Moriah (11 page)

“That’s why He came here,” Fred nodded his head in agreement.

Riley thought he meant Bear.

“Hey, Tris,” said Bruce. “You look happy.”

“I’m going to get a chance to kill someone soon. Riley, tell me more about this red-headed bitch.”

Gammon waited in the field, the grass up to his knees. He looked up into the sky behind him and squinted. The sun was going down. If they’d gotten the note…

He didn’t like this one bit. He drew his .45, racked back the slide, checked the round chambered there, and holstered the pistol. No, he didn’t like this, not at all. A few moments later he drew the M1911 again and stuffed it in the front of his pants, within easy reach, within sight of anyone approaching him.

There were cicadas stirring up a racket, unseen around him. He was surprised the insects were still above ground, what with the autumn chill upon them.

Frankie and Tobias were off behind him, in the tree line. Waiting, like him. He knew they were good shots. It didn’t make him feel much better.

Gammon was here for Thomas, and to keep Tommy safe. Thomas had always been there for him, and he’d be there for his friend, even if his friend wasn’t here anymore, even if Gammon himself didn’t like how this was playing out.

He thought about camp and the people there. He’d see them soon enough, he hoped. Exchange the girl for this guy, Victor, then haul ass back home. Be there in three, four days. Tommy would kill the girl, Gammon knew. It was wrong, in a way, but he wouldn’t stop the kid. She
had
killed Thomas, after all. Merv too. That didn’t sit right with Gammon, how Merv had died.

Some big, lazy bug was flying slow loops in front of him.

Gammon saw them then, two figures, coming across the field towards him. The girl with a black woman behind her. He touched the butt of his pistol before forcing his hand down to his side. Frankie and Toby were there, somewhere behind him, drawing down on the women as he watched them come.

Looked like the black woman was pushing the girl ahead of her. Sure. The kid had arrived at those people’s camp, uninvited, and look at the whole world of trouble she’d brought with her. They’d want to get their Victor back, that group. They wouldn’t want to fight—not human against human. Too many people would get killed, and all for what?

Yeah, the black woman was definitely pushing the girl ahead, Gammon noted as they got closer, cutting the distance between himself and them. It looked like the girl had her hands secured behind her back, too. Looked like the black woman wasn’t armed. And boy did she look mad, real mad.

Gammon shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Okay then…

“Hey,” he called out when he judged they were within hearing. “I just want you to know, I don’t like this any more than you do.” His words were intended for the black woman. That look on her face. Mad as hell and determined. Heck, thought Gammon, she must be. This girl shows up and everything goes to hell.

“I’m going to reach down to my pistol here…” Gammon did so, grasping the butt with his fingertips, slipping the weapon out of his belt, holding it up for the black woman to see. She didn’t stop walking, and she was still giving the girl a push ahead. She was close enough now that Gammon could see how messed up her face was under the dreads, like she’d been burned.

“I’m putting this down…” Gammon bent at the knee, placing the .45 in the grass and dirt, “…because I can see you did what the note said. You came here without a weapon, in good faith.” He stood back up. “And in the end, that’s what we all gotta do, right? Trust one another?”

That look on the woman’s face…Gammon didn’t like it. Sure, if he were in her shoes, he’d be pissed all to hell too, but…The way she kept coming, like she wasn’t gonna stop. Toby and Frankie were out there, behind him, unseen, ready, fingers on triggers.

“He ain’t dead.” Gammon thought his words might reassure her. “And we don’t mean to kill him.”

They kept coming.

“So let me tell you how this is gonna be,” Gammon started to say when the women were less than ten meters from him. Two cracks followed one upon the other in such quick succession that they sounded like a single shot. They had come from
in front
of Gammon, not behind him.

Frankie and Toby.

“Awww, damn,” Gammon muttered, the realization dawning on him. The girl brought her hands out from behind her and they weren’t bound. She’d just had them back there to fool him, and she held them down at her sides now, fists balled. It looked like the black woman went to shove the girl once more, but instead she reached up and tore the sickle she had duct taped to the girl’s back free and cocked her arm back, all in one motion.

It registered in Gammon’s mind too late. Yeah, the woman was angry, madder than hell, but not with the girl.

Five meters away, Tris let the sickle fly.

She had aimed for his stomach, but Gammon was squatting down, reaching for his pistol. His hand closed on the cold steel butt at the same moment that the sickle—a blur across the grass—buried itself in his chest beneath his neck.

Riley covered the remaining distance in a sprint, reaching the felled man. Tris didn’t break her stride, walking at the same determined pace.

“You son of a bitch!” Riley cursed Gammon, standing above him.

He lay there, both hands grasping at the blade, the handle jutting out of his body. This was it. He could feel the blood staining his shirt. He knew he was dying, here in this field. Wasn’t right.
Thomas
.
Merv
.

That big, lazy bug circled overhead.

Tommy

Tris reached the downed man and Riley. She bent over and retrieved the guy’s .45. “No,” Tris said as she pulled back the slide, the bullet already chambered there flying off into the grass, “Let
me
tell
you
how this is going to be.” She pointed the gun down at the man’s face. “I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to go and find all your fuck friends, and I’m going to kill all of them too. Got it?”

Red.

Gammon managed to gargle something before Tris fired a single round into his forehead. He lay there, eyes open, staring up at the sky.

“Son of a bitch,” Riley spat again. “This son of a bitch.”

The others were loping through the grass, past them to the felled snipers. It had been Bruce and Kevin who’d detected the two men in the tree line and taken them out.

“Yeah, that’s right,” snapped Tris. “A
real
son of a bitch.”

“What now?” asked Riley.

