Watershed (44 page)

He looked over his shoulder, and I followed his gaze. Alex's eyes were wide with anguish; Cade's had narrowed. ‘Yeah, she's quite the little mover, isn't she? D'you like the improvement I made?'

‘No,' I said. Not one bit.

A few seconds, and he gave a shrug. ‘You know, it's funny what men say when they're fucking a whore. The strangest things.' He stroked my arm with his wicked knife. ‘But you? Promising to kill everyone, just for her? That was something else, Jem.'

He kept stroking with the blade, down one arm, across my stomach, up the other, gathering blood and sweat, teasing and taunting, and I let him and said nothing.

‘See, we could drag old Cade out here and carve the flesh off his bones, but something tells me you wouldn't give a shit. Bit like poor Ballard. You don't really care that he's gone, do you? Not really. But
her?
I think she's the key, Jem.'

‘Leave her alone, Reed.'

‘Can't do that.' Then, still watching my face, he called, ‘Bring her over.'

Alex was hauled to her feet and shoved across. She didn't struggle or cry out, not even when her husband finally showed some spirit, surging up and yelling through his gag until he was beaten back down. She just stood there, bare feet to cold stone, holding that cloak close around her, hands tucked inside and out of sight, just the tips of her fingers gripping the edges. And I reckoned I knew why. But that little knife wasn't going to be much use now, to either of us.

‘She's real pretty, Jem,' Reed said. ‘Maybe we need to make some adjustments, huh? What d'you say?' He turned his knife again, scratching my skin with the point, scoring and pricking it. ‘And when we're done with her, we'll get started on Tate. And we'll keep going until you tell us what you know.'

I stiffened. Tate was alive? ‘Where is he?'

‘Not here,' he murmured, tracing another long welt, drawing more blood. ‘One at a time. We've got him stashed away safe, ready for when we need him.'

‘
Where?
'

He smiled, and edged back a little, still pressing the knife, still watching me. ‘See? I'm right. This is the way to get what we want. All this hurt, but all you care about is her, and your friend. Which makes me wonder just how bad you're going to feel when I tell you we also have the boy.'

My heart kicked out for a couple of beats, stopping dead before jerking back into an uneven rhythm.

‘You're full of shit,' I said. But that didn't mean he was lying.

Digging in a pocket, he pulled out a tag and held it up. ‘Found this on him. Belonged to a Guard called Fletcher. You know anything about that?'

‘
Fuck!
He's just a kid!' I found the strength to knock Reed's hand away and I didn't even feel the thud of the giant's boots, or his fists on my head.

Reed scrambled to his feet, triumphant. ‘That's it! That's the one, Jem. Now, you tell us what we want to know, or we'll kill them all. Just like we did Ballard. And we'll save the boy for last.'

Feelings are what fuck us up. Every fuckin' time.

Had Garrick known? Had he been trying to warn me, and I'd just been too stupid and too stubborn to get it? Everything I'd touched, everything I'd thought to call my own, those I'd left behind and those I'd come to care for, I was bringing them all down.

‘Go to hell.'

His smile dissolved, melted on his face, replaced by a deep scowl. ‘You stupid prick. You think I'm joking? You think we won't do it?'

‘No,' I said. ‘I know you will. Whether I give you what you want or not. So fucking do it, shithead. Kill us all and see where that gets you.'

He growled and slashed, the knife biting skin and muscle, etching my rows of marks, making me cry out.

‘You sure about that?' he said, his smug hate rising up and drowning me. ‘Coz maybe we won't kill them. Maybe we'll make you do it.'

‘Go ahead. Give me a weapon and see what I do with it.'

‘Oh, we both know what you'll do, Jem. You'll do what you've always done.'

‘No.'

‘Yeah, you will. Coz you're one sick piece of shit, aren't you? You'll do it. If you have to. You know you will.'

Do what needs to be done – let him do it
–
he's the only one –

‘Stop. Just stop,' I whispered, shaking my head to clear the horror, trying to find that middle place like I'd been told. But it was so, so hard.

