Watershed (33 page)

With his arm around her, he led her off the side of the road while I watched. He didn't kiss her, as he should have. As I would have. No passionate reunion for Alex. Instead, he grasped her shoulders and talked, while she stood and gazed up at him, replying every now and then, quiet and soft. He and Ballard were a pair all right. Only once, when she lifted her bound hands to touch his face, stroking his cheek as she had mine, did he stop to hug and hold her, before talking some more. So much talk, any moment I expected him to drop to his knees and start talking to his god. But Alex didn't need prayers. No amount of them would help her now.

‘You did the right thing,' Tate said, suddenly beside me. For a big man he could move bloody quietly. Ballard was talking to the other two Guards, more relaxed now the tension had eased, but he kept shifting his feet, impatient to move on and put this moment behind him.

Nodding across at Cade and Alex, I said, ‘I don't get it.'

‘No,' agreed Tate, ‘but we each only see what we want. You see a man too old for Alex; I see a man who'll be responsible for great things.'

‘And her?' I asked. When everyone was done singing Cade's praises, would any of them take a moment to remember the great thing Alex was doing?

‘I wish I could tell you.'

‘It's a shit deal, Tate.'

‘Yes. But not just for Alex.'

‘Still not too late to change it,' I said.

He sighed. ‘Jem, have you never wondered why you're here? Why you, and no other Watchman?'

You're exactly who we wanted.
But I narrowed my eyes and said nothing, waiting for him to continue. I'd learned enough to know that when a wise man spoke, it paid to listen.

‘It was Cade who chose you, Jem. Right from the start. He knew all about you, who you were, what you'd done. I don't know how. I asked him once, why you and not anyone else, and all he said was, God's vengeance is best wrought by the devil's tools.'

I felt my scalp prickle. ‘Meaning?'

‘Meaning, take care in there. Of yourself, and of Alex.' We watched Cade finally finish his little sermon and press his mouth to his wife's forehead, before Tate added, ‘And do what needs to be done. Afterwards, if you have to.'

Let him do it. He's the only one who can.

‘Sure,' I muttered, sick at the thought.

‘Thank you.' He gripped my hand. ‘Eyes open, at all times.'

‘All times.'

Before I'd left the compound, Taggart had warned me to trust no one; now, as I was about to return, Tate was doing the same. Maybe this time I'd do as I was told.

Alex and I walked the last few miles to the compound alone. The farewells had been brief and bitter, no one keen to prolong the agony. Ballard had hugged his sister tight, and despite knowing what I did about him I felt his pain. Tate's too. Last-minute instructions to me, and then the group turned their backs, disappearing into the gloom, Cade with only a single glance over his shoulder, his expression unreadable in the moonlight.

I led the way off the road, northwest to find the entrance to the compound. As she stumbled along behind me, I was reminded of our first night together when we'd headed out to the Hills, when everything had seemed so much easier, the rules known, the boundaries drawn; when I'd been just a Watchman and had thought her nothing more than a useless Guard.

Just before coming in sight of the entrance, I stopped and tucked my small knife into my boot, burying it low and out of sight. I'd have to check the rest of my weapons with the sentries guarding Garrick's tunnel, and the gun lay wrapped at the bottom of my pack, but it was best to be prepared.

‘This is it. You ready?' I asked Alex and she nodded, her eyes dark, her nostrils flaring with each breath. But after a few steps, I felt the rope tighten behind me and I turned. ‘Alex?'

A violent shake of her head, and she pulled back, wrestling off the gag.
Shit.

‘I'm scared, Jem. I'm so scared. What if –? I can't –' Tears streaked her pale face and suddenly we were back in that stone-clad room, one dead Guard before us, two more waiting for the knife, and her leaving me to take charge.

I held her close, enfolding her in my arms, letting her cry. ‘Shh, you don't have to do this, Alex. Not for them.'
Especially not for them.
‘I'll take the flogging, and everything'll be fine. It's okay.'

She pressed her face into me and mumbled, ‘You would, wouldn't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Oh, Jem,' she sighed, and I remembered the warm wet of her mouth on my back as she'd kissed every scar, tracing them with her tongue, the soft, heavy sweep of her breasts as she'd moved over me. I'd gladly let Garrick punish me, just to feel that again.

