Watershed (25 page)

‘I don't remember. There are so many and the law says –'

‘The
law
– if you wanna call it that – says one hand. But you took both, and that's just greedy. And cruel. And I've killed a lot of people for a hell of a lot less.'

I raised my hand, aiming for his head and he ducked it down, snivelling.

It's time to put your skills to work killing those who deserve it.
Ballard's voice, predicting this moment; I shook my head to clear it.

‘But like I said, this isn't about you. I made a promise to that boy, Fletcher. It was real stupid, but I promised him that I'd kill you. And now here we are. So I need you to help me decide what to do. Should I keep my promise, or shouldn't I?'

‘Go to hell,' he said. And there it was, in his sudden sneer and his narrowed eyes, the face I'd been waiting to see: the face of a man who'd maim a child.

‘I'm pretty sure we're both already there,' I assured him. ‘Tell me what you know about Ballard.'

‘Ballard?' The question caught him by surprise, and he took a moment to answer. ‘I dunno. He disappeared a couple of months ago. Him and his fuck buddy.'

‘Tate?'

‘Yeah, that's him. Word is they were snatched and killed. Two other Guards as well. And good fucking riddance.'

Tate and Ballard were lovers? That was news, but of no concern to me. Of more interest was the fact that Fletcher had no idea Ballard still lived. Which meant it hadn't been Ballard or Tate who'd brought these four in.

‘What's wrong, Fletcher? You got a thing against men fucking men?'

‘Why, Watchman? You one of them too?'

I shrugged. ‘Dunno, never tried it. Why don't you tell me what I'm missing?'

‘Fuck you!' he said.

‘Nah. Thanks for the offer though.' I smiled, all friendly like. ‘What did you mean when you said good riddance?'

‘Why should I tell you? I'm dead anyway, right?'

‘Because if you don't, I'm going to use this knife on you and you're gunna find out there're lots of ways to come close to dying.'

I met his glare, keeping calm. I'd told Ballard I never tortured people, but I was willing to make an exception for Fletcher. Fletcher wasn't people. But he caved quicker than I thought.

‘Ballard was old school, always banging on about how the Guard are s'posed to protect the people. Kept going on about nobility and honour and shit. Like it meant something. Like we cared.'

‘But you don't? You don't agree with Ballard's ideals?' I almost sympathised with him. I'd had to put up with Ballard for a few weeks; Fletcher had probably suffered years of it.

He smiled then, showing brown, broken teeth. ‘Ideals? It was a good thing he disappeared when he did, coz all of us were jack of him. After Cade left for the Citadel, Ballard was a marked man.'

Cade had come from the Hills? So Alex would have travelled to the Citadel with him, and then back again to Ballard.
She's here to help her brother
. But why?

‘Cade, he's a commander now, isn't he? Heard he's married.' I dangled the line, seeing if he'd nibble. None of the Guards had appeared to recognise Alex.

‘Wouldn't know. Didn't have much to do with him. He was one of them Godder freaks. Kept it quiet though. And he was close with Ballard and Tate and some of the others. Word is his father's high up somewhere, so we couldn't touch him.'

‘Who's we?'

He looked at me, puzzled. ‘All of us. The Guard.'

‘The Guard. A couple of hundred of you? Hardly seems like Ballard was worth worrying about.'

‘Yeah? Shows what you know, arsehole. Last year there was this fire, in one of the outhouses they'd set up for the newcomers? Ballard and Tate and Amon and some of their cronies tried organising a rescue party, to get the people out. But Fitz, he laughed and said we should let 'em burn, be less of 'em of deal with. He was right too, but Ballard had him and the rest sent down to the Citadel and we ain't seen 'em since. Ballard was a fucking do-gooder. He should never have joined the Guard.'

‘Or maybe,' I suggested, ‘the Guard shouldn't have been set up in the first place. Ever think of that?'

