Plague Saint [REMOVING FOR PUBLICATION JUNE 1]

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Plagues and the People

Sunlight breached the horizon and flooded the city. It didn't take long for people to notice the blood splattered, limping, sword-wielding Saint smelling of smoke and death making her way toward the city square. When they called her name, asked for her help, she gestured for them to follow her. Her voice was getting hoarse, and she needed to save it.

The warm glow of the sun washed over City Hall, gleaming off the bronze dome on top. Winter climbed over the edge of the empty fountain opposite the front doors and pulled herself up to the top. People gathered around the edge. A few chanted "Plague Saint" until she lifted a hand to silence them.

Despite her bleeding and shaking and uncertainty, for a moment, she felt more in control than ever before in her life. She lifted her voice.

"I have come to save you from a new plague. White plague. There is a cure for it, and a cure for the other five plagues." She drew the first vial from the bag. "I've taken it to the hospital and given it to the doctors there."

A few concerned whispers. A woman directly below Winter, leaning over the fountain's edge, raised her voice. "Plague Saint, please, my son is dying—" Her outstretched hand trembled.

"There's more to the story. Please, hear me out." Winter tossed the vial into the woman's hand and reached for another. "I've brought you the cure, but there are people who oppose me. People who want to keep it for themselves. Your leaders, your city council, your hospital director—they are ready to poison you for their own gain. They put a contraption on the river to contaminate the water with the plagues. They will let you die so that they can live and get rich."

And this would be Marcus' biggest mistake. Whether he'd made himself into the Saint for glory, or the money, or purely to put himself in a position to experiment for his future plans, he'd created a figure outside of his control. Winter had always been disgusted with the people's worship of the Saint, but now she was going to use it to save them.

For a moment, clutching the vial in one hand and the sword in the other, looking down at the desperate faces that thought they were standing beneath some kind of savior, Winter felt a pang. Of hesitation, of disgust, of guilt, the wave of every terrible thing she'd done hitting her at once.

You're saving them. You're saving them. You have to do this.

She tossed another vial into the crowd. "Please, don't panic. You have nothing to fear anymore. The doctors at the hospital have the cure and the means to make more." Her resolve hardened. "And the people who wronged you will drop dead for their sins."

More vials went out into the crowd.

"Anyone who tries to work you to death, to use you for their gain, anyone who—"

"Plague Saint!" Ellen Bates' voice cut through the air.

The crowd shifted, and Winter glimpsed the doors of the city hall swinging shut behind Devil Pass' financial advisor. Bates was accompanied by two city guards. In fact, she appeared to be leaning on them for support.

"Clear a path," Winter ordered the crowd. "I'd like to speak to her."

Bates reached the foot of the fountain, and she looked even sicker than Winter had expected. "Plague Saint, what's happening? Everyone who took the cure—"

"Where's Mayor Atherton?" Winter demanded.

"He's in his office, with a doctor he called. He's in even a worse state than me. Please, do you have any idea what's happening?"

"You really think I'd let you all go through with your plans?" Winter demanded.

Bates' eyes widened. "What do you mean? Director Blackburn said—you were helping Adams—"

"Adams is dead because he hurt people. Same with George Gordon. And Forrest. And you'll all face the same fate."

Bates tried to climb into the empty fountain but collapsed. The guards reached out to help her. To Winter's surprise, the crowd moved forward to grab them. To stop them. One of the guards managed to get out his gun.

"Stop!" Winter shouted. Maybe she could stop this from getting more out of hand. "It's already too late for her."

She hoped the crowd would have the sense to back off at the sight of the guard's gun, but they pressed in. He aimed, but he had to know things weren't going to end well for him if he fired. right? He was outnumbered.

Bates pushed herself up but couldn't bring herself to a standing position. "Why me?" she asked.

"How many here know friends, family, neighbors who couldn't pay their hospital bills and were removed from their homes? Thrown in prison?"

People in the crowd shouted and raised their fists.

"You know where the money goes?" Winter asked. She pointed her blade at Bates. "The money that belongs to the people the city locked up? It goes to her. And with all that extra money sitting around, the money paying for food and drink at assembly meetings and maintaining the mansions on the east side, I find it funny that the hospital feels the need to charge hundreds of times the amount it spent failing to cure patients it had the means to save!"

The crowd was getting more and more agitated. The guard, who'd lowered his gun, spoke into a radio, calling for backup.

"And most of that money's not going to staff, the doctors and nurses. It's mostly been going to the director—"

Marcus Blackburn pushed his way to the front of the crowd. "This has gone on long enough." He held out a hand to help up Bates, but she was beyond saving now. She weakly sank to the ground, and Marcus didn't give her a second glance. His attention was solely focused on Winter, now.

Winter assessed him as well as she could from where she stood, perched at the top of the fountain. He wasn't in nearly as bad of shape as Bates. He'd probably had some extra cure stowed away somewhere just in case, but Winter couldn't help thinking he didn't look great either. Maybe that was just her hoping.

"Speak of the devil," Winter said. "I've taken your cure and given it to the people, Blackburn. And I won't let you poison them, either."

The crowd was rabid now, moments from turning on Blackburn. Winter held up a hand. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"You're making a mistake," Blackburn said. "You don't understand everything that's in motion. If all of the city elite drop dead of the plague—"

"That ship has sailed." Winter nodded at Bates. "She's not the first to succumb to the poison you made, and she won't be the last."

"Even you can't poison us all one by one," Marcus hissed. He hadn't figured it out then, had he? "You may have stolen our cure, but you're just one girl."

Winter's hand tightened around her blade's handle. "Are you going to expose my identity?"

"Nothing you can do will stop me. And the city guard is on their way to arrest you. All you've done is made a mess."

"I've saved lives. If I go to prison or even hell for that, fine by me."

Marcus climbed up onto the edge of the fountain. "I suggest you all disperse, before the city guard gets here and starts making arrests for rioting." His hand rested on a dagger at his side. "That person up there isn't a saint or a savior, she's just a foolish teenage girl named—"

"Sorry, Blackburn," Winter cut him off. Her hand moved up the edge of her mask. "You're not getting any more victories, if I can help it. Besides, don't you know a person can be more than one thing?"

She pulled off the hat. The mask.

"My name is Winter Pierce, I am your Plague Saint, and I am going to save Devil's Pass."