Day 9 (15 page)

 

CHAPTER 32

 

Warpath Journal

Dateline: Salt Basin, Texas

As brother Quincy barrels the Hummer across the dunes, I search the white horizon for a sign of our missing brother.

If Free Willow is out there, I pray we will find him and bring him home safe.

But my faith is not strong. "Still nothing!" The Salt Basin is desolate, and the sun is going down. "How much further?"

Kitty checks the GPS tracker in the dashboard. "Just over a mile."

"What if he's already dead?" says Quincy.

"I'm not even going to answer that question," says Kitty.

For a moment, I am convinced she is my sister...not a Poison Oak. She wants to find Free as badly as I do; she has been completely committed from the beginning.

She is the one who started the search, in fact. While we rode through the edges of Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Kitty got a call on her cell phone from the Poison Oaks. They gave her coordinates for the middle of the Salt Basin and told her they'd left our brother to die.

Suspicious, I'd hesitated to start searching—but not for long. I couldn't afford not to look for Free if there was a chance he was really in mortal danger. Leaving him to die in the Salt Basin was something a Poison Oak might do...but not me.

So now we rocket off-road in the Hummer, charging toward the coordinates...and the answers I've been seeking all along. For if we find Free or some proof he was here, I'll finally be
totally sure
that Kitty, Quincy, and Dunne have been telling the truth.
Totally sure
I've been killing the wrong people under a dark influence.

Or
totally sure
they're lying imposters, in which case they'll get what they deserve.

"Far enough." Kitty watches the GPS. "Stop here."

As the four of us get out of the Hummer, my nerves crackle with anticipation. We are miles from the road, miles from any human habitation. Something big is about to happen, and the end is uncertain.

I draw two of my guns and walk carefully through the fine, white sand. "Watch for booby traps. This whole thing could be a trap to get rid of us."

"Says the human booby trap with the strap-on bomb." Quincy fans out to one side, kicking at low dunes.

"Look for trap doors, too," says Kitty. "The Oaks might have buried him."

"Or just left him in the sun to fry." As I continue my slow plod forward, I am very aware of everyone and everything around me. The shadowy ranks of dunes in the deepening twilight. The towering hulk of the mountain, El Capitan, in the distance. The salty tang in the whisper of a breeze. The voices of my fellow searchers, calling out Free's name.

Kitty has a flashlight and combs its beam through the shadows. Quincy reels in circles, loping back toward me.

"Nothing," he says. "I'm seeing fabsolutely nothing."

"Keep looking." Kitty continues to sweep the flashlight methodically before her. "We have a lot of ground to cover."

Dunne, meek as ever, keeps his distance from me. I watch as he stoops to pick something up from the sand.

He notices me watching him and shrugs. "It's nothing." He juggles a small object in his cupped hand. "I thought it was a clue."

Just then, I hear the sound of liquid hitting the sand. Turning, I quickly see where the sound is coming from.

It's Quincy. He's pissing in the sand ahead of me.

"Ahhh." He throws his head back. "What a relief."

"Way to respect the emergency, bro," I tell him.

"I held it as long as I could." Quincy gets out a few last squirts, then zips up. "It's not as if anyone's gonna care. If anything, I did a
good deed
, watering the
desert
."

"My Amish mentor had a saying." I wave a gun at him for emphasis. "'He who plants his field by night will go hungry by night and day.'"

"What the fell does
that
mean?" says Quincy.

"Pay attention to what you're doing." I resume my forward search, gazing into the waves of shadows that roll out before me.

Quincy and Kitty spread out on either side of me. We widen the radius of our search, racing the deepening darkness.

We call Free's name, but he does not answer. I wonder if it's because he
can't
answer.

Or because he isn't here.

Kitty says something, but I can't quite hear her. "What was that?"

She's thirty yards away, and she's stopped walking. "I see two sets of tracks," she says. "One heading this way..." She points directly ahead of her. "And one heading
your
way." She waves her hand at a forty-five degree angle from the path she's been following. The line of the tracks, if extended along that angle, would intersect my route a few yards up ahead.

Without another word, I hurry forward, looking for the tracks. Praying they will lead me to Free.

Of all the Willows, he has always been closest to me...probably because opposites attract. That artsy fartsy peacenik hippie freak could not be more different from me.

But that never stopped us from looking out for each other. From putting our lives on the line to save each other from the brink of death.

And it never stopped us from learning from each other, either. He taught me violence isn't always the answer. I taught him it's the answer more often than he thinks.

So the thought of finding him dead is making me crazy. Making me reckless. I don't see the tracks, but I keep rushing forward, looking for my brother's body or a piece of it.

