danger and wanted to get away more than anything in the world.

Almost.

"Dunne?" Hannahlee had a look of concern on her face. It was a change from the ambivalent stares of times past when she'd witnessed his cowardice in action. "Take deep breaths."

Dunne nodded. Did she care about his welfare all of a sudden? Or had she always cared, and he just hadn't seen it till now?

Gowdy was staring at him with concern, too. With more than the normal concern for someone he'd just met a few hours ago. "Stay here with Leif."

Dunne kept taking deep breaths and shook his head. "I'll be...fine."

"I'm sure we have nothing to worry about." Gowdy raised his shotgun. "And if we do, we're ready for it. You stay here."

Hannahlee's emerald eyes fixed on Dunne with a strange new intensity. "That's a good idea. We'll be right back for you."

Then, Hannahlee turned and joined Gowdy at the door.

So Dunne had a way out of the danger. Gowdy and Hannahlee would face it in his place, and he could stay back and relax. Overcome the panic as the two of them scouted the situation.

His parents.

Gowdy started pushing the door open again, as Hannahlee stood at the ready behind him. She held a pistol with both hands, barrel pointing at the ceiling.

If danger waited on the other side of the door, Gowdy and Hannahlee would be the first to face it. Dunne might then have time to scramble back down the rabbit hole and lock the hatch behind him.

But his mother and father would be sacrificed.

He'd only just discovered he had them. He hadn't really gotten his head around the news...and, in fact, he still couldn't quite believe it. He still thought there was a chance Gowdy had gotten the story wrong.

And yet...

The possibility changed things. If they
were
his mother and father, could he just stand there? Could he just let them go?

Gowdy continued inching the door open. A new urgency rose within Dunne, not of panic.

"Wait."

But protectiveness. And more.

"Please."

The need, if not to redeem himself, if not to avoid making the same mistake twice...

"Wait for me."

...if not to make up for failing his wife and daughter years ago...

Then at least to avoid losing anyone else. At least to save himself from being alone again.

"I'm coming," said Dunne.

***

 

Warpath Journal

Dateline: New Justice, New Mexico

"I wish I'd done this sooner," says Quincy. "But better late than never."

I pry at his bear claw paws as they tighten around my neck, but he's been eating his spinach. The best I can manage is to wedge some fingers inside his grip and hold it steady.

"Knox..." I rasp out the word, hoping it brings back my buddy.

"Knox
has left the building
." Quincy hisses it in my ear. "And
you're
on your way out,
too
."

I give up trying to break his grip the hard way and decide to strike lower. Letting go of his choke-hold, I shoot my elbows back into his belly and follow it up with a kick in the shin.

But Quincy's grip doesn't loosen even a little bit.

Quincy laughs. "Your moves
suck
. You're the
lamest
excuse for a
War Willow
wannabe I've ever
seen
. And I've seen some
lame
ones."

I throw some more shots his way, and he still doesn't flinch. It's like hand-to-hand combat with an elephant; good luck finding the weak spot under all that mass.

But I bet I know what
will
work. It would work on an elephant, too, if I could reach high enough.

"You're not
War
," says Quincy. "You're not even
close
. More like
Wart
. Or
Fart
."

"And you're...not
Quincy
." I haul off and kick him as hard as I can in the kneecap, drawing him attention away from where I'm really going to go for blood. "As the Amish say...you can put a pig...in a cow suit...but you can't...make him moo."

"You and your Amish bullshit." Quincy tightens his grip. "
War
never had anything to
do
with the Amish! You should
know
that if you're
War
."

I'm getting light-headed, so it's now or never. I swing both arms overhead and behind me, aiming my hands at where I think his eyes will be. I get his cheeks instead but claw my way to his eyes, digging in my nails and raking them straight up.

And it works. Quincy screams and lets go of my throat. Just like that, I'm free.

Free to kill the Poison Oak bastard. Too bad he's got a decent personality locked up inside him. Poor old Knox will be a casualty of war. Or War, I guess.

Because this time, I'm not holding anything back.

 

CHAPTER 60

Just as Gowdy opened the mausoleum door wide, Dunne heard Quincy screaming in pain.

Gowdy and Hannahlee hurried out, and Dunne followed. Looking in the direction of the screams, Dunne saw Quincy twenty yards away, holding his face while War kicked him in the back.

Dunne also saw that the danger he'd feared was real. He suddenly wished he'd stayed in the cave.

Jeremiah Weed and a dozen men and brides stood on either side of the door, guns at the ready. Dunne and his parents were facing a firing squad.

Luckily, the squad was looking the other way at the moment, toward Quincy and War. If not for Quincy's screams, Dunne realized, the troops would have been watching the mausoleum...and Gowdy, Hannahlee, and Dunne would have been dead the instant the door opened wide.

