THEY TAKE CAT’S BODY back to Libertyville. A group of Brown Shirts—President Vasquez’s Brown Shirts, whose goal is to protect and serve its citizens—take them there on horseback and in wagons. These soldiers never met Chancellor Maddox, nor followed a single one of her orders. They have no desire to implement any Final Solution.
They return to the small cemetery at the edge of the No Water, not so very far from the mesquite bush where Book first found Cat all those months ago. And there, one week after Cat’s death, they bury him next to Major Karsten—his dad.
The ceremony is brief and informal—just how Cat would like it—but many of the LTs say a word or two. It wouldn’t be right not to. They talk about the wolf attack up on Skeleton Ridge, the propane blast, his skill with a bow, how he was always making arrows and firing them accurately, even with only one arm. War stories.
Book speaks the longest, reciting not Cat’s accomplishments but rather something from a play by Shakespeare.
When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
As he speaks, he and Hope hold hands, their fingers intertwined. This is their final day together, and it’s important they make each moment count.
Hope looks around; the life of every Sister and Less Than present was saved by Cat at one time or another. He came to their rescue on multiple occasions, and now he is a memory. A treasured place within their hearts.
When the mourners ease away from the cemetery, shuffling through sand and sage, there isn’t a dry eye among them. Only Hope and Book remain at the graveside. She leans to one side, still favoring her leg.
“What did he say to you?” she asks Book.
“When?”
“There at the end.”
Book opens his mouth to speak, then changes his mind. “Nothing,” he says. “He asked me to take his hand.”
“Nothing more?”
Book gives his head a shake.
A spring wind stirs the dust, bringing with it the clean smell of desert and pine and mountains. It’s an intoxicating perfume.
“Was he afraid, do you think?” Hope asks.
“Of death? No way. If I was death, I’d be afraid of him.”
Hope smiles at that. Heaven had better make sure the rules up there make sense; otherwise, Cat will see to it that things change in a hurry. He might see to it anyway.
“What now?” she asks. Even though they’ve talked about it a hundred times, it’s become a ritual: sharing the details of their future. Now that President Vasquez understands what’s been happening in the Western Federation all these years, the world is suddenly different. They’re no longer prey. They get to make actual choices.
“Go back up to Frank’s place,” Book says. “Rebuild the cabin.”
“With a library?”
“Already collecting books to take up there.”
Hope smiles. She knows Book won’t be happy unless he’s surrounded by his namesake.
“You?” he asks.
“Heywood offered me a job with the presidential guard. Who woulda thought I’d be working for the government?”
“I know, right?” Then Book asks, “Is it permanent?”
“As permanent as I want it to be.”
Book grunts but says nothing.
She turns to him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Were you going to say—”
“No.”
Hope’s heart falls. It’s been an odd time, the last few days. Here she accomplished what she set out to do—exacting her revenge on the people who tortured and killed her family—and yet, surprisingly, she feels remarkably unsatisfied. No, that’s not the word. Incomplete. She’s excited by the future and the promise of working for people who value her skills. But at the same time, she knows there’s something missing. It’s like there’s an enormous hole in her heart.
“Tonight?” she asks.
“Tonight,” Book says.
They separate, Book walking back to the former shantytown, Hope toward the foothills. When she’s off alone, far away from the eyes and ears of others, tears begin to flow. Although she swipes them angrily with her fingertips, her hands can’t keep up. The tears are far too many and come much too fast and eventually she just gives in. She leans against an aspen tree until her shoulders ache from sobbing. At one point, she lifts her head back and cries out in a scream that is primal and painful and comes from someplace deep within. An appeal to the heavens, soaring to the blue sky above.
And then she collapses to the ground.