Tatters of the King (The Warren Brood Book 3) Page 25

  A chill coalesced in Amanda’s gut, but she suppressed it with a hard scowl. “We’re looking for them because we’re going to stop them.”

  The woman’s firm expression didn’t falter. She considered Amanda with an unwavering distance, and then put her eyes back where her damp cloth was. “Yeah, right. Think you can do what the police couldn’t? Nobody can stop them.”

  “Well I can,” Amanda said. “Please, tell me where we can find them. Where is their church, or their temple, or whatever?” It was a half-hollow question; the image of the plaza in the distance still sat in her mind, but some atavistic fear repulsed her from the thought. Fear? Fear of finding what she was looking for?

  With a throaty chuckle, the woman continued wiping the counter. “It’d be nice if they were so easy to find, wouldn’t it? Afraid these guys are a bit more reclusive than that. Even if I thought a cutie like you could do anything about ’em, I wouldn’t tell you where their hideout was. That’s just common sense not to harm people for no good reason. You follow?”

  Kyle growled, reached into his wallet, and plopped a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter. “Just tell us where we can find them.”

  She gave him a dead look, patience slipping and dragging her heavy eyelids downward. “How about you just get out of here?”

  He slid another twenty from his wallet and laid it atop the first.

  The woman stared at the money for a moment. Her lip twitched. “Eighty.”

  Kyle groaned and glanced at Amanda. She caught his gaze and nodded. “I’ll pay you back,” she said.

  With an aggravated sigh, he peeled off two more Jacksons and slapped them on the counter.

  At once, the woman snatched them up and flipped through them. She counted them twice, folded the small wad, and slipped it into her pocket. “Fine. You win. I don’t know where they recruit from. But if you just want to find them, all you have to do is look out at the desert at night and follow the bonfires.”

  Amanda shivered. “Bonfires?”

  “Yup. Police were the first to investigate when they showed up a couple months ago, what with the possibility of brush fires. Those officers were the first to get all glassy-eyed and aimless. Since then, everyone who’s gone to check those fires out either becomes a mindless zombie like the police or comes back so fanatical about the Order that the curiosity just keeps spreading, just like the damn measles.”

  “Wait, when you say mindless zombie,” Chelsea interjected, “you mean like there’s someone else in their mind controlling them?” It was as though she had just then made the connection and started believing for herself. It was a feeling Amanda shared deep down, for somehow she hadn’t expected everything to fall into place exactly as she’d thought; it was almost too easy.

  The woman grunted a little and shrugged. “Someone else in their mind, broken mind, hunger for brains, who cares what’s wrong with ’em? Creepy as those guys became, they’re still better than the ones who act like they found a whole city full of Jesuses out there. You can find them making their rounds when evening gets closer. They come down from the hills and march in a big circuit around the plaza, chanting a-hai, a-hai or some garbage.”

  Amanda nodded in understanding. Her face was hot and her stomach cold. “Is that why this town feels so empty?”

  “Hmph. You noticed?” The woman folded her rag and let it hang half off the edge of the counter. “Let me put it this way. There’s two kinds of people in Manix: opportunists that bought up land when they announced the Indian casino in Barstow, and those of us with roots here. Guess which ones packed up and hit the road the moment that cult started recruiting? The vultures are mostly gone, I’d say, and the rest of us who’ve managed to hang on this long know better than to go outside with freaks roaming the hills.”

  “And you’re just going to stay here?” Chelsea asked.

  “We’re a strong town, dear. We’ve survived droughts, we’ve survived floods, sandstorms, you name it. Like anything else, this cult will blow over, even if it takes a repeat of Heaven’s Gate to give us our town back.”

  Amanda swallowed hard. “You said something about people who say they found God, or whatever? How many people would you put into that group? Their, uhh, congregation, I guess.”

  “Hard to say. A few hundred, at least. Can’t be too much more than that.”

