She fell, and Joe dropped his head, buried his face against the back of Flix’s neck and shuddered, kissed the skin there, warm and alive and maybe safe in the sudden, ringing quiet.
“Let me go, Joe! Let me go!” Flix struggled against him once more, and Joe was so tired. When Flix dug a mean finger into the bullet wound on Joe’s shoulder, Joe rolled off him and laid on his back in the dirt, watching as Flix ran into the night, looking for his brother.
Joe stayed there on the ground, his shoulder throbbing with his pulse. He watched the stars and listened to the screams and sobs of people who’d been like family. He didn’t want to think about it, not now, not while he was injured and Devin was still in the root cellar and this nightmare was all Joe’s fault.
He rolled onto his stomach and pushed to his feet. He took the gun from Aria, who mumbled and twitched. He took them from all the dead bodies of the Sons, from the still-stunned guard, and staggered into the greenhouse.
The effects of the stunner must have worn off the male guard, because he was gone. Joe checked every row of the greenhouse, VICE-shot raised, looking for any sign of trouble. The place was empty. Finally, he sat at the edge of the root cellar opening and let his legs dangle into the stale air.
“Papi?” he said, and the needing of Devin was so sharp that Joe doubled over with the pain of it.
“It’s me, Peter.” Peter’s pale face appeared near the ladder. “Devin’s awake but kind of woozy, and he hurt his ankle. I don’t think he can climb out of here on his own. Do you think you could —”
Joe jumped down and tumbled to his knees. The sting of the collision with the ground rattled up his legs and spine. It was worth it, though, when he saw Devin propped against a wall, watching him with lazy, sleepy eyes and a soft smile. Joe crawled to him, his wounded shoulder cursing him with every movement. One by one, he pulled the rifles off his good shoulder and set them in a pile. Then he tucked his arms against his chest and fell into Devin. When Devin’s hands wrapped around him, they were cool and clumsy, but Joe didn’t care. He closed his eyes and let Devin’s breath and heartbeat and embrace soothe his shuddering tears.
***
The next morning at cold and windy dawn, they buried Marcus and Sadie side by side. The holes in Sadie’s chest and Marcus’s stomach had been covered by a blanket. It didn’t matter. It was looking at their empty faces that hurt the most. Joe watched as Flix jumped into the grave, where he gently laced their fingers and watered their hands with his tears. He stayed there until Devin reached in and pulled him from the ground.
Joe kept his distance; Flix didn’t want to be comforted by him. So Joe held on to Peter’s quaking shoulders and said a silent prayer for God to watch over the dead and ease the pain of the living.
Navarro, hunched and pale, said the words out loud, and he said more, about Sadie’s endless curiosity and Marcus’s benevolent acceptance, about her love for her family and his love for his twin. He said they shouldn’t have died, that it wasn’t fair, that God was wrong to take children so young. That men and women were bastards for using weapons instead of words.
Navarro spoke, but it was Lil who picked up the shovel and sprinkled the first dirt over her sister’s body. Flix came next, shaking off Devin’s steadying hands and doing what he had to before burying his face in Devin’s chest the way Joe had the night before. Navarro took a turn, and then Peter and Joe filled the grave. It was slow work. Joe’s shoulder protested every movement, and though it had mostly stopped bleeding, every once in a while he felt the slick, warm slide of blood down his chest or his arm. Penance. And not nearly enough.
When the last of the loose dirt had been put into place, they walked away in pairs, Joe and Peter, Lil and Navarro, Devin and Flix. Once, Joe glanced back at the mounded grave. Aria knelt at the edge. Joe turned around and kept walking.
Back at the house, Lil moved about blindly, setting out food. Flix fell asleep on the couch almost instantly, his head in Devin’s lap. Devin stopped his slow stroking of Flix’s hair to squeeze Joe’s hand as he walked past.
“Come, nuevecito,” Navarro said. “It’s time you let me tend to your shoulder.”
Joe followed Navarro to the exam room, relieved to escape the crush of grief, to do something, even if it was just to grit his teeth against the pain of Navarro’s exam. He turned down pain pills when Navarro offered them. He would save those in case someone needed them later.
Joe sat on the metal table where he’d held Marcus down while Navarro had fixed his broken bones. Had he promised Marcus it would be okay?
“He would have died,” Navarro said, drawing Joe back to the present. “He would have died if you hadn’t brought him here. I’m going to cut your shirt off.”
Joe nodded at the scissors. “But...”
Navarro shook his head. “No but.” He took a shaky breath and started cutting. “And she would have died, too, if not for you. If you hadn’t helped us buy her those glasses, she would’ve never been able to survive all this time.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter in the end. It’s not enough. But you did help them.” Navarro slipped the shirt over Joe’s shoulders and picked up a spray bottle of Antisep. “It’s gonna hurt.”
“Good. It’s my fault they —” Joe broke off as Navarro squirted the liquid onto the wound, first in
