Midnight (4 page)
Regardless, it couldn’t be allowed to stand. The bravo, Lem, stood lashed to the post in the center of town, blindfolded. Swift justice kept the reins in Rosa’s hands. The minute she showed a hint of hesitation, Falco would try to take over, and running Valle required too much energy to devote to infighting, especially as Peltz’s raids became more brazen.
She surveyed her audience. Most of the town had turned out after the trucks rolled in, and they stayed for the whipping. With an arc of her arm, she tested the leather, which gave a brisk snap. Tied to the post, Lem made a sound in his throat, half anger, half terror. Punishment was always worse when you couldn’t see it coming. As if recognizing Rosa’s readiness to begin, the crowd quieted.
“Lem didn’t respect Singer’s wishes when she asked him to leave her be.” Rosa’s voice carried well through the desert silence. “She has the bruises on her arms to prove it. Since this was his first offense, he gets ten lashes.”
She didn’t need to articulate what would happen if he offended twice. Valle de Bravo did not permit repeat offenders. When it came down to it, she performed the executions herself. Rosa had no taste for it, but sometimes a leader had to suck it up and deal.
Though the day was still young, the sun shone high overhead. Sweat trickled down her brow. Without another word, she laid into the young man. Her whip bit into Lem’s back, but he didn’t cry out. The leather sliced his skin, deep enough to leave marks but not so deep that he’d be disfigured.
Lem took his ten. When Rosa finished, Viv untied him and helped him to the
taberna
for a drink. She’d probably tend his wounds and make sure he didn’t develop a lasting hatred of females. They’d perfected the routine over the last few years. Viv was better at doling out tenderness, whereas Rosa had nothing to give but steel and bone. The softness had been burned out of her beneath an unforgiving desert sun.
taberna
for a drink. She’d probably tend his wounds and make sure he didn’t develop a lasting hatred of females. They’d perfected the routine over the last few years. Viv was better at doling out tenderness, whereas Rosa had nothing to give but steel and bone. The softness had been burned out of her beneath an unforgiving desert sun.
She fought off a wave of memory that would make her weak. How fucking sad—the end of the world had
improved
her life.
improved
her life.
If only José were still with her to enjoy it . . .
The coppery tang of blood cloyed in her nostrils. She glanced down. The crimson flower of Lem’s punishment had sprayed across her faded gray shirt. Though a man’s garment at one point, Singer’s cleverness with a needle had tailored a custom fit. Rosa wore it with a pair of khaki army pants, more because of the pockets than for any other reason. During her travels she’d hit an army navy surplus store, so her wardrobe contained a lot of military touches.
Still, appearances could be misleading. She’d even heard men say she looked sweet and harmless . . . until she smiled.
Brick was late coming back from his part in the raid, which was a blessing. Heading toward the gate, Rosa shaded her brow with her palm. She needed to head him off before someone else gave him the news. Usually he was a gentle giant, but when his sister came into play, he lost his mind. Singer was his last link to their old world. Shaken as she was, she could use a hug from her big brother. Lem was lucky Rosa had doled out the official punishment before Brick returned and broke his neck.
The sentry briefed her as she strode to the gate. “No sign.”
“Strange,” she said. “We should at least see a dust trail from his bike by now.”
“You want me to send someone out?”
They’d driven off Peltz’s men a few weeks before, but one could never be too careful. The sky was as blue as an angel’s eyes and just as untouchable. Planes didn’t roar overhead anymore, only the distant rush of wings from carrion birds. Nothing moved in the scrub apart from one old lizard that might have been one of Tilly’s wild pets. Quiet was good.
“No,” she said at last. “Brick’s a big boy. We’ll give him an hour.”
A shout from another guard grabbed her attention. Rosa jogged over to where Manuel stood with a set of binoculars. He was a little older than Rio by three or four years. The two were close. Such bonds mattered in Valle, giving people a sense of community that made them willing to fight for its survival.
“There,” he said, pointing.