He smirked. ‘Whatever. But we're here now and we ain't goin' nowhere. And arseholes like Ballard can bleat all they like. It's like you Watchmen. You think you're so fuckin' up there, but you're just the same as us, doing exactly what we do. What if you had someone like Ballard breathing down your neck every fuckin' minute, telling you what you should and shouldn't do, what's right and what's wrong? You think you'd make any of your kills then?'

No kills. No marks. No pain.

No servitude.

No Garrick.

I am Jeremiah and I am a Watchman.

‘Nope, I don't reckon I would,' I said, and shot him in the left eye, the bolt splintering the thin bone behind and burrowing so deep it disappeared. His head rocked back and he shuddered. Not bothering to finish him off first, I used Alex's knife to open up the back of his neck and retrieve his tag.

‘Thanks, Fletcher. You've been real helpful,' I muttered, before stabbing up into his neck, twisting the knife hard to make sure. Then, wiping the blade and the tag and my fingers, I left that room for what I hoped would be last time.

I am Jeremiah and I am nothing.

I lay on the cot, hands tucked under my head, and stared at the ceiling. New cot – bigger, sturdier, more comfortable – in a new room. Mine for the next few days, until I set out to return to the Citadel to be what I wasn't any more.

Ballard hadn't made a song and dance about my decision. He hadn't even seemed pleased by how quickly I'd come to it. He'd let me be and, with no sign of Alex, it was Tate who'd showed me to my room, the weapons and my pack already laid out on the bed,
waiting for me, kept aside in the hope I'd join them. It was Tate who'd showed me where to wash, and where to eat. But I wasn't hungry and once I'd returned to my quarters and he'd left, no one else bothered me. Ballard had taken Alex's knife, and I'd removed the bow. It was stowed in the cupboard with the other weapons, and I was content to leave them all there, out of sight.

I'd hung on to Fletcher's tag, though I wasn't sure why. I'd kept my promise, but in the end that wasn't why I'd killed the prick. Nor had I done it for Ballard, at least not for the reasons he might've hoped. The tag lay on the table by my bed, next to the pitcher of water, and every now and then I'd roll my head to look at it before staring up again at the ceiling.

I missed daylight. I missed the scorching heat of the sun, the dry wind, the dust, and the sand. I missed the greyness, the barrenness, the waterless landscape. I missed the sharp, cold, still of night, the stars and the moon. I missed the noise of the Citadel, its narrow crowded streets circling the Tower, its thick walls boxing in the heat and the smell, its people and all their misery. I missed all the things I'd never missed before, all the things I never thought I would. Underground, there was none of it, just darkness and sameness and staleness, partitioned and tunnelled, wormholes that wound and backtracked and narrowed to banks of earth. Used to be people were buried in the ground after they died, not before.

At first I didn't register the knocking on my door. Before there'd been no need for it because I'd always been locked in, rather than anyone being locked out. But, hollow and remote, the insistent drumming of bone on wood finally made itself heard and I sat up, debating what to do, hoping it might stop and whoever it was would leave. But they didn't and the knocking continued.

Shit!
Crossing the room, I lifted the latch and yanked the door wide, expecting Tate or Ballard, but it was just Alex, smiling at me like an idiot.

‘What?' I barked, and her smile died.

‘Can I come in?' she asked, all polite now I was a free man.

‘It's never stopped you before,' I said, turning away.

Closing the door behind her, she took a few steps towards me, faltering when she drew close, looking around, trying to find a reason to be there, to justify her intrusion. But she'd get no help from me.

‘I told Connor,' she said at last and tried smiling again, as though expecting I might share her pleasure.

‘You shouldn't have done that. You had no right.' Ballard had said Connor would never know and I'd accepted this decision; I understood his reasons and was almost thankful. But now Alex had gone and fucked it up.

‘I thought he deserved to know, Jem. You did a good thing, and it'll help him.'

A good thing? Maybe, but that wasn't why I'd done it. I hadn't done it to be good or feel good or even to help Connor. And I sure as hell hadn't done it to make Alex feel all warm and happy.

‘How's it gunna help?' I demanded. ‘You think he's gunna grow new hands overnight?'

