Chapter Two

For a while. When I came to, I was in the middle of a clump of bushes and large rocks. It wasn't dawn, but it was close. A snake was gliding by me. I could just make out that it was a rattlesnake, its tongue flickering out to catch movement. I didn't move. I wasn't sure I could, anyway. I pretended to myself I was choosing not to stir. The birds were singing, so the gunfire and screaming were long over. The birds didn't care that I had a bitch of a headache. I wanted to groan, but I knew I had to make not a scritch nor a screech till I got the lay of the land. When the snake was gone, I looked at myself, as best I could without much movement. I couldn't see a bullet hole; I couldn't see more than a little blood. That was on my hand where it had been under my cheek. My hand was waking up now, and it stung. Maybe I'd been shot in the head? Because I could tell now that was what really hurt; it throbbed like hell. If I'd taken a bullet to the head, I couldn't imagine why I wasn't dead. My gun belt was gone. Jackhammer was gone. It was as bad as being naked in public. I had to get up and find my crew. I really tried to move, but my head pounded with a terrible pain, and I just couldn't. Hoping it would ease my head, I even shut my eyes. It was hard to think, I hurt so bad, but I made myself focus out. At first I heard nothing but the damn birds. Then I heard the wind, its quiet, smooth noise moving the grass and tree leaves. Then, it seemed to me, I heard a sigh, a human sigh. Repeated. Repeated. When I heard nothing more threatening than that, no voices or shots, I figured it was safe to get out from behind the rocks. The first time I made it to my hands and knees, I vomited. I waited a bit, trembling. The second time I made the attempt, I managed to crawl out of my little hidden space. Being cautious, watching and listening. I moved real slowly, stopping every few seconds to taste the air like the snake had done. I wanted every clue I could gather about what had happened around me before I made it known I was alive. If there was anyone to tell. The truck had rolled over onto the driver's side, but it had landed propped up thanks to a boulder with a flat top. The door on the passenger's side was open. The bandits had been in there searching for whatever they could loot. Or maybe someone had crawled out. After I saw the truck, saw the damage, did not see any living person, I threw up again. I felt better after that, but very thirsty. I'd had a drink from my canteen back in Segundo Mexia, before we'd set out. That must have been twelve hours ago now, give or take. Some people would never be thirsty again. The almost-grown girl in the older family, the seventeen-year-old, she hadn't made it. There must have been more gunfire after I'd been hit. She'd tried to run. Lots of families taught their girls to run, figuring that a bullet in the back was quicker than what waited for them after capture. My opinion, sometimes they were right. Sure enough, the wound was in her back. She'd died very quickly. I knew 'cause there wasn't much blood. She was sprawled in the middle of the road, as if she'd been running back the way we'd come when she was hit. A few yards past her, I could see Martin's body, lying in a heap at the point where Tarken had shoved him out of the truck. Though my vision was fuzzy from the poor light and whatever was wrong with my head, I could see a long, dark line a few yards beyond that; that would be Galilee. From the way Martin and Galilee were lying, it was clear they were dead. I could see blood around them, as extra proof. I did not have the strength to reach them to close their eyes. And I did not have a gun. I could see something sprawled a ways back, figured it was the bandit I'd shot. There should be another one back in the brush off the road. I didn't have the energy or inclination to find the body. After five minutes of crawling and collapsing, pushing up to crawl again, I rounded the truck to find Tarken on the other side. It was him making the noise. He'd taken a bullet in the leg and one in the shoulder, small caliber. That's why he was still alive to sigh. I tried to get to my feet so I could move faster, but I got all dizzy. Not possible. In fact, I could not stay up on my knees any longer. I inched along on my belly until I reached him. "Tarken," I said, just to let him know I was there. I eased onto my side, so I could look at him. We hadn't been together long, not even sharing a roof yet. But this was very hard. "Lizbeth," he said. "You're alive." He sounded pleased. He sounded like he was dying. "Yeah. At the moment." My head hurt so bad I wasn't sure that was going to last. "They said I wasn't . . . worth a bullet. They could tell I wasn't . . . going to make it. They took . . . the clients." He got all this out between the deep breaths. He'd turned his head enough to look me in the eyes. "I climbed out of the . . . truck. Hoped I could follow 'em." With two bullets in him. "The oldest girl, she's dead," I told him. "She took one in the back." "Her mom told her to run." Tarken took a deep breath, let it out. The sigh. "Her mom was smart." "She screamed a bit, though. When the girl died." Tarken's mouth turned up a little, almost smiling at the silliness of human nature. I knew him well. "Yeah. Can't help it