Spruce considered it, then shrugged and lowered the gun, releasing Lucy Gray from its hold. “I guess you’ll be company for Lil.”
Coriolanus’s eyes fell to the cache of weapons. Two more shotguns, a standard Peacekeeper rifle like the ones they used in target practice. Some sort of heavy piece that appeared to launch grenades. Several knives. “That’s quite a haul.”
“Not for five people,” Spruce replied. “It’s the ammo I’m concerned about. Be helpful if you could get us some more of that from the base.”
Sejanus nodded. “Maybe. We don’t really have access to the armory. But I can look around.”
“Sure. Stock up.”
Everyone’s head snapped toward the sound. A female voice, coming from the far corner of the shed. Coriolanus had forgotten about the second door, since no one ever seemed to use it. In the pitch-blackness outside the lamp’s circle of light, he could not say if it was open or shut, or make out the intruder. How long had she been hiding there in the gloom?
“Who’s there?” said Spruce.
“Guns, ammo,” mocked the voice. “You can’t make more of that, can you? Up north?”
The nastiness helped Coriolanus place it from the night of the brawl in the Hob. “It’s Mayfair Lipp, the mayor’s daughter.”
“Trailing after Billy Taupe like a hound in heat,” said Lucy Gray under her breath.
“Always keep that last bullet somewhere safe. So as you can blow your brains out before they catch you,” said Mayfair.
“Get home,” ordered Billy Taupe. “I’ll explain this later. It’s not how it sounded.”
“No, no. Come in and join us, Mayfair,” invited Spruce. “We’ve got no quarrel with you. You can’t choose your pa.”
“We won’t hurt you,” said Sejanus.
Mayfair gave an ugly laugh. “’Course you won’t.”
“What’s going on?” Spruce asked Billy Taupe.
“Nothing. She’s just talking,” he said. “She won’t do anything.”
“That’s me. All talk, no action. Right, Lucy Gray? How’d you enjoy the Capitol, by the way?” The door gave a small creak, and Coriolanus had the sense Mayfair was backing away, about to flee. With her would go his entire future. No, more than that, his very life. If she reported what she’d heard, the whole lot of them would be as good as dead.
In a flash, Spruce lifted his shotgun to shoot her, but Billy Taupe knocked the barrel toward the floor. Coriolanus reflexively reached for the Peacekeeper rifle and fired toward Mayfair’s voice. She gave a cry, and there was the sound of her collapsing to the floor.
“Mayfair!” Billy Taupe bolted across the shed to where she lay in the doorway. He staggered back into the light, his hand shiny with blood, spitting at Coriolanus like a rabid animal. “What’d you do?”
Lucy Gray began to shake, the way she had in the zoo when Arachne Crane’s throat had been slit.
Coriolanus gave her a push, and her feet started moving toward the door. “Go back. Get onstage. That’s your alibi. Go!”
“Oh, no. If I swing, she’s swinging with me!” Billy Taupe charged after her.
Without hesitating, Spruce shot Billy Taupe through the chest. The blast carried him backward, and he crumpled to the floor.
In the stillness that followed, Coriolanus registered the music coming from the Hob for the first time since Lucy Gray had finished her number. Maude Ivory had the entire warehouse caught up in a sing-along.
Keep on the sunny side, always the sunny side,
“You better do like he said,” Spruce told Lucy Gray. “Before they miss you and someone comes looking.”
Keep on the sunny side of life.
Lucy Gray couldn’t take her eyes off Billy Taupe’s body. Coriolanus grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Go. I’ll take care of this.” He propelled her to the door.
It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way,
She opened it, and they both looked out. The coast was clear.
If we keep on the sunny side of life.
Yessir, keep on the sunny side of life.
The whole Hob broke into drunken cheers, signifying the end of Maude Ivory’s song. They were just in time. “You were never here,” Coriolanus whispered in Lucy Gray’s ear as he let her go. She stumbled across the pavement and into the Hob. He slid the door shut with his foot.
Sejanus checked Billy Taupe’s pulse.
Spruce stuffed the weapons back into the burlap bag. “Don’t bother. They’re dead. I’m planning to keep this to myself. What about you two?”
“The same. Obviously,” said Coriolanus. Sejanus stared at them, still in shock. “Him, too. I’ll make sure.”
“You might think about coming with us. Someone’s going to pay for this,” said Spruce. He retrieved the lamp and vanished out the back door, throwing the shed into darkness.
Coriolanus fumbled forward until he found Sejanus and pulled him out after Spruce. He forced Mayfair’s body into the shed with his boot and firmly closed the door on the murder scene with his shoulder. There. He’d successfully made it in and out of the shed without touching anything with his skin. Except the gun he’d killed Mayfair with, of course, no doubt covered in his fingerprints and DNA — but Spruce would take that when he left District 12, never to return. The last thing he needed was a repeat of the handkerchief scenario. He could still hear Dean Highbottom taunting him. . . .
