Too soon the shakes are on me, and I drop my remaining sickle. My body is wracked with chills, and it’s hard to think about any one thing. I can feel my mind slipping away, turning to something else.
Something hungry.
I have a memory of Jackson, the way he lunged at me, and I imagine shambler-me doing the same thing to Ida, or Sue, or Katherine, stealing away their life, their freedom, everything they’ve fought so hard to keep.
I have to make sure I can’t do that.
The sheriff’s office ain’t too far from where I am, and I stumble toward it, pushing the dead out of the way. They ain’t interested in me at all, and I wonder if I smell like spoiled meat to them. I’m already half shambler, and they know it, even if my heart doesn’t.
I manage to let myself into the office and stumble into my old cell. The room is dark and empty. I shut the bars behind me, but anything more than that is beyond my abilities. The shambler bite steals my strength and my sense. I fall to the floor, hot and cold and disconnected, not unlike the time Jackson and I got drunk on rum in the woods behind Miss Preston’s, stupid and vulnerable, without the sense the good Lord gave a house cat.
Thinking of Jackson brings the tears, and I begin to cry. I lie on the floor of the cell and sob in mourning of my own life, all the things I’ll never get to do, all the places I’ll never get to see. Not that there’s any place in particular I want to be; but lying on a dirty wooden floor, arm bleeding and slowly dying, ain’t it.
I roll onto my back, look at the ceiling. I manage to cross my arms over my chest and I hug myself as tears leak down into my ears.
Alone and heartbroken, I die.
And that is the end of Jane McKeene.
But his flesh upon him shall have pain, and his soul within him shall mourn.
—Job 14:22
—KATHERINE—
Chapter 22
Notes on a Heartbreak
Jane disappears into the mass of restless dead overrunning the town, and I dash my tears and whirl toward the northern gate.
There will be time to mourn later.
Sue and Ida slash through the undead in tandem, the two of them a lethal combination. They move like they have fought together for years, and a sharp stab of grief nearly doubles me over. How am I supposed to navigate this mess without Jane? And how have I come to rely on her so completely in such a short span of time?
The dead press in on all sides, and for a moment I fear we will be buried, until Sue pushes clear of the wall and we are on the other side, out of Nicodemus. After clambering carefully over the dead electric and barbed wire fences, there is nothing but plain before us.
“Let’s move!” Ida yells, and everyone takes off, running as hard and fast as they are able. I holster my swords and follow, staying close to Lily, who has started crying quietly, the dead no doubt a reminder of the terrible end at their last visit. Running like this is not sustainable, especially in a too tight corset, but at this moment it is our best bet. We have to put distance between us and the horde, and while it is not very Christian of me, I very selfishly hope that they find enough to occupy them in Nicodemus that we have ample time to escape.
I hope they find Gideon Carr and chew his face off.
We have gone about a half mile across ground uneven with holes and rocks before we find the road. We all come to a disorganized stop, some folks bending over and retching from the exertion, others just panting heavily. My vision swims with black spots, and for a moment I fear I will faint.
But then Sue is behind me, unbuttoning my dress and loosening my stays, all the while muttering at me, “You and this corset are a recipe for disaster.”
I take a deep breath, and Sue laces me back up, looser this time.
“Thank you,” I gasp.
“Sit. Breathe,” Sue says.
I take a few moments, and while my breathing is nowhere near regular, it is better than it was. I have been away from Miss Preston’s long enough that I fear I am no longer in top form, and I make a note to spend some time each morning running through my drills. Maybe I can talk Jane into sparring with me—
The thought dies a sudden death, and fresh tears prick my eyes. No, not Jane. Not anymore.
I shake my head, and the tears fall unchecked once more. “Oh, Sue! I should have kept her safe. I should have—”
I let myself fall into my grief, and as I sob Sue wraps me into a hug with her strong arms.
“Jane wouldn’t want us to cry,” she says, even though her own voice is froggy with emotion. “She’d want us to keep going. She’d tell us some half-true story about Rose Hill Plantation and then berate us for wasting time.” She puts her hand on her hip and cocks her head in a familiar way. “Y’all better stop being maudlin and get moving ’fore that pack of shamblers catch up and make you supper.”
I laugh and pull back, swiping at my cheeks. “That is an excellent Jane.”
Sue shrugs, wiping away her own tears. “I’ve had some practice.”
When I am feeling a mite bit better, we go to find the rest of what I have come to think of as our New Negro Council. Ida and Lucas have been watching us, and Ida starts speaking as soon as we walk up.
“I’m sorry about Jane, but Sue is right. And we need to figure out just what to do about that.” Ida points to the road.
Heading toward us is something large enough to kick up a whole mess of dust. It is moving too fast to be a horde. A quick look around shows that there is nowhere to hide from the thing bearing down on us, so I square my shoulders and adjust my bonnet. “Please see that everyone gets off the road, and tell them not to say a word. I will handle this.”
Ida and Lucas nod, waving everyone back with quick instructions. Sue gives me a bit of side-eye, her face scrunched up in a puzzled expression. “What are you about, Miss Priss?”
“I have spent the past few months pretending to be someone I am not, and I have a feeling those skills might come in handy once again. Oh, and if anyone asks, you are my Attendant.”
Sue’s eyes go wide, and then she nods. “I don’t much like where this is going, but it’s a Jane-quality plan.”
This time, the mention of her name fills me with pride. I cock an eyebrow at her. “Where do you think I got it from?”
The contraption speeding down the road gets nearer, and louder. Soon, we can see that it’s a pony, larger than any I’ve ever seen before, with a shambler catcher on the front and great billows of black smoke filtering out of the chimney as it speeds along the road. It nearly draws even with us before it comes to a halt, the hiss of steam shattering the relative peace of the landscape.
A man leans out of the driver’s compartment, waving happily. His skin is deeply tanned, and I cannot quite tell whether he is a white man or some other pedigree entirely. The cars he hauls behind him are empty, as if he is on his way to make a pickup. But where on earth could he be going?
His smile is genuine as he takes in the motley crew standing on either side of the road. “Hello there, fellow travelers. Might you be able to tell me what territory this is?” His English is slightly accented, but I cannot tell what his original language might be. It sounds as though it could be French, but what could an Acadian be doing this far west?
I give him a polite smile and nod. “This is Kansas, but if you are heading west, I fear you might want to rethink your plans. My household and I have just fled the settlement of Summerland due to it being overrun by an undead horde, and have been imperiled ever since.” The insinuation is clear, and he nods at the group standing around, mouths shut and eyes hooded with distrust. As much as I hate pretending to own other human beings, all of us are smart enough to know that danger comes from many directions, and the dead are but one. Slavers still work these uncivilized lands and sometimes the appearance of a certain kind of order is enough to keep people from resorting to their baser instincts.