by K. A Knight
I manage to find some old maps from Nan who was hiding them with her underwear and knives—I didn’t even question that one. “So you’ve been up there?” I ask as I sip my water in the canteen. I’ve put a request in for rations. The system here is changing thanks to Worth, and it works better now. Everyone has their allotted food, and you can always have extra, but it means no one goes hungry and no one has to fight for it.
“Once.” She shrugs, tossing back her drink. I think nothing of it until she pulls a flask from her cardigan and grins at me. “Ya want some, girlie?”
“What is it?” I ask curiously.
“Fooking unicorn piss,” she answers and tips some into my drink anyway. “It’s good for ye.”
I take a sip and cough all over her, making her cackle as others stare. “Fooking—I mean fucking hell, woman, that’s like goddam tar.”
“Aye, but it will put hair on ye chest.” She nods seriously.
“Why in the world would I want that? I have enough with the hair that grows on my legs and even my toes.”
She shrugs and keeps drinking. My mouth and throat still burn from the sip I took. No wonder her and Worth get on—they both drink the strong shit. “So up north,” I prompt.
“Aye, go past the massive fooking castle that tosspot Ivar used to live in. Should be empty, but I wouldne recommend staying there… Maybe in the old houses around it. Too much death, too many fooking ghosts.” She shivers. “Then ye keep fooking going, until ye don’t think you can no more. Until ye think the world is almost ending and ye exhausted and sweating and about to give up.”
“Sounds charming,” I deadpan.
She shrugs. “It’s a lawless world, kid. You only go up there to die or be left alone. If ye have men up there causing trouble, ye can bet they won’t be as soft as these scavs.”
“Soft?” I look around at the scavs in question, all massive fighters covered in more scars than even Worth.
“Aye, lass, soft. They are true survivors. Many stayed up there from when the world ended. They need no one or nothing. They live off the land and are almost feral, but not cannibals, I don’t think. Just be careful and don’t go in there cocky.” She stands then, grabbing my glass and drinking it for me. “And don’t get dead. Worth wouldn’t like that, and that girl has been through enough.”
I watch her waddle away, but when a scav accidentally falls against her, she turns quicker than a snake and punches him in the face, knocking him out cold before walking away.
I don’t know about what she said, but she is the scariest son of a bitch out there.
After making sure the food is organised and double-checking the maps, I find myself drifting to the shop, which is basically a hut in the corner outside to repair bikes. Only Archel is in there. The sides and top are shielded from the sun, but the front is open to roll the bikes in. There’s no one around as I stop and gawk, running my eyes over his naked torso. He’s taken his shirt off, his muscles clenching as he does something to my bike. Sweat drips down his back and abs as he moves, and his hair is slicked back, his jeans tight.
My pussy takes that moment to remember the offer he made me.
He must feel my eyes on him, because he glances over his shoulder, his blue orbs sparkling when he sees me. “Hey, Princess, came to give me a hand?”
“No, that’s your job—or mouth, or cock,” I reply as I step into the hut and hop onto the workbench in the back.
He frowns for a minute in confusion and then it clicks. He surges to his feet and grabs my thighs, almost dragging them off the workbench as his lips crash onto mine.
We have to be quick so we don’t get caught, but with the sun shining down on us and his lips on mine, I don’t care about anything but being with my shadow. He groans into my mouth, the masculine sound so deep and rumbling, it makes me shiver. His hands slide up my thighs to the buttons of my jeans, and without even breaking the kiss, he flicks them open and pushes his hand inside. He quickly pushes my panties out of his way and strokes my pussy, making me moan into his mouth.
My shadow knows exactly where to touch, his thumb rubbing my clit before he teases me and strokes across my center and back up again. His caresses are soft, making me grind into his hand, but it’s not enough.
Ripping my mouth away, I glare at him. “Stop messing around and fuck me.”
“Always so demanding, Princess,” he teases, nipping my lips.
“You know it. Now get it out.”
