And so I give her the only response I can in the moment. The truth.
“I think . . . that we become whatever we need to be to survive,” I say. “Back in Nawlins, my mother was a placée—um, a kept woman.” I cannot quite see Jane’s expression, and it feels like too much effort to look up as I unearth this bit of my soul, so I just keep cleaning my blades as I talk. “But she was shrewd, and when she realized she could make more money operating a brothel, she did just that.”
I take a deep breath, willing the tightness in my chest to loosen just a bit. Talking about Maman always does this, and it seems silly that after being away from her for nearly five years I should still have such a reaction. I force my voice to remain light. “Maman said that a person becomes whatever they need to be to survive. And that is what I think we are, Jane. Not killers. Survivors. The only goal of this world is to stay in it as long as possible. And no one gets to judge how a body does that, especially when the alternative is being eaten.”
I stand and give Jane my best smile, the one that is friendly and open and accepting. The dawn is beginning to paint the world in shades of gray, and there is an expression on her face that looks near enough to relief that some of the tension drains out of me. It is as though my feeble attempt at eloquence has helped her set to rights something that was troubling her, and the way her shoulders relax—as though for one second she can just be—gladdens my heart.
“Thank you,” she says. “I needed to hear that.”
A shout comes from the back side of the house, as well as a shot and then another. It is nothing good, but even worse is the heavy silence that takes its place.
Jane and I exchange a look and then sprint toward the sound, running over the uneven ground as fast as the watery morning light will allow.
. . . Nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it. He died
As one that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he owed
As ’twere a careless trifle.
—Shakespeare, Macbeth
—JANE—
Chapter 5
In Which My Heart Breaks
Jackson meets Kate and me as we round the corner of the cabin. I heard only a couple of shots, and I don’t see any shamblers behind Jackson, though the light still ain’t great. But I’m tired and out of sorts, and I don’t even rightly know my own mind. I can only hope I’ll be useful in a fight, if it comes to that.
“We got to move,” he gasps. “Now.”
The fallen ladies run out of the front of the cabin, wide-eyed with fright. “Sorry,” the Duchess huffs. “We were trying to get ourselves together.” She holds Thomas, who sucks on a leftover rabbit bone, and my stomach gurgles angrily in response. With the dead descending upon us we don’t have time to look for anything to break our fast. But going hungry looks to be the least of our problems.
I turn to Sallie. “Can you get the horse and wagon ready to move?”
She nods. “Nessie, you come help. It’ll go faster with the two of us.”
They run off, and I turn back to the Duchess. “See if there are canned goods of any sort and fill whatever buckets or jars we can find before we move. We’re still a day from Nicodemus, and at this rate it’ll be a long way on an empty belly.”
The Duchess nods and heads back inside, nearly running over a bleary-eyed Lily coming out, a rifle clutched in her small hands.
“Shamblers?” she asks. She rubs her eyes and yawns. “How many? Where?”
“The dead,” Jackson says, voice calm, “are everywhere. Always. Don’t ever forget that.” There’s a tone to his voice that I don’t recognize, and his eyes are strange, intense. I wonder if he had gotten hold a bottle of spirits to make the night go easier.
But it’s Lily who sees it first. I follow her gaze to Jackson’s left arm.
To the dark trail on the light brown skin of his wrist, dripping onto the ground next to him.
“What happened to you?” she asks. Her voice is slow and careful, carrying with it a lifetime of fear, loss, and worry. The worry we all feel, looking at him now. My heart pounds in my head, rattling my brain as I hold my breath, wanting for it to be something other than the inevitable.
Wanting for him to lie to me.
“You’ll have to go without me,” he says, voice flat. “It’s okay, it’s okay. . . .” He’s unsteady on his feet, his movements erratic, and I instinctively push Lily behind me, into Katherine’s arms.
“No,” Lily begins, trying to fight against Katherine’s embrace, swinging her rifle wildly. I holster my sickles and catch the firearm on its next pass, jerking it out of Lily’s hands so that Katherine can wrap her arms around the girl, keep her away from Jackson.
“Let her go,” he says, voice thick.
“Jackson—” I start, but he shakes his head.
“Let us say good-bye. You and I both know I ain’t got long, and the last thing I want is the two of you fighting about this moment after I’m gone.” He moves his gaze to Lily. “You can’t do anything, Lily-bird. So settle.”
Lily walks toward Jackson, her steps slow and deliberate; Jackson falls to his knees, and Lily nearly bowls him over. She’s crying and he’s clutching her tightly, murmuring soft things that are for her alone. I feel a pang of jealousy. Jackson was never so soft with me, and now he never will be. If I hadn’t already lost him, I’m losing him now.
What a spiteful girl I am. Even in his last moments I’m thinking about myself.
Lily steps backward when Jackson releases her, walking over to Katherine, who opens her arms once more. Lily throws herself into her chest and begins to sob, turning to hide her face in Katherine’s bosom. Katherine looks down at the girl in her arms, her expression goes from shock to misery, and she wraps her arms around Lily, murmuring soft words.
“They came up out of the grass. I ain’t even see them,” he says. “They were just kind of crouched down. Almost like they were waiting for me.” He looks over my shoulder to Lily and lowers his voice. “Get her out of here. I don’t want her to see.”
“You’re—” The words catch in my throat; I have to force them out. “You’re not going to change for a little while yet.”
“I ain’t talking about changing. I’m talking about you finishing this.”
I open my mouth to object, and Jackson grabs my wrist, his hand sticky with his lifeblood.
“Please,” he says, voice husky with all the things that have passed between us, years of fighting and kissing and all those messy emotions in between.
I understand why he’s asking me and not Katherine. Especially right now as she comforts Lily. It’s everything he said to me earlier. And I hate him for it. I should yell at him, I should fight him, because it ain’t fair. It just ain’t. Not more than a handful of hours have passed since he broke my heart, and now to do this, to have to deal his mortal blow. That ain’t something I should have to do.
But this world ain’t ever just. And I can’t tell him no.
I never could.
“Kate, you and Lily go wait with the wagon,” I say. “Jackson and I are going to take a stroll.” My voice is even and an unnatural calm descends over me. Tears threaten, and I take a deep breath and push it down. All of it. My shame over murdering the sheriff, my heartbreak over Jackson’s revelation, my fear over the fate of my mother and Aunt Aggie, and this: my rage at this no-good world taking every damn thing I care about. I will feel nothing, and once all those emotions are locked away tight I can do anything.