“Trish! Trouble at the hospital!” Two Spots’ voice announced in Trish’s ear as she left the main gate checkpoint on her appointed rounds. Up until now the twilight evening had been quiet. All of the posts were manned, the gates secured, everyone on the security rotation in their places.
She immediately broke into a run, weaving a path around the warehouses, dodging old and broken equipment, vaulting over the occasional box or crate.
She hammered her way around the curve of Inga’s and onto the avenue. Ran full-out for the hospital where a crowd had gathered out front.
Even as she pulled up, Talina stepped out the double front doors, her slick-action automatic rifle held crossways before her.
“What the hell is going on here?” Talina demanded, bracing herself before the door, feet positioned for combat.
The crowd growled back at her. Maybe fifteen men, a handful of women, and a couple of male teens. The people shifted, all bearing rifles of various makes and calibers.
Bernie Monson stepped forward, his arm hanging in a sling. Beside him, Wye Vanveer, another of the miners from the clay pit, thrust a finger in Talina’s direction.
“It’s like this,” Vanveer began. “Bernie’s got a broken arm. Broke it yesterday, and he ain’t going in no building with a fucking quetzal in it.”
Vanveer glanced around at the crowd that was muttering in assent. “None of us are. So, we’ve been discussing it. It’s our damned hospital. Doesn’t belong to no Wild One. Let alone some abomination of a girl who’s mated up with a quetzal. You ask me, that’s just freaking unnatural. So, here’s the thing: You charge that aircar of theirs, load these damned Wild Ones up, and ship their asses back to where they came from.”
“Damn straight!” Bernie bellowed, wobbling slightly on his feet. He cradled his broken arm, adding, “What the hell, Tal? I been in agony for the last damn day ’cause I ain’t going in no place with a stinking quetzal lurking around.”
“And it’s not just them,” Sian Hmong cried as she stepped forward. The delicate-boned woman added a whole new level of complexity to the equation. Miners? Tal could just crack their heads. Mothers and teachers? That was a whole new ballgame.
Hmong knotted a dainty fist in emphasis. “At the school, we’re half-petrified. I’ve been talking to the other parents. Our kids aren’t sleeping. We’re spending nights up with the guns ready. It’s like having a predator constantly lurking in your shadow. The quetzal goes. That’s final.”
“Ever since these people came here, it’s gone to shit,” Bernie muttered, blinking his eyes hard. “Like a cascade of events. I mean, would Felicity have died if they hadn’t shown up with that beast? Heard you and Spiro got into it over the murdering little bastard. That’s why she tried to blow you up, right? Over the quetzal? So you actually put a gun in her back to stop her from doing what’s right?”
Trish slowly eased around to one side, figuring just where the best angle was going to be to make a difference when this all came apart.
Talina, however, smiled, shifting her rifle to brace it on her hip. “Listen, I’ve been keeping an eye on the quetzal. He hasn’t so much as flickered an angry color. If you’d just all relax and give Rocket a break—”
“Rocket? You’ve named it?” Bernie demanded, weaving more on his feet.
From Bernie’s flushed expression and glassy eyes, Trish figured he’d been down at Inga’s slugging down “painkiller” for most of the day.
“Yeah, it’s named.” Talina took another step forward, hot glare settling on Bernie’s. “What of it? You want two broken arms? Just push me.”
Sian Hmong, backed by Amal Oshanti and Friga Dushku—women who essentially ran the school—stepped forward, arms crossed defiantly. The teens followed along uncertainly behind them.
“You going to break our arms?” Sian asked. “We want our families safe. We demand that you, Shig, Yvette, and whoever else, get that thing out of Port Authority, or by God in heaven, I’m going in there and shooting it dead myself.”
“No one is going in to shoot the quetzal,” Talina said.
“Or what?” Sian demanded. “You going to shoot me down, Tal? To protect that thing?”
“Or me?” Amal Dushku almost spit out the question. “Because I’m coming right behind Sian.”
“And you’re going to have to kill me, too,” Friga added, her square jaw set, her green eyes slitted. “I lost two of my boys to quetzals. I’ve got two girls left. And as God is my witness, no filthy quetzal is going to get them. Not while I’m alive. So here’s how it goes: You either get that damn monster out of our hospital, or we’re doing it. Period. Decision’s made.”
Talina again shifted her rifle, dark eyes darting from person to person. Then she shot a look Trish’s way.
“We’re held hostage here,” Vanveer cried. “I’m with Bernie. I’d rather live with a broken arm than go in there with that thing.”
“And what if it’s one of the kids who gets hurt? You going to put a child in there next door to that thing?” Amal Oshanti asked.
“Not while I’m drawing a breath,” Sian followed up fervently.
“You’re on that thing’s side, aren’t you?” Bernie asked, slurring the words. “That’s the story, ain’t it? That you got a quetzal inside you? That what this is all about? You’re on that little girl’s side. You’re . . . you’re infected with that thing’s blood and stuff.”
Trish watched the others nod, shuffle their feet with new resolution.
Talina’s lips twitched, her eyes narrowed.
Uh-oh. Bad sign.
“Hey, people!” Trish bellowed, bulling her way forward before Talina came unglued. “That’s damned well enough! First point. Talina’s killed more quetzals than anyone in Port Authority. Second point. Most of you wouldn’t be here today if she hadn’t covered your mangy asses sometime in the past. So whichever one of you wants to pick at scabs? You come to me, and we’ll see how it ends.”
Trish turned. “Tal, you’ve been on the inside keeping Raya and everybody else safe. You don’t know what’s festering out here. Half the town’s stewing. Especially after what happened to Felicity. And yeah, it’s not the little girl’s fault, but facts are facts. If that if the quetzal hadn’t been here, you and Spiro wouldn’t have gotten into it.”
“The lieutenant was going to shoot Dya Simonov to get to the quetzal. Don’t fucking pin this on me, Trish.” Talina’s eyes had taken on that stone-dead quality.
A shiver ran down Trish’s spine. Shit. She’d never thought she’d see Talina look at her that way.
“Tal, all I’m saying is that there’s more to this than just that little girl. It’s no one’s damn fault, but one way or another it’s tearing this community apart. It’s time to fix it.”
Talina’s jaw muscles knotted.
Trish stepped forward, heart pounding. Stopping just short of Talina’s rifle, she added, “The hospital belongs to the community. You know I’m right.”
Talina took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“Work with me?”
Talina sidestepped to face the crowd. “Quetzal’s gone tomorrow.” A pause. “But if that little girl develops complications? Dies out there in the bush? That’ll be on your shoulders, and I sure as hell won’t forget.”
She turned, started for the door, then called over her shoulder, “Bernie. I’m sending Raya out to fix that arm of yours.”
And Trish barely heard Talina’s muttered, “Piece of shit that you are.”
Then she was inside, the doors swinging shut behind her.