The Bleeding Crowd (21 page)

He raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s not
politically correct, sweetheart.”

“So sue me,” she said. “Oh, wait, you have no
standing in any court.”

His jaw twitched

“Hey, I never claimed to be some ‘men’s
rights’ activist.” Dahlia poked him in the chest. “That’s not why I
ended up here.”

He faltered just long enough for her to slip
away from him, hooking her bra again.

He released a breath. “Why are you here
then?”

“A myriad of bad choices,” she said.

“Then why haven’t you left?”

“I told you why. I got myself involved in
this the second I decided not to turn you in about the computer
thing. At this point, I’ve completely screwed myself over.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

“I believe you’ve said that a couple times
now.”

“Hey, you said ‘get lost’ I—”

“I told you I couldn’t be involved,” she
interjected. “I didn’t tell you to ‘get lost’. If you hadn’t been
obsessed with this little revolution—”

“We’d have had another week and then you’d
ship me off anyway for the next guy.”

“Then you could have had someone else to spy
on.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it and then
started again. “I know you don’t get it, but I am actually trying
to do something with my life.”

“Just because I’m not crusading against
social injustice doesn’t mean I haven’t done anything with
mine.”

“Oh, right, you went right off the conveyer
belt into a lab coat.”

“I save people’s lives.” She barely stopped
herself from slapping him and pointed instead. “I saved your
miserable life.”

“And I thanked you for that. Should I send
you a fruit basket when I get the chance?”

“Maybe you should try to think of me for
once.”

“When haven’t I thought about you?”

“Please.” She scoffed. “Everything you’ve
ever done has been for your cause, been to right every social
injustice that your poor bleeding crowd has had thrust upon them.
Did it ever even cross your mind that I’m alone out here? That I
never meant to be here, and I don’t even have y...” Her voice
wavered. She collected herself. “I don’t even have someone out here
who is my friend. Why do you think I went to Jude?”

He snorted. “You can’t pass that off as my
fault.”

“Fault?” She raised an eyebrow. “I think
there’d have to be some regret there to start trying to makes
something someone’s fault.”

“Well then, why aren’t you with him right now
then?”

“Because he’s scared to death of getting you
upset at him for one,” she said. “He’s your friend. They’re all
your friends. My friends are thousands and thousands of kilometers
away. They probably think I’m dead at this point.”

He looked away from her.

“I’m alone out here, Ben.” She lowered her
voice. “I have to find my allies while I can. Right now, one word
from you and they’d leave me out here. Jude won’t even talk to me
since...” She stopped and released a breath. “You know what? I
can’t deal with this right now. You should get lost.”

Ben took a second. “Did you hear that?”

She shook her head. “I swear to god, Ben, if
this is some set up for a bad joke—”

“Shut up.” He motioned, listening to
something.

She sat down and splashed some water on her
face. “I don’t hear anything.”

He listened another moment and then looked at
her. “Get dressed.

“This again, really?”

“I’m serious.”

“Well, when aren’t you?” She rolled her
eyes.

“Dahlia—”

A man stepped out of the trees. “I’m
impressed you heard me.”

Dahlia jumped up.

The man looked her over. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she answered, not moving.

He took in Ben and her. “This is an
interesting picture.”

Dahlia paused and then nodded. “I’m Dahlia.
That’s Ben.”

Ben sent her a warning look.

She sighed. “What the hell’s wrong now?”

“Are you out here alone?” The man looked
around.

“Maybe.” Ben crossed his arms. “Depends on
who’s asking.”

“What’s your name?” Dahlia picked up her
jeans, wringing them out.

“Jack.” The man eyed her with interest.

“Didn’t think that was on the list.” Dahlia
frowned.

“Nickname for John,” Ben said, tensing more
the longer Jack watched her.

“Interesting.” Dahlia didn’t look at Ben
before looking back at Jack. “Did you escape from your camp
too?”

Jack nodded. “There’s one a few days walk
from here.”

“Are you out here alone?” Ben studied Jack,
like a guard checking out a dangerous prisoner.

Jack finally met his eyes. “I don’t know, are
you?”

