Oh Jane, I was a fool. So, very, very naive. I’m afraid it’s all gone wrong, and the only person I have to blame is myself. I knew one day my secret would be out—Auntie Aggie told me as much—but I never thought it would ruin everything we’d built.
I dash across the street, dodging the folks gathering in the road. The drovers are bunched up in front of the sheriff’s office shouting and waving guns. From snippets of conversation I gather that they want the sheriff to open the door, tell them what’s happening. They still can’t see that it’s time to cut bait and hotfoot it out of town.
“Move,” I yell, pushing through the drovers, throwing my sharp elbow into soft bits when a few of the men refuse to budge. A particularly large man looms before me, an impassable wall, so I change my trajectory, moving parallel to the boardwalk until I find an opening. All the while a little voice in my head is urging me to hurry to the sheriff’s office. How long does it take for a man to strangle a woman? My brain runs through a million violent tableaus, and still I haven’t made it to Katherine’s side.
“That’s it,” I mutter. I grab the man in front of me, boosting myself up onto his shoulders. He’s barely had time to react before I’ve hopped to the next man, using the drovers as stepping-stones. I lose my balance before the sheriff’s door, tumbling against it. It bangs open and I half fall into the office.
“Now, Jane, that’s what I call an entrance,” the sheriff drawls. “We were just coming to find you.” He gestures with his pistol, the business end pointed right at me, and I crawl the rest of the way in, the door closing behind me. I try to climb to my feet, but before I can, a boot lodges itself in my side, digging into the soft spot just below my ribs. I instinctively curl into a ball.
“Boys. Boys! There will be plenty of time for that later. Get her on her feet.”
“Elias, this is highly unnecessary. Kill them and be done with it.” The pastor’s voice is ice water on my soul, and the wave of fear I’ve been fighting to hold back threatens to drown me.
“Not now, Pop. Let me deal with this in my own way.”
I’m hauled up by hands on my upper arms, my breath still a bit ragged from getting kicked.
“Kate, you okay?” I ask. I can barely see her in the gloom of the office. The window was boarded up sometime between last night and today, and the furniture is all pushed around, almost like the sheriff is planning on hunkering down in his office rather than facing the nightmare that’s about to greet the town.
“Oh, I’m fine, Jane. But I do believe the good sheriff has lost his mind.” Her voice is just as matter of fact as ever, and my relief bubbles up in ill-advised laughter, which I swallow back down.
“Well, good to know.” I shift my weight, and address the sheriff. “You do realize there’s a horde on the way.”
“Gideon may have mentioned it.”
I keep my voice even. “There’s no way a place like Summerland will survive a pack of that magnitude. Your big pretty wall didn’t save your sorry hide, what do you think a few boards on the window will do?”
“The Lord will see us through this trial the same way he saw the Israelites through the desert. I’ve sent the patrols out to put down the approaching pack, after which those men out there will repair the wall, and things will be as they were.”
“The Lord helps those who help themselves, Sheriff. We need to hightail it out of here. Get that father of yours to pray for us along the way. Otherwise none of us are going to see the sunset.”
There’s a long pause and then a wheezing sound, like someone is choking on a hard candy.
“What the hell is that?”
“Language, Jane,” Katherine says. “And I do believe that sound is the sheriff laughing.”
“I am indeed having a good chuckle. I figure that the only way this is actually happening is if someone is having a go at me. Because there is no way that some random darkie girl is telling me how to run my town.” The sheriff grabs Katherine, Bob and Bill taking that as a cue to raise their guns as well. I can feel the weight of their regard, but I stand my ground.
From his chair, the pastor sighs. “It’s about time.”
Outside, the clamor grows as people begin to pound the door. The number of folks in the streets must be increasing as word of the approaching horde begins to make its way through the town. At this rate we’ll have mass hysteria before too long, and when that happens we’re all goners.
“Sheriff, the horde on its way is of remarkable size. We need to leave, not try to save this godforsaken place. Why can’t you see that?”
“Summerland is a city on the hill,” the pastor says, raising his hands in supplication, as though he’s appealing to a higher power.
I ignore the man and direct my words to the sheriff. “This town was built by Mayor Carr and his politician cronies. You willing to give your life for some rich man’s delusions?”
“Delusions? Summerland ain’t no delusion. This place is the foundation of a new America, one that embraces the promise of greatness our founding fathers once made. Don’t you see? Darkies, they got their place, and it ain’t brushing elbows with respectable folk!” He yells this last bit at Katherine. Spittle flies from the sheriff’s lips as he speaks, and as she fights to maintain her sense of calm she still flinches away from the sheriff’s crazed words.
Even in the low light, I can see an unholy gleam in the sheriff’s eyes. Plenty of folks share his attitude, but something fundamental has snapped in him. I wonder what pushed him over the edge, what made a man so coldly reasonable sink into what very much looks like madness.
Maybe he truly did fall in love with Katherine. And maybe the knowledge that she was playing him broke his heart as well as his mind.
