From the barracks comes the sound of motors starting, and in a minute three utility trucks pull around the drive and in front of the house. The elders step out from behind the wheels, and with Lakes, Nome, and Kenai, they spread out with the guards to pick up their wounded and dead and load them into the vehicles. And although they follow the guards with guns in hand, it looks like they don’t even need the weapons. The guards just want to get out of there. As they work, they throw apprehensive glances at the corpse of their ex-boss floating in the fountain.
Finally they all take off in a slow-moving convoy and disappear from sight. The clan members organize in front of Juneau, and she holds up a hand to signal that she’s going to speak.
“Go back down to the barracks and take all of the vehicles you can. We’ve got four elders here, but anyone else who wants to try their hand at driving is welcome. Once you get to Roswell, you’re going to need as many vehicles as possible.
“That’s the last instruction I have for you. From now on you’re on your own. Whether or not the clan decides to stick together is up to you. But I won’t be coming along.”
There is a gasp from those assembled. “Not right away,” Juneau clarifies. “You’ve all had weeks to work this out among yourselves. To think about the past and talk about the future. To forgive one another,” she says, looking directly at the elders.
“I’ve already discussed this with my dad,” she continues. “He told me you were all ready to follow me. Thank you for being willing to entrust your future to me. But I can’t lead you in wisdom if I don’t even know the truth myself.
“I need time to think things out. To figure out what I believe apart from what we’ve been raised with. I’m sure a lot of you will be doing the same thing, and I want to know what conclusions we all come to. So I’m not abandoning you. Just . . . taking a break. I’ll keep in touch with you through Dad. So this is just a good-bye for now.”
Her people take her one by one into their arms, hugging her and then letting her go. Juneau fights to stay composed as she exchanges words with her clan members.
Kenai and Nome hang back. Juneau’s obviously already spoken to them, because they show no surprise.
Once the last person has embraced Juneau, she holds up her hand once again. “I’ve asked Lakes to organize the practical matters for those of the clan who decide to stick together. As leader of the hunters, he’ll serve best as your tactical planner and will work with the elders, who know about this country and how things work.”
Juneau looks around the group. “I send my love with you on the path we all will take.” And then she turns her back to them, takes my hand, and with Nome and Kenai silently following, leads us back toward the house.
55
JUNEAU
SAYING GOOD-BYE TO MY PEOPLE SO SOON AFTER finding them is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Part of me wants to go with them—to join them in Roswell. To catch up on the time we’ve lost. To talk through it all until I understand more: why the elders did what they did, and how their children are dealing with it.
Instead, I take Miles’s hand and walk away. Leave them to clean up the mess—both on the battlefield and in their own lives. Nome and Kenai fall in behind us. They are dirty, wet, scratched-up . . . and their eyes are shining like sunlight on gemstones. After a month of captivity, they had been yearning for a fight, and the post-battle adrenaline makes them both look ready to jump out of their skins.
One car remains in the garage, and the way Miles is staring at it—like he wants to eat it whole—makes me smile. “Is it something special?” I ask.
He nods. “A classic Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow.”
I shrug. “A car’s a car, isn’t it?”
Miles shakes his head, and though his face is smudged with dirt, sweat, and blood, he is glowing with awe. “No,” he says. “Not this one.”
It’s amazing—even after all the trauma we’ve lived through today—Miles is able to make me smile. I wrap my arms around him and give him a quick, sweaty kiss.
Turning to include the others, I ask Miles, “How far away did you park the pickup truck?”
“About a half-hour drive,” he replies.
I nod, thinking. “Okay, Nome. You get behind the wheel. Miles has fifteen minutes to teach you to drive, and then we’ll switch and have Kenai learn. I’ll need you to drive yourselves to Roswell once we get the truck.”
I’ve never seen Nome move so fast. She’s behind the wheel in seconds flat, and Miles has to physically restrain her from pushing all of the buttons. Kenai and I climb in the back and within minutes we are backing out of the garage and making our way across the battlefield.
Our buoyant mood dissolves as we pass the destruction. Oddly, looking out at it from behind the car windows makes it feel more real. More horrific. Some of my clan members look up from what they’re doing and solemnly wave as we drive by. Others don’t even look up. The cycle of truth telling and forgiveness has just begun. Who knows where it will lead? Will the clan band together like survivors of yet another catastrophe, or will the past be too painful for some to reconcile? Not all will stay. And those who do will have to start from scratch. Begin something new that is based on truth.