Chapter Forty-Seven

 

 

 

Charlie's lips were clawed back in a snarl of utter delight. The Uzi spit flame, but the bullets sprayed in a great arc over the ceiling as the blaster fell from the stickie's hands.

 

A round stone rolled across the floor, after it had smashed into Charlie's elbow.

 

Out of the corner of his eye Ryan could see a slight figure, capering in the street, ragged clothes flying about its androgynous body, stooping to pick up and hurl another stone at Charlie.

 

But the stickie was recovering, bending to grab up the Uzi with his other hand.

 

Ryan realized that Dorina's accuracy might simply have postponed his death, rather than averted it.

 

"Bastards!" Charlie growled as he straightened.

 

Face shining white, staggering like the living dead in an old horror vid, Abe lurched toward Charlie with a jagged knife of glass in both hands. He loomed up behind the mutie and lunged at him with the makeshift dagger.

 

The stickie turned at the last second and pushed at Abe, knocking him off balance. But the thrust struck home, the glass splintering as it drove into Charlie's stomach.

 

Ryan steadied the blaster, ready for another shot at the stickie, but the moon finally vanished behind the clouds and the old cinema became instantly pitchy dark.

 

There was the patter of naked feet and a yell from outside, and Charlie was gone into the night.

 

And none of them saw or heard anything of the yellow-haired stickie from that moment on.

 

 

 

RYAN SAT ON THE PORCH, reminiscing as he sipped a glass of buttermilk.

 

It had been an odd time.

 

Mildred had been able to help get Abe back properly onto his feet within a couple of days. Now the two of them were down by the stream, working on fixing the earth dam. J.B. was with them, stripped off to the waist, his body pale in the bright sunlight.

 

Doc and Dean were helping each other replace a damaged blade on the windmill. From where he sat, Ryan could hear an occasional snatch of conversation, the young boy's light voice overlaid by Doc's resonant tones.

 

Krysty had felt a little sick after a large lunch and was sleeping it off in their bedroom at the west side of the new homestead. Harold and Dorina Lord had been over in a buckboard to visit and see the baby. Dorina couldn't wait to tell everyone that she, too, was pregnant.

 

The couple had taken over the neighboring spread that had once belonged to Helga.

 

Now they'd headed off into the afternoon sunshine, the trail of dust from their rig following them across the open land.

 

Christina was out back, hanging up some washing. Little baby Jenny was in a crib on the rear porch. Every now and again Ryan heard the tiny gurgling voice and the soft reassurance of her mother.

 

Christina hadn't forgiven Ryan for what had happened to Jak two months earlier, and he knew that she never would. Which was why it was time to move on.

 

"Think we'll leave tomorrow morning," he announced.

 

Lying on the swing seat across from him, the white-haired teenager started awake.

 

"Broke dream," he said. "Thought was back in bayous. Fishing."

 

For forty-eight hours after the dramatic climax on the ridge, Mildred had believed that she was going to lose her patient. The knife wound had penetrated one of Jak's lungs, and he had suffered an internal hemorrhage that had left him on the brink of the black river.

 

But he'd pulled through.

 

Mildred reckoned that he'd never be quite as fit as before, and would always tend to suffer from breathing problems in cold, wet weather. But he was alive.

 

"I said that I thought we'd go tomorrow. Stayed long enough. Mebbe too long."

 

Jak stretched. "Know what you mean. Christina thinks you came and"

 

"Yeah, I know. Look, Jak, you know I understand. Her feeling the way she does." He put down the glass, holding his finger and thumb a quarter inch apart. "You came that close to buying the farm. She'd have been a widow and Jenny would never have known her father. Course she wants me to go."

 

"Be always welcome here, Ryan."

 

"Sure."

 

He could hear Christina talking to the baby in a calm, gentle voice.

 

"Wish Dean would have stayed while with us."

 

"His decision. I wanted him to stay. Mebbe a year or so."

 

Part of him was aware that someone else was talking at the back of the house very quietly, having a measured conversation with Christina.

 

Jak sighed. "Way of kids, Ryan. Like I said. All of you always welcome."

 

Ryan started to stand, very slowly, concentrating on what he was almost hearing.

 

The voice was oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite hear it clearly enough.

 

"Who is"he began.

 

Jak opened his mouth, hands gripping the arms of the seat.

 

Doc laughed, far off across the meadow, sounding in another world.

 

Ryan and Jak heard a strange sound from behind the building, like a butcher's cleaver hacking into a hanging carcass.

 

Then Christina's voice called, "Jak, Ryan, could you come here a minute, please?"

 

Still as calm and unhurried as ever.

 

Ryan had his hand on the butt of the SIG-Sauer as he and the teenager stepped onto the back porch. As soon as he saw what was out there, he let go of the blaster.

 

It wasn't necessary.

 

Christina was standing facing them, holding the swaddled, gurgling bundle that was her daughter, Jenny. There were speckles of fresh blood on the woman's dress and on her hands.

 

The corpse lay at her feet.

 

It was stretched out as though it had decided to take advantage of the fine weather and snatch itself half an hour's sleep. The clothes were ragged and torn, showing pale skin through the holes.

 

The head was covered in blood, from two gashes in the side of the skull. The weapon, a long-handled ax, was buried in the back of the neck, almost decapitating the man.

 

Despite all of the blood and the leaking puddle of brains, the matted yellow hair was unmistakable. As were the suckered hands, now relaxing in death. A slim skinning knife lay in the dirt of the yard, by the right hand.

 

Ryan tucked a foot under a shoulder and rolled the body over, making sure who it was.

 

"Charlie?" Jak asked.

 

"Yeah."

 

His eyes were glazing and the mouth sagged open. The dozens of tiny suckers on the protruding tongue were all slowly closing, like delicate pink flowers in the evening.

 

"Said he was starving." Christina was shushing the baby by letting it suck at her little finger. "I knew who he was from the hair. I just told him to go away."

 

"Why not call us?" Ryan asked. "We'd have taken him out."

 

"I know, Ryan. I know what you do. He was starving." She repeated it as though she were dealing with an obtuse child. "But he drew the knife to threaten Jenny. So I took the ax to him."

 

"We'll bury him out the other side of the stream," Ryan said.

 

"Sure."

 

"We've been talking, Christina. Think we'll be moving on at first light."

 

She looked at him with her steady blue eyes. "That's good, Ryan," she said. "Yeah, that's good."