The Deadly Nightshade (17 page)

Chapter 32

After Connor and I pick up all the cards and arrange them back into a deck, I head to the dining hall again to grab us dinner. I am nearly halfway there when I hear the
click-click
of heeled footsteps behind me and a woman’s voice call my name. Reluctantly, I wait for Reina to catch up.

“Nightshade, there you are. I have been meaning to have a word with you,” she says, flashing a radiantly white smile that seems almost too friendly to be genuine. “How has the job been treating you?”

“We both know how it’s been treating me,” I say flatly. “Not well. I’m not used to hunting the type of game your people are after and I feel like I’m wasting mine and everybody else’s time. They’re perfectly capable without me—they know it and I know it.”

Reina places a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder and it is all I can do not to flinch away. “Look,” she says in her most reassuring tone, “I know it can be frustrating, and it is easy to get disgruntled, but you just have to be patient. I have discussed the matter with Nathan and he thinks you have great potential. You will adapt. Just give it time.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll do what I can.”

“Listen, if you have any concerns or need absolutely anything at all, do not be afraid to come to me. My door is always open to both you and Connor.”

“Thank you, we appreciate that,” I say, eager to end this encounter.

A wave of relief floods over me as Reina turns to walk away, but suddenly she turns on her heels—quite literally—and adds, “Oh, Nightshade, one more thing. I heard Claire has been causing you some problems recently. If she starts with you again, tell me and I will address the situation immediately. Sweetbriar is supposed to be a welcoming environment, and I will not stand for my people treating you or Connor with hostility.”

I thank her again and agree to let her know if anything else happens, but it is all I can do not to laugh at her words.
Sweetbriar is supposed to be a welcoming environment.
They sure did welcome Connor and I with open arms during that town meeting, and those looks they give us on the street are definitely ones of pure friendliness. Yes, the hospitality of the Sweetbriarans is truly overwhelming.

After I bring Connor his dinner and finish my own, I grab Sheppard’s deck of cards and head to the church to return them. As I approach the little white building, which is dwarfed by the dwellings that surround it, I take a look at the sign outside. Where the name of the church should be, a plank has been nailed to cover whatever was there before, and on it is written the words “For All Who Need It.” The building is a far cry from any church I’ve ever seen; its siding is a dingy off-white, the paint on its gray shutters has chipped away in some places, and one of its gothic stained glass windows has been boarded up. As I walk up the rotting wooden stairs, which groan treacherously with each step I take, I see Sheppard talking with an elderly couple through the open doors. To me, he looks nothing like a preacher—his dirty brown hair is long and unkempt compared to that of the well-groomed priests I knew in my childhood, and his scraggly beard gives him a rather rough and rugged appearance. But as I watch him clutch the hand of the old woman and make the sign of the cross in front of her, I realize there is probably no better profession out there for Elijah Sheppard.

I linger at the threshold of the church as the three of them converse, reluctant to interrupt their discussion. The inside of the building is about as much to look at as the outside, with its worn wooden floors, crumbling plaster walls, and dim lighting. As I look at the six rows of dusty pews on either side of the aisle, I wonder how long it has been since they were all filled. A long time, probably. Maybe years.

After the couple leaves, I approach Sheppard, who has turned to light a few candles, and silently place the deck of cards on the table beside him. He glances up at me in surprise, a smile spreading across his face.

“Ah, Nightshade, you snuck up on me! Thank you for bringing my cards back. How did the game go? Did you win?”

“Not even close. Connor kicked my ass.”

Sheppard’s eyes widen in alarm. “Hey, language! Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to curse in a place of worship?”

“Oh, oops, my bad,” I say sheepishly. “I didn’t realize that wasn’t allowed. I’ve never really been much of a church goer.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Yeah, not a lot of people are these days. Me, I was born into religion. My father was a preacher and his father was a preacher, and so was his father before him. I come from a long line of worshippers, so I guess it was only natural I follow in their footsteps.”

As he speaks, I wander over to a small, lonely bookshelf that stands in the corner of the room. Scanning the rows of books, I am surprised to find copies of the Bible, the Qur’an, the Torah, and various other texts on a handful of other religions.

“Sheppard, which religion do you believe in?” I ask.

“All of them.”

“
All
of them? How is that possible?”

