Andi began to sob, but Skip stood like a statue. He and Hank stared at each other through the barrier with no facial movement, no signal that anything around them affected them at all.
Skip was not upset about his aunt, and Hank was not enjoying the reaction he was getting from Andi. Not at all.
Finally, the bullhorn came back up. “The rally is over, folks. Let’s put her back in her cell. Once the crescent moon is up, she’ll start feeling it again. That’s when we’ll start pulling those pretty feet and hands off.”
CHAPTER 9
Jennifer
Jennifer Scales, born of two bloodlines—dragon and beaststalker—flicked back to her human shape while banking in to land on the hospital parking lot. She dropped the fifteen or so feet, caught the impact by flexing her knees, then walked through the front door, acknowledging the armed sentries flanking the west entrance.
It was a measure of how much had changed in the last year that she had flown in as a dragon, switched to human in midair, dropped to the pavement with her swords carefully strapped, and no one blinked. Heck, the only ones who even noticed were the sentries.
Both thirteen-year-olds were nodding back, Jim Tenny cradling a Hechler & Koch S—uh—an S-something-or-other . . . Jennifer had never known much about guns. Her mother was expert with any bladed weapon, and her father—well. ’Nuff said.
His twin, Jana, was holding the stock of her .12-gauge in one hand, the shotgun barrel resting on her left shoulder. They looked weirdly alike, which was unsettling as they were fraternal, not identical, twins. In fact, except for the length of their hair, they really were identical. They even bore identical, slight smiles.
Susan’s right. The Boy Scouts/Sniper Team are creepy. Especially when they drag their sisters into it.
“Have you seen my dad?”
In times of crisis, she knew her mother drew inward, while her father extended outward. Together, they were a formidable team. But what she needed now was the one who would talk with her and help her process what she had seen less than twenty minutes ago.
Jim and Jana shrugged, so Jennifer went inside.
The next person she ran across was Anna- Lisa, looking harassed as usual, barely flicking a glance her way as she walked by on the way to the supply room, talking to herself. “Oh, what do we need, oh, hi, Jennifer, okay, we need another case of lightbulbs—any kind, we’re going to have to check the storage space at Wal-Mart and Target . . . even Christmas lights would be okay. And also, um, yeah, Jennifer, your dad’s—flashlights! Yeah, we can wind Christmas lights around the poles out there to keep the place lit at night, but we—uh—”
“My dad?” Jennifer prompted.
“Right, hang on guys, um, Jennifer, I haven’t seen your dad. I know your mom’s checking on Bonnie’s new baby—premature, poor thing, I don’t think her lungs—lighter fluid!” This made Jennifer jump.
Jennifer moved through the lobby, recognizing each of the faces there. They had become a sort of extended family, including several members who probably wished for a different heritage. Some of them still dropped their eyes when she passed—nurses her mom had worked with for years, EMTs who had come over to the house for barbecues since Jennifer was four. A couple of PAs. Cooks. Physical therapists. An awful lot of them were carefully avoiding eye contact.
Is it because of who and what I am . . . or did they catch a live feed?
The hospital still smelled of antiseptic, blood, and floor wax. It even looked like one, sort of—the place was a mess, yeah, and more lights were burned-out (when they were even turned on) than not.
Still, there were differences anyone would notice at once: staff were scarce; multiple rooms had been converted into “temporary” living quarters; the emergency fire boxes were all emptied of hoses and axes; nobody was asking anyone a damn thing about insurance information; nobody was “Midwestern plump” anymore; and everyone looked exhausted and scared.
Winter’s coming again,
she thought.
We need a plan.
But first, we’ve got to figure out how Skip will react to what Hank has done today.
She heard her mother long before she saw her.
“—dammit, dammit,
dammit
! How am I supposed to treat a preemie without bilirubin lights? Huh?”
“You could try throwing a tantrum,” came her father’s voice, helping her breathe a sigh of relief as she rounded the corner.
As always (these days, certainly) her mother looked exhausted and . . . well . . .
old
. Though Jennifer didn’t like to think about her mom as a, you know, real person and all (gross!), she had always known that Elizabeth Georges was seriously cute. She usually looked in her thirties; today (
and yesterday and last week and last month and
) she looked like she was on the far side of sixty.
“I don’t have time for banter,” she shot back. She turned back to the man who looked ready for orders—her PA, Michael Donovan. “We’re low on ventilators and antibiotics. We’ve got to decide if baby Marshall here truly needs anything beyond a blanket and a bottle. By the sword of St. George, I
swear
—”
Jennifer raised her eyebrows. That was a rare epithet indeed—one her mother, prior to Big Blue, took care never to repeat in mixed company.
“Basically we’re down to freaking kangaroo care!”
Now Jennifer tried to stifle a giggle. Her mom had explained once that in less-developed countries (or in cities that were, say, trapped beneath a dome) the best way for medical professionals to treat premature infants was skin-to-skin contact. And not only from the new moms. People all over town would be pressed into kangaroo-care service: male or female, trained or not, dragon or beaststalker or neither. Lactating or, uh, not.
Jonathan cleared his throat. “I better not keep you too long, Liz. Listen, I scouted those farms you sent me to—the ones to the northwest? There are maybe half a dozen cattle left.”
Michael twisted his mouth. “That’s maybe enough to feed this hospital population for a couple of weeks. If nobody has seconds.”
“Mother fuck,” her mom said in quiet despair. Then, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—thank you so much for looking. It’s good news, Jonathan.”
“Sure it is. I’ll bet Jennifer has more.”
