Chris found himself next to Falco. He turned and offered his hand. “Take care, Falco.”
Despite the differences between them, Falco seemed to share the moment of unity. He shook Chris’s hand. “You too, you crazy son of a bitch.”
Then he was gone.
Jameson joined the bravos in the middle of the street. Tilly, her cheeks wet, held Esperanza on the porch of the general store. She blew her partner a kiss.
“You don’t have to go,” Chris said to him.
“I’m a bravo. The town means more than any one of us.” He hooked a thumb back toward the store, where Brick had taken up position next to Tilly. The big man held a semiautomatic rifle, one arm around Jolene. “But it’s not like I’m leaving them alone. I do this for Singer, just as he watches Tilly for me. That’s how it should be.”
Ex skidded a motorcycle to a stop next to Chris. “Climb on, brother.”
He did as the quiet man commanded, while watching their one-truck army drive out of town.
Glancing over his shoulder, Ex raised his eyebrow in question. “Hey, Doc?”
“Yeah?”
“Do leopards hunt wolverines?”
Ah, so that’s what Rosa meant.
Chris offered a tight grin. “Not if they’re sane, they don’t.”
THIRTY-NINE
A chill wind swept down from the mountains, stirring the ragweed and snake brush, but gas and motor oil nearly overpowered those natural desert smells. The truck jounced because they’d gone off-road in a big way. Rosa sat next to Falco in the cab. He was still Valle’s best driver—the one she trusted not to steer them into a ravine.
The bravos stuffed in the back joked and made promises. How fast the fight would be. Who would take the most lives. All bravado, of course. So many things could go wrong. Despite her rousing speech, Rosa knew triumph was far from certain. The plan hinged on an insane number of variables.
“I’m sorry,” Falco said over the rattling engine.
She knew what he was apologizing for, and why now of all times. Before a battle, it was best to tie up loose ends and erase the regrets. That could be their town motto, in fact.
“
No te preocupes
.
Está bien
.”
And that was all she needed to say. The air cleared between them, clean for the first time in ages, devoid of silent resentment. She permitted a tight smile then leaned away from his shoulder, judging the weather. Heavy cloud cover kept the night dark, hiding their approach.
Falco parked. Bravos grabbed their weapons in practiced motions; the aged truck bounced with the men disembarking. Rosa focused on her breathing, not the chaos that would come later.
This is for Viv and Wicker.
Though she mourned Ingrid and the other fallen bravos, she made a distinction in her mind. They’d signed on to fight. Viv and Wicker had never been intended to defend the town—and yet they had, with their last breaths. Anger and grief tightened her mouth into a hard line.
As the others checked their gear, Cristián drew her to one side. He cupped her face in his hands. “Promise me you’ll be careful?”
“I will be.”
Other than that one request, he didn’t try to talk her into staying behind. She appreciated how well he understood her nature. She thought he might kiss her as he had in town, but he fell back. He knew the importance of the mission at hand, never imposing limits or distracting from her duty. He would never laugh at the idea that her leadership mattered. Instead of a kiss, they shared a long, level look, and for a moment, her worry faded.
Falco cleared his throat. “Should we send a scouting party first?”
That might have been the only time he asked for input without trying to take charge. Apparently he was trying to change too. More of Rosa’s fear scaled back. Not all, of course, because it wouldn’t be an easy fight. They were about to take on the worst murderers in the wasteland. But she had the best.
“I’ll take Ex and Chris with me,” she said. “They can move in ahead quietly, if need be. Listen for my signal.”
“Elf owl?” Falco asked.
“That’s right.”
She was best at those sounds, like quiet, mocking laughter. Maybe the calls would be interpreted that way. Spooking the drunken, trigger-happy bastards might help waste their ammo. No one had unlimited supplies, especially considering how well her people patrolled the local roads. She hoped they could salvage some rounds after the battle. If they cleared out Peltz’s men, circumstances would become more stable. Nobody else had ever dared set up camp in her territory. She wanted this confrontation so brutal that no one ever would again.
Rosa, Chris, and Ex moved out in silence as Falco and the others fanned out behind. Even the smallest sounds carried, so she stepped carefully, taking no chances. She was conscious of the loose rock beneath her feet and the two men at her back.
How funny that I should lead two skinwalkers into battle. The universe has a sense of humor.
Midway into their mission, Ex stilled, his head lifted as if scenting the air. He turned to Chris. “You smell that?”
“God, they stink. Raider to the northeast.”
She tilted her head, trying to detect what they did, but her senses just weren’t equal to the task. “How far?”
“A hundred meters,” Chris said.
They needed to take out that sentry, so Rosa spoke in a nearly noiseless whisper. “Shift now or later?”
Ex considered. “Now. You up for it?” he asked Chris.
Grim lines added gravity to Cristián’s features. He was a thinking man volunteering for animal instinct. For the first time she realized how much it must cost him. But he nodded, his expression determined. He was willing to go leopard because she needed a silent kill. He would do it for her and for Valle. Her heart went tender at the implicit sacrifice.
Rosa took a step back, bracing for the transformation. An odd aura surrounded both men—not quite light, but an otherworldly shimmer that filled her with wonder. Her pulse quickened as their skin rippled and their bodies . . . twisted, lengthening in some places, shrinking in others. Clothes dropped away and animals stepped out of them. Quickly she grabbed their garments and stuffed them in her pack.
Trying to steady her respiration, she drew a deep, harsh breath. Despite her faith in both men, Rosa still feared them a little—or rather, the unknown element of that power.