His grin indicates this is a question he is frequently asked but always loves to answer. “I believe in any religion that can make a person’s life more bearable when they’re at their worst—any religion that can provide explanation to the unexplainable, that can manifest faith in those who have none, that can shed light into the darkest voids, that can give people a purpose and a reason to carry on when they lose the will to live. Any religion that can do that is a true religion. This church is a place of worship for people of any and all faiths, open to all who need it. After all, who am I to judge what people believe in?”

“Wow,” I breathe, “that’s a really beautiful way of thinking.”

“And what about you, Nightshade?” he asks. “What do you believe in?”

In the flickering light of the candles, I am finally able to understand why I am so drawn to Elijah Sheppard. The long dark brown hair, the hazel eyes, the grisly beard, the satiny voice that rumbles from deep within his chest—he reminds me of my father. Not the father who trained a young girl to become a ruthless assassin, who transformed me into an emotionless machine, who denied me tenderness and affection out of what he thought was my best interest, and whose last act of love was to die for me so I could live as the survivor he had worked so hard to create. No, when I look at Sheppard I am reminded of the father I knew before everything went to shit—the one who played cards and laughed and smiled every chance he got. When I look at Elijah Sheppard I am reminded of everything I have lost.

“I honestly don’t know what I believe in,” I say after an interval of silence. “I’d like to believe there’s a God out there, but then I look around at all the ruin and I don’t think it can be possible. I mean, what kind of God destroys the world He created? What kind of God lets people slaughter each other until there are barely any left?”

The preacher emits a long sigh. “Yeah, kid, most people feel the same way. I can’t really blame them, either. Heck, there was a time when even my faith faltered . . .” Sheppard is silent for a long time, his eyes bouncing back and forth as he stares down at the floorboards in front of him in deep contemplation. I want to ask him to elaborate, but I decide if he wants to explain he will do so without my prompting. With a shaky breath, he continues, “I had a wife and two daughters once, nine and eleven years old. After the bombings, we drove out into the country and held up in this church a family friend of ours used to preach at. We lived peacefully for about a year or so. Sure, there was gang violence and chaos back then too, but we were lucky enough not to run into any trouble. My wife used to say that God would protect us, and all we needed was to believe in Him and we would be safe. I prayed every single day for my family’s safety,
every single day
—but it did nothing.

“One night, a group of men kicked in the door to the church. They waved their guns at us, told us to give them all our food and supplies . . . I asked them to look at where they were standing, asked if they wanted God to see what they were doing to a preacher’s family, begged them to be merciful. But they didn’t care. One of them, he gave me a bashing with the butt of his shotgun—nearly knocked me out—and then he pressed the black blade of his knife to my throat and told me that there was no God and that he was going to take everything I had. And he meant
everything
. Four of them, they grabbed my wife and they dragged her into the back room . . . I could hear her screaming, calling my name. My girls, they cried the whole time.”

Tears begin to form in Sheppard’s eyes and he stops for a moment to draw a few shaky breaths. When he begins again, his voice is hollow.

“There was nothing I could do to stop them—every time I tried to get up the other two would threaten to shoot my daughters. When they had—finished—with her, I heard this—this deafening
bang
and . . . and I knew. God, I knew. And then—” He pauses and, with a tremulous sigh, lifts his shirt slightly to reveal three dark, round scars along his lower abdomen.

“When I woke up, they were gone. I guess they had assumed I was dead, or dying—I don’t think they would have left me otherwise. The first thing I saw was my girls . . . I held them in my arms and I just— I cried, screamed, yelled at God for what he had let happen to my family. He was supposed to protect us, but instead he let those men take everything from me.”

My eyes settle on the knife with the orange handle and black blade that sits in the leather sheath on his hip. “But you got your revenge.”

“Yes,” he muses. “Yes, I did.

“It took me a long time to find my humanity again, and even longer to find my faith, but I learned you can’t just leave everything up to God. In this world, the people who survive are the people who fight for their lives. Living peacefully simply isn’t an option anymore. Sweetbriar is as close as you can get, but there will come a time when these walls will fall and we’ll have to go to war for what is ours, and I intend to take part. I might have lost everything I had, but Sweetbriar gave me a new family to love, to guide, to reassure through faith. I would die to protect these people, Nightshade, I really would.”

