"I'm not afraid." It's a lie, but she's pretty good at lying when she needs to be. The only problem is, this isn't one of her better attempts. Even if Byerly's a jackass, his guesses at her moods and motivations haven't been far from the truth.

But the alternative to standing there, stiff-jawed and daring him to doubt her, turns her stomach. Gorman's dead, and with him ought to go the memory of his breath on her neck, his hand sliding up her side. They killed him--Beth killed him, even if it was Joan's corpse that ripped him open, because there was no way she could let him walk out of there alive. She'd have ended up just like Joan, willing to stare down death rather than endure his grasp. She's not going to resurrect him now, even just to tell a story. She's not going to explain why having a coat shoved into her hands reminds her of the taste of sugar and someone else's saliva.

And even if she wanted to, she wouldn't do it in the middle of camp. People here are drunk, but they might not be that drunk.