THEY NEED TO GET to the Conclave and stop the inauguration. If Chancellor Maddox becomes president, no territory will ever be safe. Not the Western Federation, not the Heartland, not any of them.
There are eight who head out that next morning: five Less Thans (Cat, Flush, Red, blind Twitch, and Book), two Sisters (Hope and Diana), and one Skully (Goodman Dougherty). Argos, too. Together, they will try to save the country . . . even though the country doesn’t know it needs saving.
Before they leave, Hope tells the Skull People what she and Cat discovered: that Chancellor Maddox was stockpiling weapons at the Eagle’s Nest.
“I wouldn’t read too much into that,” Goodman Dougherty says. “Armies do need weapons, after all.”
But then she sees him share a glance with Goodwoman Marciniak, and she knows she’s got him thinking. Which is probably why he decided to join the group. He’s not convinced Chancellor Maddox is as evil as the LTs and Sisters make her out to be, but he’s going to help them get to the Conclave just the same.
“Good-bye again,” Hope says to Helen. She starts to remove the good-luck necklace, but Helen stops her.
“You keep it,” Helen says. She doesn’t state what they’re both thinking: You’re going to need it more than me.
Hope gives Helen a nod of thanks and then turns and goes. She doesn’t look back for fear of getting emotional.
The group of eight mount the fastest horses and begin to ride off through the snow. Argos trails them, following their path.
“See you in the next territory!” someone yells after them.
Hope waves back, but she knows it’s unlikely she’ll see any of them ever again.
They ride half the day without talking. The snow thins, the weather clears. The clouds drift apart, revealing a sky so clear and blue it’s almost blinding. Hope’s thoughts are interrupted by a distant sound. A kind of squawking.
All eight of them hear it at the same time. They spur their horses forward. The sound grows louder, more insistent. When they reach the edge of a small town, they spy several dozen crows, their ebony wings flapping furiously as they leap, hover, dive. Then the wind shifts and the eight riders smell decay. Rot. Death.
Hope whips a bandanna over her face and fights the urge to gag. She breathes through her mouth.
The town isn’t much more than a main street with ten or so buildings lining either side. A long-dead stoplight dangles from a cable above an intersection. A window shutter slaps against an outer wall.
The horses nicker, tug at the bridles, toss their heads. As they draw closer, Hope sees why: the crows are feeding on a hundred lifeless human bodies.
The horses come to a stop.
“What is it?” Twitch asks.
Flush describes it as best he can, how the corpses litter the streets and sidewalks like neglected dolls, purplish blood pooling the snow beneath them.
“Who were they, do you think?” Hope asks.
“Crazies, by the looks of it,” Goodman Dougherty answers, gesturing to the beards, the rags for clothes, the general disarray of the town itself.
“So who did this?”
“Take your pick. Brown Shirts, Hunters—whoever wants ’em dead.”
“Not the Skull People?”
He gives a rueful laugh. “We’re just trying to put food in our mouths. We don’t have time to attack any others.”
They stay there a moment longer, their eyes sweeping across the mass carnage. Bodies, blood, crows.
“Come on,” Cat snarls. “Let’s get out of here.”
He gives his horse a nudge and the eight ride on, relieved to skirt the town and leave the site of festering death behind them.
Soon it’s just the wind and the horses’ hooves and eight people breathing through their mouths. No one says a word.