Read The Final Trade for Free Online

sitting in a kitchen in the middle of a wasteland discussing poisons.”
    Wen smiles sadly. “We’re going to be all right.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. And we’re taking Fitz with us when we go.”
    “Well we can’t very well leave him behind; he’s the damn gate guard, you know.”
    “I know.”
    “What if I would’ve fallen in love with a tightrope walker?”
    “I would’ve gently steered you away. Performers are always heartbreakers.”
    “Damn fine asses on those guys though.”
    She shoves him and turns to the stove and the dishes lining the counter. “Let’s finish packing up. They’ll be tearing down soon.”
    They work together without speaking, their movements those of practiced dance partners, never getting in the other’s way. Always moving. Like a comet ,she thinks, sealing off a huge container of flour.
    But the question that sometimes keeps her awake at night is what happens when a comet collides with something?

5
    Zoey watches the mule deer through the scope, centering the crosshairs behind its front shoulder.
    “Distance is slightly less than five hundred yards,” Ian whispers beside her. They lie prone with only inches between them, Ian’s rifle resting on a rock, its stock tucked tightly into Zoey’s shoulder. “Two minutes of angle up.”
    Zoey makes the adjustment on the scope. “Wind?”
    “Negligible.”
    “You should be doing this. You’re the better shot.”
    “The best way to learn is to do.”
    “It’s kind of critical. We’re almost out of food.”
    “Then you better not miss.”
    She hears the smile in his voice and silently curses him, tucking the stock tighter to her cheek. Even at five hundred yards the deer nearly fills up the scope’s circle. She can make out a tuft of uneven hair on the back of its neck, possibly an old injury. We all have scars ,she thinks before beginning to breathe slower.
    The deer takes a step, pausing in its grazing on the plain below the outcropping. It turns its head in their direction, antlers catching a glint of sun.
    Zoey’s eye begins to water. She blinks.
    The deer drops its head to feed again.
    She breathes out. Holds it.
    Two heartbeats pass as she squeezes the trigger.
    The rifle nudges her shoulder as the shot resounds across the plain. There were fourteen deer in the small herd they followed to the rocky perch. As the shot echoes and rebounds off the closest canyon walls, thirteen run away.
    “Beautiful shot,” Ian says, getting to his feet and stowing the rangefinder in a pocket. “Clean. He didn’t know what hit him.”
    “How long will it keep us fed?”
    “Depends on what weight he dresses out at. But we’ve been traveling for three days and this should definitely last us for at least two more.”
    Zoey stands, crossing the rifle’s sling over her chest so the weapon rests against her back. Her hair has escaped her hat and flutters on the back of her neck in the breeze. Behind their perch the land drops away, coasting out over two small foothills dotted with evergreens. Past the trees the indefinite line of road curves in and out of sight, winding through the mountains ahead. And somewhere on the other side: Riverbend.
    “I’ll radio Merrill and have him bring the Suburban. We can camp in the trees for the night,” Ian says, beginning to make his way down the side of the outcropping. He speaks into the small radio he carries. After several minutes they reach the gradual curve of the plain, passing over loose and broken shale that’s sheared from the side of the hill over the years.
    “I never said thank you for teaching me how to shoot,” Zoey says after they’ve walked for a while.
    “You already knew how to shoot when I met you. You just needed some adjustments.”
    “A lot of adjustments.”
    “Not so many. I’ve taught dozens with much worse aim than you.”
    “Thank you anyway.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    They come to a stop a dozen paces from the fallen mule deer. Zoey examines Ian, the late