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She remembered the kid Al had almost hit with his cab yesterday. Barbara still had the piece of glass in her pocket. Was it the same teenager? Similar clothing, but something told her no. This figure looked taller, broader. Barbara hesitated, wondering if she should approach him or not.
“Hey,” she called out in a friendly tone, taking a step toward him.
The figure didn’t reply or move. Then, as she watched, he raised his hand, clenched into a fist. He held it at shoulder height and then struck his fist against his chest. Barbara’s throat tightened. A Helsing salute. Representing a stake through the heart. A gesture of hate.
Like the tattoo.
“Hey!” she shouted, less friendly now.
But the word had barely left her mouth before the figure turned and bolted down the street, disappearing behind the general store. Barbara started to jog after him and then stopped, breathing heavily. Who the hell was she kidding? She was an overweight fifty-one-year-old in snow boots.
“Dammit.”
She stared down the empty street.
A Helsing salute. A hate tattoo.
Kids will be kids.
And that was the problem.
Let kids be kids and they’ll burn the whole damn world down.
10
They sat around Nicholls’s desk. Rita plonked three steaming mugs of coffee down and perched on the edge.
“You might be mistaken,” Nicholls said.
Barbara raised an eyebrow. “I know a Helsing salute when I see one.”
“Can you describe the figure?” Rita asked.
“Dressed all in black. Hood up.”
“Could be any of the local teens.”
“I know.” Barbara bit back the frustration.
“Look—” Nicholls started to say.
Barbara interrupted. “If you’re going to tell me that all kids do shitty things to rebel, or emotions are running high, I think I’ve got that, thank you.”
He held his hands up. “Okay. But as you saw from that little display just now, people are feeling this one hard. And with Colleen Grey stirring the pot, it will only get worse.”
Barbara considered. “What’s the story with the Reverend?”
“Reverend,” Rita snorted. “Like hell. That one is baptized in snake oil.”
“She came to town a few years ago,” Nicholls said. “With that assistant of hers, Grace. Asked for permission to turn a ruined shack on the edge of town into a church.”
“I couldn’t really say no,” Rita said. “Lot of folks in town were keen for a church.”
Barbara nodded. “Seen a lot of so-called priests turning up in colony towns. Most just collect their donations and disappear.”
“Well, I had my doubts, but she’s stuck around,” Nicholls said.
“Like a bad smell,” Rita added. “And not all of us are happy with what she’s preaching.”
