They didn’t spare him so much as a backward glance.
Grief beyond his ability to contain welled out with a force that shook him, and he turned his head heavenward and wailed. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks and trickled into his mouth. Later, he wasn’t sure how long he remained there like that. It might have been only a few minutes or as long as a half hour. Cindy’s shack was one among a row of dozens. This was where the slaves lived. Their quarters. Some of them emerged cautiously from these decrepit dwellings to see what the fuss was about. Chad only began to recover when he became aware of their presence.
And he saw what they were seeing.
The obscenity of Cindy’s nude, unspeakably defiled body.
A shell that had until moments ago housed a vibrant, galvanizing life force. The soul of a woman who had gone to great lengths and placed herself in jeopardy to bring him safely to this place. A woman he’d known for so brief a period of time but had been well on the way to caring a great deal about. And now she just didn’t exist. The ruined home of that precious soul leaked blood and tissue on the ground. The magnitude of the loss triggered another spasm of grief, and he lurched to his feet, staggered back into the shack, and returned with a tattered blanket.
He covered her body with the blanket.
And slumped next to her on the ground. He was only half-conscious of his own nudity, but modesty was an absurd concept in the face of something so horrific. He supposed the impulse to cover a dead woman’s body was also something of an absurdity, but she deserved some slight measure of dignity, at least, so he made this little gesture. And he continued to sit there with her, feeling impotent, powerless, unsure of how to proceed. He experienced the expected thirst for revenge, but he had no idea how to go about exacting these theoretical acts of reprisal.
He later supposed he might have stayed there next to the body indefinitely had it not been for the intercession of Jack Paradise.
Jack Paradise, not the name bestowed upon him at birth (surprise, surprise), had lived Below for fifteen years, the last nine as an emancipated slave. As an ex-marine, he should have been a prime candidate for membership in The Master’s underground police force, but Paradise made it clear he would be no one’s thug. The act of resistance should have earned him a ticket on the express train to heaven, but the great drill sergeant in the sky must have been smiling on him that day, because, hey, he was still here, in the flesh and bigger than life. Big being the key word in that phrase, since he was impressively built and well over six feet tall.
The leaders of the conspiracy had him in their sights from the beginning, and he’d assumed a leadership role soon after being recruited. He was good at things the others didn’t have a clue about, practical things like strategy and identifying which guards might be sympathetic to their cause. Jack had an outsized personality, but he was shrewd and honorable. Lazarus may have been the movement’s inspirational figure, its messiah, but Jack was its Patton. The conspiracy had eyes almost everywhere in those closing moments before the uprising began, and Jack was summoned to the scene of Cindy’s death almost immediately.
His first look at the brave woman’s ruined head made his expression grow hard.
Cords of muscle in his big arms tensed with a need to lash out at something.
But he remained steadfast.
And got to work.
Chad, of course, had no idea who the big guy was, but he sensed he was there to help. Something in his general demeanor told him that-the stance of his body, the way his face became a slab of granite at the sight of Cindy’s body.
Chad detected compassion in the man’s eyes when he turned his piercing gaze on him. “I promise you one thing, the motherfuckers who did this will die tonight.” He extended a hand to Chad. “Here, let’s get to work.”
Chad took the proffered hand and was promptly hauled to his feet. The man then knelt over Cindy and arranged the blanket over her head and the upper portion of her body. Then he lifted her off the ground, beckoned to Chad with a tilt of his head, and carried the corpse into the shack. Chad, still numb but nonetheless intrigued by the appearance of this superhero, followed him through the door.
The man placed Cindy gently on the mat, found a crumpled bedsheet with holes in it, and covered the lower half of her body with it. Then he took one of her lifeless hands in his, kissed the back of it, and muttered something Chad couldn’t decipher. He closed his eyes, squinted hard, and breathed deeply.
Then that steely gaze was back on Chad, focused and intent. “Get dressed, Chad. We’ve got a revolution to start”
Chad searched for his clothes.
He wasn’t surprised that the man knew his name.
That was hours ago. Chad had since learned who Jack Paradise was, and the man instilled more confidence in him than Lazarus ever could. He radiated spirit and ability. He was a compelling figure with a lot to say. Paradise advised him to compartmentalize his grief and anger. Not forever. Later he would see that his anger, if properly channeled, could be a useful tool. It might provide him the courage to stride brazenly into the belly of the beast.
Paradise took him back to The Outpost, where Lazarus awaited in the back room. The old singer was visibly shaken by the news of Cindy’s death. His face was puffy and his eyes were red. His breath smelled of alcohol, but the odor wasn’t as strong as Chad was afraid it would be. He embraced Chad and patted him on the back. Chad held the old man in his arms and tried to heed Jack’s counsel.
Compartmentalize.
Compartmentalize, goddamn it.
Easier said than done.
There were others in the room. More coconspirators. Two of them looked cut from the same mold as Jack. Another was a stoop-shouldered man at least a decade older than Lazarus. One was a woman Chad recognized, one of the whip-wielding emancipateds outside the sex club. And there was a young boy who looked to be about the age Chad had been when Dream intervened on his behalf so long ago. Chad felt a flash of incredulity that a kid was a member of this inner circle, but a closer look revealed eyes that reflected intelligence and sturdy conviction. The look was enough to tell him the kid was grittier than he could have dreamed of being at that age.
Jack made the introductions. “You all know who Chad is, but he’s at a disadvantage, so I’ll do the honors.”
He nodded at the woman. “This is Wicked Wanda.”
The woman’s expression was grim, her mouth a tight line.
“Wanda and Cindy were close, Chad. Confidantes, you could say.”
He then introduced the brawny men Chad thought of as Jack Clones, and they were indeed ex-military Their names were Shaft (as in Richard Roundtree) and Joe (as in G.I.)- Shaft was an imposing black man with a gleaming bald dome of a skull, and Joe looked like a strapping farm boy from the heartland.
“This geezer here is Jake Barnes.”
Barnes chuckled. “Geezer, my eye.” His gaze swung in Chad’s direction. “Don’t let my posture fool you, boy. I’m still ass-kicking capable.”
The kid was the last to be introduced. “And this is Todd Haynes, still wet behind the ears and barely out of his diapers.” Paradise tapped his skull. “But he’s got more going on up here than the rest of us combined.”
The kid’s serious expression never wavered. “I’m a genius. That’s just a fact of IQ testing. I’m counting on you to return me to the land of higher education and government grants.” He started to smile. “And I’m as tough as any of these assholes.”
Chad believed him.
Paradise clapped his hands, a signal that the formalities were at an end. “Okay, down to business.” A grim tone entered his voice. “I know you’ve all heard what happened to Cindy, and I have the sad task of confirming it. She’s dead. Early indications are it’s a retaliation for the death yesterday of a certain vendor we all know.”
Chad groaned.
He heard a murmur of other voices.
“Elvis Kennedy had friends you don’t trifle with. He was a bastard, an evil pervert, but he should’ve been left