I continue to propel myself across the basin, fearing what I'll find...and finding nothing. Breathless, I finally stop and look around, wondering if I got off track.

That's when I hear the engine start.

I turn just as the Hummer's headlights flash to life, pointing right at me. It's then that I realize what has happened.

Squinting, I see Kitty and Quincy running toward the Hummer, almost there. Thanks to Kitty's misdirection, I've been following nonexistent tracks in the sand while she and Quincy doubled back.

As for Dunne, he must be behind the wheel. Mr. Scaredy-Cat slipped off my radar right around the time Quincy took a piss in front of me. Right after I saw Dunne crouching to pick something up.

The sight of him juggling a small object in his hand rushes back to me. Now I know what it was.

The key to the Hummer. Quincy must have dropped it there for him.

Not bad. Even as I raise my guns and start running, I'm impressed. The three of them worked out a plan and pulled it off real well. I'm especially impressed that Dunne made
any
kind of move.

As Quincy and Kitty leap into the Hummer and I fire my first shot, I realize something that should have occurred to me sooner. Dunne's cowardice was an act from the beginning. Instead of letting it lull me into complacency, I should have been on extra guard against him.

The Hummer backs up fast, kicking up clouds of sand. I run straight toward it, bouncing shots off the grill and hood, getting a bead on the windshield.

Before I can pump rounds through the glass, Dunne spins the wheel, whipping the Hummer around to face away from me. Dust billows, obscuring my shot, and Dunne floors the accelerator.

I keep running, eyes locked on the shrinking tail-lights. I zing a few more shots off the backend, but I might as well be chucking rocks.

The Hummer isn't stopping.

It bolts away into the night, heading toward El Capitan and the road. Then on to New Justice, New Mexico. Leaving me behind.

They think.

I stop shooting, but I don't stop running. They're not the only ones who know where the road is. I'll just get there a little behind them.

I smile as I run. Everything the three of them did was an act, and everything they said was a lie. They've gotten the jump on me...but that actually makes me feel better. At least now I know I'm perfectly sane.

At least now, I'm
totally sure
they deserve to die when I catch up to them.

 

CHAPTER 33

Dunne smiled to himself as the Hummer hurtled over the sand. He couldn't believe he'd done it.

Couldn't believe he'd escaped.

The gunshots stopped, but he didn't slow down. He wanted to get as far from War Willow as he could, as fast as possible.

Behind him, Quincy sprawled across the back seat, gasping for breath. "Now
that's
what I call...a
getaway
."

White-knuckling the steering wheel, Dunne veered around rocks and debris. His heart hammered, and his blood sizzled with adrenaline.

But he wasn't afraid. For the first time since Gaudíland, Mississippi, he wasn't trapped in a haze of mortal terror.

It was a good feeling.

"I can't felieve that plan
worked
," said Quincy. "I thought for
sure
we were gonna end up
bomb biscuits
."

"Me, too," said Dunne.

"That's why we did it in the Salt Basin." Hannahlee sat beside Dunne. "So we wouldn't take anyone else with us."

"Maybe he'll blow himself up without us," said Quincy. "On account of hurt feelings."

"If only we could be so lucky." Dunne cut the wheel hard left to avoid a boulder, then swung the Hummer right to dodge a dip.

"Too bad we didn't take care of the job ourselves." Quincy leaned forward between the seats and glared at Hannahlee. "Whatever happened to the
kill signal
? 'War Willow is dead,' remember?"

"I wasn't ready to sacrifice you," said Hannahlee. "We still have an assignment to finish."

"Sacrifice us?" said Quincy. "You think we're
that
lame, that we couldn't
take
him?"

"Don't feel bad," said Hannahlee. "The time may yet come."

Quincy frowned. "What if I don't
want
to be sacrificed?"

Hannahlee ignored his question. "What do we know about him at this point, anyway? Other than that he thinks he's War Willow."

"Nothing," said Dunne. "He gave us nothing."

"He, on the other hand, knows
everything
about us," said Quincy. "Our underwear sizes, our feepest secrets...
where we're going next
."

Suddenly, something occurred to Dunne. "What was that about him having an
Amish
mentor
?"

"Hey, that's fright," said Quincy. "In what
universe
did
that
ever happen?"

"The War character never spent time with the Amish?" said Hannahlee. "In the novels, fan fiction, slash fiction, anything?"

"Say now!" said Quincy. "Amish/War slashfic filk? Now
there's
a jim-dandy idea!"

"No." Dunne shook his head. "War Willow never spent time with the Amish."

"That's interesting," said Hannahlee.

"Interesting how?" said Quincy.

Hannahlee didn't answer.

