by N. C. Reed
“We ran. We ran so hard, but . . . we were already tired. Already worn down. Hadn't been eating good and . . . Cindy, she fell. Hit her knee hard on the asphalt. I didn't realize it at first since I was about two steps ahead of her, but I heard her call me and I stopped, looking back.”
“There were maybe . . . ten, twelve guys chasing us and they were almost on us,” Mattie was crying now. “Cindy had this hopeless look on her face, trying to get up but her . . . her knee was . . . she couldn't walk,” Mattie sobbed just a bit. “I . . . I ran,” she finally broke down. “We've been friends, teammates for two years and I . . . I just left her because I knew I couldn't help her and . . . and I didn't want them to catch me,” she sobbed, head falling into her hands as she shuddered. Abby and Sam immediately got up and enveloped their old classmate in a hug, holding her tight as she released the anguish she had been holding for no telling how long. Neither knew how long they had stood there when Mattie finally calmed a bit, patting each one on the arm.
“I ran,” she whispered. “I left her and I ran away.”
“Mattie, there wasn't anything else you could do,” Abby told her firmly. “You already said she couldn't walk, let alone run. If you had gone back then all that would have changed would be that both of you would have been caught. Nothing else. She was already in trouble and you, at least, still had a chance. There is nothing wrong with saving yourself from a hopeless situation.”
“If we had only been paying attention,” Mattie was shaking her head. “If we had . . . we should have stopped. Hid. We should have waited, or else gone around the next morning. But we were talking and not paying attention and . . . and Cindy paid for it. May still be paying for it, for all I know.”
“I'm sorry about your friend, Mats,” Sam used an old nickname from high school for her friend. “But Abs is right. All going back would have done is delivered you into their hands. And I can tell you from first-hand experience that isn't where you want to be.”
“You?” Mattie looked up at her. “Around here?” Her look of surprise was closer to shock.
“You were just telling us how bad things were out there,” Abby pointed out, sitting back down, closer this time. “Why think it would be any different here?”
“I just . . . I mean I never thought . . . ” Mattie stumbled a bit at that. “Here,” she shook her head slowly. “Have either of you seen my folks?” she asked suddenly. Up until now she had assumed she was going to be able to make it home to her family. Now she wasn't so certain.
“No, but . . . a lot has happened since this started,” Abby sighed. “I guess we have a story to tell too. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable. Safer,” she added. “And we are safe here, Mattie. I promise. I can't tell you anywhere else is safe, not around here close, but here? Here is safe. My uncle Clay has made sure of that.”
With that the three girls retired to Abby's room where they lay across the beds and shared tales with one another.
***
“And how is our guest doing?” Clay asked, walking up on Zach, who was sitting with his back against the armored car, cleaning his rifle.
“Loud for a while but I think her throat went dry at some point,” Zach shrugged as he finished reassembling his rifle. He took the time to reload it before continuing.
“I have learned a few new words, though,” he grinned, standing. “She's a real mouthful, that one.”
“Fuck you!” a raspy female voice tried to shout but it came out as more of a harsh stage whisper.
“That isn't one of them,” Zach snorted, the grin getting larger. “Probably need to hose her down at some point,” he wrinkled his nose.
“I figure,” Clay nodded. “Well, you’ll be relieved soon. We’ll leave her here until tomorrow I guess and then see if she has anything she wants to say. If not we’ll try the day after that. Sooner or later she’ll either talk to us or die. One or the other.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Zach agreed. Clay didn't quite frown at that. He had been more or less joking, but apparently Zach either caught it and was playing along, or else he didn't care one way or another. And since he didn't smile at Clay when he said it, Clay was pretty sure he wasn't just playing along.
“Who's relieving me?” Zach asked.
“Thug,” Clay replied, leaving for later his concerns for Zach. “He's getting chow right now and will be out as soon as he's finished. We’ll fold her into Ground Watch tomorrow if she doesn't talk, but we’ll keep her here under observation for tonight. You can get supper once he gets here.”
“Awesome,” Zach nodded. “Getting hungry about the time you walked up.”
“You don't feed prisoners around here?” the stage whisper came again.
“Do you feed prisoners where you keep them?” Clay asked, walking over and kneeling down to look at the woman. She seemed shocked to be spoken to after so long. She had screamed herself hoarse long ago.
“Who said we had prisoners?” she demanded of him.
“So you just kill everyone you rob then,” Clay nodded slowly. “Good to know.”
“I never said that!”
“So which is it then?” Clay asked. “Either you take prisoners from the people you attack or you don't. It's pretty much a yes or no question.”
“I never said we attacked anyone!”
“We already know you do so we didn't ask,” Clay told her. “We're listening to your people on the radio now, thanks to your notebook. Seems like there are a lot of you out there, looking for the next mother lode, as one put it.” Deuce had heard that phrase once as he swept over the radio frequencies in the notebook taken from the woman. Apparently her group wasn't nearly as lax on radio security as her own small outfit had been with their physical security.
