Still of Night (Dead of Night 3)

“Kind of both,” said Neeko after a moment’s thought. “He used his fingertips and punched us with one knuckle, but not the big knuckle. He stuck his first finger out so the second knuckle was what he hit us with.”

Dahlia nodded. “And you say he took your hatchets away? How?”

“I . . . I don’t know. He just took them. Twisted them, like. My wrist still hurts.”

Neeko went through all of it. The camper, the food supplies, the comments about how they could have had supplies if they asked nice. Neeko gave her a lot of details but he wasn’t very sharp about people.

“Thanks, Neeks,” she said. “Do me a favor, okay? Draw me a map of exactly where this guy’s camper is parked. Make sure you include as much information as you can about trees, that stream, the position of his camper, anything else in the area. Do that right now.”

“Sure,” said Neeko quickly. “No problem.” He turned to go and then paused, looking back at her. “He could have killed us, Dahlia. I mean easy. We were nothing to him.”

Dahlia said nothing, and Neeko left.

She indicated the other folding chair with an uptick of her chin, and Trash sat.

“What’s your read on this?” she asked.

The truth was that she could have predicted Trash’s exact words. He was useful but predictable. His strengths were all about his abilities as a fighter, as a leader during kill raids, as an enforcer, and as a strangely sensitive lover in the sack. But he was not a thinker or strategic planner. Emotions rather than careful thought. And almost no education at all. In another life, if Trash hadn’t grown up poor and in a nobody-gives-a-shit school district, he might have really been something. Now, she wasn’t sure if he could grow past where he was at the moment. The End did that, she knew. It kind of froze people into who they were at the moment. Like they were playing roles in a movie and that’s all they were allowed to do. Trash was tough-guy muscle. That was his role.

Trash, true to the script he lived, said, “Neeko’s a pussy. He and Andy should have been able to fuck that old guy up and then we’d have had all that stuff. Now the cocksucker’s been warned, he’s going to be expecting something. If he’s that tough, he could pop caps in some of our boys when we raid him. Mind you, if he does, I’m going to cut his balls off and make Neeko wear them as a necklace.”

Dahlia wanted very much to roll her eyes like a teenager and say “what-ev-errr.” Would have been funny to do that. She didn’t. Partly because Trash might actually do something that nasty, and partly because she might have to let him. Maintaining discipline in the Pack was accomplished partly through good leadership and partly through fear.

“Let’s think it through, Trash,” she said. “This guy could have killed our boys, but he didn’t, so he earns a couple of points.”

“You and your points,” grumbled Trash. “Why is it always points?”

“Because that gives us perspective. You know what a meritocracy is?”

“Sure.” He was lying, Dahlia knew, but that was okay. He always lied, and he was bad at it. Made thinks easy.

“It’s a system where people are judged according to standards. Not looks or who your family is or how much mon

ey you have in the bank. Actions, words, whatever, that’s what should matter. Before things fell apart, do you think I was the popular girl in school? Give me a break. No. Out here we have to go on what people do. So, I give points out and take points away so we can all get a good read on someone or something. It’s how it works.”

Saying “it’s how it works” was one of those phrases that somehow made sense to Trash, Dahlia knew. He accepted it. Many of the Pack did. As if knowing it was a rule made it something they had to abide. Dahlia found it useful, but also a little sad. And a little scary. She tried to use it to help her people, to keep them from turning into a gang that just killed and took. While she was okay with theft, she had rules for that, too. Even killing had to have rules.

That, for her, was how it worked.

“Pick four fighters,” she said firmly. “Maybe Nathan and Jumper, because they know how to move quiet. A couple others. Light kits, blades and handguns. One long gun. Soon as Neeko’s done with the map, we’re going to see about this tough old guy.”

“We . . . ?”

“Yeah,” said Dahlia, “I think I need to see him for myself.”

“And what if he’s some kind of old retired soldier or cop or maybe a wiseguy from some old mob?”

“Then,” she said, “I guess we’ll have to kill him and take all his stuff.”

Trash grinned, happy as a kid on Christmas morning. “Now you’re talking.”

— 6 —

THE WARRIOR WOMAN

“What we going to do with the kid?”

Jason adjusted the lacing on his bracer as he eyed Tommy with suspicion. He, Claudia, and Peter were hanging back, talking amongst themselves while Rachael and Alice tried to find out more about Happy Valley.