sometimes." I had to close my eyes and wait for the nausea to subside. I didn't want to; I wanted to look at him as long as he could look back. "Galilee and Martin?" I wasn't sure he was still alive until he'd spoken again. "Yeah. It was quick." Maybe. There was a lot of blood. "Glad you made it," Tarken said in a fainter voice. "Glad I had you for a while. You're a good gal. You know what you got to do." He said all this in a rush. And then he did die, at what turned out to be the last sigh. He just never drew a breath back in. So I lay there for a while, planning what to do, in case I lived. I wondered if maybe I hadn't been shot at all. Maybe I'd hit my head on something when the truck had gone over. It was good I didn't have any broken bones. I pondered all this. My throat was so dry it ached. I needed water. I had to move. Tarken's water bottle was still in his bag, and his bag was still on his shoulder. He'd hooked it around his neck before he climbed out of the truck, after the bandits had left. He'd taken it for himself—he couldn't have known I was alive—but he hadn't had the strength to drink from it. It was under his body. I worked it out from under him. That didn't feel good, but I knew he'd be glad for me to have it. After I drank, I felt better, but I had to rest for a little bit. I guess it was about nine or ten in the morning before I was able to stand and walk. I'd searched around as much as I was able, creeping and crawling to the bodies of the men I'd killed. Their friends had stripped those bodies of anything helpful, but I did find a gold coin they'd missed, tucked in one man's boot. I didn't make it as far as Galilee or Martin. I knew they would have been searched, and I didn't want to see them up close. Though I'd been glad to keep Tarken company in his last moments, those moments had just about done me in. I'd hoped to find a gun, but no luck. My gun belt had been torn off by the nail, I figured, and who knows where I'd flung Jackhammer when I'd flown from the back of the truck? I must have crawled into the bushes to hide. I guessed the bandits hadn't counted how many of us there were, or maybe they hadn't even asked the farmers. Our attackers had left with all our arms, the two families, the household goods they'd brought with them. Everything. The bandits must have thought they'd really been lucky. Though they'd lost two of their number, they were probably laughing about how easy it had been. That thought stiffened me up. I was very, very angry. When I could stand up long enough to search the sideways-tilted cab of the truck, I did find Tarken's handgun, wedged under the seat. In the dark the bandits had missed it. I wondered if Tarken had groped for it, been unable to find it. . . . I made myself quit the thought. This gun was a big, wonderful present from Tarken to me, and I almost wept when I held it. It had seven bullets in it. So seven shots was what I had to work with. There weren't truck or car tracks anywhere close. The bandits were herding the farm families on foot. The kids wouldn't move fast. I had a chance of catching up. I just had to get going. I leaned against the truck for a few moments. I hated the way it lay on its side like a helpless bug. The tires were blown, the doors dented, and the glass broken, and I thought an axle would have to be replaced. It looked a sad mess, all broken. I remembered Martin and Tarken working on it the day before. I bit the inside of my cheek. I knew what I had to do. Martin and Tarken and Galilee would have done the same. I began tracking. I had Tarken's water, and I had found a sandwich in his bag; that would have to do. I ate it and made myself keep it down. I was slow, because of my head. And my muscles were beginning to hurt from the force of the landing when I'd hit the ground. But I kept moving. There was no one else to do it. The trail was easy to follow. Lots of people on foot. The two families had taken all their bags and boxes, which was probably the doing of the bandits. They wouldn't have wanted to walk carrying all that stuff, not after the shock of the shooting and the death of the oldest girl. Early the next morning I found the baby lying by a campfire. It was dead. I don't know why. I didn't unwrap it. Why it died made no difference. Looking at it would only make me angrier. The ashes were still faintly warm at the center. I smiled to myself, maybe. I couldn't tell what my face was doing because my head still hurt fierce. I told myself I was going to catch them in good time. I put one foot in front of another. I tried not to think about how much I wanted sleep. We'd already lost two of our clients. I didn't want to lose any more. A couple of hours later I paused under a tree. I let myself sit down, and the relief of it was huge. When I rubbed my face, my hand came away with dried blood speckles. I reached up real careful and felt my scalp. I'd made up my mind I hadn't been shot. I'd just banged my head, and somehow my ear had been cut. That was where the blood had come from. I didn't have the guts to check myself out all over. I didn't want to see all my bruises and scratches. I'd just feel worse if I did. I had a drink and got to my feet. Later that afternoon I caught up with the bandits because they couldn't wait to rape the women. They'd started with the younger wife. I