Watershed (24 page)

‘They're changing his bandages. He doesn't like it.'

‘No shit. Let me go a minute,' I said, shrugging at the rope until he released me and I crouched by the bed. ‘Connor? Connor. Be still and shut up a minute.'

Alex glared at me. ‘That's not helping,' she said, struggling to hold onto Connor's arm. The other woman pressed down even harder, her mouth grim, and Connor screamed in anger, kicking his legs. For a small kid, he packed quite a wallop.

‘Let him go, both of you,' I said, then glared at the woman. ‘Go on, get out of here.'

She didn't glance at the others to check, just scurried past me; Tate pulled the curtain behind her, enclosing the four of us in the narrow space. I nodded at Alex, and when she let go of Connor's arm he finally relaxed, his small chest heaving, trying to draw air. I let him lie there for a bit, watched his face calm to a wet pink. He stared straight up, limp and exhausted.

‘No one wants to hurt you, Connor,' I said. ‘But if you don't let them change those bandages, your arms are gunna get infected. You understand that, don't you?'

‘Don't care,' he replied, his voice low with fury. ‘It hurts.'

‘Yeah, I know. Hurts like hell, right? Burns and stings and you feel like the pain's never gunna go away. I know.'

He rolled his head and stared at me. ‘Is that how it feels when you get your marks?'

‘Nah. But there've been other times, other wounds I've had, much worse than marking. Felt like my whole body was on fire. I know why you're scared, but you've gotta let them do this.'

‘What other wounds?' he asked, curious and trying to postpone what was coming.

‘Doesn't matter. It was a long time ago, and I don't think about it any more. Coz once it's healed, the pain goes away and you forget about it. Pain's kinda funny like that.'

He scowled. ‘I don't want to.'

‘Sure. I know. But sometimes we have to do things we don't want to. That's just the way it goes. And we can scream about it, or we can be real brave about it. Either way, it's still gunna happen.'

He tensed then, realising I meant business. Those bandages were coming off whether he liked it or not.

‘I hate you,' he whispered.

‘Yeah, I guess you do,' I said, feeling his pain, surprised by my own faint hurt at his words. But glancing at Alex, seeing her sympathy, I felt a sudden irritation. ‘Tell you what,' I said to Connor. ‘How about we take your mind off it? Get you thinking about something else?'

‘I don't want to,' he whimpered again, and I smiled.

‘Trust me, you will. Tate, can you find me a chair?'

A pause, then the swish of the curtain. Alex looked at me. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Wait and see,' I told her. ‘This'll work.'

Tate returned, and I held out my hands so he could free me. ‘Sit,' I told Alex, and lifting Connor, ignoring his sudden struggles, I placed him on her lap, facing in and straddling her, his skinny legs kicking either side.

‘You hold your arms out behind Alex so Tate and I can take off the bandages,' I told him. ‘And while we're doing that, you lean in to her, okay? Just relax and rest against her. Understand?'

The kicking stopped and his big eyes gleamed; I could almost see his smile. Oh yeah, he understood all right.

‘You ready?' I asked Tate and he nodded. ‘Okay, Connor, relax now. Breathe real deep and let Alex hold you.'

I watched him burrow his face into her, nestling against her chest, while she cradled his head and curled an arm around his back. Lucky kid.

We got to work, unwrapping the bandages until we reached the sticky ends; the cloth had stuck to each stump, congealed and stiff with dried fluid. There was no blood, not any more, but the wounds seeped and not all the discharge was clear. We soaked the stumps for a bit, Connor howling at the sting of the salt water while Alex murmured encouragement. Then with patient slowness,
Tate and I peeled the wet bandages from the cauterised skin. Connor cried out a couple more times but both Alex and I kept talking to him, and he dug further into her softness, surrendering to the pain.

Tate wouldn't trust me with the knife, so I waited for him to scrape away any pus before we soaked the stumps some more, smeared the red angry flesh with rendered fat and rewrapped them.

‘All over,' I said. Connor didn't lift his head.

‘I think he's fainted,' Alex whispered. But I doubted it.

‘You right to lift him?' I asked her.

Nodding, she stood and lowered him onto the bed with care; when she bent over to straighten his head on the pillow, I saw his eyes open to slits to take in the view. He was something else.