“How romantic,” he deadpans. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
“Shut up and fuck me.” I laugh, and he groans as he steps back, unzipping his jeans and pulling out his hard cock. I swallow, wordless, as I stare at his huge length, wiggling on the table as I wait for him to fuck me hard and fast.
I want quick and hungry, not loving and slow, and in his eyes, I see the same. He wants to fuck, to rut, and I am down for it. He steps towards me and yanks on my jeans, and we get them off together, my panties too. He throws my clothes over my bike to stop them from getting dirty and then steps between my parted thighs.
He kisses me hard, making me lose myself in his mouth as his hand strokes my pussy again. But I don’t want his hand, I want his cock. I reach down and palm it, squeezing it as he groans into my mouth. He takes the hint, pulling my thighs wider apart. Moving between them, Archel presses the head of his cock to my hole, slowly pushing in with a slow, measured thrust. He fights my tight channel as he pulls out and pushes back in over and over, sinking deeper each time until he’s finally balls deep. His huge cock spears me, and he remains unmoving as I writhe.
He holds me there, on the verge of frustration, until I bite his lip hard, and then he finally relents. Archel pulls out and slams in, slowly at first as our mouths fight for dominance. My shadow always makes sure he never pushes me too far, never hurts me. He keeps me here with him as he speeds up, fucking me harder and faster. Our breaths mingle together as I pull back on a moan, my eyes closing as I lose myself in him.
“Stay with me, Princess,” he snarls, and I force my eyes open, holding his gaze.
I drip down his dick, wild for his soft hands on my hips, even as he fucks me so hard, it almost hurts, only making me want it that much more. I know he will never take it too far. He will always protect me, even from himself and his desires.
But I want those desires.
He leans down, nipping and licking any skin he can reach. Each thrust hits that spot inside of me, pushing me higher and higher. The pleasure surges through me, making my heart race and clit throb, and then he finally touches it.
His fingers stroke across my thighs to my cunt, rubbing my clit, fast and quick, matching his thrusts. It throws me over the edge, and I cry out my release. My pussy clenches around him, but he doesn’t stop, forcing his cock through my fluttering channel. His teeth dig into my shoulder, and one orgasm tumbles into another until he grunts and stills as he fills me with his release, and I slump in post orgasmic bliss. I wear a smile as Archel brushes his lips up my throat and kisses me softly.
“I love you,” he breathes against them, and I smile wider.
“I love you too,” I purr, leaning into him as we hold each other through the aftershocks. When we have calmed down, he pulls from my pussy, leaving me feeling good and fucked.
Kissing him softly, I grin and hop off the table to get dressed and back to work. “Thanks for the orgasm break, now back to work,” I order, slapping his ass as I pass.
After cleaning up, I leave Archel to finish the bikes with a huge grin on his face as he whistles, the smug bastard. I would be mad at how cheery he is, but damn if I don’t have a dopey, satisfied smile on my face.
It’s scary how good that man is at everything. The big three—sex, killing, and…I forgot the last one.
I check on the others, and the day passes quickly. It’s almost nightfall when everything is prepared, so we decide to just bite the bullet and leave tonight. It’s going to be a long drive, and the sooner we can get there, the b
etter. Less bodies, less chaos. Also, I was a little bored just sitting around here. I always have to be moving, or Jago says I get into trouble. It’s usually with him, though, so I think he may be biased.
I say goodbye to Worth and, surprisingly, Clarissa, who is definitely starting to like me. She warns me to be careful up there, and as someone who has lived her life on the road, I take it seriously. She also gives me some good ideas of where to stop and search for supplies, and I nod my thanks before pulling down my goggles and peeling away from The Ring.
Our lights shine bright across the sand dunes as we carefully follow the roads. The heat is less pressing at night, thank God, but the echo of feral growls, guns, and screams is constant. You sorta get used to it though, like a relaxing lullaby of chaos.