“No,” Dahlia said. “There are more a little
ways back.”

“Dahlia,” Ben hissed.

“What?” she copied his tone.

“Let me handle this.”

“Yeah, because you’re the one with the
oratory skills.”

“How many?” Jack asked.

“How many on your end?” Ben returned.

The man considered them for a moment. “Dozen
or so. You?”

“About the same,” Ben said.

“Little less,” Dahlia said, getting another
look from Ben. She sent him one back.

Ben sighed and looked back at Jack. “Lia, go
get the others.”

“You trust me to find my own way back?” She
raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered.”

“Go,” he said sharply.

She raised an eyebrow at his tone.

“Dahlia.” Ben finally turned to look at her.
“Go.”

“You go.” Dahlia shook her jeans out a final
time before sliding them on. “I’m getting dressed.”

“Go ahead.” Jack smiled. “I won’t let
anything happen to her until you get back.”

Ben’s hands tensed and then released as he
looked at Dahlia. She pointedly ignored him. He turned back to
Jack. “I’m not going far.”

“Didn’t think you were,” Jack said.

Ben hesitated another moment, sending Jack a
cautionary glare before moving off.

Jack looked back to Dahlia. “Washing your
clothes?”

“Too many days in them.” Dahlia turned to
wring out her shirt.

“Green.”

“What?” She looked up.

“You’re shirt,” he said. “It’s green.”

“Yeah,” Dahlia said. “It is.”

“You aren’t a guard, I think was my point
somewhere in there.”

“Ah.” Dahlia smiled. “Indeed. I’m not.”

“Cartographer?”

“Cartographer?” she repeated.

“That’s green isn’t it? Cartographers?”

“Oh, no,” Dahlia said, backtracking. “They
wear green, but it’s really more of a pastel. Emerald green is
doctor. I’m a physician.”

“That’s handy,” Jack said. “You know, one of
my guys hurt his ankle a little while back. It’s still
hurting...purple.”

“Bruised you mean?”

He appeared surprised and nodded.

“I’ll take a look if you like.”

“Great,” Jack said. “Do you have many women
with you?”

“No,” Dahlia answered. “Just two guards.”

“No more straight women?”

Dahlia shrugged. “Just me.”

Jack looked her over, a curious expression on
his face. “How’d you end up here then?”

“With the men? Or in New Zealand?”

“Either,” Jack said. “Both.”

“First is a long, long story. Second...short
answer is we stowed away on an airplane.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“Mid-Atlantic sea board.”

“North America.”

“Where that would be,” she agreed.

“Thought you didn’t sound local.”

“Sound?”

“I have an ear for accents,” Jack said.
“They’re pretty much a nonentity at this point, but depending on
where you grew up, you can sound a little different.”

Dahlia considered his observation.
“Interesting. I’ve never thought about it. Or traveled for that
matter.”

“So, why are you here?”

“In New Zealand?”

He nodded.

“Some people have revolution on the brain,”
she said, giving up on drying the shirt and pulling it on.

“You know, we have some soap if you actually
want to wash.”

Dahlia’s eyes widened as her head popped
through the top of her shirt. “Really?”

He nodded.

“That would be great. I was happy enough to
be warm again, what with crossing the equator and all...”

Jack grinned at her comment. “Right, you were
having winter on the other side of the world.”

“Oh yeah.”

Jack looked to the forest, his hand sliding
nearly unnoticed towards his hip. “Think your friends are
coming?”

“What?”

“Someone’s coming this way.”

“How do you know that?” Dahlia stared at him,
puzzled.

“You can’t hear them?”

“I guess the forests make me hearing
impaired.” She looked behind her.

“Might be something you want to work on.”

Chapter Twelve

Jack’s camp was not far from Des’ preferred
spot. To Dahlia, after growing used to the forest, this camp looked
like civilization. Perhaps every man in the clearing had escaped
from somewhere, but the New Zealanders had done so with style. A
group of well-made tents surrounded a small cooking fire, and a pot
held over the top indicated no shortage of food. A few of the men
around the circle had cushions underneath them as they sat on the
ground. They had even managed a small laundry line strung between
the two tallest tents.

