The Last Scarecrow

26 | BootHill

Erin struggled, desperately trying to prise Jack's fingers from her dungarees, kicking and squirming like a trapped animal.

Tomas ran a cold, twig-finger down her cheek. "The last human girl is finally here," he said.

A repulsive shudder writhed through Erin's bones.

What was happening? Where was here?

Erin badly needed Twelve at her side, but the exhausted scarecrow was no match for the wickermen right now.

Waking from sleep, Marshall's head appeared over the lip of the boat. He exploded into life, grabbing his rolling pin and almost toppling over the side of the boat as he ran towards Jack and Tomas.

"And what do we have here?" Tomas said, knocking the boy aside as he emerged from the water. "Don't tell me we have another human survivor. A boy, no less. My cup runneth over!"

The remaining wickermen filed onto the beach, forcing Erin and Marshall's arms into metal restraints.

Socks yelped helplessly as he was hoisted from Lazarus and taken to the shore.

Finally, Twelve was toppled into the water and dragged up the beach, her boots digging shallow trenches in the wet sand.

Jack stood shoulder to shoulder with Tomas, straightening his damaged cape and adjusting his stuffing.

"I'm sorry," he told Erin, as her head swung down to meet her chest. "I am. Truly. But I cannot live out the rest of my life in— this."

He was looking at his damp, stinking body again. Something black and shiny crawled out of his chest. Repulsed, he flicked it onto the ground, crushing it with his heel.

"There's nothing wrong with you," Erin told him. 'You're perfect—"

"—just the way I am, right?" Jack interrupted in a sing-song voice. "Grow up, Erin."

"You don't have to do this," she wailed.

Tomas laughed.

"I do," Jack went on. "Once I deliver you to The Patchwork Woman, she'll put me back in my human body."

"That's not your dream," Erin reminded him, quivering. "That's Tomas talking."

"That's where you're mistaken, little girl," Tomas said, kneeling beside Erin. "That dream was never mine. It was Jack's. Always Jack's. The Patchwork Woman's promise to return us to our human bodies was his idea, and his alone. Jack made believers of us all."

Erin ground her teeth.

Tomas' hand snaked down Erin's back and pulled at her belt.

"Get off!" she screamed. "That's mine."

But before she could stop him, Tomas stood back admiring the pistol she'd taken from HMS Fortitude.

"Goodness me," he said. "Didn't your parents ever warn you not to play with fire-arms?"

"Give it back," Erin snorted.

"Hardly," the wickerman laughed. "You could do some real damage with this thing. I know just the person to hold on to it for safe keeping."

"How could you do it?" Erin yelled at Jack, summoning every last ounce of strength. "How could you betray me? Betray us all? After everything!"

Jack rolled his shoulders.

"It's not personal," he said. "This is war. And I plan to survive."

Erin wriggled, desperate to be free.

"We're going for a little walk," Jack told her. "Follow me."

The wickermen shoved Erin onto her feet.

Jack and Tomas walked in front, the rest manoeuvring Twelve and Marshal behind.

The earth changed beneath her plimsoles. The wet sand vanished, replaced by a parched, arid dust. Erin glanced back as Twelve stumbled over blackened branches, two wickermen holding her long, tired arms. A weary look hung on the scarecrow's face. A rusty, grinding wail emerging from her mechanical joints.

Unease dwelled amongst the wickermen, muttering darkly to themselves. Erin tried to listen but only the occasional word registered. "Jack ... Patchwork ... Girl ... Boothill."

Twelve stumbled, almost collapsing to the ground.

Erin turned. Everyone stopped.

"What's wrong with her?" Tomas said.

Jack looked back at Twelve. "She's exhausted."

Tomas seemed to consider this. "But she's a scarecrow. I thought they had boundless energy with no need for food or rest. Like— a machine."

"There was a battle," Jack explained. "While we fought on the roof of The Crystal Tower, Twelve went to the bottom of the ocean to rescue the Non-Believers. Swimming up, she scaled The Scrapers and defeated Harunara on the rooftop. It appears the events really took it out of her."

Tomas rounded on his companion. "Do you have sympathy for her?"

"No," Jack replied spitefully. "Of course not."

Tomas was quiet for a moment. "You didn't— make friends, did you?"

Jack grabbed Tomas by the shoulder.

"No," he said, turning the wickerman away and whispering, "I tricked them all. I gained their trust, played on their kindness, made them feel sorry for me. Then I betrayed them. Friends? We were never friends."

His eyes left Tomas and fell on Twelve, Erin and Marshall.

"Never."

Tomas was on the move again.

"Good," he said. "Because what must come next would be almost impossible if you felt anything at all."

Jack strode up hill, his ragged cape billowing behind.

Erin dragged her feet up the broken path. Gravestones and strange burial monoliths sprouted from the ground either side. A dirty wooden fence, eroded by saltwater, lay collapsed to her right. Pebbles crunched beneath her plimsoles. The sky seemed to darken in that moment. The sun paling away towards the horizon where it would sleep for a handful of hours. Night— a dull, hazy gloom, advanced across the grey sky.

Ahead, the path split in two.

One track led to the summit of BootHill, where the Scaffold loomed, mean and imposing. The other led to a chapel.

"Everyone inside," barked Tomas.

"What are you doing to us?" said Erin, her voice panicked, her eyes roving around to find the scarecrow. "Twelve, are you okay?"

"If I were you, I'd be more worried about the coming moments of your own life," Tomas replied, not bothering to turn.

Erin wondered what that meant. What was there to be afraid of? The Patchwork Woman? Was she here? Erin couldn't be afraid of something she had never seen, never experienced, never understood. What kind of woman was she anyway? A witch, a magician, a sorceress dealing in the black arts?

She looked around at the three hills and the Scaffolds at their summits.

Jack trekked over to her, looking at the island formation. "The Devil's Fork," he said simply. "The very tip of BootHill. Most has been lost beneath the water— like everything else."

"What's the hold up?" snapped Tomas. "I want them inside."

"Jack," Erin whispered. "Please, this isn't you. I know it. Just—"

"Stop," he said quietly, raising a single wooden finger. "Just stop. I like you. All of you. But I like me more. I have to do this."

The door to the chapel opened.

Marshall was led inside.

The scarecrow followed.

Erin stopped in the doorway, her eyes finding the wickerman.

"Inside," Jack commanded. "She's waiting for you."