I’m familiar with these roads by now, so I take point, turning north and heading through The Wastes of our world—the destroyed buildings and bloodstained pavements partially covered by debris and sand. The moon and stars shine brightly down on us, and it’s honestly a nice drive. With my men at my back, it’s freeing. The wind whips through my hair. Yeah, I’ll have a bucket of sand filling my boots and clothes when we stop, but I’m going to look on the bright side and call it an exfoliant.
We drive for hours, since there’s no point in stopping unless we need to. The Wastes are unchanging apart from the sand dunes. A bit later, Clay points out a petrol station, and we decide to chance it. Gasoline is hard to find nowadays and getting harder. Worth mentioned they once found a massive reserve, but it never hurts to check as we pass.
Pulling up to the edge of the lot, we keep our lights on. Jago smashes his hand into his bike, the resounding noise loud and echoing across the night. When nothing growls or leaps at us, I slip from my bike. With my crossbow in hand, I head towards the pumps. Jago follows, while Archel and Evan wait with our bikes, scanning the area for danger. Clay heads into the dirty, half destroyed building behind the pumps to check for supplies and anything else we could use.
“Don’t go in there, Pascha,” he warns, blocking the way. His face is drawn and sad, as sad as I have seen my warrior.
I go to walk past him. “I need—”
“No, I mean it. Do not look,” he orders, and it’s the first time he ever has.
I meet his eyes, the lights of the bikes illuminating us as Jago finishes using the canisters we found. “What is it?” I ask softly.
He frowns, and I step closer.
“Clay, you don’t need to protect me. Tell me.”
“It’s a body. A woman.” I stride past him then. He doesn’t try to stop me again, but he follows, pausing behind me when I freeze at the door, staring at what he found.
It’s a woman, a young woman. Probably barely even eighteen. She’s obviously been here a while, because her body is starting to rot. I have to cover my mouth with my sleeve, the odour is so overwhelming. My eyes actually water from it, but I still stay.
She’s tied to the ceiling fan above, and her neck is broken. Her head hangs to the left, and her eyes are open and unseeing, and completely filled with blood. Her mouth is gaping, showing rotten teeth. Her lips are cracked and cut up, her cheek too. She’s naked, her body on display with a piece of old, yellow paper taped to her leg.
I move over and quickly pull it away, ignoring the way the body swings from the force, otherwise I will heave. Stepping back, I quickly read over the harshly written words. “I can’t do this anymore, it’s too hard. Tell my family I’m sorry. Hopefully, I’ll see them in another life.”
Fuck.
She did this. I’m betting someone stole her clothes after, since beggars can’t be choosers. I stare at her sadly, wondering if this could have been me, could have been my family…could have been Clarissa. This world is a dark, hard place to survive in, especially alone, and sometimes that darkness gets to be too much. It doesn’t matter how strong you are when you are sinking.
“We bury her,” I murmur into my sleeve. I can already see some of her skin missing, and bones show where animals have tried to eat her. It doesn’t matter why she did it or who she was, all that matters now is honouring her life. “Get Jago or Archel.”
“I’ll do it, Pascha,” Clay murmurs. I turn and watch him pull his mask down, and then he moves over to the woman. He gently cuts the rope free and catches her. He holds her like a child, so gently I almost cry, and then he heads outside. I follow, and when they see us with the woman in our arms, they all leap up to help. Even Evan, stone-faced and sad, grabs a piece of wood and starts to dig into the sand. The whole time Clay stands there without a complaint at the smell or for the body he holds in his arms.
It only makes me love him more.
Leaping into the hole we dug, he gently lays her down in the sand, and then we work together to bury her. The ground is overturned where she is, in an unmarked grave. The idea that no one knows, no one is looking for her, or even worse, they are looking for her, makes me want to cry. Evan wraps his arm around me, kissing my head.
“You did all you could, Pip.”
Scrunching the letter in my fists, I shove it into my pocket, needing to keep it for some reason. “I know, I just wish there was more we could do.”
