“Call the FBI and wait for backup?”
“If you want to,” I said. “But let’s at least wait outside of town somewhere.”
He growled, but finally nodded. “Let’s get out of here, then. I hate this movie.”
The bus service in Fort Bruce cut off at ten, with a late service on a few lines that ran until two in the morning. It was nearly midnight. We walked a few blocks to the nearest late-line station, keeping our heads down, listening to the whispers of drunks and hookers and other late-night denizens as we passed them: “Did you hear what happened in The Corners?”
“Dozens are dead.”
“I heard it was hundreds.”
“It’s like the end of the world.”
Brooke walked close to me, shivering, and after a moment of hesitation, I put my arm around her.
“I love you, John,” she said.
“I’m only doing this to keep you warm.”
“That’s why I love you.”
I thought about Boy Dog, back in my apartment. If we left without him he’d starve, or at least dehydrate, alone in there maybe for days. I had rules to keep me from hurting an animal, even by neglect …
Who was I kidding? I’d broken all my rules. I couldn’t trust them, I couldn’t fall back on them, I couldn’t even blame them anymore. What did I have, if I didn’t have those? No family, no home, no life. A mad girl in my arms, and a dead one in my dreams. I didn’t even have myself.
I wasn’t even sure who I was.
I used to know. I used to be the weird kid, the one who sat in the corners, who didn’t talk to anyone, who hung around with the other weird kid because he never expected me to say anything back. I kept my rules and I kept to myself, and then the Clayton Killer came to town and everything changed. I had to hurt one person to save a bunch of others, but it didn’t stop at one. Now Marci was dead, and my mom, and so many more. Could I justify it with math? How many people haven’t died because I killed the Withered that would have killed them? How many people have died because I kicked the hornet’s nest and woke the hounds of hell? If I stop will it get better? If I kill them all, will it stop?
“Where do you want to go?” whispered Brooke.
“We’re going to Elijah’s mortuary.”
“I mean after,” she said. “When we’re free.”
“Free from trouble?” I asked. “I don’t think we can go far enough for that.”
“There’s the bus,” said Nathan. “Run.” We sprinted the last block and made it to the bus just in time, climbing on breathlessly as it pulled out from the stop. Nathan paid, and we sat on an empty bench. He flopped down across from us and pulled out his phone.
“Ordering a pizza?” I asked.
“An air strike,” said Nathan. “I want Langley to wipe this hellhole off the map.”
I glanced at the driver, but he seemed to be ignoring us. I pulled out my own phone and connected to the e-mail server.
You shouldn’t have run, said the message from Rack. We have things to discuss. I disconnected without sending a response.
Was I really ready to just walk away from this? To let a monster that dangerous keep killing? I didn’t know how to stop him—except I did. Elijah was still our greatest weapon, and now we were going to find him. Yes, he might help us get out of town, but there were other ways. Was I going to him because I wanted to escape, or because some part of me still wanted to fight? Was I lying to Brooke and Nathan about leaving? Was I lying to myself? Brooke asked me where I wanted to go, and I didn’t know. I wanted everything to end.
I wanted to end it.
We rode for fifteen minutes, and then walked for seven more through back streets to the mortuary. The light was on in the garage, and we reached the big bay doors just as one of them started to open. I pulled Brooke to the side, and Nathan ducked behind me, and when the door was fully raised we peeked around the corner. The garage held four vehicles: two of them were hearses, behind the second bay door that was still closed; the third was Elijah’s car, and the fourth was a heavy pickup truck, with a snowplow on the front and some kind of plastic tank in the trunk. The garage had its own private gas pump, and Elijah was using it to fill up his car.
Nathan had his gun out, but I frowned and waved him back, mouthing “put that away.” We didn’t want to scare our only ally.
Elijah must have heard us, because he looked up, his eyes wide with fear, and then swallowed nervously when he recognized my face. His body shook with a tremor of agitation and he went back to his work.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said.
“Hello, Meshara,” said Brooke softly. “It’s been a long time.”
He looked at her more closely. “You’re Brooke?”
“Sometimes.”
“You’re leaving town,” I told him. “We want to come with you.”