resistance, I almost took out my eye when the fruit came loose and my fist arched through the air and struck my face. I uncurled my fingers and stared at possibly the most perfect apple I’d ever seen—glossy and unblemished.
Since I wasn’t hungry, and Gejaiwe only knew if I’d find any other source of food in this ghost town, I didn’t bite into it. Just held it delicately and possessively. I called out another, “Hello,” and was met with complete silence. Even though I hadn’t wanted to run into prisoners, not running into anyone was downright eerie.
Singing softly, I backed out of the schoolhouse and scanned the road for footprints. Someone would’ve had to leave this apple not so long ago for it to be so fresh . . . I squinted, eyes stinging from the dust and white light. Unfortunately, the wind raking through the town had erased my own boot prints.
I returned my gaze to the brothel. No curtains undulated in any of the windows. I looked at the building next to it—BARBER SHOP. I doubted there was a barber, and if there were any scissors or razor blades, they were surely fake. Was Remo inside the shop? I waited for him a few minutes under the porch of the schoolhouse.
When he didn’t emerge from the rustic parlor, I began to worry and reassess my decision to part ways. I despised his company but preferred it over no company. Especially once night fell. I checked the sky, still white as toothpaste with no hint of impending dusk. If night wasn’t falling, was it too much to ask that the sun poke through the thick cloud cover and warm up the valley? I hugged myself and rubbed my arms to drive heat into my chilled skin, then plodded toward the last building—the brick structure.
In all of the Westerns I’d watched, there had been wild horses and coyotes. This seemed like the sort of place where herds of mustangs should be running wild. Then again, the grass was sparse and I had yet to spot a body of water. Could any animal, besides those freaky fanged flowers, survive in such barren wilderness?
I circled the brick wall, peeking through windowpanes caked with so much dust they distorted the details of what dwelled inside but not its shape or color—long, black, with a chimney and wagons. A vintage wrought-iron locomotive.
I sped up until I reached the opening, then paused on the platform to take in the wide trench filled with black tracks tunneling into the rocky mountain. Did this road lead to the prison barracks or more ghost towns? Unless this was it . . . One giant, derelict cell where nothing and no one could thrive.
Great Gejaiwe, what had I gotten myself into?
I discarded my pessimism and decided the railroad had to lead somewhere. Somewhere where there were people. Like Joshua’s sister. I approached the deep trench, peering at the contraption parked on the opposite platform. To call it a locomotive would’ve been an exaggeration considering it consisted only of a closed blue carriage stamped Property of the Scourge and a black conductor car topped with a chimney.
My sense of adventure had always been tempered by a great sense of caution, unlike my cousin Sook who lived for exploring. I wished he were here and instinctively looked down at my Infinity to comm him before I remembered it wouldn’t work. I stared at the glossy surface as though I could magick it to turn on, but however long and hard I stared, the band didn’t reboot.
“I’d tell you to jump, but the train here seems to be as fake as the rest of this goddamn place.”
I jumped, and my precious apple rolled into the trench.
12
The Pack
Gritting my teeth, I lifted my eyes off my fallen apple and set them on the insufferable fae who stood on the opposite platform. “Go to hell, Remo.”
His face, which was still streaked with dried ochre mud, swiveled slowly to take in our surroundings. “Pretty sure I’m already there.”
I wouldn’t agree with him out loud, but he was right. This place was the gold-rush version of human purgatory.
Even though I didn’t want to engage Remo, I also needed to know what he’d found. Or not found. “Have you run into anyone else?”
“Nope.” He stroked the massive nose of the black locomotive. It must not have been pure iron because his fingers didn’t ignite and carbonize. Too bad. “So, do you always talk to yourself?”