All of it made Dahlia feel she had joined the
wrong group. Jack called for his people to introduced themselves
including one named Benjamin.

“How far have you come?” Benny, the other
Benjamin, passed around some of the stew he had made.

“Counting the thousands of miles by plane?”
Des looked up.

Dahlia tuned out. She had listened politely
as everyone introduced themselves to each other. She was now more
than ready to sleep.

Jack touched her shoulder. “Did you want to
wash up? We have that soap, and Paul says he grabbed some clothes
last time he was finding food that might fit you.”

“New clothes? Seriously?”

He nodded.

“Yeah.” She scrambled to her feet. “Thank
you.”

He led her to one of the tents they had
erected at the camp. “Paul’s great at grabbing stuff. We’re miles
from town, but people go camping up river a little bit. Here, take
your pick.” He held the flap open.

She looked at the rack of clothes. “How’d he
get all of these?”

“I told you. He’s good at grabbing
things.”

“Including a metal clothing rack?”

“He has mysterious powers.”

Dahlia nodded, pushing them apart. “These are
even my size.”

“I’m telling you. Mysterious powers.” He
picked out a shirt and handed it to her. “I bet this would look
good on you.”

She frowned.

“What?”

“I can’t wear that.”

Jack looked at it. “Why not?”

“It’s blue.”

“And?”

“Royal blue.”

“I still don’t see the problem.” Jack smiled
and held the shirt in front of her. “It would look good with your
eyes.”

“Only legislators wear royal blue.”

Jack chuckled. “I think if we get ourselves
caught, you wearing the wrong color shirt would probably be the
least of our problems.”

“True,” Dahlia conceded, pulling off her old
shirt. “You wouldn’t have a new bra for me in there, would
you?”

Jack pulled something out. “Don’t know if
it’s the right size.”

Dahlia took it, checking the tag. “Eh, close
enough. Biggest thing is it’s clean.”

He watched her set the new shirt and bra on a
chair nearby and unhook the bra she wore to stand in profile.

She slid it off, pausing for a second. “I’m
sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable? I’m still getting used to
people caring when I take my clothes off.”

“No problem.” Jack found a new pair of pants
and underwear. “These should be about the right size.”

“Thanks.” Dahlia hooked the new bra behind
her back and took the clothes from him. “Did you get these tents
from the campsite too?”

“Not like we brought them with us from our
camps,” Jack said.

“Right.” She smiled sheepishly.

“Have you ever been to a camp? Our camps I
mean.”

Dahlia shook her head. “Can’t say I’ve had
the pleasure.”

“Not sure what pleasure there is to be had at
any of them.”

“I didn’t mean—”

He waved the rest of the sentence away. “Some
women left to go hiking a while ago. I imagine they were rather
confused when they came back to find their tents gone.”

“I’d imagine so. It traps the heat though
doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s why we tend to stay outside
during the day,” Jack said.

“You know, it probably would have been smart
for me to actually wash myself before beginning to change.” She
paused, halfway out of her pants. “I’m just going to get these
dirty right away in my state.”

“There’s another pond not far away,” he said.
“A deeper, cleaner one.”

“You’re very accommodating here.”

“We’ve been living here a while. We tried to
make ourselves comfortable.”

Kicking off the old pants, Dahlia then picked
up the new clothes he had given her. “Point me in the right
direction.”

“I’ll show you.” Jack held the tent flap open
for her. The voices around the campfire sounded louder and
engrossed in whatever was being discussed. Jack nodded the other
direction, allowing Dahlia to follow him. They walked in silence a
little ways.

Jack cleared his throat. “So you and
Benjamin...”

“Ben?” She looked at him.

“Your Benjamin, not ours.”

“Ben.” Dahlia nodded. “What about him?”

“Are you and him...?”

“Are we...?” she prompted.

“Together,” Jack finished.

Dahlia frowned. “Together for what?”

“Like a relationship.”

“You mean like marriage?” She paused for a
moment. “Heather’s been meaning to explain the whole marriage
concept to me.”

“It’s like that, but less serious,” Jack
said. “It’s more a trial for marriage.”