Withered + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 1) (6 page)

Those eyes glittered in the dark. Beyond them lay the thicket.

Cavalo was furious. His voice was calm. “You got me,” he said. He raised his hands slowly in the air.

The man opposite him (though
man
felt too strong a word; even in the dark, Cavalo thought him nothing but a boy) said nothing. The blade did not move.

“But.”

The boy narrowed his eyes.

Cavalo saw red. “I have two words for you.” His voice was an earthquake.

The boy frowned.

Cavalo’s lips twisted into a cold smile. “Bad. Dog.”

The thicket behind the boy exploded in a furious burst of snarls and teeth. Before the boy could react, Bad Dog was on his back, head darting in to bite and tear and kill. Cavalo knocked the machete out of his hand as the boy fell, the weight of the dog bearing down on him. Cavalo had a moment to think that the boy had yet to make a noise, but then it was gone as he kicked the big knife away.

He swept his hand low to grab the rifle when he heard Bad Dog grunt and looked up to see the boy elbow the dog in the ribs again. Bad Dog leapt off him, and the boy rolled onto his back. The dog crouched low, fur standing on end, tail pointed, his lips pulled back in a terrible snarl. Cavalo saw the boy reach one of his hands slowly down his leg, never taking his eyes off the dog. Cavalo couldn’t see what he was reaching for, but it was time to end this.

“Hold!” he snapped.

Bad Dog turned his snarl briefly to Cavalo.
Kill him!
he growled.
He touched MasterBossLord, let me kill him, kill him. Tear him to pieces. I want to see his blood!

“Hold,” Cavalo said again, reaffirming the command.

He would have sworn that Bad Dog rolled his eyes. He ignored it.

“You,” he said to the boy, who had frozen. “Whatever’s in your boot, pull it out slow. Toss it away.”

Nothing happened.

Cavalo cocked the rifle. It was loud in the dark. Unmistakable.

The boy moved his arm lower. Pulled a knife out of his boot. He held it for a moment, looking at the curve of the blade. He flicked his wrist, and the knife was embedded in a tree stump ten feet away.

Bad Dog growled.
Flashy man
, he said.
Flashy man thinks he is good. I am better. I am Bad Dog, and I will rip his throat out.

“Not yet,” the man said, and the boy looked over his shoulder at Cavalo, a question in his dark eyes. Cavalo could see more of him now. Maybe not a boy. Not completely. There were some hard lines on his face that came with age or experience. Older than a boy. His head was shaved down to stubble except for a fat black strip that bisected his skull. The mask around those coldly calculating eyes made them look deeper, older.

What are you waiting for?
Bad Dog asked.
Shoot his face off or let me bite him!

Cavalo shook his head, trying to clear the bees that asked questions about this boy-man, like
who
and
how
and
why
. It had been a long time since Cavalo had been curious about anything. He didn’t need to start now. The boy was one of
them
. Cavalo pushed the bees away, even as they stung him.

“Stand up,” he said. He motioned with the gun.

For a moment the boy didn’t move, just stared at the man with the gun, ignoring the way Bad Dog’s growl grew louder. Cavalo contemplated shooting the boy in the head. The boy stood fluidly, twisting until he faced Cavalo, Bad Dog at his back.

This upset Bad Dog.
Rude!
he hissed.
He does not show respect! Please oh please, can I bite his face off?

“No, you can’t,” Cavalo said, though he didn’t know why.

You never let me do anything fun.

“What about that rabbit? That one time?”

Rabbit
, Bad Dog said dreamily.
It ran until I crunched it with my Bad Dog teeth.

“You crunched it good,” the man agreed. There had been nothing left when he’d caught up with the dog, just bits of fur and sinew.

The boy between them stared at Cavalo. The man didn’t know what to make of those dark eyes.

“What is your name?” he asked.

The boy said nothing.

“Where do you come from?”

Silence.

“Where are your people?”

Nothing.

“Who is Patrick?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. But still, he did not speak.

Pet
, the black man had said.
Goddamn psycho. Fucking bulldog.