  Kyle looked over his shoulder at the two girls, disbelief deepening the hard lines in his face. He chewed nothing, and slowly craned his head back to the clerk. “And nobody’s called for help? If even the police have become zombies, then . . . ”

  She snorted, though it sounded almost like a sob. “Well, if you want to try driving all the way down to Barstow and telling the police that ours have turned into the living dead, more power to you. Hasn’t worked for anyone else yet, because the top dogs are still sitting in the station here, pretending everything’s normal. Now if you’re not going to buy anything, would you be on your way?”

  Kyle leveled his gaze at Amanda. Feeling the question hiding in his eyes, she gave a small nod and headed for the door. “Thanks for the info,” she said over her shoulder.

  “A word of advice,” the clerk said. “Stay away from that cult. Enough people’ve been hurt by them, and I don’t want you guys on my conscience.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” Angelic bells tinkled and rang with the automatic doors. A wall of hot air blasted into Amanda’s face as she left the air-conditioned convenience store. Sweat instantly beaded upon her brow. Soon, Chelsea and Kyle joined her on the short walk to the car.

  Kyle was the first to catch up to her. “That had better have been eighty bucks worth of helpful.”

  “It was.” She was confident of that. Now they knew where they recruited from, as it were. And that meant there was no need to approach the plaza, the very thought of which inexplicably caused a dreadful molasses to form in her throat. “All we have to do is wait for nightfall. And when we find these bonfires, we’ll find the cult.”

  Spinneretta came out from around the tree on all fours, her spider legs propelling her overground like a beast. But her speed wasn’t enough to close the distance in time. The three deer in the clearing took off in different directions at a full stot. She set her sights on the one dashing back toward the barrier of trees. Every muscle in her body burned as she threw herself forward. The grass was a smear beneath her, and her spider legs surged with primal strength. The doe curved its trajectory, and Spinneretta cut in the same direction, aiming at where it would be two seconds later.

  Hooves pounded the dirt and weeds, and Spinneretta aligned her attack. Her legs coiled and she pounced, fangs bared. At the last moment, the deer jerked at a hard angle. Spinneretta drew her appendages back together to absorb the impact of landing, but her momentum kicked the ground from beneath her and sent her tumbling. When she finally came to a stop, she pushed herself up. The taste of grass and dirt filled her mouth. The world stopped spinning just in time for her to see Kara dart from the trees in pursuit of one of the other does.

  Kara moved much faster than Spinneretta had. Her entire form seemed to blur as she zig-zagged on the deer’s trail, dancing elegantly to and fro on her splayed legs. The girl closed, the doe jerked to the side, and Kara readjusted. The chase continued from the edge of the forest to the base of the boulder-clad hill. Her spider legs, wide and hooked, prepared to spring for purchase. Her mouth was gaping, black fangs glinting in the evening light. Spinneretta shuddered to think that such a ferocious image was her beloved sister.

  But that ferocious image was yet imperfect. The deer slipped out of range with a final burst of speed, and Kara struck the ground clumsily, half of her legs folding beneath her while her others coiled to stop herself from careening out of control. She tried to get back up and pursue further, but the deer had already made it too far away.

  Spinneretta spat a mouthful of saliva tinged with dirt. She only then realized she’d been holding her breath. “Shit, I thought you had it for sure.”

 
Kara panted where she was hunched and then flopped back into a sitting position. “Not fair. I was this close.”

  Spinneretta crawled to her feet, trying to ignore the strain that tightened every muscle in her body. The pit of her stomach snarled again. It was so empty it felt like it was crushing her lower back. It wasn’t the usual hunger pang; it had come on faster and harder. She supposed ultra-powered senses and reflexes didn’t come without a price. She just wished she’d thought about that before the Instinct’s accelerated metabolism came back to bite her in the ass.

  Kara rocked back onto her haunches, and her spider legs shifted to support her weight. At the edge of the clearing, two does peeked out from the shade of early evening.

  Blowing at a clump of hair that had fallen into her face, Spinneretta glared at them. “Stupid animals. If they knew what was good for them they’d keep running.”

  Kara groaned. “Pro’lly know we can’t catch ’em.”

