“Okay,” Lila managed. She was glad that Tiffany hadn’t listened to her. In fact, she didn’t know if there were many things she’d ever been so glad about. Her throat was dry; her body felt too tight in her skin; her hand was burning. The voice below was another life, though. This dark ladder didn’t have to be the end.
“That’s good. Now: one step,” said Tiffany. “You just gotta go one step. That’s how you start.”
13
“A blow-up fuck-me doll,” Tiffany marveled later. “Some a-hole’s birthday present. They let em have shit like that?”
Lila shrugged. “All I know is what I saw. There’s probably a story, but we’ll never know it.”
They rode all day and into the dark. Tiffany wanted one of the women in Our Place who’d had nursing experience to clean up Lila’s hand pronto. Lila said she’d be okay, but Tiff was insistent. “I told that crone who used to be warden up at the prison we wouldn’t die. We. That means both of us.”
She told Lila about the apartment she had in Charlottesville before meth addiction had napalmed the last decade or so. She’d kept a shitload of ferns. Buggers had flourished, too.
“That’s livin right, when you got big houseplants,” Tiffany said.
Slumped low in her saddle, the pace of her horse rocking her so pleasantly, Lila had to fight to keep from falling asleep and possibly slipping off. “What?”
“My ferns,” said Tiffany. “I’m regalin you about my ferns to keep you from passing out on me.”
This made Lila feel giggly but all that came out was a moan. Tiffany said not to be sad. “We can get you some. Ferns all over the fuckin place. They ain’t rare.”
Later, Lila asked Tiffany if she was hoping for a boy or a girl.
“Just a healthy kid,” said Tiffany. “Either way, so long as it’s healthy.”
“How about if it’s a girl, you name her ‘Fern.’?”
Tiffany laughed. “That’s the spirit!”
Dooling appeared at dawn, the buildings floating through a blue haze. Smoke twisted up from the parking lot behind the remains of the Squeaky Wheel. Here a communal firepit had been set up. Electricity was still at a premium, so they cooked outside as much as possible. (The Squeak had proved an excellent source of fuel. Its roof and walls were slowly being dismantled.)
Tiffany led them toward the fire. There were a dozen women there, shapeless in their heavy coats, caps, and mittens. Two big pots of coffee were boiling over the wide fire.
“Welcome home. We got coffee.” Coates stepped from the group.
“Unlike us, we got nothing,” Lila said. “Sorry. It was a Fuck-Me Farrah doll in the secure wing. If there’s anybody else in this world, there’s still no sign of them. And the others . . .” She shook her head.
“Mrs. Norcross?”
They all turned to check out the new one, who’d arrived just a day earlier. Lila took a step toward her, then stopped. “Mary Pak? Is that you?”
Mary came to Lila and hugged her. “I was just with Jared, Mrs. Norcross. I thought you’d want to know, he’s all right. Or he was, the last I saw him. That was in the attic of the demo house over in your neighborhood, before I fell asleep.”
CHAPTER 5
1
Tig Murphy was the officer that Clint told first—the truth about Evie, and about what she’d said: that everything seemed to depend on whether or not Clint could keep her alive, but she would plead her case no more than Jesus had when hauled in front of Pontius Pilate. Clint finished by saying, “I lied because I couldn’t bring myself to tell the truth. The truth is so big it stuck in my throat.”
“Uh-huh. You know I used to teach high school history, Doc?” Tig was, in fact, looking at him in a way that reminded Clint intensely of high school. It was a gaze that doubted your hall pass. It was a gaze that wanted to see if your pupils were dilated.
“Yes, I know that,” Clint said. He’d pulled the officer into the laundry room where they could talk in private.
“I was the first person in my family to graduate from college. Busting chops in a women’s prison wasn’t exactly a step up for me. But, you know, I’ve seen how you care about these gals. And I know that even though a lot of them have done bad stuff, most aren’t bad through and through. So, I want to help . . .” The officer grimaced and rubbed a hand through the receding hair at his temples. You could see the teacher he’d been, picture him pacing around, going on about the vast difference between the legend of the Hatfields and the McCoys and the historical facts of the feud, dragging his fingers harder and harder through his hair the more excited and enthusiastic he got about the subject.
“So help,” Clint said. If not one of the officers agreed to stay he would try to keep the prison locked down without them, and he would fail. Terry Coombs and the new guy had the remains of the police force. They could gather other men if necessary. Clint had seen the way Frank Geary had eyed the fences and the gates, looking for weak spots.
“You really believe this? You think she’s—magic?” Tig said the word magic the way Jared said the word seriously—as in, “You seriously want to see my homework?”
“I believe she’s got some command of this thing that’s happening, and more importantly, I believe that men outside this prison believe that.”
“You believe she’s magic.” Tig gave him the suspicious teacher look again: Kid, just how stoned are you?
“Actually, I do,” Clint said, and raised a hand to stop Tig from speaking, at least for the moment. “But even if I’m wrong, we need to hold this prison. It’s our obligation. We have to protect every one of our prisoners. I do not trust Terry Coombs in his cups, or Frank Geary, or anyone else, to just talk to Eve Black. You’ve heard her. Whether she’s just delusional or not, she’s a genius at pissing people off. She will go on doing that until someone loses his shit and kills her. Someone or all of them. Burning at the stake isn’t entirely out of the question.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Actually, I do. Blowtorch Brigades tell you anything?”
Tig leaned against one of the industrial washers. “All right.”
Clint could have hugged him. “Thank you.”
“Well, it’s my stupid job, y’know, but okay, you’re welcome. How long do you think we need to hold out?”
“Not long. A few days, at most. That’s what she says, anyway.” He realized that he was talking about Eve Black like an ancient Greek talking about an angry deity. It was outrageous, and yet it felt as true as anything.
2
“Wait-wait-wait,” Rand Quigley said after Clint had gone through everything a second time. “She’s going to end the world if we let the cops have her?”
That was almost exactly what Clint believed, but he preferred to finesse it a bit. “We just can’t let the local cops carry her off, Rand. That’s the bottom line.”
Rand’s pale brown eyes blinked behind the thick lenses of his square-framed glasses, and his black unibrow sat on the crosspiece like a burly caterpillar. “What about the CDC? I thought you were talking to the CDC?”
Tig handled this one head-on. “The CDC was bullshit. The doc made it up so we’d stay.”
This is where Rand puts one foot in front of the other, Clint thought, and the whole thing ends. But Rand only glanced at Clint and then back to Tig. “Never got through to them?”
“No,” Clint said.