Crisped + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 2) Read online

  Crisped + Sere

  By TJ Klune

  Sequel to Withered + Sere

  Twenty-one days.

  In a world ravaged by fire and descending into madness, Cavalo has been given an ultimatum by the dark man known as Patrick: return Lucas to him and the cannibalistic Dead Rabbits, or the town of Cottonwood and its inhabitants will be destroyed.

  But Lucas has a secret embedded into his skin that promises to forever alter the shape of things to come—a secret that Cavalo must decide if it’s worth dying over, even as he wrestles with his own growing attraction to the muted psychopath.

  Twenty-one days.

  Cavalo has twenty-one days to prepare for war. Twenty-one days to hold what is left of his shredded sanity together. Twenty-one days to convince the people of Cottonwood to rise up and fight back. Twenty-one days to unravel the meaning behind the marks that cover Lucas.

  A meaning that leads to a single word and a place of unimaginable power: Dworshak.

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  the map

  of bees and men

  push

  grangeville

  the only choice

  everyone dies

  know thy enemy

  preparation

  the remaining days

  a brief interlude before war

  the battle of cottonwood

  wormwood

  surprise

  dworshak

  deus ex machina

  the most immemorial year

  ulalume

  prime directive

  Author's Note

  More from TJ Klune

  Readers love Withered + Sere by TJ Klune

  About the Author

  By TJ Klune

  Visit DSP Publications

  Copyright Page

  For Mrs. Benz and Mrs. Phifer,

  You told me one day you’d see my name on the cover of a book.

  This was, of course, after reading my story about an evil Jet Ski.

  Thanks for believing in me.

  And for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters of that country know them to be sharp and violent, and subject to cruel and fierce storms.

  —William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation

  the map

  THERE WERE nineteen days left when Cavalo stood on the outskirts of Cottonwood, snow blowing harshly against his face. The sky buried the morning in gray clouds, and Cavalo wondered if he would survive the winter to feel sun on his face again. He didn’t think he would. Not now.

  Bad guys? Bad Dog asked him, eyeing the southern gate into Cottonwood warily. BigHank? AlmaLady?

  “No,” Cavalo said. “Not bad guys.”

  WarMan bad guy?

  Cavalo closed his eyes. He wasn’t surprised the dog had picked up on his thoughts. If he could do that at all, that is. “Maybe. I don’t know what Warren was.”

  He was not your man, the bees whispered, sounding like Patrick. Did you know that?

  If WarMan was a bad guy, then maybe BigHank and AlmaLady bad guys, Bad Dog said. Maybe all of them bad guys.

  “That would make things easier.”

  How?

  “We could leave.”

  Where? Back home?

  “No. We would find a new home. Far away from here.”

  How far away?

  “Very.”

  Tin Man? Smells Different?

  Cavalo sighed. “I don’t know.”

  Bad Dog huffed. Can’t leave them.

  “We can’t?”

  No, he panted. Can’t. They fit.

  “With what?”

  Us. Me. You and I. Tin Man is a rust bucket, but he’s ours. Smells Different makes blood come out of people, but as long as he doesn’t do it to me or MasterBossLord, he’s ours too.

  “That’s… comforting.”

  Can’t leave ’em. Can’t leave here.

  “That simple?”

  Yes. If BigHank and AlmaLady good guys, then they need Bad Dog to protect them from monsters. Bad Dog barked to show his ferocity.

  “We don’t know who the monsters are anymore,” Cavalo said. He looked back at the southern gate. He could see faint figures moving along the walkway near the top of the wall. The Patrol hadn’t yet seen him. They’d know soon enough.

  Are we monsters? Bad Dog asked.

  “You’re not,” Cavalo said. “You’re a good guy.”

  Bad Dog was not fooled. And you? He bumped his head into Cavalo’s knee.

  “I don’t know.”

  I do.

  “Oh?”

  Good guy.

  “You only say that because I feed you.”

  Probably. Bad Dog turned toward Cottonwood and sniffed the wind. This isn’t going to go well, is it?

  “Doubt it. We killed people the last time we were here.”

  Bad guys, the dog reminded him. They were hurting Smells Different.

  “At least we know what for now.” He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head.

  Does it make a difference?

  “It will. One day. Come on. We don’t have much time.”

  Bad Dog fell into step at his side. He didn’t bound through the snow or become distracted by the call of a bird from the trees. He knew his place well.

  Cavalo was the same. He kept his eye on the gate. On the Patrol that had yet to see him. He didn’t allow his thoughts to drift to the robot and the Dead Rabbit left back at the prison. He didn’t think about the lines on the Dead Rabbit’s skin and what they would mean or the way the robot had said they were incomplete. That half of the schematics were missing. He didn’t think about where the other half would be, though he had an idea. The bees tried to speak, but he waved them away.

  He knew the second they spotted him. One moment they were lax and loose, and the next it was as if they’d been struck by lightning. Shouts could be heard above the wind and snow. They pointed at him, raised their weapons at him. He could have gotten in without them noticing, but it wasn’t part of the plan. He needed to walk through the front gate. Needed all of them to see him so they could understand he was not hiding. That he was not running.

