Jackals Page 16

  As far away as she was, she couldn’t hear the words, but she gathered from the reactions that the little girl’s brother had somehow been killed. No; not somehow. Little Sister was here. She was as sure of that as the fact that the clouds. this time, threatened no rain.

  As sure as she was that Jim Scott and his friends couldn’t be separated now with a miracle.

  Which meant she and Ruthann would have to have a little talk.

  She hadn’t wanted to, before. But now she realized she had underestimated the bitch. Ruthann was clever. Let Momma and Rachel do the fighting, then come in and stitch the pieces.

  Clever.

  Rachel snarled.

  I think, “Jim said, exaggerating a grimace,” my eardrums are going to burst.”

  As he had predicted, Dunn’s Place, even this early, was crowded. They sat in the middle booth on the left-hand wall, Jim facing the door; all the other booths, and tables, and seat-back barstools were taken. In back, a huge new jukebox blared a bluegrass song, and on the new hardwood dance floor, two couples were attempting a clumsy Texas two-step. Three ceiling fans did their work, but it wasn’t enough to clear the smoke from the air, or overcome the fact that the air conditioning was just weak enough to make its presence known, and not much more.

  Dunn handled most of the food orders himself, grumbling about Nola’s taking off like she had, accusing without words Jim and the others of covering for her again, while she was out there somewhere, having fun. For one brief period, he had Dorry in to help, but the girl was too overwhelmed by the drastic difference in clientele and had left close to tears.

  Maurice’s long fingers curled as he gestured to the room. “My work has so far to go when I see a place like this.”

  “Don’t preach,” Jim warned, clearing the last of his french fries from his plate.

  Jonelle giggled.

  “A true minister doesn’t stop with a sermon in his church.”

  Jim showed him a mock fist. “No, but he can’t do too good without any teeth.”

  “He will provide,” Maurice answered, unfazed.

  Jonelle, long used to the way the two men talked to each other, stared at her plate. The burger, evidently cooked in the same grease as the fries, was less than half finished. Jim had urged her to eat something, force herself if she had to since she’d barely had a bite all day, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It wasn’t the food; she’d eaten here many times. It was Peter, It wasn’t fair to him, it wasn’t fair to her that the grieving would have to wait until some vague moment in the future. She missed him already. He frustrated her, he exasperated her no end, sometimes he even disgusted her.

  But Jesus, she missed him.

  And felt the tears form.

  Felt a hand cover hen, looked up, and saw Jim reaching across the small scarred table.

  He didn’t say anything.

  The look was all she needed.

  Bluegrass to pop country, and the two couples were joined by two others. Customers left, others replaced them. Cider had calmed down. The rake-thin bartender was joined by a long-haired woman in a tight white shirt with glittering sequins in patterns, and the neon in the window seemed brighter, and sharp-edged.

  Voices rose, songs were sung.

  A near fight was avoided when Cider used his ample stomach to bump the antagonists apart.

  They told their stories, then, Jim taking the longest, and when they were finished, he ordered a round of beer and asked if they had any suggestions.

  Jonelle said nothing, not at first. She still felt uneasy at the way he behaved when Maurice wasn’t teasing him. It wasn’t like him. He was the one with the ideas, not them.

  He was the one leading the crusade, not them. He was the one who had so much confidence in the rightness of what he was doing that he often made her feel so much smaller than she was.

  But something had happened in that house, something he hadn’t told them, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was.

  Maurice pushed back into the comer of the booth with a groan and suggested, one hand drifting lazily over the table, that the first thing they should consider was going back to his house, not Jim’s. The reason was simple—it’s where the armory is. It’s more solid, it can more easily be defended, it has more room to maneuver, it—

  ”Damn, Maurice,” she said, grabbing the hand to stop its weaving. “You’d think we’re up against an army. There’s only three.”

  “Rachel,” Jim reminded her.

  “The gathering,” the preacher reminded them both.

  At that she shook her head emphatically before Jim could speak again. “After what I did … after all this, I don’t think they’re going to go looking for help outside the pack.” A one-shoulder modest shrug when Jim smiled at her. “I mean, there’s other kin—aunts, uncles, cousins, who the hell knows how many—but I don’t think they’ve been told either.”

  Maurice questioned her with a frown.

  She kept her gaze on Jim and raised a forefinger.

  “Ruby’s dead.” He didn’t react; she added a second finger. “We did it.” Still nothing; she added a third. “‘What’s left is between Rachel and … her sister.”

  “Ruthann,” the preacher murmured.

  “Whatever. But they …” She stopped. She glanced at each of the men in tum, and almost didn’t say the rest.

  Almost. “In something like this, they take care of their own.”

  And when they do, what then?

  They go on to something else.

  “Yeah,” said Jim quietly, staring at the dark, paneled wall at his shoulder.

  Well, I’ll be, she thought, and this time it was her hand that reached out to cover his.

  “If y’all wish,” Maurice said after altogether too much time had passed, and neither of them had moved, “I could probably pronounce you man and wife right here, you could go hunting on your honeymoon.”