“Do you hear that, Coriolanus? It’s the sound of Snow falling.”
For a moment he inhaled the night air. Music, some sort of instrumental piece, floated over to them. He guessed Lucy Gray had made it onto the stage but had not yet reclaimed her voice. Grabbing Sejanus by the elbow, he steered him around the shed and checked the passage between the buildings. Empty. He hurried them down the side of the Hob, pausing before they turned the corner. “Not a word,” he hissed.
Sejanus, pupils wide, sweat staining his collar, repeated, “Not a word.”
Inside the Hob, they took their seats. Next to them, Beanpole sat propped against the wall, apparently blacked out. On the other side of him, Smiley chatted up a girl while Bug killed the whiskey. No one seemed to have missed them.
The instrumental ended and Lucy Gray had pulled herself together enough to sing again, choosing a number that required all the Covey to back her up. Smart girl. They would likely be the ones to discover the bodies, since the shed was their break room. The longer she kept them all together up there, the better their alibi would be, the more time Spruce would have to get those murder weapons out of the area, and the harder it would be for the audience to place anything in time.
Coriolanus’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to assess the damage. He thought no one would much care about Billy Taupe, except Clerk Carmine maybe. But Mayfair? The only child of the mayor? Spruce was right; someone was going to pay for her.
Lucy Gray opened the floor to requests and managed to keep all five of the Covey onstage for the rest of the program. Maude Ivory collected money from the audience as usual. Lucy Gray thanked everybody, the Covey took a final bow, and the audience began to shuffle toward the door.
“We need to head straight back,” Coriolanus said quietly to Sejanus. They each threw one of Beanpole’s arms over their shoulders and headed out with Bug and Smiley trailing behind. They’d traveled about twenty yards down the road when Maude Ivory’s hysterical screams cut through the night air, causing everyone to turn back. Since it would have been suspicious to keep going, Coriolanus and Sejanus swung Beanpole around as well. Then, very quickly, Peacekeeper whistles blew, and a couple of officers were waving them back to the base. They lost themselves in the herd and did not speak to each other again until they’d reached the barrack, heard their bunkmates snoring, and snuck into the bathroom.
“We know nothing. That’s the whole story,” Coriolanus whispered. “We left the Hob briefly to piss. The rest of the night, we were at the show.”
“All right,” said Sejanus. “What about the others?”
“Spruce is long gone and Lucy Gray won’t tell a soul, not even the Covey. She won’t want to put them in danger,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’ll both be hungover and spend the day on the base.”
“Yes. Yes. Day on the base.” Sejanus seemed distracted to the point of incoherence.
Coriolanus grasped his face between his hands. “Sejanus, this is life or death. You have to hold it together.” Sejanus agreed, but Coriolanus knew he didn’t sleep a wink after that. He could hear him shifting around the whole night through. In his own mind, he replayed the shooting again and again. He’d killed for the second time. If Bobbin’s death had been self-defense, what was Mayfair’s? Not premeditated murder. Not murder at all, really. Just another form of self-defense. The law might not see it that way, but he did. Mayfair may not have had a knife, but she had the power to get him hanged. Not to mention what she’d do to Lucy Gray and the others. Perhaps because he hadn’t actually seen her die, or even had a good look at the body, he felt less emotional than when he’d killed Bobbin. Or perhaps the second killing was just easier than the first. At any rate, he knew that he’d shoot her again if he had it all to do over, and somehow that supported the rightness of his actions.
The next morning, even the hungover bunkmates made it to the mess hall for breakfast. Smiley got the scoop from his nurse friend, who’d been on duty at the clinic the night before, when they’d brought in the bodies. “They’re both locals, but one of them is the mayor’s daughter. The other one’s a musician or something, but not one that we’ve seen. They were shot dead in that garage behind the Hob. Right during the show! Only none of us heard it because of the music.”
“Did they find who did it?” asked Beanpole.
“Not yet. These people aren’t even supposed to have guns, but like I told you, they’re floating around out there,” Smiley said. “Killed by one of their own, though.”
“How do they know that?” asked Sejanus.
Shut up!thought Coriolanus. Knowing Sejanus, he could be one step away from confessing to a crime he didn’t even commit.
“Well, she said they think the girl was shot with a Peacekeeper’s rifle, probably an old one that got stolen during the war. And the musician was killed by some sort of shotgun the locals used for hunting. Probably two shooters,” Smiley reported. “They searched the surrounding area and couldn’t find the weapons. Long gone with the murderers, if you ask me.”
Coriolanus’s nerves unwound a bit, and he ate a forkful of pancakes. “Who found the bodies?”
“That little girl singer — you know, the one in the pink dress,” said Smiley.
