“Are you sure?” was all he could ask, though he knew from observation that once Lucy said something, that was that; she’d never discuss it or regret it. In this way, she was the opposite of him and Truman. That kind of certainty and simplicity must be a nice feeling, he thought, even as his heart filled with the strangest gratitude and wonder.
Lucy nodded and slipped her hand into Truman’s. “I’m sorry, Truman. If you wanted to go, I would,” she said, turning toward him.
Truman looked at her. “I know,” he said. “You’re better at choosing than I am.”
Will normally gave them privacy for their displays of affection; it was just too weird—and a little gross, to be honest—to see them acting like that. But now he stared at them, trying to understand them better.
Understanding never came—just a slight tinge of joy added to his awe.
“When Rach is better, we’ll come and get you and take you out of this place,” Will said. He didn’t really know if that would be possible, but he wanted it to be, at that moment. He wanted to give them hope. Most of all he didn’t want to feel responsible for more harm to the people around him.
“I hope so,” said Truman. His voice had an accusatory tone to it that Will had never heard before.
Will stood up and came closer to them. He still didn’t know how to approach Lucy, but he knew he had to say something more, had to offer her something for the gift she’d given so freely and unexpectedly. Looking in her eye, Will wondered if she had even expected it herself, before she said it.
Perhaps she sensed his need, and his indecision, because she put her hand lightly at the back of his neck and leaned toward him till their foreheads touched—hers so shockingly warm and reassuring against his wet, clammy skin. Her perfect blue eye had some special depth to it, just inches from Will’s: no warmth in its seemingly bottomless pit of blue—but its very dry, cold sharpness somehow let him know how much lay hidden behind it, and how much of that secret store was as beautiful as it was terrible, as lovely as it was awful. Her skin was so soft he could barely feel it, like down or cotton, though the pressure she put on his forehead and neck seemed more solid than any grip he’d felt, like nothing could shake it loose. For that one moment, everything about her was comforting.
“Thank you,” Will whispered.
She pulled his head down farther, and he assumed she kissed his forehead, though it was hard to describe it as that, her lips pressing against him in another impossibly light yet forceful touch.
“You’re welcome,” she said as she released him and let him stand back up. She leaned against Truman. “Done talking. Too hard. Said everything. Tell them we’re ready.”
Will went back up on deck to tell the strange people their decision, as though it had been his. They’d understand even less than he did what had happened, so he would explain it to them in their terms and give in to their demands, even as he cursed himself for doing so.
Lucy hated people second-guessing her, especially if they were right. That dickhead CJ got way too much correct about her—how angry she was, how smart she was, how she
did
know that she could take him and his little friend and rip their throats out. Too close in here for their shotguns to help, either, and they’d never get to their automatics in time. She wouldn’t have ripped their throats out though, as wet and exhilarating as that sounded—God, it’d almost be like being reborn. But no, using her teeth would’ve gotten her killed—getting in too close and giving them too much time. She’d probably have smashed the cute, younger guy in the side of his head—swinging the pan up from the side would take them by surprise—then she would’ve gutted both of them with the knife she’d hidden in her other hand. Yeah, at least CJ didn’t know everything. But still—way too much for someone who’d just met her, and that infuriated her just as much as he thought it did.
All those plans of how to take them out were just a pleasant bit of hindsight, however. She’d left the frying pan and the knife on the counter before shambling up on deck. It was sometime in the middle of the night, and still raining lightly. Lucy stood with one foot on the gunwale, wondering how she was supposed to spring to the dock as the boat rocked back and forth. She eyed the four men there—the two who’d come on board, and two more whelps like that Terry kid. They just stared back at her, CJ standing firm and frowning, like when he first saw her, the other three shifting uneasily.
She thought the three young ones would piss themselves if she said, “Get over here and help me, assholes.” Unfortunately, she was somewhat more certain CJ would shoot her in the face at that point. He was thinking it already, she knew as she watched him through the mist.
