The Rephaim: Burn Part 17

'What happened to waiting for a plan?'

Mick kicks his door shut behind him. 'We got s.h.i.+t to do too, you know.'

Rusty climbs from the backseat, nods at me, and leans back in for a crushed packet of smokes. He lights two, hands one to Mick. He's lost the dressings from his buzz-cropped head and trimmed his beard back to his chin. It makes him look younger. Or maybe it's that he's spooked at being back at the camp.

'How long have we got?' Mick asks me. He takes a long drag, blows the smoke away from his brother.

'To do what?'

'Bury our dead.'

My gaze strays to the stained gra.s.s. 'I don't know if they're still here, Mick.' I say it quietly, hope he understands what I'm saying. I don't want to have to spell out that Zarael's h.e.l.lions may have taken Mick's dead mates with them. For later.

A car door slams on the other side of the four-wheel drive and two more of Mick's crew shuffle around to us. Woosha, his hand bandaged (the one missing a thumb), his shoulder strapped. Lip st.i.tched. And-unbelievably-Joffa. Before all h.e.l.l broke loose up here on Sunday night, I smashed his nose and stabbed him in the leg. And then Gatekeepers showed up and the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d ended up with his legs on fire. How he's even walking is beyond me. Either Brother Ferro sent these boys home from the Sanctuary with heavy-duty painkillers or they've been self-medicating.

'Where's the big one?' I mean the other surviving member of Mick's crew, the guy almost as big as Zak and fully inked with tribal tatts.

'Koro? We couldn't fit him in.' Mick pats the bonnet. The engine ticks as it cools. 'That's why we're here: pick up more wheels.'

Jude gestures to the table of semi-automatic weapons and ammunition. 'You didn't come for that?'

Mick flicks ash away from the car. 'It's no good to anyone up here.'

'We haven't agreed on a plan yet. You guys need to-'

My stomach dips the same instant Mick and Rusty flinch. Jude and I spin around and draw our weapons, and my stomach lurches again-nothing to do with s.h.i.+fting this time.

Rafa.

He's arrived with Zak. He watches Jude and me lower our blades, his katana still by his side. I meet his gaze without thinking. It hits me then, a flare of humiliation, hot and sickening. Followed by a wash of memories from the past week: of laughter, of heat and longing, of Rafa pus.h.i.+ng me to fight, trying to protect me. Me watching him take a demon blade through the gut. The crus.h.i.+ng fear of losing him; the desperate need to get him back. All of it a swirling mess of sensations that leave me unbalanced and totally ill-equipped for this moment.

Rafa's eyes are dark, wary. I can't pick his mood but he's on edge. Maybe it's seeing me. Or maybe it's just being back here. He's already scoured the trees around the campsite twice.

Now he takes in my track gear. 'Good run?' His tone is guarded, barely smart-a.r.s.e.

'Cleared out a few cobwebs.'

Rafa and Jude share a nod. Neither speaks.

'Where's everyone else?' I direct the question to Zak but feel Rafa's eyes on me.

'Ez and Malachi are rounding them up,' Zak says. 'Taya's with the barman.'

'Daisy okay?'

'Touch and go. Jones is sticking close.'

'Oi, Zak,' Mick says, and I realise it's the first time he's called any of us by name. 'Did you touch anything else up here other than the launcher?'

Zak turns to him. He knows what Mick means. 'Yes.'

My first reaction is relief: the h.e.l.lions didn't take Mick's buddies as snacks. My second is dismay, because their bodies are probably close by and we're going to have to deal with them. I do a quick calculation. They've been dead a little over twelve hours: rigor mortis will have set in but they're still a day or two away from being...worse.

I don't remember much of what happened during the attack after Rafa and Taya were taken-mostly shouting, gunfire, agonised screams-but I remember the names of the guys Mick lost from his crew: Tank. Gus. Maxie. Hawk.

'Where are they?' Rusty's voice breaks a little on the question.

'In there,' Zak tips his head towards a ute with a heavy-duty roo bar and a forest of aerials. The tarp over the back is strapped down. 'I came back a few hours ago.'

Mick limps over to it. He starts working his way around the tray, snapping the elastic straps from their hooks. Rusty takes the other side and the brothers meet at the tailgate. Mick grabs the tarp, hesitates. I can smell the blood already, dry and metallic.

'They're covered,' Zak says quietly.

Woosha steps in and he and Rusty fold back the tarp. Four man-sized shapes lie under swags. Arranged neatly, respectfully.

'Thanks, mate,' Mick says, not looking at Zak. He grinds his jaw, blinks rapidly.

My eyes stray to something not quite covered by the canvas. A hand. The skin is already greying, the fingertips slightly bluish. Rusty reaches for the swag.

'You might not want to do that,' Zak says.

Rusty's fingers stall. 'I need to see their faces.'

