“Don’t ever touch it again, then,” Nick said.
But as Grandpa Lee studied the iron, a tremor passed through him. His eyelids fluttered, and he spoke to Nick in a tense whisper. “You have no clue how it feels to press that iron to bare flesh. To see that symbolcookedinto their skin for eternity. You smell the flesh burning, such a sweet aroma, the scent of undiluted power.”
Fingers trembling, he bent forward to grasp the iron. Nick propelled himself off the chair and lunged at his grandfather.
Together, they fell to the hard floor. They rolled like drunken wrestlers, dangerously close to the flames. Nick pinned his granddad underneath him.
“Kill me, son,” Grandpa Lee whispered. He did not attempt to fight back. Tears tracked down his face and drained to the floor in fat rivulets. “End this. Do it. Please.”
“I can’t,” Nick said.
His face contorting into a rictus of rage, Grandpa Lee tried to push Nick off and reach for the iron. Nick batted his hand away.
“I won’t let you,” Nick said. “Not anymore.”
And he grabbed the iron’s wooden handle.
54
Amiya was worried.
She never should have consented to Nick wandering off, alone, to single-handedly confront the Overseer. She’d been overcome by a temporary stroke of madness to agree to such a thing. Nick had sounded confident, full of profound insights that he had gained over his time there, but he was nevertheless alone. After all the trials they had endured just to find each other again, it seemed ridiculous that she hadn’t gone with him.
She had decided to go look for him. Their new friends, Raven and Ossie, came with her.
Walking shoulder to shoulder, they traveled on the dirt path that wound about the plantation property. Lanterns lit their way, the flames casting circles of orange-golden light. The air was cool and crisp against her skin.
It would have been a relaxing stroll through the night if not for the dread that lay like a stone against her heart.
The teenage girl, Raven, had offered to give the rifle back to Amiya. Amiya told her to keep it. Raven had smiled with gratitude.
Amiya didn’t need another gun. She still had the revolver she had taken from Westbrook, but after her violent confrontations with him and Miss Lula, Amiya didn’t want any more blood on her hands. If Nick knew what he was doing, none of them would have to fight again.
But instinct, which had kept her alive this long, warned her that more trouble lay ahead.
None of them spoke as they advanced along the road, their shoes kicking up little puffs of dust and stones. All of them were wired with tension, for their own reasons.
“What’s the first thing you plan to do when you get out of here?” Amiya asked. She put the question to them to try to ease everyone’s minds—including her own.
“I want a shower,” Raven said. “And I want to put on some fresh clothes.” She gestured at the dress she wore, which had been restored to a state of newness like everything else. “This feels like a prison uniform to me.”
“I feel you,” Ossie said. He pulled at the lapel of his tuxedo. “I can hardly wait to get out of this and put on some regular gear. But I want to see my family most of all.”
“Your mother?” Amiya asked.
Ossie nodded, swallowed. “She was sick when I got here. Cancer. I hope she’s still . . .”
“She’ll be okay,” Raven said. “God isn’t that cruel.”
“Yeah,” Ossie said, bobbing his head in agreement. “I gotta believe that.”
It amazed Amiya that despite the awful things these people had witnessed, they could still express hope. She hadn’t had the opportunity to assemble her thoughts on how the things she had seen fit into her personal worldview. But the resiliency of these people, who had endured far more at Westbrook than she had, lifted her spirits.
She was about to share with them her first intent upon getting out of here, when a sudden noise derailed her thoughts.
“What’s that sound?” she asked. “It sounds like a horse galloping, maybe?”
Raven stopped as if she had run into a wall. Terror flashed in her eyes.
