Author's Note-before-the-note: I tried uploading this last Monday, but I had some trouble with . It's working today. Just in case you noticed this chapter up on another site before it was here.
Author's Note: I know it's been a while since my last post. Don't worry, I haven't given up on this story. I've been on vacation, but should be a while till my next one.
This chapter is a longer one, and gives you an idea of where this story is going.
I hope you enjoy.
Maedlyn's in that drifty place between sleep and waking when she hears the door to her apartment open. Maedlyn sits up in her bed, her room mostly dark but for the streetlight coming in through the window.
They used a key, so it's only one person it could be. "Ellie?" she calls, a little raspy.
She sees Ellie's form walk across the apartment, coming to stand by the head of the bed, looking down on Maedlyn. The window's behind her, and Maedlyn can't make out her face at all.
"Ellie, what's going on?"
Ellie reaches up. Her hand hesitates, just a moment, then brushes against Maedlyn's forehead, tucking back her hair. "I'm just admiring," she half-mumbles.
Is she drunk? "Admire from over here, then," Maedlyn says, running her arm over the empty side of the bed. "It's cold."
Ellie doesn't seem to mind. She just stands there, long enough that it's starting to get eerie.
"Ellie, what's the matter?" Maedlyn asks, getting worried.
She still can't see Ellie's face, but she sees her shake her head. She doesn't say anything else, not for a long while.
Maedlyn, at a loss, falls back onto her pillow, staring up at Ellie with a knit brow. "Ellie, this isn't like–"
"I just want you to know," starts Ellie. She sniffs. "I just want to be sure you know that no matter what happens, I will protect you."
Maedlyn stares.
"Do you know that?" Ellie asks her.
"Of course I do," Maedlyn breathes, "you only told me enough times. Ellie, what is this about?"
"Nothing," says Ellie, too casually. "I just need you to know. I worry about you. But I wouldn't let anything happen to you. I'd keep you safe."
Ellie has given Maedlyn a hundred different assurances over their time together. Not once does Maedlyn recall Ellie confessing that she worries. "Ellie, you silly girl, I know that." She can't keep the worry out of her voice.
"Good," says Ellie. Then she leans down and from her cool shadow Maedlyn feels her warm lips, and it's a damned good kiss.
With no fanfare, Ellie undresses, and climbs into the bed with Maedlyn, her warm, hard body feeling just right against Maedlyn's own. Maedlyn tucks her arms to her chest and her head into Ellie's neck, and Ellie wraps her arms around her. Maedlyn breathes in deep, taking in Ellie's scent. Today she smells like sun, horse, and gun oil.
Ellie is easy. Seems like she's already falling asleep.
Maedlyn feels good, too. She's in her favorite place. The only thing that's out of place is the newfound pang of worry in her chest.
Jonah looks down at his hands, his body swaying on Telly's back. He wraps and unwraps the reins from his hand, trying to remember how Ellie showed him. This grip for control, that grip for long riding, never just let 'em hang.
Telly and Barthas's hooves clop down an old, cracked road in Kelly, a stringy little almost-town a few miles outside of Jackson. They're on Eagle's Toss route today. His first time.
"Ears up?" Ellie asks him.
He looks up. She'll throw him little tests periodically, making sure he doesn't get too relaxed. "Yeah."
"What do you hear?"
Shit. He thinks. "The river."
Ellie bobs her head like that should be obvious.
"No animals," he says, a pang of fear in his chest. Ellie told him that's one of the first things to look for when infected are nearby.
"You sure?"
He turns, and listens again. The house and buildings of Kelly are generously spaced apart, separated by the yellowing grass field dotted with mounds of snow. Near the river, bushes and some sizable trees grow where they will, obscuring sightlines significantly. Old human habitation–ruins really–tend to attract wandering infected.
He can hear birdsong. It's distant, almost out of the range of hearing, but it's there. "Birds," he says.
Ellie nods, turning back away from him.
He's patrolled with Ellie enough times now he's lost count. And she's been the best lead he's worked with, no comparison. Ellie is known around town, but she's actually pretty reserved, as far as patrol leads go. She doesn't brag like some of the others. She doesn't seek out bigger responsibilities.
Except for that survey. They don't talk about that much. That day was terrible, but the truth is if it hadn't been for Ellie's no-bullshit judgment calls and tactics, they never would have made it out at all.
When they're out here, though, Ellie's deadly serious and a good teacher. She gets tired of his questions, eventually, but she's taught him–and showed him–things that the other leads don't seem to understand. Subtle things, careful things. And when there is any kind of action, she's quick. Ruthless.
One time, they'd been clearing an old house. She walked up on an infected from behind to take it out, and another one she hadn't seen had come around a corner and swung on her. She ducked the swing, stabbed it in the eye, then draw her magnum when the other one turned around and killed it with a single shot from the hip. The quiet had been deafening afterward. Jonah had just stared in awe.
Ellie's face had been cool as death.
