Chapter 59: Lucky
MAX
Exiting the hospital, my steps echo down the corridor and then out onto the pavement, the sound of a gavel meeting justice. My hair is disheveled and ripe with the filth of the borderland graveyard, and my body is coated in streaks of red mud. Like war paint, it’s a mix of soil and spilled blood, most of which is Blanca’s and I do not intend to wash it off until I have visited every single soul that took part in this morning’s…justice exercise.
Breaking through the meander of pedestrian pack members either littered about the courtyard or else lounging near the roundabout where Jericho sits behind the wheel of the late Gamma Corlys’ Suburban, naked, I ignore the sudden vacuum of silence that has become the quad and meet each pair of eyes that watched me carry Blanca’s broken body into the Emergency Bay only an hour ago. My warning is there, in each singular gaze that I’ve laced with an irrevocable promise of violence. Violence, that they will be sure to meet with should even one insult be hurled Blanca’s way while I’m gone. Whether or not they receive the message for what it is does not factor. The end result will be the same.
The closer I get to the Suburban, the more I notice the bowed heads and tear filled eyes. A few have even been crying, their now solemn gazes darting toward the ground as I pass. It’s as if they’re ashamed of themselves, or are afraid that they might be punished for their compassion.
Were they there when an entire mob began throwing stones? Did they chant along with the crowd, passing judgement on a girl whose only real crime was that she was born Shiftless and doomed from the very beginning?
Attendance at every public execution is mandatory for all pack members ages sixteen and up, but it’s not a law that is strictly enforced and it’s possible that this particular faction chooses to abstain from such assemblies. After all, they are healers, not warriors, and have chosen to devote their lives to learning medicine.
Still, I happen to know for a fact that Maize attended the execution, and although I’m about ninety-nine percent certain that she did not participate in the ‘pre-game’ activities…she didn’t attempt to stop them either.
Then again…what power does she have? None. I’m the one with all the power and even I know how useless it might be in the face of a fanatical mob.
Leaping into the front seat, I slam the door and keep my eyes forward, slapping a hand on the dashboard as Jericho peals away from the curb.
“We’re closer to the packhouse than my family house,” I say, my voice gruff, “so let's head there first.”
A long suffering sigh leaves him as we cut onto the two mile highway that leads back into town. “Is that it?”
Gritting my teeth, I gaze out the window, watching Jericho’s reflection in the glass carefully. “Is, what, it, Jericho?”
He snorts, casting an incredulous look in my direction before turning back toward the road. “Is? That? It?” he asks again, shaking his head and making his short copper curls dance upon his head like a basket of snakes.
Leaning back in my seat, I turn away from the window to focus my attention on Main Street as we approach, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of disordinance or suspicious activity.
I have no way of knowing how many people Corlys spoke to about what he was planning today, or even if he did, but I do know that word of mouth is a quick and dangerous thing when the wrong tongue tells the tale, and although the boys from this morning are presently being detained by Jared and Finn at the Packhouse, in an isolated holding tank more commonly known as a basement, you never know who they may have texted or spoken to before Jared confiscated their devices.
“You are going to have to be more specific,” I say absently, my eyes tracing over every car and every house that we pass leading into downtown.
Now he glares at me, his hands white knuckling over the steering wheel as he takes a minute to collect his words. “The girl-”
“Blanca,” I supply.
He nods. “Blanca…” Jericho frowns, shaking himself as if remembering the way she looked as we raced her to the hospital. “Is she…is she going to be okay?”
Something in his voice kindles my awareness, slicing into my mind with the sharpness of a blade and despite that he is still naked, I turn my head his way and grant him my full attention. For a moment I can only stare at him, searching for any sign that he might not want her to be, but all that I find is concern.
“This time,” I say, drawing his gaze my way while an image of Blanca’s broken body burns behind my eyes. My chest tightens, my vision swimming when I think of how she yelled when I lifted her out of the dirt, screaming for me to let her go because it hurt too much for me to touch her. She only quieted down once we were seated in the back of the Suburban and her eyes fell open just long enough to see me peering down at her. Still, her body trembled in my arms, the damage of her nerve tissue causing her to twitch and writhe against me even when unconscious. “Just barely,” I hiss.
“Holy fuck,” Jericho curses, glaring out at the townspeople as we pass the square and the shopping district. “That poor girl. It looked like half of her skin had been scraped-”
“I’m aware,” I bite out, fresh anger roiling through me at the memory.
He goes on, “-from her body,” he shakes his head, swallowing thickly as if fighting the urge to vomit, “and she’s Shiftless-” again he shakes his head “-so how in the fuck is she ever going to fully heal?”
My body tenses, eyebrows drawing together as I fume in my seat, leaning forward to rest my forearms on the dash while I clench and unclench my fists in an exercise that helps contain emotion.
My voice is dark and low when I speak, “Shiftless can heal just as completely as the rest of us can, Jericho. Assuming they receive the care that they need. It just takes longer.”
Jericho cuts me a look, his gaze narrowing on me as we turn onto the Packhouse driveway. “Yeah…they can,” he remarks, slowing to a crawl as we cruise toward the maintenance access floor on the northeast side of the lot, “but with injuries like hers, they usually don’t.”
Keeping my tone as even as possible, I flash a quick, joyless smile. “I guess I just got lucky.”
He parks the car next to the sub-level access door and I can feel his eyes on me when he considers my words. ”You got lucky…” he echoes, “You?”
It’s right then that I realize my mistake.
Fuck.