Watershed (27 page)

‘No,' I muttered. ‘Never.'

‘Do you know how many beds our infirmary holds?' he asked, and I stared, wary of his sudden question, before shaking my head. I hadn't counted the cots because there'd been no need; one or fifty, it made no difference.

‘Thirty,' he said. ‘Two-thirds filled with women. Sometimes it's more than that, but it's never less, and every one of them has been beaten. Or raped. Or tortured. Just like Marin was. It's the greatest shame of men, Jem. Always has been.'

My shame too, was what he meant. Rubbing my head, trying to relieve the exhaustion and guilt, I met his glare. ‘Wherever it is you're trying to go with this, fucking get there already.'

‘Very well. Five years ago, Alex helped set up that infirmary. When she's here, she works tirelessly to help those women, to ease their suffering where she can. Sometimes she succeeds and they leave, never really healed but at least alive. And sometimes she fails, and they die, as Marin did. And every time, Jem, every single time, a part of Alex dies too.'

I sighed, long and hard. ‘Still waiting, Ballard. Why are you telling me this? That place, those victims? It's real sad, but they're not my doing. Yeah, I've given girls to Garrick, but you can't pin those other women on me. I've agreed that I'm done, all right? Let's leave it alone.'

Tate scuffed his feet and stared at the table, but Ballard kept eyeing me.

‘You're right, Jem. Twenty-three is more than enough for any man.'

‘Fuck off.'

‘But, sadly, not enough for you. You're going to have to deliver one more to Garrick.'

‘What are you talking about? How do I –?' I broke off. Maybe I'd misheard, or misunderstood; maybe lack of sleep had robbed me of all reason. But Ballard's pale gaze was bleak, and a sudden chill raised and tightened my skin.

Alex will be returning with us.

‘No! You can't be serious.' I stared at him, at his grim face, finally comprehending his defeat. ‘Fuck!'

‘This was always a possibility, Jem. That's why we tried so hard to get rid of Garrick. That's one of the reasons we sacrificed seven men. For Alex.'

‘She's your fucking
sister
! You can't do this.
I
won't do it!'

‘Why not?' he replied, raising his own voice. ‘It's never bothered you before. Twenty-three girls, just like her, and you didn't give any of them a second thought. Do you even remember Micah's sister, what she looked like? Her name? Or maybe you think spending the night between my sister's legs excuses you?'

So he had known. I slumped back in my chair.
This was always a possibility, Jem.
This was why Alex had come to the Hills. Not to bring maps or medical supplies. Anyone could've done that. She was there to help her brother. So she could be returned as a prisoner and handed over to Garrick. Keeping me safe, and ensuring success.

‘You bastard. You'd do this to your own sister?'

‘D'you think I want this?' he cried. ‘This isn't my decision to make. And it's certainly not yours. You don't know her. You will never truly know her, but I do, and I won't stand in her way. This is her contribution, and I warned you that she'd do anything for our cause.'

‘Not this,' I pleaded. ‘You don't know what he does. You have no idea what he'll do to her.'

‘We all know, Alex better than any of us. Every day she's faced with it. But we can't afford to have you out of action for any length of time, and there's no one else.' He paused, glaring at me. ‘Quit pretending, Jem. A few weeks ago you would've done anything to see Alex hurt, even killed. It takes more than a night of fucking to change that.'

‘Don't make me do this,' I whispered. ‘I can't.'

I can't –

I can't –

‘But you will. And not because it serves our purpose, or because it'll save your own miserable hide. You'll do it for all those girls. For Micah's sister, and for Marin. And you'll do it for Alex.' He gathered up a handful of reports and slid them across the table. ‘Seeing you paid so little attention today, you can read these before tomorrow's meeting. I expect you to know every detail before we depart.'

He slammed the door behind him and I remained where I was, all dreams of sleep crushed. He was right. I had wished Alex harm. But he was wrong too, because I did know her. I'd known her sorrow, and her anger, her contempt and her sympathy. I'd known
her coldness and I'd felt her compassion. And there was something else I knew too, something Ballard didn't. I knew her body; the same one Garrick would break, just as he would her spirit.

Tate broke the silence. ‘Will he kill her?'

‘No,' I said. ‘But he'll make her wish he had. Why, Tate? This is pointless. I can kill Garrick as soon as I return. There's no need for this.'

‘Because we need the time,' he replied.

‘Then let me take the flogging. It's nothing, just a few more scars.' But saying it didn't make it true. And Ballard was right about that too. There was no way of knowing how long it'd take me to recover sufficiently to overcome Garrick.

‘Jem, I'm afraid you're your own worst enemy,' Tate said. ‘You've never failed an assignment, and you've always given Garrick exactly what he wanted. And always women. If you don't do that now you'll raise his anger as well as his suspicion. This way, you and Alex will buy us the time Ballard and I need with Cade.'

‘Cade.' I spat the name. ‘I guess he's in on this too?'
You know what to do
.

Tate sighed. ‘The other week you asked why I was angry. This is why. I love Alex as much as Ballard does. She's like a sister to me too. When we heard about Garrick and knew Alex would follow through, I was furious – with her, with you, with him, with everyone whose actions have brought us to this. I'm still coming to terms with it. And Ballard is paying a higher price than you think. But this is Alex's decision, and if we love her we have to respect it.'