‘It's a strange old world when we start killing the ones we love.' Reed poked me with the knife, his eyes slitted and evil. ‘I know what happened, Jem. And I gotta wonder, what sort of man are you to do something like that.'

You call yourself a man? You're no man,
Ballard's voice taunted.
No man
,
no man, no man –

No!
I wasn't just no man. I was much worse than that.

‘Huh?' Reed jeered again. ‘What sort of man does that make you?'

Fighting every hurt, pushing through every lie and betrayal, I fought against the hand that held me and straightened to face him. ‘A Watchman.'

‘Not any more!' Reed snarled. ‘Now you're just another fucking Diss.'

‘I'm both, arsehole. And I reckon that makes me twice the man you are.' And ignoring his furious hiss, I looked past him at Fenton's gaunt face. ‘I lied. I did get that message. And it said fuck you all.
Sir!
'

Excerpt ~ Letter #13

 

The smallest force can defeat a whole army if they're clever and patient enough. If they understand that to fight fire with fire the wind must be in their favour.

Tee had disappeared; no one knew where. Someone panicked and called a meeting, the message passed in secret. And when they gathered it wasn't the quiet, determined order of all the meetings before. It was angry and fearful, resolving nothing; the room began to empty long before it was over, bodies slipping away into the dark. Sarah was one of the last to leave, clinging stubbornly to the sanctuary their shared cause had provided. Because without it – without Tee – she was just a lonely old woman again, waiting for death. Had it all been for nothing?

She paused at the door. A woman blocked it, gripping the frame. Perhaps like Sarah, she was scared to let go, afraid to acknowledge her mistake. When she sobbed, Sarah patted her shoulder, making her jump. The woman wiped at her face and, with a muttered apology, moved aside to let Sarah pass.

It would be all right, Sarah assured her. Everything would be okay. The woman stared at her, not hearing.

He promised I'd be safe, she said. Her hand shook as she brushed back her hair. She had a son, she told Sarah. What would happen to him if they took her? But Sarah couldn't answer that. At least the woman had family; Sarah didn't. And hadn't Tee told her the same thing, offering friendship and guaranteeing safety?

How had the woman met Tee? she asked suddenly; she'd never asked any of them before, but now he'd gone and so had any need for secrecy.

The woman sniffed back her tears. In one of the market squares. He'd been sitting all alone, like he was waiting for somebody he knew wouldn't show. She'd felt sorry for him and
they started talking. He told her about his family, about what happened. The woman shrugged, and sniffed again. It wasn't like his story was any worse than anyone else's, she said. But for some reason it just struck a chord.

Then she shook her head, and apologised to Sarah because it all sounded so stupid, didn't it?

No, said Sarah, slowly. It wasn't stupid. Because that was how it had been for her too, she thought. Exactly like that.

What if they tortured him? The woman sobbed again. What if he told them everything? He knew her name! God, she was so scared for her son. And, gathering her cloak around her, hooding and hiding her face, she ducked out the door. Sarah never saw her again. She never saw any of them again.

For the next few nights, she lay awake and afraid, thinking of that woman and of her son. She thought about all of them, their stories of loss and their longing for hope. And she thought about Tee, about everything he knew, and his story: the one that had struck a chord and netted them all.

But perhaps it wasn't his story after all. Perhaps it never had been.

If you stare at a scene long enough, hold the image in your head, then come back and look at it again from the exact same spot, you'll always notice changes. Little things. Maybe a shadow's got longer or shorter, maybe the light is softer or brighter. Maybe the clouds have scattered, or the sand has shifted on the ground. Or maybe people who were in one place the first time have moved to another, or disappeared altogether. It's the same scene, but timeworn.