She gets like that, when she's on the lookout. He's learned that means he needs to be quiet too, because she only does that when there is an unseen risk present. Risks he is getting better at recognizing himself. New sightlines, coming around a corner. An area with high rocks, offering hiding places. Old buildings, coming into view. Those love to hide infected. A nearby river, making it harder to hear the environment.
Other times, she'll start cracking jokes with him, and there can be no better indication that they are safe. She's warmed up to him, that way. He really likes it. Patrols with Ellie are his favorite.
He reminds himself to stop fiddling with his reins. Kelly has got to be the highest-risk part of this route. Even though there haven't been infected here in weeks. Could attract bandits, too. That's why they're here, after all. Keeping it clear.
"What's that?" Jonah asks, in low tones.
Ellie looks. "Church." Then she looks again, giving the building a second appraisal. "Actually, I think it's a school. Old as hell. Looks like it was built in the 1800s."
Yeah, it did seem strange. The sign had faded to be illegible, though it still hung from its black iron chains. It does look like a church, two sharply slanted roofs rising to a single high peak. But there's no cross and no stained glass windows, either.
"Stop," says Ellie.
Jonah pulls the reins, but Telly stopped automatically. She knows who's in charge.
Ellie's looking around. "What's wrong?" she asks him absently, beating him to the punch.
Jonah frowns. River's at its loudest right here. Hard to hear anything. He looks around. There's nothing to see, it's still as midnight. An eagle drifts high above them, silently. He concentrates for a few seconds. He sucks in a breath. "I think the birds are quiet."
Ellie nods with solemn satisfaction.
"Could be the eagle," says Jonah.
"Could be," says Ellie, not sounding satisfied. She's looking keenly with her eyes, but she doesn't lock onto anything. She sets her jaw, the she gives him a hand sign.
Infected. Dismount.
Wordless, he does, and they tie their horses to a post by the side of the road, behind a big bush. As soon as they start walking away, though, Barthas starts getting antsy, huffing.
Ellie stops and rolls her eyes. She walks back and reties Barthas the way he likes. He doesn't like bowline knots, even though Ellie has been clear with Jonah that that's the best way to do it. They don't talk out loud about it, but Jonah has come to understand Ellie and Barthas have an odd relationship. He's a grumpy horse, doesn't like much of anyone but Ellie, Jonah included. He can be a bit of a brat, too. But he's clever for a horse, and loyal to Ellie.
Jonah is still none the wiser to the presence of infected, but Ellie leads them on across the road and a field to a cluster of houses. Between the houses and the sizeable trees growing there, there's a lot of shade and obscured sightlines. Ellie walks them around the back of a old, beaten red pickup, its tires flat and disintegrated.
Jonah's head is on a swivel, but he still can't see or hear anything. Ellie looks around some more, then leads him on to a small door that looks like it leads into a kitchen. It's a chipped, white-painted door with a window panel. Ellie does not move to open it, but presses her ear against the door. She waits like that patiently for thirty seconds. She shakes her head, and they move around the end of the house.
It's now that Jonah finally hears the shuffling of feet and a faint moan. His heartbeat quickens.
Ellie doesn't slow and they end up behind an old woodpile grown through with dry, yellow grass. On the other side is the courtyard between all the houses, patches of three foot yellow grass growing up from the gravel. Now, in sight, Jonah spies at least three infected.
He shifts on his feet. Looks like runners. The one is the back is twitchy, though, and may be on his way to being a stalker.
Ellie's hardly there. Her eyes are a mountain lion's eyes. Emotionless, she assesses the situation in front of her, formulating. She looks between the two closer runners, totally unaware of them, as well as the half-stalker farther back. She seems to make a decision.
"I go left, you go right. Drop them together. If the third notices, go loud if necessary. Fall back here, then the truck." She gets into position.
Jonah's breathing fast. She's entrusting him with more than she ever has before. In fact, he's never even knifed one of the things before, but he can tell that's what she's talking about. She sneaks quick, but he has a long, long way to go to matching her speed and precision.
But she told him what to do, so he gets into position.
His heart's pounding. He feels like he's missing something. "Ellie," he whispers back, "what if mine turns around?"
He waits for an answer but doesn't get one. He looks over at Ellie.
Her face has changed completely. Her eyes are wide. Slowly, her brow knits together. She looks uncertain, all of the sudden. Almost scared. Almost haunted. She shakes her head and the vulnerable look is gone. She beckons him over.
"I forgot who I was patrolling with. You don't move. Watch me, watch how I do it. Another five or ten times, then I'll have you do it. You don't do anything unless I go loud, alright? You'll know when. Pistol ready."
His 9mm is already in his hand, and honestly he's greatly relieved at her words.
With that, she turns around and gets to work.
She creeps up on the first one. It starts to move, but she doesn't even slow. As he trudges a few feet to her right, she circles around until she's behind him. With scarcely a sound, she snaps up, grabs it around the forehead, and opens its throat in a smooth motion. It gurgles and blood spurts out over its chest and onto the gravel and grass in front of it. It can't be heard over the river.