She frowned, her brow creasing into soft furrows. Then it smoothed again. ‘I'm sorry. I just came to tell you. And to thank you for helping me.'

I blew out a sigh, and rubbed my face. ‘Is this how it's going to be? You come in here and thank me every time I kill someone? First Marin, and now those Guards? Don't ever thank me for killing, Alex. Not again.
Never
again.'

She drew herself up, unafraid. In the time I'd known her, Alex had been angry, uptight, sympathetic, detached, and sorrowful. For the briefest time, she'd even been passionate. But not once had she ever been afraid of me.

‘Ballard said you'd be like this,' she said, soft and sad.

‘Yeah, well, you should've listened to him,' I replied, hard and bitter.

‘I thought you'd be relieved, Jem. You're part of something now.'

‘I was part of something before, Alex,' I said. ‘But now? Now I don't know what I am.'

I am Jeremiah and I am nothing.

She reached out and took my hand. ‘Your hand. On my hand. Remember?' A quick twist and she slipped her fingers through mine, palm to palm. ‘You didn't stop me, Jem. And you didn't force me. You just guided, holding my hand, showing me what to do. Remember?'

I watched her knead my knuckles, press her skin to mine. Her thumb stroked as her voice stroked, gentle and soft and soothing.

‘Your hand was strong, and it gave me strength,' she said. ‘That's what you are, Jem. You're strong. A Watchman. And today you watched over me.'

‘You have plenty of people to watch over you, Alex. You don't need me for that,' I said, wondering what the hell she was playing at this time, desperate for her not to stop.

Pushing her palm and her arm to mine, she stepped nearer. ‘Ballard wasn't in that room, Jem. Neither was Tate. Or Cade,' she said, and I frowned at his name. ‘Or anyone else. Just you, helping me.'

She was so close. I could see the blood pulsing in her neck, the tic of skin above her breasts, could feel the quickening of her breath, could smell her warmth. She turned her hand, bringing mine to her mouth, sucking on my skin, and I felt her teeth and her tongue. And my own blood heated and thickened, beating at my temples, in my chest, in my groin.

‘Why?' I sighed, almost growling the word.

‘Because tonight it's my turn to help you.' Not coy, not seductive, no tricks. Not like the last time.

With her free hand, she undid her trousers, pushing them down, pulling her boots through, standing on the pool of material
like some kind of Sea nymph. Her legs were fine and lean, well-muscled and pale, and I fixed my gaze between them, on the dark curls hiding what I knew was there, remembering the feel of her, longing to touch her again, hearing my breathing, harsh and sharp.

Lowering both our hands, she guided me to her, unlacing her fingers, leaving mine to find their way and gently part the folds of skin to stroke her. Her breath caught, then quickened while she held my arm, urgent and urging, so I teased again, and felt her give.

‘Your shirt,' I said, and watched her pull on the strings before parting it. And while I coaxed her with one hand, I tugged at the band that bound her breasts, exposing them, finally seeing what before I'd only felt, what I'd only been able to imagine. But I didn't touch them.

Instead, I twisted my fingers up into her, rubbing her with the heel of my hand so she gasped and stiffened – ‘No, Alex, look at me' – and when I saw her eyes dark with desire, I knew this time she'd let me finish.

She widened her stance, just enough, and I fucked her again with my fingers, curling them inside, bringing her on, hearing her moan her pleasure. And again, quick and sharp, shifting her with the force. But suddenly it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Pushing her to the wall, opening my trousers and freeing myself, I lifted and spread her wide, finding her and thrusting in, then again, deeper, groaning when I felt her stretch around me, so wet and slick and welcoming. Just as I'd dreamed she would be. Her hands clutched my shoulders, her thighs gripped my hips, and I fucked her in slow, hard strokes, driving further and further into her, nailing her to wood, seeing her face, hearing her soft cries, smelling her sex, increasing the pace until she tightened and tensed and shuddered. And not slowing or relenting, giving no respite, I plundered her to find my own release. But it was a long time coming.