They all—both parents and Michael, and possibly even the baby—looked at her. She chewed her tongue, trying to figure out how not to make what she had seen sound even worse than starving to death.
As it turned out, there was no way to do that. So she settled on telling them, no punches pulled, about the repeated hobbling of Tavia Saltin on the bridge in front of Skip and Andi.
Everyone sat down—first Jonathan and Michael, and then Elizabeth, with baby Marshall still in her arms.
“Did anyone see you?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. I was in camouflage, circling overhead. No one acted as if they knew or cared I was there.”
“That was dangerous, ace.”
“I know, Dad.” She did know. He might as well have said,
We’re stuck under a dome, ace.
“You say Skip walked away from that?”
“And Andi. But I doubt this is the end of it. Skip doesn’t walk away from fights. Not these days, especially. He has something in mind.”
Elizabeth handed baby Marshall off to Michael before pounding her forehead with a fist. “Fucking Hank. Fucking Hank. Fucking Hank.”
“Liz. You okay?”
“I’m super, honey.” Whack! Whack-whack! “This is how I think.”
“Maybe it would work better if you could punch Hank instead of yourself.”
“Don’t tempt me. I can’t believe he’s provoking arachnids as we head into a second winter. What does he have stockpiled down there under city hall—provisions for eternity? Moronic mama’s boy.”
“On behalf of mama’s boys everywhere,” her father said with faux dignity, forcing Jennifer to stifle yet another giggle, “I resent that. And I doubt Hank thinks that far ahead. C’mon, Liz. I know this is bad, but we have to focus. You’ve got a baby that needs care here. What do you want Michael to do?”
Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and turned to Michael. “Kangaroo care it is. You have first shift. Watch him carefully for symptoms and start an immediate course of antibiotics if you see anything.”
As Michael nodded and took the baby out of the room, Jennifer marveled at the deftness with which her father, who not twelve hours ago had been nearly catatonic with pessimism and defeatism, had redirected her mother’s despair into positive action.
He really knows her. And she really needs him. No wonder she’s willing to resort to bad coffee to keep him going. Hey—I wonder if he does the same thing to me?
Naw. He’d be more subtle. He’d—
As if on cue, he turned to her. “C’mon, ace. Let’s you and I go bring those cattle in.”
Subtle like a brick to the forehead.
CHAPTER 10
Jennifer
Once the cattle were slaughtered, dressed, carried, and stored in the hospital’s walk- in freezer, it was early afternoon. Jonathan suggested a bite to eat (not cattle . . . they’d both lost their stomach for anything more substantial than ramen noodles), and they were back in the air over the town.
I know how to field- dress a full- grown cow. This is a weird thing for a teenage girl who doesn’t live in a meat-packing plant to know.
It looked ironically peaceful, as if it had worked out all the violence in its system for the day. Small dots of white and black marked where some robed figures still walked through the streets, but most people were back in street clothes and going about their business.
“Doesn’t look like Hank has anything else planned today,” Jennifer called out.
Prob’ly too busy wondering why he’s never been admired the way his parents told him he oughta be admired. Loooooser!
“He’s not the one we’re worried about. Keep an eye to the east.”
“You think Skip and Andi will come back? What’s the point? Beaststalkers can assemble quickly. It is part of their essential awesomeness. And according to Mom, city hall is a fortress. It’s connected to the police station by an underground firing range, with all kinds of weaponry down there. At least fifty officers are going to be armed and prepared across the entire complex, at all times. Hell—I can see two snipers in the tower right now, trying to figure out if they see us up here.”
“I’m sure they can. They must have infrared technology, like we do. Better, since Hank has had access to the town armory for some time.”
“So why aren’t we picking bullets out of our teeth?”
“Ever try to pick off a moving, virtually invisible target from eight hundred yards through an infrared scope?”
“No,” she admitted. “I’ve gotten behind in homework. And also feeding people who are trapped under a dome. Also, guns give me a rash.”
He ignored her lame crack. “Neither have those kids down there. As long as we keep our distance, they’ll probably save the ammo.”
She looked east, where the trees sprouting from the steep hills were lessening their green and losing their first leaves. “Dad. It’s been two years.”
“Huh? Big Blue’s only been up—oh, you mean for you.”
“Yeah. Two years since I learned what I was. Since Skip came to this town. Since I met Catherine, first fought with Susan, then Eddie. I was wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“If I should’ve done anything different.”
He dipped his wings and whistled. “The eternal question. Ace, I don’t have the perfect answer for you here.”
“One of your half-assed answers will be okay.”
“From my own child I gotta take this? Heaven knows I’ve spent half my life making all sorts of mistakes, as a dragon and a man. All I can tell you is that every single person on this earth, living or dead, has made decisions they regret. No one gets a do-over. Nobody ages backward. And really, even if you did: what do you really think you could change?”
“I could have been more careful around Skip. Maybe it would be different with him, now.”
“Ah, there’s one where I can reassure you, ace. What hurts Skip is nothing you could fix.”
“Why’re you so sure?”
“Because of what his mother did to him. Then his father. His parents twisted him beyond anything anyone else could save.”
“Hmmph.”
“You have to let Skip go, ace. You don’t have to hate him. You
do
have to recognize that he’s beyond help. Even for the Ancient Furnace,” he teased.
“Oh, please, I don’t—hey, what’s that?”
Changing direction, they both squinted at what was coming over the hill on the highway to the west. At first, Jennifer was convinced the tar was bubbling. After half a minute, she realized something—many somethings—were crawling over the asphalt.