At least the cold drizzle felt good on her face, after the close, sick smell of the ship. And what was that other smell out here? There was the tar on the wooden planks of the dock, and a fishy, weedy smell from the river, but something smoky, too. Hell—the spoiled, lazy pricks had real cigarettes. Already this place was full of surprises, but Lucy very much doubted any of them would be good—at least not for her.
No, her days of being treated with some respect were over—her answer to Will had made sure of that. And the consequences were already becoming abundantly clear. She contemplated slipping and falling right into the river to be swept away, or maybe just down to the deck to sprain an ankle that would never heal. They’d no more lift a finger to help her than you’d try to do anything for a moth with a broken wing. As she paused, Will scrambled up next to her and took a surefooted jump to the dock. He turned back toward her.
“Come on,” he said as he extended his hand down to her.
Lucy eyed him too. So different than the men on the dock, but still part of their kind—so needy and so confident all at the same time. She swayed with the rocking of the boat as she considered the moment they’d just shared. Will second-guessed her, too, but not very well: she knew he hadn’t expected the answer she’d given. Good. People like him were so used to getting what they expected, so much in love with being right, so smug and self-satisfied about it, that half of her good feeling came from surprising him. The other half? An even split, she figured, between the pride of knowing she was better at suffering than they were; a grateful thrill that he finally trusted her—the kiss had seen to that, and had felt more delicious than any blood she’d ever tasted, so cool and moist, with just the tiniest hint of his sweat and fear and need; and a strange, compelling awe at knowing he and Rachel were better at living.
Yeah, she’d made the right choice. Will wasn’t perfect, but was good enough that he deserved a chance to screw his girlfriend some more and raise a bunch of babies to be as imperfectly good as they were. It had to be this way, as much as she had an increasing taste and fear for how bad it was going to get.
Lucy clasped his forearm with her hand, as his fingers wrapped around her wrist. He was strong, for one of them. That made her feel good, too. With a nod he yanked her up and over, and she was on the dock next to him. She stumbled into him, and she could hear the others’ surprise. “I never want to get that close to one of them.... Yeah, not without a collar or a muzzle.... Shit, she’s right next to him! What the fuck’s wrong with him?”
“Shut up, you knuckleheads,” CJ growled. “I told you all to be quiet. Hill people’s just different. So shush. You learn by watching, not talking. And you three got a lot to learn.”
Lucy gave the three younger men a glare. She relished their fear. Maybe this place was full of soft, weak people and it wouldn’t be so bad. A sideways glance at CJ and she thought no, she’d never get that lucky. There’d be plenty of bastards smart enough to make life wretched and degrading. There always were. Besides, weak people were a threat, too: they herded together, and thought even less of what they did and why. That made them the most dangerous of all, in some ways.
Lucy turned back toward the ship and helped Will pull Truman up onto the dock as well. He was all that had made her hesitate below. She didn’t know if he could make it, being around harsh, brutal people. But on the other hand, he was smart in his own way, and he was so docile it might actually be easier on him. They’d heap more shit on him, sure, but they wouldn’t be so skittish around him that they’d blow him away in a panic. Probably just make him push a broom around for fat, lazy people half as smart as he is. He’d be okay, and probably wouldn’t get as angry over it as she’d already gotten. How’d that saying go? The weak shall rule the earth? Something like that. It seemed true in his case.
Lucy tensed at the sound of clanking chains. Two of the younger men were approaching with wooden poles about four feet long. A short chain attached a collar to the end of each one.
The one named Terry raised his shotgun.
“You collared ‘em before, kid?” CJ asked.
Will took the collars in his hands, looking disgusted with their dirty leather and metal clasps. “No, we don’t use these.”
“You hill people are so crazy,” CJ replied. “I don’t know how you do it. But they haven’t bitten you yet, so I figure you can get ‘em collared easier than one of us trying it. They’ll be spooked enough when we get ‘em to their new place. So go ahead.”