‘Alex, you don't deserve this. And no one's going to think any less of you if you back out.' But they were the wrong words, at the wrong time; she pulled away, shaking her head and sniffing back her tears.

‘No! I can't let them down. I can't let
him
down.' She gave a sad smile. ‘I've disappointed him enough already.' I didn't need to ask what she meant. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep, ragged breath. ‘I'm sorry. It won't happen again. C'mon, let's get this over with.'

‘In a minute,' I muttered, and ignoring my own advice to Cade about watchful eyes, cupping her face in my hands, I kissed her, soft at first then deepening it when she opened her mouth to me. I wasn't her husband, but I knew what she needed, what she'd sought from him, what he'd denied her. I knew, because I needed it too.

Goodbye, Alex.

I wiped her eyes with my thumbs, then her mouth, tracing the shape of her lips and, before she could say anything, refitted the gag and turned my back. For the last time I was Jem the Watchman, returning with his spoils. It was all I knew, and I could no longer afford to pretend to be anything else.

Excerpt ~ Letter #9

 

Not being able to see something doesn't mean it can't exist. For instance, we can see the dust in the sky, but we can't see the wind that carries it. Monsters aren't make-believe, Jeremiah. They're real and they're terrible and they hide in dark hearts, beneath the skins of men.

Two guards: one at Daniel's feet, the other at his head. The second poked at Daniel's shoulder and everyone watched his head roll and settle again.

You worried he's still alive? Jeremiah asked. He stood in a corner, in the shadows by the window, as far away from the guards as possible, but his scorn filled the room.

Just making sure he ain't stiff, the man replied, and Sarah's sob caught in her throat. No, Daniel wasn't stiff any more. He was loose and flaccid and empty of life, time robbing him of even that last protest. Had it only happened last night?

It was Jeremiah who'd alerted the guards before dawn, informing them that there was another body for collection, though it seemed to take forever for the two to arrive with the barrow, ready to cart Daniel's remains to the pyres so he could be returned to sky and earth. Sarah had sat with him during that time, clutching his cold hand and smoothing his cold face, her eyes dry, her mind numb.

Did she hate him? Jeremiah had asked, when she stood in the doorway staring at Daniel's dead body, and suddenly he'd been a boy again, awaiting punishment just as he had when he'd knocked over the jug of water so many years ago.

No, she'd replied. She didn't hate him. And perhaps it was true. But if she didn't hate him, she lamented what he'd stolen from her: Daniel now slept the long sleep and she'd been given no chance to say goodbye. It was hard to understand, and harder to forgive, but she didn't hate. Of course she didn't.

C'mon, hurry it up, muttered the first guard. We got more to get to.

The other shrugged and shoved at Daniel again, this time to turn him, flop him over onto his stomach like the piece of meat he'd become, his dead face crushed to the bed. No fear now that he'd suffocate; he'd already been made to do that when Jeremiah had held his nose and his mouth, closing off what little air Daniel had been able to draw. Had he struggled then? Sarah wondered. Had he fought that final cruelty with frail fists, or had he accepted it as quietly as he'd accepted everything else? She hadn't dared ask. She didn't really want to know.

Fuckin' stinks, the guard commented, prodding the back of Daniel's neck. Sarah looked away; she couldn't watch this indignity. But Jeremiah had no such qualms and, as the seconds drew out, as she imagined she could hear the squelch of flesh while the guard fingered for Daniel's tag, he drawled: Shit, anyone'd think this was your first time.

It wasn't, came the guard's terse reply. And Jeremiah had better keep it civil if he knew what was good for him. Or they'd get a bit of extra practice in.

Was this imagined too, or did the shadows suddenly draw closer, the silence frigid with hate? Then a scratching on paper as Daniel's number was recorded from both disc and brand, and Sarah turned back in time to see the red wet tag being slipped carelessly into a little bag. She heard the faint clink; how many others had died last night?

Right, let's load him up, said one. Ankles were seized, hands slipped into dry armpits, Daniel's shell hoisted with a grunt and a last hiss of air. The guard at Daniel's head cursed and let go – Fuck! The smell!

Jeremiah finally left the safety of his corner. Leave him. I'll do it, he said.

Neither guard protested, both stepping back with faint smiles. Go right ahead, said one. Was this their usual practice, making others do their work for them? Sarah couldn't help wondering. But perhaps she shouldn't judge too harshly; who wouldn't take up such an offer?