“What about a puole,” Clay offers softly.
“Puole?” I repeat.
“Yes, Pascha. In my culture, it is a way of indicating a burial. It is also used to represent those among us who deserve recognition to help guide them from this life to the next and offer them a rite of passage.”
“How do we do it?” I ask, liking that idea.
He searches around us before disappearing for a moment and coming back with a giant rock. He lays it on the upturned dirt and disappears again, coming back with a smaller rock. He starts to smash the rock into the bigger one, engraving it. He draws crudely done symbols across it, explaining each one.
One is for their life, a celebration.
The other is for their next life, where they will reside or be reborn.
Another is to allow them to pass from this world to the next.
Another is a beacon of love and sadness, of remembering but moving on.
It’s beautiful, and when he sits back, holding the rock in his bloodied hand from carving, I know we did the right thing. We stay there for a moment, all silent. I don’t know what they’re thinking about, but for me, it’s gratitude. I am beyond happy I have not just a new family after losing mine, but also a place to belong, a path that keeps me fighting, and men who pull me out of the dark when it gets to be too much.
Kneeling, I press my hand to the dirt. “I was lost in the darkness like you. I’m sorry no one was there to help. I would be like you if not for my men.” I lift my head and meet their eyes. “They saved me from everything, even from myself when it was too hard to be in my body and head after what happened.” I look back at the dirt. “I hope—no, that’s the wrong word. I pray that whoever you are now, you are in a better place.” With that, I stand and walk away.
My men stare after me, their eyes filled with love as I dash my tears away.
They saved me, they truly did, and every day since, I’ve promised to save them.
I hope I can keep it.
It’s sombre as we ride. The woman we found was a stark reminder of just what this world is capable of. Not just the people in it, but how difficult it is trying to live on such a hard, unforgiving planet. There is no softness, no comfort. This is a place of survival, like the cavemen I was taught about as a child.
Every day could be your last, and every move is a risk. You don’t fight or hunt for food? You die. You don’t scavenge for water and supplies? You die. Even if you do all that, you still might meet your end. Each and every second is a constant battle of wills and a test of who you are. Many have fallen and failed, many still will. This world is not made for everyone, and although it’s changing with Worth in charge, we will never be back to how it was before it all ended.
This is who we are now, and sometimes, it’s easy to forget that with
my men and friends surrounding me. I’ve seen the skills of the people who still linger in this place and call it home. I have survived such violations and attacks that I know my own limits and strengths now. It doesn’t make it easier, and those events have scarred me, changed me.
I’m not the little girl from Paradise anymore.
I’m Piper, the leader of The Damned.
A warrior, a lover, and sometimes, a crazy bitch.
But I can’t let the darkness stain every part of me. If you only ever know survival—not just living, but existing—you’ll never know what happiness is. I never want to fall too deep into those shadows where I forget how to love, how to laugh, and how to enjoy the little moments. Like Beast Jr., whom I left with Worth. He represented an innocence I wasn’t used to out here, a chance to make a difference. He reminded me how easy it is to overlook and draw conclusions about people and things, because it’s easier to.
My men remind me to love, and I like to think I remind them to laugh.
It works, and I hope it stays like that for a very long time.
Riding silently, I search the horizon, watching for assailants and the sunrise. The days are longer at the moment, since we’re changing seasons, so it rises early, but it’s a beautiful sight as the red and orange streak across the sky.
There was this old film I liked where it had a cowboy riding into the sunset on his horse after defeating the villain. It makes me think of that. Like we are cowboys riding off on our horses to save our land and people.
Let’s just hope these cowboys don’t end up bucked.
After another day of riding with only one break for a few hours of sleep, I see the castle Nan told me about, the one where Ivar used to live. It’s now abandoned, and being this close to it has a shiver skating across my spine. It feels haunted, even from here, so instead of stopping like we want to, we keep going, hoping we will find something else to stay in—a place not haunted by the ghosts of the innocents he killed.