"He acted like I was a little kid. He ignored me. I had a plan for getting the horses. He wouldn't listen. When I said I'd go myself, he threatened to whip me. Whip me. Then he said even if I stayed in camp, he was going to tell my grandmother. She'd have to tell Edwin, and I'd never get to go on another hunting trip again."
"So you waited until he went back to his guard post, snuck up, and slit his throat. Except the old man heard, so you had to kill him. And then your grandmother. She tried to get away. You couldn't let her. You chased her down and stabbed her."
"It was Albie's fault. He was going to tattle on me because I offered to help him get those horses."
"It wasn't the horses you wanted. It was the dog."
Her lip curls. "I don't care now. I don't need a dog. I'm going down south."
"And Mr. Wallace here is going to buy all the puppies you want, right? You really are a child, aren't you, Harper?"
She yanks a knife from her pocket. I just hold my gun on her.
She sneers. "You won't shoot me."
She reaches into the cockpit to cut the strap on Wallace's hand. I lunge to grab her, but a voice says, "I can't let you do that, Casey."
Phil's pointing a gun at me.
"She's a child," he says. "I know you're upset, but we can resolve this without violence."
Anders lets out a ragged laugh. "Please tell me you're part of this escape attempt. Because otherwise you're the biggest idiot alive."
He's not part of it. If Phil planned to spirit Wallace off to safety, Wallace wouldn't be letting Harper free him. She's cut the strap on his hands, and now she's pointing the knife at me as Wallace climbs into the pilot's seat.
"Guess you have your pilot's license after all," I say.
"Of course," Wallace says. "Harper?"
She backs into the passenger seat.
Phil comes around the side of the plane. "This is pointless, Gregory. You will be a hunted man. Don't take a child into that."
"Oh for God's sake," I mutter. "You really are an idiot." I raise my gun. "Wallace? Get out of the plane."
Harper's hand swings up, and I'm thinking it's just the knife. It's not.
I backpedal. Phil grabs me as if I'm . . . I don't know. Fleeing? Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dalton lunge. Then Harper presses the button, and the pepper spray hits me full in the face. I double over, blinded. Phil howls in agony. Even Dalton curses, as stray particles hit him.
Anders shouts "Stop!" but he's the farthest away, unable to fire from his angle. I hear the door slamming, the plane rolling, Anders yells. A shot fires. Another, hitting metal. Then the engine roars as the plane takes off.
62
Wallace and Harper escape. Dalton goes to get our plane out, but Harper has cut wires in the engine. By the time he could fix it, they'd be gone.
The council claims they'll go after Wallace. I don't know if that's true. I don't think Phil does either. I don't bother asking him. I can barely get him to tell me what they've said. He walks out of that radio meeting and says, "I have to stay."
"Until they figure this out?" I ask.
A slow shake of his head, his gaze blank. "I don't know. I don't . . . They said this is my fault. So I stay."
At that moment, seeing the look on his face, if I could muster any sympathy for him, I would. But I can't. All I can think is Not again. Once more, we are saddled with a leader who does not want to be here. The council has learned nothing from Val.
I must talk to Petra. That is obvious, but my gut screams at the idea. It tells me I'm mistaken--that both Dalton and I were obviously mistaken. Petra? No. Never Petra. She's my friend.
Which doesn't mean shit, does it? Diana was my friend. Beth became my friend. Even Val had been inching toward something akin to friendship.
I can tell myself no, not Petra, but then I remember her on the back deck of the station, going after Jen. I remember the look in her eyes.