UnSouled

“She’s pretty amazing, but not that amazing,” Connor says. “You want magic, talk to Una. I’m sure the Arápache are more tuned in to magical stuff than the rest of us.”



Una stiffens and frowns at him. “I don’t have to take insults from a runaway Unwind.”



“I was actually being sincere,” Connor admits. “But I’m happy to insult you, if that’s what you want.”



Una holds her glare a moment more before returning her gaze to the ground.



“You said you want to help Risa,” Connor asks the Rewind. “Help her how?”



“That’s between me and her.”



“Wrong,” Connor tells him. “I’m between you and her. You talk to me, or you don’t talk at all.”



The Rewind seethes, breathing through his nose like a dragon about to flare. Then he backs down. “I can help her bring down Proactive Citizenry. I have all the evidence she needs. But I won’t share it with anyone but her.”



The Rewind seems sincere—but Connor knows he’s not the best judge of character. He made a crucial mistake trusting Starkey. Connor won’t make the same mistake again. “You expect me to believe that? Why would you bring down the people who made you?”



“I have my reasons.”



“Are you going to tell him?” Una asks Connor, her patience failing. “Or do you intend to string him along all day?”



“Tell me what?” Cam looks back and forth between them.



Connor thought he’d relish giving him the news, but now it just feels empty. “Sorry to disappoint you, Pork-n-beans . . . but Risa’s not here.”



The despair in the Rewind’s eyes is as soulful as any legitimate human being. Connor wonders if maybe the Blue Fairy paid him a visit after all.



“But . . . but . . . the news said she was traveling with you!”



“Yeah, the news also said I attacked a harvest camp in Nevada. You of all people should know not to trust the media.”



“So, where is she?”



“I don’t know,” Connor tells him, then adds, “But if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”



The Rewind stands in frustration. “You’re lying!” Connor rises just as the Rewind lunges toward him. Connor levels the gun at his chest, and he stops in midlunge.



“Just give me a reason, Pork-n-beans!”



“Stop calling me that!”



“He’s telling the truth,” says Una. “It’s just him, Lev, and some low-cortical girl. Risa Ward wasn’t with them when they showed up.”



It’s more information than Connor wants him to know, but now he seems to accept the truth. He drops to the ground, putting his head in his hands.



“Sisyphus,” he mumbles. Connor doesn’t even try to figure that one out.



“You realize I can’t let you go. I can’t take the chance that you’ll tell the authorities where we are.”



“I’ll tie him up again,” says Una, advancing toward the Rewind. “No one comes out to this old sweat lodge anymore.”



“No,” Connor decides. “We’re not doing that either. We’ll take him back with us to your place.”



“I don’t want him there!”



“Too bad.” Connor looks at both of them, judging their frame of mind as somewhat stable, and he clicks the safety back on the rifle. “Now, we’re going to leave here and walk to Una’s place like three old friends back from an afternoon of hunting. Are we clear?”



Both Cam and Una agree reluctantly.



Then he turns to the Rewind. “Whether you deserve dignity or not, I’m going to give you some.” And although Connor finds this hard, he says, “Should I call you Camus?”



“Cam,” he says.



“All right, Cam. I’m Connor—but you already know that. I’d say ‘pleased to meet you,’ but I don’t like to lie.”



Cam nods his acceptance. “I appreciate your honesty,” he says. “The feeling is mutual.”



• • •



Pivane is there when they get back to the shop. Connor hears his deep voice upstairs talking to Lev as they enter.



“He can’t know about Cam,” Una says. “The Tashi’nes must never know about Wil’s hands. It will destroy them.”



The way it destroyed you? Connor wants to say, but instead he just says, “Understood.”



Una sends Cam down into the basement. He’s too weary and spent to protest.



“I’ll wait here and make sure he stays put,” Una says. “Can I please have my rifle back?” And when Connor hesitates, she says, “Pivane will have a lot of questions if he sees you coming upstairs with that rifle.”



Although the last thing Connor wants to do is put that rifle in her hands, he gives it to her—but only after taking out the shells.



Una takes it, leans it up against the wall, then reaches into her pocket, pulling out several more rifle shells, showing them to Connor in defiance. But rather than loading the weapon, she just puts the shells back into her pocket and sits herself down on a stool near the basement door. “Go upstairs and find out why Pivane’s here.”



Connor resents being given orders, but he recognizes Una’s need to feel in control again—especially in her own domain. He heads upstairs, leaving her to guard Cam.



“Do I want to know why you were out?” Pivane asks as soon as Connor walks in.



“Probably not,” Connor tells him, and leaves it at that. He glances at Lev, who clearly wants to know what happened but is wise enough not to ask in front of Pivane.