The half-stalker in the distance turns slowly toward them. Ellie lays down the runner she just killed, loping a little farther. She's still in the open, but the tree in the center of the courtyard obscures her from the half-stalker. The other runner is staring at the wall of the house opposite them.
Ellie dips down, retrieves a pebble and flicks it with her thumb. It makes a light sound against the wall of the house behind the half-stalker, which turns sharply toward it, staring.
Wasting no time, Ellie moves over to the other runner, and gives it the same treatment as the first.
Jonah's heart is pounding, just waiting for the half-stalker to turn back around while Ellie is restraining the other. As soon as he does, he'll shriek, and any other infected in the area will come running all at once. He knows, cause that's what Ellie taught him.
The last spurts of blood coming out of the second runner's neck, Ellie lays him down gently, inaudible over the river. She stands up and looks at the half-stalker. She seems to consider.
She cleans her knife and returns it to her belt in a practiced motion, draws her 9mm and shoots the last one in the back of the head. It drops like a sack of rocks.
There's a yelp. Then a moment later, to his horror, Jonah hears charging footsteps on the gravel. A fourth runner comes charging into the courtyard, makes Ellie quickly and sprints at her.
Jonah jumps up, aiming his weapon. The runner is moving fast, hard to hit. But he has to shoot, because it might be all that keeps it from Ellie. He peels off four shots, all of them missing. The runner doesn't even slow.
With deadly focus, Ellie's eyes train on the runner, she aims, and she fires another shot. It hits the runner in the eye and it collapses sprawled onto the gravel with a raking sound.
After that, the only sound is the river.
Jonah lets out a couple breaths. That must be the last of them. Nonetheless, he keeps his ears open, waiting for any other sounds to follow, but it's quiet.
Ellie holsters her weapon and walks back over to him, not bothering to be quiet on the gravel. "It's clear," she says.
Two bullets, four runners. He's never seen anyone else do it like that.
"Shit," he says, trying not to shake.
"You did good," says Ellie. "Need to work on your aim, though."
He cracked a window and split some of the paneling on the side of the house. It was lousy shooting. He forgot to breathe out and focus like Ellie said. He was pulling the trigger too fast.
She hits him on the shoulder, a little smirk on her face. "Don't worry, Jonah. You did what I said. I wouldn't have gone out there if I didn't think I could handle myself."
"Damn, Ellie, you're like a phantom with that knife."
"A phantom?" she asks with amusement.
"You're so quiet. Don't waste no time at all."
"Can't waste time," she says. "Stealth is your best weapon."
Jonah nods. She's said that to him many times. It's gonna be a while till he feels confident doing that himself, though. Ellie makes it look natural as anything. He was scared to death a minute ago, though.
"Let's get back to the horses," Ellie says.
They untie and continue on their way. They pass through the rest of Kelly with no issues. They move up the rim of the valley, stopping a half hour later at an enclosed area by the trees for a mid-patrol snack. They'll be heading back toward Jackson after this.
Jonah tears into a roll, saving his apple for afterward. Ellie's munching on some jerky. He eyes it, but doesn't ask for any.
It was a pretty successful patrol, looking back on it, but Ellie seems dissatisfied. She's got a distracted look. She catches him looking at her, and he looks down at his food.
"I'm sorry," says Ellie suddenly.
He looks back at her. "What?"
There's a soft look in her eyes, like she feels for him. She also looks like she feels bad. "I'm sorry I asked you to do that earlier. I should have known better."
"I wanted to do it," Jonah says honestly, urgently. "I don't want to be useless. I just wasn't–"
"You're not useless," says Ellie. It sounds compassionate, but her eyes are hard. "Don't ever say that. Just because you're not good at cutting throats does not make you useless."
He doesn't know what to say.
"Plenty of time for you to learn. I shouldn't have asked you. That's all."
"Earlier you said you forgot who you were patrolling with." She looks at him sharply. "What did you mean?"
Her eyebrow twitches, and she looks regretful. "I… I've spent time out there with others. With more experience, who would have known what I was talking about. Doesn't matter, it was my mistake. Won't happen again."
"You mean like Clint?"
Now Ellie looks at him, and Jonah gets the distinct feeling he should shut the fuck up.
"Why'd you bring him up?" she asks.
He shifts uncomfortably. He's not going to get away without an answer though. "I don't know, I… I know you traveled with him, year back or so. People talk about it. That's all. I shouldn't have said–"
"You knew Clint?" she asks.
He works his lips. "A little. He was only here for a little while after we got here. Before I started patrolling. I'd see him around though, and riding out. He always looked real serious. Kinda buff, too. Figured he was good at it."
"He was," says Ellie, "and not because he was buff," she says, half-laughing. "And yes, we did travel together. And yes, I did give him directions like that. He was good, good as you can be out there, and he still died."
A pit forms in Jonah's stomach.
"Cause that's what it's like out there," says Ellie, eyeing the horizon. "And don't you forget it."
