Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(28)
“Of course, Mr. Redfern.”
Their footsteps echo as they leave the house. There are a few moments of swearing and thumping as Rupert takes the trunk out, then silence settles back over the night. The sound of our breathing seems to echo as we wait to make sure the trio is gone.
I ain’t sure how long we spent in the shamblers’ hole, but by the time Jackson opens the door I’m groggy and sorely in need of sleep. He climbs out and comes back with an all clear. I can’t see his face in the gloom, but I can tell that he’s holding back some feelings by the lack of spring in his step. Who can blame him?
We’re quiet until we clear the barrier gate. Jackson locks it carefully, even though we all know the Spencers ain’t never coming back. Katherine holds herself, cupping her elbows in her palms. Once we’re within the shelter of the forest I clear my throat. It’s likely dangerous to talk in the woods, but there are some things that need saying and no one seems willing to break the silence.
“Well, I always knew Miss Anderson weren’t no good.”
Katherine’s voice comes through the near dark. “So, do you think the Spencers are . . . ?” She can’t finish the thought, and Jackson can’t speak, either.
“Dead?” I say finally. “Truthfully, I don’t know. It was hard to tell from what they were saying, but . . .” Jackson lifts his eyes to mine. “I don’t think so. The way Miss Anderson was talking about taking care of their things, it sounded like they’re still alive, somewhere. What we do know is that wherever they’ve gone, Miss Anderson and those men she was with were ordered by the mayor to cover it up.”
“Maybe the Spencers were attacked by a big pack of shamblers but they weren’t bitten and even though they survived, the mayor doesn’t want anyone to know,” Katherine suggests. “He doesn’t want people to think Baltimore County is unsafe again. So he packed them up and sent them off somewhere against their will.”
I shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe they just picked up and moved to a different city on their own, and the mayor doesn’t want anyone to know about that, either, seeing as how popular they were. We’ve all heard stories of folks leaving without so much as a how-do-you-do, though not as much recently. . . . Still, they could have found somewhere they like better than here. Maybe Philadelphia? Wherever it is, it must be pretty nice if they were fine leaving their things behind.”
“They didn’t leave.” Jackson’s voice is almost too quiet to hear. “Not on their own. Lily would have gotten word to me.”
“Maybe she didn’t have the chance. It’s not like she could tell a message runner that she’s your—”
“You don’t know her like I do, Jane,” he snaps. “Even if you always think you do.”
I don’t say anything to that, because what’s the point? He ain’t going to listen to reason. Jackson might not like it, but if the Spencers did move on, at least they didn’t leave his sister behind like unwanted dishes.
“Well, either way, we need to get on back,” I say after a long moment. “The sun’s coming up.” When I go on my nightly escapades I’m usually back soon enough to get a bit of sleep, but that’s not happening tonight. The sun peeks across the horizon, shading the world gray as dawn approaches. If it takes half as long to get back as it took to get here, we’re going to be much later than I’m comfortable with. I start walking.
“You can’t just leave,” Jackson begins behind me. “We have to— Jane?”
I freeze. My penny has gone ice-cold.
“What is it?” Jackson says.
“Trouble.”
An unmistakable groan-growl echoes through the trees.
“Is that . . . ?” Katherine starts, her voice trailing off.
I turn around, searching for the sound. Jackson clears his throat. “On your left,” he says, voice low.
I turn, and sure enough there stands a shambler, lips pulled back in a hungry snarl. It looks like the little white girl I saw along the side of the road a few days back. Guess the patrols didn’t take care of her after all. This close it’s easier to see details, like the ragged red ribbons at the ends of her braids and her sickly yellow eyes. She’s no more than nine or ten years old. I don’t recognize her, and that’s a mercy. It’s hard having to kill the dead you once knew.
I take out my sickles, ready to end her, when Katherine makes a choked sound. “Bide your time,” she says, one of the tenets of defense we’ve learned at Miss Preston’s. I’m ready to snap out something rude when I notice the movement in the trees. Behind the little girl is a whole pack of shamblers, their clothing in tatters, their gray skin hanging loose. There are a few colored folks mixed in with the group, but they mostly look white, scarily nondescript and similar in that way shamblers get when they’ve been not-dead for a while. From their clothing they’re originals, people that got turned during the first dark days back during the war, before the armies realized that they had a bigger threat to fight than each other.
I don’t even stop to wonder at a pack this large roaming the woods so close to Baltimore. I just spin my sickles in my hand, relishing their comfortable weight. On my right, Katherine has my spare set of sickles out, and on my left, Red Jack has pulled out a long knife from God knows where.