She watched Jeremiah bend and pull the coverlet around Daniel, wrapping and closing off the sight of him for the last time, and she hated her sudden relief. Just as she hated her tears when her grandson lifted Daniel effortlessly and carried him past her, through the door and out to the barrow. Was it guilt or love that lent him the strength for such a task?

She didn't follow, not wanting to see the mound of Daniel stacked upon others, but she heard the guards laugh, heard their parting barb to Jeremiah before they wheeled their load to the next stop: he should think about joining up. They'd make sure he got plenty –

He slammed the door, shutting them off and shutting them out.

And now it was just the two of them.

He was restless. Sarah saw it when he returned each day, and again when he left each night. She didn't know where he went or what he did; whom he was with or if he was with anyone at all. He wasn't ashamed, and Sarah saw no regret in his young eyes. He knew he'd done the kindest thing, making sense of his world where the old laws and the old values no longer applied.
This is Jeremiah; he knows what's right.
She just wished she knew it too.

But he couldn't seem to find peace. Sarah carried Daniel within her, in her heart and in her mind, because a person was only truly gone when all memory of them had disappeared. And she hoped it was the same for Jeremiah, that he too was buoyed by memories of his grandfather. Or did they haunt him? Perhaps those were what fuelled his agitation, though she suspected worse: that when he'd wrapped Daniel gently in the ruined coverlet, he'd parcelled a piece of himself too, and now he was searching, searching to find it again.

She began to look for other signs of the men who'd raped his mother, of their cruelty and brutishness and savagery. But there weren't any. Not visible, at least. There was only Jeremiah, the same boy-man she'd always known, but now with something missing.

Jem, Watchman, Cee five Em eight one two three five.

I thrust my arm through the hole in the gate so the sentry can check my brand, a long pause then a heavy click as the lock turns and the gate yawns wide. Alex is silent behind me, and I feel her fear, blanket heavy, smothering us both as we follow the long tunnel back to the compound, back to Garrick –
You'd better have good news
– and I tip the pouch, letting the tags rain onto the desk, hundreds and hundreds of them, but his mood is black, black as the marks that he counts as he cuts,
one, two, three
… only it's not me he's cutting, it's Alex, scoring her smooth back with the tally of the dead, and as he cuts he slams into her hard, keeping the rhythm, fuck for cut, keeping the count,
ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred
… but even as I back away she turns agonised eyes to me, screaming, high and terrified, and Garrick cackles
not gunna stay and watch? Stay, Jem, coz I'm gunna fuck you too, oh yeah I'm gunna fuck you good
–

I woke to darkness, heart hammering, gulping air, but I knew it had been nothing more than a dream. Just another fucking nightmare. I knew, because it hadn't happened that way. Because after Garrick had marked me and I'd given Alex to him and watched as
he circled her, sizing her up, all predatory, his beatific face dark and cruel, his cock probably twitching in his pants; after I'd slammed the door and slumped against it, waiting for her first scream, knowing as soon as I heard it I'd rush back in, Alex hadn't made a sound. Not even a whimper.

Scream, Alex! Give him what he wants.
But she hadn't – wouldn't, or couldn't. Perhaps she'd understood what I'd do if I heard, except not hearing her pain was as bad as hearing it, cutting me inside like Garrick had cut me out, and now I lay in my quarters surrounded by the familiar and everything was different.

Stumbling from my cot, not daring to risk another dream, I drank deeply and sat down at the table to rewrite Ballard's report so I could pass it on to Garrick, feeding him lies, disguising my betrayal and hiding my fear. And I wondered if Ballard and Tate and Cade were sleeping soundly, remote and removed, unmindful of Alex's terror and my increasing paranoia. For as much as dreams are the games of horror, they contain the seeds of truth too, and Garrick's mood had indeed been black, boding ill for Alex, and for me also.

‘You made it then,' he'd snarled as I stood before him, fighting my panic, so certain he knew. How could he not? If I could smell my own fear, so must he, just as he must surely see it in my face and hear it in my voice. Because Garrick had eyes everywhere, and knew everything. He gestured to my leg. ‘What happened?'

I dropped the three tags on his desk. ‘Parting shot from Jackson.'

He glared at them for a moment. ‘Should've known they'd fuck it up. But I'm not happy about this, Jem. Not happy at all.'