  She caught him with a quick stabbing elbow, and he grunted a laugh. But it didn’t stop the blush she felt working at her cheeks. Damn you, her look said; mind your own damn business.

  “And what are you?” she said aloud. “The chaperone?”

  His fingertips fluttered to his chest. “Me? Why, child, I’m just a humble preacher, spreading the Lord’s Word, and His Wrath where necessary.”

  She couldn’t hold the scowl. “Nola was right. You’re a scoundrel.”

  Maurice looked at Jim. “I never did believe in college for women. It gives them an unfair press on the advantage they already have.”

  Then he excused himself to the men’s room, and when Jonelle had slid back in to take his place, she leaned over and said, “Why is he with you?”

  Jim didn’t answer right away.

  “I mean, he’s a minister. I never did get it, and he’s never said a word.”

  “My hair,” he said.

  “What?”

  He pointed to the color. “It matches his suits.”

  Her mouth opened, closed, and when he grinned, she pinched his wrist hard enough to make him yelp.

  “Okay, okay.”

  “Tell me.”

  “They took one of his angels.”

  The way her eyes shifted away told him she didn’t require elaboration. That was all right with him. He had never, in fact, asked for or demanded full, soul-baring explanations why the folks who joined him did. As long as they did the work, knew their place, he was only grateful for the help.

  Now they were down to three, and in the midst of a twinge of guilt, he wasn’t sure how much he really could count on Jonelle when push came to shove. Not that he didn’t trust her. Hell, from the first moment Peter had introduced them, and she had sized him up so candidly it had made him damn near shy, trust hadn’t been a question. What was, however, was her handling of weapons. During normal hunts, all of them together, Jonelle was the bait, a position that had evolved, he’d once thought, quite naturally.

  Now he knew it had been her idea from the star
t.

  And she definitely knew how to use her knives.

  But this time the bait would be useless.

  This time, Jonelle would have to be part of the stalking, and the kill.

  Maurice returned, making such a show of switching his beer mug with hers that the seriousness of her expression dissolved into delightful, helpless laughter. He couldn’t join them, but he did his best not to sour the mood.

  Instead, he grumbled about the music, the volume, the increasing size and boisterousness of the crowd.

  They knew what he was doing, and were ready when he dropped a few bills onto the table, and said, “It’s time to go.”

  In the parking lot, at Maurice’s car, Cider Dunn waited, tossing away a cigarette as they approached.

  Jim braced himself

  Dunn pointed a blunt finger at him, ignoring the others.

  “If you done something to chase that lady away, Scott, I’ll have your hide over my bar.”

  Jim shook his head.

  Dunn’s scowl brought his eyebrows together and he stomped away over the gravel, turned at the door, and called, “Bring her back, y’hear? Don’t care how, just bring her back. Damn place’ll go to hell without her.”

  “Well, well,” Jonelle said as Maurice backed onto the road.

  Jim was surprised too.

  But then everything these past few days seemed deliberately calculated to surprise him, bewilder him, and thrust him off balance. He didn’t like it. He didn’t much like surprises at all.

  They all sat in front, Jonelle in the middle, the windows rolled down, the air still warm, still muggy.

  Jim braced his elbow on the car, his hand cupping the roofline. “It’s simple—do we wait for them to come to us, or do we go to them?”

  “Look at the sky, James, look at the time. It’s their world now. As I said before, it would be foolish for us to do the moving around.”

  “If we hole up, it could take days.”

  “It will give us time to make amends for our sins.”

  “It’ll give them time to hunt someone else. We can run to the store if we get hungry enough.”

  “It’ll drive us all nuts if we stay inside,” Jonelle said, matter-of-factly. “They won’t have to do a thing. We’ll just kill each other.”

  The car was parked in back, facing out.

  While Jim opened the hidden closet and gave Jonelle her pick of weapons, Maurice strolled through the house. Turning on all the lights.

  “l don’t like guns,” she said, standing uneasily in the open doorway, looking out at the barn fading by shades into the dark. She had a 9mm handgun, light enough for her size, Jim told her, but as deadly as anything else when she hit what she aimed at.

  He stood behind her, frowning slightly, more aware of her now than he had ever been. It was strange. For all that he knew that she was indeed a woman, college educated, traveled, a little crusty at times, there were moments, like now, when what he wanted most was to perch her on his lap, give her a squeeze, and tell her everything would be all right. A child. A damnable thought. Insulting as all hell.

  “I’ll be okay, you know,” she said, not turning around.

  Damned mind reader. too.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, I’m …”

  Her right hand came up and held on to his.

  “I’m sorry about Peter. You don’t know how sorry.”

  “He … thanks.” He felt a tremor; it passed. “Me, too. About Nola.”

  He nodded. “It may sound dumb, but she knew what she was getting into. That … it doesn’t make it any better, but she knew the price.”

  “So did Peter.”

  “No.” Her hand slipped away, tucked into her pocket.

  “No, sometimes I don’t think he really did.”

  She turned, looked up, not quite frowning. Then a brief smile: “My neck’s going to break.”

  They sat on the top step.

  The air began to move.

  “What I meant was, he, and you, were hardly ever part of the finding. He cleaned up. The cars go away, the … bodies go away. He was rear guard.”