  There came a grunting bawl from one of the does, and Spinneretta could only sigh as she looked up the rolling hillside toward the forest again. From the far edge from which they’d come, a shadow slipped between the tufts of weeds and wildflowers. Cinnamon scuttled over a small pile of rocks before bounding onto Kara’s knees and mewling with a sound like cracking leaves. Spinneretta slumped down beside them. “Well, now what do we do?”

  Kara wrapped her arms and arachnid extremities around the Leng cat. “I thought you’d have a backup plan.”

  “Not unless you want to eat grass.” She flopped onto her back and tried to ignore the ferocious growling coming from her stomach. “Could forage for fruit or something.”

  Kara closed her eyes and pushed her forehead into Cinnamon’s back. “I want meat.”

  “Could try trapping a rabbit.” Except she had no idea how to make a snare, and they had precious sunlight left to build it, find the rabbits, and wait for the rabbits to commit suicide for them. The sun was going down, and the clouds were beginning to look a little too much like cotton candy for her mental well-being. She could feel the earth spinning beneath her, and as the Instinct receded from her blood she felt lost.

  “Ahh!” Kara perked up, eyes bright. “Wait, I taught Cinny how to hunt rabbit back at Kyle’s! We don’t even need a trap! And we don’t even need rabbits!” She slid back across the ground, and her limp hunch sharpened into a purposeful crouch. She reached down and beckoned at the Leng cat. “Come here, Cinny. Get on my arm.”

  With neither question nor pause, Cinnamon skittered to her and crawled up onto her forearm. When Kara stood, Cinnamon coiled her legs around the limb. And once Kara had risen to her feet and her spider legs had poised themselves along the ground, she began to slink toward the far end of the meadow where two of the does had resumed their grazing.

  Spinneretta sat up and watched in silence as Kara drew near the edge of the hilly glade. One of the does looked up, and Kara froze, still as a graven sculpture. After a tense moment, the doe resumed its grazing. Another moment passed, and Kara crept closer. Perhaps noticing the intrusion, the further of the two does began to slip toward the trees as the spider-girl neared.

  And then Kara pounced. Her spider legs cocked, and she leapt at the nearest deer, who at once turned and began to bolt. At the peak of her jump, she twisted in the air and threw her arm in a wide forward arc. “Cinnamon!” she yelled. “Kill!”

  The combined speed of Kara’s leap and throw hurled Cinnamon through the air. The black shape spun and unfurled its malicious legs. A hunting scream split the quiet of the meadow as the Leng cat struck the animal in the flank. Cinnamon’s legs grappled with the doe’s side, and she sank her fangs into the deer’s flesh. There came a cry of pain, like somebody had kicked open a rusty gate. The deer stumbled, crashing to the ground in a flailing heap. A few moments later, it ceased its struggle. When it was over, Cinnamon crawled up onto her kill and raised her head toward Kara. She may have been small, but she had all the pride and nobility of a lion.

  Kara jumped into the air and laughed. “See?” she said with a smug grin. “Told you.”

  Spinneretta shook her head, still in partial disbelief. “I never doubted you.” Explicitly. It baffled her how Cinnamon had known what to do. Was it possible that, like Kara had said, Cinnamon really did understand English? That was an absurd thought, and yet the way Cinnamon had seemed to resent Spinneretta’s harsh words earlier lent the claim some credence. Not to mention the way Mark had pointed out how intelligent the adults were back in the Web. The thought made Spinneretta shudder, and she began shuffling toward where the deer lay.

  The deer looked like it was already at death’s door. Spinneretta was admittedly unfamiliar with the death throes of wild creatures, but she still found the speed of Cinnamon’s venom improbable. Her legs folded, and she dropped down beside the kill, shoulders slumping in relief and exhaustion. “Good work,” she said to the Leng cat, who still stood proudly upon the doe’s side. “I’m sorry I blamed you.” It felt totally ridiculous to even entertain the thought of the beast understanding.

  But to her surprise, Cinnamon made one of her crackling purrs and slunk down the deer’s side and into Spinneretta’s lap. As the spider-beast rubbed its head on her folded legs, Spinneretta reached down and scratched her behind her tapered ears. I guess it’s a good thing you came after all.

