Clay stood. "Not safe to talk here – let's go get some lunch."
"No time to eat."
"Hmpf," Clay guffawed. "There is always time to—"
"Kait—" Micah cleared his throat. "Lucy is back at camp."
"Is the girl crazy?"
Micah's step faltered. "In the literal sense – yes. I think she’s headed that way."
"Well, nothing beats crazy." Clay gestured to a group of One Less. "Like more crazy."
Micah furrowed his eyebrow.
"What I mean to say," Clay continued, "is what I've witnessed being with One Less the past couple of years – well, it's just gonna take a madman to take them down." Clay lowered his voice, "Or a madwoman."
Micah put his hand on Clay's shoulder. "I know it's been rough, but you've been invaluable for us. Thanks for sticking with it."
They turned off the mall toward the headquarters building.
"Don't thank me 'til it's over," Clay said. "Let's just hope you guys have a plan."
"We do…" Micah trailed off and the men stopped walking.
There, off to the side of a working party was Kaitlyn, sprawled out in a beat up armchair. Her arms behind her head, eyes closed, in plain view of headquarters – not to mention the entire street.
"Is that part of the plan?" Clay asked, arms crossed.
Micah didn't answer. He walked toward Kaitlyn, his shadow falling over her, blocking out the sun.
She opened one eye, looking up at him – then over at Clay.
"What are you doing?" Micah asked.
"Working party," Kaitlyn answered, closing her eyes again.
The group nearby was disassembling a couch with their axes. They were glancing her way, whispering. Micah was positive he heard the phrase 'wild dog'.
If Kaitlyn is going to develop eccentric characteristics – fine. Time to put them to good use.
"Come on, then. I have an idea." Micah held out his hand.
Kaitlyn stretched, yawned, and sat up. She picked up the axe leaning against the armchair and slammed the handle inside a gaping hole. The footrest snapped back into place. Kaitlyn stood, swinging the axe to rest on her shoulder.
As the trio walked away, someone from the working party – a tall male – stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, miss."
Kaitlyn paused.
Micah looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Her lips were moving, counting to three. Micah smiled – if there was anything Kaitlyn could do well, it was drama.
She finally turned, staring down the man.
He flinched and took a step back. "You know – that’s ok. Keep it."
Kaitlyn nodded once and left the area. "What?" she asked Clay as soon as they were out of earshot of the working group. "I like the axe."
He snorted, "Your wrist is bleeding."
Kaitlyn looked down at the seeping bandages. "Totally worth it."
"So what's the plan?" Clay asked.
"We've gotta shake things up a bit—" Kaitlyn started.
"After we get new bandages," Micah interrupted.
"Okay." Kaitlyn winked up at him. "First aid first – then the show."
* * *
Sue, the town healer, unwrapped my bandaged wrist and asked, "How long ago did this happen?"
"Um, maybe a week."
"Your wrist isn't healing nearly as quickly as it should be." Sue got up from her seat at the table and began running her finger over the line of jars behind her. Clay and Micah stood behind me, patiently waiting.
I glanced at Clay, and whispered, "Why didn't we go to the One Less medics?"
Clay mouthed a word.
I rolled my eyes. "I can't read lips through all that hair."
He cleared his throat, leaned in, and hissed in my ear, "Shawn."
"Oh…" I glanced at Micah for confirmation. Micah held up one hand, pointing to his palm.
Right. Shawn must've been getting treatments for his hands.
Outside the camp, Sue had taken up residence in a small coffee shop on the mall. The hand-painted sign out front read, 'Alternative Medicine'.
I narrowed my eyes at the lady, still scanning her shelves. Thanks to Shawn, I was stuck with her and her jars, and her—
A fat, white feline jumped on the table.
"Cat!" I jumped back.
Two heavy hands gripped my shoulders, holding me in place. Micah and Clay pushed me forward, back to the table.
"Geez," I huffed, pushing hair out of my face. "I'm not going to bolt."
"Hmm," mumbled Clay.
Suddenly I felt claustrophobic.
The cat turned to me, blinked once, then jumped off the table. She made herself comfortable on top of a stack of books in the corner.
"Abby likes you," Sue said, sitting back down at the table across from me and placing a jar filled with reddish-orange flowers, soaking in a liquid, in between us.