Chris, in the body of a sleek, powerful leopard, drew close and twined around her legs. Her hand trembled as she reached out to run her palm over lush fur. Rosa traced a line down the middle of his head, along his back to his lashing tail. He was strong, fierce, terrifying, and . . . beautiful. Unexpectedly beautiful. Later, she would tell him so.
His weight solid against her thigh, he stared up at her with soulful hazel eyes that were somehow the same. She saw his patience and kindness and everything that made him Chris. He cocked his head, ears flickering at whatever he heard with his cat senses, but his expression never changed. How odd that an animal could look so intent. And not in a hungry way.
It’s true. He’s in there.
Ex didn’t invite contact, demonstrating the same quiet reserve he wore as a human, so Rosa kept her distance. In his wolverine form he was compact, probably thirty kilos, but had ferocious teeth. She wouldn’t want to tangle with either of them. As a team, they would become her stealthy wrecking crew.
Crouching, she gave her signal. They moved as one toward the sentry. She gave them a significant head start before following on silent feet. Even from such a distance, she could see how smoothly they worked to take down the guard, human minds directing animal grace. But—
gracias a Dios
—they didn’t feed on or maul the body. Once the man died, they withdrew, flanking her once more.
They slid through the darkness toward the camp, stopping behind an outcropping of rocks. Before them lay Peltz’s dust pirates. No wonder they could pick up and move so fast. They owned nothing permanent: no houses, no farm animals, no patches where they coaxed life from the thin, rocky soil. Raiders didn’t plant or build. Like locusts, they consumed and departed. On that starry night, Rosa stared down at their shantytown of tents and rusty vehicles and mentally executed them all.
Even from such a distance, the camp was worse than she’d imagined. The smell made her sick, a putrid blend of blood, shit, urine, and rotten meat. It was wrong for human beings to live like this. If Peltz had his way, he’d bring that filth to Valle, polluting everything Rosa had spent years building.
The human animals had been whooping it up. Those remaining even half awake were singing in drunken revelry. Of all things, they belted out “Ole Ole” like football hooligans celebrating a win. The repetitive chant came from the largest tent. In the air hung a liquor-tinged pall. The bastards had left only one other man on watch, and by his expression it was clear he was drunk and distracted by something going on nearby.
Rosa narrowed her attention, working against the heavy darkness. She held motionless with horror. The abducted women sat chained like animals to a post in the center of camp. Some were obviously injured, showing the marks of a man’s fist. But she didn’t see Singer.
Oh, no.
It would kill Brick if they didn’t bring Singer back safe. Rio wouldn’t fare much better, after having recently lost Manuel. With a mute head shake, she glanced at Chris and Ex. Even in animal form they seemed to read her questioning look. Their coiled postures were clear answers of readiness.
How astonishing.
She hooted her owl call, giving the rest of the bravos their cue. The call echoed across the ravine. The drunken sentry startled, gazing around into the darkness.
He clutched his weapon and muttered, “Fucking owls.”
Rosa’s stomach roiled. She waited in silence with Chris and Ex, now and then checking over her shoulder. The time that passed probably wasn’t as long as it felt, crouching there in the dark, but the waiting needled under her skin.
As Falco arrived with the others, motion in the camp drew her eye to a familiar young man. He looked like the kid she’d sent back to camp with a warning, but he didn’t stagger. His movements quick and stealthy, he turned his head as if scanning for possible witnesses. The guard wasn’t paying him any mind. The boy crept up to an ancient pickup truck and clambered up quietly. He did something in the shadows, moving beyond Rosa’s range of vision.
“Can you see?” she whispered to Chris.
The leopard cocked his head in apparent amusement.
Claro
, he could see. He just couldn’t answer.
Falco pulled up behind her. He glanced at the leopard and wolverine, momentarily dazed before shaking out of his trance. “We’re in position.”
After a clank like a cage door opening, the boy led Singer to the edge of the truck bed and helped her down.
“They separated her from the others,” she whispered.
Falco answered with a grim twist of his mouth. “She’s young and innocent—not for the likes of these boys. The O’Malley will pay big for a girl like her.”
Guaranteed pure and disease-free. What was it the big brute had said about Rosa?
She looks like she’s young enough to bear.
There couldn’t be many like Singer remaining in the post-Change world, but the girl was priceless for other reasons—the only reasons Rosa put stock in. She was like a younger sister, much as Rio had crept into her heart after losing José.
Rosa drew her Stechkin, which she’d discovered when cleaning out a private gun collection during an early raid. The pistol was her favorite weapon, too nice for anything but the most dire of situations—which was why she carried it now. She could use the automatic to fire one-handed. If she didn’t drop an assailant with the burst, she held a blade ready.
A scream rang out, then softened to a long, drawn-out moan. A raider had pushed one of the women down. Rosa knew exactly what came next. Rage roared through her like an erupting volcano. She twirled her fingers at the rest of the bravos. Time to hit hard.
“Keep it quiet. No guns until we get the women clear.”
Moving in a crouch toward the drunken guard, she noted the progress made by Singer and her rescuer. The two kids sneaked along the ravine’s edge, keeping to the shadows and making their way to where the women were chained. Grunting sounds and a girl’s cries turned Rosa’s fury to ice.
She cued Jameson to take out the sentry. He performed the execution in complete silence. Another raider staggered from the tent. He raised his head, peering around in the dark, but he was too drunk to check the whole perimeter. He took a couple of steps and fell. Rosa waved everyone else in, drawing her finger across her throat. No warnings, no prisoners.
A startled breath escaped her when Chris, still in leopard form, slid alongside her leg. Heart in her throat, she fought down the instinctive panic. Just as well, because soon enough a wolverine arrived on her other side. Unnerving as hell. But she could deal with the residual uneasiness. They weren’t her enemies, and she trusted them both.