“You can get anywhere you want, eventually, and traveling by water should mean we can avoid any run-ins with shamblers,” Ida says. “But it’s going to be a long walk to the Kaw, and we ain’t got nothing in the way of provisions. Even if we could find a way to steal from Nicodemus’s stock, it’s like to be nearly depleted by now, with all the new people from Summerland here.”
I nod. “That is my single greatest worry. Any ideas?”
“There’s a town not far from here, Arleysville,” Callie says. “It fell to shamblers about a year ago. It’s three days’ walk, but there’s supplies there—enough to get a hundred people to the river, easy.”
“But the town fell to the dead?” I say.
“We aim to clean it out, take what we need, and keep moving. We reckon that the horde that hit Summerland had the Arleysville dead in with them, since they like to group up and all,” Ida says.
“This all sounds like something we can do,” Sue says, testing out the gate. It creaks as she leans against it, giving truth to Callie’s declaration.
“It certainly seems like a good idea,” I say. And since I do not have any of my own I do not feel a need to elaborate any further.
“But we still don’t know how we’re getting Jane out of there,” Sue says, with a nod back toward the Nicodemus jail. “If we don’t, she’s dead.”
“Any way you slice it, we need Jane,” Ida says. “I fought with her in Summerland. No one knows shamblers like her.”
“Right,” I say, biting my tongue. I want Jane with us as much as the next woman, but I was first in our class at Miss Preston’s, and I am no slouch when it comes to shambler killing. Same with Sue. But there is no reason to provoke disagreement when I finally have allies, so I go back to the most crucial matter at hand. “Any notions as to how we might win Jane her freedom?”
Lucas clears his throat, and we all turn to him. “I think I might have an idea.”
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong;
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat:
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;
But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
—Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
—JANE—
Chapter 11
In Which I Cool My Heels
Being trapped in Nicodemus’s jail cell has me pensive. I’ve got nothing to do but think, and there’s too much I’d rather not be thinking about as the sun marks time against the far wall: Jackson, Gideon’s enraging proposal, getting my neck stretched, Rose Hill being no more, my momma and Aunt Aggie somewhere out there struggling to survive. Neither Momma nor Aunt Aggie are trained in the fine art of shambler disposal, and although Momma is fair enough of face to find a male protector, that thought just takes me down another path of worry and concern. It’s my experience that most men in the world are ne’er-do-wells, only too happy to compromise a lady the first chance they get, and Momma is too delicate to deal with the rough sort that tend to thrive in this dangerous world.
Great, now I’m thinking about the exact thing I didn’t want to be.
I roll over on the straw-filled mattress with a sigh. Sheriff Redfern sits in his office chair, feet up on the desk, snoring loud enough to summon the dead. If I wanted to skedaddle, now would be the time, but I’m no good at picking locks. Not like Jackson.
And just like that I’m crying.
I start off low and easy, but soon enough I’m biting my arm to keep my sorrow quiet enough that I don’t wake Redfern. I squeeze my eyes shut. I wish I believed in all that nonsense the clergy are always spouting off about heaven and eternal rest, but all I can think about is Jackson on his knees, begging me to end him before he turns.
“You all right?”
I glance up and Redfern is standing next to the bars, his face twisted up with something like worry. The sight is a right fine surprise, and I shake my head, tears falling hot onto my hands.
“I’m not going to let them hang you, Jane,” he says, perhaps mistaking my sobs for fear instead of grief. “Sheriff Snyder got nothing more than what he deserved, and the townsfolk here know that. You will walk out of that cell a free woman. I promise.” His tone is mild, but his words say more about him than he can know.
“I don’t know if that’s a promise you’ll be able to keep, Sheriff, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same.”
He nods and sighs. “Here, I’ll get you some more water.”
I hand him my empty canteen, and he leaves the office. While he’s gone I make use of the bucket; it might be a foul enterprise but I’m going to take my privacy where I can get it. I’ve just finished and am adjusting my skirts when there’s a commotion from outside.
“Jane McKeene!”
I place the bucket back in the corner and stride over to the small, barred window. I’m too short to see out properly, but on my tiptoes I catch a glimpse of Big Sue and someone else, a girl I don’t recognize.
“Big Sue, what’re you about?”
“Aw, it’s just Sue now. And this is Callie.”
A brown face appears in the window for a second before it disappears. “Hello!” the girl calls, and her face reappears as she jumps up to the window again. I get the impression of a slightly upturned nose, freckles, and a messy braid.
“Hey,” I respond, and to Sue I say, “So, what’s the plan?”
“What you need a plan for, Jane? Miss Priss said that white boy was going to get you out.” I can tell from Sue’s tone what her opinion is on that.
Despite my predicament I smile. “That white boy wanted me to play science experiment.”
“What you got against science? You were always going on and on about different discoveries you’d read about in those newspaper articles of yours.”
“Yup, but that was real science, not some fairy story made up by some boy with less sense than facial hair.”
Sue laughs, the sound low. “And Jane McKeene said, ‘Thanks, but no thanks, I’d rather hang.’”
“Hey, I got my honor.”
“Since when?” Sue jokes, and I laugh. It feels good after the day I’ve had.
“Well, either way I’m still here.”
Sue harrumphs. “For now.”
“Sue, gimme a boost,” Callie says. “It’s irksome trying to conversate with a person you cain’t see.” Her face appears in the window and she grins, a chip in one of her front teeth. “Did you really kill Sheriff Snyder?” the girl asks. I’d thought she was younger, but she actually looks like she might be older than me. Despite her carefree demeanor there’s a coldness to her eyes that puts me on my guard.
“I reckon I ought to plead the Fifth on that one since that’s why I’m in here,” I say. “Speaking of which, I need to get out of this place before these white folks decide they need a little show with dinner.” I stick my tongue out and mime being hung.
“Oh, my daddy won’t let them do that, don’t you worry,” she says.