UnSouled (Unwind Dystology 3)

“You realize I can’t let you go. I can’t take the chance that you’ll tell the authorities where we are.”

“I’ll tie him up again,” says Una, advancing toward the Rewind. “No one comes out to this old sweat lodge anymore.”

“No,” Connor decides. “We’re not doing that either. We’ll take him back with us to your place.”

“I don’t want him there!”

“Too bad.” Connor looks at both of them, judging their frame of mind as somewhat stable, and he clicks the safety back on the rifle. “Now, we’re going to leave here and walk to Una’s place like three old friends back from an afternoon of hunting. Are we clear?”

Both Cam and Una agree reluctantly.

Then he turns to the Rewind. “Whether you deserve dignity or not, I’m going to give you some.” And although Connor finds this hard, he says, “Should I call you Camus?”

“Cam,” he says.

“All right, Cam. I’m Connor—but you already know that. I’d say ‘pleased to meet you,’ but I don’t like to lie.”

Cam nods his acceptance. “I appreciate your honesty,” he says. “The feeling is mutual.”

• • •

Pivane is there when they get back to the shop. Connor hears his deep voice upstairs talking to Lev as they enter.

“He can’t know about Cam,” Una says. “The Tashi’nes must never know about Wil’s hands. It will destroy them.”

The way it destroyed you? Connor wants to say, but instead he just says, “Understood.”

Una sends Cam down into the basement. He’s too weary and spent to protest.

“I’ll wait here and make sure he stays put,” Una says. “Can I please have my rifle back?” And when Connor hesitates, she says, “Pivane will have a lot of questions if he sees you coming upstairs with that rifle.”

Although the last thing Connor wants to do is put that rifle in her hands, he gives it to her—but only after taking out the shells.

Una takes it, leans it up against the wall, then reaches into her pocket, pulling out several more rifle shells, showing them to Connor in defiance. But rather than loading the weapon, she just puts the shells back into her pocket and sits herself down on a stool near the basement door. “Go upstairs and find out why Pivane’s here.”

Connor resents being given orders, but he recognizes Una’s need to feel in control again—especially in her own domain. He heads upstairs, leaving her to guard Cam.

“Do I want to know why you were out?” Pivane asks as soon as Connor walks in.

“Probably not,” Connor tells him, and leaves it at that. He glances at Lev, who clearly wants to know what happened but is wise enough not to ask in front of Pivane.

Grace is all smiles. “The Hopis got the Juvies’ panties in a wad! Look at this!” She turns up the TV volume. It’s a press conference in which a spokesman for the Hopi tribe “will neither confirm nor deny” rumors that they’re giving sanctuary to the Akron AWOL. The reporters, however, seem to have plenty to go on. A shaky video of someone being moved in shadows into the Hopi council building. Media leaks from an “inside source,” insisting that the Akron AWOL is there. It looks like Chal worked his magic after all.

“Leave it to my brother,” Pivane says. “He could get milk from a stone.”

“My idea!” Grace reminds them. “Send the Juvies on a detour, I said.”

“Yes, you did, Grace,” Connor says, and she gives him a hug for agreeing with her.

“With the authorities distracted,” Pivane says, “now’s the time to get on with your business. Elina’s arranging for an unregistered car to be left at a rest stop just outside the north gate. I’ll drive you there tomorrow. After that, you’re on your own.”

Connor never told anyone on the rez where they were going—and he hoped Lev kept his mouth shut about it as well. Even if they’re among friends, the fewer people who know, the easier it will be to disappear. But there’s an added wrinkle now. What are they going to do about Cam?

42 • Nelson

Currently Nelson’s biggest problem is not the inflamed, peeling burns on the right half of his face. Nor is it the infected bites on his arms and legs from various unidentified desert wildlife. It’s the scrawny supermarket checker who’s been riding shotgun beside him these past few weeks.

“How much farther do you think?” Argent asks. “Are we still a day out? Two days?”