I will not tell you that I am not worried about you. That would be an outright lie. These are dark times we live in, and it is only by keeping our wits about ourselves that we can truly survive.
Word of Katherine not feeling well gets around quicker than a brush fire in August. A few minutes after I speak with Mr. Gideon, a few roughnecks come by with a basket of blackberries that they found out along the creek, like some fruit is going to cure whatever ails her. I smile and thank them before closing the door, firmly refusing them entry. They’re followed by another group of men, this time with a handful of wild onions and another with a rabbit, cleaned and ready to be cooked. By the time all of the shifts have returned, Katherine and I have the makings of a rather fine meal, and even though it’s far too hot to stoke a fire in the hearth, I do it anyway, roasting the rabbit along with the onions over patties that thankfully smell more like grass than anything else.
Once the entire mess is ready, Katherine and I eat it greedily, the past week of good eating not quite able to make up for the weeks of starvation. Around mouthfuls of rabbit and blackberries she confesses that even the rations for the white folks have become smaller and smaller since so many families have arrived in the past couple of weeks. It makes me feel a little soft toward the drovers for bringing Katherine their food. Most likely they were counting on it to round out their own dinner, and it says something that they were willing to give it up for Katherine.
She is less impressed.
“Those men are just another part of the problem, and willing enablers. Where do you think Mr. Gideon gets shamblers for that machine you told me about? There’s danger right below our feet, and they’re the ones keeping the cycle going. Not everyone is a prisoner here, Jane. Some of them deeply want Summerland to succeed, no matter what the cost.”
Katherine has removed her hairpins so that the mass of her honeyed curls hang down her back. She looks younger with her hair down, the shadows around her eyes more pronounced. Now that I know what it costs her emotionally to go along with my ruse I’m even more anxious to put our plan into action. It’s only been a few weeks since Katherine went from being just another colored girl at Miss Preston’s to a white lady, and the change in her is obvious as we eat. She is careful in her movements, and the sound of footfalls past our door causes her to look up with a fearful expression. The guilt that rises up in me is near to crippling.
I miss the old Katherine, the one I knew back in Baltimore, even as that girl was sorely vexing. I don’t like this quiet girl with the haunted eyes, and I’m starting to think that maybe I didn’t do her a favor after all. But I can’t change the past; I can only push headlong into an uncertain future.
“Kate,” I say after we’ve eaten our fill as a sudden thought occurs to me. “I came poking around on this side of town the night before I took that whipping. I recognized a couple of the families that just arrived. They were at Mayor Carr’s dinner.”
Katherine purses her lips and leans back on the settee. “Oh, I met them. You don’t have to worry about them, Jane. The funny thing about rich folks is they never remember the hired help. I assure you, my secret is safe.”
When a knock sounds at the door, loud and forceful, Katherine turns apologetic eyes to me. “Jane, I’m sorry, but would you get that?”
“Of course. Why don’t you go ahead and retire for the evening while I make your apologies. It’s near curfew, anyway.” The fire in the grate has burned low, and the air coming in through the open window in the front room bears a chill, the land getting cool as the sun sets.
Katherine gives me a grateful look and I get up and trudge once more to the door. It’s too late for respectable callers, but there ain’t a whole lot of respectable folks in Summerland. So it’s with some surprise that I pull the door open to find the last man I ever want to see. Every muscle in my body tenses.
“Sheriff.”
“Jane. Where’s Miss Deveraux?”
“She’s retired for the evening, sir.” It kills me a little to have to give the sheriff even the barest semblance of respect when all I want to do is test the edge of my sickles against his neck.
“I need to speak with her.”
“It will have to wait until the morning.”
“It can’t wait,” he snaps. He attempts to glance past me into the depths of the rooms and I move to block his view.
“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” I ask, all icy politeness. There’s something a little off about the sheriff; I don’t think he’s been drinking, but his insistence has an undercurrent that puts me on alert. There’s no way I’m going to let him into our rooms.
“Sheriff Snyder, is there something amiss?” Katherine appears in the doorway to the sleeping chamber, clutching her wrap tightly. I scowl at her. I had the situation under control. She ignores me.
