“No,” Oliver said. “Not ever.”
Claire was struck by a random thought, which was proof her brain was finally shaking off the effects of bailing out of the bus at speed. “Hey,” she said. “It takes hours to get here from Morganville. How did Jason—”
“Jason says shut up,” Eve’s brother snapped. “It’s none of your business, okay? Let’s just say I was in the neighborhood.”
Oliver said nothing. That meant that either Jason had tried to get out of Morganville and managed to get himself caught, by Oliver—or he’d been on Oliver’s business errands. Either way, there was some kind of relationship there that Claire was sure hadn’t been in force a month ago. In fact, Oliver had been pretty definitely on the “Let’s execute the jerk” team. So why was Jason suddenly part of his crew—and a trusted part, if Jason had gotten some kind of permission to leave Morganville?
Claire figured she would probably never know. Jason was angrily not talking; Oliver was never Mr. Great Communicator even when he was in a good mood, and this wasn’t one.
He looked angry, focused, and very, very dangerous.
“Take us in,” Oliver said. “You all know what’s required. Do it. Get allies from Morley’s people if you can, by whatever means you can. Intimidate if you can’t persuade. Don’t allow yourself to be surrounded. Arm your friends, destroy your enemies, and whatever the cost, win. Are we understood? I will take care of Morley.”
Michael nodded. His face was healing faster than Claire had expected, but she guessed it wouldn’t last, not if they were going out in the daylight again. She wondered how much he could really take, before the pain and damage got too much and just overwhelmed him.
She hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.
Jason drove way too fast, gunning the engine to race-car levels, chasing dust devils down the road, and grinning like the maniac he was, from Claire’s glimpses of his expression. He looked more than ready for a fight. She’d never exactly seen him like this, and it was more than a little frightening.
Next to her, Michael was closed off, focused on controlling the pain he had to be feeling, and the worry. Oliver probably didn’t feel anything. He’d sneer at the idea of being worried.
Claire wanted to throw up, but she was determined to hang on and be as strong as she could. She rooted through the first aid box and found a couple of extra-strength pain relievers, not that they would help much. She also asked Michael, quietly, if he had any kind of weapon he could give her.
He silently dug a silver-coated stake out of his pocket and handed it to her. It had a wicked-sharp tip, enough to slice as well as stab, and it felt cold and solid in her hand as she gripped it hard enough to leave sweat prints on the shiny surface. “Last resort,” he told her. “Don’t get close enough to need it, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed, and tried for a smile. She thought she actually managed to pull one off. “Does it hurt? Never mind; stupid question. Of course it hurts. I’m sorry.”
His pale hand, with its vivid red burns at the wrist, gripped hers tightly for a few seconds. “You’re a good person, Claire. You know that, right?”
“So are you.”
“Technically not really a person anymore, as Shane likes to remind me.”
“Shane can be an idiot.”
“But a good friend.”
“That, too.” She sighed. “We have to get them back, Michael. We have to.”
“And we will,” he said. “I promise.”
He might have said more, but just then the car’s acceleration slowed. Jason eased off the gas and said, “Okay, we’re here. Looks like about three blocks’ worth of town, if that. Maybe thirty buildings total? What’s the plan?”
“Find the bus,” Oliver said. “They won’t have gone far.”
“Why not?”
“Because Morley is a lazy sod, and he won’t want to put himself out. Look for the biggest building, and you’ll likely find the bus parked right in front of it.”
Sure enough, as Jason turned the sharp corner into town—if you could call it a town; it was more like a random collection of buildings—the bus was immediately and obviously parked right in front of what looked like a miniature version of the Morganville Courthouse—sort of Gothic, with towers and peaked roofs, and constructed of gray stone blocks. It looked about twenty years out from any kind of maintenance work; the iron fence around the place was leaning, rusted through, and the grass inside was ragged and overgrown.
The sign said BLACKE TOWNSHIP CIVIC HALL AND COURTS. In front of the entrance sat some kind of civic monument—a big, not very good greenish bronze statue of an old man wearing an antique suit, looking very self-satisfied. The plaque at his feet, visible even from the street, said HIRAM WALLACE BLACKE. Hiram hadn’t fared too well. There were dents in his bronze form, and the whole thing leaned a little to the left, as though built on unsteady ground. Another few inches, and the whole thing was going to do a faceplant of Hiram into the overgrown grass.
The bus looked deserted. The doors were wide-open. There was no sign of Morley, his people, or anybody else.
“How do you blow this screen up? Oh yeah, I see,” Jason said. “Okay, the phone is inside the building. That’s where they’ve got Eve, anyway.”
“You know what to do. Michael, when you find your friends, bring them back here if you can. If you can’t, find a defensible position and hold it, and wait for me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Find Morley,” Oliver said. “And explain to him why it is a terrible idea to make me come after him. This will be over quickly. Morley’s not a brave man, and he’ll order his people to comply. The only risk is that something could happen before I find him and ... convince him.”
The way he said that last part made Claire shiver. Oliver was capable of a lot of things, and some of them were really not very civilized. She’d seen some of it. It still woke her up at night, heart pounding.
But right now, at least he was pointed in the right direction. Kind of like a cannon.
“Go,” Oliver said. He didn’t yell it, and there wasn’t any special emphasis to it, but Claire heard the absolute flat command in the word. He flung open his door, opened Michael’s side in the back, and then he was moving toward the door, walking, not running, moving with deliberate speed, as if he had all the time in the world, and couldn’t be stopped by anything or anyone. Jason scrambled out and scurried to keep up. He forgot to open Claire’s side, but that was okay; Michael zipped around in less than two seconds, opened it, and flung Oliver’s extra coat over his head to give himself extra protection from the fierce afternoon sun. “Check the bus!” he ordered.
“Wait, where are you—”
Too late. Michael was gone, racing at an angle across the overgrown grass, heading for the leaning shadow of the building. He got there and slammed his back against the stone, bent over and shaking, and finally stripped off the coat and shattered one of the windows that led into the courthouse.
It was odd, Claire thought, that there wasn’t a single person coming out of the buildings to see what was going on—not even out of the Civic Hall and Courts. There wasn’t a soul anywhere in sight. Blacke couldn’t have very many people in it, but it must have at least a hundred or so.
They couldn’t all be completely clueless, especially if Morley had been his usual obnoxious self.
Claire lurched for the bus, hobbled up the steps, and found the whole thing deserted. None of the prisoners were still in their seats, and the floor was littered with cut plastic ties in the back.
She left the bus at a limping run, crossed to the broken window—Michael hadn’t waited—and groaned when she realized it was almost head-high for her. With no time to complain about it, she jumped, grabbed the sill, and ignored the cuts she got from the broken glass. Michael had swept away most of it; what was left was irritating, that was all. Her arms trembled with the strain, but she managed to lift herself up, get the toes of her right foot into one of the cracks in the stone, and boost up onto the window’s broad ledge. From there it was easy enough to swing her legs in, but it was a longer drop to the floor than she’d thought, and she hit too hard. Her left ankle let out a fiery burst of pain, and she paused to brace herself against the cold stone wall, panting and waiting for the agony to subside.