For the first time since he began speaking, Sheppard’s eyes meet mine, and for the first time I am able to see past their veil of cheeriness into the depths of misery that lie beneath. Before I even realize what I am doing, my legs carry me toward him and my arms wrap themselves around his torso. Sheppard seems about as surprised by this turn of events as I am, but after a second he places his arms around me too. I can’t even remember the last time I made this much nonviolent physical contact with another person. Feeling his warmth, smelling his scent, hearing the gentle
thud
of his heart beating within his chest—I welcome these sensations I never thought I would experience again.

I release him after a moment, and when I look up at his face there are tears in his hazel eyes. All of a sudden the tightening in my chest from earlier returns, and I begin to feel as if I am sinking. Flustered, I turn on my heels and hurry out the open doors into the night air, grateful for the cold that washes away every last trace of the preacher’s body heat. As I stumble down the rickety steps, my legs trembling in a manner that suggests they might give way, I try to deny the inevitable truth over and over again, but I know there is no point.

I like Elijah Sheppard—I like him a lot. Hell, I might even care for him. Four months ago the only person I cared about was myself, and now that amount seems to have tripled. But this doesn’t change anything. No, maybe I do like the preacher, but I will still leave Sweetbriar when the time comes. Nothing is going to keep me here. I just need to stop fucking caring about people.             

Chapter 33

Almost a month has passed since we arrived in Sweetbriar and Connor’s recovery is coming at an excruciatingly sluggish pace. I had expected to have left this place behind by now, but his condition has barely improved. According to Dr. Lam’s estimates, it might be another six to eight weeks before he is completely healed, meaning another three whole months of confinement. I’m not sure if I can take it, but for right now I can only pray that Connor gets better sooner rather than later.

Since I seem to have proven I can behave outside of Sweetbriar, Nathan has received Reina’s permission to bring me on today’s perimeter patrol, though I’m still not allowed to take my guns with me. When I complain to him about the unfairness of it, the lieutenant explains that none of the Sweetbriarans would feel comfortable seeing me with a firearm and insists it’s for the best. But I know the real reason—Reina still doesn’t trust me. For all she knows I could take my guns and smoke every single member of my group the second we’re beyond the wall, then run as far away from the prison that is Sweetbriar as I possibly can. Or maybe she’s afraid Claire will snap at me again and I’ll finally blow her pretty little head off. I guess I can’t blame her, really. I probably wouldn’t trust me, either.

We walk about two miles from camp in a tightly formed unit, our heads swiveling like gun turrets. As we amble along the outskirts of the town, Sophia explains to me that nothing ever happens on border patrol—apparently the most excitement they have experienced in these woods was when they discovered Connor and me—but it makes the townspeople feel safe knowing there are no gangs nearby who might accidentally stumble across their haven and decide to claim it for their own.

Sophia is still rambling on about the lack of action on these patrols when something suspicious catches my attention. In the distance, a cluster of plants ripples with the movement of something large behind it. Without taking my eyes off the spot, I tap Nathan and direct his attention toward the movement, but he just laughs.

“New girl is a little paranoid, huh? Relax, Nightshade, it’s probably just a squirrel or something. Nothing to worry about.” He dismisses me with a wave of his hand and the group keeps on walking, but I remain there, my eyes fixed on those plants. Something doesn’t feel right.

“I’m going to go check it out,” I say.

“What? No, Nightshade, stay with the group!”

But I disobey his order, drawing my swords for the first time in weeks and heading straight for those plants. As I move, I make a point of tramping as loudly as humanly possible, hoping to frighten away whatever animal might be hiding in the undergrowth, but the closer I get the more wildly the leaves begin to rustle, confirming my suspicion that this is no squirrel. I am only a few yards away when three figures spring from the vegetation.

It’s an ambush.

“Nate, go!” I shout. “Run!” They have to get back to camp, have to warn Reina. I can hold these people off.

In the moment I have to analyze my attackers, I see that two are male and one is female, and though they have no guns two are armed with knives and one holds a hatchet. It takes me a second to realize I have encountered the man with the hatchet before, when Roman and his gang attacked Connor and me—the last man standing—and, judging by his malicious wink, it is clear he recognizes me too. They circle in on me, surrounding me in the usual intimidation tactic. I am deciding which one to target first when the sound of hurried feet pounding the ground draws the ambushers’ attention away from me. I turn to see Nathan toss his gun aside and spring upon the man with the hatchet, holding only his hunting knife in his hand. Of course. Firing would mean certain doom for Sweetbriar—the guns are just for show.

