Legends of the Lost Causes by Brad McLelland

Author:Brad McLelland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

CHAPTER 16

FLOODWOOD

The moment he entered the woods, Keech knew the forest felt wrong. A terrible pressure filled his head, as if someone had crammed his ears with sawdust, and a dull, relentless murmur tainted the air, too low to be a whistle, but too high to be thunder. It reminded Keech of a bumblebee stuck on a windowpane.

He stopped to clear his head and catch his bearings. But then Whiskey’s thralls appeared less than ten yards away, muttering to each other at the wood’s edge. The blustery sky silhouetted their ragged clothes and raised revolvers. Keech dived behind a tree. He waited, motionless, and realized he was no longer holding his hat. He looked around frantically and spotted it lying in the wet leaves a couple of yards away, in plain sight.

The dead men shambled closer, inspecting the wooded border, kicking around the riverbank grass. So far they made no attempt to cross Floodwood’s threshold.

“He’s close,” murmured Scurvy, his frock coat rippling in the hard wind. “I can feel the amulet shard. Strange, though. My skin feels pulled in two directions.”

Inside Keech’s shirt, the silver began to seep its uncanny chill.

“I feel it, too,” said Bull, his voice dark, cavernous.

Scurvy sniffed at the rain and cocked his speckled white head. “What’s this?” He pointed to a dollop of dark red liquid on a grass blade.

Keech hadn’t noticed a moment ago, but now he realized his right arm was stinging just above the elbow. He touched the injured spot and winced. Wet crimson returned on his fingertip.

The lead ball at the river had not merely nicked his coat.

He had been shot.

Scurvy dabbed at the blood drop. “I knew I hit ’im!” he crowed. “He’s powerful close.” The thrall started toward the tree line, but his partner hesitated, as if scared to enter Floodwood.

“Master said to stay outta the woods till we kilt the Blackwood boy.”

“How we gonna kill ’im if we don’t go in?” Scurvy said. He stretched a rotting black finger to Bull’s face, snatched the gold nose ring, and yanked the thrall forward. Bull yelped in surprise, but followed Scurvy across the boundary.

Pa Abner had once said fear was the most binding of all emotions. Keech appreciated those words all too well now. He tried to remember Pa’s training, the lesson of the rattlesnake in his bed—Stay in the moment, accept the danger, doubt sparks panic, panic sparks death—but a blinding fear padlocked every muscle in his body.

There was nowhere to run.

He took a deep breath. To stay in the moment you had to take in your surroundings, find anything useful for survival. A piece of black locust bark lay between his boots. It wouldn’t serve as a weapon, but the bark was tough and heavy, perhaps a fine distraction.

He stooped and grabbed the bark. Angling the chunk to fly south, Keech flicked his wrist. The pain from the gunshot wound was sharp, but he managed not to make a noise. The bark snickered through the woods. Over the

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