She pulled up the blanket and straightened, shooting me a quick smile. It was warm. ‘Thank you. How did you know that'd work?'

‘He's a boy,' I said. When she still looked puzzled, I returned her smile, and her earlier rudeness. ‘This morning he said you had nice tits. Wasn't hard to figure out the rest.'

Clearly my remark wasn't worthy of any reply, because she left without a word. I pulled the chair closer to the cot and sat down.

‘She's gone. You can open your eyes now,' I said. Connor's grin was wide. ‘Enjoy yourself?'

‘They're real soft,' he said, dreamily.

‘Yeah. They are,' I replied, remembering. ‘How're your arms?'

‘Sore. But it was worth it.' Then he stared at me, all serious again. ‘I don't hate you any more, Jem.'

‘I know.' I pulled out the book I'd brought. ‘You want me to read for a bit?'

He shook his head. ‘I'm tired. I wanna sleep now. Will you stay?'

‘Sure,' I said, and his eyes closed. ‘Happy dreams, kid.'

And when his breathing evened and deepened, and his mouth curved just a little, I knew they were.

‘How you gunna do it?' Connor asked me. ‘Will you stab him? Cut his throat? Ooh, can you chop off his hands, like he did to me?'

I stared at him. ‘Kinda gruesome, aren't you?'

It was the third day we'd spent together, just a few hours at a time and I was grateful for the brief respite his company gave.

He grinned, unabashed. ‘Can I watch?'

‘No, you can't watch. I don't even know when I'm going to be able to do it, if I even
will
be able to. I have to get out of here first.'

He frowned. ‘You promised.'

‘Yeah, I know. And I'll do my best, but sometimes things happen, kid.' Like, I'd be dead long before that Guard was.

The frown deepened to a scowl. ‘You promised! You shouldn't make promises if you can't keep 'em.'

‘Shit,' I muttered. ‘Look, Connor. I'm a prisoner here, okay? I can't just get up and walk out and track down that Guard. I said I'd do it, and I will. Just not yet.'

‘You promised,' he repeated, only hearing what he wanted. ‘You're a liar. I hate you!'

I cocked an eyebrow and smiled. ‘Again? I think I'll survive.'

‘I mean it. Get away from me! Liar!' he shouted, surprising me and kicking out suddenly, catching me hard in the balls so I gasped at the hot pain, creasing in agony. Jem the Watchman, taken down by a kid with no hands. I was glad Garrick wasn't there to see it.

‘
Son of a bitch!
' But it was just a wheeze, my throat tight, thick with shock. Tate chuckled from his place by the wall.

‘Good shot, Connor,' Alex said behind me, and I didn't need to turn to know she was laughing too.

I stayed where I was, waiting for the pain to ebb and the throbbing to ease. Connor said nothing from his corner of the cot, but he didn't kick me again at least.

‘I think it's time you left,' Alex said, and I swivelled my head to glare at her with wet eyes.

‘Give me a fucking minute.'

‘No, now,' she said, and Tate hauled me up, ignoring my groans.

The walk back to my quarters was slow and painful, Tate half holding me as I limped along.

‘It was a stupid thing to do, making that promise,' he told me.

‘Well, I know that now,' I said, sinking onto my bed, letting him reattach the chains. I nodded to the book on the ledge. ‘You can take that back. I've finished, and I don't reckon I'll be reading to the kid again any time soon.'

‘You feel bad about that?'

‘Yeah,' I muttered, closing my eyes. ‘Yeah, I feel bad about it.' I was going to miss the little prick, despite what he'd done. But I couldn't blame him.

I heard Tate retreat to the door, and opened one eye. ‘Hey, Tate? What can you tell me about Cade?'

He paused. ‘Alex's husband? Why d'you want to know?'

I raised myself on my elbows, still wincing. ‘I'm just curious about why she's here, and not back in the Citadel with him.'

It took a while for him to reply. ‘That's her business, Jem.'

‘Yeah, I figured you'd say that.'

‘She's here to help her brother. That's all I can tell you.'

‘But you don't like it, do you? Is that why you were so pissed off the other day?'

It wasn't exactly a wild guess. I'd noticed the strain building between the two of them over the last few days, Tate's strange crankiness, her sharp commands to him.

He looked bleak. ‘It's not my place to say. But we all have our limits, Jem.'

