Kin

The words barreled up her throat and were out of her before she had a chance to consider them. “Hundred thousand. Do whatever the hell you like with the stones after that, but that’s what I want for them.”

Finally, Rag’s expression changed. He glowered at her, face flushed, blue-red veins visible under the bulbous flesh of his nose. “You’re out of your fucking mind. What makes you think I have that kind of money lying around here, or that I’d give it to you even if I had?”

“I guess because when you’re given the choice of makin’ a fair trade or havin’ your brains blown out, you take the easier route. Maybe I was wrong.” Pulling on all the crime shows she’d ever seen in her lifetime, she tightened her grip on the gun, leaned forward and pressed the muzzle between the pawnbroker’s eyes. Again, he defied expectation. Rather than pleading, or accepting the fate she’d promised him, he scowled, cursed at her and turned away. She watched, shaken by her own resolve, as he withdrew a slim white keycard from his back pocket and angrily jerked it down the slot in the reader by the metal door. The light on the display turned green. There came a short sharp electronic honk and Rag grabbed the door handle, about to yank it open. Louise stopped him.

“I’m comin’ around,” she said. “Leave the door open. You try anythin’…”

“Yeah,” Rag said, half-turning. His eyes were glassy with anger. “I know how it goes.”

He disappeared inside. Louise following close behind.

-28-

They buried Momma in stony earth on the summit of Hood Mountain. From where they stood, they could see the great dark bulk of the water treatment facility on the horizon. Between the plant and the mountain the land seemed sick, diseased, poisoned. The hue of the earth suggested it had been sustained by the blood of those who’d tried to farm it. Rough patches of overgrowth marked the boundaries of long-fallow fields. Here and there, small stands of trees, buckled by storm winds and infection in their roots, stood defeated and spiritless, their arms weak and hanging empty. The mountain had been sheared by mining, the east side oddly flat, almost smooth, veins of red hematite iron ore still threading its hide, adding to the impression of something living cut in half. Intermittent beds of shale and sandstone gave it a leprous hue.

At the foot of the mountain stood Krall’s cabin, its chimney threading smoke. It was surrounded on three sides by thinned out groups of pine trees. To Papa-In-Gray, it was hardly protection enough from invasive forces, but the mountain at its back would help limit the avenues of approach for their attackers. If they were vigilant, and kept their eyes open, his family would survive. They would be ready.

Though the weather was warm, the wind carried a chill to them, and with it, the scent of rain. For Papa- In-Gray, it seemed fitting, as Momma had loved the rain, the sound of it a lullaby that carried her to sleep.

Gently, he removed his hat, and bowed his head. The boys flanked him, their postures equally reverent. Jeremiah Krall stood opposite, at the foot of the grave, staring at the earth as if were a brown pond from which his sister might surface at any moment. The horror that he had witnessed had changed him, though how much Papa could not yet tell. He still appeared a character roughly carved from hard rock, his eyes wintry, his disposition hostile, but something had shifted within him. He looked like a walking battlefield, upon which wars were raging to determine which emotions should preside over the landscape. He had said little since witnessing Luke’s rebirth.

“Our Lord,” Papa began, his voice loud enough to carry the words halfway down the mountain. “Gather your faithful servant to your breast and keep her safe. Accept her into Heaven, and your glory. Recognize within her the light you so generously instilled in her, and which she did not waste. Just as she come into the world, so does she leave it, with an unspoiled soul.” He paused, and the boys murmured “Amen.”

“Guide us, good Jesus,” he continued, raising his face to the darkening sky. “Guide us in the ways in which we can strike the devil from your green earth and vanquish the defilers. Lend us your wrath so that we might turn the tide of corruption that even now laps at our shore. Give us the strength and the means so we can tear the skin from the sinners and cast them down into Hell.”

“Amen,” said the boys.

“We give you Momma, a good, proud, strong woman who loved you more’n anyone, and we will not weep. We give her to you so that you may in turn give us what we need to smite the Men of the World, the coyotes that sniff around our borders. We give our beloved wife, and mother, to you, so that you might make her a saint and return her to us as an angel who would instill in our veins the power we need to prevail. Hear us, our merciful God…Amen.”

“Amen.”

Papa lowered his gaze from the mercurial sky. You were a pure soul, he added in silence. And I’ll miss our talks, and your strength. He looked up, and wiped a hand over his eyes. The breeze dried quickly the dampness beneath them, and for this he was grateful. “Jeremiah,” he said. “Is there anythin’ you wish to add?”

The big man returned his gaze, held it for a moment, then looked back down at the grave. He did not reply.

Papa watched him carefully, then turned to Aaron, who stood solemnly by his side. “Go down. I want you to get all our weapons together. Feed your brothers, and see to Luke. Clean him up. We’ll need him. Then send Joshua up here to keep watch. Before it’s dark, I want you all ready and waitin’ for ’em to come.”

“How do you know they’re comin’, Papa?”

He thought about this for a moment, then ruffled the boy’s hair. “God sent an angel to whisper in my ear while I was sleepin’.”

“How many do you think will come?”

“Enough. Now you best get movin’ while the light’s with us.”

Aaron nodded, and set off down the mountain, herding the twins ahead of him. Papa waited until they were gone, then walked over to stand beside Krall.

“I know you’re hurtin’,” he told the big man. “And that’s only right. But if you don’t end up seein’ where all this is supposed to lead you, all that pain’s for nothin’.”

Krall continued to stare down at the ground. His lips moved slightly, but the words were lost to the wind, if indeed he was making any sound at all.

Papa studied him for a few moments, then clamped a hand on his shoulder. “The coyotes are comin’,” he said. “Just like Momma knew they would. They took her from you, and I’m sure she’d be proud to know you joined us in wipin’ them off the earth.”

Without another word, he turned his back and left Krall to his mourning. It would pass, Papa knew. And when it did, it would leave only the rage.

This at least, they could use.

* * *

“Get out of the car.”

Finch sighed, and rolled up the window. Stubbing out his cigarette, he was not entirely surprised when his door opened without him touching it. He would not have been any more surprised if Kara had reached in and slapped him. But she didn’t. Instead, she held the door and waited for him to step out into the rain before slamming it shut and poking a finger in his chest.

“What did I tell you? What did I say? Were you listening?”

He glanced back over his shoulder to her car, where inside, he saw the ghostly shape of Claire watching from behind the reflected sky. He turned back to Kara.

“I told her she couldn’t come. And she isn’t. At least, not with me.”

Kara’s eyes blazed. “That’s not enough.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to undo what’s already done. She can’t deal with this kind of shit. Now she thinks there’s some kind of merit to your suicide mission. Thinks maybe if she tags along it’ll help her make peace with being the only one to get out alive. She’s vulnerable, and looking for somewhere to put the anger.”

“So am I.”