The Major clasped his hands in front of him, looked around the table as the trio did the same. “Diesel, would you care to lead us in grace?”
The girl bowed her head, dark hair falling around her eyes as she spoke. “Bless us, Lord, and your gifts, which through your grace we now receive. Amen.”
“Amen,” the others repeated.
Lemon felt altogether strange about the prayer—she’d never been raised devout, and the only Dregs folk she knew who followed the Goodbook were lunatics or Brotherhood. But she mumbled along with the response anyway. Just to fit in.
She wanted so badly to fit in.
The thing of it was, she still missed Evie. She’d hated leaving her bestest in Babel; hated it all the way in her bones. But if Evie wanted to find out who she was among her own kind, maybe Lemon should, too? As tight as they’d been, Lemon had still felt compelled to lie to Evie about her power, to hide that part of herself. But here, among this motley band of freaks and abnorms…it was the first time she’d truly been herself for as long as she could remember.
She looked up at Grimm, remembering the feel of his hand in hers. Remembering the words he spoke to her when he handed her the Darwin book.
We’re your people.
Lemon’s thoughts were interrupted by Fix, who dropped a healthy serving of piping-hot breakfast onto her plate with a flourish.
“Eat up, Shorty,” he drawled. “Get some meat on them bones.”
“Thanks.” She gave the boy a grateful smile. “This smells great.”
“Fix, mate,” Grimm said around his mouthful, “I dunno how you turn powdered eggs and forty-year-old bacon into a banquet. But you do it.”
“That’s my man.” Diesel winked up at the big boy. “Multitalented.”
“Why, thank you, baby,” Fix said, leaning down to smooch her black lips.
“Gawd,” Grimm groaned with mock theatricality. “You two are nauseating.”
“You got no romance in your soul, Grimmy,” Fix declared, loading up Diesel’s plate.
“Which astounds me,” the girl said. “Given the amount of bodice-rippers you read.”
“Oi, leave off,” Grimm said. “I’m a romantic bastard, I am.”
“Swear jar,” the Major said.
Fix grinned, heaping the old man’s plate up with eggs.
“Sleep well, sir?” he asked.
The Major steepled his fingers at his chin and sighed.
“Not really,” he replied. “I had a dream.”
The room fell still, the good humor and smiles vaporizing. Lemon saw all eyes were on the Major, the air suddenly heavy with expectation. She got the feeling this wasn’t something that happened every day, but when it did, it was important.
Talking true, and even being a deviate herself, she still had trouble grappling with the idea of clairvoyance. She’d seen Diesel, Grimm and Fix all work their gifts with her own eyes, so it was impossible to doubt them. But the thought that the Major could see what was happening kilometers away when he slept…
“What was the dream about?” she asked.
The Major shook his head, his eyes a little distant. “I saw a street, washed with blood. And I saw a man. He had ice-blue eyes and a cowboy hat. A dusty black coat. And a red right hand.”
Ice in her belly. A dark thrill of recognition and fear.
“Preacher?” Lemon breathed.
All eyes at the table turned to her.
“You know ’im?” Grimm asked.
Lemon nodded. Swallowed the rising lump in her throat. “He was a bounty hunter. Worked for Daedalus. Chased me and my friends halfway across the Glass. But he’s dead now, Kaiser killed him.”
The Major shook his head. “He’s not. I saw him. Him and a young man.”
“What young man?” she whispered, suddenly uneasy.
“He had curly dark hair,” the Major replied. “Olive skin. He was very strong—he carried the other man on his back. But there was something…wrong with his hand?”
“Ezekiel?” Lemon gasped, rising to her feet.
“The friend you mentioned?” the Major asked.
She nodded, heart thumping in her chest. This was seventeen kinds of strange, true cert. She’d told the Major about Zeke and Cricket, but she’d never physically described the lifelike. Or even mentioned the Preacher, for that matter. How would the Major know what they looked like?
Unless he’d actually seen them…
“What were they doing?” she asked. “In the dream?”
“They were in a little town. Somewhere south, I think, judging by the sun.” The Major looked into her eyes. “They were killing people.”
“…That makes no sense.”
“I can only tell you what I saw, Lemon,” he replied. “The pair of them were in a settlement. Running. Shooting. The streets were littered with corpses. I can still hear the gunshots. Still smell the blood.”
“Ezekiel wouldn’t do that. Maybe you saw it wrong.”
“I don’t know why I see the things I do,” he replied. “But I see them, Lemon. Clear as I see you standing in front of me now.”
“The Major’s visions led us right to Diesel,” Fix said. “And Grimm.”
“Dead set.” The dark-skinned boy nodded. “Brotherhood would’ve ended me if not for them.”
“What about Cricket?” Lemon asked. “Was Cricket with him?”
“I’m afraid not.” The Major shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “I don’t get to control what I see, Lemon. I’m sorry.”
She stood there, legs shaking, completely at a loss over what to do. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She felt helpless, useless, holed up down here with her hot caff and her clean sheets and her crispy bacon while her friends were out there in trouble. Ezekiel wouldn’t hurt anyone, she knew him.
And why would he team up with the Preacher?
But why would the Major—her grandpa—lie?
How did he even know the Preacher existed?
“Check it,” Diesel said, nodding at the wall.
Fix had turned on the digital screen, tuned in to the Megopolis evening newsfeeds. Lemon could see images of a dusty settlement, shot through a newsdrone’s lens. High-def images of fallen bodies. Blood in the gutters. A faded GnosisLabs logo on a dusty glass wall. A headline ran below the pictures. VIOLENCE IN THE WASTELAND—MASSACRE AT PARADISE FALLS.