He saw the woman's face tighten at the phrase 'mother lode'. Apparently it came from someone she knew.
“Anyway,” Clay stood. “Since you can't answer me, I guess we're done here. Might feed you tomorrow, if we feel like it. Gotta admit though, that bunch of yours that hit us a while back kinda left a bad impression, so most people here would be more likely to vote to let you starve. It is cheaper than a bullet, anyway. I'd say have a good night but . . . I doubt you will under the circumstances. Sleep tight now.” And with that moved back out of her line of sight.
“I’ll kill you,” she rasped, trying to see him over her shoulder. “I swear I’ll kill you!”
“I've heard that one before, too,” Clay laughed. “Still here. Look, just face it. You fucked up. Your entire group fucked up, really, but you in particular. You happened to pick on the one group anywhere nearby that can destroy you. Let that keep you warm tonight, by the way. If you had left us alone, we'd be none the wiser and wouldn't care. You'd still be free to go about killing and robbing and what not. Instead, your friends are extra crispy on the Interstate and you're laying there in your own waste. I bet when you woke up this morning that wasn't how you thought today would go, am I right? Anyway. See you in the morning!” he finished cheerfully.
“Cool,” Zach chuckled under his breath.
“See you later kid,” Clay slapped Zach on his shoulder as he walked away. “Have a good evening.”
“Bet on it.”
***
Abby had waited until Mattie was asleep before seeking out her mother.
“How is your friend, Abigail?” Patricia asked in the flickering candlelight.
“She's fucked up, mom,” Abby said softly, surprising her mother with her language.
“How do you mean?”
Abby quickly explained Mattie's recounting of how she had lost the girl she had been traveling with.
“Poor girl,” Patricia sighed. “I'm afraid the world is full of that story at the moment, dear.”
“I think she probably needs to talk to Beverly before she tries to go home,” Abby nodded. “Assuming her home is still there.”
“You should mention it to Beverly, tomorrow, and see if she can suggest some way to bring it up to Mattie,” Patr
icia advised.
“I was hoping you might do that,” Abby said hesitantly, fidgeting slightly.
“Why?”
“I don't have the best relationship with the people over there,” Abby admitted. “Remember how things went with the baby-sitting gig,” she added.
“Oh, I remember,” her mother told her. “One doesn't forget hearing how a child she raised treats children as a grown up.” Abby's face flushed at the slight barb, visible even in the candlelight.
“I'm sorry I embarrassed you,” Abby said truthfully. “But the fact remains that Mattie needs help, and I am the last person they want to see over there. So can you, please, mention to Beverly tomorrow that Mattie might benefit from talking to her. Assuming she's willing?”
“Beverly or Mattie?” Patricia asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes. Both. Either,” Abby threw out answers as fast as she thought of them.
“Very well,” Patricia agreed finally. “But you might find that after the fire, you aren't quite as unpopular as you thought,” her mother added cryptically. Abby looked at her for a moment before what her mother had said sank in. When it did, she perked up a bit.
“Really?”
“Really,” Patricia nodded, rising to get ready for bed. “You saved their homes, too, you know,” she kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Good night dear.”
“Thanks mom,” Abby said softly. “Night.”
CHAPTER THREE
Emily Shirley sputtered awake as she inhaled a nose full of water, opening her mouth in time to get the full effect of a second bucket of ice cold water being thrown on her. She promised herself that Eugene, it had to be Eugene, was going to pay for dousing her with-
“I think she's awake now,” she heard a male voice say. “Poor thing almost drowned,” the voice continued, the tone mocking rather than sympathetic. Her awareness of where she was came crashing back down upon her as Emily remembered the events of the previous day. Eugene and the rest of her squad were dead and she had been captured by the very people they had been casing. Following in order to set up an attack on them.
“Should sleep with her mouth closed,” a different voice said as she tried to blink the water out of her eyes in order to see what was around her. Her body was screaming at her in pain, hunger and thirst. Her wrists were rubbed raw from pulling at her restraints and her ankles ached from the strain of trying to take the burden off her wrists when she was awake. During her fitful sleep her legs had relaxed, placing the burden on her shoulders and wrists once more. Her abrupt awakening and the attempts at moving had brought what had been a dull ache in her muscles and joints roaring to her attention as near blinding pain and she couldn't help the whimper that escaped her lips before she could catch it.
“Wow, she's gonna need a bath one day,” a third voice, this one a woman's, came to her ears. All of the speakers were outside her field of vision, most of which was occupied by the enormous wheel of a converted school bus. Her position had moved during the night without her even realizing it.
“Yeah, she's pretty ripe,” the first voice agreed and Emily felt a blush spread across her face. In a sudden moment of clarity, she realized how the women her uncle and the others had taken for 'entertainment purposes' must have felt in their enforced captivity.
“I wouldn't be if you people allowed someone to take a piss once in a while!” she yelled. Or tried to. What actually came out was more of a strangled cry that hurt her dry throat. She had thoughtlessly spat out the mouthful of water she had caught from her 'dousing' instead of swallowing it. It might have given her poor throat some minor relief.