I'd spent so long on my knees, trapped between Reed and his sidekick, pinned in my own hell, I hadn't paid much attention to anything else. Except Alex. But she hadn't moved, was still muted and standing right where she'd been before, the Guard to one side of her, his hand gripping her shoulder. None of the other Guards had moved either, nor had the Councillors. The giant was behind me, and Garrick still stood as before, arms crossed and looking less than impressed. But something was different. And bringing everything in from the periphery, sorting through it, I realised what it was: Taggart had shifted. Whether in an aimless wander or purposeful strides, he'd passed right across the room without anyone noticing and was now standing behind the Guard who minded Cade.

Fenton and I faced off; him staring, me glaring, the silence heavy and glowering; Reed's anticipation alive and dancing in his eyes, he and everyone else waiting for the order. But it never came. Before our fate could be announced, before Reed could carry out any of his sick threats, I heard the one thing I never imagined I'd hear in that room, a noise too bizarre for such a cold, cruel place.

Someone was clapping. And all heads turned to Garrick.

‘Enough!' Fenton almost shouted.

But Garrick stalked towards us, drawing everyone's eye. ‘Good job, Reed. You had him on his knees and you still managed to cock it up.'

‘I said enough! Return to your position, Commander.' Fenton's face wasn't so pale any more, and Reed spluttered his rage.

‘I told you to let me handle this, sir,' said Garrick. ‘Jem doesn't answer to Reed. He answers to me. Has done for eight years, and I know how to get what's needed.'

‘Stay out of it, Garrick,' Reed snarled. ‘This isn't your concern.'

‘It is when you don't deliver. So back off.' He looked at Fenton again. ‘You want this over? Let me do it, sir.'

Another long silence as Fenton looked to his fellow Councillors. For the first time the others showed real signs of life, and there was a tense muttering between them before Fenton straightened.

‘Very well,' he said. ‘But don't fail us, Commander. Or else you'll be joining Jeremiah.'

Not comforted by that promise, Reed scowled. I didn't have the strength to taunt him. I didn't have the strength for anything any more, used up, the shadows closing in and everything hazing over, but it didn't matter because Garrick was more than happy to do it for me.

‘Watch and learn, you useless prick,' he said, before pulling one of his own knives and crouching down in front of me, his face impassive, his eyes calm. I hoped he'd make it quick. Give me that at least.

‘How you doin', Jem?' he asked.

‘Been better,' I muttered.

He looked me over, taking in every wound. ‘Yeah. I reckon you have. Gotta say, you held out longer than I thought. But now it's time to end it.'

I nodded, feeling myself slip away and glad to let it happen at last. But he just cuffed me hard over the head. ‘Don't go passing out. You're no use if you do that.'

‘Fuck off,' I moaned.

‘That's better. Now, you remember that little chat we had? Just before we came up here?'

My head bobbed, neither yes or no.

Holding up his knife, he said, ‘Reckon I might use this.' Then he pulled the gun out of his belt. ‘Or, I could use this. A bullet can work wonders, Jem, when it hits the right spot.' He waved both weapons. ‘Which one d'you want?'

I blinked, hard and fast, steadying myself, pushing away the shadows that threatened, trying to focus, on the weapons and on him, and feeling that quick surge of hot anger, beating and burning and firing me up.

Listen – once you've got past that first shot – Listen!

‘Reckon I'd prefer the gun,' I said at last.

He kept his face calm, wiped of everything except a small smile. Sick fuck. Reed was behind him, looming over Garrick's right shoulder. Restless, his hand kept flexing around the hilt of his knife, gripping, releasing, gripping again, and his feet scuffed impatiently. An even sicker fuck.

‘Fair enough,' Garrick replied. ‘Now, that big Guard's just a few steps behind you, and he's itchin' to pound you with that iron he's got. And I'm gunna let him do it if you don't get this right. You understand?'

‘Yeah,' I muttered, swallowing the anger, centring it in my core and letting it build.

‘Good.' Flipping the knife, so the blade pointed back under his arm, he extended the gun until the muzzle hovered a few inches from my stomach, his finger on the trigger. Then he lowered it just enough so it pointed straight down at my groin. I heard Reed chuckle, and Alex whimper. But this wasn't the first time my dick had been threatened; in fact, I was getting kind of used to it.

