Someone grabs my arm, hard. I swallow a yelp. “That’s Miss Anderson,” Katherine whispers, her breath warm on my ear.
A feeling, half sick and half rage, blooms in my middle. If Miss Anderson is involved, then I know those folks above can’t be up to any good.
“Rupert’s got a thing about shamblers,” a third voice says, low and even. “Too much time out west in the wide open. He thinks he’s safer behind the walls in Baltimore than he is out here.” There are footsteps, and the voice sounds again from a new place. “Come on, we need to clean out what’s left. The mayor wants everything belonging to the Spencers packed up and out of here by morning.”
The voices subside, and I lean back against the dirt wall and let myself think. What did that mean? Did the Spencers leave of their own accord? Or did something happen to them, and these people are trying to cover it up? There’s no way to tell, and Jackson looks fit to burst as we listen to the people above move in and out of the house.
“That’s it,” comes a voice from above after a little while. “We don’t need to pack up the bigger furniture. Mayor said just their personal items need to be collected. Now, what are we going to do with the rest of this stuff? Sell it?”
There’s a cough, and Miss Anderson says, “Have some respect. These aren’t pickaninnies we’re talking about. The Spencers are a fine upstanding family.”
I clench my hands at the slur rolling off of the lips of one of my instructors. I knew there was a good reason I didn’t like that woman. If I could deck her I would, but I’m trapped in a hole in the dark, so all I can do is listen as she keeps talking.
“You and a few of your boys can come back tomorrow and get the rest,” she continues. “Load it on their pony in the barn and send it along on the next train.”
“I ain’t coming back here again!” says Rupert. “Are you out of your mind?”
Rupert and Miss Anderson start arguing, and the other man finally interrupts. “Quiet! Both of you. Rupert, grab the trunk. Miss Anderson, would you be so kind as to assist me in a visit to the Johnson homestead? The mayor believes Mr. Johnson has been organizing demonstrations in opposition to his run for Senate, and I find that mid-night visits elicit the most reliable results.”
“Of course, Mr. Redfern.”
Their footsteps echo as they leave the house. There are a few moments of swearing and thumping as Rupert takes the trunk out, then silence settles back over the night. The sound of our breathing seems to echo as we wait to make sure the trio is gone.
I ain’t sure how long we spent in the shamblers’ hole, but by the time Jackson opens the door I’m groggy and sorely in need of sleep. He climbs out and comes back with an all clear. I can’t see his face in the gloom, but I can tell that he’s holding back some feelings by the lack of spring in his step. Who can blame him?
We’re quiet until we clear the barrier gate. Jackson locks it carefully, even though we all know the Spencers ain’t never coming back. Katherine holds herself, cupping her elbows in her palms. Once we’re within the shelter of the forest I clear my throat. It’s likely dangerous to talk in the woods, but there are some things that need saying and no one seems willing to break the silence.
“Well, I always knew Miss Anderson weren’t no good.”
Katherine’s voice comes through the near dark. “So, do you think the Spencers are . . . ?” She can’t finish the thought, and Jackson can’t speak, either.
“Dead?” I say finally. “Truthfully, I don’t know. It was hard to tell from what they were saying, but . . .” Jackson lifts his eyes to mine. “I don’t think so. The way Miss Anderson was talking about taking care of their things, it sounded like they’re still alive, somewhere. What we do know is that wherever they’ve gone, Miss Anderson and those men she was with were ordered by the mayor to cover it up.”
“Maybe the Spencers were attacked by a big pack of shamblers but they weren’t bitten and even though they survived, the mayor doesn’t want anyone to know,” Katherine suggests. “He doesn’t want people to think Baltimore County is unsafe again. So he packed them up and sent them off somewhere against their will.”
I shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe they just picked up and moved to a different city on their own, and the mayor doesn’t want anyone to know about that, either, seeing as how popular they were. We’ve all heard stories of folks leaving without so much as a how-do-you-do, though not as much recently. . . . Still, they could have found somewhere they like better than here. Maybe Philadelphia? Wherever it is, it must be pretty nice if they were fine leaving their things behind.”
“They didn’t leave.” Jackson’s voice is almost too quiet to hear. “Not on their own. Lily would have gotten word to me.”
“Maybe she didn’t have the chance. It’s not like she could tell a message runner that she’s your—”
“You don’t know her like I do, Jane,” he snaps. “Even if you always think you do.”
I don’t say anything to that, because what’s the point? He ain’t going to listen to reason. Jackson might not like it, but if the Spencers did move on, at least they didn’t leave his sister behind like unwanted dishes.
“Well, either way, we need to get on back,” I say after a long moment. “The sun’s coming up.” When I go on my nightly escapades I’m usually back soon enough to get a bit of sleep, but that’s not happening tonight. The sun peeks across the horizon, shading the world gray as dawn approaches.