'Not that one, then.'

Mick's brother swallows hard and then reaches past the first body to the second, draws back the far corner of the swag. He does it slowly, as if something might leap out at him.

It's Tank. I recognise his shorn head and rough stubble, the Southern Cross tattoo on his throat. It looks tired against his waxy skin. His mouth is slightly open, frozen until rigor pa.s.ses. Milky brown eyes stare out at nothing. Of the four who didn't make it, Tank is the only one I knew. He took on Rafa at the Imperial last week with a busted pool cue. He was wearing a sling from that encounter last night and the tattered fabric is still looped around his neck, frayed and bloodied.

'One of those p.r.i.c.ks gutted him,' Mick says. His cigarette is still between his lips. It bounces up and down as he talks. 'Nothing I could do.' He leans down to uncover the next face. I feel a touch on my wrist.

'Come away.'

I turn at the sound of Rafa's voice. He's watching me, concerned, and then something s.h.i.+fts in his eyes-recognition, confusion-and his fingers drop away. It takes another beat before I understand: for a second there he forgot. He thought I was still just Gaby, not the battle-hardened Rephaite. That's who he sees when he looks at me now. Gaby. I don't miss the irony.

He lifts a palm, apologetic. 'You can handle it, I know.'

'That doesn't mean I want to.'

His eyes search mine. I keep my back to the ute, hear a strangled sound from someone behind me when they check the next body.

'Are you all right?' Rafa asks the question carefully.

'Honestly, Rafa, I have no idea.'

Something changes when I say his name, a slight softening around his mouth. It loosens something in me too.

The Butlers finish their inspection.

'What are you going to do with them?' Jude asks.

'Pay our respects and put the boys to rest.'

Rusty stares at his brother. 'Up here? What about their families? They need to know they're gone. They need closure, mate.'

'You want to explain how they died? Or drop 'em at the morgue and get the cops involved?'

'Mick, the cops are getting involved either way. Another day or so and someone's going to miss them.'

The brothers eyeball each other. Jude clears his throat. 'I a.s.sume you boys know how to burn a vehicle-properly?'

Mick gives him a flat look, but Rusty nods, catching on. 'Make it look like an accident? Yeah, mate, we could do that.' He looks around at Mick and his mates. 'At least the boys'll be found.'

'You'd have to burn everything,' Jude says. 'It can't be obvious these guys were already dead.'

'I get it.' Rusty glances at his mates-covered again-and rubs a hand over his scalp. 'We can take the back roads to the other side of the mountain. Do it there. Maybe roll it into a gully first.'

Mick takes a last drag of his smoke, drops the b.u.t.t and grinds it into the dirt. 'We'll need a coupla fuel drums in the back. Petrol. Diesel's not gonna explode just 'cause we push a ute off a cliff.'

'You'll have to position the bodies in the cab first.' Jude says. 'We can help if you-'

'Nah, we got it,' Mick says. He slaps the side of the tray and nods at Rusty. 'You drive this one. We'll follow.'

The blond mullet disappears behind the banyan tree. He comes back struggling with two ten-gallon petrol drums. Mick, Woosha and Joffa climb into the four-wheel drive. Rusty helps the mullet load the fuel and retie the tarp, then slides into the drivers side, starts the car. The mullet takes the pa.s.senger seat.

'You lot need a plan by the time we get back.' Rusty leans out so we can hear him clearly over the idling motor. 'Because Mick's got one, and it makes blowing up a ute look like kiddies' play.'

TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES.

We watch the Butlers roll out of the camp. No revving engines this time, no fishtailing. It's a funeral procession.

'Right,' Jude says and looks around. 'Let's get organised before everyone else turns up.'

Rafa doesn't move right away. He's waiting for Jude to talk to him. Or for me to. And I know there's something I should say-give him some clue about where I'm at-but I don't know what it is. So I follow Jude across the camp and pick up two canvas chairs. I dust them off and set them near the fire pit. After a beat, Rafa grabs another two and does the same. Wordlessly, we set up the chairs and spread the swags over ash-smeared gra.s.s. Jude does a quick stocktake of Mick's weapons cache and Zak stands watch, focused on the forest. I'm on my way to help Jude when my insides plummet.

I draw my weapon again, just in case, but it's Ez who emerges between a flatbed truck and a dented four-wheel drive. Everyone else is behind her.

'Take a seat,' Jude says. 'And keep your backs protected.' Ez heads for Zak and the other Rephaim file into the campsite, carrying or wearing their weapons. Taya's hand is still wrapped in bandages but there's colour in her cheeks again. Malachi's tidied up his goatee and finally dragged a comb through his hair. Taya sits in a canvas chair and he stands behind her. Seth rests a boot on the b.u.mper of a pock-marked station wagon and the vehicle tips to take his weight. I search for red hair, find Daisy with Jones. She's carrying a katana, and the hilts of her twin-bladed sais poke up over each shoulder.

