Part 3 (2/2)

The Warden gives me a rea.s.suring smile, yet he looks more like a jackal than a lap dog. ”I like to see the face of the man before I do business.” He hisses the word bizznezz like a snake.

Somewhere in the distance a fly buzzes against a window. Down the street someone is shouting. The heat of the room intensifies.

I swallow hard. ”What if I say no?”

The Warden snaps his fingers, a sound like stepping on a dry twig, and Darrel jumps up with the shotgun.

The Warden widens his smile. His polished white teeth remind me of fangs. ”If you don't uncover, I'll know you're an outlaw. We don't tolerate outlaws.” Outlawzz.

I picture the lizard I killed the day before. How did it feel when my snare tightened around his throat? Slowly, I reach up and slip my finger between the bandanna and my skin. Then I yank down, exposing my face.

The Warden recoils. ”A bender.”

He doesn't think I'm a girl. Relief floods me, then stops cold. Some think benders are filthy half-people. They're cursed at, kicked out of town, killed for being neither male nor female, but some mutated combination of both.

The Warden snaps a hand at Darrel. ”Arrest him.”

”No!” Arn tugs at his cell bars.

Darrel takes a heavy step towards me.

”Don't,” I say, shuffling backwards. I back up till I hit the far wall. My eyes search for an exit, but the only way out is blocked by Darrel and the Warden. I look to Arn.

”He ain't done nothing wrong,” Arn says, a mournful look falling over his bruised face.

The Warden reaches for the gun holstered at his hip. White flecks of spit sprinkle the corners of his mouth. ”He's what's wrong.” He points a thin finger at me. ”He's an abomination. A poison in this nice community.” The sound of his revolver sliding out of the holster echoes in the heavy stillness of the room.

My eyes snap from Arn to Darrel to the Warden. This can't happen. I might be able to dodge Darrel who's bulky and slow. Then I'll have to get through the Warden and his polished revolver. Even if I manage that, I'll have to get past security at the gate. And I'll still be without Arn.

”Don't-” is all I manage to say as Darrel grabs for my wrist. This time I won't be able to stop the tears.

A new voice cuts in from the doorway. ”What's going on, fellas?”

Everyone turns. The man I saw in the general store stands in the doorway. His hands rest on his hips, inches away from the two big, s.h.i.+ny revolvers. He's tall and well built, not sickly and thin like ninety percent of the people outside. With his cowboy hat thumbed back, I can see his face. Even in my distress, my eyes linger on his smooth skin, strong jaw and sky blue eyes.

He strides in and tips his hand in respect. ”Afternoon, Warden. Couldn't help overhear your conversation with this here gentleman.” He points to me. ”Guess I missed the memo 'bout benders being outlawed.”

The Warden swipes back one of his slicked curls. He wags a finger at the young man like a naughty child. ”Clay, this is not your business. Leave it alone.”

Clay's boots click on the floor as he steps toward us, a dazzling smile on his face. ”Now, see, here's the thing. Sheriff's off to see about a horse and he left me in charge. I know you won't go 'gainst Sheriff's orders.”

Hatred creeps up the corners of the Warden's face, the crease between his lips showing those sharp, white teeth.

Clay ignores the Warden's grimace and points at me. ”What's the kid here for?”

Eyes snap back to me. When Clay's meet mine, my face flushes. I got no words.

Arn answers from his cell. ”Posted my bail.”

”That so?” Clay stops and crosses his arms over his chest. His blue eyes deepen in hue the closer he gets.

I nod. I want to pull my bandanna up over my face to hide the blush that's burning up my cheeks.

”Well then, let's get 'em on their way.” Clay winds his hand in a hurry-up motion.

The Warden holsters his gun. He begins cranking his neck back and forth like a ruffled chicken. Black curls escape their grease mortar and bob back and forth. ”This ... this is outrageous. When the Sheriff learns of this-”

”He'll be pleased as punch we dealt with our neighbors without shootin' holes in 'em this time.” Clay's face carries a hint of mischief. This boy, no more than eighteen, must be somebody around here.

The Warden stomps out the door, spitting curses. Clay watches, a smirk at the corners of his mouth.

I'm too shocked to move. Just a minute ago, I was being locked up. Now a handsome boy keeps smiling at me. I let a tentative smile creep onto my face until I remember how guarded I have to be. Clay's the Sheriff's right-hand man. One good deed and a handsome smile can't erase all the people they've hurt, all those women sent to the Breeders.

Clay's crisp b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt tightens around the muscles of his arms as he stretches out his arm. ”You got bail for this man?”

I wring my hands and force myself to focus. ”I was gonna trade my quad.”

His palm is smooth, clean. I wonder what he thinks of my grimy fingers as I dig the quad key out of my pants pocket and drop it in his hand.

He closes his hand over the key. ”All set. Darrel, unlock the cell.”

Darrel lurches forward and unlocks Arn's cell. Arn shuffles out and I slide myself under his arm for support. As we head toward the door, I gather the courage to meet Clay's eyes.

”Thank you,” I say. ”I hope I can repay this kindness.” More blush. My cheeks will catch fire if I don't get out now.

He thumbs his hat at me. ”Don't mention it, but I'd light out fast. That Warden's a devil.”

I help Arn toward the exit.

He calls to us again. ”I'd cover up your face. Not everyone's as open-minded.”

I lift the bandanna over my mouth and nose. Beside me Arn spits another hunk of blood into the dusty road.

”Come on,” I say, as he leans into me. ”Let's get the h.e.l.l out of dodge.”

”Don't say h.e.l.l.”

I smile as I hustle him onward.

Amazingly, getting through the gate goes more smoothly than I could've hoped. I retrieve my gun with no trouble. The clunky vehicle turns over on the first try. When I finally see the town through the cloud of dust in the rear view, I relax a notch. I glance over at Arn, who's slumped over in the pa.s.senger seat. In the red sunset glare, his whole face looks b.l.o.o.d.y, though I know it's a trick of the light.

”Don't worry,” I say, though I'm not sure he can hear me. ”We'll be home in no time. Our luck's turning around.”

He opens the eye that's not swelled shut. ”Don't count your chickens. It's a long way home.”

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