  In the clearing, the two spider children constructed a small fire with a pack of matches Spinneretta found at the bottom of her bag. Her initial fears of the branches they’d collected being too wet proved groundless. The tinder and kindling were sufficient to dry the slender pine branches, though they crackled and spat sparks across the dirt every now and again.

  Spinneretta roasted her portion of deer over the blaze, while Kara and Cinnamon went straight for the raw meat of its flank. Tastes better than beef, she found herself thinking, though it still made her feel like she was eating baby food. God, I’d kill for some nettle soup right now.

  After they’d eaten their fill of venison, the two decided to rest for the night. Walking for the better part of the daylight hours had left them both exhausted. For a short while, they both sat there around their modest bonfire, speaking little. Then, Kara looked up from scratching Cinnamon behind her ears. “Hey, Spins?”

  “Hmm?”

  “About my memories. Do you think Isabella and the other Leng-cat-people had these memories, too?”

  The question hit Spinneretta right in her heart. She wasn’t sure if it was the blazing light of the fire or the traces of smoke that stung her eyes, but she had to look away. “Didn’t the book say they did? That was why they tested it on you, right?” A knot formed in her throat, and she grunted to try to clear it. She tried not to remember the look in that poor creature’s eyes before she murdered her.

  “Do you think they had better memories than mine?” Kara asked. “More clear, or whatever?”

  Spinneretta hugged her knees and pressed her forehead into them, eyes clenched. “I don’t know.”

  “If they did, then do you think they all killed themselves because they knew what was going to happen to them? What they were going to birth?”

  “I said I don’t know.” Her eyes were burning again, and this time it wasn’t the fire.

  “What’s wrong?” Kara then took in a sharp breath. “Oh, I’m sorry. You still . . . ”

  Spinneretta rolled onto her side and crossed her arms under her head. She couldn’t bear to think about it. Just the shadow of the thought gave an even greater impetus to her quest, foolish though she knew it was. Isabella. She couldn’t let that poor creature’s death be in vain.

  “Maybe Isabella’s a child of the air now,” Kara said.

  “A what?”

  Kara sank back to a reclined position. “You know, a child of the air. Like in the Little Mermaid.”

  Spinneretta looked again into the campfire, trying to decode what Kara was talking about. The phrase sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. “I barely remember that movie at a
ll.”

  “Not the movie, stupid! The fairy tale.” She crawled forward a little. “By whatshisname. Hans Christian Anderson.”

  “Wait, you’ve read the . . . ?” She hadn’t expected Kara to even know there was an original story. A chill swept her skin between her shoulder blades as she again tried to place the phrase child of the air.

  Kara grinned. “It’s great! It’s way better than the movie! It’s about a mermaid who saves a prince from drowning and then wants to live as a human, so she makes a deal with a sea witch who gives her a potion in exchange for cutting out her tongue. And then she drinks the potion and gets legs, but she’s constantly in pain, and she dances for the prince, but he falls in love with someone else and gets married. So the mermaid’s sisters trade their hair to the sea witch for an enchanted dagger, and they tell her, plunge this dagger into the prince’s heart, and wash your feet in his blood and you will become a mermaid again. Otherwise, at sunrise you will die. But she still loves the prince, so she chooses to die and becomes a child of the air who will one day earn a soul by performing good deeds.”

  The glint of bloodthirsty excitement in Kara’s eyes startled Spinneretta. She shivered a little and rested her head on her arms again. “Doesn’t really seem like a story a Whispering Unicorns fanatic would be interested in.” That was putting it lightly.

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “Ugh. Never mind.”

  Kara seemed a little disappointed and fell onto her back again with a small sigh. “Well, whatevers. All I meant was I wonder if Isabella’ll need to earn her soul.”

  Spinneretta turned back to the fire. “Hope not.” The bright tongues of flame reached upward, and the radiant heat made staring into them painful. She began once more to wonder how much of the soul mechanics she’d read about were true.

  Cinnamon slunk into Kara’s lap, and the girl began to giggle and stroke the Leng cat. “Oh, hey, do you know the story of The Old Street Lamp?”

  “No.”