'So you didn't leave town?' she says when she reaches me. 'Good to know.'

'I'll explain. Just stick with me.' I hold her gaze until she nods.

'I've got her covered,' Jones says. He's wearing his black beanie low on his head, dark feathered hair framing his face. 'She's not going anywhere.'

Daisy clicks her tongue but doesn't contradict him.

'Anyone spoken to Micah?' I ask.

'He knows where we are.' Daisy scans the crowd, spins her sword hilt. She's wary around the Outcasts-old habits die hard-but she relaxes a little when she sees Jude. He's standing in front of a sedan with two flat tyres and grey undercoat flaking from the door panel.

Ez breaks from her conversation with Zak. Her knives are strapped to her arms, the leather biting into her skin. 'Where are the Butlers?'

'Looking after their dead,' Jude says.

Almost everyone's found a place now, in a chair, on a swag, or leaning against a car. I consider joining Daisy and Jones on the ground but one look at Jude and I know he wants me with him. I cross the clearing and sit on the edge of the sedan bonnet. Rafa follows and props next to me, avoiding eye contact. He's close enough that I catch a familiar hint of sandalwood. It stirs the storm under my ribcage. I try to ignore it, focus on the gathering. Our crew.

The Outcasts should seem different to me now that I remember my history with them. For a decade, they represented all the shadows in my life-the reason my brother left me. But now...Now I've fought beside them, seen what it is they fight for. Had them at my back. I punished them over the years, and yet when Rafa took me to them-when I needed them to not see Gabe when they looked at me-they found a way. I never thought I'd look at the Outcasts the way I do now. As allies.

And the loyalty they've shown Jude, the belief that he didn't betray them. Out of the entire Sanctuary, only Daisy and Micah extended me that faith. And even then it came with conditions.

Rafa slides himself further onto the car until he's right beside me. Then he leans back and takes his weight on his elbows, lets his knee rest against mine. I can't tell if he's keeping up appearances-hiding the fact there's weirdness between us-or if he's reverting to form and trying to get a reaction out of me. Before I can decide how I feel about it, my stomach drops again. Someone else is here.

We're on our feet in an instant, all of us twitchy. I scour the forest, catch movement in the flickering shadows a second before Micah steps into view. 'Don't shoot,' he says, and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

'How did you go?' I ask as he reaches the clearing.

'Daniel was more than happy to take a stray Immundi off my hands.' Micah lifts his eyebrows-I told you so-and joins Daisy and Jones on their swag. 'He'll let me know if our ugly little friend has anything useful to say.'

Rafa scoffs. 'Help us? That'd be a first for Pretty Boy.' He's pus.h.i.+ng, testing-he can't help himself. He wants to know if I'll defend Daniel. I don't bite. I sit back on the car and, after a few seconds, Rafa does the same. Everyone settles again.

'Where's your mate Jason?' Seth asks.

'He's in town,' I say. 'And so are Maria and Dani.'

'That's a good thing, right?'

'Yeah, but Maria doesn't trust any of us, so we need to keep the two of them safe but also keep our distance.'

I feel a spark of resistance from Seth, reflected around the group. They want to meet the girl who can find them in her mind; who has visions of imminent demon attacks.

Jones clears his throat. 'What about Mya?'

All movement stops.

The last time we talked about Mya was at the Sanctuary. After Nathaniel dropped the news that she was related to the women who built the iron trap in Iowa. Jude looks to me. I press my fingertips against the chalky car. 'They want to hear it from you.'

His lips flatten. He's not ready to say it out loud.

'For f.u.c.k's sake,' Rafa says, leaning forward to glare at both of us. 'I'll do it.' He cracks three knuckles with his thumb in quick succession and faces Jones. 'Mya was born on that farm.'

Jones stares at him. n.o.body else utters a sound. The silence stretches out, interrupted by creaking springs when Seth repositions his boot on the station-wagon b.u.mper.

'Says who?' Jones demands. 'Nathaniel?'

'No, Mya. And her family.' Rafa shares what we learned at the Sanctuary from Virginia and Brother Stephen. How Mya's grandfather Heinrich was a Lutheran minister back in 1874. How he was so horrified his daughter had taken a roll in the corn with one of the Fallen that he murdered her after she gave birth and then burned her body. How good old Heinrich was all set to kill the baby-Mya-when his wife went into convulsions. And when it pa.s.sed, she claimed she'd had a vision from the Archangel Michael telling her their family was the key to protecting the world from the Fallen-and from us.

While Rafa talks, Jude's attention is fixed on a clump of churned-up gra.s.s. I try to read the Outcasts. There's confusion, disbelief...and a slow stirring of resentment.