Grace is all smiles. “The Hopis got the Juvies’ panties in a wad! Look at this!” She turns up the TV volume. It’s a press conference in which a spokesman for the Hopi tribe “will neither confirm nor deny” rumors that they’re giving sanctuary to the Akron AWOL. The reporters, however, seem to have plenty to go on. A shaky video of someone being moved in shadows into the Hopi council building. Media leaks from an “inside source,” insisting that the Akron AWOL is there. It looks like Chal worked his magic after all.



“Leave it to my brother,” Pivane says. “He could get milk from a stone.”



“My idea!” Grace reminds them. “Send the Juvies on a detour, I said.”



“Yes, you did, Grace,” Connor says, and she gives him a hug for agreeing with her.



“With the authorities distracted,” Pivane says, “now’s the time to get on with your business. Elina’s arranging for an unregistered car to be left at a rest stop just outside the north gate. I’ll drive you there tomorrow. After that, you’re on your own.”



Connor never told anyone on the rez where they were going—and he hoped Lev kept his mouth shut about it as well. Even if they’re among friends, the fewer people who know, the easier it will be to disappear. But there’s an added wrinkle now. What are they going to do about Cam?



42 • Nelson



Currently Nelson’s biggest problem is not the inflamed, peeling burns on the right half of his face. Nor is it the infected bites on his arms and legs from various unidentified desert wildlife. It’s the scrawny supermarket checker who’s been riding shotgun beside him these past few weeks.



“How much farther do you think?” Argent asks. “Are we still a day out? Two days?”



“We’ll be there by morning, if we drive through the night.”



“Is that what we’re doing? Driving through the night?”



“We’ll see.” The sun is behind them now, low in the sky. Argent has offered to drive since they left New Orleans, but Nelson will not surrender the wheel. He’s tired. He’s fighting a fever, but he won’t let on.



After more than a week of searching, New Orleans turned out to be a bust. If Connor Lassiter had business at Mary LaVeau’s, that business was done—and no one there could be persuaded to offer him information as to his whereabouts. Although New Orleans was a hot bed of illicit activity, none of it seemed to involve sheltering AWOLs. They wasted three more days heading north to Baton Rouge and searching there for signs of Lassiter or an Anti-Divisional underground that might be giving him sanctuary.



For more than a week they wandered, chasing hunches that Nelson had all over the deep South, until the damn checker said, “I don’t know why we just don’t go on to New York.”



“Why would we go there?” Nelson had asked.



The checker had looked at him with the stupid blinking brainlessness of a rodent. “I told you the other night.”



“You didn’t tell me anything.”



“Yeah, I did. Of course, you were storkfaced on whatever it was you were drinking. That and those pills of yours.”



“You didn’t tell me anything!”



“Okay, suit yourself,” Argent said, way too smug. “I didn’t tell you anything.”



In the end Nelson had to play into it like a goddamn knock-knock joke. “What did you tell me?”



“It was that news report about the Statue of Liberty. How they’re replacing her arm with an aluminum one on account of the copper one’s too heavy.”



Nelson didn’t have much patience for this. “What about it?”



“So it made me remember that Connor talked about having a date with the lady in green. You really don’t remember?”



Nelson had no memory of being told this, but to admit this to the rodent would give him way too much satisfaction. “Now I remember,” Nelson had said.



It wasn’t exactly the smoking gun Nelson wanted—“the lady in green” could mean a whole lot of things . . . but then again, wasn’t the statue a favorite protest spot for AWOL sympathizers? What was Lassiter planning?



What finally propelled Nelson to head north was the news report that he knew would eventually come. Argent’s picture with his hero, the Akron AWOL. Argent had been wandering out in the open for days. Someone will have recognized him; someone would turn him in.



Nelson knew he ought to cut his losses and take off alone, leaving Argent for the lions, but he found within himself the tiniest shred of pity and maybe even sentimentality. Argent had actually captured two AWOLs for him. A useless gesture, but the thought did count for something—because seeing those two bottom-feeders bound and gagged and practically gift-wrapped for him had brought some cheer to an otherwise miserable day. In time Argent could even be useful as a mole, infiltrating packs of AWOLs for him. So he hadn’t cut Argent loose. Instead he took him with him, following the threadbare lead to New York.



Now, as they cross from West Virginia into Pennsylvania, Nelson’s doubts begin to feel like roadblocks before them, and Argent will not shut his mouth.



“We should stop in Hershey,” Argent suggests. “They say the whole town smells like chocolate. There’s roller coasters there too. You like roller coasters?”



A sign up ahead says, PITTSBURGH 45 MILES. Nelson feels his fever coming back. His joints are aching, and his face stings from his own sweat. He resolves to take the night in Pittsburgh. He’s not up to driving through the night. He doesn’t even have the strength to shut Argent up.