"I won't, Ellie," he says quickly. "And I'm sorry I brought up Clint."
"Don't matter, it's fine," says Ellie, but it's only now her eyes are going back to normal. "'Long as you're respectful."
Jonah finishes his roll sheepishly. He felt like he put his foot in his mouth, but the next time he looks at Ellie she's staring a hundred miles away again. Not at anything. Just staring. She's been like that off and on all day. It's not like her. That and what happened in Kelly earlier. She's not quite herself.
But he's not gonna be the one to pry about it. He takes a bite of his apple, and looks at the sun. Just past noon. He might get back in time for basketball.
Just got back from patrol with Jonah a little while ago. I need to shower, and get to Maedlyn's. Or maybe I should stop by Dina's, it's been a while, I don't know.
I can't believe I did that shit, confused Jonah for Clint. And he somehow knew, too, like a cosmic joke. That shit made me feel sick. Not cause of Clint, it's okay that he's gone on. It's because… Jonah is under my protection and he needs me out there. Those runners were barely worth mentioning for me, but any one of them could have killed Jonah because he's not sharp like that, not yet. It will take time for him to be able to do half the things I can, but time is exactly what I plan on giving him. Slow, and safe.
But time is becoming a problem for me, isn't it?
I'm scratching my head like I'm on something, I'm all jitters and shit lately. Other people have to be able to see it. I'm going crazy. I'm going to tea and getting Maedlyn presents and teaching Lev guitar not because I want to but because I know that's what normal Ellie would do. Like I'm some kind of fucking sociopath.
I'm fucking scared. I've been scared, and it's getting a lot worse. It seemed okay, for a long time. It kind of seemed like the dream. Nothing in town changed. No one was in danger. Lyle and Wyatt come every two to four weeks, depending. We talk. You know. I get to know them. I still don't know what my end game is but it was something. I got to have my cake and eat it, too.
Then Abby found drugs on Waylin and my sense of control has been sliding out from underneath me like a foundation built on sand.
I'm going backward. I'm edgy all the time. I started to get this feeling walking down Toland Street the other day and someone came up on me and I was ready to reach for my knife. It was James. He was trying to get me to join his fucking soccer team again.
I'm thinking like I used to, when it felt like everything was dangerous. After Maedlyn saw my dad's letter and almost read his name I took that whole box over to May's and stashed it with Clint's stuff. I can't risk Maedlyn or anyone finding it. My journal now lives in my wall. I spent two hours one night carefully removing one of my wall panels and rigging it so only I would know how to get it on and off, so I could hide these secrets better.
Something's coming and I haven't felt like this since Seattle. A cold feeling. Dread, I think. The only thing I've ever had to counter that feeling was anger, and it doesn't work here. I can't fight my way out of this.
There are no enemies this time. Just me.
Lyle and Wyatt are still at the farmhouse, or nearby. The goods have to change over since they were picked up last night, and that takes a little while depending on what Wyatt and Lyle bring. Also depends when I can get a window to get out of town without notice. I expect to see them again tomorrow night, before they're off again.
Begging did not work with Lyle last time, and I don't think it will work this time either. I don't even know if I have it in me to do it again. It… really hurt, last time. The way he smiled, when he was letting me down, like he'd done it so many times before. There has to be another way.
Not once have I got Lyle to admit there might be terms, that I could convince him to stay, or at least to not leave forever. But I have asked, and when I asked, I got… something from him. Some hesitation. There's something there. A secret. I will find out what it is.
I have to, now.
Ellie steps into the warmth of the farmhouse living room, pulling the door shut on the cold behind her. The iron stove is burning hot, and looks like it has been for some time.
Neither of the room's occupants look up. Lyle's whittling away at a piece of wood, rocking in the old recliner. Wyatt is reclined on the couch, dirty boots on the armrest, throwing knives into the solid wood doorframe to the kitchen. Ellie's eye twitches as she remembers chasing JJ through that doorway on countless occasions while Dina prepared dinner.
"This is a nice house, you know," she says, setting her bag down by the door and pulling off her coat. "Or it was."
Wyatt looks up, his permanent smile hanging lazily on his lips. "You say so?" He lines up his next throw. "Where's the goods?"
"Wrapped and strapped, as always," says Ellie with annoyance. She'd left the two-wheel horse cart outside in the inner field.
"And?"
Ellie pulls the handwritten bills out of her back pocket, passing them to Wyatt's waiting hand. He looks them over. "About right," he says. "We'll inspect them shortly."
Neither one of them seem in a hurry to get up, what with the warm house and all. You know. Civilization. But she knows from experience they won't tarry long now that they have what they want.
"You can be on your way," suggests Wyatt as Ellie sits down in the other chair.
"Soon enough," she says. She looks over at Lyle. He seems especially reticent today, not even looking up as Wyatt does the talking. Doesn't seem to be in a great mood. Ellie's chest twists. She really needs this to go well. Maybe she can soften him up. "You know, Wyatt, you keep grinding your boots all over that couch, maybe I'll throw it in for free one of these times."
