Broken Lands (Benny Imura 6)

Spider looked confused. “What else is there to do?”

Gutsy smiled. From the way her friends recoiled, she knew that it wasn’t a nice smile, or a pretty one. It made Sombra sit up straight and show his teeth. “I’ve got a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yeah,” she said, “and you’re not going to like it.”

29

THEY FINISHED FILLING IN MAMA’S grave in under an hour.

It was sad work, but the anger kept them all at it. The sun fried them and the wind scoured them, but it got done. Gutsy used the flat of her shovel to hammer the cross into place.

“Now what?” asked Alethea, dripping with sweat and leaning heavily on the upright handle of her shovel. She took a yellow bandanna from her shirt pocket and mopped her brow, then offered it to Spider.

“Eww, gross,” he said, pushing it away. He used a sleeve to wipe sweat from his eyes.

Gutsy used her shovel to smooth the dirt, then laid the handle over her shoulder and marched back to the wagon. Spider and Alethea exchanged a look, shrugged, and followed. They caught up to her as Gutsy was stowing the tools, and she took theirs and secured them all, then fetched two bowls, filled them with water, put one down for Sombra, and held the other so Gordo could drink.

“Well . . . say something,” said Alethea, giving Gutsy a small shove. “I left my psychic powers in my other tiara.”

Gutsy leaned forward to touch her forehead to Gordo’s, and they stood like that for a moment. She wished all of life was as simple and pure as this. Horses were smart and they had their own quirks, but unless they were deliberately mistreated, they weren’t mean. Dangerous, sure, but any animal can be dangerous. That was nature. But not mean. She kissed the old horse and hunkered down next to Sombra, who was lapping up the last of the water in his bowl. The coydog flinched when she tried to touch him, then seemed to think better of it and allowed her fingers to stroke his head. She was careful not to touch the big bruise, which looked better but still not good. Sombra was not mean either. He probably had a right to be. His true nature showed through and there was a gentleness, a sweetness beneath the fear and distrust. Whoever had hurt him tried to turn him into a brute, a monster, and maybe they had, but not completely; and perhaps that damage could be undone over time. Gutsy hoped so.

She knew her friends were getting impatient, but that was okay. They would wait for her, despite what Alethea said.

Finally Gutsy straightened and wiped her hands on her jeans. In a voice pitched so that only they could hear her, she said, “There’s a chance they have someone watching the cemetery. You know, to see if anyone shows up. No, don’t look around. Act natural.”

“The riders?” Spider stiffened. “How do you know?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Not for sure. They’ve been here a couple of nights in a row—first to dig up Mama and then to do all this.”

“Then why do you think they’re watching us?”

“?’Cause it’s what I would do,” said Gutsy. She glanced at Sombra, who had moved to sit in the shade beside the wagon. “They’re not close, though, or he’d be barking. So, maybe a scout with binoculars. Plenty of cover in the hills. Plenty of places they could stand downwind so Sombra can’t smell them.”

“So . . . what do we do?” asked Spider.

“Sun’ll be down by the time we get back to town,” she said. “We’re going to head that way. You guys can take the wagon all the way in, but I’m going to bail near that old Abrams tank.” The vehicle in question was a relic of the last battle with los muertos. It was a monstrous metal machine, twenty-six feet long, not counting the cannon barrel; twelve feet wide and eight feet high. All the smaller weapons—the machine gun and other gear—had long since been stripped off it, but Gutsy had stored emergency supplies inside, including water, dried meats wrapped in plastic and aluminum foil, and weapons. Sadly, no extra machete. “I’ll hide out there,” she continued, “then come back here when it’s dark.”

“You,” said Alethea, “are completely out of your mind. You know that, right?”

“Get back to town before you get into trouble,” said Gutsy. “The Cuddlys will freak if you don’t show up, and you know it. Besides, no offense, but I can move faster and quieter alone.”

“Yeah?” said Spider. “What about los muertos? They’re pretty quiet too, until they take a juicy bite out of you.”

“I’ve been out here at night before. I can handle the dead.”

It was clear Alethea and Spider wanted to talk her out of her plan, but it was a lost cause and they both knew it. So they loaded up and set off toward home. Twilight and a drifting cloud cover were already darkening the day by the time they reached the rusted old tank.

As they approached, Gutsy said, “Don’t slow down.”

“What happens if they see you?” asked Alethea. “Not here, I mean, but back at the cemetery. You can’t expect to fight them.”

“Jeez, I’m not that crazy. I’ll hide, watch, see what I can see, and then get out of there,” said Gutsy. “They’ll never know I was there, and I can get back into town through one of my special routes.”

Gutsy had long ago worked out crawl spaces between the crushed and stacked cars that formed the town wall. She’d reinforced each of them with rebar and other sturdy pieces of metal so that even if the wall shifted while settling, her hidden passages were safe. Spider had been through a few of those with her; Alethea had not, claiming it was beneath her dignity.

“I’ll be totally safe, don’t worry,” Gutsy told them, and even managed to keep a straight face when she told that lie. “I’ll see you at my place for breakfast.”