“One electron tablet, some crank lanterns and radios, tools, a bicycle,” Luke counted off. “Let’s get everything to the truck. Lark, send a pigeon asking Queen Frost what she wants us to bring back and what we should give to Tupelo.”
“Yes, sir,” she grumbled.Isn’t that Skye’s job? Why do I have to send a note to that tyrant? The farther I can stay from her, the better.
On her way out, Lark noticed a large, leather-bound book lying on the table withMonopoly,Risk,and severalTimemagazines. Curious—and in no hurry to communicate with her nemesis—Lark opened the dusty cover. It appeared to be a family album, each page displaying photographs of individuals and family groups, posed and in playful candid shots. A child blowing out candles on a cake, a couple in wedding clothes beaming at one another, a pet dog with a red ball in its mouth, a grand home in the dimensions of the ruins next door.
What happened to the Culpeppers?Lark wondered.
“What’s this?” Skye turned the next page. “So that’s what was fashionable fifty years ago. Wow.” Pressing a finger to the laminated sheet, she leaned closer. “Those rusted-out, cracked, and faded vehicles used to look like this? Sleek.”Admiration twinkled in Skye's brown eyes. “I’ll bring it along for the museum Secretary Keane is planning to build. She’s already filled several storage rooms with memorabilia and artifacts. People will want to see how things were before. Run on and send that note. Captain will want an answer by tomorrow.”
“What do you think happened to them?” Lark asked.
Skye shrugged. “Maybe they were out of town when the bombs dropped,” she speculated. “Or maybe they ventured out too soon and were killed by raging lunatics, wild beasts, or other hazards. But these pictures and the Culpepper name will be recorded for future generations. It’s a decent vault find—nothing fabulous, but worthwhile.”
Lark nodded, letting her fingers trail off the page, her gaze lingering a beat on a picture of two women holding hands, bright smiles reserved for each other. Milena’s face flashed across her mind; she let it go too.
Tupelo’s Mayor Thompson had welcomed the team and the shipment they delivered with open arms, insisting they spend the night in the town’s best hotel. Their rooms were equipped with running water—cold only—and crank lanterns. The proprietor of Johnny’s Drive-In, with its historic plaque of Elvis Presley, insisted their meals were on the house, and everyone in town who sang or played a guitar showed up to entertain them. To Lark’s surprise, Harlan joined in on a harmonica.I want to learn to play an instrument,she thought.
Lark enjoyed the hospitality but was tired after the long drive. They’d veered around the radioactive crater that Skye said used to be Birmingham, and in places the old highway had been washed out. Then they’d lugged supplies out of the bunker until dusk. Luke said they’d finish tomorrow.
“I need to hit the hay,” she sighed after finishing her Presley Pale Ale, brewed and bottled in Tupelo.
“I’ll walk you to the hotel,” Luke offered, and followed her out while a barbershop quartet warbled a classic in four-part harmony.
They strolled along under a clear night sky, a few torches adding light. Crickets chirped in the tall grass—or whatever it is crickets do. “I’m glad you decided to stay,” Luke said with a friendly smile. He’d never said why a spot had opened up on the team; he didn’t have to.
“I needed something to do.” She shoved her hands into her pockets.
“You don’t like Queen Frost,” he observed.
Lark stopped and stared at him. “No, I don’t. She’s a heartless, manipulative dictator, and she lied to me. But I suppose that’s what kings and queens and presidents and prime ministers and whatnot all do. I came to her for help; instead, I end up helping her. How’s that for irony?”
Her emotions churned. She was tired, saddened by the loss of this family, and nobody knew what had happened to them. All that remained were a few photographs and cans of food. And every time she thought of that ice-bitch Queen Frost, her blood boiled—the worst part being, not all the heat was fury.How can someone that beautiful be so horrid?
“Ah, Sutter.” Luke shifted his weight to one foot, propped a hand on his hip, and exhaled a breath. Shaking his head, he said, “She couldn’t give you what she didn’t have.”
His words jarred her, confusion flooding in. “What do you mean?” Mouth half open, brows knit together, she waited for an explanation.
“It’s top secret,” he uttered in a grave hush.
A tingling sensation crawled along Lark’s skin while her brain caught up with her intuition. “I don’t divulge secrets.”
Luke dipped his chin. “Before our recovery mission, Verdancia wasn’t low on medicines.”
“Ah, ha—I knew it!” she blurted out in accusation. The captain shook his head.
“We were completely out. So, Queen Frost did lie to you, but not in the way you think. Medical supplies weren’t reserved for the military; we didn’t have any either. Bandits destroyed the shipment headed to Marchland, and ourresearchers haven’t finished testing the new drugs. Even if she’d wanted to give you the antibiotics—and I believe she did—she had none to give.”
Lark’s knees went weak, heat and shame rushing through her. A lump formed in her throat as the implications stirred her emotions. The queen hadn’t betrayed her—lied, perhaps, but not as an excuse to use Lark for her own purposes. All the hate she’d clung to, blaming Queen Frost for Tommy’s death was unfounded. “But why—”
“No one can know,” he commanded with a stony stare. “Our government can’t appear weak. Do you understand?”
Lark understood. She’d spent her whole young life projecting an image of strength, even when she’d been insecure on the inside or her body felt as shaky as it did now. She would never admit a weakness. It was only reasonable that the queen would feel the same way. This revelation changed everything.
“I understand. You can trust me, sir.” They resumed their stroll down the street toward the hotel.
“Yep, Sutter. I believe I can.”
Chapter twenty-five
