much for someone who’d just met her, and that infuriated her just as much as he thought it did.
All those plans of how to take them out were just a pleasant bit of hindsight, however. She’d left the frying pan and the knife on the counter before shambling up on deck. It was sometime in the middle of the night, and still raining lightly. Lucy stood with one foot on the gunwale, wondering how she was supposed to spring to the dock as the boat rocked back and forth. She eyed the four men there—the two who’d come on board, and two more whelps like that Terry kid. They just stared back at her, CJ standing firm and frowning, like when he first saw her, the other three shifting uneasily.
She thought the three young ones would piss themselves if she said, “Get over here and help me, assholes.” Unfortunately, she was somewhat more certain CJ would shoot her in the face at that point. He was thinking it already, she knew as she watched him through the mist.
At least the cold drizzle felt good on her face, after the close, sick smell of the ship. And what was that other smell out here? There was the tar on the wooden planks of the dock, and a fishy, weedy smell from the river, but something smoky, too. Hell—the spoiled, lazy pricks had real cigarettes. Already this place was full of surprises, but Lucy very much doubted any of them would be good—at least not for her.
No, her days of being treated with some respect were over—her answer to Will had made sure of that. And the consequences were already becoming abundantly clear. She contemplated slipping and falling right into the river to be swept away, or maybe just down to the deck to sprain an ankle that would never heal. They’d no more lift a finger to help her than you’d try to do anything for a moth with a broken wing. As she paused, Will scrambled up next to her and took a surefooted jump to the dock. He turned back toward her.
“Come on,” he said as he extended his hand down to her.
Lucy eyed him too. So different than the men on the dock, but still part of their kind—so needy and so confident all at the same time. She swayed with the rocking of the boat as she considered the moment they’d just shared. Will second-guessed her, too, but not very well: she knew he hadn’t expected the answer she’d given. Good. People like him were so used to getting what they expected, so much in love with being right, so smug and self-satisfied about it, that half of her good feeling came from surprising him. The other half? An even split, she figured, between the pride of knowing she was better at suffering than they were; a grateful thrill that he finally trusted her—the kiss had seen to that, and had felt more delicious than any blood she’d ever tasted, so cool and moist, with just the tiniest hint of his sweat and fear and need; and a strange, compelling awe at knowing he and Rachel were better at living.
Yeah, she’d made the right choice. Will wasn’t perfect, but was good enough that he deserved a chance to screw his girlfriend some more and raise a bunch of babies to be as imperfectly good as they were. It had to be this way, as much as she had an increasing taste and fear for how bad it was going to get.
Lucy clasped his forearm with her hand, as his fingers wrapped around her wrist. He was strong, for one of them. That made her feel good, too. With a nod he yanked her up and over, and she was on the dock next to him. She stumbled into him, and she could hear the others’ surprise. “I never want to get that close to one of them.... Yeah, not without a collar or a muzzle.... Shit, she’s right next to him! What the fuck’s wrong with him?”
“Shut up, you knuckleheads,” CJ growled. “I told you all to be quiet. Hill people’s just different. So shush. You learn by watching, not talking. And you three got a lot to learn.”
Lucy gave the three younger men a glare. She relished their fear. Maybe this place was full of soft, weak people
All those plans of how to take them out were just a pleasant bit of hindsight, however. She’d left the frying pan and the knife on the counter before shambling up on deck. It was sometime in the middle of the night, and still raining lightly. Lucy stood with one foot on the gunwale, wondering how she was supposed to spring to the dock as the boat rocked back and forth. She eyed the four men there—the two who’d come on board, and two more whelps like that Terry kid. They just stared back at her, CJ standing firm and frowning, like when he first saw her, the other three shifting uneasily.
She thought the three young ones would piss themselves if she said, “Get over here and help me, assholes.” Unfortunately, she was somewhat more certain CJ would shoot her in the face at that point. He was thinking it already, she knew as she watched him through the mist.
At least the cold drizzle felt good on her face, after the close, sick smell of the ship. And what was that other smell out here? There was the tar on the wooden planks of the dock, and a fishy, weedy smell from the river, but something smoky, too. Hell—the spoiled, lazy pricks had real cigarettes. Already this place was full of surprises, but Lucy very much doubted any of them would be good—at least not for her.
No, her days of being treated with some respect were over—her answer to Will had made sure of that. And the consequences were already becoming abundantly clear. She contemplated slipping and falling right into the river to be swept away, or maybe just down to the deck to sprain an ankle that would never heal. They’d no more lift a finger to help her than you’d try to do anything for a moth with a broken wing. As she paused, Will scrambled up next to her and took a surefooted jump to the dock. He turned back toward her.
“Come on,” he said as he extended his hand down to her.
Lucy eyed him too. So different than the men on the dock, but still part of their kind—so needy and so confident all at the same time. She swayed with the rocking of the boat as she considered the moment they’d just shared. Will second-guessed her, too, but not very well: she knew he hadn’t expected the answer she’d given. Good. People like him were so used to getting what they expected, so much in love with being right, so smug and self-satisfied about it, that half of her good feeling came from surprising him. The other half? An even split, she figured, between the pride of knowing she was better at suffering than they were; a grateful thrill that he finally trusted her—the kiss had seen to that, and had felt more delicious than any blood she’d ever tasted, so cool and moist, with just the tiniest hint of his sweat and fear and need; and a strange, compelling awe at knowing he and Rachel were better at living.
Yeah, she’d made the right choice. Will wasn’t perfect, but was good enough that he deserved a chance to screw his girlfriend some more and raise a bunch of babies to be as imperfectly good as they were. It had to be this way, as much as she had an increasing taste and fear for how bad it was going to get.
Lucy clasped his forearm with her hand, as his fingers wrapped around her wrist. He was strong, for one of them. That made her feel good, too. With a nod he yanked her up and over, and she was on the dock next to him. She stumbled into him, and she could hear the others’ surprise. “I never want to get that close to one of them.... Yeah, not without a collar or a muzzle.... Shit, she’s right next to him! What the fuck’s wrong with him?”
“Shut up, you knuckleheads,” CJ growled. “I told you all to be quiet. Hill people’s just different. So shush. You learn by watching, not talking. And you three got a lot to learn.”
Lucy gave the three younger men a glare. She relished their fear. Maybe this place was full of soft, weak people
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