The man removes his hat and bows. “Miss Deveraux, I apologize for the intrusion, but I need to borrow your girl.” I bristle at being referred to as an object, but say nothing.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s been a breach on the eastern edge that is more serious than I initially suspected. I need everyone who can handle a weapon with me to take down a pack of shamblers heading toward town.”
“How many?” I ask, forgetting my place.
“About thirty, maybe forty. They’ve already ripped through half my patrol. They’re about two miles away, heading straight toward us.” The sheriff shivers in a way I’ve not seen from him since I arrived.
Katherine and I exchange a glance, and I give her a slight nod. She turns to the sheriff. “Please, take Jane. She’ll be able to help you.”
The man plops his hat back on his head. “Much obliged, Miss Deveraux.” To me he says, “You got one minute to prepare yourself.” He stomps off without another word, off to rustle up whoever else he needs to help.
I hurry back into the rooms, pushing past Katherine and grabbing the cavalry sword and my sickles. I’m about half a dozen weapons short of what I’d like to have to take on a horde, but it’ll have to do.
Katherine runs to the wardrobe. “Jane, help me get into this thing.” She pulls out a modest dress of calico, similar to mine but the full length that real ladies wear.
“No.”
Katherine freezes and turns to me. “You can’t—”
“No, you ain’t going,” I say. “You’re a lady, Katherine. This is too dangerous for you.” I move closer to her and whisper, “Someone has to be here for Lily, especially if Jackson sees this breach as an opportunity to come looking for her. The girl’s right next door. Please.”
“Okay, Jane. I’ll look out for Lily.”
“There’s something powerful frightening about this, Kate. I’ve seen the wall. There’s no way a shambler can get over it. If it’s been breached . . .” I trail off, the idea of all those shamblers on the prairie making their way into Summerland stunning me into silence.
There’s yelling out in the street as the sheriff continues to round up folks, and I turn toward the door. “Make sure you bar this, and don’t let anyone in. Certain death can make a man act in unusual ways, forgetting right and wrong.”
Katherine nods. “Jane, be safe.”
I grin. “Ain’t no shambler going to put me down, Kate. You should know that by now.”
She glares at me and closes the door as I leave. I pause on the porch until I hear the bar slide into place, then I jog out to join the knot of men gathering in the street. A few of the girls from the day patrol are there as well, including Ida. Her eyes go wide when she sees me.
“I thought you was dead.”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“How’d you end up over here in the fancy part of town?”
I just wink at her. Let her come up with a good rumor by herself.
“Do you know how the wall was breached?” I ask Ida.
She shakes her head. “No. It seems strange. It ain’t like shamblers can destroy the wall, they can’t even figure out how to get over it.”
None of the Negroes milling around have weapons, which is hardly a surprise, but if what the sheriff says is true, everyone needs to be armed. I’m about to open my mouth to say so when I remember how my concerns were addressed last time.
Mr. Gideon rides up on a fine horse, the beast dancing sideways in agitation. I move over to him, even though the last place I want to be is anywhere near the monster he rides. “Mr. Gideon.”
His expression softens as he looks down at me. “Miss McKeene.”
“How exactly did that grand wall come to be compromised?” I ask him.
The corners of his mouth turn down. “That is a question I would also like answered,” he says, his tone grim. It troubles me that the smartest man in town doesn’t have the answer to what should be a simple question. But I have more pressing issues to fret about.
“I can’t help but notice that none of the Negroes are armed,” I murmur. “It would be a terrible tactical error to go into battle against the dead without the proper weapons.”
The tinkerer quickly assesses the situation before nodding. “I’ll have a word with the sheriff.” He rides off, and Ida walks up as he leaves.
“What did you say to him?”
“That we need proper weapons.”
“That would be a nice change.” She eyes my sword enviously, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of a girl that is maybe more than she seems. But then she sees me watching her, and the glint disappears, her usual dull expression taking its place.
“Ida.”
“Hmm?”
“Would you like my sword?”
She startles. “You serious?”
“Yes.”
“But what would you use?”
“My sickles.”
“Those are weapons?” she says, looking askance at the blades tucked in the ties at my waist.