Just then, Dunne rolled out of the salt desert and onto the road. "Finally!" He felt a surge of relief as he pointed the Hummer west.

"So where are we headed?" said Quincy.

"New Justice, New Mexico," said Hannahlee. "We have to finish our mission, and we have to help whoever's there get ready."

"Ready for what?" said Quincy.

"For War," said Hannahlee. "He knows where we're going, remember?"

Quincy hiked a thumb over his shoulder. "But we left him back there in the middle of nowhere."

"He's got a mission, too," said Hannahlee. "He's determined to finish it, and he's insane."

"By mission, you mean killing us," said Quincy. "And Cyrus Gowdy."

"And maybe blowing up the whole town," said Hannahlee.

"Shoot me now and get it over with." Quincy threw himself down on the back seat. "Just so I don't have to spend five more minutes with that fasshole."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," said Hannahlee.

"But you just said we'll see him again in New Justice," said Quincy.

"And he'll kill us all the second he gets a chance," said Hannahlee. "He won't be spending time with you."

"Gee," said Quincy. "When you put it that way, a little bonding doesn't look so bad anymore."

 

CHAPTER 34

Barcelona, Spain - 1925

I have become his home.

I just realized it today. Gaudí never leaves me anymore.

For years, he came to work in the morning at his studio above the rector's house on my grounds. He left at the end of the day, trudging toward his home at Park Güell.

But lately, he has been sleeping here, on a simple iron-framed bed in his studio. He wakes in the morning and goes right to work on his models and plans, designing my future.

He is a part of me now. I am one with my creator.

Finally, I feel like things are the way they were always meant to be.

It is the culmination of our journey from the first day we met. We joined together, then grew apart—then nearly lost each other forever in the Tragic Week. In the sixteen years since, we have reached the greatest heights yet. Gaudí has devoted himself to perfecting me, and I have risen with a spirit free of delusion or conceit.

My four bell towers stab the sky, nearly finished. They are meant to represent Christ's apostles—but to me, they are pillars of my friendship with Gaudí, symbols of our towering unity and mutual devotion.

Truly, I have never been happier.

I think it's been good for him, too. I think it's helped that I've stood by him as others have gone. As they've died, one after another.

His niece, Rosa Egea. His friend, Doctor Torras i Bages. His greatest patron, Eusebi Güell. All of them gone...and so many others, besides. Not much left of his family and friends.

But I'm still here for him. We're still together. I made a promise long ago, and I've kept it: to always support him and never leave him.

Never mind that this is exactly what he dreamed of and feared so long ago—being left alone with me, with no human contact.

I know that's why he's often sunk in gloom. He tells me sometimes, as he's working in his studio—how he misses the ones who've died. How lonely he feels. How he's glad to serve God by building me, helping lead the people of Barcelona back to the flock.

But sometimes he wishes the price were not so steep.

I take no offense. It is an honor to listen to my creator's thoughts and feelings. To know I'm able to help him in this small way.

But I always wish I could do more.

Today, Gaudí is downcast again. As he performs his solitary work on a sculpture of a cypress tree, he frowns and sighs. His hands move more slowly than usual as he chips away at the stone.

And he talks to me. "They see us now," he says. "That is what I believe. The dead are always with us."

I don't see them. I never have. But if I had a voice Gaudí could hear, I would still agree with him. I would say anything to make him feel better.

"It's good to know," says Gaudí. "A comfort. I am grateful.

"But not always. I confess." Gaudí stops chipping and dabs the sweat from his brow. "Sometimes, I wish they would just go away. It's too hard, knowing they're here, but I can't touch them."

I know what he means about how hard it is. I can't touch Gaudí, and I want to...but I would never wish him away.

That's where we're different.

Gaudí stares off into space for a while, then shakes his head hard and snaps back to the moment. "I wonder if you'll say the same thing about me someday? That you'll wish I'd go away?"

Never. I would never say that.

"Things change. You'll see." Gaudí smiles just a little. "When you're old and gray, you'll see."

I won't change. Not the way he thinks.

Or is he teasing?

Gaudí sizes up the cypress-in-progress and starts chipping at a new spot. His smile fades. "When you're old and gray and talking to yourself like me."

The last thing he said...it hurts. It stings.

He said he's talking to himself, as if I'm not really here. Not really listening or able to listen. As if I'm just a big stone building that's all he has left now that the people he cared about are gone.

I know it's not true, and in his heart he has to know, too—but it still hurts. It reminds me of the one thing that truly separates us.

Gaudí misses his loved ones. He would bring them back if he could, take things back to the way they used to be.

But not me. I am happier than I've ever been. Happier than I ever imagined I could be.

And I could go on like this, just the two of us together, forever.