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Chapter Sixteen
The dead girl’s bones are covered in snow. But not completely. I can see a flash of bone sticking up through the icy crust; a rounded lump up above that is probably her skull. I don’t point it out to anyone, but I know from the stiffening of Bishop’s shoulders that he’s seen her, too. The four of us are crouched in the trees, the gate in the fence directly in front of us, the early-morning sun painting the ground with gold and pink.
“Is this where they put you out?” Bishop asks me.
I can feel Ash watching me as I answer. “No. It was another gate. Farther west.”
Bishop nods. “They don’t use that one as much.”
“Probably hoping if they put me farther from the river I’d die before I found water.”
Caleb makes a disgusted noise at the back of his throat, but his eyes remain on the gate. “Now what?” he asks.
We’re all exhausted, hungry, and worn down, and I wish there were some way for us to regroup, have a few days of warmth and good food before we walk back into Westfall. But that’s never going to happen, so the best thing to do is push on before we use up even more of our reserves.
“The patrols come along here every day,” Bishop says, nodding toward the fence.
“How many men?” Ash asks.
“Sometimes two. Sometimes just one. I’m guessing with everything going on inside Westfall, they won’t want to spare two men out here checking the fence. When the patrol comes around, I’ll get him to let me back inside.”
We linger in the shadows of the trees, eating jerky and sharing water from our two canteens. I don’t ask Bishop if he’s sure about the plan or tell him to be careful; he knows what he’s doing, and from now on we’ll all be as careful as we can be. When I’m just at the point where I think I’ll need to move or go insane, I hear the crunch of boots over snow. Caleb holds up a hand, even though we’re silent already.
Bishop grabs my hand, squeezes it once, and lets go. He moves out of the trees and toward the gate as I shift onto my knees, torso pressed against the tree in front of me, eyes glued on his back. He reaches the gate at the exact moment a patrol guard steps into sight on the Westfall side of the fence. He almost pinwheels backward at the sight of Bishop, hand falling to his gun.
“Hey,” Bishop says, keeping his voice calm and even. “I’m Bishop Lattimer. I need to get back in.”
The guard hasn’t moved, and his hand hasn’t left his gun, either. Next to me I feel Caleb slide his crossbow off his back. He does it without making a single sound.
“I thought you were gone,” the guard says finally. It’s hard to tell how old he is. He’s bundled up against the cold in a hat and a dark scarf wrapped around his face, tiny ice pellets embedded in the wool. But he sounds young. Young makes me nervous, makes me think unpredictable and scared.
Bishop must hear it, too, because when he speaks his voice has gotten even deeper, more adult. Trying to show the kid who’s in charge here. “I left. Now I’m back. I need you to let me in.”
Still the guard hesitates, and my heart is beginning to throb, my pulse jackhammering in my neck. Next to me, the air shifts as Caleb fits a bolt into his crossbow. Ash lays a hand on my back, trying to calm me.
The guard moves closer, finally. “Take off your hat,” he tells Bishop.
Bishop does as he asks, his dark hair blowing in the stiff wind. The guard peers at him through slitted eyes. “Why’d you come back?” he asks.
“Heard what was happening in there,” Bishop says, jerking his head toward the guard. “Wanted to come back and help my family.”
“Some people thought maybe you left to go find that wife of yours,” the guard says.
“No,” Bishop says. “And she’s not my wife anymore.” He shifts slightly, and the guard tenses up. “Listen, I’d love to stand out here all day and chat, but it’s freezing and I’d really like to see my family. I’m not sure how thrilled my father will be if he hears you made me wait.”
That gets the guard moving. “Just have to be safe,” he says, pulling a ring of keys from his pocket.
“Of course,” Bishop says, “totally understand.”
The gate opens and Bishop steps through, claps the guard on the upper arm. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” The guard pushes the gate closed again and Bishop steps behind him, swings his rifle off his back in one fluid motion, and brings the butt of it down hard against the guard’s head with a crack. So fast the guard never saw it coming.
The three of us are up and racing toward the gate as Bishop grabs the guard’s legs and drags him out of the way. Once we’re through the gate, Bishop takes the keys from the guard’s limp hand and locks it behind us. We stand and stare at one another, all breathing hard.
“Nice work,” Caleb says.
Bishop looks at me, cups my cheek briefly in his hand. “Piece of cake, right?”
