E (35 page)

Matt presses the gun into my hand with both of his own, startling
me.  I gaze at him wide-eyed.

"You wanted this," he says.  "It's all
yours."

I let out a breath, shivering from my core outward.

He turns to the silent crowd and raises both arms in
victory.  "Time to celebrate!  Drinks for everyone.  And
food."

This is something that generates a return cheer even in the midst
of the agony we've just witnessed.  Some of his men move off, presumably
to break into Matt's private stash.  The rest of them move around him--
move around us-- as he hooks his arm around my neck and pulls me toward the
Rustler.

I walk with him, because I don't have it in me to resist. 
The sun, behind us, dips below the horizon, the last of its orange light masked
in smoke.  Matt and I track black, bloody footprints across the
pavement.  At the door, I glance back at them, and I can't tell which are
his, and which are mine.

His arm squeezes me closer, and he smiles down on me, a strange
mix of relief, and joy, and sympathy.  "Let's celebrate," he
whispers, just for me this time. 

I move toward the bar.  There is only one thing I have to
celebrate.  What Matt has not yet figured out.

End of Book One

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The skeleton is washed white, purified by the sun.  She lies
exactly as she fell, fleeing their bullets.  It took me a long time to
find her.  Now I sit by her bones, amongst the tall golden blades of
frosted grass, and strain to remember
his
voice-- the tone and
inflection of it.  The sincerity.  The wonder.  All I hear is
the rush of wind through trees too tall-- through a forest dense and dark
enough to be a passageway to the underworld.

Behind me, the rustle of footsteps in the leaves signals Jacob's
impatience.  I ignore him for a moment.  For as long as I can. 
Until he says, "I don't get it, Eden.  It's a dead deer.  Can't
we go yet?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, in and out, fighting down
my anger.  It's not his fault.  He never asked for the privilege of
following me around.  If I hadn't freaked out about the Sentry....  I
glance back toward the wall, where his brother, Taylor, has taken up a post.
 He looks just as bored.  Just as cold.

Seeing them reminds me how chilled the earth is.  Frozen
hard, but warmed beneath me just enough to be damp.  It sucks the heat
from my legs, leaving my flesh frigid despite its coverings.  I've hardly
noticed it until now, though.  Maybe it's because I'm already so cold
inside.

I stagger to standing and brush off my pants.  Looking at the
remains again, at the mere wisp of white fur, I feel like I should say
something, or do something.  But there is no farewell here.  No
acceptance in parting.  No way to ever say goodbye. 

I walk away toward Taylor.  Jacob follows me, just like he's
supposed to.  My explanation is beyond awkward, but it's all I have. 
"She was a white deer, you know," I say.  "There are
stories about them.  They're special or something.  Holy."

Jacob glances at me sidelong as we trudge through the grass. 
"Sounds religious."

I wave him off.  "So," I say.  "There's
no Law in the Outpost anymore."  To make my point, I glance back the
way we have come, past the barrier that once confined us.

He just frowns, and I can read it on his face.  There's
law.  Just different law.

Against my will, I think of Matt. 

Taylor falls in with us, and we walk along the wall, which, in
many places, is nothing but rubble.  Here and there, men are rebuilding
it, patching in the holes.  It doesn't matter so much, because Sentries
are stationed along the breaches, casting their blocky, inhuman shadows across
the heaps of broken concrete.  There are two of them standing watch at the
gates.  Their mirrored faces turn toward us as we approach, making my
insides squirm.  Conquering them has brought no relief to the feeling of
menace.  Besides, I am not their master.  Matt is.

We pass by the machines, and slowly my heart rate returns to
normal.  Inside the gates, the Outpost is still in disarray with everyone
working hard to put things back in order.  A group of men are putting a
new roof on a small outbuilding that collapsed in on itself.  A
middle-aged woman is nailing boards over a broken window.  A father and
son are loading bodies onto a cart, to haul to the bonfires that have been set
up in the shantytown.  But no one is scraping the blood out of the
mud.  No one is going to erase all the signs of our disaster.

A chill wind whips down the street and across us, emphasizing the fact
that it would be better to be indoors.  I'm not ready to go home yet,
which doesn't leave a lot of options.  I stuff my hands in my pockets,
duck my head, and stride toward the Rustler.  People get out of my way,
and it's not because of the two big guys trailing in my wake.  They see
me, and move.  Some of them offer greetings in the form of uncertain
mumbles.  I don't reply.  I just keep going, thinking about the warm
whiskey, and a barstool where I can turn my back on the world.  Ponder my
troubles. 

I still haven't figured out exactly how I'm going to drop this
news on Matt.  I should have brought it up already, but the first day
after the executions kept him busy.  Not that I was ready yet.  Now,
I'm running out of time.  I'll need to chose my words carefully, so
sitting and nursing a drink for a while will give me a chance to internally
rehearse them. 

We intersect the main street, and I cross to the far side
immediately, walking along the raised curb and its broken concrete.  I
don't want to have to cross farther down, where pools of black blood are still
frozen in the middle of the road.  I don't want to have to look at it, or
think of it.  I keep my head down, and walk.  We cross an adjoining
street, and pass under Sarah's skeleton, dangling from the post above Canson
Morganson's store.  But at least I am used to that, now.  It's not
fresh, like the other.

As we approach the Rustler, I close my eyes and trail one hand
along the wall to guide myself.  I hear someone scramble to get out of my
way, banging off of something and cursing.  I don't care.  They're
not cursing at me.  No one would dare to curse at me.