thought her name was Martha. Since I could hear them from a far way, it was easy to creep up, hide behind a live oak. The assholes didn't have a watch settled. They thought we were all dead. I counted four bandits: the redheaded one pumping away on the woman, the one holding a gun on the husband (who was screaming, words I couldn't understand), a bearded man holding Jackhammer, and a short man who was enjoying the rape so much he was holding only his own dick. The red-haired rapist was intent on his pleasure, so I started out the killing with the ones who might be able to act quick. The bearded man must be first, since he had Jackhammer. When I raised Tarken's pistol, Bearded Man caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and began to swing around. I had to shoot him twice to make sure he was dead, so that left me five bullets. The armed guard went second, before he could even turn around. I was only worried I'd take out the screaming husband, too. The third man, the one who'd been pleasuring himself, dropped his dick to dive for a rifle. I got him before he could reach it, and he was dead. By then the one who'd been in the saddle had pulled out and was scrambling to his feet. Since he was in midmovement, it wasn't a killing wound, but he was hurt enough. They were all on the ground in a few seconds. Not bad. I discovered a second later I shouldn't pat myself on the back, because the guard wasn't as hurt as I'd thought. He twisted around to get off a shot in my direction. To my surprise, it came close as a blown kiss. I fired again, and he was out of the picture. One bullet left, in case the rapist was still breathing. I spared a glance for the farm people, checking I hadn't shot any of them by accident. None of them were bleeding. They were stuck in the same positions with their mouths hanging open, not yet understanding they were free. Dammit, the rapist was still moving. I'd wanted to save a bullet. Redhead tried to crawl away, as though he had somewhere to go. I raised the gun again. But I got to keep my last shot. The husband, with a roar of rage, leaped on top of the rapist with his heavy boots, and then he lifted a large rock and brought it down on the rapist's head, or what was left of it. I waited till his frenzy was through. I figured he needed that. He stood, panting and speckled with blood, and he looked me in the eyes. I nodded toward his wife, who'd turned on her side after pulling her dress down. She was crying, harsh and loud. The husband helped his wife up and held her to him. The older man went over to the children and his own wife, the motherly Ruth, and gathered them up, trying to reassure them. Everyone was giving me sideways looks. They were all goggle-eyed at the sight of me. And scared of me. Which I didn't mind. Better than weeping and hanging on me. "Thank you," said the older man as he hugged the kids. I liked that. It wasn't necessary, but it made me feel good. "I'll see you safe to Corbin," I said. "I'm the only one left alive." The man nodded, but he was giving me an appraising glance. "You look pretty rough," he said. "You paid us to get you there. I will." I wasn't being noble. It was a reputation thing. The Tarken Crew was reliable. That was why we charged a little more. We would never leave clients to die, if we were alive. The men were disgusted when I told them to take everything the bandits had on them. I had to do a lot of the work myself. I guess their gratitude only went so far. Martha was still trying to get hold of herself, and Ruth was comforting her; but she had only half her mind on it. The rest of it was back on the road behind us, with her dead daughter. I could tell by the way her eyes fixed on me over Martha's shoulder. She would have questions. I got my Winchester back, and Galilee's Krag. My Colts, still in their holsters, were stuffed in a sack, with their extra mags. The bandits hadn't taken the time to remove the Colts from the gun belt, which had torn. On that nail, I figured. That nailhead had changed my life somehow. One of the bandits had a fairly good game rifle, which I was glad to see. I found some ammunition for Tarken's pistol, and I found Galilee's and Martin's handguns. There was even another pistol, so dirty and ill cared for I wondered it hadn't blown up with the firing of it. Another rifle was cheap to begin with, and now it was just about useless. I left that one. I found another handgun and another rifle, cheap but working. I kept hold of those for the moment. The bandits had been short on ammunition, but we got what was there, so we were well set as far as arms went. We didn't find much food, wasn't much money (which would have been useless in this situation, but always good to have), and none of the bandit clothes were in decent shape. These raggedy men had very little besides what was on their backs, and that was ruined by the blood and bullet holes. I retrieved the canteens they'd taken from our gear, and I got the kids to fill them all at a nearby stream, which was probably why the bandits had decided to stop at this spot to let their desires out. While the kids did that bit of work, I washed my hands and face and arms downstream. I felt a little better. I tried to rinse off my head, and it hurt so much I had to abandon that. The younger wife, Martha, the one who'd