My back twitched, already feeling his whip. And I didn't point out that the fault was his, that he shouldn't have sent Jackson to spy on me, that he should've trusted me to deliver the goods. Because of course he couldn't. Not any more.

‘I'm not real pleased you sent them in the first place,' I dared. ‘You left me no choice.'

‘You'd better have found out what I want, or you'll be joining 'em.'

I attempted a shrug, relieving the tension in my shoulders. ‘There's nothing to know. The Guards are nobodies. One of 'em's related to Cade, that's why he was so eager to see them rescued. He and his father told the Council all that crap about them having information so they wouldn't think it was just a mercy mission,' I said, sticking to the truth as much as possible because it was easier to disguise the lie.

‘And that Guard you left with? What happened to him?'

I shrugged again, this time to relieve the fear. ‘We parted company outside the Citadel, and he took the other two back to Cade.'

Garrick's eyes narrowed and I knew he was disappointed. ‘Hope you're right. If I find out different, you'll wish you'd never been born.' A pointless threat because I was already wishing that. He scowled at the tags again, thinking it over. ‘I'll give you the four for Jackson, but nothing for the others. They're not worth it, and neither is that pile of crap you just told me.'

‘Fine,' I replied, keeping it surly because I was expected to. What Watchman wasn't eager for more marks?

‘And the rest?' he asked. ‘Heard you were busy up there.'

I fished out the pouch and dumped it in front of him so he could count them out. When he was done he sat back, studying me, cold and calculating.

‘Not exactly what I was hoping for,' he said. ‘Twenty-three, Jem. What sort of pissant number is that?'

I swallowed, to wet my mouth. ‘Turns out the report was right. Nowhere near the numbers everyone thought. Maybe next time the Council will leave us alone to get on with the job.'

‘Wouldn't count on that. And you'd better hope you got every single one of 'em. Every fucking one. I'm gunna comb through that report of yours and if I find even one mistake, you'll regret it.'

I summoned a smile and pulled off my shirt. ‘Twenty-seven, Garrick. And I deserve them all.' It was the first truth I'd uttered since my return.

He studied my chest, flipping the knife, playing with it, while he decided where to make the first hook. Then his eyes narrowed and he pushed the flat of the blade into the hollow of my shoulder, twisting it hard, right where the dart had burrowed.

‘What the fuck?' I gasped, stumbling back and rubbing at the scar.

‘What's that? And the other one. You been messin' with your marks, Jem?'

‘Shit! No! I ran into some trouble early on, but I dealt with it, okay? It'll be in the report.'

He glared at me and I stared back, defiant but terrified. If he didn't buy it, then it was already over. But then his mood shifted and he smiled. ‘I'll look forward to reading all about it.'

He was vicious with the knife, like it was an instrument of torture, a way to relieve whatever it was that bugged him, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't help but hiss with the pain. That was the only time I saw him smile, when he knew he'd hurt me. Once, the edge of the blade stroked a nipple and I thought for sure he'd carve straight across it, but then he relented, shifting over and digging deep.

‘So, where to next?' I asked when he'd finished, because I knew the drill and because it'd look odd if I didn't.

He shoved the drawer with force and turned to the maps on the wall, pulling out the yellow pins stabbing the Hills settlement. And I saw then how few yellows there were. Six weeks ago the maps had been full of them, but now there were just holes marking where they'd been.

‘Nowhere,' he said with a scowl. ‘Not yet anyway. Everything's gone quiet. Too fucking quiet. I don't like it.'

But I could have told him why, and I wondered at Ballard's wisdom of calling a halt to the uprisings while they prepared for
the big one. Garrick wasn't stupid, not by a long shot, and if he was already thinking it strange then it was a given his suspicions would just escalate.

Instead I shrugged, wincing at the rub of the shirt. ‘Fine by me. I could do with a break.'

But that made him scowl more, creasing his face into a menacing mask. ‘No rest for the wicked, Jem. I'll find plenty to keep you busy, don't you worry.'

‘Yeah, well can it wait 'til tomorrow? I was hoping to get into the Citadel tonight.'

I wasn't. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but Ballard had made it clear I had to stick to my routine, and Garrick knew that routine as well as I did. But I should've kept quiet.

He crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the desk. ‘You know, I've always wondered about that. Why take your business up there when we have everything you need right here? What's wrong, Jem? Our stock not good enough for you? Your dick too precious for what we have?'