I shove the door open and get ready to head for my barstool, but
Fate has other plans.  The Rustler is about half full, and most of its
patrons are Matt's men.  At one table, a group of local businessmen
includes Canson Morganson, Isaiah Bones, and Pete Sumter, whose daughter was
executed the night before last.  Lloyd is there as well, and some faces I
don't know.  An older woman with a nose like a hawk.  Two young men
with the same dark hair and golden eyes.  A grey-haired man wearing a
curious top hat.  They are all listening intently to Matt.  At least,
until he looks up and sees me.

A grin slinks across his face, marking him in an exceptionally
good mood.  He's animated, vivid, with light almost pouring from his hazel
eyes.  It's the Matt that pulls you in-- that makes you feel privileged
just to be in his presence.  Not the Matt with the gun pointed at your
head.  Not the Matt with his finger on the trigger.

He kicks his chair back and rises to his feet, abruptly ending the
meeting.  "As you can see, gentlemen," he says, arms opened in a
gesture like an embrace, "the world is mine."  He then leans his
hands on the table and levels his eyes at me from across the room, his smile
turning smug.  One of his eyebrows goes up just a touch.  "Every
king needs a queen." 

Their eyes flick to me, some of them half-turning in their
chairs.  If I was smart, I would humor him.  But I'm angry. 
Stupid and angry.  I wave him off with one hand and move toward the bar,
where I take a seat, back turned toward them all.

Arthur Adner places a shot glass on the counter in front of me,
and pours from the good bottle.  He doesn't greet me or make eye
contact.  His hands shake just a touch.  Behind me, I hear chairs
scraping the floor as the group at Matt's table gets up and heads for the
door.  Footsteps move slowly toward me.  Matt leans one elbow on the
bar to my left.  His smile now is half-cocked, saying he won't be so
easily discouraged.  I glance at him, then turn back to my drink, downing
it in one go.

"Bad day?" he asks, as if my disdain could not possibly
be directed toward him.

I signal Arthur for another drink.  "Bad week."

Matt laughs softly.  If you asked him, it's the best week of
our lives.  He shifts and his eyes narrow.  "You're not still
mad about the Sentry, are you?"

I give him a withering look.

"Ah," he says.  He hops onto the stool next to
me.  "I honestly didn't think it would bother you, now that
they're... you know... ours."

It's not the Sentry.  Not really.  Nonetheless, I turn
my eyes on him and say, "You didn't think it would bother me that you had
a giant metal robot stalk me?  One of the same giant metal robots that
once-- that--"  I can't continue.  So maybe it is the
Sentry.  Partly.  I grab my new drink, making Arthur abruptly finish
pouring, and down it like the first.  I set it back on the counter and he
tips the bottle toward it again.

Matt eyes the glass as my fingers close around it.  I narrow
my eyes at him, challenging him to say something.

"Go for it," he shrugs.  "I think I like you
better when you're drunk."

I toss my head, grab the drink, and pour it into my mouth. 
As the smooth burn moves down my chest, I realize my head is spinning.

"It was for your protection," Matt is saying, but I'm
already hoisting myself off the stool and heading for the door.

Jacob and Taylor are waiting there for me-- my new Sentries. 
I scowl at them and move past them, out onto the sidewalk, where I turn and
look down the street.  They collect behind me, waiting to see where I will
go.  I stand there, and gaze toward Canson's store.  I'm about to get
even stupider, but the whiskey has made me bold enough not to care.

I point toward the corner.  Toward Sarah's bird-cleaned
remains.  "Go take that down," I say.

Jacob and Taylor are behind me, but I can feel their
hesitation.  I can feel them exchanging glances.

"Go," I say, my voice demanding it.  "I want
her down from there."

Their feet shuffle slowly into action, but it is as sluggish as a
summer's evening.  I'm not even sure if their movement is toward their
assignment, or just movement in general.

The door behind us swings open, and they are suddenly still. 
I glance back, where they're exchanging mortified, guilty glances under Matt's
glare.

He looks down the street toward what's left of Sarah. 
"You heard her," he says.  "Go."

Jacob and Taylor hightail it toward the corpse.

I turn and eye Matt, and he gazes back at me.  How long will
he let me get away with this kind of thing, I wonder, before it gets old? 

He looks off toward the brothers, who are climbing onto Canson's
roof in an attempt to get at the body, then his eyes scan off toward the west
wall, where the afternoon sun is only a foot or so from disappearing.  He
moves toward me, and puts his arm around my shoulders, squeezing. 
"Come on," he says.  "Let's go home."

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     Working on E has certainly been a
journey.  This has been an entirely independent project, so I don’t have a
lot of people to thank, but I still have a
ton
of thanks to give. 

First, foremost, and always, to my
editor (and other half), Paul, who took valuable time away from his own very
amazing writing to go through mine with a fine-toothed comb.  Who put up
with my insistence that “leprotic” is a perfectly valid word.  Who spent
endless nights listening to my rambles about formatting, and marketing, and
traditional versus indie publishing.  Who reviewed endless versions of
cover art.  Who wasn’t afraid to tell me what sucked, and insisted on key
rewrites even when I was ready to be done.  Who is, basically, dream
editor, cheerleader, and superhero all rolled into one.  Acknowledgment is
not enough.  Gratitude is not enough.  I owe you like… a lifetime of
undying love and affection, or something.  (You have it.)

…And to my beta-readers, Mary
(Mom), Jordan, and David.  Your feedback and insight helped me make the
final tweaks to my novel, and gave me the courage to call it done and get it
out there.  You’ve made all the work worth it, already.  Thank you
for believing in me.  I promise you’ll get to read the next one before
anyone else!