Scarlett Hopper's Arc

Chapter 19 of 33

Marcus cut firing slits into the steel while John stacked sandbags at the gate. Scarlett dropped a canvas bundle on the crate between them. She untied it and four vests fell out, four masks on top. Black plating. Bright edges — pink, red, orange, green. The masks had round filters and hard goggles. "From the store," Marcus said. "I forgot they were in the back." "Put them on," Scarlett said. "Now. Before we say another word." Maranda picked up the red vest. She held it against her chest and looked at Scarlett. "You bleed like the rest of us." "I know." Scarlett pulled the pink-edged vest over her tank top. The straps bit her ribs. "My hands don't work on me. If I take a hit, I go down and stay down. So I don't take one." John stopped mid-lift. "Scarlett." "That's why we're wearing these." She tightened her strap. "All four of us. No exceptions." He set the sandbag down and took the orange vest. He didn't argue again. They worked while they talked. Marcus laid out the plan on a flat board with a nail for a pencil. "Two at the gate. Two at the shed corner. Steel here, here, here. Nobody stands in the open. Nobody chases anyone past the thorn wall." "They'll come from the ridge," John said. "Duke's shown us that road three times." The dog lifted his head at his name. Black and white fur, one blue eye, one green. He pushed an image at Scarlett — men on foot, spread wide, rifles low. "Spread formation," Scarlett said. "So they can't all be pinned by one gun." She looked up at the roof line. Six crows sat along the gutter, still as nails. She walked to the fence and set a strip of dried fish on the post. The lead bird dropped down. She pressed her palm flat and spoke low. "I need eyes on the ridge road. Every man that moves. Call loud when they cross the split rock. Twice as loud if one breaks off from the group." The bird took the fish. It cocked its head, then lifted. The flock rose with it — eight, ten, more — and scattered along the roof, the wall, the dead tree by the gate. They settled facing outward. Not one faced the garden. Maranda watched them. "They understood you." "They understand food." Scarlett buckled the mask at her throat, filters hanging ready. "Close enough." John stepped up beside her at the gate. He tapped her chest plate with two knuckles. It thudded solid. "Now a hit doesn't drop you," he said. "Now a hit doesn't drop me." She looked at the ridge. The crows didn't move. "So we hold the rows." Marcus dragged the last sheet of steel into place and drove the first nail. The sound cracked across the empty street. Nothing on the ridge answered yet.