I almost panicked then. What we did in our spare time, when we had any, was none of Garrick's business. As long as we followed his little edicts – and there were a shitload of them – he pretty much left us alone. He'd never questioned my actions before, and I was certain his interest was more than coincidental.

‘No, it's just –'

‘Or maybe you've got a tasty piece stashed away out there. Something you're not telling me about? You know the rules.'

I did know. Different women, every time. Or men, depending on your preference. No favourites. No one we could get close to, talk to, confide in. And those who thought they knew better, who thought they could get away with it and hide it from Garrick? Well, they never lasted too long.

So I shook my head and told him exactly what I'd told Ballard, this time having to force my grin. The difference was, Garrick got it.

‘Right,' he snarled. ‘Cunt
is
cunt, so don't you fucking forget it. And while we're on that subject, get her in here.'

I backed away, not quite believing it was happening. But, until that moment, I don't think I'd ever truly accepted it would, that Alex's decision might actualise. I fumbled with the door and stepped out to unhook her. Her eyes said it all, horrified by the blood on my shirt, terrified by my grim face, but I couldn't meet her gaze, and for the first time I was thankful she was gagged. Expecting her to start struggling, I kept a hand on the rope at her waist and another on her shoulder, but even as I steered her into the room, she straightened and her head lifted defiantly.

Now's not the time, Alex.
But she ignored the prod of my fingers as they dug into her, almost shaking them off, until I dropped my hold and let her do it her way.

‘Nice. Very nice indeed,' Garrick said, his eyes hungry. He did a once-around then stopped to face her, standing real close, making his intent obvious. I couldn't see her face, but from his sudden frown I knew she wasn't giving in.

‘Reckon this one might take some breaking. But that's okay, coz I got plenty of time, right Jem?' Reaching out, he caressed her hair before grabbing it and yanking her head back so hard I thought her neck would break. ‘How about it, bitch? You ready to have some fun?'

I came so close to killing him then, could've got to my knife in time, would've thrust it into him, once, twice, three times; should've done it right there while he was so focused on her. But then what? Without the support of Ballard's men and a week still to go, the rest of the Watch would hunt me down, and Alex would've been no better off. Worse maybe. Clenching my fist tight, I resisted the urge, but fuck, it was hard. Almost the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. Almost.

‘Still here, Jem?' Garrick snapped, not looking at me, greedy for Alex and eager to get started. ‘Piss off.'

I didn't need to be told twice. And she never struggled to watch me leave. I waited outside the door, waited for that first cry, my heart stone, my breathing shallow, waited to rescue her, just waited and waited until I couldn't stand the waiting any longer, fled into the Citadel and took the first whore I could, shoving her face hard into the mattress so I didn't have to see it, because it wasn't Alex's face, and it wasn't Alex's cunt, and it was all just so fucking wrong.

Taggart didn't touch the gun. Just stared at it for a minute before glancing up.

‘What're you doing with Jackson's weapon?'

I should've known he'd recognise it. He knew all the weapons he'd sold, knew who used what. He and Garrick were the only ones who did. The rest of us didn't ask.

‘He doesn't need it any more,' I said, and left it at that. Taggart didn't need to know the rest.

‘You plannin' on keeping it?'

‘That was the idea,' I replied.

He shook his head. ‘Big mistake, Jem. Not your thing.'

But I was going to make it my thing. ‘I've already got nine bullets but I need more,' I said.

‘Nine's plenty.
If
you know how to use 'em.'

‘I want more.'

He sighed and leaned on the counter. ‘I'm tellin' you, lad, you're better off sticking with what you know. This is a good piece, but if you don't know what you're doin' and you don't keep it clean, you're fucked.'

‘I know that. I won't use it unless I have to.' I pointed to the hole in my trousers and the bandage beneath. ‘I don't want to get caught out again.'

He shrugged, accepting the lie. ‘Fair enough. But I don't have a lot of cartridges. Not for this one. Maybe a coupla dozen until the next salvage comes in. And there are others who need 'em more.'

I scowled, staring at the gun. Was anything going to work in my favour? But maybe Taggart was right. Maybe it wasn't worth the effort. Or the expense.

As if reading my mind, he said, ‘How 'bout this? We use what you have to practise with, and I'll give you another six for a quarter. If it's just a backup, then you won't need more than that.'