Unfortunately, the reprieve didn't last. The nearest of the Rainbow Brides—the blonde who'd captured Dunne with a switchblade back at Posse Ranch—turned and spotted them.

She didn't bother to raise the alarm. Long hair flying, she swung around a pistol in one smooth, practiced movement.

And squeezed off a round in Dunne's direction.

Dunne froze. He just stood there, eyes and mouth gaping, as the bullet burned through the air...

And missed him.

Before the blonde could try again, Dunne heard the crack of a gunshot, and an impact struck her chest. Looking toward the sound of the shot, he saw Hannahlee poised in a firing stance, smoke wisping from the barrel of her pistol.

The blonde dropped her gun and spun to the ground with a loud cry. The other brides and gunmen turned at the sound.

Turned toward Gowdy, Hannahlee, and Dunne.

But Gowdy and Hannahlee were already in motion. Seven shots were fired in the next thirty seconds...every one of them from Gowdy and Hannahlee's guns.

Five of the shots found their marks. Three gunmen and two brides on the firing line went down in short order. The rest of the troops scattered in the confusion, breaking ranks and diving behind headstones.

Only Weed maintained any semblance of calm. He stood at the far end of the line, looking over the situation as bullets flashed past him. Then, he strolled to an obelisk and casually took cover behind it.

Gowdy headed for cover, too, ducking behind the mausoleum's marble door. Hannahlee followed, calling to Dunne to come with her.

When shots flew between them, however, Dunne panicked and went the other way. He ended up hiding behind the big stone crucifix in the middle of the cemetery, thirty yards from Gowdy and Hannahlee.

As the shooting continued behind him, Dunne felt sick in the stomach. He was alone in a firefight, cut off from the only people who could protect him—and he was scared to use the guns he'd been given. The odds did not look encouraging.

Not to mention the maniac with the bomb around his waist. The maniac who was kicking Quincy's ass.

***

 

Warpath Journal

Dateline: New Justice, New Mexico

As I pound on Brother Quincy, I can't stop thinking about Amish Amos. This pisses me off even more, which makes me hurt Quincy even more. After all, he's the one who brought it up.

Quincy says I'm not War Willow, because War Willow had nothing to do with the Amish. This goes against everything I remember, everything I know about myself. It's just Poison Oak doubletalk meant to throw me off my game.

And yet I can't get it out of my head. No matter how many times I lay out the facts and kill the idea, it keeps coming back.

No matter how hard I hit Quincy.

I torture him again, just blasting him without mercy in the face and gut. He's still standing through some kind of dumb animal defiance, but he shouldn't be.

For good measure, I apply some
Sendodansu'dinegaan
, spinning in a circle around him, lashing him with a pinwheel of blistering blows and kicks. Like the thoughts of Amish Amos in my mind, he's still standing at the end of it.

At this point, I actually feel sorry for him. He's bruised, he's bloody, he's beaten—I know he's got broken bones—and I keep making it worse. As gratifying as it is to see a Poison Oak suffer after what the Oaks did to my family, I start to think maybe I'm getting carried away. Maybe it's time to put him down and be done with it.

Just as I think that, Quincy comes alive again. He suddenly bolts forward, catching me around the waist. With no apparent concern for the explosives strapped to my body, he tackles me to the ground. He takes me down hard enough that I'm surprised the bomb doesn't blow from the impact.

I can hardly believe it. I didn't think he had an ounce of fight left in him—but here it is. And it's more than I could have imagined.

Quincy swats me hard across the face, making my head spin. I'm only disoriented for a few seconds, but it's long enough for him to straddle my chest. Next thing I know, he has me pinned—weight crushing my torso, knees planted on my arms.

All I can move is my legs, and I can't bring them up far enough to kick him.

So I'm trapped. All that beating, and he has me down.

Which completely blows my mind.

He cracks his knuckles in my face and talks through swollen lips. "Before we do this...let's get one thing straight."

"What's that?" The bomb jams into my stomach underneath him. I wonder if the pressure will set it off before I can fight my way free.

"War Willow never spent any time with the Amish." Quincy reaches up to wipe blood from his eyes. "War Willow never had an Amish mentor or any kind of Amish training.

"It doesn't even make
sense
to say he
did
, because the Amish don't
have
any training. Not involving
martial arts
or
weapons
or
anything
War Willow would be
interested
in.

"In other words,
you're not War Willow
. Will you get that through your fucking
head
?"

Gunfire continues to crackle across the cemetery, a backdrop to our showdown. I am determined not to let this Poison Oak monster break me.

And yet...

As he wraps his hands around my throat and squeezes, I feel myself begin to drift. The gunfire fades. So does the sight of Quincy's face as he chokes me.

Another face comes into view. Another time.

Something falls away, like a wall or a curtain, and I see him...really see him for the first time in forever.

And I remember.

Finally, I remember the true story of Amish Amos.