“Like I told him,” Tris said matter-of-factly. “I’m going to go and find his friends. Kill them. Get Victor back.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.” Dee had reached them, along with Fred Turner and Carrie.

“Excuse me?” Riley demanded.

“This ain’t over, Riley. There’s gonna be a lot more killing. You could get hurt.”

Riley dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “I’m not worried about that, Dee.”

“I got your stuff here, Tris.” Carrie dumped Tris’ ruck on the ground.

“Thanks.” There was a wet sound as Tris yanked the sickle out of the dead man’s chest. The fly that had landed on his forehead circled away, bothered.

“You can’t get hurt,” Dee tried to persuade Riley. “Not you. You gotta live. You’ve got to live to finish what your brother started—to go back to your father and tell him what happened. Let him know what happened to your brother.”

Riley looked at him incredulously. Tris indelicately wiped the blade of the sickle clean on the dead man’s pants.

From the tree line, one of their party called to them.

“What’s that?”

“They got a live one.” Fred Turner stroked his cat’s back as he looked down on the old dead man.

Tris, clutching the .45 she had picked up and the sickle, stalked off for the trees.

“Riley. You’ve got to listen to me, okay?”

“No, Dee. It’s not okay. They killed my friends. They killed my brother. I want to kill them. I’m going with Tris.”

“Riley, these aren’t zombies. These are people. And a lot of people are going to die before this is over—them and us.”

“Looks like they’re doing most of the dying so far.” Carrie looked down on Gammon.

“Fred, help me out here.” Dee looked to him. “You can’t go, honey. You gotta stay.”

“
Honey
? Don’t patronize me, Dee.”

“No,” Fred Turner disagreed. “She’s gotta go.”

“
What
?”

“You’ve got to see this through.” Fred told Riley. “You go, yeah, you might die. But if you don’t go, you’ll regret that all your life.”

“Fred, you gotta be—”

“Let her go, Dee. It’s for her to do.”

“Shit!”

Riley looked at Fred and the look said
Thank you
.

There was a gunshot from the trees.

“Shit.” Dee smacked his head. “Tris killed him. Tris fucking killed him.” He yelled out to the others, “You killed him, didn’t you, Tris?”

Tris was walking back to them. She looked contemptuously at the .45 in her hand and tossed it away into the grass. She didn’t speak until she reached them.

“Well.” She looked at Riley. “You coming or what?”

“I’m in.” There was steel in Riley’s voice.

“Did he talk?” Carrie asked Tris.

“Yeah, he talked.”

“They always talk,” Carrie offered as an aside to Riley.“You had to kill him, Tris?” asked Dee, and the way he said it, it sounded like he thought she didn’t have to.

“No,” Tris confirmed. “I didn’t
have
to kill him. But I did.” She looked at Riley. “Let’s go.”

“You’re going to allow this?” Dee looked at Fred Turner.

“
Allow
it?” Fred asked Dee, then spoke to Riley. “You’ve got my blessing. Go and find those people, and exact your vengeance.” He made the sign of the cross in the air between them. “God is with you, whether you recognize His presence or not.”

Dee exhaled, but Tris and Riley were already walking away. “Go home, Bishop,” Tris called back to Fred. “My shit’s about to get biblical.”

Dee and Fred hurried along to keep up with them.

“Hey, Tris,” Kevin was asking her. “How’d you know Bruce was only going to wound the one? And how’d you know the dude was going to talk?”

“I didn’t.”

“Tris can be so bad-ass sometimes,” Carrie remarked.

“You know my steez.”

“Oh, man,” Bruce remarked to Kevin, purposefully loud enough that Tris would hear it. “I love when she talks black.”

“Bruce.” Tris eyeballed him over her shoulder as she walked. “Shut the fuck up before I cut your dick off and pickle it.”

“Well, not to brag, Tris, but you better make sure you have yourself a big enough jar.”

“For what, your little tinky winky?”

“Wasn’t Tinky Winky a Teletubby?” Kevin asked Carrie.

“Yeah. I think he was the gay one.”

“Tris,” Bruce continued, “I ain’t braggin’ sweetheart, but—”

“I seen worms in the bottom of Tequila bottles would put you to shame.” Tris put a scowl on her face, but she seemed to enjoy the give and take. “Now quit.”

“Ouch.” Kevin winced. He and Bruce had taken the sniper rifles from the dead men.

“He takes his life in his hands every time he talks to her like that,” noted Carrie.

“Nah,” replied Kevin. “Tris wouldn’t hurt him too much. In her own way, she loves us all. Don’t you Tris?”

“Keep foolin’ yourself.”

“I don’t like this, Tris,” said Dee. “And it’s got nothing to do with me. Using Riley as bait—”

“It worked, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“And, no, I’m not done using her as bait either.”

“What are you talking about, Tris?” Dee demanded.

Tris stopped and turned to face Riley. “You want to get close enough to these motherfuckers, close enough to kill ‘em, right?”

Riley nodded her head vigorously. “Right.”

“Good.” Tris clasped the woman on the shoulder and resumed walking. “Because I got a plan.”

“This should be good,” Bruce said to Kevin.

“Bishop,” Tris stopped walking and turned to face Fred. “I’m serious. This is where you turn back. Go back to the quads. You can wait for us there. We be back in the morning. Rest of you sorry-assed motherfuckers, come with me.”

Without another word, Tris walked away, Bruce and Kevin falling in behind her. The others stood around staring at one another for a moment.

“Well, then.” Fred blessed Dee, Riley and Carrie. “Go with god.”

* * *

He’d been walking for a half hour, heading back to where they’d left their quads, when Fred realized he was not alone.

“Dee?” He called back to the trees. “Carrie?”