Boondocks

Chapter 25: The Plan

TEX

My heart thundered; hands, arms, and shoulders shook. My finger twitched, aching for a trigger. They'd goddamned killed her. I pounded the shovel into the dirt and envisioned it was Josef Arongander's throat. The temperature rose, flushing my skin, burning me alive just like they did Pop.

I gripped the shovel tighter as the images of his death rushed forward to punish me for letting this happen. The waxy-faced news anchor rattling on about victory for The Greater Good. Pop's haunting screams, muffled beneath cheering onlookers. They tied him to a stake like some Salem witch, the camera zooming in as the fire took him. I'd watched it all, to the very end, unblinking. I needed to suffer, so he wouldn't suffer alone. His skin had split, bubbled, and melted away as his body slowly shrunk in size and turned to char. I heard his screams long after he stopped. I could hear them now.

But Pop had known what was coming. He'd known his fate the minute people started chanting his name at protests.

This was so much fucking worse. Julia had no fame. She hadn't even had a fucking gun. I'd left her that morning with an apple and a full bucket of water. She'd called me a dog in heat, then waved me off like I couldn't be saved, laughing her laugh, smiling her smile.

She'd loved me. My nose ran, and I sniffed hard and clenched my teeth. The fire hit my lungs, stealing my breath. She was the closest thing to a mother I'd ever known. Better than the club whore who'd pushed me out then dropped me off. Pop passed me to Julia, and she took me. Her and Merle stuck around until I was twelve years old, and throughout that time, she'd nurtured me like those damn plants. She'd fed me, taught me, whooped me with good reason, and hugged me for no reason at all.

My fault. That was all I heard as I dug the hole that would swallow her. My fault. My fault. My fault. I'd been too distracted. Too preoccupied. I'd been too tied up in the taste of that sweet mouth; the feel of those delicate fingers pulling me closer. I'd been too concerned with finding more time alone with Fern to focus on what mattered. My job. Protecting these people. Protecting Julia.

I'd failed her. I'd shit on all she'd done for me. My lungs labored, and the burn taunted me with the fact that I could breathe, and she couldn't. Weakness caused this. Mine. I had to keep my shit together. I envisioned breaking the neck of every man in the Capitol. I thought of slowly snapped bones and pleas for mercy. Somebody was going to pay for this. The time for hiding was over.

Merle planted her with the same love and devotion she'd given every seed, and I turned away, back to the boats and the men and what came next. Fern followed my steps, and every fiber in my being wanted to turn around and scream at her to run. Run away before this happens to you. She was a weakness. She was a liability. She was a distraction.

But I wouldn't do any of those things. I needed her on that boat. I needed her within my sight, or all I'd be able to think about was whether she was okay. Was she fed, was she healthy, was she hurt, had they found her? Damn it to fucking hell. I whipped around and took her hand.

She jolted, startled, and confusion mingled with the many emotions already clouding her scent. Sadness. Pity. That sweet aroma that only belonged to her. I sucked a deep breath in through my nose and absorbed the calm it offered. "There are two boats by the ramps," I said. "The men took the wounded to the one named Lucille. I need to know, Darlin'." She couldn't leave. She couldn't stay behind. If I had to drag her on the damn boat myself, I would. But I didn't want to do that. Despite everything, I didn't want to show her just what kind of man she'd chosen to associate herself with. "Are you coming with us? Will you help?"

Her mouth shut, eyes widened, and she looked off into the trees as if asking the woods for permission to leave. I held my breath and waited, but my patience was thin. We didn't have time to think about it. We needed to go before it was all of us being left to rot.