“Yes, they are. Besides, you don’t honestly think all those drovers are going to last long out there, do you? I’ll grab one of their guns when they fall.” It’s a bluff, but I got a feeling about Ida, and if I’m right then I want her feeling indebted to me in a way that assures that she won’t be likely to betray me.
I hold out the sword and she takes it reverently. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’ll get you a whetstone and oil for it if you make it through this.”
Her expression goes hard, fierce and determined. “Oh, I will.”
I smile. “Good to know.” Momma used to say there were lots of ways to survive. Don’t be afraid to pretend to be something you aren’t, Jane. Sometimes a little subterfuge and chicanery is in order and the quickest way to achieve one’s goal. It ain’t hard to imagine Ida pretending to be just another dumb colored girl in order to make it out here. Survival by any means necessary.
The sheriff rides up on his big horse. He exchanges a few words with Mr. Gideon, who gives me a nod as he rides back to the rear of the group.
“My boys are opening up the armory next to the generator shack for everyone to equip themselves. Even the colored folks,” he says, giving me a pointed look. To one of his boys the sheriff says, “No guns for the darkies. The last thing we want is one of them shooting us in the back.”
The man runs off and the sheriff turns back to the group. “You colored folks can avail yourselves of the bladed weapons. I see you even touch a rifle I’m going to have you put down.”
It’s nice to know that even Summerland’s impending doom doesn’t make the sheriff change his mind about giving Negroes a fighting chance. Still, something is better than nothing.
“The dead are about a mile or so to the east. The majority of them haven’t crossed the inner fence yet, and the patrols have been mopping up the stragglers all evening. We’ve lit the line so there’s some visibility. We’re going to ride out there and see if we can’t finish off the rest of the pack. The plan is to let them come to you. You cross that interior fence, you’re on your own. Is everyone clear?”
There are silent nods of assent, and then everyone breaks off and files into the nearby armory. The drovers are allowed in first, and they come out holding rifles that look as near to new as anything I’ve ever seen.
Finally it’s our turn, and I’m one of the first into the armory; the sight of it is enough to make me swear and cry happy tears all at the same time. Row upon row of bright, edged weapons are held in proper holders, their blades gleaming even in the low lamplight. A collective gasp goes up from the Negroes around me as they take in all of the fine implements before us. For the first time they are seeing just what the sheriff has done to us, day in and day out, sending us out to die on the front line with nothing but garden tools for defense when real weapons were waiting all the while behind lock and key. We could’ve cleaned out the plains with this arsenal.
“I’d like to kill that man,” mutters the stocky boy next to me, his skin dark as pitch.
“Get in line,” I say. He gives me a small smile, and stands next to me as the crowd clears out. I’m angry, and I want a moment to compose myself before I go back outside.
The boy watches me, his gaze weighty. “What’re you looking for?”
“Nothing. I got my sickles.”
“Difficult weapon to wield.”
“Only if you don’t know how.”
“True, that.” He walks to the far shelf where the heavy weapons are kept and picks up the porcupine, a weighted wooden club with fierce metal spikes embedded in the rounded end. It doesn’t require a lot of skill to wield but does require a good bit of arm strength. “Maybe you should try one of these.”
“Porcupine ain’t for me. I got chicken arms.”
He laughs, the sound low. “Well, try not to get turned, Chicken Arms.”
“You, too. And be patient, that lawman will get his just desserts.”
His lips twist, filled with malice. “I ain’t yet seen the man who can do that.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. You been waiting for a man.”
He hefts the porcupine, propping it on his shoulder, expression thoughtful. “All right, then. My name’s Lucas. You need any help with anything, you let me know.”
He leaves without waiting for my answer. I grab a small throwing knife, slipping it into my boot before I exit. I pass Bill on my way. I give him my best smile and he stops.
“What’re you grinning about?”
“I want my penny back, Bill.”
He chuckles mirthlessly. “You ain’t getting it. Besides, you got bigger things to fret about. I’d bet you won’t last till morning.”
“I will. And when I do, I’m going to march right back here and take what’s mine. You got my promise on that.”
Bill gives me a hard look. “Keep walking, you crazy-ass coon.”
I don’t let the slur move me, because I feel more confident than I have in a long while. Instead, I just level a flat look at Bill.
“You have no idea.”