"Ain't yours to fucking give," he says, not looking up. "Don't want this shit anyway." He sinks another knife into the doorframe with a thud.
"Really? Cause we can't seem to peel you off it when you're here."
He gives her a muted look of annoyance.
She twists her lip, trying to think of a way to make them laugh.
"You bring any bacon?" Wyatt asks her, interested suddenly.
She shakes her head. She should have, at least would have been a good way to keep them around a little longer. "I got some jerky I could spare."
"Jerky. Shit," says Wyatt, throwing his last knife. It bounces off the frame and clatters into the kitchen. He stares at it in dissatisfaction for a moment. "Better than nothing, I guess." He heaves himself up off the couch.
Ellie's about to say something, but Wyatt walks across the living room, reaches into her back, and finds the paper bundle of jerky. He pulls it out, planting a piece between his teeth, then walks over and offers it to Lyle. Lyle looks at it for a second, then takes one and bites off a piece, chewing and looking back down at his wood.
Wyatt's about to sit back down on the couch.
"Hey," says Ellie in a tone that garners attention. She holds out her hand.
With a brief hesitation, he walks back and offers her some of her own jerky.
"What is this shit?" Wyatt asks rudely. He's talking about the marinade on the jerky. He stares at a piece in his hand like maybe it's gone bad.
"Olmwood says it's soy sauce."
"That shit ain't soy sauce," says Lyle, chewing and staring across the room. He tosses the half-formed piece of wood on the coffee table and reclines in his chair, folding in his knife blade with one hand.
"You've had it?" Ellie asks.
Lyle looks at her like she's an odd creature. "I'm fifty three, Ellie. Soy sauce was pretty common. Back in the day."
Ellie nods. Not cause of what he said, but because she's got him talking. "Olmwood's got some craft. He makes cheddar, too, and it tastes… off, but people around town buy it like crazy anyway, cause it's the only cheese around."
"People always been fiends for cheese," says Lyle. He rests his eyes, leaning his head back on the chair and rocking. "I'd eat funky cheddar too, shit."
"That shit is just curdled milk," says Wyatt, chomping his way through the jerky. "Plugs you up, too."
"When you eat a half pound of it, yeah," says Lyle. Ellie gets the distinct feeling he's referring to something from the past, cause Wyatt looks chagrined.
"I'll bring some next time," says Ellie.
After that it's quiet for a while. From the outside looking in, it's not so bad. An easy evening, sky getting dark outside. Cold day, but it's warm in here. Just a normal family, enjoying some quiet time together in the living room.
But Ellie's mind is racing. She has something she needs to say. Something important. The stakes are high. Cause Ellie's in danger, and she knows all too well about that, but what's worse, not thinking about it too hard, what's worse is that this is in danger right here. And if somehow, somehow Ellie can't find the perfect little key to fit into that hole, she's going to lose this and maybe a lot more besides.
She sucks in a breath. "Lyle, I want to talk."
He doesn't open his eyes, or stop rocking. Wyatt, amazingly, holds his peace. "So talk," says Lyle.
"About our arrangement."
Now he cracks on eye open, looking at her. He closes it again. "What about it?"
"It's worked out quite well," Ellie starts, not feeling confident, "that's not the issue–"
"Why don't you say what's bothering you, Ellie?" Wyatt's eyes are on her sharp. He senses weakness. He chews on his jerky with relish.
Ellie sucks in a couple more breaths. She does not want to talk about the drugs, Abby, the investigation. That's not why she's here. But she ought too, because these two have intimated on more than one occasion that they suspected such a thing was inevitable. Which is why, in brief, they won't go anywhere fucking near Jackson proper anymore.
But that's ancillary to what she wants to talk about, and–
"Why don't you say," says Wyatt predatorily, with the beginnings of a sneer, "what you came here to say, Ellie?"
"Enough," says Lyle, in his quiet-making tone. His eyes are open, on Wyatt.
Wyatt shoots him a look of defiance. Lyle's eyes dare him to challenge him.
That's what it is. The sour tone in the room. They've been fighting again. About this trade. About Ellie.
"They found drugs in Jackson," says Ellie. The other two look at her. "And they're starting an investigation."
Wyatt snorts. "Investigation," he mutters with contempt.
"Well," says Lyle with more prudence. "They got anything on you, or don't they?"
Ellie shakes her head. "Maria spoke to me about it herself, because I'm trusted," despite great will, her voice hitched saying that, just slightly. "No one in town even knows about my… my route. Only me."
"And you're so sure of that," asks Lyle.
"I would know if anyone else had been in the tunnel."
"So it is a tunnel," says Wyatt. "Classic."
"And how long do you think you can keep this game up, Ellie?" asks Lyle. He's looking at her with intent. Is it because he cares?
"I won't break, but…" She hates adding the 'but.' "But governance is strong in Jackson, and I suspect they will make Russel or Luxley eventually."