Which just left me, and what right did I have to feel furious? I didn't love Alex. She wasn't my sister or my wife. She was just a woman I'd fucked for a night, like I would any other. Except, she wasn't. Because she'd fucked me too. She'd kissed me and held me and stroked me and made me whole, both of us giving what we had, each of us taking what we could. And the idea of Garrick abusing her sickened me.

‘You should've told me, Tate. About this. About Cade. You should've fucking told me.'

‘We have told you. Just now. But if we'd told you earlier, do you think it would've changed anything? Your decision, or what happened last night?'

But I didn't want to be made to answer that. ‘I have to see her. Make her understand –'

‘No, Jem.' Tate's huge hand closed over my wrist. ‘You're the one who needs to understand. Alex is angry. And she's tired. She's tired of seeing women and children abused. She's tired of waiting for things to change. Ballard's right. Every day, Alex becomes less than she was. I've known her for years and sometimes I can hardly recognise her. Women are different. They feel things we can't, they take every hurt, absorb it into themselves. Sometimes it makes them stronger, other times it just kills them slowly, like a disease. Alex has had enough, and this is her way of fighting back. The only way she can.'

I'm not doing this for Marin. I'm doing it for me.
The words of a woman who wouldn't be denied.

‘And which is she, Tate? Is she strong or is she dying inside?' I hoped it was the second, because then she might care less about what was to come.

‘Both,' he said.

‘I've been one step behind the whole time, haven't I?' I asked, bitterly, staring down at the table because facing him was too hard. ‘The journey here, Ballard's fucked-up games, helping Alex kill those Guards. Last night. All of it leading to this.'

He clamped a hand on my shoulder. ‘The first part, perhaps. But last night was her choice also. I don't know why she came to you, but if she gave herself it was because she wanted to.'

‘Like she's giving herself to Garrick?' I couldn't help the question.

‘Is that what you believe?'

I sighed. ‘No.' She'd done it to help me. Though I hadn't understood why at the time.

‘Then don't let it go to waste, Jem. Ballard isn't happy about what she did, but she's not his to control. And she's not yours either. Take what you need from last night but remember, Alex belongs to no one but herself.'

‘You're wrong, Tate.' Shaking free from his grasp, I stood and stared down at his grave face. ‘Soon she'll belong to Garrick. He's gunna break her, and there's fuck all we can do to stop him.'

I enter the room, treading carefully around the boards I know will creak under my weight, following a path not walked in almost eight years. It's as I remember, the suffocating quiet begging to be broken, silvery dust motes stirred by my breath, simple furnishings, a table and three chairs, the long bench with its bucket, the hearth and the cooking pot, a patched hemp rug on the floor. Everything inside me the same too: fear, dread, self-loathing. Despair. Ahead, a single window shaded against the heat and, silhouetted, a frail figure. But not the one I'd thought to find.

My grandfather turns, his gaunt face alight with joy.
Jeremiah!
Then his gaze slips down, following the line of my body, his happiness falling away to sorrow –
Oh, my boy! What have they done to you?
– my shirt gone, my chest bare, both of us watching with horror as my skin splits and darkens, not a hundred marks, but thousands, opening me up, red and black, slicing and splicing and I hear him scream with each cut –
the deaths of innocents
, Ballard's voice, but he isn't there, only Garrick behind me, grinning and brandishing a long, curved knife and I'm caught between –
Will you kill me now, Watchman?
Alex asks, her hands bound and bleeding, her shirt torn, breasts bared, her smile so sad –
No, you won't –
but I'm there, my hands cupping her face, and I twist them even as I kiss her, hearing the crack of bones, feeling her slump in my arms, her cold mouth
on mine, and I cry her name –
Alex! Alex!
– but it's Marin's head I cradle and when I drop her to the floor she opens dead thank you eyes and Garrick's knife is tickling, creeping over my shoulder and down my chest, dipping into every cut, seeking, seeking, no longer a blade but a bleached bony finger stripped of flesh, and I turn to smile at my grandmother finally beside me,
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
, but she shakes her head, whispering,
Twenty-three
,
the magic number, enough for any man –
and beckons to the shadows, drawing them out from the walls, and they stretch broken arms to enfold me, whispering as one:

Welcome home, Jeremiah
,
we've been waiting for you.

Dreams are nothing more than playing fields for the dead, where a man's sins return to kick around a big ball of guilt. I'd managed to keep that field empty for almost eight years, walling it off and sealing it tight. But now it'd opened up, was overrun, and my dead were playing up a storm. I slept when I could, waking to my own screams with wet eyes and heaving chest, washed in sweat, shivering and afraid, and wondering, when I was done and dead, whose dreams I'd haunt.

The second meeting didn't go well, longer and more tedious than the first, and my mood so foul that even Ballard's men, who barely knew me, understood enough to leave me alone. Except Micah, because there's always one prick who spoils it for everyone else.

He spent most of his time glaring at me, working his jaw and grinding his teeth every time Ballard asked me a question about the compound, the gates, the sentries, the tunnels, about Garrick and what I knew of the other Watchmen. He snorted and sighed and shifted on his chair and, for the most part, I ignored him. Until he opened his mouth.