Deathless Divide (Dread Nation, #2)

by Justina Ireland

Here we go. I swear, Jane lives to fight. It is her daily bread.

She cares about that boy in a way I only understand in an academic context. I know love, of course, but not the push-pull of whatever Jane shares with Jackson. I have come to believe that it just is not in my being to feel such a powerful longing for a person, not physically nor romantically. I am sure that there are lots of reasons why, and folks most likely would try to blame my upbringing, which I would say is wholly incorrect. I am the way God has made me, and I shall not question the wisdom of my Creator. But whatever the reason, the true fact is that I have never had to deal with the complications of romantic entanglements, because they are just not something I desire nor will seek out.

But no matter how she may feel about me, I care about Jane deeply. And even if I do not understand the pain she feels right now, it does not mean I cannot support her through it.

Jane does not answer, and I bump my shoulder into hers, give my boot knife a few quick flips. “We could kill him if you would like.” That gets Jane’s attention, and she looks at me with wide-eyed surprise. For a brief moment I think I am going to have to explain the joke, but then she bursts out in a hearty laugh. “Kate, you are too much.” “Perhaps you are right. But we should at least cover him in honey and leave him out for the ants. I am still rather sore at him for getting us s...

But when I am dressed and looking my best, I feel like I actually have power over something. And even the smallest feeling of security is a comfort in a brutal, unforgiving world.

But by the time Jane comes back with Jackson, I have felled the lot of them. And I did it all while wearing a corset. Stick that in your eye, Jane McKeene.

We can survive without being cruel to one another. I refuse to believe that we have to be like those we hate in order to carry on.”

His eyes meet mine through the bars and a slight smile curves his lips. “Miss McKeene, I take it you are well?” “There’s a horde bearing down on our current location and I’m behind bars with a murder accusation hanging over my head, but all things considered I suppose so.”

It is strange to see people I once shared meals with—a fair number of the fine folks of Summerland seem to have escaped the horde as well as the drovers and roughnecks—scream their rage out over their inability to kill a girl. It is monstrous, and yet another reminder that the dead are not the only threat in this world.

“Well, that day, I lied to you. Killing the dead is not easy. It is the hardest thing you will ever do. Not physically, though swinging a blade hard enough to sever a neck is no cakewalk. But because it takes a piece of your soul. No matter what you tell yourself, you know those folks were once just like you. They loved and fought and did all the messy parts of living you and I do. “For us to keep on living, they have to die. There is no way around that. But that does not make it easy. And for the Negro to be the one to carry that burden, to bear the brunt of all the awfulness, well, it is far from just. Life is not fair.

I put my hand to my temple and massage the spot as a headache begins to bloom behind my eyes. “This is entirely too much. It is barely noon.” Sue laughs and slings a heavy arm across my shoulders, pulling me into her side. “Welcome to being friends with Jane McKeene, the hardest job in the world.”

That gets a laugh out of him, the sound rich and deep. “No, Jane, listen. You’re so damn impatient you won’t even listen to the lesson long enough to properly ignore it.”

“Betsy was a hero,” I say. “Exactly,” Redfern says, nodding. “Heroes die. But survivors live to tell the story. When the dead got to be too much for us to handle, most of those fools wanted to keep fighting, because that’s what we’d been taught. I was one of the first to cut and run. I knew what the score was. The things you’re taught are only useful if they keep you alive.” I shake my head. “Daniel, I think you must have a very lonely life if the only person you care about saving is yourself.” He shrugs. “Maybe. But I’m still alive, and most of Baltimore isn’t.”

“It’s the American way,” she would say, watching from the porch as another family took up residence at Rose Hill. “You help as much as you can—but no more. You don’t think those founding fathers wrote all those pretty words about independence just to help the poor, do you? The books are right there in the library, Jane. They did it because they didn’t want to pay taxes, to have some king tell them the price of tea. And for that, they went to war, and hundreds of people died. If that ain’t capitalism, I don’t know what is.”

I reach out for her wrist. “Kate, about yesterday—” “I have no interest in talking to you, Jane.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “I’m trying to apologize, Kate.” “That ain’t an apology,” Sue calls from up ahead. “Try starting with ‘I’m sorry, I was wrong.’” I twist my lips. “Thanks for the help, Sue.” “Anytime.”

What is the point of fighting if everything you care about ends up devoured?

“Darling, disappointment is the only sure thing in this world.”

One might think that in the end times there’d be no more use for such a den of iniquity, but the men within these four walls know better. They know that survival comes with a hefty price, and sometimes the only way is in the forgetting.

The stories I had heard of California painted it as some vast promised land, and it is easy to see that there is coin aplenty here. But there is also poverty, and it strikes me once again that it is not simply the undead that make survival a constant battle.

This world may hate the Negro, but that is who I am. I do not care about the story my skin tells. I am a colored woman, and I will not let them make me hate myself.

There is something admirable about being willing to stand up against injustice and name the devil true.

“After I heard what you did to Perry, lunch is the least I can do. That man.” She says something in Spanish, and I look to my translator. His cheeks go ruddy. “I shouldn’t say that out loud. I’ll get in trouble.”

