Steph Marks and her brother think the Village belongs to them. They have over seventy people to act as human shields. No one can touch them.
The bitch never has a chance to think otherwise. Bronco’s rifle shot blows off the top part of her head. The guy next to her dies before processing how he’s covered in her brains.
As we rush toward the building, I strap my rifle to my back. I’d rather have my hands free. My knife and pistol are hooked to my waist if I need them.
The tapping of suppressed gunshots signals Conor and his crew have joined the fight. The young Volkshalberd fire back at the invaders.
I remain just behind Bronco as he hurries into the large open building. The TV still plays loudly in a back corner. Faintly, over a radio, the guards cry out for help at the front. Their calls go unanswered as the five men inside hold steady and protect their torch bearer.
As soon as I enter, I spot Marks sitting in a large brown recliner with a blonde woman’s head bobbing over his crotch. Even as the world comes down around him, the pig can’t be bothered to give a shit.
A young man fires at Bronco, but I move in front of the bullet. The burn in my chest doesn’t register as I rush the asshole. He hits the wall hard. His head quickly turns to pulp under the power of my fists. His asshole friend tries to shoot me in the back, but Bronco’s bullet ends that bullshit.
A third Volkshalberd stops trying to shoot at Lowell and turns his gun at me. I slap his rifle away and lift the fucker by the throat. His blue eyes widen. I think he begs. I know he pisses himself. I feel no pity. He needs to die so I can return to Bronco’s side.
Behind me, Lowell fires on men trying to enter the building. Drummer counts out five incoming threats. Akron shoots his rifle, counting back down to zero.
Bronco gets in a small firefight with a toad-looking fucker playing buffer for a still-disinterested Marks. I see my president pinned down behind a desk.
Picking up a spare TV screen on a nearby desk, I send it flying at Marks’s fanboy. My throw is as spot-on as Pixie’s with the watermelon. Our kids will no doubt be superstar pitchers.
Until now, Marks’s gaze remained fully focused on the TV. Is this really the man the Volkshalberd chose to worship to their own doom? I assume he’s more charming when coked-up. Right now, he seems like a stupid old man trying to enjoy one last orgasm before he finally pays the price for an entire life of waste and selfishness.
The asshole finally wakes up from his TV-induced stupor and stops watching a damn car insurance commercial. Shoving down his recliner’s footrest, he knocks the woman out of his way. Before the motherfucker can flee, Bronco grabs Marks by his long stringy hair and yanks him back into the chair.
Like when he butchered the Killing Joes in front of me that fateful date, Bronco doesn’t trash talk. He stares down into Marks’s eyes while slitting the bastard’s doughy throat.
These men go way back. Bronco was the son of a violent drunk and a crazy woman. John Marks was born into luxury. Decades ago, Bronco took Elko from this man. Marks should have walked away for good, but he couldn’t let himself get beat by trash like a Parrish. Now, he gurgles and gasps, wanting so desperately to live just one more day. Bronco only smiles.
If Pixie’s correct about each life being a version of the same story, this scene has played out many times. I’m sure there’s even a version where Bronco catches a bullet, and Marks survives. But the best varieties involve this wannabe tyrant slowly bleeding out on his flaccid dick while my president gets to relish ending a family he’s hated since his first boner.
PIXIE
Lana lets me hold Carina while she checks on the older girls. I haven’t cared for an infant since Future was one. As Carina watches me with sleepy eyes, I imagine a baby with Anders. Is he ready to have a child when he’s still one in many ways? Should I remain focused on his broken heart?
“Topanga asked about Perry,” Mama says, joining me on the couch and checking the phone device, which shows Future sleeping in his portable baby cage.
Peeking at the image of my brother in the guest room, I whisper, “What about him?”
“Would I still want Perry, if he’s alive?”
“Do you?”
Mama studies the sight of her son. “After you left with Anders, the Volkshalberd were enraged. They made threats against us. To protect himself, Perry was willing to give Dove to that awful despotic dolt. I was willing to die rather than participate in my child’s suffering. I don’t think Perry and I make sense.”
“You never did.”
“He was the best I could find there,” Mama says defensively. “If I didn’t continue a bloodline with the Volkshalberd, they wouldn’t have let us stay.”
Patting her hand, I smile. “You created Future, and the world is better for it.”
Mama’s frown evaporates into a proud smile. “He is such a ray of sunshine. Just like his sisters.”
“Lana said the Woodlands women are organizing supplies for the Village. Some of them are going out there tomorrow. Also, a doctor is coming. Do you think we should go?”
“Though I don’t want to, I believe I will. Your father would do so, and Zest had the best heart. Though I’ll never be that good, I can try,” Mama says and rests her cheek against my shoulder as I run my index finger along Carina’s little chin. “Dove shouldn’t go. She isn’t strong like you. When Marks wanted to use your body, you played your tricks on him and never showed fear. Dove reeks of terror. She cried all night long when you disappeared. Her heart isn’t safe in that place, even for