  At least not today.

  “Stop!” one of the men on patrol cried. “Don’t come any closer!”

  Cavalo did as he was told. Bad Dog stopped beside him.

  “Who are you!”

  He must be new, Bad Dog grumbled. He barked once.

  “Is that… Bad Dog?”

  Yes, you maybe bad guy! Let me in before I decide to bite you!

  “Oh shit,” the man groaned. “I was almost off shift. Couldn’t you have waited until later, Cavalo?”

  Cavalo looked up at him. He was a squat fat man with wide eyes. His name… his name. Frank, maybe? Fred. Something close to that. The barrel of the rifle he had pointed at Cavalo’s head shook.

  Cavalo shrugged.

  “Get Hank,” Frank or Fred snapped over his shoulder. “Tell him we’ve got a problem.”

  “But he’s—”

  “Now!” Frank or Fred shouted. He turned back to Cavalo. “You’re in deep shit, you know that?” He tried to make his voice sound tough, but Cavalo could hear the tremor in his words.

  “Figured,” Cavalo grunted.

  “You killed them.”

  Cavalo said nothing.

  “Deke shot you.”

  Cavalo scowled. “Don’t remind me.” He still couldn’t believe that happened. He should probably consider punching Deke in the face while he was here. Or at least scaring him quite badly. It was only fair.

  Frank or Fred’s eyes grew wider. “How in God’s name a
re you alive? You took a bullet to the chest!”

  “Robots,” Cavalo said, sure that would explain nothing. “And I’d like to avoid that this time around, so point that gun elsewhere before there’s an accident, Fred.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do!” He jabbed the gun toward Cavalo. “And the name’s Frank!”

  “That was my other choice,” Cavalo told Bad Dog.

  He a bad guy?

  “No. Though if he doesn’t stop pointing that gun at me, we’re going to have a problem.”

  Put down the boomstick! Bad Dog snarled up at Frank. Put it down before I eat your eyes and haunt your dreams!

  “What did he say?” Frank asked.

  “You don’t want to know,” Cavalo said.

  The gate began to open.

  “Easy,” Cavalo said quietly as Bad Dog began to growl. “Easy.”

  BigHank, he said. Others. They have boomsticks. What do I do?

  “Calm,” Cavalo said. “They’re not going to do anything.” At least, he hoped. He remembered the power of mobs.

  Calm, Bad Dog said. Calm, calm calm. I’ll bite them all.

  Hank stood on the other side of the gate, a stern look on his face. He was flanked by four men on either side of him, each of them armed, pointing their guns at Cavalo. Only Hank was unarmed. Cavalo was unsure if that was something to be thankful for.

  “Cavalo,” Hank said.

  “Hank.”

  “Didn’t think we’d see you again.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  Hank chuckled ruefully. “That’s one way of putting it. Just you two?” His gaze flickered to the snow-covered road behind Cavalo.

  “Yes.”

  “How’s the chest?”

  “Still pulls a bit.”

  Hank nodded. “You’re lucky that’s all it does. There was a lot of blood. Didn’t know how much of it was yours.”

  Cavalo shrugged. “Some, I guess.”

  Hank sighed. “We’ve got a bit of an… issue here, Cavalo.”

  “Figured.”

  “Questions need to be asked.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are we going to have any problems?”

  “Putting me in jail, Hank?”

  Hank rubbed a hand over his face. “I suppose. We can see how it goes from there.”

  “You know how it’s going to go.”

  “Then why’d you come back?”

  “Would you have come for me?”

  Hank nodded. “In the spring. There were… plans.”

  This didn’t surprise Cavalo. “I could have been long gone by then.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “You would have stayed.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “I know you, Cavalo. Whether you like it or not, I do. You would have stayed.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You carrying?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll need it all.”

  Cavalo reached for the knife at his side. All the guns pointed at him tracked the movement. He had to fight every instinct he had to kill them all where they stood. One or two of them might get lucky and wing him, but they’d all be dead before they realized what was happening. It wouldn’t take much. He’d prefer not to get shot again, but it was an acceptable risk. The bees agreed with him, wanting to see blood splashed against the snow. Even Hank would not be safe if he raised a hand against Cavalo. It would be unfortunate, but necessary.

  Cavalo curled his hand around the knife and zeroed in on Frank as the first to go, the knife to his right eye. Adjust for the wind. Adjust for the broken fingers. It truly was regrettable that everyone here would die. But then, they should never have pointed guns at his face.

  Somehow, he stopped himself. Cavalo tossed the knife toward Hank. It landed in the snow in front of him and sank down out of view. His pistol followed. Then his pack. The rifle and bow were back at the prison. He’d wanted to travel light, without an arsenal. Like he was coming in peace. Like he meant no harm.

  They didn’t seem to believe him. Every movement he made was scrutinized. He wondered which one of them would accidentally fire first. He bet on an older man whose name he did not know standing to the right of Hank. There was sweat on his brow even though the cold was biting. The barrel of his rifle was still shaking.

