Plague Saint

Chapter Thirty-Two: Breaking

Winter lifted her hands as the mob swarmed the riverbank. "The poison in the contraption has been replaced with cure, but the threat isn't gone. We need to get rid of those buckets."

The guards not directly next to Winter moved to form a line in front of the contraption. The leader fired his gun into the sky. The warning shot was enough to make the mob pause and quiet down.

"Leave now," the guard ordered. "This is city guard business and it is being handled. Anyone attempting to intervene will be dealt with appropriately."

Winter lifted her chin. "If you fire at them, the station will be destroyed within hours. And you'll all fall to the plague. The entire city will." She spoke the words as if she could make them come true with sheer willpower.

The guards hesitated. The mob hesitated. Winter even felt a flicker of uncertainty. She'd thought she could overwhelm the guard with the mob and escape, but if even one guard fired and got an innocent person killed—

But Marcus was still out there.

But—

Winter glanced at the sword and her bag lying a few feet away. She wanted to do the right thing. What the hell was the right thing? Could she even do right, anymore?

"Marcus can't save you," Winter told the guards. "If he lets the plague out, no one will be able to control it."

"Didn't you let it out by poisoning everyone at the meeting?" Phoebe asked bitterly. "You have no control over who they spread it to. You really think no one else will get killed?" She gestured toward the armed guards. "Tell the mob to back off before you make this worse."

"They wouldn't dare shoot innocent citizens," Winter tried.

The leader didn't lower his gun. "We don't want to, but we'll do whatever it takes to enforce the law."

Winter looked at the mob. Whatever it takes. Whatever it took to stop Marcus, whatever it took to—

To save herself. She'd gotten herself into this. She couldn't use them to get herself out.

Winter lifted a burned hand. "This is over." She'd go to prison, a dozen council members and business owners would die, and Marcus Blackburn would get his cure. He'd keep running the hospital, keep doing what he could to put his vision in place. And people would rise up to take the places of Atherton and the other council members who died today. Would they do any better?

The mob still hung at the edges of the trees, all but frozen in time.

"I'm sorry," Winter said, quiet enough that only Phoebe and River could hear.

"That hardly makes up for what you've done—" Phoebe started.

"Not for everything else I've done. For breaking my promise."

"Bit late for that, too."

"No, this is an advanced apology." Winter lowered her hand. "Marcus Blackburn is still out there, and he won't stop as long as he lives."

Phoebe's voice rose to a shriek. "Winter, no, please—"

"We won't let them take our lives," Winter said, her own voice lifting. "We won't let them poison us any longer."

And then, somewhere in the crowd, someone screamed those two words that had twisted their way into the city's heart: Plague Saint.

The words spread through the crowd, the chanting returned, and the mob pressed forward.

Despite what they'd said earlier, the guards quickly realized they were outnumbered and had no prayer of stopping the mob. They backed away, becoming divided within moments.

Winter grabbed the sword and ran. She tried to push the shouting behind her from her mind, focused only on reaching the boat and figuring out what Marcus was doing.

She wasn't moving fast enough. Her pain was slowing her, her legs refused to cooperate. She struggled for each breath.

When the boat did finally come into view, it was too soon. Winter stopped and stared, mouth agape. The roar of an engine cut through the air. The boat fought the current with surprising ease as it moved up the river.

Before Winter could begin to formulate some semblance of a plan, something moved in the undergrowth behind her. She spun around as Atherton emerged, brushing leaves off his tattered red suit and waving a gun.

"I'm going to kill you!" he hissed.

"You idiot, you're going to drop dead any second." Still, Winter found it hard to swallow her fear. Even if he was weak, all Atherton had to do was fire once and get lucky with his aim. "I can save you. There's still leftover cure, just up the river." Winter hated herself for bargaining with him, but she just needed to keep him from shooting her.

"After everything you've done? I'm not going to let you trick me again!"

"Why kill me when you could just make me get you the cure—?"

"Shut up!" Atherton hissed. "Did you miss the part where I said I have a gun?"

"What are you going to do, shoot the plague out of yourself?"

That was a mistake. Atherton fired. The bullet missed Winter by nearly twenty feet. Oh, good, his aim was shit.

"Seriously, Atherton, are you stupid? I'm your only chance at survival," Winter told him. "I'm the Plague Saint."

His bruised hands shook violently. Blood stained the front of his jacket. "Really? Because I'm under the impression you're a fraud."

She had to take the risk. No time for anything else.

"Well." Winter's voice shifted from pleading to icy in a heartbeat. "No one will ever know the difference."

She swung the blade.

She was running again before Atherton's body even hit the ground. She was barely faster than Marcus' boat. Barely. Up ahead, she could see the tree leaning out over the river that she'd hit the night she fell in.

She crept out across the tree, navigating the branches with as much speed as she could muster. Marcus' shadow was just visible in the cabin of the boat. Winter stood at the edge of the tree and watched it approach.

When the boat was in reach, she tossed her sword onto the deck. She jumped and grabbed the railing. The cold of the metal was a shock, and the burns on her hands screamed as they twisted around the bars.

She slammed into the side of the boat and yelped in pain. For a moment, all she could think was that she was going to fall and drown and die. Sheer panic flooded her. Her first attempt to pull herself up failed, and she nearly slipped, sending another jolt of fear through her. Screaming from the effort, she tried again. Her foot found the edge of the deck, and she moved her hands up the railing to pull herself over.

She couldn't even pick up the sword, she was shaking so bad.

The door to the cabin swung open, and Marcus stepped out.