Following close behind, Claire and Sophia rush at the other man, trying to wrestle the knife from his hand before he can swipe at them. A few feet away, Sheppard stands with his rifle pointed at the woman, but she refuses to drop her own weapon no matter how many times he asks. I whirl around, trying to decide who to help first, when the woman calls Sheppard’s bluff and lunges. Having no time to draw his own knife, he swings the gun at her, but she manages to avoid the blow and slash him across the arm. Taking advantage of his surprise, she swipes and jabs again and again, and it is all the preacher can do to block the attacks with his hands. I rush to his aid, taking one of my katanas and thrusting it through her stomach before she can deal him any more damage. She emits a startled gasp as I pull the sword upward, slicing her from the inside until the knife drops from her hand and her body goes limp.

Behind me, Sophia and Claire have pinned their man down, but he struggles savagely beneath them. With one well-placed kick, he sends Sophia crashing into the tree behind her. She cries out as her head smacks against it, then collapses to the ground, motionless. With her dealt with the man then turns on his next victim, pulling Claire down by her blond hair before she can draw her knife and raising his own weapon, prepared to thrust it into her chest. She screams out for help, fighting wildly to get him off of her, but with no success. After contemplating letting her die for a fraction of a second, I release my katana and the woman speared on it, snatch a throwing knife from my belt, and hurl it into the man’s skull before he can strike. His body flops on top of Claire’s and she turns to look at me with wide, panic-filled eyes. Before I turn away, I catch her mouth the words
thank you
.

Hearing Nathan’s furious roar, I look over to where the two men are wrestling, both of them vying for control of the hatchet, and see that Roman’s man is on top, the blade of his weapon nearly touching Nathan’s throat. One strong thrust and he could slice clean through the lieutenant’s windpipe. With my other katana still in hand, I sprint toward Nathan and his attacker. Roman’s man must see me coming, because he removes his hatchet from his victim’s throat and hurls it straight at my head, but I react quickly enough to avoid it and land a kick to his side that is strong enough to knock him off of Nathan. Before the man has a chance to regain his footing, I press my sword against the back of his neck and order him to stand. He smiles as he rises, holding his hands over his head in mock supplication.

“Well, ya got me,” he says in a whisper not loud enough for the others to hear, a toothy grin spreading across his face. “Too bad for you this is just the beginnin’. Roman’s gonna kill you, girl, you and the boy. Your friends here, too—they’re all dead men. He’s gonna kill
every single last
—”

My blade cuts him off mid-sentence, and a spurt of hot blood showers my face as his head tumbles to the ground. His body follows suit, slumping to its knees and collapsing in the grass, which it stains crimson. I turn to look at the others, who gape at me in horror.

“What?” I snap as I wipe the blood from my sword. “What the hell are you all looking at?”

Nathan picks himself up from the ground and clears his throat, running a hand along it as if to make sure everything is still in tact. When he seems sure he is unscathed, he looks up at me and murmurs, “You killed him.”

“Of course I killed him. What else was I supposed to do? Let him go?”

The lieutenant shakes his head. “We don’t— We’re not supposed to kill people.”

Incredulous, I turn to look at Sheppard and Claire, who nod curtly in agreement.

“What the hell do you mean you’re not supposed to kill people? Like, you’re not allowed to?”

“No, no we’re allowed to,” he says, “
if
our lives are in danger. But he was unarmed, Nightshade. You had him. He didn’t need to die.”

I stare at him for a moment, unable to believe that he can possibly be serious, but the group’s appalled expressions do not suggest they are joking. “And what would have happened if I hadn’t killed him?” I ask. “What then? We’d all kiss and make up?”

“We’re supposed to bring outsiders back to Reina so she can decide what to do with them,” he explains. “We’re supposed to capture if we can, not kill.”

Capture, don’t kill. What a stupid idea. We go on patrol with guns we can’t use and we’re expected to take live prisoners of people who would slaughter us in a heartbeat given the chance. Then again, if their policy was different there’s a good chance Connor and I might not be alive today.

The four of us just stand there for a while, surveying the slaughter. As I look at each of my companions in turn, I can tell they are disgusted, horrified, even frightened by what has been done here. They have been living in the remote safety of Sweetbriar’s walls for far too long. They’ve forgotten how cruel the real world can be. If they could remember what it’s really like on the outside, what it’s really like amidst the fray of this dog eat dog world, they wouldn’t have hesitated to do what I did.