“We’re ready,” Alvarez announces.
There’s a raft on the shore that’s covered in oily dark cloth. The body is there. The empty shell of nothing with Crenshaw’s beard and staff. Several Vashons, men and women both, wade into the water with it. Guiding it. They go up to their waists before letting it go. Then they cast it off, shoving it out toward the wide mouth of Lake Washington just outside the peninsula.
No one says anything. There’s not a sound aside from the water and the fire burning nearby.
When the raft is far out into the lake, Ali moves. She takes a bow from Sam, who lights the tip of an arrow for her. I watch her launch it, watch as it flies over the darkening sky before finding its home on the raft where it ignites immediately, the entire vessel going up in brilliant flames.
That’s it. That’s the end. Most people leave after that. What else is there to be done? These days you’re lucky if anyone remembers you, let alone buries you in any way. As far as the apocalypse goes, this was a very moving service.
Ryan and the boys leave eventually, all of them carefully pretending not to see me. It’s not long before everyone is gone.
Everyone but Ali and I.
I want to go but I can’t. I can’t take my eyes off the fire on the water. My feet are rooted to the ground, the same ground where miles from here rests a forest. A quiet place with a small earthen hut kept hidden from the wild like a mirage in the desert. I never realized how beautiful that spot really was until now. I never knew how truly magical Crenshaw had been, not until he was gone and he took his magic with him. He took his words and his wisdom and I’ll have to make it through this world without them. I’ll have to make do with what he taught me, with all the things he gave me. Things like my name.
Persephone and I stand by the shore together but separate. We wait until the night comes in completely, until the last ember slips silently under the surface.
We stay with him and we send him on the wind and the water to the next world because it’s our job.
We’re his warriors. His Valkyries.
His family.
Chapter Twenty Two
We’re back in the big tent. It’s the center of our circus and we’re coming to the last act. It’s the Grand Finale. The moment we’ve all been waiting for.
“Westbrook is across the lake. He’s in a mansion with several of his followers. It’s isolated. It’s not heavily guarded. They prepared for zombie attacks. Never an uprising.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to kill him.”
“Good plan.”
I watch blankly as Alvarez and Todd hash out the details. We’ll go in by boat, the same one the Vashons came over on that they’ve stored up north, out of sight. Only fifty of us will go. We’ll storm the building in teams. We’ll take it by force. No magic, no illusions, no lies.
We leave at dawn.
The room clears out. I stay behind, staring at the walls flapping lightly in the breeze. I don’t know how long I’m there alone, but I don’t have any desire to leave. I don’t have anywhere to go. Eventually it starts to rain.
“Do you live here now?”
I turn to see Trent standing in the doorway, his hair laying flat and wet against his head. It makes him look different. More human.
“Maybe,” I mutter, turning away.
He stays in the doorway behind me but I know he’s there. I can feel him because he wants me to feel him. He wants me to know he’s waiting.
“What?” I ask irritably.
“You tell me.”
“Tell you what, Trent?”
“What’s on your mind.”
I chuckle dryly. “Shouldn’t Ryan be doing this? He’s our ambassador, right?”
“He already tried. You shut him down.”
My stomach clenches with guilt.
“He says you need space,” Trent continues.
“He’s right. Bye.”
“I told him he’s wrong. I told him you need to talk to someone.”
“And you thought the right person for the job would be you?”
“I killed my dad.”
I spin around in my seat, my mouth falling open. “Why would you just blurt that out like that?!”
“To get your attention,” he replies calmly. He grins slightly. “Did it work?”
“You’re sick.”
“But you’re listening now, aren’t you?”
I face forward, leaning back in my seat. “Come sit down. I’ll strain my neck trying to look at you like that.”
He moves silently through the room, sitting down next to me like a ghost. We both face forward, staring at the wall of the tent. The ceiling is dripping a little in the corners where the water has managed to pool, but otherwise we’re safe and sound from the rain and wind outside.
“Did you really kill your dad?” I ask, my voice hushed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he was a zombie,” Trent answers as a matter-of-fact. “I saw him be bitten, I saw him die, then I saw him rise again, so I put a bullet between his eyes.”
“Whoa.”
He looks over at me curiously. “Did you kill your dad?”
“N-no,” I stutter, shocked by how easily he asks the question. “I didn’t. I was eight and they were eaten. And I didn’t have a gun. You know…because I was eight.”
He nods in understanding, looking away. “Ryan’s parents were eaten too. Kevin killed them for him. He didn’t think Ryan could handle it.”
“That was… thoughtful.”
“He was a good guy.”
We fall into a very strange silence. I’m digesting the conversation we just had, trying to follow the breadcrumbs back to the beginning to figure out how we got here while Trent waits patiently next to me. Finally I give up and break down.
“What am I supposed to talk about?”
“Whatever’s bugging you,” he answers vaguely.
“I hate that people die.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it. I hate that people die. That’s what’s bugging me.”
“No it’s not.”
I press my fingers against my eyes to keep my brain from exploding out my face. “Really, Trent? You came in here hassling me about this and now you’re going to tell me how I feel?”
“I’m not telling you how you feel. I’m telling you that that’s not what’s making you act like this.”
“Like what?”
“Do you really want me to say it, or will I get hit for saying it even though you asked me to?”
I drop my hands. “You’ll get hit. Don’t say it.”
“So you do realize it?”
“Of course I realize it. I hate it, but I can’t help it.”
“It’s how you deal with things. No one is surprised.”
I look at him skeptically. “So people expect me to be awful and that makes it okay?”
“No, but no one expects you to change overnight, either. Definitely not Ryan. He’s hurting too. He understands.”
“Are you hurting?” I ask, genuinely curious if this odd bird’s feathers can be ruffled. I can’t picture it. He just told me he killed his dad as though he were telling me about retiring his favorite shoes. After that it’s hard to imagine him torn up about anything.
“He was a nice man,” he says noncommittally. “I’m sorry to see him die. I wasn’t close to him, though—not like you and Ryan were—and that’s what’s making you act like this. It’s not that you hate that people die. You hate that people close to you die.”
I stare at him as he stares back at me, waiting for me to do something—cry, admit he’s right, knit him a sweat. I don’t know what he’s waiting for but he’s better at it than I am.
Finally I sigh, looking away. “You’re right.”
“A little louder please. My hearing is terrible.”
I shake my head. “Your hearing is ungodly good and don’t push it. I said it once, you heard me.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
I groan. “Ah come on! I owned up to it, now I have to do something about it?”
“If you want to keep being around people and not act like a B-I-T—”
I reach over to clamp my hand over his mouth. “Nah nah nah,” I warn him. “I can spell just fine so stow it. That will not be one of our lessons, thank you.”