"And they'll make you."
Ellie's cheek tightens. She had wanted to do it even more careful, never revealing her identity, just making dead drops. But it hadn't been possible. Neither Russel or Luxley would do it until she met with them. They'd been stunned, to see her walk into the arranged meeting place. They almost called the whole thing off right there, knowing how close she was to Maria. They thought she was trying to trick them, get 'em hanged. She'd had to tell them everything to get them to agree to work with her.
"Eventually," she says with reluctance.
Lyle's lip curls in the way it does when he expected something, but he doesn't like it. Otherwise his expression is his standard, sour expression. "Well that ain't too good, Ellie. Is it?"
Ellie's heart is sinking. She's pragmatic, just like them. And she knows what that means. This trade, this deal, is going South. She knew this couldn't last forever, but it was supposed to last longer than this. "Regardless, it'll never be traced back to you."
"Bullshit," says Wyatt with some vehemence, sitting up.
"It won't," she raises her own voice. "Cause the only way they could ever find you is by me telling them where you are." She doesn't say the rest of it, cause she doesn't need to.
Lyle draws a long breath, letting it out as he leans back into his chair. His body is still tense, but he's not hot, not like Wyatt.
"You know what I'm going to ask," says Ellie.
"Oh, why bother, Ellie?" says Wyatt.
It hurts her more that Lyle doesn't chastise him. She can't let Wyatt get in the way, painful or no. This is how it has to be. She meets Lyle's eyes.
Then it hits her. Her lips start to curl into a smile. "I'm ready for my question."
Lyle gives her a scrutinizing look.
"The one you have to answer," continues Ellie.
"You already asked that," he says, but there's some hesitation, "at the Bison."
Ellie shakes her head. "That wasn't my question."
He sees where she's going and his eyes narrow. "Bullshit, it wasn't."
"Did I ever say it was?" She's smirking now. "Maybe I chose my words more carefully."
He snorts softly. "Why don't you try, and we'll just see what happens."
She bites back a comment about him reneging on the deal. This is it. She starts talking.
"Lyle, I need you to tell me what it would take for you to stay around, even from time to time, other than this trade." It's happening again, that feeling in her chest, the feeling of exposure. She hates it, but she presses on. "Once every couple months, shit, once a year, it doesn't matter. Just tell me."
Lyle gives her a long, dead look. A look for someone with no use for hope. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Wyatt smirk, and for a second she hates him with all her heart, but she says nothing.
She has no way to compel Lyle, she knows that, he knows that. She's so fucking desperate, she's having thoughts about how to make him talk. Physically. But that will never work either.
Her fingers twine with each other, twisting and pulling. She works her lips, eyes drifting away. Which is when she sees Joel's guitar leaning up against the wall.
She stands up. "What is that doing down here?" she asks, pointing.
Wyatt frowns, looking over at it. He's got a toothpick in his mouth, now, and he rolls it across his lips. "What do you care?"
Things are happening in Ellie's chest and she doesn't need his shit right now. "What are you doing with that?"
At this point it's obvious she cares, and Wyatt seems to find that amusing. He arches his brows, stands up, and walks over, retrieving the guitar. Ellie lets him with some willpower.
He sits back down on the couch, laying it on his legs in the correct fashion. He places his hand clumsily on the neck. He strums it a few times, and within seconds it's clear he doesn't really know what he's doing. The strings are intact, but it's out of tune.
He plays some discordant sounds, and starts humming a song that doesn't really sound like what he's playing at all.
When she looks at the neck, she doesn't see Wyatt's hand. She see's Joel's weathered knuckles, wrapping tenderly over the strings, making something beautiful emerge from a piece of wood and wire.
She gets up and strides over to him, reaching for it.
Wyatt pulls back, as if alarmed.
"Give it," she says.
"It ain't yours, Ellie," says Wyatt, taunting her. "Why didn't you tell us this was up there? Maintained instruments got value to some folks."
Ellie's eyes harden. "Give it."
"Wyatt," says Lyle finally.
Wyatt gives him a sore look, not ready for his little game to be over. He relinquishes the guitar to Ellie.
She walks back over to the armchair, sitting at the edge of the seat so she can lay it across her legs. She lays it down flat, as she's learned to do.
She strums the strings. All of them are more or less out of tune. She begins turning the knobs at the top, finding the sound.
"What she doing?" asks Wyatt. She doesn't look up. "That's not how you hold a guitar."
"Quiet, I said," says Lyle. She can feel him watching her.
Satisfied with her tuning, she lays her mutilated left hand on top of the neck. Her fingers are quivering, just slightly. She brushes them over the moth insignia, smudging a layer of dust. She blows it off. She twists her fingers and finds the G chord in the new way she's learned. She strums, and the notes fill the room, brushing away all sound but the muted cracking of the stove.
The rest just comes out of her.
Her fingers run over the strings, her thumb plucking in time with I'm on Fire by Bruce Springsteen. A song she only ever played for Dina. And now these two.
