Ellen's Arc

Chapter 16 of 45

The women slept behind stone. Ellen sat at the mouth of the dry well and watched the salt beds turn gray at dawn. She had bought this roof with a promise, and Vincent Marconi did not forget promises. He would come for the ledger. Until she found it, he could open his hand and let the women fall. He came at first light, two riders behind him. He climbed down into the well without asking and stood among the sleeping women like a man counting cattle. "You said you'd help," he said. "They're safe now. So help." "I don't even know where it is," Ellen said. "You've hunted it for months. Why would I find it?" "Because I know where it isn't." Vincent crouched by her line in the dust. "A cop hid it. He kept a stash on the plain. Old army camp, north past the wash. My men won't go near it. They say the place is cursed." His mouth moved, almost a smile. "You've got a man who counts exits. Take him." Cade was already awake, back to the stone, rifle across his knees. He heard his own description and said nothing. They went north on foot. The camp sat behind a fence of sagging wire. Torn tents. Rusted drums. A watchtower leaning like a broken tooth. Dried blood blackened the sandbags. Cade stopped at the wire and counted the openings before he stepped through. "Two ways out," he said. "Neither's good." Ellen found the footlocker inside the largest tent. She pried the lid with her knife. Papers, oilcloth, a leather book stuffed with names and numbers. The ledger. She held it up so Cade could see. The sand moved. A scorpion rose from behind the drums, taller than a horse, its tail curled high over armored plates. Its claws clicked open. Ellen froze with the book against her chest. This was why Vincent's men stayed away. "Behind the tower," Cade said. "Go." He fired. The rifle rang off the shell and did nothing. The scorpion lunged. Ellen ran for the watchtower base, ledger clamped tight. Then she saw the weapon bolted there, half-buried in the sand, its long belt of stubby rounds still fed into the breech. A grenade gun on a swivel mount. She threw herself behind it and wrenched the barrel down. Cade saw and dove clear. Ellen found the trigger and held it. The gun coughed rounds in a hard rhythm. They burst against the scorpion's face and legs. It screamed, thrashed, curled in on itself, and went still. Smoke drifted off the drums. Her ears rang. She still held the ledger. Cade rose from the sand. "You have it." Ellen looked at the book. Every dirty name Vincent wanted. Her debt, paid. But whoever hid it would want it back, and now she carried the thing that could get her killed. She had a haven behind stone. In her hands she held the price of keeping it.