Will approached Lucy with the collar and put it around her neck. He leaned close to her left shoulder to lock the clasp. The leather was cold and slippery—not just from the rain, Lucy felt, but from all the blood and grease it had scraped from hundreds like her. She bared her teeth at the young man holding her pole. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth slightly.
Will moved in front of her so she couldn’t see the coward on the other end of the pole. Will’s eyes met hers again as he tightened the strap.
“Tighten that strap more, kid,” CJ said. “I don’t want her wriggling out, and we both know she’s a limber gal—and quick. And you know damn well she don’t breathe, so don’t have any hard feelings about it. Get to it.”
The strap constricted around Lucy’s throat. It didn’t hurt too much, though it still took every bit of her self-control to keep from telling these scared little shits to go fuck themselves.
“I’m so sorry,” Will whispered. His eyes were wet. Lucy again thought she had chosen right.
Will moved over to put the other collar on Truman.
“Good,” CJ said; he didn’t seem as concerned with the security of his collar. “Cuffs next. Terry?”
Shotgun at his hip, the cute one approached, holding out some black iron manacles with his other hand. Will took them. Lucy remembered seeing handcuffs before—shiny metal rings with a chain between them. These ones were crude, and perhaps homemade—just curved metal bands that locked together with bolts.
Lucy held her hands out in front of herself, and Will sniffled a bit as he cuffed her. It took him awhile. Then he moved to cuff Truman.
When he finished, the men forced them around, the collars scraping and tearing at their necks. Truman nearly fell to his knees as they manhandled him. Lucy reached to help him up, but they yanked her away. She growled, but stopped herself. The men started to push them up the dock.
“All right, kid,” Lucy heard CJ say behind her. “Ambulance will be here any minute. I hope your girlfriend makes it.”
And that was that. The two of them were now under the control of these savage idiots, being pushed toward some lights up ahead. When they got to the illuminated area, Lucy saw a gate in a tall fence that stretched across the shore at the end of the dock. Another man with a gun was there.
“Whatcha got, CJ?” the new guy asked.
“Coupla dead fucks,” CJ replied. “Two hill people back on the boat. There’ll be an ambulance here for them soon. The girl’s sick, but she’s not bitten. I checked her.”
“Okay,” the guard said as he looked Lucy over. “These things good for anything, or is it time to pop ‘em?”
“Oh, this one’s a pistol.” CJ laughed as he slapped the back of Lucy’s head, then grabbed a handful of hair and yanked. It didn’t really hurt, but it pulled the kerchief back. Lucy didn’t like that at all.
She roared and whipped herself around so violently the man holding the pole couldn’t keep her still. She batted at CJ’s hand with her manacled arms and lunged for him. He stepped back, still laughing, and the man holding her tried to plant his feet and get enough leverage to wrestle her away from him.
The guard from the gate shoved a black rod with two metal prongs into her stomach and she felt something bad through her whole body. Her muscles didn’t obey and she fell to her knees, twitching, her jaws clenched so tightly she thought her teeth would shatter. She spasmed for a few seconds before she could hear and understand what was going on around her again. All the men were howling with laughter, and it filled her with such fury she was able to force herself back to her feet. Lucy straightened the kerchief as she glared at CJ.
“See?” CJ said. “Gal’s a piece of work! Look at that! Eight-thousand volts and she’s right back on her damn feet! She’s one for the patrols, for sure. Keep our city safe, this one will!” They laughed some more.
“The other one?” the guard from the gate asked.
“Don’t know. Their owner said they were smart. He looks kinda scrawny.” Pause. “What do you think?”
Lucy kept her eye on CJ, but at the edge of her vision she saw the guard move toward Truman. “I know a guy over at the Dead End,” he said. “He’s always asking me to send him some more smart ones, if we find any. You know how kids like that shit.”