I realized then we were leaving, or at least the others were planning to leave.
But leaving meant giving up, deserting the camp that had been my home for over ten years.
I couldn't do it.
I shoved Jack off of my chest and stood. Immediately the son was beside me, naked and in his human form.
He grabbed me by the arm. "Don't be an idiot. The battle is bigger than this." He motioned to the Amazons still fighting. "We need you. Your tribe needs you."
My tribe. Were they my tribe? They didn't seem to think so.
I stared at him, denying the angry tears I could feel forming at the back of my eyes. I blinked and shut down the response. I had never cried in my life; I wasn't going to do so now.
Back under control, I glanced at the two Amazons still fighting with me, for me. Lao, a hearth-keeper well past her prime, and Bern, an outcast warrior. Then there was the wet-behind-the-ears hearth-keeper shaking like a newborn rabbit in the truck.
My own personal army of misfit toys.
Jack leaned close, until his lips were pressed against my ear. "Sheep go to slaughter. Don't be a goddamn sheep anymore, Zery."
I jerked my arm free, picked up my staff, and jumped into the fray. Taking unfair advantage of the warriors' focus on Bern, I smacked one in the back of the head with my staff. As the other stumbled, unsure what to do, I gestured for Tess and the truck. She roared into the middle of the fight. Bern and I jumped into the back, jerking Lao in after us, and Tess hit the gas.
The mother dog had been curled up on an old feed sack in the corner with her two healthy puppies. She belly crawled closer and I stroked her head as Tess wheeled the vehicle in a sharp U-turn.
In seconds we were thundering down the thin drive. Behind us Jack held up one hand, then shifted. In his wolverine form, he gave a last snapping growl at Sare, who still held her blade, and dashed into the woods.
My hand stroking the dog's head, I stared blindly at the disappearing house.
I had done what I thought I never would. I had left the tribe.
As the truck turned onto the highway, I think we all realized we had nowhere to go. Tess yelled at us through the open sliding window.
"Where to?"
The puppy I'd been afraid was dying poked his head over her shoulder. He looked weak, but still alive.
All eyes turned to me.
There was really only one answer. "Madison."
Tess's eyes met Lao's in the rearview mirror, but the older hearth-keeper just nodded her head. "Back to Madison, but I think we may have a stop to make first." She looked at me. "Is that right?" She tapped on the truck with her palm.
I realized then what she was saying. We couldn't drive to Madison sitting in a truck bed. We needed a new, bigger vehicle-or at least a second vehicle.
After a brief discussion, we opted for the second.
We pulled into a truck stop and let Lao out. It hadn't taken much talk to decide Bern and I stood out too much for the job.
But who would suspect a woman who appeared to be in her sixties of boosting a car?
We kept busy by driving down the road a bit and lifting a set of plates off a sedan parked behind a garage. The thing was smashed in completely on the passenger's side, but the plates were perfectly fine, and since the shop was already closed for the day and would stay closed tomorrow, Sunday, we had until Monday before anyone noticed-if they noticed then.
With the plates dusted off and ready to install, we drove to our meeting place, a country cemetery visited by more cows than people.
Lao drove up in a dark blue two-door. The back was loaded with boxes.
Standing next to the vehicle, Lao said, "Salesman. Looks like a company car."
I nodded. Jack had been wrong about us. . at least the Amazons under my command. We did think about how our stealing affected our victims. Didn't mean we never hurt someone, but we weren't totally callous about others either. If we could choose between leaving a family stranded at a truck stop and a lone salesman? No contest.
"What's he selling?" Hopefully it was nothing that would bring too much heat down on us.
Bern reached in the backseat and ripped into a box. "Looks like toys." She pulled out a squishy frog that lit up when you squeezed his stomach.
"Oh." Lao gestured for Bern to grab a plastic bag sitting on the car's floor. The warrior pulled out a can of evaporated milk and an eyedropper.
"In case the mama won't feed him," Lao explained.
Loaded down with the puppy, toy, milk, and eyedropper, Bern went to sit in the shade while Lao changed the vehicle's plates.
When the plates were changed, we divided up again-Bern and Tess in the truck, Lao and myself with the dogs in the car.
Lao drove. We left the stolen car's plates behind, but we kept the toys. Eventually we'd sell them.
When you live like we do, you learn to appreciate even the smallest opportunity to make a buck. And today, with our future so unknown, we had to embrace those opportunities even more.
It was late by the time we got off I-90, not dark yet, but getting close. The exit for Mel's place was about a five-minute drive. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about what I was going to say to her this time.
The parking lot had quite a few cars in it. It was Saturday night, what I guessed was a popular time for humans to get tattoos. Deciding an audience might be just the thing to get Mel to accept my reappearance without reaching for power first thing, I led my ragtag group to the front of the old schoolhouse and up the stairs that led to the shop.
Mel's office manager, Mandy, met us with a surprised stare.
"You're the-"
"Self-defense group. That's right. We're wondering if Mel would be willing to rent us some space again." Last fall the tribe had posed as a self-defense group while living in Mel's gym and hunting the killer who had turned out to be a son.
"I'll ask. . " As the unsure words came out of her mouth, she spotted the puppy poking his head out of Tess's shirt. Much oohing and aahing ensued, attracting the attention of three college-age girls who had been studying the shop's flash.
With Mandy busy, I strolled through the door that separated the tattoo area from reception. Mel had three artists who worked for her, four if you counted her mother, Cleo. I didn't think Mel did, though. Cleo was a warrior and thus not big on sitting in one place and doing intricate work. Her other employees included Janet, a middle-aged lesbian, and Cheryl, divorced mother of three. Her remaining employee was the son, Peter Arpada. Mel had hired him before she knew he was a son, but she hadn't fired him after. And now apparently they'd been traveling together. I still wasn't sure how I felt about that.
There were two rooms for tattooing. The biggest, the one I had entered, had three stations. Cheryl and Janet were both busy with clients. The third was empty. I didn't know if Peter or Cleo normally used the seat. I was hoping Cleo. I trusted her.
She had at many times been more of a mother to me than my own.
From here you could see into the smaller room too. There were two stations there. A client, an older man in his fifties, sat at one, but there was no sign of an artist.
Janet turned from her customer to grab some gauze and spotted me. "Mel's in back, getting gloves." She nodded to a door at the back of the connected room, a room I knew from previous visits was used to store its supplies and sterilizing equipment.