“You’re saying he should have escaped,” said Renna.
“Clyde did something to him,” she said. Her voice was raw, almost guttural. “Hit him over the head and then staged the fire. I don’t know if the blow to the head killed him or if it knocked him out and the smoke got him. But it was Clyde.”
“You stayed with him,” said Arie. “With Clyde.”
“At first, I was in shock. The whole world is off its rocker and falling over dead, now my man was dead, and here’s Clyde telling this wild story, all teary-eyed and freaked out.” She stood and brushed off the seat of her jeans. “Clyde’s the blowhard I avoided at the company Christmas parties so he wouldn’t grope my ass, for Christ’s sake,” she said. “He’s the guy who treated everyone at work to tickets for Crab’s baseball and got excited about a fancy hors d’oeuvre his buddy made out of bologna.” She made a choked sound, part laugh, part sob. “I mean, fucking bologna!”
For a moment, she said nothing, crying almost silently and wiping her face with her sleeve.
“Once the fog cleared a little, when I finally started to wrap my mind around it, I wanted to bolt—of course I did. But where the hell was I going to run? Remember, this was way early on. Things were super nuts. Here we were, stuck in a camper van, fucking around between hoot and holler. I had zero confidence that I could just run off, find food and shelter, and avoid some of the freaks wandering around.”
“Food, clothing, shelter,” murmured Curran. When they looked at him, he held up a palm. “Sorry,” he said. “Flashback. I had a math teacher in middle school, Mr. Baratti, who always talked about the importance of food, clothing, and shelter. I don’t know what it had to do with math, but he had it right.”
“Come with us.”
It was Kory. Still sitting beside Renna, he’d listened to Ashe’s terrible story so silently they’d nearly forgotten he was there. He got up and edged around the low fire to her. “You should come with us to Arie and Handy’s place. We’ll help you.”
“We’re carrying slender rations,” said Arie. “And it’s no Shangri-La, the place we’re aiming for. You should know that before you answer.” She stood behind Kory and rested her hands on his shoulders. “This one has good instincts though. Might be it’s time to make your move.”
“You have no idea how much I want to do that,” said Ashe. “But for now I have to stay. I can’t go without Novalee.” She locked eyes with Arie. “At dinner tonight, you asked how we’ve gotten supplies, and Clyde told you that we barter. That wasn’t a lie.”
Arie stared back. “You mean the girl.”
Ashe nodded once, her lips pressed into a tight line.
Twice, while foraging, Clyde had offered random strangers a temporary trade of the girl for edible fare. In both cases, he managed to acquire the food and drive away without actually following through on his devil’s bargain.
“He thinks it’s funny,” said Ashe. “Laughed about how gullible those guys were. Danelle is so stuck to him, she plays along like it’s an actual win. She’s got Novalee halfway convinced it’s only a game. What happens the next time, though?” She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “I’ve talked to her a little, when I can get her alone, which is almost never. She doesn’t like Clyde, but her mother is definitely her security blanket. She’s still terrified of being separated from Danelle, and I can’t go without her,” she said. “I just can’t.”
“He needs to be bashed upside the head,” said Renna. “He needs—”
“There hasn’t been a day I haven’t wanted to kill that sack of shit,” said Ashe. “Not one. But I can’t honestly say I could kill him in cold blood. It’s a terrible thing to know about myself.”
“Knowing you could do it might be worse,” said Arie. “We’re only sojourners. Your life is your own, but it’s obvious you’re a guardian.” She looked at Handy, sitting several paces away, eying the perimeter of their space. “My brother is, too. You give, but not death. Perhaps not even for revenge.”
“I’m fine with revenge,” said Renna. She threw a fist-shaped knot of driftwood into the fire hard enough to send a shower of red sparks flying up and out.
Curran, standing on the other side of the fire, quickly brushed random sparks away from Talus’s fur. “Watch it,” he told Renna.
She ignored him, apparently not even noticing the dog. “As a matter of fact,” she continued, “a good revenge killing is right up my alley. Don’t you think so, Curran? So nourishing for the hair and skin!”
She yawned extravagantly and sketched a little wave at Ashe. “Looks like I’ve hit the wall. I’m going to put out the beds. Have a nice life, your guardianship.” She moved into the shadows under the billboard.
Arie saw the limp, Renna’s bad hip a reliable barometer of her emotional state. “Best say goodnight to Ashe and go help,” she told Kory. He opened his mouth to speak, then froze when off to the west a querulous voice bleated into the night like a broken foghorn.
“ASHE!” Then again, louder: “AAAASHE!”
“That’s Danelle,” said Ashe. “They’ll be out here looking for me.”
“Hey,” Curran said, a note of desperation in his voice. “For the boy. No words.”
“Go, if you must,” said Arie.
Ashe grasped Arie by one forearm. “And you go,” she told her urgently. “Don’t think it over, don’t wait. Just leave.” She jogged off into the dark field, back in the direction of the transit van and the bellowing voice of Danelle.
They didn’t need to talk about it. It wouldn’t make sense to stumble off in the dark, depleted as they were. Within minutes, everything but their bedding was stowed and cinched, ready to go.
They bundled together and, knowing they’d be underway again before sunrise, decided to rely on Talus’s sharp senses rather than stand a watch.
“Oh well,” Kory sighed sleepily, his voice muffled in the blankets.
When no one else responded, Handy answered. “Oh well, what?”
“I was hoping we’d dig some more clams.”
“They were good. We’ll do it again sometime.”
With the fire burned to embers and their busy day finally collapsing into its own dregs, the in-out-in of the ocean seemed to swell and drift around them.
“I’m damn good at clams.”
-20-
THEY CREPT ALONG the edges of things. Skirted fence lines. Wound around the perimeters of silent barns and vine-raddled toolsheds. There were no houses—those who once owned and worked that land rarely lived on it. There were no strip malls or gas stations. No trailer parks or highway rest stops. No convenience stores. Some rural places impose a geographical isolation that might be scarcely credited by those who spent their lives in cities and suburbs. Humboldt County’s small towns were dotted along the coast like widely unstrung beads, miles of green between each one—a scenic backdrop for a short drive.
On foot, it was another thing altogether.
With Handy leading and Talus bringing up the rear, the six of them put on speed when they first set out, determined to put distance between themselves and Clyde. At intervals, they stopped for a short rest and a bite of dried apples or venison jerky they’d plundered from the stores of the Wallace cabin, but these were rations suited to travel. A movable, if chewy, feast.
“I seriously doubt Clyde’s going to follow us,” said Curran, when they paused at mid-morning. “They’ve been sitting on flat tires at the beach for months.”