been raped—whose baby I'd found by the first campfire—was crying again, and her husband was looking at her helplessly. But when her two little ones began to cry along with her, Martha pulled herself together. Ruth helped by finding her sister-in-law a change of clothes, urging her to go wash in the stream. Finally Martha did get clean and put on different clothes, and she looked a little better after she'd washed the man off of her. She stood up straighter. I liked that. It made me hopeful we could get this done. If I had to drag all of them along, we'd never make it. When Martha began to get her children washed, too, I got the men to help me put the bodies in a heap away from the stream. This was a good campsite. I didn't want to ruin it. "Time to walk out," I called, and the adults began to load up with the packs. Even the oldest boy, who couldn't be more than ten, took a little load. The bandits had made them carry everything this far, which again had helped me catch up with them. But I figured we'd have to find a place to stow this stuff. It would take everything we had to get to Corbin, without being weighed down. I knew better than to try to persuade them to leave some of the packs, here and now. That would be a useless argument, after they'd lost so much. They'd listen to me after they'd toted their goods a while longer. Already tired in our bodies and minds, we started moving in the right direction. At first no one said a word. They were knocked silent by everything that had happened over the past thirtysomething hours That was my grace period. I knew it was over when the men drew ahead of their wives and children to catch up with me. They began asking questions I couldn't answer, starting with the older brother, Jeremiah. The younger brother, whose name turned out to be Jacob, chimed in soon after. How long would it take us to get to Corbin? What would we eat on the way? Was it likely anyone would come upon us and help us? Or attack us? Where would we sleep? As Martin had told them when they'd struck the bargain, the trip to Corbin usually took two nights, driving from dusk to dawn while it was cool. One day camping on the road. This walk would take much longer, of course, and it would have to be in daylight. We'd be able to see whoever or whatever came upon us. Likewise, they could see us—and we were weak. "Why ain't we following the road?" Jeremiah asked. I had a hold on my patience, but there wasn't much to grasp. "Because there will most likely be more bandits on the road. And we've only got me for protection. We had to take the road when we had the truck, but we were moving faster and had good gunnies. Now we're cutting across country. It'll be a shorter trip as the crow flies, but we're on foot. We can dodge some trouble, though." Jeremiah accepted this with ill grace. I could tell he didn't like not being in charge. But the farmer had enough sense to realize I had to lead this expedition. Jacob just nodded. I had to get them on my side. Not that they weren't all for our survival, not that they weren't glad I'd saved their lives and freedom, exactly. They were used to being in charge of their worlds, and all the people in those worlds. Especially women. Especially a young woman. I couldn't put up with argument over everything. "We have to hunt for food. We have to watch out for dogs. We have to find some kind of protection for tonight. And as for people coming across us? Every now and then the Indians get bold enough to approach. Do not shoot at them unless you see them charging at us to kill us." "Since the president died, the world has gone to hell. God help us all," Jeremiah said, and his brother nodded. When people said "the president," they meant the last elected president of the United States, Franklin Roosevelt. When he'd been assassinated in some city in Florida, before he could be sworn into office, the government had started down a slope that had gotten slicker and slicker. After the white government had collapsed, the Indian tribes who could muster up a group of warriors had taken back the land that had been theirs, forcibly if they'd had to. Now they patrolled it vigorously. Though most tribes were content to let white people pass through as long as they didn't stay, there were some that were not. And bandits were everywhere, especially in Texoma, New America, and Dixie. I had heard that in Britannia, the area that had knelt to England, there was so much law that bandits were caught and hung quickly. The same for Canada, which had expanded to take in a lot of northern America. Canada had its horseback police, who were supposed to be crackerjack at their jobs. The Holy Russian Empire had a squad of grigoris and militia whose job it was to track highway robbers and kill them on the spot. But in Texoma and New America, formal justice was scarce on the ground. People were poor, times were hard. That's why the farmers had needed us to get them safe to Corbin. And look at what had happened. I was kind of amazed and relieved they accepted my authority now, and I knew it was only because they were so dazed. As we walked, I had to listen to Jeremiah and Jacob going on at me about all this. It was almost beyond what I could stand, but I had to act like I was listening. Like I cared. They talked about the Deconstruction till I thought I'd