Rosa took the binoculars and found her target. Targets, plural.
“¿Qué es eso?”
“¿Qué es eso?”
Brick was walking his bike through the creosote and tumbleweeds. Not too surprising. He was forever battling that piece of shit to keep it running. And he seemed fine—no limp and no visible injuries. The surprise was that he had company. Armed company.
“Be ready,” she said to Manuel, handing back the binocs. “Brick’s made a friend.”
Rosa unfurled her whip and called all available bravos to man the front gate. By the time the two came into range, her crew had them pinned a dozen ways. Though she didn’t like taking aim at Brick, she needed to make it clear that she didn’t negotiate with hostiles.
Manuel called from his perch, “Throw down your weapon.”
“No,” the stranger said.
Brick propped his motorcycle on its kickstand and let his hands fall to his sides. “He’s a doctor. He could’ve hurt me . . . but he didn’t. That’s all I can say.”
There were no more doctors, any more than there were teachers, librarians, or bookstores. The youngest resident the town had ever sheltered had been five. Young Andre had been a baby when the shit hit the fan. When Rosa suggested that Andre might be ready to read, his mother had shrugged and asked, “Why?”
Not that it mattered now. They were both gone, like so many others.
“Let him come closer,” she said.
Stepping out from behind her guards, Rosa approached the gate. Leaders made confident decisions. If the man had wanted trouble, he would have made some already. Distrust colored their world now, but so did quick action. Here, Valle promised sanctuary to all humans.
We’re a dying breed now.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Chris Welsh.”
Rosa assessed him in a glance: everything about him told a story. Tawny hazel eyes set in a lean, sun-browned face, slightly irregular features, and wavy brown hair identified him as a white man. The full beard said he’d been away from what passed for civilization, which meant he possessed respectable survival skills. His battered boots spoke of a long walk. She surprised herself by noticing his mouth—and the lovely curve of his lower lip. He smelled of sage, sweat, and hot wind.
He’d also taken on Brick and won. A man like that could be useful, regardless of his claim that he was a doctor.
Her analysis took only a few seconds, but Chris didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy staring at the whip. Rosa smiled. She tended to have that effect on men.
“Is that blood on your shirt?” Brick asked.
By Welsh’s expression, it seemed he’d wondered the same thing.
She glanced down. No one could deliver ten solid lashes without a little spatter. “There was a little trouble after we got back.”
“Is Singer all right?” Always, Brick’s first concern was for his sister.
This wasn’t going to be fun.
“She’s fine, just a little shaken up.” Rosa put a hand on the big man’s chest. It wasn’t her strength that stopped him, but her authority. “I took care of it.”
“Who was it?”
“Lem. No further reprisals. Understand?”
Brick’s jaw clenched at the same time his fingers curled into fists. “I respect the rules.”
“Then feel free to go see Singer. She needs your affection right now.”
“Did he—?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I swear to you, no. He wouldn’t have gotten off with a whipping if he had.”
The massive bravo responded with a fierce nod.
Rosa turned to the stranger, fingers still curled around the coiled leather of her whip. “Trouble or not? Your call.”
“Not.”
Although he didn’t put his Beretta away, he dragged a set of keys out of his jeans pocket. He returned them to Brick, along with the man’s Colt and rifle satchel. Again Rosa was impressed, despite herself.
“I made a promise,” he said simply.
Brick set off down the dusty street with his motorcycle, leaving Rosa his desert stray. She cocked her head and waited. Silence revealed a lot about a man. Some cracked open and babbled. Some got pushy. This one, however, only looked her up and down. Not a challenge. Just . . .
awareness
.
awareness
.
“You’re the boss here.”
“I
am
Valle de Bravo,” she told him. “Rosa Cortez.”
am
Valle de Bravo,” she told him. “Rosa Cortez.”
She didn’t extend a hand for him to shake. That would imply they were equals. If he proved worthy, he could kneel and pledge to her as a bravo. Otherwise he could move along.