“You Patrick’s pet?”

The boy scowled. His hands turned into fists at his sides.

“Would you have killed me?”

Emphatic nods of his head:
Yes. Yes. Yes.

“Will you kill me if I let you go?”

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Cavalo believed him. His kind only knew how to kill. “Up against the tree,” he said, tilting his head toward a barren oak.

The boy watched him without moving until Bad Dog began to nip at his ankles with low yips.
Move! Move, you stupid boy-man! Move before I tear your skin!

“He will, you know,” Cavalo said.

The boy looked back at him strangely, and then Cavalo remembered no one else could hear Bad Dog. For the first time in a long time, the man felt flustered. This was why he chose not to deal with other people. It was easier when no one else was around.

Bad Dog herded him to the tree, not quite biting, but close, teeth denting but not piercing the skin. Cavalo’s disquiet grew as the boy said nothing. As he didn’t make any noise. He had questions forming in his mind, the bees asking
Who is he?
and
Why why why?
And the man did his best to ignore them, even as they vibrated at the base of his skull.

The boy turned his back to the tree and waited.

Remember
, the man thought.
Remember what they did. To Jamie. To
her
.

Cavalo remembered. Without realizing he did it, he reached up and touched the scar on the side of his head.

Remember
, Bad Dog said, though he hadn’t even been alive then. Cavalo knew that the dog was just picking up on what he was thinking.

And that’s not real, either
, he thought.

Bad Dog looked at him before turning back to the boy and growling.

The man took a step toward them. He raised the rifle. The bees were so loud, like he was full of them, like they lived under his skin. He felt their little stingers.
WHO IS HE?
they screamed.
WHY WON’T HE SPEAK? WHO IS PATRICK? WHAT DO THEY WANT? JAMIE JAMIE JAMIE IS JUST A BOY, JUST A
DEAD
BOY AND
HER
. HER. SHE IS
DUST
AND SHE
DANCES
IN THE TREES AND YOU ARE
CRACKING
.

Losing it
, he thought.
This is what it feels like to lose it. These last bits of rational thought are all I’ll have before it breaks open completely and the bees fly out of my mouth when I tilt my head back to scream.

Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!

He brushed past Bad Dog. He raised the rifle. Pressed the barrel against the boy’s head. Put three pounds of pressure on the trigger weighted for a three and a half pound pull. The lip of the barrel cut into the boy’s skin. A trickle of blood slid into the charcoal mask around his eyes.

And the boy didn’t look away. His face remained blank, giving nothing away.

They stood there, the three of them, for what seemed like ages, points of a triangle.

The gunshot will bring back the others
, Cavalo thought.
They’ll hear.

Do you even care?
the bees asked.

He’s just a kid
, Cavalo thought.
Can’t be more than twenty.

You’ve done worse
, the bees said.

His eyes are dark
, Cavalo thought.
Almost black.

To this, the bees said nothing.

Cavalo started to pull away. Panic stole over the boy’s face. He reached up and grabbed the rifle barrel, pulling it back against his forehead. The pressure on the trigger increased, and it would just take a little more. Just a bit more and so many things could be over.

The boy pleaded to Cavalo, never making a sound.
Do it
, he seemed to say, his voice a light rumble tinged with hysteria in Cavalo’s head.
Pull the trigger. Do it.
Please. Do it.
A hand snaked up along the barrel until it grazed his own finger wrapped around the trigger. The lightest pressure was applied.

Cavalo ripped the gun away. Took a step back.

The boy slumped against the tree. Tilted his head back. Closed his eyes. His throat worked as he breathed. Only then did Cavalo see the ugly line stretched from one side of the boy’s neck to the other, the scar ridged and white, thicker where it crossed the center of his throat. It was a grotesque thing, one so blatantly large that it could not have been done by mistake. Either the boy had tried to do it himself or it’d been done to him.

Bad Dog didn’t care either way. He snarled at the boy, teeth exposed.
I’ll do it, then
, he said.
Let me do it, MasterBossLord. Bad Dog is good at doing good things to bad people.