She parts her lips and the words come out from deep inside her.
Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone
Her fingers have forgotten nothing.
I got a bad desire
Her eyelids droop, and she gets that feeling.
Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire
She doesn't look up from her playing. She feels like she does when what's inside her is matching what's outside her.
She never liked the second verse. The new words come to her in a flash.
Hey, honey bee, way you sing your song
Got me tossin' and turnin' all night long
You seed my desire
Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire
There are no drums, no metronome, but she can feel her heartbeat in her chest, and she keeps time. This is the part she loves most.
Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby
edgy and dull
and cut a six-inch valley
through the middle of my soul
She nods as the music feels her right back. She closes her eyes, plucking the notes through the bridge.
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
and a freight train running through the
middle of my head
She looks at Lyle once, only for a moment. She sees something there she's never seen before. She looks down again.
Only you
can cool my desire
Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire
Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire
The trailing notes play off her fingers, the muscles of her hands moving automatically. She strikes the final chord, then lays her hand flat across the strings. It's quiet as midnight. Outside, the day is dying. The logs in the fire are all but gone now, just chunks and embers.
It's Lyle that breaks the silence. "You don't know what that song's about." His features are twisted. At first glance, you'd think he was sneering too, but it's not that. It's more of a grimace. He says it like he means it, but his eyes disagree. They're looking for reassurance.
"Maybe not," says Ellie her voice heavier than usual, "but I always liked it."
For his part, Wyatt is almost thoughtful, looking at her, and for once he holds his tongue.
She doesn't have anything else to offer. She doesn't think it will be enough. She feels like she did that day, in the trees. There's nothing else for it.
She looks up and finally meets Lyle in the eyes. In her heart, she says, if you won't stay for anything else, then stay for me.
Lyle doesn't look away. His lips are parted, skeptical, witnessing.
"Wyatt," he says, "step outside."
Wyatt stands up, but not to leave.
Lyle looks at him.
"Daddy, don't you entertain this foolishness."
"I said step outside," says Lyle. He doesn't talk like this with Wyatt too often, Ellie has found. "Do not make me repeat myself."
For a moment, rage passes over Wyatt's features. He looks at Ellie with hate in his eyes. He walks over to the doorframe, rips out one of his knives, sprinkling splinters onto the floor, then marches out the front door, slamming it behind him.
Lyle draws a long, thin breath, rattling it out of his lips. "You got a habit of knocking on doors that oughta stay closed, Ellie."
"I got a habit of knowing what's valuable and actually going for it," says Ellie. It sounds harsher than she meant it to.
He doesn't rankle. His head is tilted down, an eyebrow half-cocked, looking up at her under his brows. "I know what you want, Ellie. You made that clear enough."
Ellie nods.
"You ain't likely to get it."
"But?" Ellie asks.
"And, I'm gonna need something from you first," says Lyle, "before I give you the answer you don't really want."
After what she's already offered, Ellie's not sure what she wouldn't sacrifice. She splays her hands, as in 'say it.'
Lyle reaches down to his own pack, beside the recliner. He retrieves a pad of paper, and a knife-whittled pencil, thick, probably for drawing, not writing. He offers them to Ellie. "Show me your route," he says.
Ellie's features slacken. He's asking her for the most important pieces of leverage she has. The thing that has actually worked to keep them coming back so far. Her backdoor to Jackson. "Why?" she asks, scratchy.
"To show me you're serious," says Lyle, and his eyes carry no hint of a lie.
Ellie gets up and grabs the tools from him. She sits on the couch, laying it on the coffee table. She notes vaguely that Wyatt would actually be quite pleased with this development. She draws out, as accurately as she can, a rough outline of Jackson. She puts a compass. She puts landmarks around the city. She traces Cache Creek, and the point where there is an entrance to an old tunnel. She identifies the Hauser property. She even makes notes about where the tunnel is and how to get in and out. She looks it over, then hands it back to Lyle with slack features, furrowed brow.
He looks it over, face twitching as he thinks. He squints to read some of the notes. He nods. He hands it back to her. "The drop."
She takes it back and indicates the drop she'd arranged with Russel and Luxley, at the old, ruined house on Damson Street, East side of town. She writes out some more notes about drop procedure. She hands it back to him.
He looks it over again. Finally he nods slowly, rips out the page, blows off the graphite dust, and tucks it into the back of the pad, to protect it. He puts it back in his bag.
He looks up at Ellie, and for a long few moments he doesn't say anything. His face is wrinkled from age. He's got laugh lines, though he's not much of a laugher. He's got smile lines, though he's not much of a smiler. His skin is weathered from sun and dust. He's got freckles, on his cheekbones, she notices for the first time.
Then Lyle begins to speak.
"I's told you back at the Bison that day that I almost never meet none of my kids out in this God-forsaken country. Shoulda just been more honest. It's you, Ellie. You're the only one, ever, I met like that. Probably only one I will, cause most people just aren't too curious about the ramblers that roll through town, who leave in quiet at best, ignominy at worst.