  “Watch it there, old-timer,” he said.

  The man’s eyes went wide. He licked his lips. Blinked away the sweat.

  “That’s it?” Hank asked.

  “Traveled light.”

  I still have my teeth, Bad Dog reminded them all. You can’t make me give them up. He showed them all his teeth.

  “We’re good,” Cavalo told him. “No teeth.”

  Bad Dog huffed but subsided.

  Hank shook his head. “Some days I think I’ve got you figured out.”

  “And other days?” Cavalo asked, curious.

  “Other days, you do something that makes me think I don’t know you at all.” Hank bent down and retrieved Cavalo’s belongings.

  “I’ll want those back,” Cavalo said.

  “I’m sure you will.” He nodded toward Bad Dog. “Gonna be a problem?”

  Yes! Bad Dog barked.

  “No,” Cavalo said.

  Hank handed Cavalo’s pack and weapons to the old-timer with the shaky hands. Cavalo could see the pressure on the trigger momentarily grow tighter before it was released to fumble with his possessions.

  Hank turned back toward Cavalo. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He tossed them at Cavalo’s feet.

  Lose something, Charlie? the bees asked.

  But they weren’t Charlie’s. He’d seen these before.

  “Put them on,” Hank said.

  “Warren’s?” he asked.

  “Used to be,” Hank said. “The town’s now.”

  Everything screamed at him to lash out as he bent down and picked the cuffs out of the snow. To kill them all. To head back to the prison and finish what he’d started. Then, he could sleep. Then, he could dream.

  He closed each cuff tight against his skin, his hands secured out in front of him. He never took his eyes off the men that stood before him. He knew they heard each click of cuffs. They thought it a trap. Cavalo almost wished it had been. They were bound to be disappointed. For now.

  Hank walked toward him. Bad Dog tried to put himself between them, but he made the dog stand down. “We’re okay,” he said quietly. “We talked about this.”

  Doesn’t mean I like it.

  Hank stopped a few feet away. Close enough to be heard, but far enough away in case Cavalo or Bad Dog lashed out. It was smart.

  He said, “He’s pissed, huh?”

  Cavalo shrugged. “A bit.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Everything.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “This isn’t a game. People are terrified of you.”

  “They should be.”

  “Deke still can’t sleep.”

  “He shot me.”

  Hank’s eyes softened. “Feels real bad about that.”

  Cavalo snorted. “I’m sure he does.”

  “Why did you come back?” Hank asked, lowering his voice so as to not be heard by the gunmen.

  “I need to talk to you,” Cavalo said. “Something’s happened.”

  “What?”

  Cavalo shook his head. “Not here. Just you and me.”

  “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “If you’re willing to fight.”

  “For?”

  “The future.”

  Hank chuckled. “Son, just what do you think we’re doing out here?”

  “You’re surviving,” Cavalo said. “Barely. It might not be enough anymore.”

  “That’s almost funny coming from you.”

  “There are things….”

 
Hank waited.

  “The Dead Rabbit.”

  “What about him?” Hank asked. Cavalo could not ignore the way his voice hardened.

  “He’s…. It’s not what you think.”

  “And what do I think? That he’s a monster? A murderer? That he killed those men in cold blood?”

  Cavalo shook his head. “What does that make me, then?”

  “And you care about that now?”

  “I don’t know,” Cavalo said honestly. “Things have changed.”

  “I can’t make promises,” Hank said. “Let’s get you inside and we’ll see what we see.” He turned back toward Cottonwood.

  “Hank.”

  Hank stopped.

  “They came for me. At the prison.”

  “Who?”

  “Dead Rabbits. Said they heard of me from the town.”

  Hank stiffened but did not turn.

  “Did you know?”

  “About?”

  “Warren. He was theirs.”

  “Was he?”

  “Yes.”

  “It makes sense.”

  “Does it?”

  Hank shook his head. “You miss a lot when you hide away, Cavalo.”

  Cavalo said, “I’ve never asked for much.”

  “You’ve never asked for anything,” Hank said. “Withering and sere, remember?”

  “This, my most immemorial year.”

  “Which is why I can’t quite figure this out.”

  “You have to trust me.” Hollow, those words. Cavalo knew this.

  “Do I?”

  “I am asking for this. This one thing.”

  “For you? Or for him?”

  “For all of us.”

  Hank nodded. “They’ll want your head. The town. They thought those men were hope. They thought we were saved. Promises were made. Even though it was shit, the words were pretty. You took that from them. You and the Dead Rabbit.”

  “Let them try,” Cavalo said coldly before he could stop himself. “I’m already damned. More blood on my hands won’t matter.”

  Hank laughed bitterly. “There’s the Cavalo I know.” He said nothing more as he walked toward Cottonwood.

  And the man and dog followed.

  THEY WANTED his head, yes. He could see it in their eyes.

  Though it was just past dawn, and although the snow fell heavily, they stood outside their doors. They peered out through their windows. They whispered his name with malice and rage in their eyes.