Part 4 (1/2)

Loud and clear. She couldn't do this, no way. She couldn't keep him from seeing his little girl - and for as long as he d.a.m.n well pleased. What was she going to do, s.n.a.t.c.h her own daughter away, tell her Daddy's going now? She would.

He was seeing the world through a haze, much worse than the storm he'd just fought through. For a while back there, following the lake sh.o.r.e, stumbling blind, he'd really wondered if he was going to fall and never get up. And now this b.i.t.c.h was making his head spin.

He shot a look over towards the counter. The clerk was making like he was busy, like his counter needed cleaning when he probably hadn't had a customer all day. Jerk.

d.a.m.n! The b.i.t.c.h had said something about presents. He could see them now, back in the car, probably buried under half a ton of snow. d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l! And he could still hear her voice ranting and moaning from the receiver.

'What? What'd you say?'

'I said be at the house at four, not before, not after.

Makenzie won't want you hanging around, and neither do I.

You're here for Amber and that's it. And if I smell a drop of bourbon I swear I'll cut your visit real short. Be here for four.'

She hung up. Stole the last word, just like always.

Let her have it. He was going to see his little girl. But h.e.l.l, he'd have to get himself cleaned up, and maybe pick up something for her in the store here.

Curt dropped the receiver back in place and patted down his suit. Somehow he felt more uncomfortable than ever in this thing. Maybe that was why he felt the clerk's suspicious eyes on him all the time. Screw him, who the h.e.l.l was he?

Some hick storekeeper. The worst part was, the suit was empty of cash.

All he could feel was the bulge of the gun, stuffed into his belt and digging into his waist. The clerk might have been looking at him like he was some kind of sc.u.mbag, but Curt Redeker had never held up a store in his life. And he wasn't about to start now.

All the same, he had to get something for his little girl. No way was he showing up empty-handed. Itching inside his suit, he browsed the shelves furthest from the counter.

'Keep it loose and layered.'

Leela resigned herself to the shorter woman's attentions as she helped her on with the coat - a parka, Kristal had said.

Packed off into the care of this stranger, she was feeling more lost than she had done out on the slopes. Her instincts, however, told her to trust this woman and if she could not trust them then she was worse than lost, she decided.

Kristal stepped back and Leela waited slightly anxiously on her p.r.o.nouncement. She found herself wanting this woman's approval.

She had yet to make up her own mind about her new outfit, briskly a.s.sembled from the supplies stowed in various cupboards in this one upstairs room. The clothing had looked bulky, although less so than her furs, but not substantial enough to ward off the cold.

Now, Leela was beginning to appreciate the value of the materials. Her hands slid over the outer garments, testing every pocket and fastener. These were more than just cover-ings. At least she found she could move her arms fairly freely and the weight felt good on her limbs, nothing that would slow her down.

'These cultists were survivalists,' Kristal told her, so their gear is pretty much Army issue.'

'Why am I not white, like you?'

Kristal laughed - softly. 'I take it you mean your outfit. I'll have somebody bring up some overwhites from the trucks when they rotate the teams. If it means that much to you.'

'I do not wish to stand out like a sore thumb,' Leela declared, proud to have remembered one of the Doctor's phrases. She wondered then whether she had got it right, when she saw Kristal shake her head, a curious gleam in her eye.

'Welcome to White Shadow. Leela.'

'Thank you.' Leela didn't know what else to say. She recognised a sense of ceremony in Kristal's attendance and the sense made her hesitant in case she broke any tribal laws.

'What is White Shadow? Is that what you call this land?'

The smile of an elder stole across Kristal's face. 'No, Leela.

White Shadow is us. It's the name of our group of soldiers.

Our warrior tribe.'

'It is a good name. I am Leela of the tribe of Sevateem.'

Leela detected a stir of emotion in Kristal and believed she must have said the right thing. The small woman spoke back to her with a measured respect, as one warrior to another: 'And I am Kristal Owl Eye Wildcat of the Pasamaquoddy of the Abnaki.'

Excitedly, Leela pounced on a fragment the Doctor had thrown her earlier. 'Are these your lands? The Doctor said a n.o.ble people lived here.'

'He was probably talking about the Penacooks,' Kristal explained quietly. 'They were of the same nation, the Algonquin. These lands belong to a larger nation now, Leela.

Not necessarily a greater one, whatever my captain tells you.'

The woman's gaze roamed far and wide as she stood perfectly still. Leela recalled the way Neeva had succ.u.mbed to his visions and thought of how the Doctor always dismissed such hocus pocus. There were always scientific reasons, he said.

Kristal convulsed suddenly, beginning a slow fall to her Leela started forward to brace her and came face to face with Kristal's trance. Whatever magic or science was in this woman, it had poisoned her eyes.

Martha drew herself up, boots planted squarely in the snow.

'Who the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l are you people?' are you people?'

She'd set out right after Curt's call - after she'd tried Mak a few times on his radio. All she got was static, like the snow had taken over the airwaves along with everything else.

Cheated of any chance to warn Mak, her new priority was to prepare Amber: your Daddy's here to see you, honey. Make like the bad news was good. Now here she was, all set to trespa.s.s on the ground her little girl believed she'd kept so secret and sacred, and she finds two creeps poking around.

Lucky for them, the walk from the house had left her slightly breathless and her deadly mood lacked the force of volume to back it up.

They were wearing heavy winter coats, smart and expensive, and they looked at her from behind designer sungla.s.ses.

The woman was pet.i.te, even in the coat, soft pale complexion and luxurious dark hair, like in the shampoo commercials, cut in a real cute bob. The man was much taller, rising from an inspection of Amber's rock-cleft hideout. His hair was smoothed back, showing off a handsome face that dimpled with a smile as broad as his shoulders. Right now, Martha didn't much care for how they looked, but they plainly did.

'Well, howdy, ma'am,' he stepped up to proffer a hand.

Martha wasn't sure if the Southern accent was intended to mock her own. She got a lot of that from the kids at the school, but she'd coached herself to ignore it.

'How do you do, ma'am,' the woman stepped up beside her partner and removed her gla.s.ses to show a pair of pretty eyes. 'We're just looking into something your daughter appears to have found. You are Martha Mailloux, mother of Amber?'

Right, like her facts needed checking. Martha wanted to tell her there was clearly nothing wrong with her facts and if she wanted any more she should take it up with Makenzie Shaw, whom they no doubt knew was Police Chief around here.

Martha Mailloux handled her own fights though, and if these people didn't know that already, they were about to find out.