My heart pounds, and mentally I’m counting the seconds as they tick past. How much closer is the approaching horde? Have they breached the wall? Have they reached the interior fence? I turn to Bill, who sweats, his shotgun shaking visibly. “You look like a man who wants to live. Please tell the sheriff that ain’t no amount of proselytizing is going to keep that undead horde from overrunning us.”
Bill points the rifle at me. “What’s that mean?” He turns to Bob, who is just as agitated as the sheriff. “What does that even mean?”
“To proselytize means to preach a certain way of thinking, in this case the cause of the Survivalists,” I answer, mentally calculating distance and time. Each moment talking with these fools means we’re a moment closer to death. “Even Daniel Boone couldn’t have survived a horde of shamblers, there ain’t no way we’re going to.”
While I’m talking, I edge closer to Bill. He’s distracted, terrified at the thought of a horde descending on the town, and even Bob looks a mite bit unsure. If I work quickly, I could grab Bob’s rifle and take him out of the equation.
I catch Katherine’s eye, and something about the jut of her chin makes me think that she’s thinking the same thing I am, that maybe she’s also planning a bit of heroics. It’s dark, though, and only a small bit of light filters through the window, so I could be wrong. I raise an eyebrow in Bob’s direction and she twitches her head.
Anyone else, and I would question this reckless act. But this is Katherine. She’s a Miss Preston’s girl, and I trust her with my life.
I grab the barrel of Bob’s gun, spinning around and using my momentum to wrest it from his grip. He falls forward, unbalanced, and I put him in front of me as a shield just as Bill pulls the trigger. Bob falls and I quickly level the shotgun at Bill. This close, the buckshot rips through his chest, sending him to the ground, his rifle clattering to the floor. Two down, one to go.
I rack the shotgun and turn it on the sheriff, who now points his revolver at Katherine’s temple. Her defiant look changes to one of naked fear, and I swear to myself. I’d thought she was planning her own maneuver, but since she still has a gun pointed at her head, maybe not.
“Looks like we got ourselves a bit of a Confederate standoff,” I say, ignoring the voice inside that urges me to hurry.
The sheriff gives me an evil smile. “If you don’t want me to paint the wall with her brains, you’ll put the shotgun down right now.”
“Just shoot the pickaninny!” the pastor yells, lurching to his feet. Spittle flies from his mouth, and the distraction is just what I need to end this whole mess.
Katherine must think so as well. She goes limp in the sheriff’s arms, dragging him off-balance. Sheriff Snyder stumbles forward so I pull the trigger.
As does the sheriff.
The sheriff flies back, but I am frozen in time and space. All of the ruckus outside disappears, and there is only a rushing sound in my ears. I am certain that my recklessness has just killed Katherine.
But then she quickly scrambles to her feet, scooping up Bill’s fallen rifle as she crosses the room to stand next to me. A heavy relief nearly weighs me down; the sheriff’s shot went wide.
Katherine turns around and looks behind her. Blood spatters the side of her dress. “You shot the sheriff.”
“That I did.”
“You tore apart his throat,” she says, voice flat, and I think she might actually be in a bit of a battle haze.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better I was aiming for his face,” I say. I’m still reeling from thinking I’d murdered Katherine and the overwhelming joy I now feel. The last time I felt this way was when Jackson came traipsing through the door. “Miss Folsom was right. An inch really does make a heap of a difference.”
“She was talking about long range with a rifle, Jane.”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
Katherine stares at me, and I give her a small smile. “You just killed a man, and you’re smiling?” she says.
“Well, he wasn’t a very good person. I’m glad he’s dead.”
Katherine looks back at the sheriff’s dead body, lifting one of her fair hands to her cheek, which is dotted with bits of the dead man. “I worry about your immortal soul, Jane.”
I flash her a toothsome grin. “Ain’t you got enough real world problems to keep you busy?”
She starts to laugh, the sound quickly turning into a broken sob. I wrap her up in my arms and squeeze her tight.
“Hey. Hey! It’s okay. You’re okay, and we’re okay. Well, at least until that pack of shamblers gets here.”
Her arms wrap around my middle, returning the embrace. “I know, I just, for a minute, I thought he was going to kill me. I’m not ready to die, Jane.”
“Well, then, I reckon we should get out of here.”
“Negress Jezebel,” comes a wheezing voice from the side of the office. We turn. In my joy at seeing Katherine unharmed I’d completely forgotten about the pastor. He lies on the ground, a hole in his shoulder and blood soaking his jacket. I have my answer as to where the sheriff’s wild shot got to.
“Harlot,” the preacher says, bloody foam flecking his lips. He struggles into a sitting position.
Katherine takes a step forward but I put her to the side, handing her the shotgun I hold. “Why don’t you go see what else the armory has in your size? We still got a whole bunch of dead to face.”
“What about him?” she says, her voice uncertain.
“Oh, I’ll take care of him.”
“But . . .” She drifts off, pushing her lips into a thin line.