scream. I could tell this was all stuff they'd talked about over and over. It was a familiar conversation to them. Comforting. I hardly needed to say anything at all. Finally, when they'd run down, and seemed to have settled back within themselves, I handed them each a bandit gun. "We know how to shoot," Jeremiah assured me, and Jacob nodded with a lot of emphasis. "Of course you do," I said, and I meant it. Farmers had to shoot wild animals, and their own livestock if the animals were sick. But that was far from being a gunnie. I had to remind them again, "Don't shoot Indians unless they're charging us." The brothers looked grumpy, as if I was trying to get them to agree to something that was clearly not common sense. "Why?" asked Jeremiah. "If you do, they'll track us down and kill us all." I knew this. Another gunnie, named Chauncey Donegan, had watched it happen. The two farmers nodded—after a pause—and this time I believed them. I could move on to another thing I had to make them believe. "But dogs, you got to scare them away with gunfire before they can get in among us. Once they start biting, they go crazy." "Sure," Jacob said. "We've heard that." He and Jeremiah gave each other a nod. That was settled. Glad to know my word had been confirmed. While they were so agreeable, I had to tackle the problem I thought would be hardest for them. They were looking tired enough. "We need to be looking for a place to store your stuff. Once we reach Corbin, you can come back with a large party to retrieve it. With mules. And guns. We're too laden down. We've got to move faster." Jeremiah and Jacob didn't like that so much. Their eyes met in silent consultation. Jeremiah glanced back and saw the women and children struggling with their burdens. "All right," he said after a bit of silence. Jacob nodded, too. I tried not to look as relieved as I felt. The two men went back to talk to their wives, reassure their children, and generally act like leaders. They'd had to be given something to do, besides be helpless. They'd both lost a child, and Jacob's wife had been raped in front of him, and they needed to do something besides think of those things. At least until they got to Corbin, after which their thoughts were their own affairs. I couldn't do anything about the memories in these children's heads. They'd seen things that are bad for kids—for anyone—to see. They'd rallied a bit when I'd set them to filling canteens at the bandit campsite. So I told the oldest girl and boy to keep their eyes open for some kind of shelter where we could stow their heavy packs. I told the littler ones to start picking up sticks for the fire we'd have that night. I asked them all to keep their eyes open for any sign of life, animal or human. We took a brief halt while I did all this. I thought if I said one more word, my head was going to fall off my shoulders. I also thought if I didn't start walking again, I'd just crumple to the ground and stay there. I stood straight and called, "Let's move out. Everyone remember their jobs?" All the kids nodded. "Yes, ma'am," said the oldest girl. "Yes'm," said the youngest. For a second Jacob and Jeremiah and Ruth and Martha looked . . . a little less grim. We started walking, sticking more or less together. And we kept walking, step after step. I had moments when I wondered if I would die if I ever lay down to sleep, my head hurt that bad. Finally the sky began to darken. We could stop. In fact, we had to stop. Though it would have been safer to leave the camp black, I let them make a fire. It got chilly at night. They all wrapped up in the blankets from their packs. I had none. Ruth handed me one without a word. I figured it had been her daughter's. They had some canned food with them, mostly home fixed but some store bought, and we heated it up in their pans. They had some shallow bowls and spoons. They'd been prepared, but not for what had come. I got as much food in me as I could, but I wasn't able to eat much because of my head. When I asked the farm people to divide up the watches that night, they didn't complain. I might have shot them if they had, and maybe they could see that. I needed to sleep and rest that much. I did not dream at all, not even of Tarken's eyes as he died. The next morning it took me five minutes to get to my feet. I was sore and stiff all over, but my head was not quite as painful. It was more like someone was tapping on the inside of my skull, rather than banging. That was good, because today was going to be harder than yesterday, at least in some ways. I had to get everyone moving, their feet pointed north to Corbin. No one wanted to start out. Everyone wanted to make a wish and be there. Both women and men had cried in the night, for their lost children and other lost things. Their eyes were red and swollen. After I'd urged them enough, everyone disappeared behind bushes to take care of necessary business, ate a handful of something, drank a little water, and shook themselves awake. I asked the children to heap dirt on the remains of the fire, and that was a job they could perform with gusto. We crossed a rail line that morning, but it was all tore up. Maybe it had been abandoned because of this disrepair, or maybe the disrepair had happened after the abandonment. I tried not to spend any time wishing it were in