Rebel Heart

How far to this . . . Bram’s place? I says.

Not far, says Molly. Three hours due north.

All right, I says, but I gotta leave him a message. Tell him where to find me.

I know jest the thing, says Molly. C’mon.

With her in charge, we gather up bits of the Lost Cause. Startin with the tavern sign at one end, we arrange it all alongside the northbound road in a line. But not so’s you’d notice. Unless you was lookin, that is.

We need somethin to finish it off, she says. She looks at me. I don’t s’pose—?

Jest as she says it, Nero comes flappin over. He moves slow an low. Jack’s hat dangles from his beak, held by the hatband. He lands. Drops it in ezzackly the right spot. He squawks with delight at his own cleverness.

If that don’t beat all, says Molly.

I crouch. I anchor the hat with a couple of rocks. I touch it lightly.

See you soon, Jack, I says.

Before we leave, Molly goes to fetch her horse, Prue. Also a packed sack of necessaries she’s kept hid aginst the day the Tonton would come to run her off. Then she does somethin else.

She goes to a certain spot, a little ways from the tavern an stables. Like any other lonely spot on this blasted plain, but fer a pile of rocks. A small cairn. She kneels beside it a long moment, her head bowed.

We look to Slim fer a reason why. He shakes his head an shrugs. When she rides up to join us, you can tell from her eyes that she’s had a bit of a boo. We make like we don’t notice.

So, as we git ready to move out, there’s me an Molly on horseback. Lugh’s drivin the Cosmic, with Tommo beside him. After their bad start, Moses took aginst Maev an won’t budge one inch if she’s anywhere in sight. Her an Em an Tracker’s gonna travel in back with Slim. They’ll do their best to keep him easy, but ridin on top of guns ain’t a good ride fer nobody, let alone a wounded man. But he slams back a half-campbell of some thin green liquid – it’ll blunt the pain, he says – an climbs in without complaint. We take one last look at the tavern at the crossroads. The fire’s settled down to a low, steady burn of what’s left.

Well, that’s that, says Molly. No more Lost Cause. Me, my father, my grampa, his pa. I’m the last in a long line of deluded fools that stuck with this place. Misplaced optimism, that’s what runs in my family. Always lookin fer a break in the clouds. Even in the storm belt.

As we turn our faces north an ride out, we pass Jack’s hat. All my hopes set on one battered old hat. Misplaced optimism. I guess it runs in my family too.

We hear signs of life long before we see ’em.

The faint strains of a junkband racket through the night. Down the road an over the trees. Foot-stompin music. The sound of voices whoopin. People havin fun.

Sounds like a party, says Molly. That’s strange. The Tonton don’t allow fun an it’s after curfew. I wonder what’s goin on.

Her an me move up next to Lugh an Tommo. Go slow, she tells Lugh. Hang back, stay outta sight till we find out what’s what. Slim! She bangs on the side of the Cosmic. Somethin’s goin on at Bram an Cassie’s.

It ain’t long before the farm comes into view.

Whoa, Moses, Lugh says softly.

We stop. We’re at a bend in the road. Cedar woods on both sides. Tracker leaps outta the back an Em an Maev follow. They give Slim a careful hand down, but still he grimaces with pain. He’s pale an drawn. The journey’s bin hard on him.

Jest ahead lies the farm. Sprawlin fields in every direction with a big, square, hard dirt farmyard standin next to the road. A decent-sized house of tyre an mud with a Wrecker junk roof stands one side. A lantern shines in the glass window. The party’s goin on in the barn at the top end of the yard. The big doors stand open. Light an music an noise spill out into the night. A couple dozen carts with their horses parked up in a friendly muddle any which way.

We could take one of them an be gone in no time, says Lugh.

Ferget it, I says.

The mournful call of a pigeon comes from the woods to our right. Slim holds up a hand to hush us. The pigeon ha-roos agin. Slim makes answer.

Without a sound, a man slips outta the trees. A mountain of a man. Emmi gasps an ducks behind Maev.

A mask hides the top half of his face. It’s a rough, savage thing of corn husks an bark. Not what you wanna see creepin out from the woods at night. Tracker growls.

The man holds his clenched fist to his chest. Long life to the Pathfinder, he says.

May he rot in hell, says Slim. Evenin, Bram. What’s with the mask? Sounds like a party at yer place. Didn’t think that kinda thing was allowed.

Special occasion, says Bram. First corn harvest in Sector Nine. Land’s fruitful around here, thanks to the hard-workin folk the Tonton took it from. He takes off his mask an starts walkin towards us. Like the dress, Slim. Who you got with you? Is that Molly?

Hey, Bram, she says.

Bram’s got a thatch of dark hair, a thick neck an eyes like a sleepy raccoon. He might have twenny two year on him. He’s got the black quartered-circle brand in the centre of his forehead.

What’re you doin here? he says. What the hell happened to you two? He frowns as he sees Slim’s bandaged shoulder, as he takes in the soot smudges on Molly’s face, the scorches on her clothes. Ohmigawd, they burned you out at last, he says. He helps her down from her horse, gives her a hug. You okay?

Yeah, she says. The Tonton shot Slim. We need Cassie to look at his shoulder.

Ran into ’em on the causeway, says Slim. Then we blew it up.

Bram whistles. His glance flicks over the rest of us. Who’re all of these?

Friends, says Molly.

Friends we don’t want the Tonton knowin about, says Slim. He motions to me. As I slide down from Hermes, Nero flaps off to perch on a branch. I go over to ’em. I hesitate.

Yer okay, says Slim. Go on, sister.

I pull my sheema back from my hair an face, so’s Bram can see my birthmoon tattoo. His sleepy eyes snap open.

Bram, says Slim, meet Saba.

I don’t believe it! Bram holds out a meaty mitt an we shake. You do know there’s a price on yer head, he says.

Not now, says Slim. We gotta git the Cosmic outta sight. There was six Tonton on the causeway when we blew it up. If any of ’em got away, they’ll be lookin fer me.

You got the weapons? says Bram.

You got somewhere to stash ’em? says Slim.

You bet, says Bram. Here, on the left. I’ll guide you in.

Workin fast, we move Moses an the Cosmic off the road an into the woods. We cover our tracks as we go, like Bram tells us to. The way he takes us, there’s enough room fer the Cosmic to git through without scrapin bark or breakin off branches. Mind you, at one point, it’s such a tight squeeze that we only jest make it.

Lucky, says Slim.

No luck, says Bram with a smile. Good measurements.

He stops when we reach a small clearin, deep in the woods. Here we are, he says.

There ain’t nuthin to see. Bram falls to his knees, starts clearin away the thick layers of damp pine needle with his hands. He feels around. He levers up a wooden hatch, lays it to one side, an swings hisself into the hole. He moves nippy, his head disappearin bit by bit. Must be a ladder. We crowd around.

It’s a good sized unnerground room, down ten foot or so, there among the gnarled an twisted tree roots. Enough headroom fer Bram to stand upright. A stripped log serves fer a ladder, set at a sharp angle with crude steps hacked into it on one side. Lugh goes to climb down an Bram says, Mind the steps.