“Stop,” the man said, and the dog scowled in protest. Cavalo knew Bad Dog was agitated and had every right to be.
Then why don’t I finish this?
he thought.

There was no answer.

“You can’t talk, can you?” Cavalo said. He didn’t even know if the boy understood what he was saying.

Those glittering eyes found him again. The man thought nothing would happen, but then the boy gave the first sign he was even remotely human. His head went from side to side, just once.

No.

Dangerous
, the bees said.
Kill him now. Kill him now before you have time to regret it. There is already much of your life you wish you could take back. Don’t make this one part of it.

“Rope,” he said to Bad Dog, never taking his eyes from the boy. Cavalo had seen how quickly he moved. He wouldn’t underestimate him.

For a moment, Bad Dog didn’t move, even though he’d heard the command, ears twitching at the word. His hackles rose further and he pressed his nose against the boy and growled deeply.

“Rope,” the man said again, his voice sharper.

Bad Dog gave one last flash of teeth, then broke away, going into the thicket for the pack.
Stupid rope.

The boy’s eyes flickered left. Just once and quickly. Nothing more than a spasm of muscle. Cavalo looked left and in the dark, saw the knife embedded in the tree.

“Bullets move faster than you,” Cavalo said.

The boy glared at him.
You didn’t shoot me
, his look said.
Why would you kill me now?

“I wouldn’t,” the man said. “Kill you, that is. But that doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you. There’s a lot of places a person can be shot without killing them. And I know most of them. They’ll hurt, and you won’t die.” Though he wouldn’t realize it until later, those words were the most Cavalo had spoken at one time to another human being in almost five months. Later he would wonder why he said them at all.

Later, he would wonder many things.

But now, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bad Dog pulling the pack out of the bushes. He pulled it in front of Cavalo and bent down, biting the main clasp gently. The top of the back fell open. He stuck his nose inside and rooted around. His tail started to wag, and Cavalo knew he’d found the remaining supplies.
Jerky!
he cried.
MasterBossLord, I found
jerky
!

“Later,” he said.

Bad Dog’s tail drooped.
I never get anything good
, he grumbled. He backed out of the bag a moment later, a length of coarse rope in his mouth. He turned and handed it to Cavalo, who waited with an outstretched hand.

“Good boy,” he murmured. He took the rope and said, “Guard.”

Bad Dog turned ferocious once more, teeth flashing in the dark, the terrible rumble emanating from his chest as he stalked toward his prisoner.
I am Bad Dog
, he hissed.
And I will eat your soul if you move.

The boy never flinched.

Careful of this one
, the bees said.

Goddamn psycho. Fucking bulldog.

“Against the tree,” Cavalo said. “Now.”

The boy didn’t turn.

“You speak English?” It came out soft, this question.

The boy watched him.

“I think you do.”

Nothing.

“So you know what the word ‘bite’ means.”

A flicker in the eyes, nothing more. He knew.

“Against the tree. Hands in front of you. Palms together.”

The boy didn’t move.

“Bad Dog.”

Yes.

“Bite.”

Bad Dog’s head darted in swiftly, just once, like a snake. His jaws circled the left calf of the boy and in quick succession, bit down and then again. Bad Dog backed away then before the boy could strike out, little bits of blood and fabric hanging from his teeth.

The boy grimaced but made no sound.

“Against the tree,” Cavalo said coldly. “Hands in front of you. Palms together.”

The boy didn’t turn.

“Do you know what your balls are?”

The boy cocked his head.

“Your nuts. Your testes. That sac below your dick.”

The boy suddenly smiled without warning. It was a terribly beautiful thing, angelic and monstrous all at once. Too many teeth, too little humanity. Cavalo had once seen a bear, a mangy thing with wicked claws that clicked along stone. The bear had roared at him from deep in a cave Cavalo had stumbled into to escape a storm. Its eyes had been black with hunger and rage and insanity.

The boy smiled like that bear had looked.

“I wonder,” the man said. And he did, even though it was a dangerous thing to do.

The boy smiled wider.