He opened the door, pausing again when I called out, ‘Even Ballard?'

‘Especially him,' Tate replied.

Excerpt ~ Letter #11

 

I'll never forget the first time Rachel found you fighting in the street and dragged you home. She was always more worried about Ethan than she was about you, even though you were the one with all the bruises! Later, when I asked you why you'd been fighting those other boys, you said you had to, because you could and Ethan couldn't. Do you remember? I didn't know then whether to get cross or be proud. I'm still not sure I made the right decision.

Time's a funny thing. Even when you know it's running out, you can fool yourself into thinking you have plenty, that there's no hurry. Then, at the last, it sneaks up to catch you out, speeding you along so fast you can barely keep pace.

More than a month had passed since Alex and I had left the compound, and things were changing. I no longer saw Ballard regularly; in fact I hadn't seen him in days. Tate was increasingly agitated, and the few times I saw Alex she was quieter than ever. There were no more walks to the infirmary; there was no more time with Connor, no more reading. I remained locked away by myself, and I wasn't real good company.

I only knew when it was daylight because Tate brought a lamp with him every morning when he dropped off my meal. At night, he'd take it away again, leaving me in the dark. It was like I'd regressed a couple of weeks, except for two things: I wasn't crippled by pain, and they no longer bothered to chain me up, not even to strap me down at night. I was forgotten, discarded and left to my own thoughts, none of them pleasant.

Wishing I hadn't been in such a hurry to give back the book, I spent my time exercising, doing whatever I could to take my mind
off Garrick and what might be waiting for me should I choose to return. I knew he wasn't dead, could feel it in my bones. It'd take more than a team of Disses, even organised ones like Ballard, to bring down Garrick. It'd take a fucking miracle.

The room had begun to smell as bad as the previous one, the air thick and foul with the odours of sweat and shit and piss, but I couldn't bring myself to ask to be moved or to wash. I didn't want to show any weakness. Except I never showed any strength either. I never tried to take out Tate as he came and went. He was big, but I was betting he wasn't slow, and there'd be nothing to gain. So instead I counted down the days – my days – to the very last morning when Tate, bulky and shadowy and sullen, banged a tray on the ledge and shone the lamp in my face. It was a hell of a way to be woken.

‘C'mon,' he growled. ‘Ballard's waiting for you.'

He waited impatiently for me to eat and dress before he opened the door, and I looked at him. ‘No rope?'

‘Do you need one?' he asked.

‘No.' Even I knew we were way beyond that.

This time he led the way and I followed, taking note of each turn, every side passage we passed, more to keep my mind occupied than anything else. We weren't going back to the infirmary, that much I knew, or to Ballard's quarters. The tunnel we followed sloped downhill, and the chill air smelled of earth and rot and dust and decay. Finally we rounded a corner and a dim light ahead grew steadily brighter. As we neared I could see Ballard and Alex waiting for us.

There were no greetings, no exchange of meaningless words. It wasn't that kind of meeting.

I stared at Ballard. ‘I was kinda hoping you might be dead.'

‘It's time, Jem,' he replied, and my heart sank. He wasn't going to like what I had to say, and I sure as hell wasn't going to like his reaction. But as usual he surprised me, and thumbed at the door behind him.

‘In this room are four men. On the left is the Guard who maimed the boy. The other three are the ones who raped Marin. I'm giving you this opportunity to fulfil your promise to Connor, if you want to. But if you do, I'm going to take it as a sign that you've agreed to join us. Keep your promise and pledge another, renege on it and you'll die. Here. Today. Am I making myself clear?'

Ever the optimist, I asked, ‘Is there a third option?'

‘I'm afraid not, my friend. We've waited long enough and you've had plenty of time to think on it. The choice is yours.'

‘You're forcing my hand,' I pointed out. ‘You said my decision had to be made because I genuinely wanted to help you.'

‘And so it will be. This isn't difficult, Jem. You can help Connor and me, and yourself. Or you can choose not to. That's it.'

‘Who deals with the other three? You?'

‘Alex has asked to do it.'

I glanced at her, but she wouldn't meet my gaze. ‘And does she get to kill me too, if I refuse?' She'd like that, I was sure.

‘No, Jem. I'll do that myself,' Ballard said. He sounded almost happy.

