Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(25)
But no matter how much my nightly travels may have taught me, I am still stupid enough to let Katherine tag along.
A clever girl would’ve found a way to keep Katherine at the school, frightened her off with tales of evening slaughter on the roads, of shamblers and bandits and men that lurk in the shadows at night, ready to steal a girl’s virtue.
A smart girl would’ve just left her behind and taken the eventual punishment when Katherine told Miss Preston about unauthorized visitors and subsequent midnight departures.
But I am a stupid girl, so midnight finds me leading Katherine out the rarely used side door to the summer kitchen behind the school. The door doesn’t make a sound when I open it. It’s my usual route, and the hinges are well oiled. That doesn’t keep Katherine from squeaking, though.
“What?” I whisper, irritated that we haven’t even made it outside and she’s already working on getting us caught.
“Something ran across my foot.”
“Probably just a mouse. Now pipe down before you wake someone.”
I head straight toward an abandoned outbuilding on the far edge of the property. It was once used to house the slaves the men’s college owned, but it’s empty now that slavery—the kind that ended with the War between the States, anyway—is no more. The building is long and low, with a door on either side. I use the door on the opposite end of the school, just in case anyone happens to glance out her window. The moon is high tonight and casts a pale silver over the landscape, painting it in shadows and light. It’s a good night for investigating.
It’s also a good night to get caught by a teacher doing her rounds on the perimeter fence. I try not to think about that.
Inside of the old slave cabin, I go to a dusty cabinet and take out my personal sickles, a set Red Jack gave me a long time ago as a gift, and an extra set, since Katherine didn’t bring any of hers. Both sets are well made, balanced and sharp, and I take care of them so they stay that way. I set them on a rickety table and take out a pair of trousers, tossing them to Katherine.
“Put these on.”
She holds them out in front of her, her horror visible in the moonlight coming in through the empty windowpane. “You want me to wear a pair of men’s trousers?” Her voice is just short of hysterical.
“Yes.”
She shakes her head. “That is the height of indecency. I am not wearing these.”
“We’re going to be walking through the woods, up and down hills and through underbrush. Skirts get caught on branches and whatnot. Plus, if we do have to fight off a shambler, skirts are a liability. We’re less likely to get killed if we can run. You wear them or you stay here.” I take out another pair of trousers for myself before I pause. “You better not be wearing a corset.”
She sniffs. “I’m not. I learned my lesson, thank you very much.” She casts a bit of side-eye at the trousers once more before sighing. “If you tell anyone about this, Jane McKeene, I will make sure you spend the rest of your time at Miss Preston’s on housework.”
I snort, because it’s an empty threat and we both know it. But I don’t say anything more. Sometimes I am a gracious winner.
I pull on my own set of trousers, tucking my sleep shirt in the waistband. Katherine copies my movements. I show her the loops near the waist for weapons and how to secure the waist ties and extra strings at the ankles. And then, after handing her my spare set of sickles, we secure our weapons and are off into the night.
It takes us nearly two hours to go the scant distance to the Spencers’ farm because we have to walk slower than a blind turtle. Katherine is skittish as all get out, and I have to remind myself repeatedly that she ain’t used to creeping around in the dark like I am. The woods are dense, with thickets and patches of poison ivy that we have to make our way around. Plus, our part of Maryland is hilly. I don’t think there’s a single flat patch of land, and huffing and puffing up and down those hills takes a while. By the time we finally make it to the Spencers’ farm it’s closer to sunrise than I’d like.
The Spencers are one of the most prominent families in the area, and very generous to us Preston girls, so I’ve been out to their homestead a fair few times. The last was in early spring, when Miss Preston sent the older girls round to the local farms to help with clearing the fields once the thaw came and the dead got a mind to start walking again. Mrs. Spencer was always the kindest, bringing out warm milk and biscuits with jam once the killing was done. She also makes an amazing strawberry-rhubarb pie that won a blue ribbon at the county fair a few years back. The thought of something happening to her makes me a little sad, but I shove the emotion down deep. I need to stay sharp.
Red Jack meets us a little ways from the barrier gate to the homestead proper. He wears a rough-spun shirt and trousers for a change, shedding his flashy attire for something a little more sensible. In the pale moonlight I see Katherine’s eyes widen as she takes him in. I understand why. Jackson is just as pretty in rough cotton as he is in fine silk. Plus his sleeves are rolled up, revealing his finely muscled forearms. He used to work on the docks, back before he realized he could make more money taking “odd jobs,” as he calls them, on the roads between Baltimore and the outer settlements. It’s no wonder poor Katherine is smitten with him.
“You two have any trouble?” Red Jack asks, his voice low.