“It’s impressive what you’ve done here,” he said. “I’ve come a hell of a long way and never seen anything like this.”
That rang a bell for her. If he’d crossed a lot of territory, he might have news. It wasn’t like they could turn on a radio and get an update, and the professional wanderers were only interested in trade. The potential for fresh facts was worth the risk of letting him stay a few days. Information was gold, and he might know more than he thought he did—maybe about rumors of General O’Malley consolidating power in the east. She could use such info to defend Valle and plan successful raids.
While the bravos loved Rosa now, their regard might wane if times grew lean. She’d stay on top, no matter what she needed to do.
“We’ll get you geared up, assuming you have anything we want. The town operates on the barter system. There’s just one thing we need from you first.”
“Why do I have the feeling that’s the catch?”
“Because you seem like a smart man,” Rosa said. “You just need to pass a little test before we can let you roam free among our own.”
Almost casually, although Rosa knew otherwise, he played with the safety on his pistol. “What test?”
“Valle is human territory. Skinwalkers aren’t welcome here. If they have brains enough to heed a warning, we advise them to move along. If they’re the other kind, we kill them.”
“You want me to prove I’m human. How am I supposed to do that?”
Rosa grinned, knowing she was scarier when she did. “Leave that to us.”
But her smile didn’t shift him. He grinned right back, raising the hairs on her nape. “Will it hurt?”
“Is that a dare?”
“Just a question.”
“You’ll live through it, unless you show claw and can’t understand us after the shift.”
His eyes remained inscrutable behind his bland expression. He shrugged as if whatever she offered couldn’t be worse than what lay behind him. That made her curious.
“Bring it on,” he said, his voice a sexy rasp.
“Glutton for punishment?”
A weight of secrets hid in his moss-gold gaze. For a dizzying moment she had the awful feeling that he could see right through her, as if the sunlight had made her a window, transparent except for all the dirty streaks. Rosa held his gaze with effort and widened her smile.
“Not particularly,” he said. “It’ll be worth it to sleep in a bed, eat hot food.”
“You assume we have hot food.”
“Yes, I do.”
Rosa tongued her lower lip. “How many rounds you have left in that shooter?”
“Three.”
“Show me.”
Chris opened the chamber and gave it a spin. His honesty and calm replies should have reassured her that he was on the level, but Rosa fought a shiver. No man had dared confront her with a direct gaze in months. His acquiescence held an undercurrent of rebellion that didn’t suit her at all.
You’re in command because I’m letting you,
his demeanor said.
You’re in command because I’m letting you,
his demeanor said.
But he had it wrong.
“Keep it holstered or it’s mine. Use it against my people and you’re dead. This way.”
She covered the ground in long strides, reaching an outcrop of buildings. The extra sentries at the gates flanked into two sets of two. She’d trained them well. Among them was Rio, young and quick on his feet; he hadn’t lost his eagerness to please. Their history meant he looked to her as sister and mother in one, and his admiration soothed a small portion of her loss.
But she would always mourn José.
“Trouble?” the kid asked.
“Not exactly. We need to do a stress test before we can grant hospitality.”
The bravos nodded. Unlike punishments, which took place where everyone could see, this would be conducted quietly. That way if the newcomer shifted and went full-on hungry monster, he could be contained. Collateral damage had prompted them to learn from their mistakes.
“Are you going to tell me what to expect?” he asked as Rio led the way around the
taberna
.
taberna
.
There was a small building behind, generally used for storage, but they performed the tests in the old root cellar beneath it.
“No,” she said. “You might change your mind.”
Inside was dark and cool. No windows let in light. Stacks of salvage leaned against the walls, mystery items they’d stolen in raids. Some of it was more technical than they could handle. Maybe Chris could help determine what it was good for. But if he was a medical doctor, he probably wouldn’t be good at patching shit together. The old world had specialized to the point of stupidity. Now it paid to be a jack-of-all-trades.
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