"But I do got kids. Down in St. Louis, Wyatt's mom kept me snared for almost eight years. But, later than sooner, trouble came, his mom died, and I got left with a choice I hadn't made before. Wyatt was a little cuss, but a tough little cuss. I knew he wanted to come with me, it was a matter if he could. I took him. Still not sure why. He ended up saving my life, later.
"In that time, it was Victor, me, Wyatt and some other boys, all of whom were too hot tempered to make it through the crucible that is the modern world. Out here. On the other side of the wall. We'd lose fellows, pick up fellows. Nothin' too much in the way of attachment. But me and Victor made good way, Wyatt'd never question us, and the other men who saw that fell in. Some of 'em even survived and stuck it out with us to today.
"We did stay… in a couple cities, after St. Louis. Only ever for a few weeks, months. A year at Memphis, gut-rotted as that city was. New Orleans was fine, but sticky. Very territorial, for men in our business. Over time we moved West, and West, and finally we ended up in Texas. Bands of hard men roamed that dirt, and we got taken for what we had more than once. Came out of it without bloodshed, though, and we were adept at stashing by that point.
"We made our way into San Antonio and were surprised to find FEDRA welcoming strangers in. Guess they've had a population problem between disease and their little work program. Needed more grist for the mill. We found work there. FEDRA work, pitiful, awful shit, but kept a roof over our heads. And our own work, which came to be quite lucrative as previous entrepreneurs came to their own misfortune before we arrived.
"So we stayed out there for five years. Now I–" He leans forward, reaching up to adjust his hat, but of course he's not wearing it, just his thinning brown hair tied back in a ponytail. "I did meet someone out there and we had a daughter. Just one. Fool enough to do that."
She's losing him, now. His eyes have gone distant. And they… they're glassy.
He speaks up again with a hitch in his voice. "Little girl we named Adeline. Sweet as sunshine, try as she might to be like her older brother. We spent some years there in balance. Little unit, the four of us. I generally induced Wyatt to be cordial to Augustine and Addie kept growing and things were okay, and okay."
"And then you got into trouble," says Ellie neutrally.
He looks at her. "And then trouble came for us, yes it did, Ellie. As it always does. FEDRA caught a whiff of us and it started to look like we were gonna go the way of our predecessors. Almost did," he stares off at some dreadful memory. "I gathered up Wyatt, was no question that our only fate was to leave, at that point."
He slowly rotates his pocket knife in his hands. It sounded like he would continue speaking, but he doesn't. He stares at the floorboards now.
"Lyle," says Ellie. He looks up at her, wary and defensive, but she's compassionate, and her voice says as much. "What happened after that?"
His eyes soften, and finally Ellie sees the sadness behind them. "After that, Augustine and I had a hard conversation, and Wyatt and I had to leave both of them behind."
A weight settles on Ellie. A little of the weight Lyle has been carrying ever since he left that city. "It's Augustine, then?"
He looks at her sharply.
"That's what you want?"
He shakes his head involuntarily. "She's gone, and I'll speak no more about that."
Ellie frowns. "Then…"
Lyle draws a breath. "As far as I know, Addie's still down there, Ellie. And probably the only thing on this Earth that would stop me and have me settle down, anywhere."
Ellie feels a heavy heartbeat in her chest. "But you can't go back there."
"Not ever."
"So she would have to…" Ellie looks over. Her eye twitches. Her brow wrinkles.
He was right. That's a near thing to impossible.
"I've been to Texas," says Ellie absently.
"What now?"
"A couple years ago. I was traveling the country. Alone. I passed by. There were. Heavily armed men. Convoys. I saw the walls. I saw dying people farming beets. It wasn't pretty."
Lyle stares hard, but he doesn't contest her. "No, it isn't."
"The stars are, though. Down there."
The left of Lyle's lip peels back from his teeth. "Ellie…" he looks down. "I shouldn't… I shouldn't even have told you. Shit, you half made me."
Ellie ignores him. She stands up. "I need you and Wyatt to come back. One more time."
He frowns at her, looking her up and down. "Why?"
"Just one more. If I don't show up, you have my permission to leave and never come back."
"What are you gonna do between now and then?"
"Think." She walks over to the door, grabs her pack and throws it over her shoulder.
Lyle stands up. "Ellie, I don't think you should–"
She closes the door behind her. Wyatt's leaning on a porch post, he looks from the house to her. She walks past him down the steps.
"Rude exit, innit?" Wyatt calls after her. "Not even gonna give me a hug?"
She ignores him too, marching up to Barthas. She starts untying him. She still has time to get back before the gate's closed for the night. Before Maedlyn is asleep, probably.
"I'll miss you, sis'," taunts Wyatt.
She grabs up the reins and pommel, and steps into the stirrup and onto Barthas's back.
There's a song playing in her head, of its own volition.
The stars at night,
Are big and bright,
Deep in the heart of Texas.