Curious—Jackson didn’t know how to read. Did he begin his marriage by lying to the girl? It makes me ache for him and hate him at the same time.
I tuck the letter in with everything else and make my way back to the homestead as quickly as possible.
Everyone is in the yard when I arrive, the wagon laden and set to go, and the short run has given me time to compose myself. I’m numb, the loss too fresh to hurt properly just yet, and there’s still our own necks to consider.
“There’s a whole mess of dead about a mile away. Maybe two. We have to move.” I force myself deep, deep down into the place in my mind where everything is quiet and cold and my heart ain’t breaking. Luckily it ain’t as hard as a body would think.
How does one go on when they’ve lost their heart? By being heartless.
I hand the pistol to Nessie, and she eyes it hesitantly. “I don’t know how to use this,” she says.
“You want the knife instead? We’re about to move fast and hard to Nicodemus. Everyone needs a weapon, and no more than two people plus Thomas on the wagon at a time. We cannot let that line of dead catch up to us, or we’re all shamblers.” My voice is hard, but I don’t have any softness for Nessie, nor anyone else. And not a lick of pity, besides. “If any of you fall behind, I will leave you.”
“Jane—” Katherine begins, but I shake my head at her.
“We don’t have time for kindness, Kate,” I say, and she says nothing, just nods.
Nessie takes the pistol. “Keep it pointed at the ground until you’re ready to use it,” I tell her.
My words are blades aimed at everyone around me. I’m taking my fear out on them, and it ain’t fair, but I can’t quite help it. I refuse to lose anyone else today.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Nessie says, her voice soft. The words create a fresh lump in my throat, and I say nothing, just tuck the knife in my belt before I move on over to Lily. She watches me with a sullen expression, tears leaking down her light brown cheeks.
“Here. This is yours,” I say, handing her the hat and the pocket watch. I keep the letter—of course I do. I ain’t proud of it, but I want to see what love looked like to Jackson, to see what he’d say to this girl that he never said to me. Even with him gone, I’m still jealous and petty, but it’s the only connection to him that I have.
Even if he ain’t anything that was even remotely mine.
“I hate you,” Lily says, her eyes locked on one of my sickles.
I glance down and realize that, in my haste and anguish, I missed cleaning a spot, Jackson’s blood drying near the hilt.
“I know,” I say.
And with that, we run for Nicodemus.
Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath.
—Ephesians 4:26
—KATHERINE—
Chapter 6
Notes on a Horde
Jane sets a grueling pace away from the homestead, her usual scowl back in place, barely bothering to check the underbrush that lines the road away from the house for shamblers. At first I think to engage her, to caution against recklessness. With the loss of Jackson fresh on everyone’s mind it is too easy to panic, to run like frightened livestock. But once we have crested a slight rise and I look back toward where we spent the evening, I understand Jane’s urgency. A mass of dead lurches toward us, a mile or so behind. It is impossible to tell how fast they are moving, but even if they are strolling all we need is for the wind to shift, for them to catch the scent of us. At top speed, they will close that distance quickly.
And out here in the open, with nothing for defense apart from the few weapons between us? Well, our odds are not good.
Sallie, at the reins of the lightened wagon, and with Thomas seated behind her, sets out with the horse at a trot. Jane and I can keep that pace beside them—our stamina comes from years of training at Miss Preston’s. But Lily, Nessie, and the Madam do not have that experience.
We have only gone a mile or so before everyone is winded and their steps falter.
“Jane, they need to get into the wagon,” I say, voice low.
“The horse will wear out,” she says. “If that happens, we’re all done for. They’re just going to have to keep up.”
“What do you know about horses, Jane McKeene? How many have you raised and cared for?”
She says nothing, only presses her lips together, a muscle working in her jaw.
Just as I thought. I am trying to be gentle with Jane because of what she has been through; over the past few days, she has experienced a lifetime of pain and danger. But my patience is nearing its end. “We must put distance between ourselves and that horde,” I say. “The farther away we are, the less we risk them detecting our scent. What we need now is speed.”
This time, she ignores me, and that is when my temper flares.
“Sallie, please stop the wagon,” I call.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jane demands, but the wagon is already stopping.
“Lily, Nessie, Madam, please climb into the wagon.” I look to Jane, but she has fallen silent. “Sallie, keep the horse to a quick walk, make sure not to strain him.”
“Oh, he’s a big boy. It’ll take a lot to do that,” Sallie says, smiling as an exhausted Nessie climbs up next to her. “But, Jane, let me know if you think we need to change the speed.”
Jane is not the only one who is scared, and Sallie’s words make me realize that these people will do whatever Jane tells them to. They see her as a fighter, someone who knows what it takes to endure in these end times. No matter the command, they will follow rather than argue.
I doubt Jane realizes that.
Once everyone is settled, Sallie flicks the reins again. I strip off my swords as I run, putting them in the back of the wagon. “Jane, put your weapons up.”
She looks at me, eyes wide. “What?”
“Disarm yourself and walk with me.”
“There’s an army of dead on our heels and who knows how many around us, and you want me to put up my sickles?”
“Yes. Disarm or be disarmed.” The challenge in my voice is clear.
Jane’s scowl deepens, and she drops her sickles and pistol in the wagon.
“Sallie, have the horse trot for a little while,” I say.
She raises a hand in acknowledgment, and the wagon picks up the pace, pulling away from Jane and me.
I put my hands on my waist and wiggle. The corset is not very flexible, but it allows enough movement for what I have planned.
“Kate, I don’t know what’s got into you, but—”
She does not get to finish the sentence, because I slap her full on the cheek. Not as hard as I could, but enough to get her attention.
“What the—”
I hit her again, this time the other cheek. Her brown skin is ruddy, and I take up a defensive stance.
“This ain’t the time for such nonsense,” she yells.
“This is the time. You are frustrated and out of sorts, and your grief is a fresh brand that has not begun to heal. I know what you have been through, and the Lord knows you are entitled to deal with your emotions as you see fit. I personally would find solace in the Scripture, but there is no Bible about. You need to work through what is going on in your heart and, well, I figure this is as good a way as any.” I put up my fists.