good order. If there'd been a train, we could have stopped it and asked the engineer to send someone from Corbin to escort us, and maybe that would have come about. As it was, we were out in the open with very little protection. Though my vision was clear today, I didn't think I could hit the side of a barn. I hoped I was wrong. Within an hour the oldest girl, Jael, spotted an overturned wagon. She had great long-sight. No one else had noticed it. The wagon's axle was broken. I remembered seeing it at a distance on a previous trip. It was mostly whole. After some palaver Ruth and Martha consolidated what they deemed essential into two packs. Then the two women, Jeremiah's two kids, and I raised the body of the wagon enough for Jeremiah and Jacob to stuff the other packs underneath it. After we eased it down, it looked exactly the same, to my relief. I looked sharp around us so I could give landmarks to whoever would return. I made them all get branches to sweep away the footprints around the wagon, and I hoped the wind would do the rest of the erasing. We moved on a lot more briskly, the adults taking turns carrying the two remaining packs. I looked up at the sky to get my bearings, and saw blue so vast it was amazing. Though it might be only spring, the heat had began to climb by midday. We were getting mighty low on water. Later that day we encountered three Indians on horses. The farmers set up a great clamor, but I told them to shut up. "Remember what I said," I told them, in a voice so stern it was almost like hearing my schoolteacher mother speak through my mouth. Though my vision was beginning to blur a little, I thought I recognized one of the Indians. I walked away from the farmers, toward the horses. "Are you needing help?" one of them called. His voice was just familiar. "Standing Still?" I said. "Gunnie Rose," he said. "Why are you here?" "We were set upon. I'm taking these people north to Corbin." "Where is your man?"

"Dead. His friend, too." "And the dark woman with the big hair?" Galilee's hair had been very entertaining to the Indians. "Dead." "I am sorry," he said formally. "Can you tell me if there is water near here?" "Yes, at the old settlement. It's north and east of here." "Thank you. My best wishes to you and your family and your chief." "Easy death, Gunnie Rose." "Good hunting, Standing Still." They turned west and were on their way. Jeremiah and Jacob were standing tense and ready. It was a good thing I had told them not to shoot before I'd figured out the intentions of our visitors—and it was a better thing that they'd respected my words. I could feel them relax behind me as the Indians vanished. "What tribe were they?" Jacob asked. "Comanche," I said. "This area is common ground for the Comanche and the Kiowa." "How did you know them?" "I knew one of them. Standing Still helps out my stepfather from time to time." "Doing what?" Jeremiah said this very suspiciously. Dealing with an Indian made my whole family suspect. "My stepfather owns a hotel. Standing Still brings in a deer for the table there every now and then." "I wish he'd brought us one," Jacob muttered. Sure, because we had the time to skin and butcher and cook a deer, and carry the remains with us. And because we had the money to pay him, which he'd expect, and rightly. I didn't answer. It was a waste of my breath. I started walking again. The two men were talking to each other, and Jacob's wife, Martha, moved up to walk beside me. "What did that mean, 'easy death'?" She seemed almost shy with the question. "He meant . . . he was being polite. That's what gunnies wish each other. An easy death." Martha was silent for a minute. Just when I hoped it was going to remain quiet, she said, "You have a hard life, Gunnie Rose." "You do, too. We all do." That was as personal as I wanted to get with Martha. I didn't want to know any of them better. It was easy to ignore most of the children, because they were scared of me. But the oldest girl, Jael, who was about thirteen, dogged my footsteps. She'd seen me interrupt her aunt's rape and kill the men who'd done that and kidnapped them all, her interest wasn't too surprising. I would have wondered about me too. But Jael didn't speak, which was fine. I took a turn at watch this night, since there was no way around it. I didn't think I'd die now, but I wasn't so sure I wanted to live. I daydreamed about a dark room with no sound, no voices. And maybe in one corner, a bathtub and soap. The girl Jael broke into this pleasant picture and sat close to me, cross-legged, staring. I was too tired to mind. "You shoot a lot of people?" she asked. She had a hoarse little voice. "That's my job." "You did good, Gunnie Rose. Thanks." "Welcome." "Sorry about your friends." I nodded. Didn't want to talk about it. She leaned sideways and hugged me awkwardly. "My name's Jael," she said. "I wasn't sure you knew it. What's yours?" "Lizbeth," I said. "Gunnie." She squeezed a little and let go of me to return to her blanket, laid safely by her mom's. I saw Ruth's eyes glint in the firelight. She'd been keeping an eye on her chick. Good. I remembered the girl's name from the Bible. Hadn't Jael killed a man with a tent peg or something? Her parents must have thought she was a pretty fierce kid—or else they wanted her to be. The next day proved she was.