“Maude Ivory,” said Sejanus.
“I think that’s it. Anyway, she freaked out. They questioned the band, but when would they have had time to do it? They barely leave the stage, and anyway no guns were found,” Smiley told them. “Shook them up pretty good, though. I guess they knew the musician guy somehow or other.”
Coriolanus stabbed a link of sausage with his fork, feeling much improved. The investigation was off to a good start. Even so, it could still be bad for Lucy Gray, having the double motive of Billy Taupe being her old flame and Mayfair having sent her into the arena. And once the arena was brought into it, could he be implicated? No one from 12 knew he was her new love except the Covey, and Lucy Gray would keep them quiet. Anyway, if she had a new love, why would either of them care about Billy Taupe? They might want to kill Mayfair, though, as a form of revenge, and Billy Taupe might try to defend her. Actually, that was not far from what had happened. But hundreds of witnesses could swear that Lucy Gray had been onstage for all but a brief period of the show. No guns had been found. It would be tough to prove her guilty. He would have to have patience, give things time to simmer down, but then they could be together again. In many ways, he felt closer to her than ever now that they had this new and unbreakable bond.
In view of the past night’s events, the commander locked down the base for the day. Not that Coriolanus had plans anyway — he would have to steer clear of the Covey for a while. He and Sejanus floated around, trying to look normal. Playing cards, writing letters, cleaning their boots. As they knocked the mud from the treads, Coriolanus whispered, “What about the escape plan? Is it still on?”
“I’ve no idea,” Sejanus said. “The commander’s birthday isn’t until next weekend. That was the night we were supposed to go. Coryo, what if they arrest an innocent person for the murders?”
Then our troubles are over, thought Coriolanus, but he only said, “I think it’s highly unlikely, with no guns. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Coriolanus slept better that night. Monday the lockdown ended, and the rumor mill claimed that the murders had to do with rebel infighting. If they wanted to kill each other, let them. The mayor came on base and pitched a fit to the commander about his daughter, but since he’d spoiled Mayfair rotten and let her run loose like a wildcat, the feeling was he had no one to blame but himself if she had been keeping time with a rebel.
By Tuesday afternoon, the interest in the murders had died down to the extent that Coriolanus began to make plans for the future as he peeled potatoes for the next day’s breakfast. The first thing was to ensure that Sejanus had given up on the escape plan. Hopefully, the events at the shed had convinced him he was playing with fire. Tomorrow night they would have mopping detail together, so that would be the best time to confront him. If he didn’t agree to abandon the breakout, Coriolanus would have no choice but to report him to the commander. Feeling resolved, he peeled with such zeal that he finished early, and Cookie let him off for the last half hour of his shift. He checked the mail and found a box from Pluribus, loaded with packets of strings for assorted musical instruments and a kind note saying there was no charge. He put them in his locker, happy at the thought of how happy the Covey would be when it was safe enough to see them again. Maybe in a week or two, if things continued to settle down.
Coriolanus began to feel like his old self as he headed to the mess hall. Tuesday meant hash. He had a few extra minutes and went to pick up another can of powder for his rash, which had finally begun to heal. But as he came out of the clinic, a base ambulance pulled up, the back doors swung open, and two medics pulled a man on a stretcher from the back. His blood-soaked shirt suggested he might be dead, but as they carried him inside, he turned his head. A pair of gray eyes landed on Coriolanus, who could not suppress a gasp. Spruce. Then the doors swung shut, blocking him from view.
Coriolanus got word to Sejanus after hours, but neither knew what it meant. Spruce had clearly mixed it up with the Peacekeepers, but why? Had they connected him with the murders? Did they know about the escape plan? Had they found out about the gun purchase? What would he tell them now that they’d captured him?
Wednesday breakfast, Smiley’s reliable nurse let him know that Spruce had died from his wounds during the night. She didn’t really know, but most people thought he’d been involved with the murders. Coriolanus went through the morning on autopilot, waiting for the other shoe to drop. At lunch, it did. A pair of military police officers came to their table in the mess and arrested Sejanus, who went without a word. Coriolanus tried to mirror his bunkmates’ shocked faces. Obviously, he parroted, there had been a mistake.
Led by Smiley, they confronted the sergeant at target practice. “We’d just like to say that there’s no way Sejanus committed those murders. He was with us all night.”
“We never were apart,” ventured Beanpole. As if he could have possibly known, blacked out as he’d been against the wall, but all of them backed him up.
“I appreciate your loyalty,” said the sergeant, “but I think this is about something else.”
A chill went through Coriolanus. Something else, like the escape plan? Spruce didn’t seem like he’d have spilled the news, especially because it could have affected his sister. No, Coriolanus felt certain his jabberjay had made it through to Dr. Gaul, and this was the fallout. First Spruce’s arrest, then Sejanus’s.