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That was the end of that.
I nodded respectfully.
“I understand, sir.” I turned on my heels and started for the door.
“Hunt,” Wolf called out.
I turned again, and waited.
“Despite your idiotic ideas,” he went on, “I believe you will make a good Overseer. You have what it takes. You aren’t afraid of shit, and that, my friend, is a much-needed quality not only in an Overseer position, but in this goddamned life.”
“Thank you, sir.” I was anything but appreciative.
“But a word of advice,” Wolf said at last. “You probably shouldn’t say anything else about this equality bullshit to the men, or you’re gonna get yourself shanked in an alley somewhere.” His smile was as slippery as his warning.
“Understood, sir.”
I left the building and immediately devised a plan to help Thais and her sister to get out of Lexington City.
I spent the day gathering survival items from the stores, pilfering ammunition and weapons from the makeshift armory. By the close of day, I had enough that both girls could survive on their own for at least two weeks: backpacks filled with food and bullets and fire-starting material and medicine and water purification tablets and extra clothes. But it had to be done discreetly; every item I took had to be hidden, the guns and ammunition accounted for, so I had to slip them past the inventory keeper and change the numbers on the books.
I even secured a horse for the sisters.
“This is the least skittish horse I have,” the man who ran the stables had said, patting the mare on her hide. “What do ya’ need her for; thought ya’ liked the horse ya’ got?”
“I do,” I said, and placed a pint of unopened Jack Daniels into the man’s hand, a pill bottle half-filled with methamphetamine into his other hand. “And it’s none of your business what I need her for. There’s more where this came from.”
The man grinned amid a scraggly beard, swiftly tucked the pint and the pill bottle away inside the back of his slouchy blue jeans. He patted the mare’s hide once more. “She’s all yours, whenever ya’ wanna pick her up.”
I left the stables, which used to be a parking lot between two buildings on West Short Street, now gated off by fences, and I went back to the bar where I stayed for the remainder of the afternoon. I sat in that dark corner alone as I contemplated the rest of my plan I never believed would work. One horse, two girls—one of them blind—and no saddle, and I didn’t even know if they could ride. I didn’t think for a minute that the two could get out of the city alone without being seen, especially on something as obvious as a thousand-pound animal, but on foot would prove impossible. And I knew I couldn’t go with them to make sure they got out safely because I’d have to stay behind and make sure no one followed; I’d have to remain present as Overseer or the bells of suspicion would ring sooner, further preventing the sisters from getting far enough away from the city they wouldn’t be spotted. And I would have to stay behind to pretend I knew nothing about the escape when others noticed they were missing; I’d have to steer a search party in the wrong direction, play the part—so much shit to consider; it was making my head spin.
But now things were different—the non-plan changed, turned on its head.
I got off the floor and went over to a traumatized Thais who hadn’t moved since I’d brought her back to the room. I gazed down at her, the way her hair lay strewn across the pillow, leaving welts of discoloration on the fabric where it had soaked up the rainwater. I wanted to touch her face, the only gesture I knew might console her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” I said in a gentle, persistent voice, unsure if she even heard me. “I’ll be back soon.”
I went to leave, got as far as the other side of the door when behind me I heard movement: the creak of the box springs underneath my mattress, the swish of the sheet that covered the bed, and the furious padding of bare feet moving across the floor. I threw open the door the rest of the way to see Thais scrambling on her bottom in a backward motion, the gun from underneath the mattress gripped in her hand, the barrel shoved so far into the back of her throat she made a choking sound.
My heart sank.
“No…Thais, no…” I put up my hands as if she were pointing the gun at me again, pleaded with her not to pull the trigger.
I got down on my knees, bracing myself on the tips of my fingers with one hand, and I reached out to her with the other. “I’m going to help you get out of here, Thais,” I said desperately, sincerely, slowly inching my way closer to her.
Warning me, Thais thrust her hand upward, forcing the gun higher so the barrel aimed at her brain rather than the back of her throat.
“Don’t do this,” I pleaded, “don’t do this—let me help you.” No, this can’t be happening again…please don’t…
Then I felt tears slip past the barrier of my eyes and stream down my face, and I began to unravel.
“I’m begging you…please…please let me help you.” My chest rattled with quiet sobs.
Seconds felt endless, the two of us unmoving, unbending. Then Thais’ finger put force on the trigger—just an infinitesimal amount more and I knew it would all be over, that her blood, and the blood of her sister would be on my hands, along with the blood of my family.
I waited. Please don’t do it. I waited. And waited. And waited. I couldn’t move; one muscle and I was afraid she’d pull the trigger. Please don’t do it, goddammit! It felt like a fist was crushing the blood from my heart.
A small anguished cry of surrender, followed by a burst of breath, and the gun fell against the floor. Thais went with it, curled in a fetal position on her side. She screamed into the confines of her body, and I tore my way on my hands and knees across the space between us and pulled her into my arms. Her body trembled and shook against mine; I rocked her, my arms engulfing her.