“She sounds like a kitten crying for her mamma,” the female voice laughed. Emily wondered how another woman could laugh at seeing the dilemma she was in until she once more remembered the women her own group had taken, and how callous the women of their group had treated them. Another taste of what those women had endured.
“So she does,” the first male voice agreed. “Give her a spin,” he ordered. Emily felt someone grab her ankles and pull, a raspy scream of pain tearing from her already injured throat as she was unceremoniously pulled around to face her captors, still bound as she had been the day before.
“Here,” someone said and thrust a baby bottle at her mouth. Without thinking she dodged it, only realizing as it was withdrawn that it contained water.
“Guess she's not as thirsty as we thought,” the man shrugged as he stood.
“No, wait,” Emily begged even as the man opened the bottle and upended it right in front of her, pouring the precious water onto the ground before her eyes. Without thinking she actually tried to catch any of it should could on her tongue, to no avail. Her captors found this highly entertaining.
“Should you believe we are enjoying this, you would be correct,” a slender man with a wide brimmed hat told her, his eyes viciously empty. “You and your little band were following us with the intent of killing us and taking our possessions, possibly taking our women prisoner for your own uses in the act. You’ll find sympathy for your situation in short supply.”
“Fuck you!” she managed to croak. She had to be strong. The strong survived.
“Not the way you smell, honey,” a man wearing a black cowboy hat snorted and the rest laughed at his tone. “No offense, really. I'd like to think I'm not that vain, but, while beauty may only skin deep, stink cuts to the bone. Man has to have standards.” More laughter at her expense. She distracted herself by imagining all the ways she was going to hurt these people once she was free and had help from her group. The man with the empty eyes knelt before her and she couldn't help looking at him, try as she might to avoid that gaze. It made her feel like a rabbit, looking at a wolf.
“I am quite sure you are busy considering all the ways you plan to get even with us once your present circumstances have improved,” his cultured accent spoke of softness, and she would have believed it if not for those eyes.
“I can assure you that your little fantasy is just that,” he continued. “A fantasy. You aren't going to escape, and should you manage to get free of your bonds you would not get far before you were either shot or else the dogs got you. Either way ends with you in the ground, forgotten.
“You do have the slimmest of chances to survive, however. That slim chance rests on you telling us what we want to know. Should you choose to do that then you may very well manage to extend your miserable life a few days, giving you the chance to convince someone that it would be profitable to keep you alive. Personally I consider that possibility fleeting, yet the chance does exist. So, with that in mind I would consider carefully the next few times someone comes to offer you water or to speak to you. Learning to control that uncouth mouth of yours is the first step in perhaps alleviating this painful situation you have placed yourself in. We will allow you to think on that in privacy for a while. Do enjoy your view,” he finished as he made a motion to someone she couldn't see. Before she could say anything she found herself hauled back around by her ankles to once more face the wheel of the bus.
“Damn you!” she rasped.
“A bit late for such sentiment my dear,” the voice was mocking and gentle. “I was damned long before you ever made the mistake of crossing my path.”
And then, she was alone again. Or at least she thought she was. Anyone and everyone from these vehicles could be standing behind her and she wouldn't know it. Her already present feeling of helplessness was gaining a new neighbor as she prepared to spend even more time bowed in the painful arch she'd been tied in; hopelessness.
She managed, barely, to bite back a sob that fought to escape her tortured throat, less someone hear it and consider it a sign of weakness. Only the strong would survive. She would not allow them the satisfaction.
She wouldn't.
***
“Thought she'd have broken by now,” Kevin Bodee said as he followed Clay, Xavier, Shane and Sienna Newell away from where their 'friend' was being kept.
“Not that one,�
�� Xavier said absently. “There is a bit of iron in her. She will last a day or two more, in all likelihood. Pity.”
“X,” Clay said gently. “This isn't the place or the time.”
“I well understand that, sir,” Xavier promised, ever on his best behavior. “No worries.”
“Am I missing something?” Newell asked, looking from one man to the next.
“No,” the reply came in unison from Bodee and Clay.
“Not at all,” Xavier smiled at her, and despite the apparent friendliness of the action, Newell shivered ever so slightly.
“We're just speculating,” Clay told her, trying to change her attention from Xavier to something else. Anything else. “Speaking of, I noticed one of the people that came with you walking a dog?” he asked. “Was that you?”
“A Malinois,” Newell nodded. “Yes. She was a service dog candidate that didn't pan out. I was afraid she would be put down, so I adopted her. Kandi has another one, in fact. Same litter.”
“Is hers female?” Clay tried not to let his excitement show.
“Yeah,” Newell nodded.
“I guess they were spayed?” he asked carefully.
“No,” Newell frowned at the odd question. “They would have been if they had made the cut, of course. But since they didn't, the breeder didn't bother with the expense. Neither of us wanted to do it either. Not because of the expense but because they were both so pretty. Might have wanted pups one day if the world hadn't collapsed.”