“You’re a heartbreaker, Katherine Deveraux.” “That has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them,” I say, blowing on my coffee before sipping it. There is chicory in the brew, and I drink it appreciatively while we walk. “I have already had to tell more than one of them that I am not interested in courtship, thinking about courtship, hearing about courtship, or talking about the possibility of courtship. What is it with men thinking every woman they meet must be half in love with them?” “You can’t blame them, Katherine. You’re the prettiest face in three states, and it’s only natural for a man to want something beautiful in this life.” I sniff. “Well, then maybe they should consider taking up painting instead of trying to wife me up.”

There’s something reassuring about seeing her looking so hale and hearty, and for the first time since I’ve known her I don’t feel the pang of jealousy that I usually do. Instead, I’m just glad that some good things in this world manage to survive and endure.

“I am not harassing you! Last I saw you, I thought it was the end, Jane McKeene. I spent over a year reliving your death and feeling like it was somehow my fault. You saved me in Summerland, and I let you die in Nicodemus. At least, that is what I thought. You . . .” She stomps her foot. “You . . . cannot even die properly!”

I do not relish journeying upstream toward Sacramento, but I meant what I said. I will not abandon Jane again. I am not nearly as afraid of dying as I am of grieving for her once more.

“Katherine,” I continue, “if it had been you I’d seen that day instead of Miss Duncan—dress torn, neck open, eyes dead—I wouldn’t be here right now. I never would’ve left Nicodemus. I would’ve just laid down in the middle of that snowstorm and waited to die. So, no, I didn’t think about you. Because that’s how I survived.” “That’s good, Jane,” Katherine says, her voice heavy with emotion. “But it was not me, and I am here. No matter what else has come before, I am alive and I am here. With you.”

“Katherine,” I say, drawing my sword. “Turn back.” “No,” she says, not yet seeing the dead around us. “You want to march into the mouth of hell to find Gideon Carr, then I will accompany you all the way to Satan’s throne.”

Gideon Carr has not yet taken everything from me. But if Katherine dies, he will have won.

I ain’t giving up on finding Gideon Carr altogether, but I have to be smart about this. Losing Katherine to this search ain’t going to help anything. It’s just going to be another death on my conscience. One I simply could not live with, if I’m being honest with myself.

“Pray tell me, sir, how does one make another person illegal? That does not sound very Christian.”

I know this is a sin, but there are few things I enjoy more than being right. I have been praying to the Lord to be a bit more humble. He just has not seen fit to show me the way as of yet.

“Weeks earlier,” he continues, “I was waiting for Gideon outside the lab where he had been collaborating with Professor Ghering. I was supposed to escort him home. That’s when I heard a cry from inside the lab. I found him on the floor, next to a cage in which he had a shambler imprisoned. He’d been bitten. I immediately dispatched the shambler, and I was turning my pistol to Gideon when he got to his feet and begged me to let him live.” “It seems like that might’ve been a mistake,” Sue says drily.

“I do not trust that man.” “Me either,” says Sue, crossing her arms. “That man is too handsome by half, even looking like the loser in a boxing match. It’s positively distracting.” “Sue!” I exclaim. “Be serious.” “I am,” Sue says with a slow smile.

“Sue is right. Your purpose may be Gideon Carr, but you are mine. I go with you, or you do not go at all.”

I would only be half surprised to see her rip out Redfern’s heart like some kind of ancient warrior.

“I’m sorry. I took you for granted. Now, then, always. I threw away Callie in my quest to find Gideon and then I turned around and did that same thing to you. Even after that moment in Sacramento, I still was willing to drag you along on this madness.” I smile sadly. “That is not who you are, Jane.” “I know. And I’m sorry I have never been a very good friend.” She takes a deep breath and scrubs her sleeve across her face. “Thank you for never giving up on me.” A lump wells up in my throat, and I nod. “Never. I will never give up on you. “

I came with Jane to try to save her, and maybe I did. But I have sacrificed myself in the process.

On my way back I take a little detour, out into the woods, away from the camp proper. And there, where no one can see me, I fall to my knees and pray. Now, let me be clear that I do not hold truck with a lot of that Bible nonsense, and I ain’t sure why any kind of benevolent God would let mankind carry on the way it’s wont to do. But Katherine believes, and so I pray for her because she cannot do it for herself. And then I cry. I sob for Katherine and Gideon, and the lost chances in a world that doesn’t give a whole bunch of opportunities to girls like me. And once I have carried on a bit, I scrub my sleeve over my face and go back to living.

“Daniel, I’ve always appreciated you saving my neck back in Baltimore,” I say, “but I promise you, if Kate dies, I will put one of the two bullets I have left in your brain.”

“Because I told him if you died I was going to kill him.” I blink, Jane’s declaration dragging me away from the memory. “You cannot go around threatening murder whenever someone annoys you.” I begin coughing again, and she refills the water, offering me a fresh glass. “I don’t see why not, it’s been working for me thus far,” she says, but there is mirth in her eyes.

Haven is a sheep’s pen and I am a wolf, lean and hungry and deadly. I do not belong here.

“Are you wearing a corset?” “Jane, I am not going to discuss my undergarments in the company of men,” she says, looking at Daniel. She leans closer and says, “Yes, but it is very loose, please stop nagging me.”

Redfern clears his throat. “No one seems to be glad I’m here.” Katherine gives him a sly look. “To be fair, we are still waiting to see whether you can be trusted. Your history leaves a little to be desired, sir.” Daniel Redfern laughs, the first real laugh I’ve ever heard from him, and I am put out. I am much funnier than Katherine.