I stared at the door, thinking it over, remembering my foolish promise and Connor's rage, his pathetic bandaged stumps.
Open your big mouth, Jem, and this is what happens.

I nodded. ‘You don't make it easy, do you?'

‘I told you, the most important choices are always the hardest. Your weapon is inside, on the table. One bow, one dart. Make it count.'

He opened the door. Alex entered the room, but I hovered on the threshold, coz memory's a bitch. It might not have been the same room, but it looked the same; stone floor, stone walls, freezing cold, except that now, instead of one half-naked man tied to a chair, there were four.

‘One more thing you need to know,' Ballard said, and I turned.
‘You won't be given the chance to tell Connor. You'll do this because you want to, not because it'll redeem you in his eyes.'

‘There's always a catch,' I said, though I hadn't expected anything else. ‘But what's stopping me from using that dart on Alex?'

‘Absolutely nothing. But I'm trusting you won't. And so is she. Take your time. Make the right choice. I'll be here.'

I entered, and the door closed behind me. Alex was standing off to the right, near her intended victims. She had the knife out and just by the way she held it, I could tell she knew her stuff. But she made no move towards any of the men, just stood looking at them, while they eyed her with a weird mix of curiosity, contempt, and fear. It was a stand-off and I didn't even glance at the table with its bow and dart, instead watching to see who'd be the first to break.

People face death in different ways. Some joke about it, some jeer at it, some cry, some scream. And some do all those things and more, the stages of denial and acceptance stumbling over each other in their haste to be acknowledged. The three Guards who'd raped and mutilated Marin sized Alex up and then smirked at each other.

‘Whaddya gunna do with that, bitch?' one sneered. ‘Pick our teeth?'

‘Maybe she's got an itch needs scratching,' said the next, laughing. ‘Right up her twat.'

Alex tensed then, and I knew she was remembering Marin and her torn insides. She glanced at me, drawing the men's gaze, and the first Guard couldn't help but take a shot.

‘Might have known she'd need help. Useless fucking cunt.' He spat at her to show his contempt, and Alex jumped back. She was nervous and I knew the longer she left it, the harder it'd be. They were already getting to her.

The third man had said nothing and I didn't even bother looking at the fourth, the one who'd cut off Connor's hands. He could
wait. I moved a couple of steps closer, but Alex shook her head in warning.

‘That's right, mate. You do what the bitch says.' This from the second man. Like he hadn't said enough already.

That seemed to decide it for her and she circled wide before coming in behind the first Guard. Grabbing his chin, she hauled his head back to expose his throat, pushing the point of the knife against his skin. I winced. This wasn't going to be pretty or even quick. The man grunted and struggled, throwing his head about, maybe figuring he was already done for, and his strength caught her by surprise. Tightening her grip, she tried again, digging the point in and breaking the skin. He stilled suddenly, bleeding a little from the puncture wound, and whimpering.

I approached carefully, coming up beside her. Her hand was steady, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to lift the knife away so she could draw it back and slice him open.

‘Alex,' I said. ‘You don't have to do this. It won't bring her back.'

She didn't look up from her victim, just stared down at his terrified, hate-filled face, his thick, dirty neck and her bright blade.

‘I know that,' she hissed. ‘I'm not doing this for Marin. I'm doing it for me.'

The man struggled again and she finally shifted the knife, pressing the edge of the blade to his skin. But her hand shook, so I moved behind her, reaching around to close mine over it.

She tensed, jerking the knife, and the Guard cried out, feeling the sharp pressure.

‘Relax,' I whispered into her ear, pressing her hand, and she sighed and leaned back against me.

‘I have to do this, Jem. I have to.'

‘I know, but not like this. Let go of his chin,' I told her, and with my other hand I grasped the man's hair, twisting it hard when he struggled. ‘Push his head forwards, that's it, over the blade. Keep it tucked in there. That's good. Now, ready?'

She drew a breath and nodded, and together we pulled the blade across in a single sweep, sharp and deep, severing the arteries that'd moved to the front of his neck. Much quicker and easier than if she'd kept his head back. Cleaner too. The blood spilled and washed, staining his chest and groin, and he jerked a bit until he went limp. The world was minus one animal and no one was going to make a fuss about it. The second man pissed himself then, dribbling on the floor, and the third began whispering to a god who didn't give a shit. We ignored them, both of us still holding the knife, my hand on hers, and I felt her tremble against me.

