trying to save her father.
âHe touch you?â Jessie overheard him ask Jaya. âBecause what he did was wrong,â Burned Fingers went on. âWouldnât matter whom he did it toâboy, girl, man, womanâit was wrong, but Iâve got to know something . . .â
Jessie leaned forward, openly eavesdropping and almost certain of the question he was about to askâthe only one that really mattered.
âDid he put it in you?â
Jaya shook his head.
âThereâs no shame in it for you,â Burned Fingers said, âbut you have to be completely honest for everyoneâs sake.â
Jessie glanced at her daughter, who looked pained.
Jaya shook his head again. âHe was going to, but you yelled at him and he ran away.â
âHeâs going to be running from me all his life,â Burned Fingers said. âIf he ever comes anywhere near us, Iâll hunt him down and kill him.â
Jessieâs spine prickled. A ruthless finality in Burned Fingersâs icy tone promised death as much as his actual words, a fitting outcome, perhaps, of decades of earnest killing. But his message must have moved Jaya, who teared up and spat, âI hate him.â
âAnd youâve got the right. You hear me? Youâve got the right to hate him.â He nodded at the boyâs swollen eyes. âThereâs no shame in that, either. Go on. Weâve all had to at some point.â
You? But she doubted her curiosity about Burned Fingers would ever be satisfied.
âThat manâs a rapist,â he said to Jaya, âand you can bet heâs raped others and that heâll keep on raping if he gets half a chance. Iâm promising you, heâs a dead man from this day forward.â
Jessie was shocked to find herself choked up by his kind words and fierce vengeance against men who used children and draped their debauchery in the vestments of religion. In the last few minutes heâd seethed with anger, offered compassion, and sworn the worst of violence, roiling contradictions that reflected what sheâd gleaned of his complicated past: Oxford humanities scholar who could quote The Waste Land at length and recite ringing descriptions of the competition between gods and mortals from Ovidâs Metamorphoses ; renowned resistance fighter in the final days of the collapse whoâd commandeered an army tank and turned it on rampaging soldiers until they burned him with white phosphorus; murderous marauder in the lawless years that followed; and now, late in life, a shrewd and intrepid fighter who helped lead the attack to free the girls from the Army of God and destroy the zealotsâ formidable outpost.
But his background was no more odd than the circumstances that led all of them to this point at this time with these girls.
âLeisha, has your sister spoken at all?â Jessie asked.
The twin shook her head. âNot since the tank came. It was crushing everyone, and it shot that fire at us. Thatâs all I remember, and then he came.â
âHe?â
âThe one with the box.â
Telephone booth, but she wouldnât be likely to know about an antique supplanted by wireless technology in the early years of the century. All of it refuse now, electronic parts scattered by the trillions across the planet, dribs and drabs and vast waste dumps of chips and screens and candy-colored wires bleeding their toxic innards into the earth.
âDoes Kaishaâs skin thatâs hurt on her side feel like yours?â
âNo, itâs different in different places, but weâre both burned.â
âI know itâs awful, but youâll feel better when we can get you a place to rest.â Jessie peered past her. âBliss, try talking to Kaisha.â Her daughter held the girlâs slack arm. âShe might be in shock. See if you can get her to respond.â
âIâm Bliss,â she said to Kaisha right
Shannon Heather, Jerrett James