Burn (Pure #3)(25)

The barn has a few high windows. Shafts of light pour in, filling the dusty air with sun. They follow him in, Fignan first. One side of the barn has narrow stalls—twenty or more—all filled with massive boars. Their ribs are as wide as cow ribs. Their backs are arched. Their backbones are almost as big as fists running along a ridge divided by mounds of flesh. They have dark hooves and thick yellowed tusks that curl up from the sides of their large rubbery snouts.

“Connections?” El Capitan says. There’s only one person he could be connected to who’d have information about this airship, right? “You’re in touch with Willux, aren’t you?”

“Well,” Kelly says as he brushes his hands off and then crosses his arms on his chest, “I was, but not anymore.”

“Why’s that?” Bradwell asks. His voice seems rough from disuse.

“Because he’s dead.”

“Dead?” Pressia says.

The wind sweeps in and then hushes. It’s like Willux’s ghost—just a breath of him, here then gone. El Capitan’s mother believed in ghosts. For the moment, he can’t accept that Willux is dead. But then El Capitan has always thought of Willux as death itself. The mothers called all men Deaths, but Willux was the hardened sediment of it. El Capitan knows that it’s the truth. Willux is dead. It feels right—deep down. He’s gone.

It’s quiet as the news settles over them. There’s only the noise of what must be the boars’ grunting and the light hum of Fignan’s engine. El Capitan can feel Helmud holding his breath. El Capitan looks at Pressia and Bradwell, who look like they can’t quite believe it.

Pressia says to Kelly, “How do you know? Are you sure?”

Kelly nods emphatically.

“He’s really…dead?” Bradwell says. His face looks conflicted.

“That’s what I said,” Kelly says. “Is it so hard to imagine?”

Bradwell nods. He’s breathing a little hard. “It’s just…I didn’t expect for it to be this quiet. This matter of fact. I was expecting…” He grabs the front of his own shirt. “I wanted…”

“Yes,” Pressia says, as if picking up his thought. “It should be bigger. It should feel like more of a…”

“Relief,” Bradwell says. “Or ending.” But he doesn’t look at Pressia. He turns away from all of them. El Capitan wonders if Bradwell’s disappointed. The man who ordered his parents’ assassinations is dead, and Bradwell didn’t get to play a role. There’s no justice in it.

And then Pressia says, “Partridge.” Did Partridge actually organize a coup? She covers her mouth. She shouldn’t have said his name.

Kelly looks at her sharply. “Yes. Willux’s youngest son. He’s in charge now.”

“Partridge?” Bradwell says, scoffing. He turns back to face them. “You sure about that?”

El Capitan is stunned too. “How’d that happen?” He remembers the last time he talked to Partridge. They were in the subway car, locked underground. El Capitan thought he didn’t have long to live, and he trusted Partridge. He had to have faith in him. Still, he can’t imagine Partridge holding that much power. El Capitan knows firsthand that power can corrupt a soul.

“He did it,” Pressia whispers almost to herself. “He’s in! Partridge will change things.”

“Or,” Kelly says, “he could turn out to be just like his father.”

“No,” Pressia says. “He hated his father.”

“Yeah, but how far will he go?” Bradwell asks, a sharp spike of anger in his voice. “How hard will he push for change? Does he really have what it takes? The only way he’ll get anything done is if he’s willing to risk everything. Can he do that?”

El Capitan doesn’t know the answer. No one does. Bradwell is asking about the depth of Partridge’s conviction. Partridge himself might not know. El Capitan isn’t sure how deep his own runs. Was it a moment of weakness when he told Pressia he loved her? Or was that conviction?

“Sometimes the man makes the power,” Kelly says. “And sometimes the power makes the man.”

But then Pressia shakes her head and looks at Kelly. “You’re in contact with the Dome? How’s that?”

“You know that Willux and I go way back.” He looks at Pressia. “I knew your mother and father well too. That’s no secret.”

“So, were you on good terms with Willux before the Detonations?” Bradwell says quietly, as if to disguise the rage just beneath the surface. “Is that how you survived out here? Willux playing favorites?”

Fignan buzzes around the room on his nubby wheels, gathering information about the new place. He noses close to the stalls of boars—but not too close.

“He gave me a heads-up—just enough time to get into the safety of Newgrange. So maybe it helped that we were old friends, but I wasn’t just friends with him.” Kelly says to Pressia, “Your mother died recently. Her tattoo stopped pulsing. It was strong and then it stopped.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I was with her.” The wind whips around Pressia. She crosses her arms to shield herself from the damp chill. “Willux killed her and Sedge together.”