I bend down to pick up the sheriff’s revolver. It’s a nice piece, and the heft and weight of it feels just right in my hand. The sheriff’s hat, with its wide brim, is a few feet away and mostly free of blood. I pick it up and put it on, adjusting it so that it sits at a jaunty angle.
Katherine scowls at me. “Jane.”
“What? He’s dead, he ain’t going to need it anymore. Besides, this is a quality bit of haberdashery.” Katherine says nothing, and finally makes her way to the armory. “See if they got a belt to hold my sickles,” I call. Her response is silence.
The preacher’s breath is coming in pants and whistles now, and his front is pretty well soaked through with blood. He won’t last much longer. I grab a chair and swing it over near where he reclines on the floor. His breaths come faster as I sit down, and I give him a wide smile.
“Now, now, no need to panic, I ain’t going to kill you. I reckon that leak in your chest is going to do that.” I cross my legs and lean back in the chair, the revolver heavy in my lap. “Since you’re a man of God, I’m going to tell you a story, confess some sins.”
The pastor doesn’t respond, so I continue.
“You recall the Years of Discord? I was only a child, but I remember them. The constant fear of someone turning, the packs of dead prowling the countryside, the news that another person had died, only to return and eat half the household. It was unbearable. I still picture the fear on my momma’s face whenever we got word another person went missing. But we endured. We came to be self-sufficient, we built strong fences. And we learned to work together to survive.
“But my momma’s husband? Well, he was a man like you. Enamored of the past. Stubborn. He returned home after things had settled, as the Years of Discord came to an end, as something like that order you speak of was restored. And he brought with him all the fear and turmoil of that time.
“He had the idea that he was still the master of the plantation, that the old ways should hold sway. He beat anyone who stepped out of line. He sent children out on patrols. People died needlessly, and he counted it the price of progress. He had it in his head to build something like your Summerland right there on Rose Hill, and damned if anyone was going to stand in his way.
“So one night, after he had gotten a bit drunk and more than a bit violent, I snuck down to my momma’s study and stole her gun. And the next morning, while he was still abed, I shot him twice in the head, the way my momma had taught me to put down a shambler.”
The pastor’s eyes go wide with terror and I shrug. “See, the problem in this world ain’t sinners, or even the dead. It is men who will step on anyone who stands in the way of their pursuit of power. Luckily there will always be people like me to stop them.”
I stand and resettle the sheriff’s hat, now my hat. “That horde will be coming through town soon enough, and if you ain’t already dead by then, the shamblers will surely oblige. As for me, I’ve got quite enough stains on my soul, so I hope you meet your end quickly.
“Either way, when you get to hell, give the man who fathered me, Major McKeene, my regards.”
I head into the armory. Katherine stands there, open-mouthed. I don’t know how much she heard, but it seems to have been enough. I can’t meet her gaze.
“My momma is passing light, just like you,” I say, because she deserves to know. “She was a slave. When her mistress died on the road to meet her fiancé, my momma pretended to be her, and that’s how she came to be the mistress of Rose Hill. It near drove her mad, all the lying and subterfuge, but she did it to save her family. To save everyone. When I was born, it was only a matter of time before her secret was compromised. She should’ve killed me, and one time she tried, but I survived.”
“Jane,” Katherine begins, but I hold up my hand.
“I know what I asked of you, and I’m eternally grateful. You helped to save my life,” I say. “Now, we might not survive what comes next, and I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you.”
Katherine grabs me up into a hug, her tears hot against my face. I pat her awkwardly.
“Not now, we got a horde bearing down on us. I reckon we’ve dawdled long enough.”
She gives a hollow laugh and releases me, then steps forward and grabs a pair of Mollies, twin swords as long as a woman’s forearm and wickedly sharp on either side. Of course, Katherine would naturally grab the flashiest weapons available.
Our moment of confession is over, and now there is only work. Katherine catches me watching her as she straps the swords across her back. “These are quality blades, Jane.”
“How can you even tell? I can barely even see anything in here.”
She crosses her arms and taps her foot. “That is not something I want to hear after you just shot a man who had been standing right behind me.”
“I suppose you’re right. Now, let’s see if we can’t generate a few more miracles between the two of us and save some of these miserable people.”
Katherine nods, and we head to the door. I pause on the threshold, my hand on the knob. “Kate?”
“Yes?”
“Take off that damned corset. We’re going out to face down a horde, not to a ball.”
“It’s isn’t a full corset; it’s a half corset. It’s the newest style. Besides Jane, the day I cannot take down a few shamblers wearing something fashionable is the day I turn in my rifle.”
I grin at her and say nothing, just tip my hat in acknowledgment.
I’m almost out the door when I look down and pause. A few inches from the toe of my boot is my penny, looking just the way it did the day Bill took it from me. I lean and pick it up. It’s clean of blood, and the leather thong looks new. In my hand it’s warm, and a sense of rightness heats me from the inside out as I drape it over my head.
“What’s that?” Katherine asks.
“Just a bit of luck.”
She purses her lips. “Good. We’re going to need it.”