‘Any last words to your bitch, Jem?' Garrick asked, enjoying himself. ‘While there's still time?' Real, real sick.

Looking up, I held her gaze. There were so many things I wanted to say; so much I wish I'd told her, had I only known the words.

‘My hand on yours, Alex. Remember? I'm sorry, I can't do that now.' Not waiting to see if she understood, I glared at Garrick. ‘Next time you call her a bitch, I'll kill you.'

‘Is that so?' Giving one of his evil little smiles, he prodded me with the gun, and I couldn't help but squirm. ‘It's time to give everyone what they're asking for, Jem. Five seconds. That's how long you've got. You ready? One –'

‘I can't – I –'

‘Sure you can. Two –'

I bowed my head, blocking out everything, staring down at the gun and his hand, so steady and so sure. Shit. And I breathed deep, keeping to his count, not wincing at the stab in my chest, blocking out the ache of bone and muscle, and the hot sting of raw flesh. Just breathed deep, finding that place, cold air in, warm air out, clouding white and wet.

‘Four –'

Cold air in – a nod, and a last heavy sigh. ‘Okay.'

A quick flick to spin the gun on his finger and I grabbed at the grip, seizing it from him, fumbling with numb hands to turn it over. He didn't wait to make sure, just swivelled on heel and toe, keeping low, stabbing back and tearing through Reed's groin to score the artery. And maybe he scored something else too, because
Reed shrieked and staggered back, dropping his weapon and clutching at himself.

Alex wasted no time either, twisting out of the Guard's hold and in again, driving that small blade high into the side of his neck. Buoyed by vengeance, and hate-filled, she slashed and stabbed to open it up. No hesitation, no time for doubt, no room for error. Ballard had been right. She knew what to do.

And so did I. Turning on my knees, even as Fuckwit finally clued in, roaring and hefting the bar up over his head to smash mine, I aimed at his towering bulk, thumbing the hammer, my hands not nearly as steady as Garrick's had been, and pulled the trigger.

His bellow died with him, obliterated in a mess of teeth and bone as the bullet found its target. Not even I could've missed at that range. His head snapped back and he kind of hung in the air before crumpling and crashing, iron clanging and bouncing on stone, body following, his head smashing into the brazier, tipping and rolling it, scattering ash and embers, with me scrambling to get out of the way.

And for just a second, maybe less, everything went still. Before it turned to shit.

Taggart made his move, two rapid headshots taking out the Guards either side of Cade, before he grabbed and hauled him back to the shadows, to the cover of the wall. The rest was chaos, Fenton and the other two Councillors on their feet, dissolving from the table in a panicked wash, making for one of the doors, a line of Guards moving in to usher them, the rest pulling swords and shouting at and to each other, all of them confused. Coz it's a real bitch when things don't go the way you planned. Worse when others outsmart you.

A sudden clamour from the stairs: doing exactly as he'd been told and not messing around, Piggott led a handful of Watchmen up and into the room, getting everyone's attention and drawing the Guards away.

Alex staggered to me and sank to her knees. Her hands were wet with blood and the knife slipped as she cut between my wrists, severing the bonds.

‘Oh God,' she whispered, ‘Look at you. I thought they were –'

‘Nah. Not even close,' I lied.

Another shrill shriek. Garrick was crouched over Reed, one hand gripping his hair, the other holding the knife, ready to stab, and I scrambled across to catch his arm. Reed was still clutching at his groin, every pulse pumping out more blood, slicking the floor dark and wet, but he had no chance. And I didn't give a shit. I just wanted Tate and Connor.

Glaring up at the two of us, he cursed. ‘You fucking – you're dead! Everyone's fucking dead!'

‘You miserable little cocksucker,' Garrick growled. ‘It's
my
Watch. You fuck with me and my men, and I'll fuck with you. Every time.'

‘Where are they, Reed?' I said. ‘Tate and the boy? Where are they?'

‘Go to hell,' he gasped.

