Horizon

She hadn’t fired a gun since coming to the Delta. The last time had been during their escape from the Rebuilders, and her last kill had been a citizen, not a Beater, something only Dor and Sammi and the girls they’d rescued from Colima knew, something she had hoped to put behind her and never, ever let Ruthie find out.

But already her fingertips thrummed and twitched to touch the cold steel, her palm was ready to wrap around the grip. I am a killer, Cass thought, and the thought made her neither happy nor sad. Only ready.

Dor was standing near the edge, talking to Neal, who had made it back to the shore. Someone had given him a blanket and he was standing wrapped in it and shivering, his lips blue. The overturned canoe hadn’t traveled far downstream, and Cass saw the reason for this small stroke of luck-it had snagged on a tree that had fallen on the opposite bank, but the current tugged at it and there was no telling how long it would hold.

There were other boats-half a dozen skiffs and aluminum rowboats, all stored on the other side of the island. In typical New Eden fashion, they were secured and cleaned and well maintained and hardly ever used. Everyone used the one-lane bridge-well tended and even better guarded-if they wanted to get to the mainland. Besides, there was little sport to be had from floating downstream or fighting the current on the way back.

Glynnis and John preferred the canoes to the other craft for their maneuverability, and the two of them had been able to handle the mostly unnecessary duty of shore patrol by themselves. When they weren’t working, the canoes were simply stored on the grassy banks. Having two had seemed like a great backup plan, but the second had never been needed until now.

A woman took Neal’s arm and led him away, talking to him softly.

“I need someone to swim out and get the canoe,” Dor said, his deep voice carrying over the crowd. “We’ll need both of them.”

Everyone stared at him, making way for Cass to pass, and she joined him at his side. She began strapping on the hip holster he’d brought.

There was murmuring, and then voices-angry voices-began to be heard.

“Why don’t you swim out?”

“Someone’s gone for the rowboats.”

“How’d you get those weapons?”

“I said, I need someone to swim out. Whoever goes will be too cold and exhausted to also paddle effectively after,” Dor yelled, silencing them. “Before we lose more people-look out there. Do you see? They’re still coming.”

Cass turned, along with the crowd-it was true. The Beaters had to number close to a hundred now, their milling and jostling making it hard to count. The sun had sunk nearly to the horizon, illuminating them from behind, outlining their ghastly silhouettes. Glynnis and John were upstream, picking off a clump that had ventured ankle- deep into the water. All along the shoreline now, dead Beaters bobbed, gently bumping up against the bank. In several places the mud was red with blood.

Directly across from them, a Beater had gone down, but was not yet dead. Glynnis must have missed the spinal shot, and it twitched and spasmed. Two of its closest companions grabbed its hands and legs and dragged it up onto the bank, up the incline, depositing it on dry land, while others looked on. For a moment Cass thought she was seeing some sort of new ritual, honoring the fallen, but then several of them bent over the dying thing and began to bite it, tearing off shreds of skin and crowing the way they always did when they ate. Blood poured from the downed body and it twitched harder.

They were usually unenthusiastic about feeding on each other once finally dead, but something about the death throes apparently made the prospect more appealing, and it was not uncommon to see them devouring their wounded.

“Oh, God,” someone said nearby.

“I’m gonna throw up.”

“This is ridiculous. They can’t keep this up forever.”

Cass didn’t know if the speaker meant the Edenites or the Beaters, but she knew that Dor was losing them. They wouldn’t listen to him. They held him in contempt. And things were only getting worse here.

“Please!” she yelled. “Please, someone, get the canoe. I’d do it, but Dor needs me to shoot.”

“Getting in that water’ll kill you,” a woman said. “It’s got to be forty degrees. Do you know how long-”

“I know!” Cass turned on her, furious. “I know it. It’s a risk. But do you just want to stand here and wait for them to come get us? Look, Neal made it. He didn’t have to go as far, it’s true, and we need a strong swimmer.”

“You go,” an angry female voice said. “I’ll shoot. I’ll go with Dor.”

Everyone turned to see who spoke.

It was Valerie. Incredibly, since the voice sounded nothing like hers. She stood off to the side of the crowd, her face knotted in fury, her hair released from its band, tumbling around her shoulders. She’d forsaken her Pendleton jacket and skirt for a pair of tight black pants and a man’s coat, and her hands were bare, clenched into fists.

“Do you even know how to shoot?” someone demanded.

“How hard can it be?” she screamed. Her eyes drilled into Cass, glinting with fury, and Cass noticed for the first time that Valerie was actually quite beautiful, with her dark features and pale skin, her arched brows and long neck. “If she can do it, I can.”

“This is not the time,” Dor said, his voice hard. He had lowered his tone but in the hush of the shocked assembly, it carried just fine.

“Roger. You go.” Dor turned his back on Valerie, and Cass, who’d been watching the other woman, saw her deflate, saw the fight leave her when she realized her desperate gamble had failed. Valerie had been willing to sacrifice everything-her life, his, the lives of everyone in New Eden-just to force him to acknowledge her, to claim her and love her.

But there was no more time for that.

Roger Taugher was staring at the canoe, trying to gauge whether he could make it. He was in his twenties, strong, a former soccer player who often led pickup games in the yard and entertained the little kids with tricks with the ball. Ruthie adored him.

He started to tug off his jacket and kicked off his boots.

“You’ll freeze!” the young woman next to him protested.

“Clothes’ll just slow him down,” Dor said. “Everyone else, give him room. The minute he gets back with the canoe, you all take him to get warm-Cass and I will head out.”

“I’m almost out of ammo!” Glynnis called, as they paddled toward a group that was splashing farther downriver.

“Dana. Go to the storehouse, bring back the box of 12-gauge shells. Glynnis uses the Browning, but she’s good with a handgun too so bring one. Don’t forget extra ammo for that. Take someone with you-Hank, you go.”

Hank nodded, but Dana hesitated, staring at Dor with a mixture of contempt and anger. “Look, Dor, we need to consider-you can’t just-”

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing, Dana? If I let you all take charge you’ll still be deliberating while the rest of us are being dragged off. Now, are you going to go or do I need to take the keys off you myself?”

For a moment it seemed like Dana was going to refuse. But he looked around the assembled crowd, and seemed to sense what Cass did, what the rest of them did-a turning of the tide of sympathies. She knew that few people liked either of them, herself or Dor, especially after Sammi’s revelation and Valerie’s outburst.

But they also knew that Dor could lead them.

Roger was down to his long underwear, and he threw himself into the river and came up already stroking powerfully toward the canoe. This was the easy part, since the current was in his favor. A gasp went up from the crowd, which turned to watch him.

“Get the shit, Dana,” Earl said. “I’d go myself but I’m too slow.”

Hank clapped a hand on Dana’s shoulder, and they took off at a brisk jog toward the sheds.

“Earl, can you coordinate getting the other boats?” Dor ticked off on his hand. “Get the Bronco from the shed, hook it up to the trailer. Sharon, Elsa, can you give him a hand?”

The two women who ran the auto shop nodded.

“Drive right across the yard, don’t bother to take the road. Don’t forget oars. When Dana and Hank get back-”