‘Feel better?' I asked her.

‘No.'

‘You right to do the others?'

She nodded then shook her head. ‘I – I don't think –'

I wasn't surprised. I had no doubt that Alex could fend for herself, that in the face of adversity she'd never hesitate, using whatever was to hand. Even a rock. But killing a man who's trying to hurt you isn't the same as killing one who's not. That's execution, and it wasn't for everyone.

‘Shh. It's okay, you did real good. Go tell your brother I might be a while.'

‘Jem, what will you do?' she asked, but I shook my head. If I'd known the answer to that, I wouldn't have been there. I lifted my hand from hers, and for a second I imagined her plunging the blade into me. But she just held it out and I heard Ballard's voice.

I trust that you won't. And so does she.

Grasping the hilt, taking the knife from her, I held it low and point down. She was safe. But then, I reckon she'd always known it. From the moment I'd threatened to kill her in this very room and she'd told me I wouldn't, she'd known it. Maybe she'd known it even before then, out in the Hills. Why was it I was always the last to know anything?

I watched her leave and close the door behind her. The second man swivelled his head side to side, pulling against his bonds, trying to see me.

‘Please don't kill me,' he whined. ‘Please –'

Putting the blade to his neck, I pushed his head down too. He barely even struggled.

‘This isn't your lucky day,
mate
,' I said, slitting his throat, leaving him to bleed out while I dealt with the next one. The first might've been for Alex, but the other two were for Marin.

The fourth Guard started to twitch then, shifting on his chair and straining at the ties, but he didn't beg and I was grateful for that. I hated the whiners. Wiping the blade clean on the dead man's trousers, I tucked it into my trousers, the steel a cold comfort against my skin. The man eased his fidgeting and I could sense his rising hope. I crossed to the small table, to that altar with its small, deadly offerings; brushing the bow with my fingers, I sighed with longing. There are things that define a man, lend him credence and make him real. Objects, actions, words – the tools of his trade. Some men have none, others have many, and there are those for whom the tool is simply that, desired but not really needed. My weapons had been taken from me the day I'd been brought here and yet, since then, I'd killed four people. The bow was my talisman; a symbol of what I was, not what I could do.

Inserting the dart, I strapped the weapon onto my arm and flexed my hand before hooking the trigger over my thumb. It felt good, and so did I. Whole again.

Turning back to the Guard, perching on the edge of the table, I asked, ‘Do you know who I am?'

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the bow and licking his lips. If I'd taken the time to think about it, I might've found the situation almost amusing: to be standing where Ballard had been a few weeks ago, questioning a man who was sitting as I'd sat. I'd been afraid then too. I'd squirmed and strained at my bonds, just
as he was doing now. Same game, different lives. But there wasn't much fun to be had.

‘I am Jeremiah. And I am a Watchman.' I saw his eyes widen, but he was no use to me scared. I needed to prod him into the next stage. ‘What's your name?'

‘Fletcher,' he said, his voice so hoarse and low I had to strain to hear it.

‘Fletcher,' I repeated. ‘That's a good name. D'you know why I'm here, Fletcher?'

He kept staring at my arm. ‘You're going to kill me.'

‘Yeah, you're gunna die. But I don't know yet if I'll be the one doing it. See, this isn't about you. It's about me.'

‘I – I don't understand,' he said, wriggling on the chair.

‘No, me neither,' I said, pushing away from the table. ‘But the way I see it I'm fucked, no matter what. Either I kill you and die after, or I don't and die now. That's my choice. What d'you think I should do?'

‘I don't know, I don't –'

Gesturing at the three bodies beside him, I asked, ‘D'you know what those men did?' He nodded and I took a step towards him. ‘D'you think they deserved to die?'

‘Yes – no! I don't
know
!'

‘Don't seem to know much, do you, Fletch? What about you? You think you deserve to die?'

‘No,' he whispered. ‘I haven't done anything.'

‘No? A few weeks ago you caught some kid stealing a bit of food and you chopped off his hands. Just a kid, Fletcher. Harmless and hungry. You took his hands and now he can't even hold his dick to piss. I wouldn't call that nothing, would you?'