  “Yes. I know that.”

  He tapped his temple lightly. “He knew here what they were.” He tapped his chest. “He didn’t really know here.”

  “And what’s the difference?”

  “Between hunting and murder.”

  “Are we going to die?”

  “You’re a little young to be thinking that.”

  “Jesus, I’m almost thirty-one. Next December, for God’s sake. What does that make you, Methuselah?”

  “Sometimes, yeah.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Well, some psychologists, they’d say I died a long time ago. In a manner of speaking.”

  “Well, in a manner of speaking, that’s a crock of shit.”

  “Damn, Jonelle Ryman, you know, there are times when I kind of like you.”

  “Yeah, well, I kind of like you too, but don’t let it go to your head.”

  “You still want me to answer the question?”

  “No.”

  Maurice Lion stood in his bathroom, naked, watching his reflection weep, not making a sound.

  Rachel stood in the center of the clearing. She was tired of running, but she didn’t want to go to that house above the gas station. Too many turns, too many comers, too many ways to be blocked, to be trapped. She didn’t know how Ruthann would take seeing her again after so long, and after what had happened; Wade and Bobby didn’t matter. So it was important they meet, and meet on neutral ground. If there was agreement, fine; a truce, fine; a fight, then she’d have plenty of directions in which ro run. Not for long, though. Momma knew the difference between flight and retreat; so did she. One way or another, before the next dawn, she would be alone. She would be the pack. She would be what Momma could only dream about being. She would go to the gathering and take the place meant for her.

  Rachel, honey, you knaw what pride is?

  Momma, damnit, stay the hell dead.

  You know what pide goeth before?

  Yes, Momma, yes. Pride goeth before a fall.

  No, honey, pride goeth before destruction.

  Go to hell, Momma. Go to hell.

  She braced her legs, raised her face to the absent moon, and after a couple of false starts, began to call her family home.

  Maurice opened both doors and stood on the threshold. They were on the porch, on the top step, facing each other, backs each against a porch pillar. He looked from one to the other and wondered what had gone on while he’d been dressing. Whatever it was, James still looked lost.

  He cleared his throat and they looked at him. He wore a fresh white suit and shirt, white shoes, no socks, and a fine silver chain with a silver cross around his neck. In his left hand he held a Panama hat, in his right hand a loaded shotgun.

  “The Lord,” he said, “may well wonder why two of His devoted children are sitting all alone out here, in clear view of Satan’s kindred, just asking to be taken.” He put on the hat and put the shotgun down, propping it against the wall. “But I have prayed, James, and I believe I may have a suitable answer to our problem.”

  James looked at him expectantly, hands lightly clasped around his up-raised knees.

  “There is no reason, despite your contrary opinion, why we cannot proceed as we always do. They will know it’s a trap. We may not even have to hide it. Or do it in such a clumsy manner that they will laugh at us even as they prepare to kill us. They will, through our skills, believe us desperate, frightened, willing to sacrifice ourselves if only we might have an opportunity to inflict damage upon them. We are no Samsons, James, but we can be Joshua.”

  “Meaning what?” Jonelle asked.

  Maurice gave her a paternal smile. “Meaning, child, we may be smaller than some, and slower than some, but our faith will make us greater than them all.”

  It didn’t surprise him that James only looked away after a polite few seco
nds of false consideration; he was dismayed, however, when Jonelle only shook her head in a manner too filled with doubt for his comfort.

  “An alternative?” he suggested.

  Something reached them on the wind.

  So faint, so distant, the only reason each was sure it wasn’t apprehensive imagination, that it wasn’t a trick of summer darkness. was the reaction of the others.

  Maurice reached inside the doorway and hit a switch that let the night take the house. James sat up; Jonelle scrambled to her feet.

  Something reached them on the wind.

  More than barking, shy of baying.

  High-pitched enough that on other nights, in other places, it was mistaken for something else, cousin to an owl, perhaps, or some breed of nighthawk, to be puzzled over and forgotten.

  But while it was there, even that far away, pets were restless and shadows longer.

  “Yes,” Jim whispered. He nodded sharply. “Yes.”

  “Yes what?” Jonelle said.

  “Charlie.” A hand passed over his face, over his hair, and his smile was something only a jackal had ever seen. “There is no gathering, not of all the packs. At least not here, not this year. When he called … when he called, he said he had heard something, and I just assumed that’s what he meant.” He scowled at the dark sky. “I was wrong. The Modeens are on the move, swarming. Because they knew Ruby was being challenged, and they probably guessed this time she’d lose.

  “They killed him because he was a Hunter. And because they didn’t want me to know until the fight was over and they were strong again.”

  He stood, the others joined him, and he told them that he knew exactly what they had to do.

  He knew where they were, or rather, where they would be in a little while.

  As for how they were going to do it, three against the night, Rachel had unwittingly told him that as well.

  “How?” Jonelle asked as they hurried inside at his direction.

  He couldn’t tell her. not in words either would understand.

  It didn’t matter.

  They would learn.

  He would do what he did best.

  Charging out of the herd.