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When Frankie sits beside Kody’s sleeping form, Leo brings her a second plate. She glares at it before accepting it.
Good. He’s taking care of her.
It’s fascinating to watch. Unexpected.
Raised in the wild, my sons behave like boorish, primal beasts more often than not. But they received an unparalleled education under my tutelage, an education far better than at any school in modern society.
After all, a man is only as smart as his teacher. Lucky for them, my IQ is off the charts.
“Give me an update on Kody.” I sip my coffee.
“No.” Frankie swallows her food and lowers the plate to her lap. It takes her a breath or two to meet my eyes. “I’m not giving you shit.”
“As I said last night, the deal is off.” Leo lowers beside her, takes her plate, and holds it up to her in silent command.
Another glare from her, but she accepts it and swallows another bite.
“You no longer have access to her.” He turns to me. “Or the rest of us. So get your ass on that plane and collect what we need to survive the winter.”
“I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time someone gave me an ultimatum.”
He bites back a snarl, fighting a world of pain inside him.
I hate that I put that turmoil there. I hate that he watched me bury his mother alive, but I did it so he’ll never forget.
He’ll never forget the consequences of defying me.
“Fight me, Son. I fight back.”
“Hey.” She reaches for his face, putting her hand dangerously close to those gnashing canines, and turns him toward her. “Not like this. Save it.”
His jaw grinds beneath her touch, and the tension in his posture slowly dissolves like magic.
Amazing.
“So we’re all going to die.” Wolf collapses on the empty bed with a plate of meat, talking with his mouth full. “Now that we’ve established that, the question is, what are we going to write on our headstones?”
“Mine should say…” Frankie grins at him. “I have your last sharpie in my pocket.”
“And my last smoke.” He grins back.
“Nah, I kicked that habit.” Her expression sobers. “I guess if I die here, I want my headstone to say, Finally escaped.” Her sharp eyes cut to me. “But I won’t get a headstone, will I? You’ll toss me in the fire pit with the other stolen souls. So how about a plaque on the pit? Something like, It may be crowded, but everyone is free.”
I’m starting to dislike this game.
“If you continue down this path,” I say, “you’ll be lucky to get a rock with the inscription, Buried alive.”
A deadly growl from my oldest son.
Ignoring him, she smiles with feline malice. “Only if the fine print reads, Made a deal with the devil. And what will yours say?” She taps her chin. “No one loved me when I was alive. Or how about something simple? Denver the molester.”
Clever, if not shortsighted. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t understand. No matter how many opportunities I give her to rectify that, no matter how much I enlighten and teach her, she doesn’t have the capacity to comprehend.
This is why I prefer to surround myself with people smarter than me. If you’re the smartest person in the room, you are in the wrong room.
It’s why I spend so much time and effort educating my sons. Because you’re the average of the three people you spend the most time with.
And it’s why I tolerate uncomfortable conversations with a mouthy little girl. Because you can’t grow in your comfort zone.
The disappointing part is my boys have nothing to say to this. I raised them, provided for them, and taught them the skills they need to survive, and they don’t utter a word in my defense.
“When you die, I’m putting my testicles on your tombstone.” Leo tears off a bite of meat with his teeth and stares at me. “Gonna give it the tea-bagging it deserves, directly on the engraving, which will read, Here lies Denver Strakh in the only willing hole he’s ever filled.”
A pinch flares in my chest. But I don’t fault him for it. He doesn’t know how good he has it. Perhaps I’ve sheltered him too much. So if he needs someone to blame, he can blame me.
I finish my coffee and set it aside. “I need to winterize the plane. We don’t have much time. If I don’t make the final supply run, you will all need headstones. If you want to start on those now, I suggest engraving them with, Still hungry. If that doesn’t appeal, come find me.”
Directing that last part at Frankie, I stand and stroll toward the door.
“For once in your life, be rational.” She rushes after me, dishes clattering, and has the audacity to grab my arm. “You love your sons. Think through this. They need medicine and food. Their lives are in your hands.”