‘You first,' Garrick said, shaking off my hand and stabbing down at an angle, hard and fast, driving the knife through Reed's open mouth, pinning and grinding his head to the floor. His body kicked and jerked and Garrick finished him off with a hard cut across the throat, before shooting me a wide grin. ‘Now he's a deadshit.'

‘Fuck! He was the only one –
get down!
'

And cocking the gun, shooting over his ducked head, I winged the Guard who'd broken through. No kill shot, not even close, but the Watchman following finished him off with an axe to his spine, spilling and sprawling him dead beside us. A quick glance at the body, then at me, and Garrick nodded his thanks. Then he spoiled it.

‘Your aim's gettin' worse.'

‘Fuck you.'

‘Jem, what the hell's going on?' Alex asked, bewildered and urgent, scowling at Garrick, her fingers flexing tight around her knife. But Garrick saw it too, holding up his own in warning, and I gripped Alex's wrist tight.

‘Not now,' I told her.

‘Get out of here before they sound the alarm,' Garrick said, pulling me to my feet, steadying me when I stumbled and almost fell again. Taking the gun from me, he grabbed the fallen Guard's sword and thrust it into my hands. ‘You right to use it?'

I gave a nod. Finally, a weapon I knew something about. But I was getting weaker, still bleeding, flesh still burning, muscles I didn't even know I had starting to fail.

‘Get downstairs,' he ordered. ‘Wait for us there.'

‘Fenton,' I said, though I knew it was already too late. ‘We can –'

‘No! We got what we came for. Now move!' And then he was gone, sprinting into the thick of it, knife in one hand, his short sword in the other, fuelled on bloodlust and already laughing. Like one of those old Berserkers my grandmother had written about. That was Garrick. Berserk, and fucking the enemy.

‘Come on!' Gathering everything I had for the final haul, I grabbed Alex's hand. But she pulled back.

‘No! Cade! Where's Cade?'

‘Taggart's got him. C'mon!' And stumbling, almost tripping over my own feet, I pulled her towards the stairs, keeping to the side and using every shadow. Because I'd lied about the sword. Just carrying it brought a heavy stab to my chest, every breath short and laboured. But before I could think of ditching it, Alex screamed a warning. The blur of a body charged in from the left, and instinct overcame any injury.

Spinning Alex away and behind me, I brought up the sword with both hands, catching the other blade on its guard, steel grating on steel, my whole body shuddering with the impact, before pushing
off and stumbling back, only just managing to keep my feet, and cursing my left arm, which was as good as useless.

‘Run, Alex!' I yelled. ‘Get out of here!'

But there was no time to make sure, and no time to assess whether I was up to this. The push of adrenaline was too great, pumping blood and setting pace. Primal and powerful, the sudden urge to protect her compensated for everything I lacked.

The Guard swung his sword again, carving the air, and I danced back. He was young, stronger than me but not as desperate, and I caught him on the backswing, riding the weight, letting it carry through and over before thrusting in, forcing him to jump back, the point of his sword striking the ground. He grunted with the shock, panting a bit. But I was gasping. Sidestepping another lunge, I twisted my sword, slicing the back of his arm. He cursed, shifting his grip and heaving with both hands, and I feinted left, then back, waited for the fall, dodged in, then past and scored his side with a backswing, cutting deep. He bellowed and stumbled back and suddenly, from the shadows, Alex darted in low, stabbing into the back of his knee, and out again. The Guard yelled, lurching and panicking, arcing the sword in a wide swing out and behind but too big to correct, and with a roar I drove my blade through his stomach to his spine, feeling it strike before jerking free to let him fall.

‘Come on!' Alex grabbed my arm, and this time it was she who led me, dodging around another skirmish and back into darkness. A last push to the entrance and we were in the open, on the stairs, down the first few, me missing the rest, dropping the sword and holding the wall just to keep upright, before rounding the corner into the passage, five strides, then ten, her pulling and pulling, me slowing and slowing. The adrenaline had drained, and I was climaxed out.